The Tea Boy Gave me Change

When I left for Istanbul I was reading this wonderful book (written by a former Peace Corps Volunteer in '76) called Bright Sun, Hot Tea. I chose my trip to Turkey partly because the $180 roundtrip fare on the bus fit my budget. But also I hoped to store up some warm memories in my body for the upcoming 6 months of Armenian winter. There were some doubts before our departure as the previous weekend 26 people drowned in Istanbul from a flash flood. But my wallet was already committed with fare paid for in advance. My Armenian tutor was concerned. Although half my age, she was acting like a good Armenian mother and asked me not to go. I showed her the 5 Day Forecast: it didn't say “torrential downpour” but just “rain-rain-rain-overcast-rain. So with some doubts tucked away in my back pack I climbed the steps for my 32 hour bus ride.

The long trip was also more bearable as we were lucky enough to have some fun people on the bus. Their interactions made for good theater and the time passed more quickly. When asked by one man now living in Moscow what I was doing in the country, I gave him my card that explains in Armenian what are the goals of the Peace Corps. It usually satisfies the curiosity of the recipient. Instead it started a long debate about the role America played in his home country’s current financial crisis. He was convinced that all the problems in Armenia resulted when Russia went bankrupt form its Cold War with the US and the eventual dissolution of the Soviet Empire. (Ronald Reagan would have smiled from his grave.) Fortunately a couple young Armenian men behind me, that had just completed their military service and were returning to Bulgaria, disagreed with his rather sweeping generalization. I am not sure what all was said as my command of the language is still rather basic. But I could appreciate his point of view for Armenia has lost more than it has gained since the USSR collapsed in 1992. The country's economy still has not recovered from the lost revenue and jobs when Russia's military factories closed. And the benefits of increased freedoms are “still a work in progress” as Democracy stumbles into the future. Hopefully in another 20 years the scales will balance out and folks will see what they gained in the process. But for now, some older Armenians can only see the current reality of more unemployment and fewer drams in their pockets. Less drams have a way of stirring up old dreams.... of the Communist Society, the New Society that never came.

By Sunday night we were pulling into Istanbul in a light drizzle. The city was still rather subdued as there was another two days left in the religious holiday of Ramadan. The next morning I awoke to a slight drizzle, a cup of hot tea, and my 64^th birthday. I was ready for a quiet relaxing day. My traveling companions were in a very different mood as one of them was flying back to America the next day. They had created a very aggressive tourist plan: See Everything in Istanbul in 1 Day! Not exactly what I wanted to do on my birthday. I still had 10 days to see the sights. I was going to take it slow. I declined their offer to go along and ordered another hot tea. As a result, my Istanbul vacation got off on the perfect note: doing nothing. This actually set the tone for the rest of my vacation, where I seldom left the table in front of the Old City Hostel until the afternoon. (Later in the trip, another tourist asked my friend why she never took me with her in the morning. Her response was: "Because he's worthless in the morning!" For me that was a compliment.)

My good fortune of having the right people around on this trip continued at The Old City Hostel where we stay in Istanbul for the whole time. Meeting two Brits that first day was wonderful and dispelled my fears that I would be Lost in Translation as I often am during my service in Armenia. Samantha, whose son worked at the hostel, was the very first person I met when I asked about the closest money exchange office. She was kind enough to walk me there and over the next 10 days became my “traveling angel”. Her ability to speak with the locals as well her sweet spirit was a wonderful birthday gift for my vacation in Turkey. The other Brit who also showed up at the hostel was Colin. He was a plant manager of a local factory and used the weekends at our hostel to de-compress. His company had a very nice hotel on the factory grounds but he wisely chose to leave the work environment over his weekends. Thanks to the long Ramadan weekend, Colin was around to show me his favorite bakery for breakfast. Afterwards I would sometimes return to “my table” and other times tagged along on his explorations of undiscovered streets and sites in Istanbul. His secret desire was to have lived in an earlier time when British sailors still explored the high seas and new lands.

Whatever I did in the morning was always relaxed and accompanied by hot tea and new friends. And so my morning routine slowly developed. I would just sit and read about the experiences of my fellow Volunteer who came here 40 years earlier. (The Peace Corps presence in Turkey was discontinued after a number of years when the political climate was deemed too turbulent for Volunteer safety. The author ironically stayed on in the tourism business and became one of the leading authorities on Turkey when Lonely Planet was just getting started.) On previous vacations when I was still working in Corporate America, I usually needed a swimming pool, a stack of detective novels and an occasional cold Mexican beer in order to sit still. This time all I needed was "my table" in front of the hostel and an occasional tea from Ali the Tea Boy who literally ran by all day juggling a full tray of tea, which cost 1 Lira (about 70 cents). One morning I did get adventurous and walked 5 minutes down the street to one of the historic Turkish Baths. At $35 it was my most extravagant purchase of the trip. But my slow walk back to the hostel two hours later confirmed it had been an excellent decision .

Sometime in the early afternoon, my Peace Corps companion would return from her morning excursions. We would grab a sandwich for 3 Liras from a sidewalk vendor and head out to some new site she’d read about in her travel book. Without her I am not sure if I ever would have made it to the Asia side of Istanbul. One day we took the very modern tram facing our street (Turkey does understand how to attract tourists) down to the port and then walked across one of the bridges spanning Bosphorus Straits. Another time she had read about this little very old village of Fener that was a mix Greek and Turkish residents. And it was only a 10 or 15 minute bus ride on the Asia side. We went there and I felt like I had gone back in time a 100 years as I walked amidst a very traditional way of life. It reminded me of an earlier trip to Crete with its winding hillside streets. Vehicle traffic was almost non-existent and the grade school kids ruled the streets. And when the call to prayer came, there was a sudden flow of men heading for the mosques with their religous hats in hand. I later learned that only Hajis could wear the hat, those that had completed the trip to Mecca required of all practicing Muslims.

The evenings were very relaxed as well. Sometimes Colin would take me to his favorite sisha bar which was populated not just by curious tourists but was a regular event for many locals as well. It was fun not just to be part of Istanbul's night life but also it was a venue well-suited to my meager entertainment funds for the trip. One evening a group of us spent an hour and a half there and the bill for the pipe, fruit-flavored tobacco and delicious hot tea came to only 5 Lira each, or $3 for the hour and a half. That would put most American bar owners out of business.

My other connection with Colin was in the area of business. Not only was he in charge of Business Development (my last position in the business world) but like my father he had started in his late teens as a pattern-maker. I remember most people thinking my dad made dress patterns when I mentioned his profession. Patterns, molds, castings are all part of the critical design phase for manufacturing any engines but are off the radar screen and seldom seen. One might compare it to Intel's plant in Folsom. We all rely on the quality and accuracy of those computer chips for our PC's and laptops but few of us have any idea how they are made.

My exposure to the pattern business came to a halt in the 70's when the American automobile makers suddenly had to deal with the more gas-efficient and less expensive competition from Japan. The Big Three started cutting costs and many union shops like my fathers soon found themselves out of business. It was great talking to Colin was and learning how the pattern business was now operating in the 21^st century.

We also had another common ground that was much more rooted in the present for as Westerners we both struggled to share our business knowledge with those from another culture. His struggles to increase productivity in his plant were echoes of my past year where I had hoped to create some collaboration in the Tourism Industry. In both cultures social relationships are given top billing to the extent that efficiency often goes out the window.

His business meetings with a dozen key personnel back in England were in sharp contrast to his current ones in Istanbul. Here the participants would all sit with at least one cell phone turned on in front of them. Nobody turned their phones off and thought nothing of taking personal calls during the meeting. The meetings could drag on for 3 to 4 hours and he was still not sure anything had been accomplished. If Colin had not already shaved his head, I just imagined that he would have pulled all his hair out by now in frustration.

But most of the time I just sat at the table in front of our hostel and enjoyed the camaraderie of the restaurant staff and the sun that showed up after a couple days. It wasn't until the 3^rd day that I realized it wasn't "my" table but "their" table as the hostel owner had given the restaurant the additional space in exchange for free meals. Such was the connection with the two business owners who were both Kurdish. It took me a couple Google searches to understand more about what the papers called "The Kurdish Question." Apparently there was a treaty after the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1922 that gave the Kurds their own land. But the ruling powers reneged on the treaty and instead split up the land with adjacent countries. Apparently President of Turkey was rightly concerned about the fragile nature of his new Republic and feared ethnic divisiveness. He even forbad the teaching of their language and books written in Kurdish. His decision seemed a little harsh to me until I thought about the current chaos in Iraq where the Sunnis, Shiites and Kurds continue to split the country.

In addition to the friendship of the restaurant staff, I was able to enjoy meeting many young visitors who came every couple days to our hostel. Since there were 10 beds to a dorm room, it attracted young people who found the $17 a night (that included breakfast) fit their slender budget as it did mine. I got to hear about life in Germany, Holland, Brazil, Portugal, and Sweden. I got to travel around the world without ever leaving the "comforts of home" and the hot tea from Ali. Toward the end of the first week, when I gave him the 1Lira, he gave me a half Lira back. I was confused and asked the hostel staff about it. I guess he had one price for tourists and another for those who lived there. The 35 cents really didn't mean much to my wallet but made me feel like I was now a member of The Old City Family.

For a fella who decided to spend his 64^th birthday in a strange country, I felt I had received a wonderful gift. And no doubt during the upcoming 6 months of Armenian winter, I will be returning to my photos and the warm memories of Istanbul. I was a little embarrassed when I left that I still hadn't gone inside the Blue Mosque or the Cisterns which many said were the most impressive sights there. So I guess I will just have to follow the example of my fellow Volunteer who saved almost $400 by flying home from there instead of Yerevan. Next time I doubt if I will See Everything in Istanbul in One Day. I had way too much fun being worthless.

PS If any of you ever pick Turkey as a travel destination, you will find much useful information at the website of the former Peace Corps Volunteer:

www.turkeytravelplanner.com

Keeping the Car on the Road

As the saying goes, Life imitates art far more than art imitates Life. I happened to pick up a copy of The Grapes of Wrath the other day. It had been 40 years since I first read it and remember enjoying Steinbeck's descriptive language very much. I had never lived on a farm myself but his descriptions of the families moving from the Dust Bowl to California were very poignant. I can even remember copying down at the time some of the passages whose imagery were particularly striking.

About a week after I started reading the book again, I took a bus to celebrate with our newest group of Volunteers their official Swearing In, attended by the US Ambassador to Armenia. It was interesting to witness the ceremony again, this time without the flood of emotions as when you are up on the stage. Then we all trooped over to the same outdoor cafe as last year for the more "informal" but truly celebrative part of the graduation experience. After spending 11 weeks in another culture that included living with an Armenian family and having 4 hours of language classes a day, there is a certain release of energy after the completion of this first stage of your service. The communal sigh of relief was soon followed by numerous toasts and several hours of loud conversation.

As the afternoon wore on, the members of our class from last year started preparing the return journeys to our sites before dark. The new Volunteers didn't have to worry about that as they would be spending this final night in nearby villages where they trained. And the next day they would be transported by the Peace Corps with all their belongings to their new sites. That would be the official start to their two years of service in Armenia.

For us "old timers," we would need to fend for ourselves. Since there were no regular bus routes back to my site, I realized I had a couple options. I could take a one hour bus ride going west back to the capital and then connect with another bus traveling two hours east back to my site. I'm not sure if it was firm grasp of arithmetic or my old habits from the 60's kicking in, but I was soon found myself hitchhiking home ( not a practice recommended for our female volunteers.) I probably also have a naive trust in my Hitchhiking Karma, haven given innumerable rides to hitchhikers over the years.

My thumb wasn't out in the breeze but about 15 minutes when this very nice couple with their young daughter picked me up. While the Mercedes and BMW's went roaring by, it is usually a vehicle in rather weathered condition that stops for me. In Armenia it probably doesn’t hurt having white hair and beard as the culture still gives some deference to being a "papeek" (grandfather). I first discovered this on the local buses when young ladies would stand up a say: "nestea" (sit down). I was a little uncomfortable at first but have since realized it is better not to refuse a form of generosity that is a cultural norm.

After we had been on the road for about 20 minutes, I began to notice a little bit of shimmy in the car. Then the driver started to drive with his head out the window watching something. That signaled something more serious. After another 20 minutes we stopped next to a roadside food stand. Soon the food vendor was under the hood of the car with the driver. Since most Americans don’t even change their oil anymore, I felt a little useless in this roadside version of CarTalk. But soon they had agreed on a fix and noticed them ... chopping a 2 foot section of from a branch along side the road. That was enough to have me join the under-the-hood-conference. A bracket of one of the pulleys had worked its way loose and they decided to wedge the wood to hold it in place. When I realized that the next step was to hold the branch in place, I joined in the impromptu scavenger hunt along the side of the road. I felt like part of the team again when I found a piece of wire soon to become part of the solution. I heard the expression from American farming days about things being “held together with baling wire” but this was my first up-close experience.

The vibration disappeared for the rest of my ride home. When I got out I put some money in the driver’s hand claiming it was gas money. But I knew some kind of auto repair was coming his way the next day.

This “make do attitude” seems to prevail in Armenia as it obviously did with the farmers who held our country together with not just bailing wire but a large dose of grit and determination. As I opened my novel the next day, I couldn't help but feel Steinbeck was describing my trip:

Listen to the motor. Listen to the wheels. Listen with your ears and with your hands on the steering wheel; listen with the palm of your hand on the gear-shift lever; listen with your feet on the floor boards. Listen to the pounding old jalopy with all your senses, for a change of tone, a variation of rhythm may mean-- a week here? That rattle – that's tappets. Don't hurt a bit. Tappets can rattle til Jesus comes again without no harm. But that thudding as the car moves along – can't hear that – just kind of feel it. Maybe oil isn't getting someplace. Maybe a bearing's startin' to go. Jesus, if it's a bearing, what'll we do? Money's going fast.

It wasn’t long after the characters in the Grapes of Wrath got to California that they realized their fantasy of clean little cottages with white picket fences and juicy oranges hanging from all the trees was just that: a fantasy. Steinbeck ends the story shortly after their arrival in California and doesn’t fill in the details of how they survived. But he does suggest the emotional that was coming:

The decay spreads over the State, and the sweet smell is a great sorrow on the land. Men who have created new fruits in the world cannot create a system whereby their fruits may be eaten. And the failure hangs over the State like a great sorrow. And in the eyes of the people there is the failure; and in the eyes of the hungry there is a growing wrath. In the souls of the people, the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage.

I often worry about how this country is going to move to the next stage of their economic growth, lacking both the resources and free enterprise system that made America’s growth possible. I guess I’ll just need to trust the grit and determination of the people. They have suffered much in the past couple centuries and don’t look like they are going to quit anytime soon.

Last Week's "Green Camp'

Growing Pains

Just came back over the weekend from another youth camp.  I saw some new parts of Armenia as the camp took place in the very northern part where you could actually see Georgia.  Although the geography was new, the heat was very  Sacramento-like and you could usually find the counselors under the nearest shady place.

This camp was a slightly different from the last one as the kids were a little younger (11-14) and as the name Green Camp suggests, it focused on increasing their understanding and respect for the environment.  The topics for the days ranged from the cyclical nature of "Water" to the "Pyramid of Life" to "Eco-Friendly Communities."  Some of the time was spent in the classrooms but the emphasis was on experiential learning through outdoor games and activities.   During the break time, the kids would drift into small circles to practice their volleyball skills or pair off with badminton rackets, a favorite of the girls in my town.  I even helped a handful of kids to get proficient at throwing a Frisbee…. straight.

As with the previous camp, the enthusiasm of the kids was delightful and kept our staff of 6 Peace Corps Volunteers and 6 Armenian Volunteers energized in spite of the heat.  When the activities of the camp concluded in the late afternoon, we only had a five minute walk from the school to the house of Volunteer who lives full-time in that village.  It wasn't long before the Americans were sitting in the shade, curled up with the current novels for the week, or taking a cat-nap on one of the many mattresses spread throughout the floor of the house…. and often completing the whole sequence!

Upon returning this past weekend to my regular site, I was excited to take my first hot shower in a week, re-discover the other modern conveniences of my bathroom and have my first good night's sleep in a week.  Not sure if it's just my age or the fact that I never did much camping as a kid, but sleeping on the floor/ ground leaves me tired the next morning.

Having experienced a "let-down" after the last Summer Camp, I thought this time I would keep an eye on my emotional state as I returned to a "semi-urban" setting.  It is hard to replicate the proximity to nature and the hospitality in a rural Armenian village.  On my morning walks to our Green Camp, I was often joined by the local turkeys out for their morning stroll.   And on the way back, it was easy to wind up in a neighbor's home.  The second evening there I was invited to the home of one of the neighbors I had met on one of my walks. First it was the traditional cup of Armenian coffee, then came plates of sliced peaches and sweets.  The visit was capped off by a spontaneous duduk concert by one of his nephews. (During our training a year ago, we had learned that the “duduk,” a reed instrument in the oboe family, was the pride and joy of Armenia.  The story goes that when James Cameron heard it for the first time, he knew he wanted it for the soundtrack for his new movie "Titanic.")  

Another time I walked two houses down to Mayor's residence to fill up a couple buckets of water and didn't come back for almost two hours.  The other Volunteers must have thought I got lost!   But my favorite moment in the evenings was when the neighborhood kids couldn't hold back their curiosity any longer and carefully stuck their heads in our gate.  It was a like re-run of Spanky and Our Gang with all the wide-eyed looks and bashful joy. 

All that being said, I was curious to observe my response to returning to my "semi-urban" setting, where I stay until August 2010.  What was it that led me to feel a let-down last time?  After all, I have made some good friendships and have often been the recipient of gracious hospitality here as well.  And besides, I had all the creature comforts of a comfortable bed and a hot shower.  What's not to like? 

It slowly occurred to me it had little to do with the people but really with the current  “growing pains” with the country's culture.  The values of consumerism are in full-swing and the guileless nature of village life will soon be a distant memory.  The comparison that comes to mind is with “teenagers” who confuse appearance with reality.  Having the latest songs on your cell phone or driving at high speeds seem to be goals that many residents in my town aspire to.  And when I travel to the capital the behavior is even more startling as the majority of the young women in Yerevan seem to be auditioning for Project Runway……… Hollywood Boulevard.   This seems especially strange in a society with very conservative and almost repressive sexual norms.   Any way you look at it, the cultural values and the behavior are not a good fit.

It would be much easier to accept if all the fancy cars and trendy fashions in the capital were the fruits of a healthy economy.   But there is no economy in Armenia to sustain this lifestyle, unless one of your relatives has a connection with the Russian Mafia.  At least in the rural areas, the villagers approach a self-sustaining life, growing much of their own food and bartering for additional services. They have no illusions about themselves and their lives are consistent with the values of the culture.

 The same cannot be said for the residents in the larger urban areas like my town.  Many of the new generation have absorbed from TV and the movies their version of  The Good Life.  And their cell phones make them part of that.  Few seem to consider how such a lifestyle is “sustainable.”  With 30% unemployment, many look to their families to support them, some to the government, while others have become very skilled at writing grants to get their slice of foreign aid.  But this pattern of seeking the solution outside of one's own initiative has the tendency to point Armenia into  becoming a Welfare State.  

    I wonder if Karl Marx would see the irony of the situation.  It is no longer “religion” but cell phones and fast cars that have become the “opiate of the people.”  While I find this very difficult to watch, there are surely sectors of the government and select families that control Armenia’s wealth who do not.  For the result is that most citizens are distracted from trying to change the stark realities of their country: that  democracy is but a facade and that the most qualified candidate being hired is but an illusion.    One can only hope that this will change in time.  It just won’t be any time soon.  Resignation is deeply imbedded in the culture and leadership and collaboration skills are sorely missing after 70 years of Soviet rule.  

In the meantime, we will continue to train the young people in their problem-solving, collaboration, and leadership skills.  They will surely need them for the steep climb up the mountain which is their future.