by kate@clickscount.co.za | May 20, 2019 | People
Let me start this piece with one word: bleach.
When it comes to the real housewives of Istanbul (or anywhere in Turkey), bleach takes the top spot on their cleaning supplies shelf. Every single surface in a Turkish home has to be touched by bleach, otherwise it can never be considered clean. Mopping the floors? Add a drop of bleach into the water. Doing laundry? Make sure to use bleach! Wiping windows? No, can’t do it without the bleach.
This takes us to the window part of my piece. Windows have to be spotless at all times. Window obsession is real. If a housewife of Istanbul started deep cleaning, which invariably involves hiring help for the day or requisitioning a reluctant relative, then heaven forbid if the rain starts. The cleaning is automatically cancelled. Why? Well, rain will ruin the spotless windows. And that cannot happen on the watch of any sensible housewife in Istanbul. The crew is sent home and the cleaning is rescheduled, according to the weather forecast.
Ironing! Oh the Turkish ironing culture. One doesn’t realize how deep it is rooted in the culture of the city, until one sees it first hand while residing with a very particular mother in law. Every single piece of clothing that comes out of the dryer has to be ironed, even the underwear and socks. No, I’m not being sarcastic. According to a real housewife of Istanbul, ironing kills bacteria on the socks and prevents your feet from smelling! Oh the wisdoms I obtain while sharing a home with a local.
One particular part of housewife routine that I find appealing is the cooking. Now this is what these women should teach to the rest of the world. Cooking at home is not that hard. Really! I watch my mother in law make a three course meal in under one hour. I’m dead serious. If you don’t believe me, come visit our home. A lentil soup, koftes (Turkish meatballs) and a nice vegetable side dish come out from the kitchen with no effort or fuss. The ingredients are simple. The cooking is a pleasure and the result is delicious!
So, to become a real housewife of Istanbul, one must pledge allegiance to cleaning with bleach, ironing every handkerchief, keeping the windows spotless and making a spectacular dinner every single night. What? You thought it was easy? If it was, I would have written about the householders of Istanbul and included the men. That is another story for a rainy day, when I am not busy fetching more bleach for those windows.
by kate@clickscount.co.za | May 20, 2019 | People
As it turns out, the school bus driver is definitely not a pirate. He does look like one though, especially because of his beard (with beads in it), his silver earrings in both ears and his thick, dark hair in a pony tail. When he waves hello, every finger has a ring on it. All he needs is an eye-patch!
Murat is my daughter’s bus driver. He knows how to turn an early morning bus ride into an exciting adventure. The kids absolutely adore this man, even though he would intimidate most adults.
We first landed in Istanbul in a wet and gloomy March. I had only visited during the summer and the weather was a shock. Vacationing in Istanbul was totally different from moving here permanently.
I was five months pregnant with my daughter and had just crossed the Atlantic, having sold our home in the U.S.A. In comparison to Istanbul, Herndon VA could fit into one small suburb of it. To say that I was overwhelmed is an understatement.
Fast forward four years, I was quite comfortably living in Istanbul and raising a daughter. When the time came to look for schools, we visited our first choice, with nervous expectation.
Having met the staff and explored the grounds, my husband and I knew this was the best place for our family. What I did not know, was the importance of choosing the right bus service. Unlike some countries, Turkey does not have a school bus system in place. Most schools and colleges hire companies to do the driving. Some are good, others not so much. I was mortified. Being a first time mom and a control freak helicopter parent, I couldn’t stand the thought of sending my little girl off in some strange bus that had zero affiliation with the perfect school we had just picked out.
All that changed when I first shook hands with Murat at the parent-teacher meeting. It was sunny out and the meeting was set in a beautiful courtyard of the school, located in a gorgeous nineteenth century building, in the heart of Istanbul. I saw a very tall man with large sunglasses covering his face. He had on more necklaces that I might have worn my entire life. Dressed in black and carrying a binder in his hand, he was shaking hands with parents. I thought, “No way is my kid going to ride in this man’s bus”. He looked like the type who listened to AC/DC very loudly and smoked a pack a day. Mind you, Turkish people smoke all the time and everywhere.
I approached Murat and introduced myself. He shook my hand in his huge palm and smiled the most disarming and kind smile. In his binder, he had the maps of every route his bus would take. He asked me for my number and instantly added me into his messaging group chat. He explained that every kid would have a separate seat and asked to provide a booster seat if we found it necessary. That binder of his contained more details on school bus service that I could ever think of. Before I left, Murat came up to me and said that his little passengers were his adopted children. And that he would do everything to assure their safety. He did forget to mention three important things during that first conversation; firstly, that my daughter would go on to enjoy every school bus ride for the rest of that academic year; secondly, that I would be getting photos of happy kids singing on the bus (courtesy of his wife who was a hostess on Murat’s bus) and thirdly; that my little munchkin would always call him Murat Abi (uncle Murat). No matter the mood Olivia was in when she would wake up, once that bus door slid open, her face would light up with a big “Merhaba Murat Abi!”
So when you pick a school, make sure your bus driver is as amazing as ours. And if he looks like Jack Sparrow, well, that’s just an added bonus.
by kate@clickscount.co.za | May 20, 2019 | Things
What do you know about the town of Baliksehir? Most people won’t even know where it is located. But I can tell you one thing that will make your inner gourmet want to visit this Turkish town right away. Over fifty varieties of cheese are produced here. My husband’s favorite is tulum, a semisweet goats’ cheese aged inside a processed goat’s skin. The goats graze endless pastures and are treated as local celebrities. This soft and creamy burst of flavor comes in many forms. Some like to add walnuts, more adventurous cheese makers add cranberries.
If you like a good old sharp cheddar, go no further than the region of Kars. Here kasar (Turkish name for cheddar) is made from full fat cow’s milk with a touch of sheep’s milk for extra creamines.
Beyaz peynir (white cheese) is produced all over Turkey. This cheese can be found on every table in the country, from a breakfast spread at home, to a dinner table in a meyhane, along with other mezes. Made of either cow’s or sheep’s milk, this soft cheese has a mild flavor with just a touch of tanginess which lingers in your mouth. Add it to pastry in the morning, serve it with wine as you relax over dinner or pop it onto fresh bread to eat on the go. Cheese plays many roles, but a delivers with every bite.
When it comes to Turkish breakfast, a dozen cheeses will always show up on the table. Turks won’t consider it a real breakfast, unless they can spend a few hours savoring their tulum, burgu, beyaz, kasar cheese along with sucuk (type of savory sausage), a variety of breads, olives, nuts and dried apricots, menemen (tomato omelet) and chai. When locals go drinking at night, cheese again takes the center stage on the menu. Beyaz cheese is served with raki (Turkish vodka). Any meyhane (a taverna style restaurant, often with live music) will serve a plate with fresh melons and white cheese.
Even street food can’t avoid being cheesed out. Simit, the Turkish form of a bagel with sesame seeds, is sold on every corner. And the friendly stall owner will always offer to spread some cheese on your simit, to brighten up your snack on the go. It is not just eating Turkish cheese, which makes it fantastic but watching it being prepared. The humble gozleme, is a flatbread filled with savouries, which usually include peyneri, a white, crumbly cheese combined with spinach or minced lamb, potato and spices. The women who prepare these gozleme on the roadside, deftly fold and refold the unwieldy flat bread with a speed and circular accuracy to produce a neatly folded end product, which fits into your hand. There is nothing better than a steaming gozleme on a cold morning commute.
Move over France and Italy, Turkish cheese is a much bigger deal ,tastier and more fun. Besides, we have celebrity goats and Gozleme ladies.
by kate@clickscount.co.za | May 16, 2019 | People
I landed in Istanbul five months into my pregnancy. I had been seeing an obstetrician-gynaecologist in the U.S.A, during my first trimester and couldn’t have been happier with him. The ultrasound showed a healthy development and we already knew that we were expecting a girl.
I walked out of the airport and immediately started looking for a doctor in Istanbul. Now I must tell you, googling one won’t be much of a success. In fact, you will most likely get overwhelmed with too many names, all claiming to be the best. Trust me, I’ve done the leg work.
I married into a very big Armenian family. The Armenian community in Istanbul is extremely close. If a business owner gets on the good side of an old Armenian yaya, she will make sure to refer every single Armenian and non-Armenian friend or relative, to said establishment. Trust me. If a baker makes good bread, there can be ten other bakeries next to him. Yet the Armenian yaya will buy only from “her” Baker.
Why I even thought I would be googling for an OBGYN, is now beyond me. The Armenian yayas were on to it before the immigration officials had finished stamping my passport. I was soon referred to an OBGYN, who had recently operated on one of my husband’s cousins. I was lucky enough to meet the cousin and she told me that this doctor had pretty much saved her life. This was a good enough recommendation for me.
We arrived for my appointment and were greeted by a lovely young lady in the lobby. The waiting room was bright and cosy with a selection of refreshments and some newspapers to read. I am told by English and American friends, that they have never been offered a refreshment in a medical waiting room. That is why Turkey is different and it certainly clinched it for me. Have you ever met a pregnant woman who didn’t feel like a cookie? If you have, that woman wasn’t me!
Dr. Herman Isci was, you will never guess, of Armenian heritage! Did I mention, referrals triple, if the specialist is from the same community? Being great at your job helps. Being an Armenian who is great at your job guarantees your business.
Dr. Isci spoke impeccable English and had no problem looking through my medical records from the States. He was very knowledgeable and extremely professional. I immediately felt at ease and we had an amazing doctor – patient relationship for the remainder of my pregnancy.
Even though we had prepared for a normal delivery, my doctor recommended a Caesarean section. And I was glad he did. My not so little bundle of joy weighed at a hefty 4445 grams (9.8 pounds)!
So when you are in the market for a good doctor in Istanbul, word of mouth is the best way to go. There is nothing wrong with asking around. There are dozens of community groups on social media where you can share a post asking for referrals and recommendations. But always trust your intuition. Us moms know best!
by kate@clickscount.co.za | May 16, 2019 | Places
Last Sunday, I stepped out into a street in Bebek and did not see a cat. I went in search of a coffee instead and nipped into the nearest Starbucks. Starbucks isn’t my favourite, but there is one in almost every city and it works just fine if I run out alternatives (or tissues or friends or energy). I was amazed and delighted to find two surprisingly good things in the Bebek Starbucks: the stunning view of the Bosphorous (from all three floors) and a sleeping ginger cat, curled up on the chair opposite mine.
The cat slept deeply, undisturbed by my children, the customers or the staff. I felt fairly certain that the cat wasn’t planning to give up the best seat in Starbucks, so I drank my coffee and left.
My plan was to find a birthday present for a friend, but my children were distracted by a display of origami flowers in a shop window. One entire wall of the shop was covered in bookshelves and it didn’t matter to us that the books all appeared to be in Turkish. This must happen all the time, as the shopowner immediately showed us a few shelves at the far end of the shop, where she keeps translations of her favourite Turkish novels. She had read them all and could recommend one she thought I might like.
This shop, “envai” has been in Bebek for over 45 years. It is yet another Istanbul gem. It’s full of handmade Turkish craft items, textiles, ceramics and books. I will probably go back for some origami paper flowers one day, just because I have no need of origami flowers and they would provide a delightfully impractical excuse to visit again. I left with a handpainted ceramic cat for my friend’s birthday gift (one can never have too many ceramic cat ornaments!) and for myself, an English translation of “A Momento of Istanbul” by Ahmet Umit.
I had my children with me and they were hungry, so we went to Little China for lunch. The fantastic mural of the Japanese geisha holding a glass of red wine, drew us through the door and the food was delicious too.
After spilling a lot of soy sauce on the table and arguing about how to use chopsticks correctly, we said goodbye to the gracious and friendly staff at Little China and stepped back out into the streets of Bebek. There were cats everywhere, sprawled on the side walk, jostling about on the street and sidling up to the artichoke sellar. We didn’t feel like following the cats anywhere, so we jumped into a taxi (with our ceramic cat gift) and headed home promising ourselves that we would soon learn how to prepare artichokes the Turkish way. That would mean we could return to Bebek for artichokes and paper flowers!
