First Day of School

Yesterday was the first day of classes, which to me means showing up to class five minutes early, finding a seat in the front row, and looking enthusiastic. Usually these three things are easy, that is when the first three people I ask for directions all point to the same place. Punctuality, like so many of the Western notions ingrained in my mind from a young age, is simply different here. That’s all, different. Here’s how the day panned out:

8:50- I ask a student who is setting up at the activities fair on the quad for directions to my class. She says she also has Ceramics, but “is busy” so she won’t be attending today.

9:00 AM- Starting time of my first period class.

9:07- I am standing outside the Fine Arts Building and ask a woman who is smoking out front for directions to the classroom. She is now the third person I have asked.

9:08- After some back and forth miming and pointing to my campus map, she asks a passing student to guide me there.

9:10- We pick up a confused-looking Dutch girl on the way who is headed to the same class.

9:15- Arrival and subsequent surprise at the lack of students sitting at the tables in the pottery-filled classroom. One girl with light-colored hair (an obvious sign of a non-Turk) is sitting at the first table looking desperate.

9:20- The two other foreigners and I make small talk while hoping that we are in the right place and that our class actually exists.

9:25- The teacher comes in and, speaking in broken English, states that we will not have class today because the other students are not here. We did not receive an explanation on that subject, but we did have ample time to wander around now that the four-hour class was cancelled.

So that’s Turkish punctuality and priorities, I guess. Like I said, it’s just different. The two girls (one from Germany and the other from Holland) turned out to be incredibly nice, so we walked up to the Borekcisi, a small café selling many kinds of borek, for some tea and a snack. We picked up a German guy along the way who was headed to the same place and enjoyed sharing travel stories while devouring suborek. Borek is a savory snack made of crispy, flaky pastry dough and filled with spinach, potatoes, cheese, or meat. It’s much denser than a croissant but lighter than a Racine Kringle (a Wisconsin specialty). The bakeries make the snack in long pieces and slice off whatever amount the customer wants. It’s sold by weight. Suborek (directly translated to “water borek”) is a moist version of the traditionally dry pastry. The addition of melted butter and soft cheese makes the thin layers deliciously tender. Then again, with a little butter, salt, cheese, and pastry dough, not much can go wrong.

The teacher for my afternoon class never showed, so I left after waiting for nearly a half hour. The activities fair was eye-opening in that my Turkish better improve significantly if I want to be an active participant in extracurricular life on campus. Or, if I want to read the school newspaper. I signed up for the paragliding club, half because I would love to get out of the city with the intent of flying over some of Turkey’s gorgeous landscapes and half because the student working the booth worked so hard to explain the club to me in English that as I walked away, he plopped into his chair and let out a big sigh of relief. I found out about the aviation organization from my roommate back in the spring when we were exchanging emails to determine if I would live with her. She wrote that she would join the club in the fall. I wrote, “see you in September!” More on my high-flying adventures to come after I complete the education portion. Turns out there is some legitimacy to a bunch of students running down hills with pricey parachutes strapped to their backs. Don’t worry, Mom, I’ll wear a helmet.