Turkey has universal health care, which would normally beg the question: why are there huge amounts of private hospitals as well as public?  But, one must remind one’s self, this is Istanbul.  Public hospitals are available but they apparently are shoddy at best; those who can pay for it go for the better care and religious affiliation of private hospitals.  Some private hospitals, like Sema, have government contracts to pay for certain care.  For example, if a mother gives birth in Sema the government will pay for neonatal care. Subsequently this is the hospital’s most well-know department, the NICU, and it is the only department that becomes full—especially of women who may know their child might need the care of one of the best NICU units in Istanbul, and cannot pay.   

Sema Hastanesi is on the Asian side.  The Asian side, we have always been told, is poorer, more conservative, and less used to foreigners.  So we caught a bus in Mecidiköy, near Europe’s Biggest Mall, to the Asian side.  Over the bridge and winding our way south towards the Marmara Sea: a long trip, with people going about their business, and yes, less people spoke English, but it looked just like the neighborhoods of the European side in which the actual citizens of Istanbul live.  Of course things were busy and chaotic on the streets, and we had no idea where we were going since we had seen very little of the Asian side before.  But we got to the last stop on the bus and caught a cab to the hospital as we were instructed, and the driver took us to the very south: the coastal road of the Marmara.  Through the clogged apartments a bright streak of beauty can suddenly appear at the end of the road: the ancient sea, studded by the Princess Isles-- a series of ancient fishing islands from which cars are banned--jutting like breasts from the still water. 

It was one of the few sunny moments we’ve had on our trip so far, and it was stunning.  I was disappointed to arrive at the back entrance of the hospital, a gate hidden in the back of a residential neighborhood.  It seemed like a small place.  A short hallway led us to an information desk, where the well-dressed worker guided us to the office of or contact, Kiri Ozturk, a top administrator of the hospital and, as we found out, an American in exile married to a Turk with an MBA from Harvard.  She was extremely welcoming and, it turns out, had perfectly scheduled our day to have one-on-one interviews with a series of female doctors and nurses.  What a pleasant surprise!  We interviewed an internal medicine doctor first, and on the way to her office, Liqiao and I got an idea of how massive and expensive the hospital really was.  Everything was new, the hallways all marble and glass, and from a lounge complete with massage chair, a window overlooked the massive wing of the main hospital facing the Marmara, and each patient room angled to face the Marmara at ideal sight, with an orchid garden flowing down the windows and into the atrium of the large main lobby.  It was breathtaking.   

We interviewed seven health care providers in total, including two OB-GYN doctors and several NICU nurses.  They all wore headscarves and said similar things: that abortion is indeed a moral question for them, and that it should be legal but only permitted if the mother’s life is at risk or the fetus will not survive due to defects.  The two OB-GYN doctors had also previously worked at public hospitals, but said that they loved working at Sema because they were forced to perform abortions at public hospitals, whereas they could opt not to at Sema.  All seven women also said that they had the means to focus individual attention on patients at Sema, and that they had the freedom to be religious.  The public hospitals are affiliated with the government and therefore must be secular.  Several of the women gave examples of hostile work environments in public hospitals—while Turkey’s laws regarding secularism in public institutions is not always strictly enforced, there is clearly still a great deal of tension and controversy between the concept of political secularism and Turkey’s obvious Islamic roots and influences. 

All in all, the interviews were amazing, and very different from what we have been hearing from women of our own age in universities here.  This is exactly what we wanted, the perspective of health care providers to add dimension to the picture of family planning in Turkey we are trying to show to Duke.  I wonder if we made a mistake by only conducting interviews at a private religiously-affiliated hospital, especially one that is apparently so affluent.  But we do not have enough time, and it seems like the workers at public hospitals also do not have the luxury of time to spend with two American students.  I hope that we’ve gotten enough perspective by interviewing both nurses and physicians, but honestly, the class structure of Turkey is adding complications to this project we did not anticipate.   

After the strong dose of upper class Istanbul we received yesterday at Koç University, we decided that we need a public university perspective in our data.  So, I volunteered to go to Bogaziçi University in the morning before our second around of Koç sessions in the afternoon.  It meant a lot of traveling on Istanbul public transportation (always an ordeal), but since Bogaziçi University is where I studied during my summer abroad here, I felt confident about its layout and whatnot.  Just like we used to do to get to our class two summers ago, I stepped confidently past the security gate of the university towards the academic buildings, even though we didn’t have any appointments or contacts.  Bogaziçi is a stunning campus built on a slope leading down into the Bebek neighborhood and the Bosphorous.  The buildings are older, built in a sort of neoclassical-Ottoman style popular here early in the life of the Turkish Republic.  There are many paths and stone steps leading to hidden cottages that contain offices and classrooms.  Fortunately I vaguely remembered how to navigate around, and I quickly found a student union-type building.  Two women were sitting by the entrance, and knowing that all Bogaziçi students were taught in English, I approached them and told them what I was doing, and asked where was a good place to recruit some women.  One of them turned out to be a master’s student in sociology and philosophy, and she walked with me to the student café and took a survey herself.  I recruited 13 women total from the café, one of whom wore a headscarf (technically illegal, but like every other Turkish law, not enforced very well.) 

I also talked a great deal with my master's student friend.  She told me a lot, like how the students at Koç and those like herself at Bogaziçi have absolutely nothing in common and never speak, and that even within Bogaziçi there are class distinctions-- the area around Bogaziçi, Hisarüstü (where we hang out at cafe BU), is considered a slum where the poorer students from the Asian side stay, and just a mile or two away are Etiler and Bebek, immediately more upscale neighborhoods where richer students live.  We have not processed what these students had to say yet, but it should be very different from the Koç students, that's for certain.  We had to go to Koç in the afternoon, so after making the long trek again, we headed to our classroom and had about 20 more women fill out our survey.  The difference between Bogaziçi and Koç was just stunning.  Bogaziçi is crowded, the student cafe was run down and full of stray cats, the students looked so different--women in headscarves, people with dredlocks, no designer clothes at all.  Going from Bogaziçi to Koç was like seeing two completely different sides of Istanbul, even though we are trying to focus on a group of women who have age and education in common.  Turns out, they feel like they have almost nothing in common.   

Koç University is far to the north in Istanbul, near the black Sea.  This part of the city could easily pass for rural outskirts in South America or South Asia.  Poverty looks so similar everywhere.  The same corner shops, shanty towns, motley pedestrian traffic, and large fields that would be beautiful were it not for the trash and debris.  There are even cows to be seen, which is wholly unexpected in overcrowded Istanbul.  To reach Koç, you catch a Dolmuş (little bus) and travel up, up, past the shantytowns of Sarıyer into a pine-covered and Hellenic-looking peak.  Then you see the large marble gates of Koç.  The difference between the university and its neighborhood is stark; it reminds us of Durham. 

The campus itself is stunning, with simple marble and granite modernist buildings.  Guards meet us at the gate and then direct us to meet our contact Ceren, a graduate student in developmental psychology, outside the auditorium.  She shows us around and takes us for tea in the student center.  It is all dark wood and stone, with top class eateries and big comfortable furniture.  Massive glass windows look out onto Istanbul and the Bosphorous from Koç’s private hill; I have never seen Istanbul so fully.  The students around us speak Turkish but could easily pass for the crème de la crème of Duke: leggings, Ugg boots, real Louis Vouitton bags, straightened and dyed hair.  It’s pretty creepy, actually.  The height of status symbol in Turkey is usually clothes like Abercrombie and Fitch, but these students are clearly above even what would be my class in America.  Fortunately, though, Ceren is very sweet, speaks amazing English, and has set us up with two days of sessions with women who have signed up via their psychology department subject pool.  Everything was way more smooth and easy than we expected, since Koç is still Turkish. 

We had three half-hour sessions today in a classroom in the Law Building.  Almost 30 women came to the first session, and then about 10 in the last two sessions.  Koç is a private university, which means there are no laws restricting the use of head scarves or other religious symbols.  But, absolutely none of the women are wearing scarves.  Since the issue is so controversial in public universities, we are taken by surprise.  As we collected their completed surveys and skimmed their answers we saw a lot of contradictions, a lot of confusion between the idea of modern and the idea of conservatism and religiosity, and generally we read pretty limited use of contraceptives.  We’re very interested in but also a little intimidated by the idea of sorting through all the different answers from these women at Koç, clearly above the majority of Turks in many ways, clearly at an intersection between Western materialism and Turkish realities. 

This post is earlier and shorter because I am adjusting to Istanbul time and, after the events of today, am ready to go to sleep at 11 PM EET.  Our friends met us at the hotel and we all headed over to a restaurant far to the north of our neighborhood Güzeltepe, in a district called Yeniköy.  It was still rainy and gray, but we sat outdoors just across the street from the Bosphorous, where many people were fishing.  It was quietly beautiful (despite the usual din of traffic). 

The food was good, and after some tea, we felt able to travel to the biggest mall in Europe, Cevahir Mall, in the Şişli district.  It took more than two hours by bus, foot, and then another bus, because Şişli is even further south than Güzeltepe from the restaurant.  Not that the journey was not enjoyable.  We talked, we met people, we took pictures, and I made friends with a little boy on the bus who was fascinated by our English and wanted to show off what he knew. 

But unfortunately, sitting in Istanbul traffic takes its toll.  By the time we made it to Cevahir Mall we were exhausted.  Our plan was to go bowling (they have a bowling alley, several theaters, and a kids’ amusement park inside this six-story monstrosity), but we had to stop for coffee first, and I also couldn’t resist buying some decals that were clearly translated to English by a Turk: “Don’t kiss my ass!” “Size isn’t matter!”  We finally made it down to the alley and perked up once everyone got into the competition.  Our bowling skills range from superb (Serkan and Erdem) to terrible (me), but we had a lot of fun.  That whole extravaganza wiped me out, though, so we decided to come back to the hotel.  I bought some nuts and fruit for dinner and, after posting this entry, will surely fall asleep within seconds. 

Tomorrow is our first interviews.  We are nervous and excited.  Look forward to reading about what we find!

Istanbul, according to official record, has 12.6 million residents.  According to the residents themselves, however, the number is possibly double that, or more; there’s really no way to tell.  If you ever have the distinct and scary pleasure of looking out from the top of one of the seven hills of Istanbul, seeing the Bosphorous crowded with barges and the cityscape completely cluttered with high rises and apartment buildings and mosques and skyscrapers--and then suddenly realizing that the awesomely trans-continentally populated sight you are beholding is only a fraction of Istanbul… well, needless to say, you readily will believe that there’s no way to count the citizens of this city.  It is not only impossible (people in Istanbul make homes in any corner) but almost offensive and absurd to try to reduce Istanbul, the happy storm many-colored, many-voiced people, to a number. 

But, for the sake of argument, let’s say there are 20 million people in Istanbul.  Let’s say half of those live in the European side, which is where we are staying.  Well, of the 10 million people on this side of the Bosphorous, I would say that when we stepped into the neighborhood of Taksim today, we felt like 2 minuscule flecks in a sea of 10 million people rotating through Taksim Square.   

Let me back up.  Taksim Square is a bus depot and metro hub.  It is also arguably the social (discotheque) center of the European side.  It is also the site of several five-star hotels.  Finally, for some reason, it seems like every able-bodied Istanbulian can be seen milling around the square or surrounding alleys. 

So, today, Liqiao and I ventured to Taksim in order to buy an “akbil”, a bus pass, which would make our upcoming interview schedule much easier.  We had to take a taxi to Hisarüstü just to catch the correct bus.  Then, we were on the bus for a good 45 minutes, heading towards Taksim, which is on the way to the Golden Horn and Sultanahmet, the biggest touristy area.  The bus dumped us out at the depot area, which isn’t really an official sectioned-off depot; it’s just a giant clog of buses.  It was raining, and in true Istanbul style, there was a slick marble dais in the middle of this diesel chaos flanked by the two akbil stations, on which I almost slipped and died.  But we made it to the akbil station and after standing in a ridiculously long line, bought our holy akbils.  Then we strolled for a couple of minutes, took embarrassing photos, and ate some delicious snacks before re-embarking on the arduous bus journey.   

By the time we made it back to Hisarüstü, it was the perfect moment to meet up with our old friends again.  Everyone was gathered by around 9pm at our lovely café BU, because some live music was supposed to happen.  Since we managed to sleep last night, everyone was in a festive mood and ready to tackle the translation/language problem.  It also helped that the music soon started up. 

If there is anything that brings people together, it’s music.  And fortunately, Turkish music is so resonant, rhythmic, melodramatic, and fun that it is impossible not to get totally caught up in it.  By the end of the night we were all yelling at the top of our lungs, line dancing (in a folk Turkish way) and slapping lira bills onto each other’s foreheads (a sign of respect for dancing skills.)  I still speak little Turkish, and they still speak little English, but we double-cheek-kissed and hugged good night when we finally left, 1am, legs shaking, voices hoarse.  I was feeling overwhelmed by Istanbul earlier in the day, but now I feel like we have allies to help us navigate.  Even if we can’t really talk.       

After a grueling 16 hour journey, we finally touch down in Istanbul at around 9:30am.  We are greeted by a surprisingly calm Atatürk airport, but the city soon welcomes us properly with a non-stop traffic jam.  As our taxi starts and stops we take the time to start adjusting our eyes to the Turkish, the endless waves of buildings, and the unique smell of Istanbul.   

We arrive at our hotel at about 11:30am, the Otel Gül in Gültepe, near Levent and Etiler.  The neighborhood of Gültepe is not picturesque, but it is busy and rich, especially with colorful campaign advertisements strung over the streets for the recent regional elections.  Otel Gül is like Gültepe: not particularly fabulous-looking, but surprisingly deep, comfortable and lively.  The owner of the hotel, for example, bringhs us tea in the lobby and once we figure out he speaks little English but was born in Germany, he and I have a wonderful conversation.

From our fifth story window, I notice the telltale canvas top of a market just across the street.  So while Liqiao settles in to the room, I go for a walk.  To my surprise, what appeared to be a small alley produce market turned out to be a huge, nebulous bazaar.  I meander my way through its tangled arms for an hour, trying to fend off vendors while remaining non-chalant and indistinctive.  Of course, no one is fooled: my haircut, sunglasses and demeanor give me away as American.  But I don’t feel threatened, though I get lots of stares.  It was a reminder that we had the luck of picking a hotel far from the tourist-y, expensive parts of Istanbul with which both Liqiao and I are already familiar.

I am very glad we are here in Gültepe.  There are so many sides to Istanbul.  The city presents itself with its trademarks: Ottoman palace, Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Grand Bazaar.  But in fact it is more like an entire country, spreading across two continents, including so many classes and ethnicities and cultures, united under the flag of an immeasurable history and pride.  Her citizens curiously and openly stare at the foreign girl—this is their nation, dictated from the beginning of humanity.  They make no apologies, they only continue with their lives.     

After accidentally buying a kilo of oranges (I can't speak Turkish) and a present, I eventually stumble my way back towards our hotel.  I find Liqiao ready to head to another area of the city, Hisarüstü, where we used to live during our summers abroad here, and where our Turkish friends and contacts still live.  Our pace is slow and leisurely.  As much as a contradiction it may seem, Turkish life includes both the chaos of transportation and logistics, and slow strolls and sippings of tea.  We stop at two places to sit, eat, drink tea and coffee, and chat.  We then decide to make the grueling walk to Bebek, a neighborhood on the Bosphorous and accessible from Hisarüstü only by a Himalaya-like steep hike.  The grinding of our knees is sweetly familiar, we used to walk to Bebek every single night in the summer for ice cream.  We have more coffee, talk more, and then at 9:30pm realize that we are expected at the café BU back in Hisarüstü, another spot we frequented almost every night.  We struggle our way back to the top of the massive hill and meet some old friends at the café BU. 

An agenda for the night is to teach me tavla, a game (similar to backgammon) that Turks are seemingly taught from birth.  They normally slide the chips around at lightning speed, but our friends painstakingly slow it down to show me how to play.  Unfortunately, I speak basically no Turkish, Liqiao speaks only conversational Turkish, and our friends speak moderate to no English.  So, the instructions are hilariously confusing.  But I eventually catch on.  I lost, but it was such an invigorating and straightforward strategic exercise that I now realize why so many elderly Turks seem to just sit all day before tevla boards and cups of tea, pounding through games at speeds that are scary to those that are younger and supposedly more nimble, such as myself.      

So after this incredibly long day and these series of fast lessons (that I didn't even realize I needed) on Turkey, we are finally ready to hit the hay.  Our plans for the rest of the weekend pretty much center around preparing our project.  We have interviews at a hospital and two universities scheduled during the work week, and given the sublime vastness of the city and the traffic that is barely contained by law, we are expecting it to take every waking hour.