Hi everyone! My name is Jill Armington, and I am twenty years old and hail from Erdenheim, Pennsylvania, a town right outside of Philadelphia. I am currently a junior at Penn State University and am ridiculously passionate about my two majors, sociology and education public policy. I love being involved in all Penn State has to offer – I row on the crew team, intern as a campus recruiter for Teach For America, serve on the Scholar Advancement Team for the Schreyer Honors College, raise money for pediatric cancer through THON (the largest student-run philanthropy in the world), plan events for Homecoming, play intramural soccer …. But hey, no one ever says they wish they slept more in college, right?
This spring I’ll be leaving Penn State behind to study at Vesalius College in Brussels, Belgium. It took awhile for me to decide where I wanted to go for my semester abroad, and I finally selected the CIEE Brussels: Business, Culture, and Communications program. I’ve always wanted to spend time in Europe, and Belgium is centrally located – travel from one country to another will be easy. I also like that Belgium is a bit less conventional than other European countries; it remains rooted in Dutch and French tradition, but is also metropolitan and modern. The fact that it is the home to the EU headquarters is pretty awesome too: I think Brussels will be a very interesting city to live in, as it is a hub of current European activity. The program also came very highly recommended by a friend of mine who was in Belgium two years ago.
With under two months to go until my departure, I’m definitely starting to get a bit nervous, but my excitement is still at an all-time high. I’ve done a few short-term study abroad programs through Penn State: the summer after my freshman year I studied in Turkey for a month, and last winter break I went to London for a theater study tour. These experiences were absolutely unforgettable, but I’ve known ever since middle school that spending a semester abroad was going to be a vital component of my college career.
And now, here we are! I’ve bought my plane tickets, sent out my visa application, and have started perusing the course list at Vesalius College. I’m going to have to find my old French textbooks from high school to brush up on my francais skills, and will try to European-ize my wardrobe (which, like most Penn State students, consists mainly of Penn State-affiliated t-shirts and comfy sweats).
During our “On the Road” experience in Turkey, we recently stopped in the town of Harran to see a few archaeological sites there.As our bus rolled into town, children and adults alike would stare at the crew of obvious tourists, the children with looks of awe and excitement.When we finally arrived at the Harran Fortress, and the bus doors opened, we were immediately swarmed by a group of young girls.Initially I was excited to interact with the young, adorable townspeople.My excitement rapidly turned to dismay, however, when we realized that these youngsters were trying desperately to hawk some handmade trinkets and jewelry for “One lira! One lira! One lira! Please miss, one lira!” (This they repeated over and over, and were not even deterred by the site guard who attempted to shoo them away.)
Our tour guide, Husnu, told us quite seriously that we should not give the children anything: if they were successful at making money, their parents would continue to send them out to solicit tourists whenever they came to town.“We are helping them by not giving them anything,” Husnu said: “If the children are unsuccessful in the streets, then maybe their parents will start sending them to school.” I looked at the children again, and felt a pang of dismay.Yet having experienced a similarly desperate sales pitch from some of the people I encountered during a trip to Ghana last summer, at first I was just fine firmly saying “No,” shaking my head, or simply ignoring them.At first, that is.
The children followed us throughout the fortress ruins, intercepting us every chance they got with pleas of “One lira! One lira!” One girl in particular – a cute freckled kid about ten years old with an endearingly gapped smile and intensely deep brown eyes – latched onto me, having noticed a spare hair clip I kept on my purse strap.She didn’t need to speak English for me to realize that she wanted it – desperately.My once solid “No”s started to waver, but I had been told: give them nothing.Nonetheless, a little voice of sympathetic angst started speaking up in my head:
What’s one little hair clip to me? Nothing. And to her, it would be everything! She has so little – I mean, my goodness – look at her shoes! They’re completely falling apart…if I can’t give her money, at least I could give her a little something, right? It’s really not a big deal…maybe if Husnu and Dr Killebrew (my professor, who ardently supported Husnu’s kabash on giving anything to thechildren) didn’t see me give it to her….
I was so bothered by the obvious disparity between the children and myself that I stopped listening to whatever was going on with our tour: I had no idea when the fortress was built, and I really couldn’t care less which god it was supposed to praise.My mind was spinning, and the adorable girl with the gap-toothed smile that would probably never be fixed with orthodontia was still pulling at my shirt, gesturing to the clip and then to herself, over and over.Her “One lira!” schpeel had long since been forgotten, and she had separated from the rest of her crew to stick by me. I kept almost-reaching for the hair clip, but a short conversation with Dr. Killebrew again dissuaded me.She tsked at the girl (the Turkish way of saying get lost, I suppose) since I had lost all hope of standing my ground and saying “No,” and discovered my desperation for this girl had lead me to the verge of tears.
When we made it back to where the bus was parked, there she was again.I couldn’t take it. I miserably got onto the bus, and I broke down. I couldn’t handle hearing the other students complain about how annoying the children were, and I couldn’t handle the fact that there was nothing I could do to help them. This was the grittier part of Turkey that we hadn’t quite been exposed to before Harran, and I was thus experiencing harsh culture shock.Here we are, cruising around Turkey on a pleasantly air-conditioned bus, snapping pictures of historical sites and of the people who currently inhabit the area.We are so divided from their lives that we feel as though we have to capture them on film to remind ourselves of their existence after we depart.
Just think: I packed a pair of sneakers, a pair of loafers, and two pairs of flip flops for this trip – and have enough shoes left at home to wear a different pair every day for a month.The girl from Harran, and her fellow child-vendors, probably owned one or two pairs of shoes total. If any of my shoes get a hole, I buy a new pair and don’t even think twice about it. A hair clip breaks, and I replace it with another one and don’t think twice about that either.These kids’ toes were poking through their dusty footwear; every time I looked down to avoid meeting their pleading eyes, I saw their shoes and my heart sunk lower.
But what can we do? Poverty exists in the world, and we cannot fly to other countries and wave a magic wand or give out a few liras to fix everything. It is so much more complicated than that; it takes time to make such drastic social changes, and as Husnu said; sometimes we can only sit back and hope these children somehow end up in school….
We’re only about three days into our thirteen-day road trip around central and eastern Turkey, and already I feel like I’ve seen more of this country than I have of my own.We have a pretty packed itinerary with various stops at archaeological sites and museums around the country, all of which have been truly incredible.Yesterday we trekked over to Zeugma – a bridge constructed by Alexander the Great in 300 BC that once spanned the Euphrates River.Due to recent damming of the river, the site is no longer visible (and the ridiculously remarkable mosaics found there are off-site at a museum in Gaziantep – which we saw, of course).The landscape there though is beautiful.It was excruciatingly hot yesterday – it spiked up to 44 degrees Celsius, which converts to approximately one billion degrees Fahrenheit – so when we decided to take a dip in the Euphrates (jeans and all), we finally felt a welcome moment of relief.We then realized that we had passed a sign that said “No trespassing” in Turkish, so apparently our swim was an illegal one.We live on the edge.
We then bussed off to Sunliurfa, the alleged birthplace of Abraham.We took a walking tour of the bustling city, pausing at the sacred site of one of Abraham’s stories (King Nimrod wanted to kill him, and proceeded to fling him off a nearby mountain onto a great fire.Luckily for Abraham, God went ahead and turned the fire into water, and the logs into fish.Abraham was a-ok, and I’m sure King Nimrod felt like a total nimrod).The area, which included a grand mosque, as well as an entryway to the cave where Abraham was born, had several rectangular ponds in which sacred carp (representing the log�fish thing) swam, and were constantly being fed by eager children and their families.The city had a strong Arab feel, as most of the women were covered in the traditional black cloths, and the men wore salvars – traditional Arab baggy pants (the crotch area is way down by their ankles in most cases).The action and strong sense of religious wonder in Sunliurfa was so exciting for me to witness, and from all the looks that our group attracted, I’d say we were pretty exciting for the Turks there as well.
Today we set off from Sunliurfa to an impressive archaeological site nearby – Gobekli Tepe, the site of the first known temple in human history (and often said the Garden of Eden by the tourist industry’s hope to stir up excitement about this still little-known site).I was especially excited to see this site, as it is the topic of my huge research paper for my course, my oral presentation (which I delivered a few days ago), and my GPS/GIS map I have to create.Over the past few weeks, Gobekli Tepe and I have become very close, despite the fact that Gobekli Tepe is about 11,000 years old as compared to my wimpy 19.But age is just a number, after all.Actually getting to see the site for myself, to set foot at the location I’ve read a great deal about and seen only in pictures, was very rewarding.And hey – I even got to meet the Kurdish shepherd who discovered the site back in 1994 and thus got the ball rolling on the site excavation (and yes, I have a lovely photo with Mehret as well).I felt like a budding archaeologist as I traipsed around the area, observing the grand stone structures and taking GPS points (which I will later enter into the GIS computer program to create a map of the site).Just call me Indian Jones.
We then loaded back into the bus, stopped at a few other sites, and then embarked on a fairly long ride up through a mountainous area with scattered villages, narrow roads without guard rails (and they definitely needed guardrails! There were several heart-pounding moments, like when we nudged our way past a huge truck carrying about 50 trees worth of logs, when I thought our bus was going to plunge into the picturesque valley below (I mean, it was beautiful to look at, but I was happy keeping my distance).Our final destination was a little hotel near Mt. Nemrut, a mountain with a pretty awesome ancient burial ground at its peak – we’ll be waking up bright and early tomorrow to hike up to the top.I’m praying for NOT another 44 degree day.
After our stay in Istanbul, we spent a week in Iskenderun, a city situated on the Mediterranean Sea coast. During this week, we hunkered down and *gasp* attended class. We stayed in a convent, where we were served three incredible meals each day, played a great deal of volleyball out in the courtyard, and were only a block from the most delicious ice cream shop I’ve ever encountered. We frequented this lovely shop – Mado – so often that even when we’d simply walk by it on the street, all the waiters would wave to us from the windows and doorway (undoubtably expecting to see us later that day).
The convent is run by a vibrant nun named Sister Leanora, who actually hails from Boston, Massachusetts. The bishop of all of Anatolia (he’s apparently VERY high up in the Catholic hierarchy of clergymen: he was scheduled to meet the pope (yes, the pope) in Cyprus on Friday) also lives at the convent, and he arrived a few days after we did from a trip to Germany. Sister Leanora is an avid Walker Texas Ranger fan (which the bishop likes to rag her about), and is constantly teasing Father Joseph (the jolly priest who also lives at the convent, and is as goofy and fun-loving as they come) about his weight and how he really should go on a diet, and how he really shouldn’t be eating all that cake…. Their banter is hilarious, especially because Father Joseph doesn’t speak much English, but he often gets a good sense that he’s the butt of Sister Leanora’s good natured taunting.
On the Tuesday of our stay at the convent, one of my classmates had a birthday, and so we (of course) went to Mado to select a decadent cake for the occasion.We celebrated in the courtyard with the rich chocolate cake and wine brought out by the convent cook, and were soon joined by the bishop himself, as well as Father Joseph, Sister Leanora, and the whole gang.It was a light-hearted, genuinely fun event: the bishop was hilarious and was enjoyable to talk to – and despite the fact he’d recently been diagnosed with diabetes, he helped himself to a sizable slice of cake (but winked and begged us “not to tell Sister Leanora”).
Two days later, during a break from class, we got the news that the bishop had been murdered.
Murdered??!!
It was absolutely surreal. His driver – a man named Mehret who had played volleyball with us in the convent courtyard, had fixed my roommate’s bed when it broke, and had eaten most meals with us – had killed him while he was at his beach house in a nearby town.Apparently Mehret was mentally unstable, but several news articles were published that cited Christian killings that had taken place in Turkey in the not so distant past.Not only were we in shock that such a terrible news-worthy event had occurred so close to our newfound home, but we were shocked by the fact that not only did we know the bishop, but we also knew the man that killed him.We were devastated to witness the emotional collapse of those who lived at the convent and essentially built their lives around the bishop.He was their boss, their religious guide, and their friend.And he was suddenly gone, taken from them by a man they broke bread with on a regular basis.Even now, days later, I am in complete disbelief that something this atrocious actually occurred.
There are no words to describe just how exactly I feel about this dreadful situation.Our group was scheduled to leave Iskenderun on Friday anyway (the day after his murder), but that Thursday night was a eerie, unsettling time for everyone.We had only known the bishop for a few days, but we mourned the loss greatly nonetheless – mostly out of sympathy for those left behind.Sister Leanora had been the bishop’s personal assistant for over twenty years, and had followed him to the convent in Iskendern several years ago.“I know him better than he knows himself,” she had said proudly only a few days before his death.What was she going to do now? How would she pick up the pieces?
Obviously this event was an unexpected one, and obviously it cast a strange mood over our group.It was difficult to leave the convent the next morning, not knowing what exactly would happen there next, yet knowing that the happy-go-lucky people that lived there and teased each other about weight and choice of TV entertainment would likely never again smile as brightly or laugh as loudly as they once did.
If you’re interested, here’s a link to one of the articles about the bishop:
After having spent five days in Istanbul, I am well aware that it is a vibrant city with so much to offer (after all, those days have been filled to the brim with a wide range of non-stop activities).Two days ago we took a cruise down the Bosphorus River, which divides Istanbul into its European side and its Asian side.Istanbul is the only city in the world that straddles two continents, so I can say with total seriousness that for the past five days, I’ve been traipsing from Asia to Europe, from Europe to Asia.Sweet.
The view from the river was spectacular; some pretty swanky hotels, nightclubs, concert venues, mosques, and palaces look out onto the Bosphorus.Even more impressive? Our humble group of eleven (eight students + one professor + one grad student + one tour guide) had an entire river cruise boat to ourselves.After the cruise, we went up to the top of Galata Tower, a 200 foot tall tower built in 528 AD.I had an incredible view out across the Bosphorus River and the Marmara Sea, as well as what seemed like all of Istanbul.Having the luxury of seeing the city from two new and distinct vantage points was absolutely amazing.
And speaking of luxury, before jetting off to Iskenderun in the Hatay Province of Turkey yesterday, we went to Kircilar Leather, a leather factory that produces extremely high quality leathers and furs for retail, and for clients like Gucci and Burberry.Our lovely tour guide Ozcan apparently had quite the hook up, and had set us up with a private fashion show.Unsure of what to expect, we sat in front of the runway, and pulsing techno started blaring.Two male and two female models paraded out in various jackets – some reversible, some that fit in little bags (which one model made a grand show of whipping out and throwing on, and then reversing to the far flashier hot pink side. Woah), some that looked more expensive than my college education.
I was just starting to settle in and enjoy myself, thinking about how excellent this Turkish fashion show material would be for my blog, when one of the brawny male models leapt off the catwalk, grabbed my hand, and before I knew what was happening, I was pulled onto the runway and into the back room where they kept their garments.He and one of the other models (who didn’t really speak much English, but by this time I realized that I was now a part of the show) dressed me in a sleek white jacket, buttoned and belted it, and guided me back towards the catwalk.Oh jeez.
Putting on my best model face and striking the proper pose, I strutted down the catwalk towards my classmates (and professor…) as theatrically as I could manage.One of my classmates, Zach, also had been plucked from the audience, and after we took our walks with the models, they sent us out together for round two.I’d say we mastered it, and definitely would be worth hiring at any Turkish leather distributor.I asked the woman who put together the show if she had a job available, and she laughed…but never said no….
We were unleashed into the store itself after the show, and tried on various garments – the most expensive one I put on was $15,000.Not kidding.My goodness, if I actually bought one of those Turkish rugs and one Turkish jacket, that would put me in the red about $40,000.I’m not sure my wallet would be safe here….Luckily, Ozcan whisked us to the airport and before I had the chance to do any monetary damage, I was on another runway, this time on a plane, and off to Iskenderun.
Location: Ataturk International Airport, Istanbul, Turkey
Or at least that’s what one Turkish carpet store owner believes.
Disagree? I sure did, until now.
Do you often find yourself checking price tags at Ikea to snag the cheapest rug you can get your hands on? If yes, then be prepared to change your mind about the real job of a quality carpet.
Turkey is famous for its carpets, and – fun fact – is where the oldest carpet in the world was woven.Carpets are art, and as I learned today, carpets (especially those made in Turkey) should be appreciated for their beauty, their history, and especially for the painstakingly long amount of time it takes to weave them.
After a long day in Turkey’s heat, we went into Nakkas Rugs, a high end carpet store that was actually built over a very old cistern (an underground well, but much larger and much more impressive) from around 560 BC.After watching one woman work on a carpet with dizzying speed and utter perfection, the impeccably dressed owner of the store escorted us upstairs to one of the showrooms.We sat along one of the walls on a very comfortable couch, facing stacks upon stacks of carpets.After showing us some good old fashioned Turkish hospitality and offering us a wide range of beverages (apple tea for me…mmm), he gave us a rich history of Turkish rugs (that oldest known carpet in the world? It dates from between the 4th and 1st centuries BC, but historians say the hand-woven carpet techniques were probably introduced around the 12th century BC. Woah).
With our drinks in hand, we then were entertained.And I mean entertained. As the store owner talked, two of his workers (the muscle) tossed rugs at our feet, one after another after another, each one more beautiful than the last.It seemed endless, but when they finally stopped, I only wanted them to continue.(Apparently they have 20,000 rugs at that particular store.I would have stayed to see them all…if they kept the tea coming.)
He told us quite seriously that for most people, it is difficult to comprehend the true value of a Turkish rug.For one thing, size doesn’t matter.One of the little silk rugs depicted an intricate mythological scene and was woven with 3,000 knots per square inch (that’s ridiculous, by the way…we saw some beautiful rugs that were 150 knots per square inch, or even 80 knots…but really – 3,000) and cost $32,000.No, that is the right amount of zeros. The rugs gain most of their value from the amount of human labor that goes into it (we saw rugs that took 1-3 months to make, rugs that took about a year, and even a rug that took 4 years), as well as from the material used (silk is the priciest – and only the very best weavers are trusted to use silk, as a single mistake would render the carpet worthless, or at least worth less.In other words, if you decide you’d like to try your hand at the loom, you’ll be given some wool).
After the presentation, while our professor spent time bargaining for the best price on a particular rug, we went up onto the roof terrace.And gasped.We could see beautiful views of the Blue Mosque, city homes, and the Sea of Marmara with the Asian side of Turkey on the other side.I guess being in the Turkish carpet business isn’t too shabby a profession.And by the way, everyone pool your resources: I’d love a Turkish rug for Christmas.
Thank you, Turkish Air, for delivering me in one well-fed yet not-so-well-rested piece to Turkey.Even when you’re aboard a nine hour flight, finding a comfy sleeping position proves difficult when you’re the middle seat.(I was lucky though, in that I was sandwiched between two very pleasant people who were interesting to talk to.I wasn’t planning on using either of them as a pillow though….)
So here I am, comfortably reclined on my bed, with my pillows, in the lovely Grand Hotel Halic in Istanbul. I must say, all this traveling and time changing has been ultra confusing for my exhausted mind/body. Here’s what I know: I left JFK airport on a Turkish Air flight at 4:45pm (EST) and eventually arrived in Istanbul at around 9:00am (Turkey time). Turkey is a whopping seven hours ahead of EST, so it’s hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that even though it’s 11:11am according to my still unchanged computer clock, I’m about to head down to dinner with the group (who finally all made it here – many of us traveling separately. Well, all of us minus one, who is still unaccounted for…hm…I’m a bit worried).11:11am at home during the summer usually implies I’m still snoozing.
Despite my utter exhaustion and desperate longing for a Sleeping Beauty-like slumber, I’m insanely excited to be here – finally. As my Lonely Planet guide informed me, Turkish people are extremely hospitable and are always eager to interact with tourists. As one of my seatmates on the flight informed me, Turkish people are extremely hospitable and are always eager to interact…but it’s necessary to exert some caution.Duly noted.One way in which they display this insatiable need to be ideal hosts is by providing cups of tea to their guests.I’ve heard it’s not uncommon to be invited into stores and/or homes to enjoy this friendly beverage with well, random Turks.So far I haven’t experienced this, but we’ll give it time – after all, I’ve been here a total of eight hours.In those eight hours, however, I have received two hospitable cups of tea.
One came from Ozcan, our delightful tour guide who picked both me and the other student on my flight up at the airport and brought us to the hotel.As we waited for our rooms, he had a tray of tea delivered to us, and we passed the time with some tasty apple tea. Mmm.
The next was a bit of a surprise.I had a cup of tea delivered to my room.I was roused from my nap by a knock, and opened my door to find a pleasant fellow with another tray of tea.Ok, thanks, but I’m not the room service type…. He came in and placed the tray on my nightstand. Despite me telling him repeatedly I hadn’t ordered tea (he had a bill, and I was not planning on paying for unwanted tea), he insisted I take it, that I enjoy it.He told me not to worry about the bill (he didn’t speak much English, but this is what I deduced). Excellent.I drank my second cup of Turkish tea, and fell back asleep.
Now I’m up – bright eyed, bushy tailed, and ready for my evening’s adventures.And perhaps some more tea?
Location: Grand Hotel Halic, Refik Saydam Street 37, Istanbul Turkey
Well here I am, creating my second blog ever (well my third, but trust me, the first really doesn’t count). I give the credit to Penn State’s technological enthusiasm.
I’m participating in the month-long Landscape Archaeology program led by Penn State professor Dr. Ann Killebrew. (Here’s the link to the program website.)
I will be taking two courses – Landscape Archaeology and GIS for Archaeologists. It goes without saying that I’m excited – I’m going to experience things I, at this point, can’t even begin to describe. Though we will be spending the bulk of our time in Hatay, Turkey (a town on the Cilician Plain), where we will be taking part in intensive archaeological surveying projects, we will kick off our international adventure in Istanbul!
As for me – here’s a few quick facts: Name: Jill Armington Hometown: Springfield, Pennsylvania (five minutes outside of Philadelphia) Year: Freshman Major: Anthropology (with hopes of tacking on another major in Sociology, and then perhaps minors in Chinese and International Studies…my eyes might be bigger than my stomach though, but as you can see, I’d love to do everything.)
Not only am I obviously psyched to head off to exotic places this summer, but I’m actually really excited to have this high-tech journal to document my adventures. Last summer I went to Ghana, but all I have to show for my memories are thousands of photos and a water-logged journal with blurry writing that was obviously penned on bumpy dirt roads. This way seems more reliable.
