Monday, February 28, 2005

Editorial

Twice a month, we interns have to write two articles for a Canadian online journal, regarding work we are doing in our organisations and the situation in our respective countries. Most of us dread these articles and write them as quickly as possible. I usually just end up recycling old blog entries and then forget about it.

However, we each have to take a turn as editor. Myself, Kat in the Gambia and Naseem in Kenya were given the task of writing the last editorial. It was initially difficult for us as we were in three different countries with three different cultures and three different jobs. We each wrote a section and Kat did a wonderful job at editing them all together.

In the beginning, we were Young Professionals. Bags packed, and country profiles in hand, we set out upon what we hoped would be the ultimate experience. But did we have any idea what we were in for?

On the one hand, we had some vague notion of the internship we were undertaking, but on the other hand we were sketchy on the details regarding our work environment, our new countries of residence and so forth. That feeling may have stayed with us for quite a while. Most of us probably didn't come with any notions of drastically changing the world, but rather were probably concerned with being useful and being engaged in something worthwhile. The definition of “worthwhile”, however, was altered with time to better reflect our circumstances.

Throughout the first couple of weeks (and for many, months) we spent our time struggling to orient ourselves on both the personal and professional front. At times we found ourselves basking in giddy wonderment in the fact that we were actually here, in this exotic locale, living an experience that many at home found enviable. Other occasions, by contrast, found us frustrated and asking ourselves: “Is this it?” Whether positive or negative aspects dominated our placements, many of us realized that “human rights” and “development” function very differently in the classroom than they did in practice. However, there were many lessons to be drawn out of the ashes of our disillusionment.

On the personal front, our internships also included realizing to what degree we could assimilate into our communities, learning how to balance this barrier of being a foreigner with being a resident of this new society. Whether in Europe, Africa or Asia, part of our experience was based on living in a new country and new culture. Most of us had to deal with languages, customs and institutions very different from our own. Sometimes it was quirky and cute. Sometimes we wanted to lash out irrationally.

There were times where it may have felt as though we were making no progress, either at work or in our daily lives. Whether due to cultural shock or just plain exasperation, we wondered if and what we were really contributing.

As time passed, however, adjustments were made. Perhaps it was when we could finally have a simple conversation with a shopkeeper in the local language that didn't involve just nodding and smiling politely, or when we could pay for something without analyzing every piece of money and counting every zero. Progress was slow at times. But progress it was, nonetheless.

This progress is also echoed in our professional lives. Perhaps we asked ourselves if our work really was worthwhile, if it was worth it to leave our former lives and live half way across the world. Now, at the end of experiences, we realize how far we've come. Whether it was setting the foundations for a renewable project, completing two books or teaching our boss with multiple professional degrees how to use the “save as” function properly on the computer, each of us contributed in our own way.

As that last day of the internship comes and goes, and bags wait – packed and ready – near the door, are we ready to reflect on the passage of the last six months? What kinds of words will we use to paint our portraits of experience to those waiting for us back home? Will we be able to do justice to the highs and lows, or will something get lost in the translation?

We leave with local language greetings still tripping on our tongues. Sights, smells and sounds once foreign are now inextricably woven into our realities. Whatever (and whomever) we have loved, hated, or noted in passing has been added to our story book – whether it be a chapter or a mere footnote. Some of us were moved to tears by the injustice we found in our corner of the world, and some of us were moved to tears by the sheer boredom in our corner of the office.

Whether our position has helped us figure out what we want to do with or lives, or simply helped us figure out what we never want to do with our lives, we have learned a little bit more about life outside Canada, and a lot more about ourselves.

And perhaps for some of us, we are not only heading home, but leaving home as well…

Weather

The weather hates us.

It's freezing. And we got a mini-blizzard last night.

Well, only about ten centimetres of snow, but the wind was strong. I could have been back in Canada.

Everyone keeps teasing me: "You're Canadian, you should be used to this!"

I may be used to it but it doesn't mean I have to like it!

Birthday

Normally my birthday sucks. It always falls on March break at home and I'm usually spending it home, alone. Since it's a holiday, no one even remembers to wish me happy birthday.

This year was different. I went to Arad to visit a girlfriend and we went out with some friends to Mooskea. We tried to go the last time I was in Arad but they asked for a 100,000 lei cover charge: quite expensive by Romanian standards.

However, it's a good bar and we wanted to have fun, so off we went Friday night. It was completely empty! (Turns out there was a "Playmate" party at another club that night). We used the opportunity to get to know the bartenders and DJs.

We told them we were celebrating my birthday and they kept bringing us drinks. We thought they were being extra nice to us...until we got the bill. I guess "bringing alcohol you didn't ask for" doesn't always mean "on the house".

We went back Saturday night and it was packed. They remembered us from the night before and gave us a great table. Until the people who reserved the table came. They were late, so the management assumed that they weren't going to show. We got a new table close by, but they stared at us all night.

A few guys came up and tried to dance with us. One obviously learned English from watching pornos, because the only English he knew was "You have a really hot body...it's coooool". We danced, I laughed and it was all good.


Snowstorm Posted by Hello


Snowstorm Posted by Hello


Snowstorm Posted by Hello


Snowstorm Posted by Hello


"Barbie" Posted by Hello


Me and a guy who kept trying to dance with us all night Posted by Hello


Midnight, February 27th. They played Deep Dish - Flashdance Posted by Hello


Dancers Posted by Hello


DJ Vali Posted by Hello


Mooskea on Saturday night Posted by Hello


The bathroom. There was a sheet of plexi-glass dividing the male and female halves. To look in the mirror, you had to look on the wall in the opposite bathroom. And, I discovered after I took this picture, if you stand at exactly the right angle, you can also see *into* the bathroom. Posted by Hello


DJ love part 1 Posted by Hello


Bartender love part 2 Posted by Hello


Bartender love part 1 Posted by Hello


Mooskea in Arad Posted by Hello

Saturday, February 26, 2005

Happy birthday to me!

I'm spending the weekend with my girlfriends in Arad. Drinking, dancing and general good times alround.

It's the big 24.

Also, a happy birthday to my friends Tim (23) and Ricardo (25).

Lots of other cool people were born on my birthday too! Lucky them!

Friday, February 25, 2005

Typical Romania

When things seem too good to be true, they probably are.

The weather was great. Perfect, in fact, for late February. Warm, sunny and cheerful.

Then Mr. Murphy and his damn law had to go flexing their muscles.

The view outside my window looks like a stereotypical image of south-east Europe. The sky is this sickly yellow colour and it's snowing a mixture of sleet and rain. It's gross. I hope the weather improves this weekend, at least.

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Police

Just how everyone likes to be woken up: by the police.

I was cooking myself breakfast when the doorbell rang. I ignored it.
Ring ring ring ring ring.

Finally it stopped.

I was in the bathroom when it started again. "Persistent little guy" I thought to myself.

I went to the intercom:
"Da?"
"Incomprensible Romanian"
"Nu vorbest Romanest"
"Incomprehensible Romanian"
"I don't speak Romanian"
"Police"

So I opened the foor, fully prepared to see an imposted.

No, it really was the police! He asked me if I owned the apartment. With bad Fromanian (French-Romanian) and even worse body language, I conveyed that I was renting the apartment from my boss' wife's mother. He showed me a piece of paper with a name. I didn't know who it was. I told him the name the apartment should be registered under. He told me he was going to check elsewhere in the building.

I've lived in Timisoara since August and I've only seen police a handful of times. Today was a bonus. I've started talking the tram everywhere and have never seen a ticket controller. Although the tickets are quite cheap, I was debating whether it was worth it to purchase the tickets, or should just hop on like the rest of the residents?

I bought tickets today and just my luck, the ticket controllers came. Seems everyone else had tram cards. I guess I was lucky this time.

Sunday, February 20, 2005

Posting adventures

Last month, my minidisc player died on me.

Yes, my wonderful, beautiful silvery friend, which has been almost like an extension of my own body, just stopped working. Luckily, I had the foresight to:
a) get a three year warranty when I bought it
b) bring a CD player with me to Romania.

Unfortunately, said waranty is finished at the end of February (but never fear. If they can't repair it after 60 days, I get a free player on the 61st day. I love Future Shop!). I had one day in which to post it back home before I went to Turkey. I went to the post office with my minidisc player all neatly packed up and asked for a padded envelope.

Most of you know about my ongoing war with the Romanian postal service. Apparently, to mail packages home (and this was packaged in a 10-pack diskette box, so you can imagine how small it was) I had to go to the big central post office. I didn't have time for that, so when I returned to the office, I asked my cowkrer, Eugen, if he could do it for me.

This is the email he wrote me while I was away:

To post a minidisk from Romania to Canada isn't easy!
...Everything started when Karla asked me to post for her a minidisk, last Thursday.
I promised to do so.
She told me that Central Post provides the service.
Friday I went there.
After queuing, I was told that the office serves only internal mail and have to move at the external mail office.
After queuing in that place, I was told that the minidisk cannot be posted from there (only simply letters) and have to go at the Post Office in the main Railstation of the town.
I went to the Railstation Post and after queuing I was told that the custom officer shall check the minidisk and he works only three hours a day, from Monday to Friday, mornings only.
As it was already afternoon, I returned Monday morning.
After queuing in the Railstation Post, I was told to go at the next floor, where Customs is, deal with the officer and after to return for posting.
I went to the next floor.
After queuing to Customs, the officer simply stamped the envelope and I returned to the first floor (he told me that perhaps he knows Karla, as for him sounds popular this Canadian girl).
After queuing, I was told that the envelope isn't good, need to be a special one, with plastic protection, which I can buy from the shop opposite to the railstation (17000 Lei / the previous, paper made, costed 12000 Lei).
I went to the shop, bought the correct envelope (of course, after queuing), I went to Customs (of course, after queuing, the officer stamped this new envelope) and I happy entered to the Post Office...
After filling the expedition form, I was told about the cost: 716000 Lei.
As I not had such money in cash with me, I went home and SMS Karla if deserves to send it so expensive.
She answered YES (that was Tuesday) and I went to the Railstation Post with the money, the plastic envelope stamped by the custom officer and the minidisk inside...
It was Wednesday morning, back in the Railstation Post, finally after debating that addresses should be written on the envelope on the same side and cannot have a delivery confirmation by signature from Canada (that service not operates), I SENT IT!!!
So, my last queuing was this Wednesday morning, almost a week after last Thursday, when everything started...
I guess now that I deserve a drink from Karla (after several moves in a triangle of Central Post, Rail Post and home), queuing everywhere along few days.
Of course, plus the amount directly spent, in total 745000 Lei.

It's a long story

My Romanian friends know now to dread these four words.

"Hi, what did you do last night?"
"It's a long story..."
"Oh no. Just please tell me this does not involve schizophrenics, crazy old men or the like"

Last night, I left work much later than I intended. I wanted to go home, eat and then sleep. As I walked out of the building, I noticed a crowd of people at the far end of the street. Then I saw what was making them gape.

Huge metal...things.

I still don't know what they are. I walked up the street to the crowd (well, if you consider groups of two or three drunken men a crowd) and surveyed what was rolling down the street.

Two huge (I'm talking five metres high by ten metres long) canisters on trucks. They were so high that there was a man on each cannister raising the power lines so they could pass under.

I asked the others if they knew what they were. No one spoke English. I had to settle with "Ce e asta?" but no one knew anything. One person told me it was for agriculture. Another just gave me a blank stare.

I thought they were nuclear reactors or WMDs. Later on, a friend suggested that they were for holding beer.

Soon, a young man on a bicycle road up and started talking pictures. I regretted not having my camera with me, so I asked if he spoke English. He didn't, so I tried communicating in Romanian. I ended up giving him my email address and asking if he would please send me the pictures.

He asked where I was from. I prepared for the onslaught of "My neighbour/nephew/cousin is in Canada" but instead he invited me to a party.

Through a lot of body language, he explained that he's an artist and that he and his friends were having a small get-together and I was welcome to come.

It was 11:30 pm. The streets were deserted. I was curious but also reluctant. He seemed nice, and as he hadn't tried to touch me or ask for my phone number (and the fact that the party was 20 metres away) I agreed.

We walked there, talking the whole time. He led me through a door into a coutyard and then through another door. Inside were about ten people smoking, drinking beer, talking and laughing. Except for two people, no one spoke English.

I still had a great time. They called me "Quebec" the entire evening. I guess "Karla" is close enough to "Quebec".

It's always a pain describing where I'm from. If I say "east of Quebec", no one knows where it is. When people ask if I come from the French part or the English part, I say "Bilingual" because New Brunswick is the only bilingual province in Canada. I don't like confusing people.

I had to speak Romanian almost the entire time. They laughed at my bad pronounciation, lack of grammar and accent but it was good-hearted laughter and I didn't feel embarassed. When they asked if I was a student and I responded "Nu, sunt terminat", everyone burst out laughing. Apparently, "terminat" means "terminated" in the dead sense, not finished. Even I laughed at myself!

I stayed there till 3:30 in the morning. There was traditional Hungarian folk music, Russian gypsy music, some Bach and even Pachabel's Cannon. Towards the end of the evening, they played traditional French music and people got up and started twirling each other around.

I had actually seen the work of one of the artists there. When Delphine arrived, we went downtown together and checked out a gallery which featured pictures of cows, sheep and bull terriers with chandeliers (seriously). While I didn't much care for the exhibit, the painter is very nice and I got to see other examples of his work which I preferred much more.

One of the girls was Serbian and spoke good English. We started joking about my bad Romanian and then we made a deal. For every swear word that she would teach me in Serbian, I would teach her something in Swedish.

I learned a tonne of words last night but I can't remember a single one. I hope she remembers mine!

They invited me to a movie tonight by some Russian director. I'm looking forward to it but I bet it's Russian with Romanian subtitles. We'll see!

Saturday, February 19, 2005

Georgia

I was cheated out of my Georgia experience.

I'm bitter. Very bitter, in fact.

On the last day of the conference, I called the airline to change my tickets. Seeing as I hadn't arranged my Georgia travel yet, I couldn't give them a fixed date of return. They gave me five days in which to finalise my travel.

When I got to Ankara, Cem and I spent the next four days trying to arrange travel to Tbilisi. We went to different travel agencies and no one could give me any info for flights. No charters, and the only Turkish airline flight left before the conference started and flew back a few days after the conference was done. Oh, and costed 450 euros.

So we went to bus stations. No one had any itineraries. The closest we got was at one office, they told me I could take a nine hour bus trip to Trabzone and then *possibly* find a bus to Tbilisi from there.

Riiiiight.

They couldn't guarantee service, especially this time of year. Half of Turkey was paralised from snow storms and they said bus service was going to be delayed.

I had to make a quick decision. It wasn't helping matters any that Cem kept telling me stories of the PKK kidnapping and raping female tourists. When I said that I hadn't heard anything on the news about that, he told me that these incidents were so common that the media stopped reporting them.

I had to make a snap decision. It was the last day to make my tickets home, so I chose certainty over uncertainty and booked them for February 14th.

A few days later, I received an email from the Spanish intern in Tbilisi, who was in the mountains the week before and had no email access. He told me that as soon as he had gotten to Trabzone, someone had asked him where to go and then led him to the Georgian bus. However, he also could have been lucky that time.

On the flight to Istanbul, the man I sat next to told me that there had been two avalanches in eastern Turkey.

When I got back to work, I checked my email. Apparently the Georgian organisation didn't read the last email that I sent to them (the one telling them to send all correspondance to my webmail account and not my work address). Turns out that there was another delegate coming from Ankara and they thought we should arrange our travel together.

To say that I am disappointed and bitter is an understatement.

Friday, February 18, 2005

Bucharest

I wrote this at the Amsterdam Cafe, waiting for my food to be served, while we celebrated Maud's birthdya with her Romanian language class. It's written with a sense of humour and satire, so please don't take it seriously.

Bucharest is like that old prostitute crazy lady who is always at the end of your street. Sure, she's loud, obnoxious and screams unintelligible things at you, and you may even often wish that she wasn't there, but the times you've passed by her "spot" and she was missing, admit it, you felt a pang of longing. Deep down, you have a secret affection for her tight leopard print skirt long skirt and beautiful jewelery.

Bucharest is loud. It's also ugly, but I will always remember it for being loud. Horns are constantly honking, as if the drivers are trying to announce "My dick is bigger than yours!" An hour after I landed, a police blockade went by. Police sirens, a voice screaming unintelligibly into a megaphone and an entourage worthy of a member of the royal family (and not a minor politician). A lady in the crowd told us it was Basescu but apparently he was in Moscow that day. I thought I had arrived in Hades instead of the "Paris of the East".

Bucharest is ugly but it does have its charms. Interspersed amongst the old grey blocky Communist architecture are some real gems. French Neoclassical offices, Orthodox churches hidden like flowers between weeds, small cobbled streets curving silently into new neighbourhoods... However, the majority *is* ugly. Everything is grey, blocky and concrete. Some buildings are abandoned and left to crumble, like modern day ruins. The streets are uneven, covered in dirty black snow. now I know why so many people were wearing black: it doesn't show the dirt.

Clichees abound here. We're sitting in a popular eatery frequented by expats. outside, shiny new cars line the streets. Not a single Dacia to be seen. Street children diligently wash and polish the cars in hopes that their owners will reward them favourably. One boy, in a knit sweater and tuque, has been working on one car for almost the entire duration of my evening. Is the car that dirty or does he think the car's ownder is that rich? An older boy paces back and forth. Is he the leader? He's good looking in a roguish sort of way. I look at him and he looks at me. He helps a patron park his car and is rewarded with 10,000 lei for his efforts. The smile on his face tells me he's happy. Everyone has their own way of making a living, I guess.

This club is called "Amsterdam". Supposedly, it's modelled after a genuine Dutch establishment. It's generic, in a classy sort of way. Soft contemporary jazz-rock is piped through the speakers (even though it's from Winamp and not a band) and beautiful people sit together at tables smoking cigarettes. This could be Amsterdam or Bucharest or even my city in New Brunswick.

This feels less like Romania than a nameless concrete city. Piata Unirii could be any mid-sized city's equivalent Times Square. There's nothing that really distinguishes it to make it special. Sure, they have that wedding cake monstrosity, the concert hall and significant buildings from the Revolution but it was rare that I felt the warmth that I got from Timisoara and Arad. I've read articles saying that Bucharest is an untapped resource and the latest "it" spot for trendy travellers. I don't know how much I agree with this. Personally, I couldn't wait to get back to my beloved Timisoara.


Maud and I celebrating her birthday at the Amsterdam Cafe Posted by Hello


Busts of Lenin at the Communism museum (very highly recommended, except no English translations). This one's for you, Rob. Posted by Hello


A piata whose name escapes me right now. Victorei, maybe? Posted by Hello


An abandoned building Posted by Hello


The hostel where I stayed (much recommended) Posted by Hello


The boulevard Posted by Hello


The palace in the daytime Posted by Hello


Skating rink in Piata Unirii Posted by Hello


Again through the trees Posted by Hello


This boulevard was made deliberately 6 metres longer than Les Champs Elysees Posted by Hello


The palace at night Posted by Hello


The palace seen through the trees Posted by Hello


A slightly out of focus Palace Posted by Hello


Palace of the people (Ceausescu's swan song) Posted by Hello


Piata Unirii at night Posted by Hello


Piata Unirii at night Posted by Hello


Piata Unirii at night Posted by Hello


Russian church Posted by Hello


The ceiling of the church Posted by Hello


Courtyard of a Greek Orthodox church Posted by Hello


A hidden church Posted by Hello


I love these balconies Posted by Hello


A covered passageway filled with neat little shops and cafes Posted by Hello


Military circle Posted by Hello


This building is famous but I can't remember what for Posted by Hello


Ceausescu made a very famous speech from this balcony Posted by Hello


Memorial to the Revolution Posted by Hello


The concert hall Posted by Hello


Arch de triomphe in Bucharest Posted by Hello

Ankara

I will write up a lovely long post about my thoughts on Ankara but right now, I'm tired. I'll try to finish it this weekend.


Burek and baklava: The two best things in life, together at last! Posted by Hello


Hill and mountains Posted by Hello


Hill Posted by Hello


Skyline Posted by Hello


Tourists Posted by Hello


The castle Posted by Hello


The castle and Ankara Posted by Hello


Narrow street by the castle Posted by Hello

Ankara part 1

Cem picked me up after the conference and we spent the next few days exploring the city. I was able to see the castle, Ataturk's tomb, a mosque and hang out with his friends.

The castke was great! It was a few centuries old and I had fun climbing all over it. Cem doesn't like heights so he stayed in the courtyard while I went as high as I could. Inside the caste was a gypsy shanty-town, with crumbling houses, dirty children running everywhere and women trying to sell us handicrafts.

A few children came up to tell us that the castle was closed. We couldn't figure out of this was their idea of a funny joke or what. I suggested that Cem tell them that we were disappointed, because we wanted to hire them to give us a tour. Sadly, he never told them that. The shops inside charged exhorbitant amounts for souvenirs. Unfortunately, I also found the nicest postcards there.

Ataturk's tomb might be interesting for Turks (I've been told that turkish parents off make a pilgrimmage there with their children) but for this Canadian, it was slightly less interesting. We went inside and were forforbidden to take photos. All that's there is a big stone box. Ataturk isn't even inside the box: he's buried 20 metres below!

Afterwards, we checked out the museums. I learned everything I ever wanted to know about Ataturk and more. I saw his books, his swords, his cars and even his rowing machine. All that was missing was his toothbrush! The exhibits were well-described in English and Turkish but after a while, they all started to blend in to each other. While it's history, it isn't my type of history and I had trouble staying interested.

I completely enjoyed visiting the mosque. Growing up in Eastern Canada, I never had the chance to enter one. Cem isn't Muslim and he made me promise we could only stay for ten minutes.

I had a scarf with me so I wrapped it around my head. We had to take off our shoes before entering.

I was surprised at how peaceful and beautiful it was inside. Men were praying and I was the only female on the main floor. Everything was carpeted. We sat on the floor and just looked at the beautiful decor.

Cem's friends are a lot of fun! We went on a pub-crawl with them. First we went to a Rock bar which played nice grunge classics from the early 90s. I headbanged to Nirvana. Then one of his friends came with bootleg copies of old He-Man, Voltron and G.I. Joe cartoons! Nice! Then we went to a new bar for more Turkish beer. On the way, we bought some mussels from a street vendor and ate them inside the bar. How cool is that? They even gave us lemons!

Coming out, the guys got even more food from a sausage vendor. He cut up the meat and mixed it with spices and then served it in a bun. I had a few bites and it was delicious!


Outside the mosque Posted by Hello


Isn't this cool? Posted by Hello


The mosque Posted by Hello


The mosque ceiling Posted by Hello


Inside the mosque Posted by Hello


Mosque Posted by Hello


Mosque Posted by Hello


It's forbidden to take pictures of the tomb inside, so I cheated the system and got this great perspective shot instead! Posted by Hello


Changing of the guards Posted by Hello


Changing of the guards Posted by Hello


The tomb Posted by Hello


The tomb Posted by Hello


The tomb Posted by Hello


View of Ankara from the tomb Posted by Hello


Ataturk's tomb Posted by Hello


Snausages! Posted by Hello


Sausage-seller on the street Posted by Hello


Having fun in Turkey! Posted by Hello


Cem and I Posted by Hello


Cheers! Posted by Hello


Delicious! Posted by Hello


Now it's my turn! Posted by Hello


Mmm...mussels Posted by Hello


Yummy! Posted by Hello


Cem shows us how it's done Posted by Hello


Eating mussels we bought on the street at a pub Posted by Hello


Me in Ankara Posted by Hello


Ankara intersection at night Posted by Hello


Ankara intersection at night Posted by Hello


Ankara intersection at night Posted by Hello


Ankara intersection at night Posted by Hello


Selling mussels stuffed with rice on the side of the road Posted by Hello


Spidar-Men? The caption says "Poseable Rction Figure". When will people learn to get proper proof-readers? Posted by Hello


Turkish Engrish! The caption says "Want Katy looks awesome? Tie the scarf for her!" Posted by Hello


I'm a huge fan of Fark so it was only fitting that I took this picture. Posted by Hello


Bazaar Posted by Hello


Market street Posted by Hello


Cem at the castle Posted by Hello


View of the mountains from the castle Posted by Hello


Closeup of the Turkish mountains Posted by Hello


View of Ankara Posted by Hello


Me at Ankara castle Posted by Hello


View of Ankara Posted by Hello


View of Ankara Posted by Hello


View of Ankara Posted by Hello


View of Ankara Posted by Hello


Street by the castle Posted by Hello


The mosque in Ankara Posted by Hello

Part 3

So the conference is over.

I didn't learn as much as I thought I would have, only because I have attended similar trainings on the subject in the past. The material presented was interesting and I was glad we had the chance to plan our own practice seminars, which I found very helpful.

I met some incredible people though. And I am now firmly convinced in the superiority of the Greek culture.

The most important lesson I learned was, ironically, conflict management.

One of the delegates started out being cheerful and funny. However, towards the end of the conference, became argumentative, unresponsive, "difficult" and just plain creepy. He didn't speak much English and I often acted as his translator. He was a member of our practice group and he accused us of not being "open minded". He complained incessantly about everything, from the fact that our party at the club was for us only and that everyone was always working in the same groups.

We explained that:
a) the party *was* for us only
b) due to security issues, we didn't want non-conference people with us
c) if he wanted to hang out with non-conference people, he had to walk two metres off the dance floor to talk to them
d) he himself was guilty of always wanting to work with the same people (due to the language issue)

And so on and so on.

We discussed his actions with the coordinators. He's from a minority group in his country and has probably encountered a fair amount of racism and discrimination during his life.

I could give a laundry list of things that he did during the conference but after we contacted the embassy who contacted a psychiatrist, we think he's schizophrenic and I can somewhat understand his behaviour and I will therefore refrain from listing everything he did.

He kept insisting on giving us "feedback" for the activities and our own actions. In the middle of our presentation (of which he was a member of the group), he left and started drawing on a big piece of paper. We found out later that this was his feedback for the group. He called our group leader a Nazi Dictator (because she wouldn't make allowances for him), me a sheep (because I always backed up the leader), Maria perfect (because she never said anything) and Ludo close-minded because he wouldn't sympathise with his "plight".

The other delegates were getting as fed up as we were with his behaviour. I posed this question to the reflexion group and I'll ask you this too:

At what point to do you forgive someone's actions for what they have experienced in the past, and at what point do you say "suck it up, everyone's experienced bad moments in their life, you can't use your history as an excuse to treat other people badly".

I can understand that he would be upset that we wouldn't let the regular Turkish patrons be part of our party in Ankara. He is a member of a minority group in his own country and we're positive that this has brought back bad memories of discrimination for him. I can understand some of his experiences because when I lived in France, I was often not allowed in clubs if I went out with my minority friends.

We made so many allowances for him and things kept getting worse and worse (we did not realise he was a schizophrenic at this point). So what's your opinion on this?


The lake Posted by Hello


View from the restaurant Posted by Hello


Right before the storm Posted by Hello


Group shot Posted by Hello


Greek dancing Posted by Hello


No Turborg for these guys Posted by Hello

Part 2

We took the day to go to Ankara.

When we arrived, we were given the choice of going to visit the castle or seeing the Anatolian Museum. This was rated the best museum in Europe in 1997 (I think) and since I know next to nothing about Hittite art, I was game to go.

Thanasis and Yiannis from Greece went too and they were able to explain me some things about the Greek influence in Turkey. Very interesting.

The museum was not, unfortunately. There are only so many fat goddess statues and broken shards of pottery I can take in one morning. The most interesting part was seeing the Kazakhastan delegation follow their president around. They had video cameras and tonnes of security.

Afterwards, we wandered around the little streets close to the castle. Thanasis, Angelos, Jenny and I explored the shops and I bought a nargile pipe. It was a lot of fun being a tourist. I usually try to blend in with the locals but instead I just went with the flow. None of us spoke Turkish and it was obvious all the store owners were trying to rip us off.

Eventually, we met the others for tea at a Turkish coffeehouse. It was lovely! Dark wood, cozy... I got some apple tea which was basically warm apple cider. We also split some cheese and potato crepes. Delicious!

Afterwards, we drove past the museum to see the street blocked off with soldiers everywhere. Turns out Mahmoud Abbas was paying a an official state visit to Ankara and went to see the museum. Good thing we went as early as we did!

Later on, the group split up and we decided to go to the mall to do some shopping. But first, the Greeks wanted to find a Citi Bank. We wandered around the downtown for two hours trying to find the proper bank. !@#$ Eventually, we found one and then made our way to the mall. And what did we see there? A Citi Bank outlet! !@#$

Finally, we met the others at another cafe. As most of my friends know, I abhor smoking. However, seeing as I was in Turkey, I partook in the nargile pipe experience. It wasn't bad at all! We got apple flavoured tobacco and while it was nice, it's not something that I'll be eager to experience again any time soon. And yes, I do have pictures of me with the pipe!

Later on, we went to a Doner Kebab restaurant. The food just kept coming and coming and coming! Word to the wise: don't come to Turkey if you're on a diet. I gained over 5 lbs in the three weeks that I was there. The food is so good!.

Side note: Although I will not touch a lentil with a ten foot pole, I absolutely adore Turkish lentil soup. Maybe I'll make some this weekend!

We ended up at a small club where we drank beer, danced and watched the football match.


Smooosh! Posted by Hello


The world's cutest Greek Posted by Hello


Friends + beer = great combination Posted by Hello


Me, Greeks and Boyka Posted by Hello


Kebab! Posted by Hello


Awesome picture of Emra Posted by Hello


Raluca enjoying a far healthier form of tobacco Posted by Hello


Ozgehan smoking and reading the paper, Turkish-style! Posted by Hello


Thanasis having more fun Posted by Hello


Thanasis having fun Posted by Hello


See all the soldiers back there? Posted by Hello


Turns out that after we left the museum, Mahmoud Abbas came to visit Posted by Hello


Emiliana from Bulgaria, Angelos from Greece and me Posted by Hello


Real Turkish teahouse Posted by Hello


Mineret with speakers Posted by Hello


The castle Posted by Hello


View of the city Posted by Hello


The important looking guy is the president of Kazakhastan Posted by Hello


Important people from Kazakhastan Posted by Hello


Goddess statues Posted by Hello


I guess they had McDonald's even back then... Posted by Hello


A goddess statue Posted by Hello


A statue outside the Anatolian museum Posted by Hello

Part 1

So I got to Turkey in one piece.

I didn't even go to sleep the night before. I didn't trust myself to wake up. I stayed up all night watching DiVX and cooking. Finally, I called a cab and made it to the train station. Luckily, we had a compartment all to ourselves and I slept the entire journey.

Well, not the entire journey. Romanian trains are possibly the worst in the world. They either have no heat or too much heat. This train was the latter and it was easily 35 C inside. I woke up every few minutes. I didn't mind so much because I was able to check out the scenery. The Danube is beautiful and the Carpathians breathtaking. Especially when it's snowing.

We got to Bucharest and went straight to the airport. Waiting waiting waiting. The flight to Istanbul was without incident except for some major turbulence. When we landed, everyone applauded. Coming out, it was pouring rain. I was nervous for our flight to Ankara. Some major turbulence later and again, we landed in one piece. And again, everyone applauded. Is this a Turkish tradition or something.

The airport was an absolute madhouse. It was packed with old men and women in white, scurrying by with bottles of water. None of us could figure out who they were until it dawned on me: they had just come back from Mecca! I thought those old people would be nice and gentle. Wrong. Old ladies are vicious, vicious creatures. They were elbowing me out of the way, stepping on my feet., pushing me aside. At least I got my luggage!

The first night, we all went straight to bed. The next day, we had a meet a greet where we met all the other delegates. There were Turks, Danes, a Germano-Swede, a Latvian, Romanians, Bulgarians, French and Greeks. We also had an Intercultural Evening where we all brought goodies from our home countries. It was a lot of fun.

Then they played O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei. My song! Of course, all the Romanians got up to dance and I was jumping around singing at the top of my lungs. I love that song!


The rakia has already kicked in Posted by Hello


Kamel with Camel cigarettes Posted by Hello


Some dance that only the Turks seemed to know Posted by Hello


Why you should never take pictures of yourself after drinking Bulgarian rakia...  Posted by Hello


New friends (Natasha from Latvia and Mustafa from Turkey) Posted by Hello


It's amazing how silly people look when doing the motions to YMCA. Posted by Hello


The Greek delegation Posted by Hello


Look at those eager faces! Everyone wants to know about Romania! Posted by Hello


Telling everyone about Romania Posted by Hello


The food on Intercultural Night Posted by Hello


Raluca in the Istanbul airport Posted by Hello