STORMS SOMETIMES COME IN THE FORM OF A YOUNG BEAUTY

STORMS SOMETIMES COME IN THE FORM OF A YOUNG BEAUTY

As I am trying to work with Zeynep to see what my options are, a gentleman approaches the booth stating he did online check-in, but couldn't print off his boarding passes, is there a way to print off his boarding passes so he can go to the gate. The answer is no. This is not the check-in booth and they can't do that. We understand, although it takes a few times to help the gentleman to settle down with the answer. We are both hanging around to see what our destiny is going to be in the hands of Zeynep and the handsome, as-a-matter-of-factly Portugese boss of hers, whose sparingly used words are addressed only to Zeynep not to us. As I start feeling as if the four of us are part of a scenario reminscent of Eugine O'Neil's plays, a storm rushes in in the form of a young, wild, upset, fidgety Turkish beauty. She looks very much like Zeynep, my daughter, slender, medium height, dark voluminous, long straight hair in a pony tail. The difference is that as beautiful as they are, her eyes are so heavily made up, I can hardly see her irises. Yet, I can see the lightening sparkling out of her eyes toward the Portuguese guy. And her words reaching Zeynep, the receptionist and her handsome boss are as fiery as her eyes.

She is interrogating Zeynep and her boss with a very high pitched voice: "I heard from my fiancee, who is on Turkish Airline (TA) flight coming from Istanbul (that is our plane that would have taken us to Istanbul!). He told me they came to Lisbon, they saw the Lisbon bridge, then the plane started falling!  Everybody was crying and screaming! and, and at the last minute the pilot decided they couldn't land and they took off and now they are in Faro! Everybody wants to get out, but they aren't opening the doors! (Hmmm, that may be a sign of imminent take off being expected?) How can TA be so irresponsible to let this flight take off and put lives in danger! Didn't TA know about the upcoming storm when all the Lisbonites knew about it!" All these questions are actually not questions but a slap on the face of the flabergasted Portuguese. As he is trying to interrupt her to get a word or two in, she goes on and on and on... Our handsome boss is getting more and more tense with this unfair attack, I can see.

Initial encounter between the angry beauty and the Portuguese Manager at the TA ticket booth was just like this

Zeynep is comfortable because the "storm" is addressing the "man", assuming he'd be the boss not the woman behind the counter, which turns out to be a true assumption in this case but not always. Don't we drift into that bias all too frequently? I have an embarrasing memory related to that. Interestingly, it is about how I met my hostess Teresa. I was giving a course on how to build multidisciplinary/interagency collaborative teams to address abusive head trauma at an international conference that was held in Turkey. I knew there was a group from Portugal in the audience. At the end of the session, this group started walking toward me: An elegant but small built woman, around my age, in the front, a tall younger woman and two tall men, one younger, the other, close to my age, walking right behind the small woman. The tall "older" man was at least a head above the small woman. She pointed to me with her index finger and said in a decisive voice "We want you in Portugal." "Wow" I thought "I'd never been invited to any country with this decisiveness" smiling. I did something terrible right at that point: I said "Sure, I'd be delighted, what I can I do for Portugal?" There was nothing wrong with the wording of course, but I was addressing the man behind, who turned out to be Teresa's junior!! ...because my subconscious under the bombardment of decades of gender roles, despite my mildly feminist approach to gender roles had failed me. I woke up to reality, when the tall man, who turned out to be my, now, dear friend Agostino, with an understanding smile on his face pointed his index finger down toward Teresa's head without luckily Teresa knowing it. Of course as soon as I got to know Teresa better, I told her this story and apologized for my bias profusely. Fortunately, this wasn't the first time Agostino was treated as the boss by strangers, I was forgiven.

So now, after calling poor Teresa several times to see what kind of planning we may do to make sure I leave Turkey on Monday without losing my chance to fly, we hear for the first time from this stormy beauty that those that had already checked in are just sitting at the gate, there is no aircraft for them to board. Just as our overmade beauty continues her attacks on the Portuegese boss, Zeynep guides me to not rush into making a plan right now and be patient. She tells me if we change my flight to tomorrow, say, and if this current flight manages to make it tonight, I will  lose my chance. They promise me, if I have to stay in Lisbon, all hotel expenses will be covered.  OK, I will wait, some more meditation around the corner helps although it is difficult to totally calm down when the beauty is still screaming at the desk.

In all this chaos, I feel for all parties and try to calm down this disappointed and scared young woman (in her 20s) to make things easier for everybody. If not, it looks like she may give non-stop hell to especially those behind the counter. The boss indeed has already had enough, he tells her he is not the one to make such decisions. He is doing his best with everybody else to make sure everybody is safe and to assess whether there is a way to bring the aircraft back to Lisbon. If there is they will do it as soon as possible. I turn my attention to our disappointed youth. She reiterates her story once more, her fear and anxiety are palpable. But more comes out this time.

She is in Portugal on an Erasmus exchange program. Her boyfriend was to visit her for only three days (one of the three is gone already, she makes sure to mention), she has reserved a hotel room for the two of them. And look what is happening now. She prefers him to be safe and go back home instead of coming to Lisbon and die. I caress her arm to show my empathy and understanding of her difficulty, this is acceptable in Turkish culture between women. I can see her calming down and the fire in her subsiding gradually, already. Eventually, she tells me and the other gentleman, who is also waiting, "well, if nothing else, you can come with me, I have a room reserved anyway" this brings a chuckle to all of us. I can't help saying "Oh, my, you don't want to spend your evening with two old academics, I am sure your love will make it here tonight." She smiles, she is hopeful, just as we are, too. Eventually, I tell her "you know there is good in every evil, you may discover this as early as tonight when you get together, your reunion may be much more delicious than it would have been. Or, later... As soon as this crisis is resolved, you will have a fun story to tell throughout your lives." She doesn't agree with the fun part, but, "a story to tell", she does buy with a warm, appreciating smile.

Around five o'clock, something unexpected happens, the boss after motioning Zeynep to behind the divide, he comes out with an offer: "We can check you in for the flight just in case it arrives here tonight, but if we do, you will lose your chance to have TA cover your hotel expenses in case the aircraft can not make it." I don't even think about it. I accept, this offer in and of itself tells me that there is a good chance of the aircraft arriving in Lisbon TONIGHT.  We already have learned that Faro airport had become refuge to some 25 aircrafts lined next to each other wing to wing. Both Faro airport and all airlines are motivated to get their aircrafts out of there and back to Lisbon. From that point on something unheard of happens. The ticket-booth staff become check-in staff, with help from other airlines' check-in staff since Zeynep has no idea of what she needs to do to check me in and to print off the other gentleman's boarding passes. At 5:15, we are at the gate with our boarding passes, the worst may be over. I turn on my I-pad and send e-mail messages to all, who needs to know where I am and what the next 24 hours look like.

The dead check-in counter enlivens with Zeynep finding another handsome Portuguese to check us in

I don't know how things at the airport turned around like this. From, check-in out of question, you will stay at a hotel and will continue tomorrow to being at the gate... Was it simply the boss wanted to get rid of us and save the hotel costs for two people? Was it the fact that what we shared with them with calm and no pressure reached their human side and they used whatever was in their capacity to help us? Was it something else? I don't know, I will never know, I want to believe it was the latter just because I want to continue believing in the good in my species. 

From that point on, it is a boring story. We arrived in Istanbul at 2:30 to discover that our luggage had not arrived. My netbook and I-phone in it, not good. But what can we do? My meditating self continued being calm at 3 am in the morning, when everybody else entering the lost and found office of TA was a storm, and disrespectful at that.  I felt for the guy helping us and told him so, too. "I wish people could understand that you simply are trying to help them and are not responsible for the lost luggage." He was very appreciative that at least one person was understanding him. Forms are filled and I will have to be patient and hopeful that the best airline of Europe, two years in a row, will find my luggage and get it to my address in Iowa City (They do, too, in three days after my return, my luggage is at my door). It was great to learn that TA would pay for a hotel room by the Golden Horn. Hilton Garden Inn in Sutluce, where sultans and Istanbulite elites used to picnic and enjoy sunny sundays hosted some 100 victims of air travel at 5 am on the 20th of January 2013. I will sleep until 9 and wake up to catch the shuttle that will take me back to the airport for another 18 some hours of air travel. One lesson I learned, never again, two countries in one week. I am getting too old for this. One country a week, or if two countries, take time off for two weeks. That is my resolution out of all this, which I will eventually recall as good memories full of good deeds and learning about others, about myself, yet again, about the world, and nature, and businesses, and who knows what else.

PORTUGAL IN WINTER: UNEXPECTED TORNADO

PORTUGAL IN WINTER: UNEXPECTED TORNADO

Early in the morning, I witness yet, another adorable aspect of Portuguese people or is it only in o Porto? Jose will come pick me up at 7:10 to take me to the station so that I can catch my train at 7:45. I am ready at the lobby at 6:50. The tall slender gentleman at the reception greets me and asks me if somebody is picking me up. After I tell him the plan, he has an anxious look on his face. He reports, the gate to the campus doesn't open until 8 am! O-ooo, that is not good. What are we going to do? He makes couple of phone calls, no solution. I am ready to go to the gate with him, for sure Jose must be out there not knowing what to do. But the receptionist is extremely anxious about the weather. He doesn't want to take me out in this "horrible and dangerous weather". I don't quite understand, all I see is that there is a bit of wind and it is raining. Portuguese, enjoying pleasant weather conditions throughout the year, I guess, are so spoiled a bit of disruption becomes a storm for them. I recall, Teresa's worried face about the anticipation of terrible weather from last night. We had even discussed whether Francine's flight to Netherlands would be delayed out of o Porto or not, Teresa thought not since the "storm" was expected to end before noon. I even asked if there is any expectation that trains may be delayed. Teresa dismissed this possibility with confidence. Good, "trust the locals" has always been my motto in all my international travels.

So, after a full night's storm that I heard none of, this must be it. I still do not understand how bad  it could be, though, not knowing what is lying ahead of me that will make this a day from 6:30 am until 5 am the next morning. Well, being the local, he is the boss; he tells me, he will go to the gate under the rain and wind and let Jose in. I will wait in the warmth of the casa and he will save me the bad trip. Sweet man. As soon as he leaves, I leave a note on his desk with my thanks and a generous tip, I know he won't take it if I give it to him face to face. That is how people in o Porto are, still living with the beautiful small town mentality with utmost hospitality that in large cities, I crave for. After my many many "muyt obrigada"s and a warm hug, one good man with a smile on his face hands me to another good man, Jose, with yet another smile on his face, who will see to it that I not only get to my train but into my compartment and will even make sure my luggage is placed securely. He gets a warm hug, too, how in the world can I not give heart-felt hugs to such good people?

 
Alfa train between Lisboa and o Porto, on the way to gave me a heaven, on the way back, something of a hell

I start working on my travel diary right away and notice that the train has left late, only when it moves around 8:15 instead of 7:45. I am curious about why for a second, but somehow I am so calm, don't inquire too  much; will find out soon and gradually it will dawn on me how severe a weather Portugal is capable of experiencing that I never foresaw. Gradually the meaning of the red alarm Teresa had mentioned the night before starts sinking in. I couldn't understand then what could be lying ahead, when it seemed like all there was, was a drizzle of rain and 10 km/hour or so of wind. Now the news comes in in bits and pieces as the train moves forward at 20 km/h instead of its usual 140-150. Our conductor and his assistant bring new information as it becomes available: Cables have been knocked down across the railroad, all trains are delayed or stuck in inappropriate locations blocking the way for the alfa train. Initially, we expect all will be good; The assistant to the conductor tells me "Don't worry we'll get you to LIsbon today". Today? That is nto good enough for me my friend, I must be there before 1 pm. He changes his rhetoric "Even with a 2 hour delay, you will be fine". I do hope so, I must to save all involved a lot of trouble. 

These were the kind of waves I saw through the window of my cabin on alfa train, certainly no surfers were in sight

The brief stretch that the railway runs right along the ocean gives me a good idea on what happened the night before and what still is happening. The ocean has swelled up through the night. I have never seen this side of Atlantic this swelled up, no wonder, I have never been to Portugal in the winter time. The waves are huge, about ten feet high, the entire ocean is thrusting itself with non-stop waves of surf beating up the beach. Vineyards and orange orchards have flooded to the south of o Porto all the way to Coimbra, to which we finally  manage to get around 11 am. Some severe weather did indeed take place, perhaps not in o Porto but very nearby is my initial daignosis not knowing what else I will witness, yet. Fortunately, my flight is at 2:55, so if, we manage to leave Coimbra at our usual pace soon, I still hope I can make it to my flight. How naive an expectation it will turn out to be, I don't know, yet.

Flooded fields looked exactly like this
At around 11:30, I decide to call Teresa and let her know of the situation so that I can get an insider's guidance. The best thing I did all morning. When I finally reach her, she tells me she is sending a driver from Coimbra to drive me to Lisbon. This decision is simultaneous with the assistant conductor bringing the news about the fallen trees from the storm blocking the railroad system. Wow, trees have fallen down, too, what is awaiting me, my goodness. Am I going to be able to make it to my flight? I am just a bit anxious now... meditation helps. The lovely assistant conductor, with an impeccable English helps me with my luggage and takes me to the meeting point. In 20 minutes the driver will meet me at the ticket office. Alas, by the time another good soul comes to pick me up it is 1 o'clock. He assures me that in 1.5 hours we will be at the airport. Knowing that my flight is already delayed to 3:30 calms me down a bit, just a bit.  



The roads I was on turne dinto parking lot just like this, except that this picture is from inland hit by the same storm that crippled all of Western Europe on Jan 20th 

I start losing hope as we head south; we spend half an hour to cover a stretch of couple of kms, another in yet another strecth. the more we travel, the more I realize the graveness of the situation. Tres lying on the highway, some cut and put aside, some still brushing the surface, tree batches with their tops torn and thrown... It downs on me that Portugal had a tornado last night. Whenever he can, my driver Raul hits the floor with the gas pedal driving at 160 even 180 km/hour. I wonder if this will be my end, not in the storm with his driving. But I can't tell him, slow down. Eventually, we arrive at the airport at 3 pm. Sure enough, the check-in booth has closed for the day for Turkish Airlines (TA). I go to the ticket booth. Check-in is out of the question, since it was closed at 2:15, Zeynep, the wonderful Turkish woman, who works for TA tells me. OK, I understand, I have traveled enough to know that once check-in is closed it is indeed closed, nothing can reverse it. There is talk that the flight may be canceled anyway due to weather conditions. I tell her my story. If I can't get to Turkey tonight, I will lose my chance to fly to the USA tomorrow as well. She is checking all alternatives, she is very helpful.

MY ELEGANT HOSTESS IN PORTUGAL

MY ELEGANT HOSTESS IN PORTUGAL

Tiago, Isabel, and I are home by the end of our conversation, after this brief ride. Teresa's apartment is very elegantly and artistically furnished with lots of antique artifacts from both of her and her husband's families. Antonio is also a physician, a surgeon, always smiling and much more relaxed than Teresa. With Teresa's fire, she really needs a laid back man to calm her down at times, just like Bill used to do with me. When I puttered around the house for too long, he'd come upstairs telling me "I feel guilty working on my project downstairs when you run up and down doing things aroudn the house." He would then wrap his arms around my waist from my back and pull me onto the sofa gently ordering "Sit for a while, it will feel good". That is the lovely man he was. We would chuckle and I would indeed slow down a bit and with his help we would finish up with everything in no time.

Yet, I am nowhere near Teresa. I have never met a woman who is more of a go-getter than Teresa, of course this makes her constantly multi-tasking and problem solving even when she is socializing. Antonio jokes about his wife's traveling schedule. "When she returns home, she is home only to start planning for the next trip". Teresa is one of the most unique women I have ever met in academic life. She is short, slender, beautiful (another Portuguese woman with royal beauty) and elegant. With all these outwardly deceptive features about who she really is, there is an amazon inside of her head and heart. She is as assertive as can any woman can get without jeopardizing her feminine elegance, remarkably intelligent with an extremely high mental, social, and emotional Q. She is a born-organizer and leader, one of the main locomotives of the field of child protection as it relates to forensic sciences in Portugal. It is a delight to work with such a soul mate in terms of what our aspirations are.

At the 19th World Chidl Abuse Conference Teresa, Antonia, and I attended in Istanbul.

Jose and his girlfriend Diena are also home, sweet, the entire family is meeting me this time. Jose has grown quite a bit since I last saw him, more manly now. Diena is very sweet, too. Of course since she is younger than Isabel there is an adolescently innocent air to her. Teresa calls her "Lady D". Thinking of Isabel's royal beauty I chime in "well, it looks like you are gathering royal girls under your wings". Isabel jumps in and says "There is Queen Isabel, too." We all laugh, I can tell how proud Teresa is with the girlfriend choices her boys have made. What I am looking at indeed is a perfect family picture.

The greatest surprise is to see Patricia with her 3 week-old daughter Maria Carolina walking in 15 minutes after my arrival. Patricia is a junior faculty at the Institute of Legal Medicine, the head of which is Teresa. I had hosted Patricia at my house when she did a mini-fellowship at my program at the University of Iowa over a 3 week period, two years ago. We became two sisters and enjoyed each other's company greatly during that time and she has a special place in my heart. It was so sweet to meet Maria Carolina and have our pictures taken with her. As we are finishing our red Porto wine, Patricia decides to go back home to have dinner with her partner Diego and keep her daughter's schedule uninterrupted. Warm hugs and good byes. I will have to give my gift for Maria to Teresa's secretary Maria to be delivered to Patricia when she can.

Maria Carolina, Patricia and I, with my mask I was using to prevent my laryngitis virus from making the little baby sick.


We have a delicious zucchini based soup as the first dish for our dinner along with a lovely bread Jose cooked for us. Portuguese cuisine has so many lovely vegetable based pureed soups, I love it. Main dish is cod fish baked in a creamy sauce and covered with a crunchy, delicious cheese crust. It is delicious along with Teresa's salad.  Teresa explains she made the soup and prepared the fish the night before only to warm up one and bake the other after her meeting at the TV station. This is her efficiency, which is quite familiar. We exchange our gifts, which has become our routine. I brought a Turkish hand made ornamental plate for her, and she gave me a pair of ear rings, that look quite royal as well. I will wear them to the conference for sure to bring a smile to Teresa's face. In a little bit, their cat climbs up on the table where Teresa placed the plate I brought. It is sniffing the plate, Antonio explains: "She has to familiarize herself with anything new that comes into this house." How perceptive of him, and another evidence every pet has a personality of their own.

We chat about economy in Portugal. It looks like they still are not out of the woods. Income tax rate has been increased to 50%, a lot of benefits for state employees are being eliminated. I learn that Portuguese health system is one of the best covering all expenses even for transplant surgery. Another surprising piece of information I obtain is that for decades in Portugal, state employees had received 14 salaries for working for 12 months a year. One of the two extra salary bonuses was for vacation expenses and the other for education. What a humane state structure. But no more, all of these are disappearing. They are now moving toward introducing co-payments into the health care system. Unfortunately, they are also looking into reducing the costs of the educational system as well. And they are back to 13 salaries instead of 14 this year, most likely to go down to 12 in the near future. As a result of unemployment reaching 20-30% for first-time employees that is for young people, a lot of professionals are moving out of Portugal to countries like England, Switzerland, Belgium, and Germany. Finally around 11 pm, we decide to end this lovely reunion and Tiago and Isabel drop me off at my hotel to rest in order to be ready for the big day tomorrow.

Third national Child Abuse Conference organized by the Portuguese Society for Prevention of Child Abuse & Neglect led by Propfessor Magalhaes


The conference goes very well.  The audience is impressive. There are two high rank administrators from the National Children's Services, two high rank prosecutors who are employed by the Ministry of Justice, physicians, lawyers, psychologists, social workers, etc. I am glad especially the high rank administrators hear my comments on how corporal punishment lead the way to physical and emotional abuse but more so my comments on multidisciplinary, interagency approach to address child abuse. I can't believe how the key individuals in the audience share my comments on multidisciplinary approach almost verbatim. Another wonderful news is that apparently the Portuguese government has signed into law the European Parliament's directive on how European countries should address sexual exploitation of children, which also focuses on multidisciplinary management and Portugal reportedly has to implement this multidisciplinary approach until the end of 2013. I am very hopeful for Portugal in terms of improving their response to child sexual abuse to start with. Teresa is delighted with the presentations and discussions. So am I. Another aspect I am very happy about is that the little Spanish I have turns out to be so helpful. I can follow about 95% of what is on the slides and I am gradually understanding more and more of the spoken language, too. Here is my resolution, I will get back to my Spanish studies as soon as I get over my jet lag when I go home.

ONE MORE TIME PORTUGAL

PORTUGAL AND YOUNG MEDICAL STUDENTS' UNDERSTANDING OF MEDICAL EDUCATION 

I am back to Portugal, my third time visiting o Porto as the locals call it. I love this town; with her twin sister Gaia and the Rio do Doru in-between, they are a miniature replication of Istanbul, which lies with her Asian and European halves, similar to Gaia and o Porto, on both sides of Bosphorus. This is my first time in o Porto in the winter time, though. It doesn't surprise me that it is raining constantly, how else she could be this green in the heat of the summer, but my hosts are profusely apologetical for the weather; typical for the wonderful people of o Porto, kind, polite, elegant, warm, and caring, wanting to make their guests as comfortable as one possibly can. I feel so much at home, almost more at home in this town than anywhere else in the world, surrounded with its good people. That is why I will be extremely surprised when Zeynep, the wonderful receptionist in Lisbon, who will help me get on the plane back to Istanbul tells me "Portugal is wonderful if it weren't for its people". I then recall Teresa telling me how different Lisbonites are from the people of o Porto. Who knows maybe Portuguese of Lisbon are different than those of o Porto.

Beautiful o Porto across from Gaia along Rio do Doru at night

I had another first experience in Portugal this time. Due to scheduling conflicts, instead of flying from Lisbon to o Porto, I had to take the fast Alfa train. Once I figured out the system and got onto my train, I so appreciated the experience. It was almost better than flying. My dear friend Teresa had reserved a "comfort" seat for me, equivalent to business class on a plane. It was indeed comfortable with music, and newspaper and drink service. I had a seat across from a gentleman was on the way to o Porto with a shared table in-between. I thought, it would be an opportunity to chat with a  local. But no, he had no eye contact with me, deliberately looking down or to the sides. After a few attempts to catch his eye, I decided, "just as in Turkey, it may be culturally inappropriate for well educated men to look at women and well educated and well mannered women to attempt to chat with stranger men", so I gave up and focused on my computer just as he did. During my last evening in o Porto, when the guests including myself were having dinner with Teresa and her husband, a gentleman at the restaurant approached our table and chatted briefly with Antonio, Teresa's husband again without casting an eye or acknowledging us, women I asked them whether this was what I assumed it was. They laughed so hard; especially Teresa was a scene to enjoy while she was telling me in a very animated way "Quite on the contrary, they look at you as if to pierce you and some, look at you from head to toe and all around." That was quite a demonstration of how she rolled her eyes as if she was turning me around to see even my back. Is that what is lying in even intellectual men of Portugal, who love to throw their jackets over their shoulders (without wearing) and stroll.

Portuguese men carry their coats this way when they are in a casual mood or with a casual group

At the end of my 3 hour 45 minute trip, Teresa's "driver" meets me at the entrance gate to "Campanha" pronounced as kaempaenyeah, which sounds like French, feels very musical to me. Jose Manuel is a short, slender, bright faced young man. Maria, Teresa's secretary describes him as in his 40s, but he looks like he is in his early 30s to me, always with a smile on his face, I will find out. His English is as good as my colleague Agostino's, pretty good! He acknowledges me with a warm smile; he must have studied well, the picture of me Maria had told me she was going to show him. With that warm smile, I know that must be who would be waiting for me. He pronounces my name beautifully as most Spanish-speaking people do. He is very helpful as all of o Porto people are. We have a pleasant chat on the way to my hotel, Casa do Medico, which is in the center of the recreational campus of the Medical School of the University of Porto. He tells me he is married to one of the secretaries, Amelia, who also works for Teresa. They have two daughters, one is 20 and works at a shop, "she is a shop-girl" he will describe her with a smile on his face, almost apologetical that she hasn't gone further in her education. The other is 13 and in school.  He tells me Teresa is at a TV station to promote the third child abuse conference she and her team have been organizing in o Porto, in which I will also be presenting tomorrow. I admire her so much, she is organizing at least 2-3 conferences a year in addition to several local/regional courses, in addition to all the clinical work she has to do, in addition to heading one of three branches of the National Institute of Legal Medicine in the country. Some of my friends call me 'force of nature', they haven't met Teresa, who is constantly thundering among Europe, South America, and Africa.

The incredible female leader of Portugal pushing for a very humane approach in her country to manage child abuse and neglect

As humble and chatty as I am with drivers, receptionists at hotels, secretaries of colleagues that I work with, seeing the expression on their faces, full of respect, a measured distance, the shy smiles; I wonder what kind of an impression we academics make on these lovely people's minds, who might not have been as fortunate as we have been with the resources that brought us to where we are now. I have seen over the years that my humility and friendliness can cover some of the distance between them and I in my attempts to communicate with them, but not fully. This, impossible-to-eliminate distance is based on biases that societal norms impose on them, I believe. Social psychology, perhaps should be the next thing I should study. As we chat warmly, I can't help but thinking of these biases, barriers almost remnants of perceived untouchabilities, subtle cast systems crippling our societies. I can't help thinking of gated communities of the USA, membership clubs and facilities, even the club locker room at the gym at my university, all geared toward a subtle segregation, which then lead to these impossible-to-cross barriers and biases.

My hotel room is simple but clean and comfortable. Portugal is going through such hard times, economically, I would be perfectly OK to stay with Teresa and her family, but she wants to treat me properly. Tiago, Teresa's older son, who just graduated from Medical School and, to my surprise, his girlfriend Isabel pick me up from the hotel to take me to their home for dinner. It is past 8 pm, this is the European style, dinner can wait until 8-9 pm. Isabel, I find out is also a medical student, and is she a beauty, my goodness, over the evening I will discover, inside and out. She has a real royal beauty, looks like one of the princesses with royal blood out of a Micalengelo painting. I tell Tiago "It looks like you have found the most beautiful girl in town." They both chuckle with pleasure, a bit of shyness on Isabel's face. I ask them how they met. Tiago interviewed Isabel when he was doing his master's thesis, which is part of medical education in Portugal, thus every physician graduates with a master's degree as well. When it came to defending his thesis, Isabel contacted him and asked him if she could come listen to his defense. I ask her "Did you have him in mind romantically then?" with a loving mischievous smile. She smiles back with a shy but innocently mischievous look in her eyes and nods her head. I crack up, they follow, how sweet. After all, as Teresa reiterates during the dinner, women are always the one, who leads the way to relationships, but doing it subtly since to make the man feel he has the lead is the talent we all need, that's what the society dictates on all of us, doesn't it? 

I can't help but think of the book that I am reading lately "Women don't ask". This is a book that was assigned to a group of women faculty, who volunteered to join a group our medical school decided to sponsor to help us women faculty learn our rights better and learn to ask for things we need professionally. As feminist as the authors clearly are, they resolve in the end that, as much as we should be more assertive to ask for what we need, we should still do it in a way we should not come across as assertive as men are expected and tolerated to do. Because.... our socialization dictates that. What a dilemma, not that I have a problem with that, I don't like extreme assertiveness bordering arrogance in either sex, but when will men learn to be mroe sensitive, more elegant and respectful when it comes to negotiating? I must say, we are still more lucky than generations of the last century, but still, we have a long ways to go to bring men and women onto the same platform.

Linda and Sara do a very good job in this book in explaining why men and women have totally different negotiation styles from home to work


Isabel is extremely humble, though, as if she is not aware of her beauty, her elegance and talents. Tiago just took his residency entrance exam, but is not expecting a very high score. He is interested in psychiatry, though, and is expecting he will be able to get into a program in o Porto since not many people are interested in psychiatry. He tells me he studied for the exam for only 6 months, I am astonished with the preceding "only". Isabel, on the other hand has started studying for it 4 months ago and she will take her exam next November! To top it all, they tell me, there are people who study much more and for longer than Isabel, too. Wow, quite similar to the Turkish system. But the equivalency of this in the USA is the three-tier USMLE tests. Medicine is tough all over the world, I guess.

PLEASURES OF A SUNNY SUNDAY BY IZMIR BAY AT CESMEALTI

PLEASURES OF A SUNNY SUNDAY BY IZMIR BAY AT CESMEALTI

Mehmet, Kezban and I decide to leave the city and go to Cesmealti after breakfast. It is a beautiful morning after apparently they had a severe cold front last week. Cesmealti is the shoreline quarter of a quaint little town called Urla located in the southwest of Izmir Bay. The shoreline is lined with small cafes, fish restaurants that are almost on or even in the water, in some cases. The one that we choose not only has an added patio-like platform extending into the water slightly above the sidewalk, but it also sprawls onto the rock pier stretching into the little cove. The cafe owner has scattered small wooden tables on the crest of the pier; it is so enjoyable, so casual, and natural that, although I doubt they have license to do that, I also doubt anybody, including the city officials cares about this violation of ordinance. Is there some bribing going on to keep the status quo, your guess is as good as mine. This is Turkey. As much as I like the societal organization in the US to protect everybody's rights, sometimes I miss this kind of benevolent breaking of rules and regulations if there is no financial gains behind it.

                                                                  Cesmealti

We sit at a table right at the tip of the crest of the rocky pier. I am savoring the unique experience of being surrounded with the Aegean on all three sides. The chatty crowd of Izmirites is behind us. It is lovely to feel how cheerful everybody is, upbeat conversations, chuckles, laughter within the hiss and fuss of the waves is all the audio stimulation that reaches my awareness. As we sip our tea, I can't help feeling awed with the size of the ducks around, some swimming in the water and some strolling casually among the tables or on the beach. They look like Canadian geese, and I know that that species doesn't visit this side of the ocean! I ask my sister-in-law to take a picture of some of the ducks while Izmirites are feeding them with bread or gevrek. As the sun starts her journey down toward the skyline, we decide to visit the open farmer's market, which is famous for its wild greens "horta", that Cretans like me and my mother appreciate greatly.

Huge ducks by another lakeside very similar to those I saw in Cesmealti

Farmer's markets "pazar" in Turkish, are different than those in the USA. One thing is that, for an approximate population of 100,000 or so a market is held at least twice a week on an assigned space covering at least 2 acres or so. The vendors start arriving around 5 am, unless they have camped out at the market place or in their trucks from the night before. By seven am, most vendors have arrived and are ready to go, with all colors of produce displayed in huge heaps underneath their canvas awnings. There is no set beginning time for the shopping, which is totally dependent on when the local crowd wakes up and start flowing into the market place. During the early hours of the day, many more, unofficial vendors arrive, spreading a canvas spread onto the asphalt at the periphery of the market place, extending the market into the surrounding streets, doubling, sometimes tripling the surface area of the farmer's market throughout the day. And, there is no official ending time to these markets, either. Whoever runs out of goods to sell is more than welcomed to leave. But majority has brought much more than they can sell and most of the market remains alive until after sunset. During the final hours before dusk, vendors become generous, reducing their prices by 30-80% and sometimes you may get a bunch of tomatoes, or beans, or whatever, for such dirt cheap, the peak of the crowd is usually during the afternoon. When majority of the vendors start loading their trucks with their tools and whatever they couldn't sell, the poor arrive and they start picking up, at no cost, the goods that are just dumped by some of the vendors, who don't want to take back what little is left.

A corner from a farmer's market, with true farmers selling their greens, "horta" in Cretan

Kezban and I start our expedition in the market. this is one of my most favorite times in Turkey, going to an authentic farmer's market, where I can find lots of peasant women, who bring their own produce, that most likely was picked just the night before, if not the very morning. Urla has a significant immigrant population from Crete, we know we will find lots of horta, wild greens that we Cretans steam and treat with olive oil, lemon juice, salt and sometimes with garlic and serve as salad/side dish along with fish or meat dishes. And, we do, too. I buy a few different kinds of horta, since we are planning to buy barbun, a special kind of salt water fish found in these waters, a delicacy for fish lovers. I  know my mom will love it as well. On the way out of the farmer's market, we take a peek at the old olive oil mill, that is being renovated by the municipality. It is heart-warming to see Turkish local governments becoming more interested in preserving the old and authentic.

As soon as we meet with my brother, we head toward the fish market, which is another unique phenomenon in Turkey. Each coastal town has a fish market, the size of which varies depending on the size of town. This town hosting tens of thousands of Izmirites each weekend, when the weather is good, has a fairly large one, two acres of covered area with hundreds of small open-front shops displaying all kinds of fish and seafood. We buy two kilograms (more than four pounds) of barbun, the favorite of most fish "connesouir" in Turkey and half a kilo of tongue fish for my mom. I have a feeling, 8 people, whom I will host for dinner at my mom's house tonight will not leave a single bone behind. And, that turns out exactly to be the case at the end of the evening. Everybody fills up their bellies with this crisply fried delicacy to the max, the last couple nobody wants anymore find their way to my, already full but eager-to-except-these-extras tummy, knowing that I won't be able to have them again until at least March, when I will return for my niece's engagement party.

A corner from a fish market, the orange fish is barbun

The rest of my visit to Turkey is job related. I will attend a conference related to a research project exploring the prevalence of adverse childhood experiences and sexual abuse in Balkan countries including Turkey, for which I have been scientific consultant and ethics committee member. I will meet with the Izmir Child Abuse Task Force to discuss their contributions to and expectations from the newly established Child Protection Center of Izmir as part of the second wave of pilot centers being established in the entire country to respond to child sexual abuse on a  multidisciplinary basis. I will finally spend a day at the said center and provide peer review to the wonderful and extremely enthusiastic and dedicated members of the center. Full three days of work before I leave to go to Portugal, and what wonderful three days they turn out to be. After I am done with my work, my belief in Turkish people has been renewed one more time; the good in them, the talents in its intelligent from its researchers, to its physicians, to its administrators, to its prosecutors, to its psychologists, to its victims, to its families wanting to help their children is shining through them in all they have done since my last visit. Good is everywhere, if only people with know-how do their part trusting their people with no hidden agendas solely with the purpose of helping who need our services. It was so gratifying to hear from the prosecutors, who have become part and best advocates of the Child Protection Center model say "this is the best project we have seen being implemented in Turkey for decades." What else do I need for all the hard work we have been doing for 11 years now to get to this point?

PROFESSIONAL ENVIRONMENTALISTS IN TURKEY

PROFESSIONAL ENVIRONMENTALISTS IN TURKEY AND TURKISH BREAKFAST

These children, the gevrekci boys, unfortunately come from poor neighborhoods, majority of whom, are helping their parents with their income. Most go to school, I learned over the years by talking with them. They get surprised when I attempt to talk to them asking them what neighborhood they live in, if they go to school, what grade they are in, how they are doing in school, etc. Apparently, most people tend to not see that their vendor is a child; they choose their gevreks, pay and dismiss the mini-adult they've just failed to notice. I sometimes wonder what kind of market-sharing system exists among them since they range in age and demeanor over a very wide range and I have heard that sometimes altercations break out among them. There must be one, may be a study for Dilara, the daughter of my best friend, who is doing a PhD in Sociology.

I would like to do something different this morning, though. I would like to go down to the shopping district of the neighborhood and get our gevrek from a bakery along with other breakfast goods since one of my brothers Mehmet and his wife Kezban will join my mother, her assistant and I for brunch this morning. I want to have an elegant and all inclusive Turkish breakfast, which is a favorite indulgence for pretty much all Turkish people. I walk down the stairs instead of taking the elevator, I have to increase my energy expenditure after the several pounds I gained during the holidays in Iowa City. As soon as I reach the sidewalk beneath the upper level yard of the apartment complex, I notice him: a young man with a large cart full of items that he is pushing. He is one of the "professional recycling" entrepreneurs! He stops by one of the dumpsters in front of one of the apartment buildings. The physician in me is concerned that he will do his exploration in the dumpster with no gloves and who knows what he will be exposed to. I can see, his left hand has no glove on. He reaches into the dumpster with his right hand, though, and valla! He does wear a latex dish-washing glove on his right hand. Turkish minimilastic submission to rules and regulations...

Professional environmentalist recyclers


He takes a plastic item out of the dumpster and transfers it into his cart. Alas, on the way to the cart the item passes from his right hand to the left with no glove. Apparently, whoever taught him to wear a glove while exploring through the dumpster didn't fully explain to him the reason for that. He moves on with the fake satisfaction that he is doing his job by taking the proper precautions to protect himself. I wonder if any public health professional considered doing a study on these recyclers to find out the prevalence of various infectious diseases in this population. A topic to discuss with my friends at Izmir Department of Public Health.

I also wonder how many miles this man has done already and how many more he will do all day. But wait, I guess I don't need to worry about his joints and muscles for walking so many miles every day. Things,  in Turkey, seems to have changed in this arena, too. Ten feet ahead of me something I had never seen before is unfolding. Our environmental entrepreneur approaches the sidewalk for a different purpose this time: he pulls the canvas "container" of his cart off its metal frame and starts dumping its contents into a truck bed! Wow, it looks like garbage sorters travel not on foot but with a truck nowadays, I am stunned. Businesses must be indeed growing in Turkey if it came all the way down to mechanization of this trade as well...

Recycling of goods off dumpsters has become motorized in Turkey!


Mark, my friend, a law professor and a sociologist, is correct after all, globalization is indeed making developing countries wealthier. I can see that every time I travel to Turkey, but at what cost must be the next question, which Mark is not asking. It is also clear before my eyes that most of the new wealth at least in Turkey is accumulating in the hands of privileged, already wealthy.  And, it is accumulating more and more in the hands of the religiously fundamentalist corporations or those that are pretending-to-be-so, the "nuevo rich". The ever Americanization of Turkey follows the trend of constant increase in the gap between the poor and the rich at an ever-increasing rate. This, globalization advocates have not found a solution to. Garbage sorting entrepreneurs being able to own or rent a truck to collect more garbage and even more so, the top rich being able to live in gated communities guarded by security men "enjoying" their jets and yachts don't help reduce the squatting communities in the barracks of every metropol, nor does it help the poorest struggling in those communities or in isolated countryside be able to get health insurance or better food, clothing, housing, and education for their children. I wonder if the greedy rich ever worry about how to close this gap, in America they certainly do not, and I don't see any sign of such a concern in Turkey, either.

After all of this proselytizing, I am back home, Shahodat, my mother's caretaker has steeped a wonderfully aromatic Turkish tea, already. We start furnishing our breakfast table with purely Turkish breakfast items; gevrek right out of the neighborhood brick oven, three different kinds of cheese, one of which, an aged kaseri cheese came from the cheese capital of Turkey, Kars, along with two kinds of olives both green and black, sliced fresh cucumbers, green and red peppers chopped into rings encircling a bunch of parsley treated with sea salt and lemon juice, finally a bowl of sliced tomatoes treated with olive oil, lemon juice, oregano, mint, and sea salt. Mmmmm, I can see how we will enjoy all this. Mehmet and Kezban arrive soon and they have brought a home-made sucuk made by one of Kezban's childhood neighbors from her home town Adana. Sucuk is a Turkish sausage prepared with ground beef treated with lots of spices, salt, and garlic and stuffed into lamb intestines to serve as casing before it is dried. Because it is treated with so many different kinds of spices and salt, it is edible even raw. But the best way to eat sucuk is to grill it in 1/8 inch thick slices into a sandwich or cook it with eggs in olive oil or butter. In my kitchen it is always olive oil since we pretty much do not use butter at all in Cretan cuisine.

A picture off the internet close to our breakfast table

I am glad I bought fresh organic brown eggs. I give the responsibility to cook the eggs and sucuk to my brother. This item has to be prepared at the last minute, just before starting breakfast since it is most delicious when it is warm/hot. We check the table, one more time, we are satisfied with what we see. Mehmet is on the job to cook the eggs and sucuk, even my mom is waiting with a childish excitement of "sucuk for breakfast". She is not allowed to eat it due to its salt content, but on such rare occasions, we ignore the doctor's recommendation, thinking at age 70 she may enjoy some of the not-so-good juices of life. She is thrilled, she eats her sucuk with such savoring, I can tell all she is focusing on right now is her taste buds and what is happening on her tongue. In other words, she is meditating.

TURKIYE: WHERE MY ROOTS ARE

TURKEY AND ITS ROOTS, BRIEFLY

This time destination is home: the streets, the sky, the mountains, the sea; all the things  I grew up with, or by, or on, or under. How I love visiting this land. It is such a rich universe with its people, Turkish, Kurdish, Laz, Circassian, Jewish, Armenian, Greek, Arab and many more; with its corresponding language variety, as you walk on the streets in Izmir, you may hear multiple languages some from tourists, but some from its residents; with its nature, savoring a sunset by the water, Aegean, is like no other; strolling in its wild life preserve, an open air zoo, is refreshing, hiking in its mountains is coming back home; and thinking of its history with its good and bad is eye opening to say the least.

Anatolia, on which Turkey and its peoples live has always had a logistically important place in history: Serving as a geographic bridge between Asia and Europe and even as a gateway to Africa from both, put Anatolia in a unique position throughout the history. Anatolia, home to the old cultures of antiquity, following  the southern wave of the big migration out of Asia became the new home for the Turkic tribes of Central Asia moving toward the west. One of those tribes "Osmanogullari - The sons of Osman" grew to become the owner of the land, eventually overthrowing the unconquerable Byzantine Empire. Not only that (but also because of that), Ottomans grew to become an insatiable imperial power stretching its claws onto three continents, carving out as much land as possible, and ruling numerous peoples in its territories as other imperial powers of the old world, Spanish, British, Portuguese, French were sailing to and conquering the new world.

                                                                    Turkey in red

I had read a book on Ottoman Empire, written by a British researcher, in which Istanbul, in her hay-day was described as the Paris, London, New York of today, cities that everybody would like to visit, live in, become part of to reach the most up to date art, science, business and politics. Istanbul was where numerous world languages were spoken, where numerous nationalities and ethnicities lived side by side, where everybody wanted to migrate to. Those were the days before the WWI, before allies invading Istanbul and before ethnic cleansing took place in an attempt to eliminate Ottoman-ness and replace it with Turkish-ness following the Turkish Independence War. I wish there could have been a way to preserve that rich, very rich diversity along with claiming and sustaining sovereignty. Although Istanbul's "world city" persona declined to a certain extent after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, Turkey's significance remained due to its political conjuncture.

The next significant role Turkey played in world history was during WWII when it became the "limiting membrane" ahead of Hitler's Germany's expansion to outside of Europe to the south of the Black Sea. One good thing the Turkish administration of the time did to serve not only peoples of Turkey but probably the entire world also, was to play the game of politics in a very refined way with both sides of the equation between Churchill and Hitler. This kept Turkey out of WWII and saved allies the burden of having to fight Germany in yet another front.

Currently, Turkey is, one more time, rising (or pretending?) to become a "key player" in world history, now in the Middle East, the reality of which is arguable in my mind as we saw very clearly in the negotiations between the world and Syria that the current Turkish pri-minister attempted leading with no success. The Turkey of the last century, that had shaken off its past with its islamic socio-cultural identifiers, toward a more modern and enlightened future has gradually been forced to revert to that past under well planned, political agenda based on re-molding of the society back to an islamist one by the use of the educational system. This plan in fact has been in the process of implementation since after WWII under unfortunately the auspices and encouragement of the western "developed" world, yet another near-sighted foreign policy supported by administrations of post-WWII. The pace and patience and subtlety of this plan have always reminded me of those of "bolero"; invisible baby steps for several decades that escalated to moderately, visible moves for another couple of decades, still difficult to interpret for most of the society in terms of the major repercussions they bore within them, only appreciated by politically keen intellectual eyes and minds, finally topped with the last decade's marching of islamists to all layers of the state including the underground hidden state structure. I am curious about what I will hear this time from my brothers and friends about what is happening in Turkey politically lately.

With these thoughts I drift into sleep with my neighbor already snoring next to me: Quite unlike me but I end up sleeping pretty much most of the 10-hour flight from Chicago to Istanbul this time. Off and on, I think, I slept for about 6 hours. Probably because the flight left at 10 pm and after the service, when the lights were turned off, it was midnight central time and I was ready to go to sleep. As a result, I was quite energetic when our airbus landed in Istanbul, the only problem was that it was 4:30 pm Turkish time. When my brothers and sisters in law left my mother's apartment after our reunion dinner, it was 12 am with no sleep in my wide open eyes. However, with meditation, I was able to put myself to sleep probably around 12:30 am only to wake up at 3 am. It was around 6 am when I was able to drift back to sleep. At 9 am I woke up with calls from the "gevrekci" boys down on the streets. My mother's apartment building is in a pleasant neighborhood in Izmir. It is on a hill high enough to give us an almost panoramic view of the Izmir Bay from both the front and rear balconies of the apartment. There is a small neighborhood park, a school, and a tennis court in front of the apartment building, which provide an expanse of open space, unusual in an urban setting in large metropols of Turkey. The green space in the front, the hills around in the distance, beyond which is the Aegean make this apartment quite pleasant.

If not exactly this, it is pretty close to what we see from my mother's apartment, Izmir Bay in the distance
Every morning, boys from 8 to 18 years of age cover the streets of the city on foot selling a baked good called "gevrek" similar to bagel. They carry a wooden tray of 3 ft in diameter on their heads over a doughnut shaped soft cushion that enlarges the contact surface between the tray and their head. The tray is piled with gevreks. Gevrek with cheese is almost staple food for breakfast in Turkey, especially in Izmir. In other cities they sell baked goods similar to gevrek, a terrible shadow of it that they call simit, acma and other names, none of them tastes or feels like gevrek. The proof of that is that all of them are sold as "Izmir simit" or "Izmir acma" or "Izmir gevrek" to convince the buyer that it is as good as what you find in Izmir. As soon as you take a bite you know that it is not true.

gevrek, crunchy, warm waiting for a slice of turkish tulum cheese along with a glass of turkish tea