International Relations Part Why Me?

Me being successful as a Fulbright scholar:
So, I am completely ill. SO sick, and no dayquil. I want to die. The other day I slept for six hours in the middle of the day (totally erasing my "Jet lag is SO last season"), and my host mom/landlord came home and asked if I needed doctor. When I said no, she said, "then you eat." Then I said... um... Jenna sick. no eat. And she said "no eat doctor. no doctor eat." Then she made me eat buerek, which is bready oily fetaey parsleyey pastry stuff.

Burek Recipe: 1 pan phyllo dough, 6 oz crumbled feta, 4 oz creamed cheese, 1 beaten egg, 2 T fresh parsley, 1 T fresh dill, 1/2 cup better, 1 cup olive or grape oil. Eat repeatedly. Retreat to bathroom.

I thought I was going to puke all night. Then we had it for breakfast. And again for lunch. Also, at dinner she told me that both "um" and "sick" are "no say" in Turkish.

I looked them up, and "um" is an expletive for the female genitalia, and "sick" is the same, but for males. Thanks, Redhouse dictionary, for the specific translations.

So to recap:
Kind Turkish host mother: "You bad? You hasta [which I now know means ill]?"
Jenna: "&$#%& Jenna &%&&$@#"

Dear Fulbright,
Thanks again for the investment in my visit here to improve American-Turkish relations. About that, you're welcome.
love, Jenna

International Relations

Türkiye welcomes you! I got in on Sunday, July 2nd, and already I've made a big splash with the international community.

I had little to no time to wallow in my homesickness on the flight over, as the Bosnian man sitting next to me for the eight hour flight was very talkative. Especially after I told him I hadn't slept in days, and would like to sleep now, and for the next eight hours. Instead, he regaled me with tales of his job as a prosecuter for the US Embassy in Bosnia, including informing me that it would take just one call for him to find out if I had lied on my taxes, in which case he would be sure that I would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. In other words, we were fast friends.

Mehmet, my cell mate and new husband.

After the meal, he started his Bosnian stand-up routine:
1) This guy calls home in the middle of the day, and his little son answers.
*in high-pitched prepubescenttesquee voice*
"Hello?"
"Is yourmotherr there?"
"No. She's in the bedroom with another man."
"She is? Then do me a favor. Go to the closet and get the gun."
"Alright." And the boy goes to get the gun. "What do I do now?"
"Go in the bedroom and shoot them both."
So the boy does this and comes back and says, "What do you want me to do now?"
And the man says, "Nothing, Elam. Now go outside and play."
And the boy says, "My name is not Elam."

And..... Scene.

Good one, right? But also with a message, because "the woman got what she deserves anyway."

Then there was the one about the bird who wants to "get some", and keeps getting rejected by the female bird, until when she gets "randy? Or do you know horny better?" he is able to turn her down, because he is masturbating.

This one he barely made it through, he was laughing so hard. Oh! Those Bosnians and their humor!

In all, the flights were pretty much the worst I've ever experienced. In the middle of the night/flight to Munich there was a big racket a few rows up, and a woman ran to the back of the plane. Shortly thereafter a flight attendant came down the aisle in full toxic clean-up gear. After awhile word came back that while the woman slept her seat mate had woken up and vomited all over her. She then puked all over herself. After the clean-up, they were both moved to business class. Score for them.

After barely making it through the landing without losing it myself, the flight to Ankara was mildly better. Until the landing, when the boy next to me turned green during the landing, started sweating, and crawled over me and the man next to me to start vomiting over and over again in the bathroom directly behind us. Until the flight attendant knocked on the door and made him return to his seat before the plane touched down. I gave him my air sick bag and prayed I made it off the plane without the Lufthansa salad he ate all over my pants.



Once we landed, things went well, until the luggage stopped coming and twenty angry, luggageless Turks erupted in Turkish swears and tears. Joanna's bag was one that didn't come, and she got in the line / cluster of Turks waiting to write down their luggage information, as the Ankara airport is without computers. Meanwhile, I guarded our luggage that had arrived from the suspicious Turks who probably assumed we had just gathered up as much luggage as we could to sell at the nearest Bazaar.


Joanna and me supplementing our meager IIE stipends.

Tomorrow: More on how I severly offended our host mother, and purchased a Turkish boy to accompany me to Austria at the Bazaar.