In Turkey, I live with a secret.  If you think that’s frustrating then can I also tell you that I have to go to work with an unknown. My classroom is far from silent though with wind, sea, life and essence usually all present.

Now before you ask I have not been smoking nargile nor am I impersonating a Turkish student using google translate. I am in fact just introducing you to some people I know in Istanbul-albeit in a whimsical fashion.

You see unlike English names Turkish names often come directly from the Turkish language as it is still currently spoken. As well as those names mentioned above I also teach a Queen of light (Nur Ece), a King (Kann) and a Charter(berat). I have a co-teacher called lotus while a close staff member I know is “desired”.

In Turkey, people assume that all names unless derived from religion have a literal meaning. I am often asked about the meaning of my name here. I usually tell them it means promise or pledge (Thank you google!) However I imagine this is probably just google’s best guess since it doesn’t mean anything in any fixed definable language.

Place names in Turkey can also be very literal. Since I am Irish and place names tend not to mean anything in the anglified form they have been given I have always been fascinated by places with direct meanings (like Elephant and castle in London– Not as impressive as the name would suggest ). Actually my usual hangouts have some pretty odd names when I think about it.  Besiktas where I shop and eat means Stone Crib which actually sounds a bit like a grunge bar to me. Taksim literally means distribution which is fitting since its where most of my money gets distributed on the weekends although I think originally it has something to do with water distribution. Some place names now seem a little incongruous though now I know their Turkish meaning. Tophane ,my favorite place to chill out and smoke Nargile means arms storehouse (armory)  and a swish affluent area called Nishantasi is literally called target stone (So named because Ottomans fired rocks there during target practice!). I actually work in “in yellow” which I guess is more favorable than being in the red all day long.

Other place names are quite apt. Moda, a plush area on the Asian side means fashion which is quite fitting as it is a bit of a trendy spot. Of course my Turkish isn’t good enough to translate a lot of things yet and so I was disappointed when I saw a bus for what I thought was green cheese in Turkish actually turned out to mean green spring, which is slightly less off-beat.

A similar Lost in translation moment happened in my kindergarten class. Just a couple of weeks ago my student (who is coy by name but not by nature) seemed to be complaining about something my other student Deniz did. From her broken English I gathered he had mischievously made off with her toy boat.  However she did not seem to deem my response adequate and Deniz seemed put- out when I scolded him about it. I was quite exasperated with the conversation in the end and just wanted to continue on with my lesson. Finally Nazlri sighing and yelled “Not student Deniz, THAT Deniz” pointing out the window. One vague recollection later and I realize she was in fact talking about the sea. Deniz means sea in Turkish. Well that explained a lot I thought. 

Frankly I think it would be annoying quite to be called sea or sky or some other common word as whenever I hear people say Arlene or other things sounding vaguely like my name I automatically turn around in expectation. (Having said that I have never heard any June’s or Rose’s complain of any such confusion so it’s probably not too troublesome in reality.)

Another interesting aspect to the whole Turkish naming culture I recently found out is the fact that they only legally adopted their surnames in the thirties. Most people were sensible and adopted names that were their profession or place-names. Others were apparently not so on the ball which is why (according to one source) some unfortunate people got stuck with the very uncommon surname Chicken-man (in Turkish of course). Pair it with some of the names above and you get ‘Desired chicken man’, ‘Coy chickenman’ or my all-time favourite ‘Secret chickenman’. A Secret chicken-man, mmm that conjures up some interesting/delicious images …..

Secrets of Istanbul.

The best thing about extending you time in one country is that you find out about all the great secret places that are not part of the usual tourist itinerary. Istanbul in particular is one of those cities where you discover the best sites NOT from your guide book but by wandering around, reading expat blogs and chatting to people- but mostly from wandering and reading blogs. This was how I found out about the UNESCO protected district of Fener and Balat. Setting off on the 99 bus my only directions to the area were vague instructions I had read off an Istanbul forum. But since I had nothing else to do with my Saturday getting lost on a sunny day with my camera actually seemed pretty appealing. As it happened it was a walkable journey and so I jumped off the bus after 5 minutes because I saw a restaurant with the word Balat in it and presumed I was in the general area. From there I decided I would weave through the streets uphill and away from the Bosphorous. Although this area is just a few blocks from Sulatanahmet the area couldn’t be more different and immediately appeared to be a tourist free zone which was great as it also meant I could wander around without having to constantly dodge touts selling “LOVELY pashminas” or chatty carpet sellers who are for some reason falling over themselves to find out where I’m from. Free to wander uninterrupted the first thing I noticed was that although the streets were far from crowded they were still buzzing and atmospheric. Young men stood outside chatting and chiding each other over glasses of chai while stall holders selling fruit and nuts hollered about how great their prices were. Women simply sat on their doorstep alone or in groups watching the world float by. The children, happy to be left alone jumped over elastics, with hula-hoops or on tricycles, all under an inflated shimmering sun. I stood out a mile of course with my blonde hair, fair skin and big camera but in ways it felt like a flash back to my days in korea where everyone stares at you curiously but not unpleasantly. I had brought my camera hoping I might be able to take photos but had worried that capturing the locals might be a bit tricky. However as it turned out It wasn’t even me had to do the asking and the local were very keen to be snapped. A group of men who actually had less English than I have Turkish were the first people to chat to me and they seemed more than happy to have me wandering through the area although I sensibly declined their invite to drink raki with them. Later, Cute children traipsed behind me speaking in Turkish or asking “My name is …….??”. A gaggle of girls I saw singing and plaiting strips of leather against a window whispered conspiratorially when they saw me coming giving me a rehearsed chorus of hellos as I approached. They didn’t speak much more English than that but from gestures I gathered that they were making something for their hair and that they wanted me to take their picture. One of the things I liked most about the neighbourhoods is that although they may be dilapidated they were brighter and more colourful than most of the other streets in similar areas. Just google image Fener and Balat you will see pictures with floral laundry strung back and forth between the old houses painted in primary colours. The district has the good fortune (for a photographer at least) to be nestled among hills and so the view gets more picturesque as you continue to make your ascent. After wandering around for an hour or so I was delighted to find a functioning local market square complete with restaurants, shops and fountains. Although I was way more out of place here than I would be in the grand bazaar I didn’t get any or the usual hustling for my custom. Many people saw my camera and wanted me to take pictures of their stalls or shop fronts for some inexplicable reason with one guy insisting I take several shots of the piles of tobacco he was selling. The great thing about this square however was that it had the old walls as it’s backdrop so it was easy to step back into time an imagine yourself in the same spot hundreds of years ago with horses and carts ambling along the cobbles stones coming through the old city gates to sell their wares. As I was beginning to make tracks back to Eminonu happy with my little adventure I spotted a short cul-de sac lined with ottoman style wooden houses. It seemed like most of the neighbours who were dressed mostly in clashing loose fitting florals were out on the street conversing, knitting or shaking the dust from their rugs. In fact they looked like quite the jovial bunch. Looking at their eyes and complexions I figured they were of Romany descent. I had previously read that Roma groups had only come to the area in the nineties. With a history of Jewish European Armenian and Balkan settlement they only added to an already diverse melting pot. Although I was feeling a bit timid I still felt compelled to wander up the street even if I wasn’t sure what to do when I got to the end of it. I didn’t want to take out my camera and risk looking like a nosy insensitive tourist. (Images of being chased by plump gypsy women with broomsticks came to mind) However it turned out they were indeed the bubbly lot they appeared to be. It was this woman in the picture above who suggested I make myself useful and take a few photos. At first she was acting like a bit of a mother hen and trying to push other people into posing for me so I told her she should go first and show everyone how it’s done. After that they were all keen to be snapped. From what I gathered from people’s limited English/my limited Turkish mThe best thing about extending you time in one country is that you find out about all the great secret places that are not part of the usual tourist itinerary. Istanbul in particular is one of those cities where you discover the best sites NOT from your guide book but by wandering around, reading expat blogs and chatting to people- but mostly from wandering and reading blogs. This was how I found out about the UNESCO protected district of Fener and Balat. Setting off on the 99 bus my only directions to the area were vague instructions I had read off an Istanbul forum. But since I had nothing else to do with my Saturday getting lost on a sunny day with my camera actually seemed pretty appealing. As it happened it was a walkable journey and so I jumped off the bus after 5 minutes because I saw a restaurant with the word Balat in it and presumed I was in the general area. From there I decided I would weave through the streets uphill and away from the Bosphorous. Although this area is just a few blocks from Sulatanahmet the area couldn’t be more different and immediately appeared to be a tourist free zone which was great as it also meant I could wander around without having to constantly dodge touts selling “LOVELY pashminas” or chatty carpet sellers who are for some reason falling over themselves to find out where I’m from. Free to wander uninterrupted the first thing I noticed was that although the streets were far from crowded they were still buzzing and atmospheric. Young men stood outside chatting and chiding each other over glasses of chai while stall holders selling fruit and nuts hollered about how great their prices were. Women simply sat on their doorstep alone or in groups watching the world float by. The children, happy to be left alone jumped over elastics, with hula-hoops or on tricycles, all under an inflated shimmering sun. I stood out a mile of course with my blonde hair, fair skin and big camera but in ways it felt like a flash back to my days in korea where everyone stares at you curiously but not unpleasantly. I had brought my camera hoping I might be able to take photos but had worried that capturing the locals might be a bit tricky. However as it turned out It wasn’t even me had to do the asking and the local were very keen to be snapped. A group of men who actually had less English than I have Turkish were the first people to chat to me and they seemed more than happy to have me wandering through the area although I sensibly declined their invite to drink raki with them. Later, Cute children traipsed behind me speaking in Turkish or asking “My name is …….??”. A gaggle of girls I saw singing and plaiting strips of leather against a window whispered conspiratorially when they saw me coming giving me a rehearsed chorus of hellos as I approached. They didn’t speak much more English than that but from gestures I gathered that they were making something for their hair and that they wanted me to take their picture. One of the things I liked most about the neighbourhoods is that although they may be dilapidated they were brighter and more colourful than most of the other streets in similar areas. Just google image Fener and Balat you will see pictures with floral laundry strung back and forth between the old houses painted in primary colours. The district has the good fortune (for a photographer at least) to be nestled among hills and so the view gets more picturesque as you continue to make your ascent. After wandering around for an hour or so I was delighted to find a functioning local market square complete with restaurants, shops and fountains. Although I was way more out of place here than I would be in the grand bazaar I didn’t get any or the usual hustling for my custom. Many people saw my camera and wanted me to take pictures of their stalls or shop fronts for some inexplicable reason with one guy insisting I take several shots of the piles of tobacco he was selling. The great thing about this square however was that it had the old walls as it’s backdrop so it was easy to step back into time an imagine yourself in the same spot hundreds of years ago with horses and carts ambling along the cobbles stones coming through the old city gates to sell their wares. As I was beginning to make tracks back to Eminonu happy with my little adventure I spotted a short cul-de sac lined with ottoman style wooden houses. It seemed like most of the neighbours who were dressed mostly in clashing loose fitting florals were out on the street conversing, knitting or shaking the dust from their rugs. In fact they looked like quite the jovial bunch. Looking at their eyes and complexions I figured they were of Romany descent. I had previously read that Roma groups had only come to the area in the nineties. With a history of Jewish European Armenian and Balkan settlement they only added to an already diverse melting pot. Although I was feeling a bit timid I still felt compelled to wander up the street even if I wasn’t sure what to do when I got to the end of it. I didn’t want to take out my camera and risk looking like a nosy insensitive tourist. (Images of being chased by plump gypsy women with broomsticks came to mind) However it turned out they were indeed the bubbly lot they appeared to be. It was this woman in the picture above who suggested I make myself useful and take a few photos. At first she was acting like a bit of a mother hen and trying to push other people into posing for me so I told her she should go first and show everyone how it’s done. After that they were all keen to be snapped. From what I gathered from people’s The best thing about extending you time in one country is that you find out about all the great secret places that are not part of the usual tourist itinerary. Istanbul in particular is one of those cities where you discover the best sites NOT from your guide book but by wandering around, reading expat blogs and chatting to people- but mostly from wandering and reading blogs. This was how I found out about the UNESCO protected district of Fener and Balat. Setting off on the 99 bus my only directions to the area were vague instructions I had read off an Istanbul forum. But since I had nothing else to do with my Saturday getting lost on a sunny day with my camera actually seemed pretty appealing. As it happened it was a walkable journey and so I jumped off the bus after 5 minutes because I saw a restaurant with the word Balat in it and presumed I was in the general area. From there I decided I would weave through the streets uphill and away from the Bosphorous. Although this area is just a few blocks from Sulatanahmet the area couldn’t be more different and immediately appeared to be a tourist free zone which was great as it also meant I could wander around without having to constantly dodge touts selling “LOVELY pashminas” or chatty carpet sellers who are for some reason falling over themselves to find out where I’m from. Free to wander uninterrupted the first thing I noticed was that although the streets were far from crowded they were still buzzing and atmospheric. Young men stood outside chatting and chiding each other over glasses of chai while stall holders selling fruit and nuts hollered about how great their prices were. Women simply sat on their doorstep alone or in groups watching the world float by. The children, happy to be left alone jumped over elastics, with hula-hoops or on tricycles, all under an inflated shimmering sun. I stood out a mile of course with my blonde hair, fair skin and big camera but in ways it felt like a flash back to my days in korea where everyone stares at you curiously but not unpleasantly. I had brought my camera hoping I might be able to take photos but had worried that capturing the locals might be a bit tricky. However as it turned out It wasn’t even me had to do the asking and the local were very keen to be snapped. A group of men who actually had less English than I have Turkish were the first people to chat to me and they seemed more than happy to have me wandering through the area although I sensibly declined their invite to drink raki with them. Later, Cute children traipsed behind me speaking in Turkish or asking “My name is …….??”. A gaggle of girls I saw singing and plaiting strips of leather against a window whispered conspiratorially when they saw me coming giving me a rehearsed chorus of hellos as I approached. They didn’t speak much more English than that but from gestures I gathered that they were making something for their hair and that they wanted me to take their picture. One of the things I liked most about the neighbourhoods is that although they may be dilapidated they were brighter and more colourful than most of the other streets in similar areas. Just google image Fener and Balat you will see pictures with floral laundry strung back and forth between the old houses painted in primary colours. The district has the good fortune (for a photographer at least) to be nestled among hills and so the view gets more picturesque as you continue to make your ascent. After wandering around for an hour or so I was delighted to find a functioning local market square complete with restaurants, shops and fountains. Although I was way more out of place here than I would be in the grand bazaar I didn’t get any or the usual hustling for my custom. Many people saw my camera and wanted me to take pictures of their stalls or shop fronts for some inexplicable reason with one guy insisting I take several shots of the piles of tobacco he was selling. The great thing about this square however was that it had the old walls as it’s backdrop so it was easy to step back into time an imagine yourself in the same spot hundreds of years ago with horses and carts ambling along the cobbles stones coming through the old city gates to sell their wares. As I was beginning to make tracks back to Eminonu happy with my little adventure I spotted a short cul-de sac lined with ottoman style wooden houses. It seemed like most of the neighbours who were dressed mostly in clashing loose fitting florals were out on the street conversing, knitting or shaking the dust from their rugs. In fact they looked like quite the jovial bunch. Looking at their eyes and complexions I figured they were of Romany descent. I had previously read that Roma groups had only come to the area in the nineties. With a history of Jewish European Armenian and Balkan settlement they only added to an already diverse melting pot. Although I was feeling a bit timid I still felt compelled to wander up the street even if I wasn’t sure what to do when I got to the end of it. I didn’t want to take out my camera and risk looking like a nosy insensitive tourist. (Images of being chased by plump gypsy women with broomsticks came to mind) However it turned out they were indeed the bubbly lot they appeared to be. It was this woman in the picture above who suggested I make myself useful and take a few photos. At first she was acting like aThe best thing about extending you time in one country is that you find out about all the great secret places that are not part of the usual tourist itinerary. Istanbul in particular is one of those cities where you discover the best sites NOT from your guide book but by wandering around, reading expat blogs and chatting to people- but mostly from wandering and reading blogs. This was how I found out about the UNESCO protected district of Fener and Balat. Setting off on the 99 bus my only directions to the area were vague instructions I had read off an Istanbul forum. But since I had nothing else to do with my Saturday getting lost on a sunny day with my camera actually seemed pretty appealing. As it happened it was a walkable journey and so I jumped off the bus after 5 minutes because I saw a restaurant with the word Balat in it and presumed I was in the general area. From there I decided I would weave through the streets uphill and away from the Bosphorous. Although this area is just a few blocks from Sulatanahmet the area couldn’t be more different and immediately appeared to be a tourist free zone which was great as it also meant I could wander around without having to constantly dodge touts selling “LOVELY pashminas” or chatty carpet sellers who are for some reason falling over themselves to find out where I’m from. Free to wander uninterrupted the first thing I noticed was that although the streets were far from crowded they were still buzzing and atmospheric. Young men stood outside chatting and chiding each other over glasses of chai while stall holders selling fruit and nuts hollered about how great their prices were. Women simply sat on their doorstep alone or in groups watching the world float by. The children, happy to be left alone jumped over elastics, with hula-hoops or on tricycles, all under an inflated shimmering sun. I stood out a mile of course with my blonde hair, fair skin and big camera but in ways it felt like a flash back to my days in korea where everyone stares at you curiously but not unpleasantly. I had brought my camera hoping I might be able to take photos but had worried that capturing the locals might be a bit tricky. However as it turned out It wasn’t even me had to do the asking and the local were very keen to be snapped. A group of men who actually had less English than I have Turkish were the first people to chat to me and they seemed more than happy to have me wandering through the area although I sensibly declined their invite to drink raki with them. Later, Cute children traipsed behind me speaking in Turkish or asking “My name is …….??”. A gaggle of girls I saw singing and plaiting strips of leather against a window whispered conspiratorially when they saw me coming giving me a rehearsed chorus of hellos as I approached. They didn’t speak much more English than that but from gestures I gathered that they were making something for their hair and that they wanted me to take their picture. One of the things I liked most about the neighbourhoods is that although they may be dilapidated they were brighter and more colourful than most of the other streets in similar areas. Just google image Fener and Balat you will see pictures with floral laundry strung back and forth between the old houses painted in primary colours. The district has the good fortune (for a photographer at least) to be nestled among hills and so the view gets more picturesque as you continue to make your ascent. After wandering around for an hour or so I was delighted to find a functioning local market square complete with restaurants, shops and fountains. Although I was way more out of place here than I would be in the grand bazaar I didn’t get any or the usual hustling for my custom. Many people saw my camera and wanted me to take pictures of their stalls or shop fronts for some inexplicable reason with one guy insisting I take several shots of the piles of tobacco he was selling. The great thing about this square however was that it had the old walls as it’s backdrop so it was easy to step back into time an imagine yourself in the same spot hundreds of years ago with horses and carts ambling along the cobbles stones coming through the old city gates to sell their wares. As I was beginning to make tracks back to Eminonu happy with my little adventure I spotted a short cul-de sac lined with ottoman style wooden houses. It seemed like most of the neighbours who were dressed mostly in clashing loose fitting florals were out on the street conversing, knitting or shaking the dust from their rugs. In fact they looked like quite the jovial bunch. Looking at their eyes and complexions I figured they were of Romany descent. I had previously read that Roma groups had only come to the area in the nineties. With a history of Jewish European Armenian and Balkan settlement they only added to an already diverse melting pot. Although I was feeling a bit timid I still felt compelled to wander up the street even if I wasn’t sure what to do when I got to the end of it. I didn’t want to take out my camera and risk looking like a nosy insensitive tourist. (Images of being chased by plump gypsy women with broomsticks came to mind) However it turned out they were indeed the bubbly lot they appeared to be. It was this woman in the picture above who suggested I make myself useful and take a few photos. At first she was acting like a bit of a mother hen and trying to push other people into posing for me so I told her she should go first and show everyone how it’s done. After that thThe best thing about extending you time in one country is that you find out about all the great secret places that are not part of the usual tourist itinerary. Istanbul in particular is one of those cities where you discover the best sites NOT from your guide book but by wandering around, reading expat blogs and chatting to people- but mostly from wandering and reading blogs. This was how I found out about the UNESCO protected district of Fener and Balat. Setting off on the 99 bus my only directions to the area were vague instructions I had read off an Istanbul forum. But since I had nothing else to do with my Saturday getting lost on a sunny day with my camera actually seemed pretty appealing. As it happened it was a walkable journey and so I jumped off the bus after 5 minutes because I saw a restaurant with the word Balat in it and presumed I was in the general area. From there I decided I would weave through the streets uphill and away from the Bosphorous. Although this area is just a few blocks from Sulatanahmet the area couldn’t be more different and immediately appeared to be a tourist free zone which was great as it also meant I could wander around without having to constantly dodge touts selling “LOVELY pashminas” or chatty carpet sellers who are for some reason falling over themselves to find out where I’m from. Free to wander uninterrupted the first thing I noticed was that although the streets were far from crowded they were still buzzing and atmospheric. Young men stood outside chatting and chiding each other over glasses of chai while stall holders selling fruit and nuts hollered about how great their prices were. Women simply sat on their doorstep alone or in groups watching the world float by. The children, happy to be left alone jumped over elastics, with hula-hoops or on tricycles, all under an inflated shimmering sun. I stood out a mile of course with my blonde hair, fair skin and big camera but in ways it felt like a flash back to my days in korea where everyone stares at you curiously but not unpleasantly. I had brought my camera hoping I might be able to take photos but had worried that capturing the locals might be a bit tricky. However as it turned out It wasn’t even me had to do the asking and the local were very keen to be snapped. A group of men who actually had less English than I have Turkish were the first people to chat to me and they seemed more than happy to have me wandering through the area although I sensibly declined their invite to drink raki with them. Later, Cute children traipsed behind me speaking in Turkish or asking “My name is …….??”. A gaggle of girls I saw singing and plaiting strips of leather against a window whispered conspiratorially when they saw me coming giving me a rehearsed chorus of hellos as I approached. They didn’t speak much more English than that but from gestures I gathered that they were making something for their hair and that they wanted me to take their picture. One of the things I liked most about the neighbourhoods is that although they may be dilapidated they were brighter and more colourful than most of the other streets in similar areas. Just google image Fener and Balat you will see pictures with floral laundry strung back and forth between the old houses painted in primary colours. The district has the good fortune (for a photographer at least) to be nestled among hills and so the view gets more picturesque as you continue to make your ascent. After wandering around for an hour or so I was delighted to find a functioning local market square complete with restaurants, shops and fountains. Although I was way more out of place here than I would be in the grand bazaar I didn’t get any or the usual hustling for my custom. Many people saw my camera and wanted me to take pictures of their stalls or shop fronts for some inexplicable reason with one guy insisting I take several shots of the piles of tobacco he was selling. The great thing about this square however was that it had the old walls as it’s backdrop so it was easy to step back into time an imagine yourself in the same spot hundreds of years ago with horses and carts ambling along the cobbles stones coming through the old city gates to sell their wares. As I was beginning to make tracks back to Eminonu happy with my little adventure I spotted a short cul-de sac lined with ottoman style wooden houses. It seemed like most of the neighbours who were dressed mostly in clashing loose fitting florals were out on the street conversing, knitting or shaking the dust from their rugs. In fact they looked like quite the jovial bunch. Looking at their eyes and complexions I figured they were of Romany descent. I had previously read that Roma groups had only come to the area in the nineties. With a history of Jewish European Armenian and Balkan settlement they only added to an already diverse melting pot. Although I was feeling a bit timid I still felt compelled to wander up the street even if I wasn’t sure what to do when I got to the end of it. I didn’t want to take out my camera and risk looking like a nosy insensitive tourist. (Images of being chased by plump gypsy women with broomsticks came to mind) However it turned out they were indeed the bubbly lot they appeared to be. It was this woman in the picture above who suggested I make myself useful and take a few photos. At first she was acting like a bit of a mother hen and trying to push other people into posing The best thing about extending you time in one country is that you find out about all the great secret places that are not part of the usual tourist itinerary. Istanbul in particular is one of those cities where you discover the best sites NOT from your guide book but by wandering around, reading expat blogs and chatting to people- but mostly from wandering and reading blogs. This was how I found out about the UNESCO protected district of Fener and Balat. Setting off on the 99 bus my only directions to the area were vague instructions I had read off an Istanbul forum. But since I had nothing else to do with my Saturday getting lost on a sunny day with my camera actually seemed pretty appealing. As it happened it was a walkable journey and so I jumped off the bus after 5 minutes because I saw a restaurant with the word Balat in it and presumed I was in the general area. From there I decided I would weave through the streets uphill and away from the Bosphorous. Although this area is just a few blocks from Sulatanahmet the area couldn’t be more different and immediately appeared to be a tourist free zone which was great as it also meant I could wander around without having to constantly dodge touts selling “LOVELY pashminas” or chatty carpet sellers who are for some reason falling over themselves to find out where I’m from. Free to wander uninterrupted the first thing I noticed was that although the streets were far from crowded they were still buzzing and atmospheric. Young men stood outside chatting and chiding each other over glasses of chai while stall holders selling fruit and nuts hollered about how great their prices were. Women simply sat on their doorstep alone or in groups watching the world float by. The children, happy to be left alone jumped over elastics, with hula-hoops or on tricycles, all under an inflated shimmering sun. I stood out a mile of course with my blonde hair, fair skin and big camera but in ways it felt like a flash back to my days in korea where everyone stares at you curiously but not unpleasantly. I had brought my camera hoping I might be able to take photos but had worried that capturing the locals might be a bit tricky. However as it turned out It wasn’t even me had to do the asking and the local were very keen to be snapped. A group of men who actually had less English than I have Turkish were the first people to chat to me and they seemed more than happy to have me wandering through the area although I sensibly declined their invite to drink raki with them. Later, Cute children traipsed behind me speaking in Turkish or asking “My name is …….??”. A gaggle of girls I saw singing and plaiting strips of leather against a window whispered conspiratorially when they saw me coming giving me a rehearsed chorus of hellos as I approached. They didn’t speak much more English than that but from gestures I gathered that they were making something for their hair and that they wanted me to take their picture. One of the things I liked most about the neighbourhoods is that although they may be dilapidated they were brighter and more colourful than most of the other streets in similar areas. Just google image Fener and Balat you will see pictures with floral laundry strung back and forth between the old houses painted in primary colours. The district has the good fortune (for a photographer at least) to be nestled among hills and so the view gets more picturesque as you continue to make your ascent. After wandering around for an hour or so I was delighted to find a functioning local market square complete with restaurants, shops and fountains. Although I was way more out of place here than I would be in the grand bazaar I didn’t get any or the usual hustling for my custom. Many people saw my camera and wanted me to take pictures of their stalls or shop fronts for some inexplicable reason with one guy insisting I take several shots of the piles of tobacco he was selling. The great thing about this square however was that it had the old walls as it’s backdrop so it was easy to step back into time an imagine yourself in the same spot hundreds of years ago with horses and carts ambling along the cobbles stones coming through the old city gates to sell their wares. As I was beginning to make tracks back to Eminonu happy with my little adventure I spotted a short cul-de sac lined with ottoman style wooden houses. It seemed like most of the neighbours who were dressed mostly in clashing loose fitting florals were out on the street conversing, knitting or shaking the dust from their rugs. In fact they looked like quite the jovial bunch. Looking at their eyes and complexions I figured they were of Romany descent. I had previously read that Roma groups had only come to the area in the nineties. With a history of Jewish European Armenian and Balkan settlement they only added to an already diverse melting pot. Although I was feeling a bit timid I still felt compelled to wander up the street even if I wasn’t sure what to do when I got to the end of it. I didn’t want to take out my camera and risk looking like a nosy insensitive tourist. (Images of being chased by plump gypsy women with broomsticks came to mind) However it turned out they were indeed the bubbly lot they appeared to be. It was this woman in the picture above who suggested I make myself useful and take a few photos. At first she was acting like a bit of a mother hen and trying to push other people into posing for me so I told her she should go first and show everyone how it’s done. After that they were all keen to be snapped. From what I gathered from people’s limited English/my limited Turkish most people wanted me to send the photos to them. Of course it might just be easier to hand them back in person and then I can take even more photos. Hmm…I can see many return trips in the future. me so I told her she should go first and show everyone how it’s done. After that they were all keen to be snapped. From what I gathered from people’s limited English/my limited Turkish most people wanted me to send the photos to them. Of course it might just be easier to hand them back in person and then I can take even more photos. Hmm…I can see many return trips in the future. ey were all keen to be snapped. From what I gathered from people’s limited English/my limited Turkish most people wanted me to send the photos to them. Of course it might just be easier to hand them back in person and then I can take even more photos. Hmm…I can see many return trips in the future. bit of a mother hen and trying to push other people into posing for me so I told her she should go first and show everyone how it’s done. After that they were all keen to be snapped. From what I gathered from people’s limited English/my limited Turkish most people wanted me to send the photos to them. Of course it might just be easier to hand them back in person and then I can take even more photos. Hmm…I can see many return trips in the future. limited English/my limited Turkish most people wanted me to send the photos to them. Of course it might just be easier to hand them back in person and then I can take even more photos. Hmm…I can see many return trips in the future. ost people wanted me to send the photos to them. Of course it might just be easier to hand them back in person and then I can take even more photos. Hmm…I can see many return trips in the future.

Sound princesses

• For the girl who has everything…. a new Japanese product claims to make your faeces odor free!! The product which ACTUALLY uses the  tagline  “People must be responsible for their odors,” is reported to be selling very well. personally I never gave too much thought to the other patrons of public bathrooms until coming to Korea.  For it seems Japanese and Korean bathroom culture (can I call it that?) are rather similar in that respect. 

If you are siting on a loo in japan or Korea you are likely to find a little machine next to you called an “etiquette bell”. Just one push of a button and this little box will emit the sound of bird song, ocean currents or even a violin concerto.

At first I was perplexed “What could possibly be the purpose of this device?”. Does it perhaps signal that I am out of toilet roll..?  Reflecting on the name ‘etiquette bell’ I realised that it was in fact a subterfuge to any embarrasing noises that may drift from the cubicle. Apparently this mod con was first thought up in Japan where it is called The Sound Princess.  The fairer sex had a habit of continually flushing the toilet to cover up noises that made them blush, wasting a lot of water in the process. After some eco education campaigns didn’t change the women’s behavior the japanese decided that an etiquette bell was the best solution !

One of the other bathroom related things that continues to surprise me in Korea is that toilets seem to come only in two seemingly very differnt forms. On one end of the spectrum there is the squat, hole in the ground style toilet while on the other end there is the very cushy hi-tech toilet which heats up, cleans and emits a pleasant musk at  the touch of a button. However be warned if you are a curious cat  like me and you just want ” to see what happens” you may end up in the firing line of a jet dousing you with water.

One must always be prepared for riotous and endless waves of transformation.

Sorry, for the long title.When I read those words in Eat Pray Love back in October they kind of jumped out at me and slapped me in the face. I must have known that I needed a change because this week the  quote jumped out at me again - Just immediately after my Hagwon director told me that they would be closing down in just over two weeks time.  

I have worked at the school  for a year and 8 months now and although some children have come and went most of the children I started teaching back in July 2009 are still here. The curriculum, the  schedules and even the school lunches are basically same same.

I was at first taken aback by this  anouncement since my director had only recently  offered me numerous incentives to keep me  at the school.  But strangely enough  I wasn’t too bothered about the unsurping of my plans.   Actually  in about 2 seconds I realised that I hadn’t wanted to stay  at the school. Mostly I had just become comfortable. Partly I didn’t want to leave the children. Twenty months (with very few holidays!) is a long time and involves more tears, laughter and confiscated Pokemon cards than I care to remember so of course I am attatched.  

But the change I craved happened anyway probably because it was meant to. At first my director told me that there was  a job in Seoul with a sister chain and that they could get the time off for me that I wanted.  (Like most of my directors ideas this offer may in time prove to be a pie in the sky kind of thing.) However at first I was excited about the prospect of living in a nice modern apartment in central Seoul.  Before the offerI didn’t even realise that I wanted to move to Seoul but now it’s something I have decided I want to do even if I don’t do it right away… 

So the change has forced me to lay proper plans instaed of just going with the flow.

New life plan in a nutshell= temporary job, travel, home, back to korea in August to work at a seoul Public school, vacation in 2012 in london olympics and Home and then move to OZ.  A temporary job also means I’m not nailed down to a specific time-frame and  can travel for longer with my sister which would be awesome. I’m a little bit scared since I am jobless and only have two weeks to find a job but mostly I’m excited. This week I applied for a University job, and  a few other interesting possible offers raised their little heads. I have no idea which ones will come to  fruition if any but I believe that what is supposed to happen will happen AND I’m excited for the first time in a while.

A rose would still smell as sweet..or would it?

I  have always had a somewhat tumultuous relationship with my name. If I had been willing or even allowed to change it when I was a kid I would almost certainly now be called Jenny, Melissa or Sabrina. To an Irish 7 year old growing up in the early 90′s mind these were pretty girl names. The kind of names that belonged to girls who had sleep-overs, nice clothes, and cute stationery. None of the teenagers on Australian soaps  had a name like Arlene and there was no way of cutesying it up although I toyed with the name Allie for a while. All very titilating but what has prompted this little trip down memory lane I hear you ask. 

I recently started thinking about names after an interestiong conversation I had with a nineteen year old student I’m tutoring. She told me that a number of her friends had changed their names  recently. “Their english names?” I inquired casually since I’m used to Korean students changing their names as regularly as their ringtones.  ”Teacher I’m not Amy. Today my name is Elly”. Ok just sit down something ending in Y.

But no in this case it was catually their Korean names given to them at birth that they were disposing of. I was more than a little surprised I must say. I was under this illusion that most people’s names are pretty much set in stone apart from the odd nick name here and there. Names are like cuddly toys. After you spend a few years dragging them around with you, you are unwilling to throw them out. If we didn’t form relationships and carve identies from our names I’m quite sure that both Norbert and Fanny would be extinct by now.

 So why did these girls change their name and do koreans have  a different  attitude to names than I do I found myself wondering.  From what I have learned so far it seems that names are taken from actual Korean words.  They represent some virtue or positive quality and parents choose the name based on what they want their chidlren to aspire to.  So the popular korean name Sun means goodness while Kwan means strong etc.  My student went on to tell me that one of the girls in question changed her name because it didn’t match her personality while the other girl’s name was  actually TOO apt. Her name meant outgoing, bubbly (Typa A personality?) but her parents wanted her to become more studious . Apparently it’s also quite common to change your offsprings name because you disocver some new negative connotation or because you picked up a newspaper one day and the name is now under the headline WANTED.   But I have to say with the exception of being under witness protection I could not and would not change my name. As one of my SA friends and a  fellow kid who didn’t always appreciate her name put it “I can’t change my name. I AM my name”.

The art of procastination…

I have made a LOT of new years resolutions this year- The joy of getting older and having  a quarter life crises perhaps… I’m going to be healthier, more honest, and leran how to knit among other things…Unlike normal people I didn’t just scribble down a few things on a post it and stick it to my fridge however. No No I went all Oprah on it and emailed almost everyone I knew with my plans for the new year. However of all the things I want to do what I really feel motivated about this year is writing… I WILL write my blog regularly, I WILL get articles published and I WILL attempt a novel this year. (you heard it here first!)

The problem with resolutions is that time limits are relatively loose, a year seems sooo long.  I procastinate and instead of saying I will do it Sunday, I say  I will do it ONE day(not a day of the week actually!!). Over the years I have taken my procastination to an art form.  Instead of cleaning my apartment I tell myslf. “No one should have to clean on a rainy Monday”, Instead of writing my blog “My ideas are not properly formed, I’m sure after going for lunch, drinking wine with friends, looking on Facebook, and checking my online news, clarity will magically appear”.

 Writing in particluar is hard for me because I’m kind of a lazy perfectionist. I write tons of novels in my head, no details spared and even win booker prizes meanwhile not a word of this has been saved in any tangible form. I do this by convincing myself that I still have more to learn, more to expereince in life before I can possibly put pen to paper.

Recently I have been procastinating with all the major decisions in my life too. Should I stay in Korea or should I leave? was one such million dollar question. It was the hardest decision I ever had to make, mainly becuase I didn’t want to go or stay. So I waited for some Alchemist like sign to fall from the sky but in the end I just had to trust my own ability to make the decision. And come to think about it maybe THAT was the alchemist style lesson I was meant to learn.  

Last wednesday my good friends and I were sitting around having  a”Fat Chat”- love, passions and dreams were all conversation fodder. In the midst of this my very sensible  South African friend challenged me to make  one simple goal for the week and stick to it.  I must write a blog by  midnight tonight…(Lest my dreams  turn into  a pumpkin).

So here I am doing it. And as I complete it, it gives me a  sense of hope - This is the year I will not procastinate!

Getting the special treatment

The minute my flight landed in Korea  my  transition from “Just another Face in the crowd” to “Oh gosh it’s a westerner” was palpable. The stares,  the questions, the attempts at conversation from strangers became  a daily occurence and to be honest it made life more interesting. 

However over the last year with  more and more foreigners  coming to live in  big Korean cities such as Daejeon I am starting to feel like less and less of a novelty. And dare I say it, I kind of miss it! . I somehow sense that Taxi drivers are no longer surprised or amused by my means of communication -Timeworldih….molloyo? (dunno?) really, oh um.. ok chickchin.. chickchin..chickchin (straight..straight..straight). Even the school children who pass by me every day on the way to school seem bored of me, perhaps now realizing that if they shout out “Hello. How are you?” I may actually stop and continue to converse with them and they may not be able to sustain the conversation past this promising introduction. In recent months I haven’t even had any older Korean people calling me “yepboyo” (beautiful) -or wondering if my freckles are indeed the result of some nasty skin condition. 

 Thus I was very happy this week to be treated like the total fish out of water that I truly am! : )  You see I decided I would for the first time ever venture into my local generic Korean hair salon. I had previously been getting my hair cuts in a cushy western place in Seoul. It was less spontaneity and more necessity that prompted this unusual action. The brain wave came while making my way home in weather that’s pretty typical of rainy season.I was feeling lackluster because it was a Friday night and there was a forecast of  humidity hair and and  a cloud of spots on the horizon. Ergo action HAD to be taken! 

Upon arriving into the hair salon, I was met with a baffled look from the only female hairdresser there. The woman who was sporting a marmalade striped up-do actually stopped mid chop greeting me only with questioning lips. A young Korean man who was waiting for his perm to set actually put down his newspaper to stare at me- the pale faced waygook (foreigner ). “Shampoo, rinseeii” I asked letting the words hang in the air hoping that’s the kind of things Koreans requested when they arrived into a hair salon. When she recovered from the shock she politely asked me in korean to wait a little while. I nodded, sat down and rifled through the Korean fashion magazines for pictures of pretty shoes and handbags.

Later I noticed her go to the phone and ahem call for “back-up”.. “There is a waygook in the house, I repeat…A..” went an imaginary voice-over I created to keep myself amused (since I couldn’t actually understand the Korean magazines.) The hairdresser’s sister and  niece arrived five minutes later in their jeep/ batmobile. I was at this point having my hair washed by marmalade stripe girl and was enjoying the inevitable silence between people who speak different languages. The support team looked meek as they entered the building and were looking around for this curious stranger in their midst. When I was spotted the aunt coaxed her young daughter towards me.

“Hey. Where are you from?” The daughter who I guessed was about nine years old spoke with the easy air of a kid who had foreign English teachers at her hagwon. For the next 40 minutes the poor child stayed by my side translating the conversation back and forth between me, her mother and her aunt. There was lots of cooing with “oohs” and “awws” aplenty even when I made fairly beige statements such as “I’m from Ireland” and “I work in a kindergarten”.  Yup I was getting some fairly typical “Wow your foreign and therefore special” treatment and lapping it up!  Marmalade stripe girl admitted she had seen me around before but that she never thought I would come into the salon. Anyway when my hair was blowed and styled to perfection they invited me to come eat with them. Since my hair was done I didn’t need to rush home to get ready so I spent the next half hour munching on the pastries and fruit they had kindly provided and apologizing for my lack of Korean.

The bill for all this special attention was all of 8,000 won(6.50 in euros)! Yep I even got a 2,000 won waygook special discount. Aaah It’s good to feel special again!