Five Months and Counting

We love Turkey. We really do. But enough's enough. Let's just say that as we enter our 27th month here, it's becoming increasingly clear (and painfully obvious) why this is typically a 24-month assignment. So in a Festivus-like therapeutic airing of grievances, here is a brief rundown on the things that are driving us nuts:

1. An Internet connection that apparently is powered by a slowly dying hamster.

2. Weekly scheduled blackouts, eight hours at a time. And they're usually on Sundays, which means we get to shower for church by candlelight -- not nearly as sexy as in the movies. And much, much colder. Unfortunately, the chapel has a generator.

3. The various smells of Turkey. There's what we call "the Abi" -- no deodorant and no bath for a week, explosively mixed with 110-degree heat. Almost a fermented B.O. -- on clear days, you can actually see the wavy stink lines. It's more a tangible presence than a smell. Then there's the omnipresent odor of smoke -- cigarette, coal, burning trash, hookahs, brush fire and did we mention cigarette? Also a tangible presence, especially in the winter when visibility is reduced to about 10 feet thanks to the folks who are burning their trash, broken furniture, peat and charcoal in an effort to stay warm during the scheduled blackouts. Think Salt Lake inversion, only if the entire Great Salt Lake was a burning lake of poopy diapers. Then there's Emily's personal favorite -- fish restaurant in August.

4. Squatties. Sit-down toilets are a luxury. Instead, most Turkish public bathrooms consist of what is essentially a hole in the floor with treads for your feet, complete with a dirty rubber hose for cleanin'. Not that big of a problem if you're a dude ... but if you're a 3-year-old girl who has recently potty-trained, a horrible, messy nightmare.

5. The Base Exchange (BX). This isn't Turkey's fault, of course, but to get an idea of what our only on-base shopping experience is like, just imagine if KMart and ShopKo got together and decided to take all of their crap that got picked over and ship it overseas to sell at inflated prices. And it's only re-stocked once a year. Sure, there's no Black Hills gold jewelry, but there is some Turkish gold-painted aluminum foil you can buy.

6. Taco Bell and Burger King. Look, the food here is great -- it really is. But since getting on and off base is like going to the proctologist (see #9 below), sometimes you need to pick up something quick and on-base. Of course, the Taco Bell is out of tortillas half the time and Burger King currently has no chicken nuggets or tenders or whatever they call them -- but there is LOTS of fermented ketchup because the locally hired employees haven't quite caught on to the concept of refrigeration and expiration dates. Emily gets visibly nauseous whenever we walk by the Burger King -- it's either the permeating rotting ketchup smell or the fact that we have eaten more Burger King than any family should humanly endure.

7. Not being able to access YouTube since March 2008. Apparently, the Turkish supreme court decided it was more important to prevent people from accessing videos of Armenians peeing on pictures of the Turkish version of George Washington than it was to protect free speech. Which, hey, it's their country and their revered founder, so whatever. But I would like to thank the supreme court because my kids didn't get to watch illegally posted holiday classics like A Charlie Brown Christmas this year. Which leads us into the next item ...

8. AFN. Also known as the American Forces Network. It's a good thing the people who run AFN aren't also running the war(s). This braintrust shows us Dr. Phil and Oprah every single night in prime time, and runs the aforementioned holiday children classics at 10 p.m. -- hours after our kids have hit the sack. They also don't show anything but Dr. Phil and Oprah. Oh sure, we get American Idol and some show called Moonlight that must air on the Unintentional Comedy Channel back in the States. And yes, you might say we should simply turn off the TV and better ourselves. But you try reading a Shakespeare play or writing a novel or spending quality time with the spouse when you're trying to digest a Whopper Jr. smothered in fermented ketchup as the smell of burning diapers wafts through your house and you can't even access YouTube because your Internet hamster died and because someone peed on a picture of Turkey's George Washington. So you end up watching Moonlight, screaming "why?!!" inside your head and wondering how long the next five months are going to feel. And then the power goes off.

9. Changing rules. The Turks run the base, which means they control who gets in and who gets out. So just to remind everyone who is in charge, the Turkocracy will randomly change the rules: "Oh, sorry sir, you need your pink pass and 23 copies of your orders and a copy of your birth certificate signed in blood and a notarized Turkish translation of your DNA in order to drive today." Every other week, we're renewing some pass, applying for some new ID card, or registering our toaster with customs.

10. Traveling for work. Again, not Turkey's fault, but if the people here would properly get into trouble, then I wouldn't have to go to Germany every other week (by donkey cart) to help out the falsely accused there. And that's not an exaggeration, either -- it has been about every other week since I took this job last summer. And to top it off, when I'm gone, I get to share a bathroom with random people and engage in other icky things, like calling people liars on the witness stand. Meanwhile, Emily shares a house with three messy kids who do their best to remind her that she is basically a single parent these days.

11. Being away from our friends and family. We're not going to lie -- at first, it was kinda nice. But the longer we're here, the more cutoff we feel from everyone. Maybe it's the time difference. Maybe it's the miles. Maybe it's because we smell of burning trash and cigarettes and no one wants to hang out with us anymore. Who knows. But we miss things like the occasional Sunday dinner with family, the Eliasons' Labor Day parties, game nights with the Gordons, seeing our siblings more than once every three years, being at Ellen's and Cali's weddings, David's farewell, blah, blah, blah. But don't get your hopes up ... even after we come back to the States, we're probably going to keep our distance. After all, it will take a while for the Abi to wear off and for the smell of smoke to finally leave our hair and our clothes. We're doing it for your benefit.

Whew. That feels better. Don't get us wrong -- and we hate to sound like the petulant, ugly Americans we usually make fun of. It has been an amazing experience living here. We're just ready for it to end.