girls just want to have fun

I should've written this post on Sunday night when I got home from work, but I was so tired and so emotional I willed myself to go to sleep. With my contacts still in. (So you know it was serious.) The last week has been exhausting and weird, and now that my two days off have turned into... unemployment/vacation, I'm only now getting to shake my thoughts out into something palatable.

Last Saturday I came home from work for half an hour to change clothes, rinse off some of the sweat, and grab a bite to eat before heading back into the lion's den that is my afternoon class. I ran into my roommate Hatice, and she very kindly invited me to join her and a friend for a cruise down the Bosphorus that evening. Now, let it be known that I almost always reject my roommates' invitations because of scheduling conflicts - and also because I suck. Hatice is one of my favorite people in the world, though, and the Bosphorus is one of my favorite... bodies of water. So very uncharacteristically, I told her I would try to make it if my class got out early. Well, after taking the wrong bus, and feeling confident that I would no way, no how make it to the boat before it departed, I DID make it. Twenty minutes late, and running with Hatice's arm guiding me through the throngs of relaxed Istanbullies shooting the shit at Beşiktaş pier. But I made it. And it wasn't until I stepped foot on the boat that I realized this wasn't just any evening boat tour. It was a feminist boat tour, and no men were allowed. What happens on a feminist boat tour of the Bosphorus? I had no idea. When I asked Hatice and her friend Zeynep, they told me it was mostly just to raise money, eat some food, and relax. There would be no major political speeches or bra burning.

Disappointing, right? Ha. Actually, the evening was everything but. I may not have understood 95% of what was said around me, but I know I'll never forget the experience. I am so, so grateful that I listened to the tiny voice inside my brain (the one that sounds like my mom) telling me to stop being so antisocial, for fuck's sake.

There are a lot of things I don't understand about Turkey. And since you are my friends, and since this is my blog and I'm trying to be honest, I'll tell you a few of them at the risk of you thinking I'm a prejudiced asshole:

1) Turkey is a supposedly vehemently secular country, and a self-proclaimed progressive society, and yet the government here is on the verge of banning abortion on the grounds that it's "murder." The prime minister's crony even said that if a woman is raped, she needs to go ahead with the pregnancy and the state will "raise the child." What. The. Fuck. Also: honor killings. They happen here. To this day. Disgusting.

2) Then there's the obvious. Burkas. In 90F heat with horrendous humidity. ARE YOU JOKING. Actually, even worse than the burkas are the "less extreme" girls with headscarves and fitted trench coats. (The burkas I've seen are made of a pretty light material.) Trench coats. With long sleeves, long skirts, and PANTYHOSE underneath the goddamn trench coats. ARE YOU FOR REAL. Ok. Sure. It's a religious thing. But when their boyfriends, brothers, and fathers are walking around in t-shirts and shorts, MY BLOOD BOILS. And when their faces are caked in more makeup than I own, I shake my head and wonder how that could be humility and a lack of vanity. It just doesn't make sense to me. Why would God want you to be dehydrated? Why would he want your every day existence to be so deeply physically uncomfortable? Frankly, if your god is telling you that your body is shameful and you need to cover it up entirely in this very inhospitable weather, that's a god you just don't need, ladyfriend.

Examples of that whole "look." I googled Armine, a huge scarf company here targeting the chic made-up trench coats girls.

3) There are some super smart, capable, liberal women here. I know this because my roommates and their friends are such people. But where the hell are the rest of them? And how do these women survive in a country that must make them feel so isolated? That sounds harsher than I mean it to, but I sincerely don't think that Turkish culture supports independent women in any way. It was kind of a big deal when I was assigned a Level 5 (of 6) class at work. One of my few female coworkers told me she had never - in her two years with the school - been given a level higher than 3; that they never gave girls the advanced classes. If the misogyny is so deeply-rooted, how do some women break those chains? And how is it going to change (assuming it does)? I love the female friends I've made here and I know we share a lot of mutual respect, but I am continually shocked by how timid, insecure, and fearful so many of them seem to be. A recent example: I invited my friend Necla to my going-away party next week, and she told me she would have to leave early because she's afraid of taking the metrobus alone at night. (True, that's where I got "the kind touch" from that pervert, but come on. The other 500 times I've taken it have been molestation-free.) She's 21. I know it's not her fault; she's been brought up to believe that the city she lives in is extremely dangerous (...) and she isn't strong enough to handle it. But still. Come on. Then there was my student Hilal, who told me she could never live with her boyfriend before marrying him though she would like to after she finishes university. When I told her that Turkish culture isn't going to change unless someone starts making the change, she agreed. And shrugged. And said it wouldn't be her.

Anyway. These are a mere three issues I have with this place. I bring them up to ready you for feminists on a boat.

I've been wondering where all the liberal ladies are, and I inadvertently signed myself up for four and a half hours with them. There were more tank tops, harem pants, and Berkenstock sandals than you could shake a stick at. (Harem pants - totally from Turkey and they bizarrely don't look ridiculous on these girls.) I spent most of the evening sitting on the deck, watching fifty women dance to an array of Turkish wedding songs, Turkish pop, and a few Kurdish and Arabic dance hits. If that sounds awkward, it wasn't. It was AMAZING. I feel like I got to peek behind an Ottoman curtain. Without men around to make things tense, these women totally let their hair down. There was laughing and joking. Hugging, and so much food. There was a drum circle, a lot of whooping and hollering, even a few lap dances. SO much bosom thrusting and booty shaking. One girl really went to town with some super legit belly dancing. And everyone knew the songs. When the boat reached the second bridge, and Rumeli Fortress, I had a realization: I was unwittingly taking part in something that has taken place for thousands of years in that very spot. These dances have been passed down through the generations. The ululations. (Yep. That shit is REAL!) The shoulder shaking. I looked at the women as they danced in front of me (I wasn't drunk enough) and admired how many of them had curly hair just like mine. (I think I counted 12.) Maybe I got caught up in the moment, but I felt like I was somehow connected to it all. Like I'd been there before. Like maybe some of the blood in their veins also runs through mine. I certainly look the part. That sense of belonging is Turkey's tragic twist of the blade for me. I feel so appreciated here most of the time. More desired physically than ever before, and told constantly how lovely and kind I am by the girls. But as a non-Muslim, there's really no chance it'll ever become more than that. No Turkish mother would welcome a godless, vegetarian Jew with open arms. Especially when she finds out I don't especially want to give her grandchildren, or live here full-time.

It was nice to be there, though, for that magical night of music and mayhem. I should also mention that the boat ride itself was wonderful. Istanbul is just as beautiful as night as it is in the heat of the day. I particularly loved seeing the massive wedding receptions at the super swank Çırağan Sarayı hotel, and the many receptions on the other boats we passed. If I ever eat those last words of never marrying a Turk (or, uh, marrying at all), I'm absolutely going to have my reception on boat down the Bosphorus.

Waking up the next morning was a challenge, but well worth it because instead of conducting a normal class, I accompanied my students to a part of Asian Istanbul called Çengelköy for breakfast. This excursion was organized by one of the girls in the class, a very warm and friendly elementary school teacher named Esra. Who is... one of my three covered students. She wears the trench coat and headscarf. And the bright blue eye makeup. And she is completely wonderful. And she wants to hang out all the time. What? Yeah. With me? I know.

To be continued. Because my eyes are on fire.