Finishing Strong

I spent the last week of my month long journey in Izmir, a city on the Aegean coast and the fourth most populous in Turkey. It also has awesome movie theaters. And I did the tourist thing - I went to the agora at Smyrna and the ruins at Ephesus. All it taught me was that my Classics degree has, only eight months after graduation, become nothing more than trivia facts. As my host family and I walked down the uncovered marble streets of Ephesus, I would say, "That's a library. Or a temple. Cat house?" or "That carving tells the story of Zeus and Apollo playing...charades? But I can't remember how it ends." It's a little discouraging to find that half the knowledge I spent four years acquiring is now apocryphal.

But forget about that (I apparently have). On Sunday I was invited to go to a Protestant church in Izmir, attended mainly by Turks. It was entirely in Turkish, which is humbling - it's easy to say, but it's hard to subconsciously believe God doesn't just speak English until you have to sing a hymn in Turkish. What was most disconcerting, though, was that although I knew some people there spoke English (I met them earlier, including the pastor, who studied in America and had great English), no one ever translated for me. They didn't even whisper, "We're about to pray," or "We're reading this passage," or "Those muffins require a monetary donation." Even when we broke up into smaller prayer groups, my group prayed in Turkish, though everyone spoke English and one guy (besides me) was American. I understand why - it's a Turkish church. But it climaxed during prayer requests, when one woman pointed to me and said something in Turkish. The whole congregation laughed, then the pastor moved to the next request, without translating how she had made fun of me.

My self-confidence skyrocketed.

Afterward I figured it out. I had helped the woman move earlier in the week (John, my host, asked during one day's errands if I could stop by for a little while. Of course, I said - I can spare four hours. Okay, I didn't say the last part, but I guess it was implied). This event included moving two couches down seven flights of stairs, up six flights of stairs, then moving another pair of couches down the same six flights. Elevators in Turkey hold two people (think about a matchbox. Now think about an elevator. They're like the second one), so it took longer. John moved his couch with another American, so they were able to say things like, "Slow down" or "Lift up." I moved with a Turk who didn't speak English. He would shout commands and I would say "AFFIRMATIVE!" without understanding.

On the second set of stairs, I was at the top of the couch when, weak from being generally a weak person, I collapsed with the couch on top of me. I was hurt, just greatly embarrassed, but all I could do was yell "TAMAM," or "Okay," because my partner either thought I was hurt or an idiot. Later John told me that if I wasn't there, the guy probably could've moved the couch by himself. He wasn't a big guy, but I guess that's just a Turkish thing.

So the comment in the church probably went like this: "I'm so thankful that everyone helped us move, including the foreigner [LAUGHTER]." Or she might have been describing how I collapsed.

For the sake of the site, I will say that while in Izmir I saw TRON the movie. Izmir has better theaters than my hometown in America. The movie was awesome, expect for the actual plot and whomever the movie was about (I read an article recently about how Hollywood is now tending to cast generically good looking leads without personality - think Avatar - so that the audience can imagine themselves in the lead role. I sure imagined what I would do inside a computer. I would kick butt. On a dragon made of light). But I think it's safe to say that the best parts of the movie were all the ones that involved the actual character of Tron.