All I Want to Do is Party, Buy Everybody in the Club Hakkari

Mark, the other American who teaches with me in Van, asked me to go to Hakkari with me this week. Since it's the last week before classes officially begin (my classes, already begun, are off the book, so I can evade taxes), it's Mark's last chance to travel. And when I told my friends we were going to Hakkari, they all said the same thing: "Why would you go there?"

Funny. That's exactly what people in Istanbul and Ankara said when I told them I was teaching in Van.

Hakkari is a border city with Iraq, and more isolated than Van, which I didn't think was possible. I owe Mark five lira now. The drive by dolmush, which as the dragon flies is 100 kilometers, takes four hours through the mountains, military check points, and periods of time where we're waiting for someone's friend. When we finally got to Hakkari, we were told that all the shops might close after lunch, due to a demonstration. But do not worry - there's nothing to see, anyway.

Though the town is small (we walked the full circumference twice in two hours), it is beautiful. It's surrounded by mountains, so that there is no horizon. Every sunset ends in jagged rocks, which is really romantic, if you're a supervillan. The odd thing about the town is that in America, it would've been colonized and commercialized long ago as a ski resort. The snow was gorgeous there. But everyone walked past them like they were Luke and the mountains were Yoda (he shouldn't have judged him by his size). The idea of skiing on a mountain where no other person has skiied before is exciting, but as Mark pointed out, I would have to walk back up on my own.

Fatih, a primary school teacher, was our host. He showed us around the city and planned a complicated dinner that took two hours to cook. Mark cut the onions while I washed my hands after using the restroom.

Fatih had three roommates, who we were introduced to and who took turns helping in the kitchen. However, when it came time for dinner, there were six roommates.

I have no idea who the two mustaches are, but inspiration doesn't need a name.

We ate on the floor, just like my parents used to make me when more important people came over. And I had to put my cup on a towel. Deja vu, teenage years. Notice the absence of plates - the meal, which was chicken, rice, and vegetables, had to be shoveled like snow. I thought it was very exciting but Mark said it reminded him of Mauritania (previous attempts to spell it included Moritania and Mortanya), where if you didn't eat quickly, you didn't get to eat.

On the ride home to Van, we were stopped at another military checkpoint where all the passengers had to hand in their IDs. Mark and I passed up our residence permits, which are like little passports made of wet paper, and waited to be cleared. However, the jandarma (military police) boarded the bus holding our permits and a hundred and fifty lira in cash. As it turns out, the money had accidentally become stuck in Mark's permit. Long story short - Mark almost bribed not only an officer of the law, but a military official. Luckily we got the money back - AND they didn't find the balloons in my stomach filled with helium. It makes me talk funny.