Culture Clash: Moving and Eating
I'm American. "Grab and go" is a way of life for me. But it's pretty offensive here in Turkey, the land without drive-in windows.
What makes Izmir a “winter wonderland”?
It certainly isn’t snowy lanes or sleighbells. Instead, it’s spring flowers beginning to bloom and fresh citrus. I have already written one ode to the Turkish tangerine (known here as the mandelina), and many more will come.
I have noticed one peculiar quality about my consumption of tangerines. I like to eat them while I am walking.
It stems from my first year of teaching here. I walked to and from school every day, and when fresh tangerines hit the stores, I would put a couple in my backpack to eat on my walk home after school each day.
There was something about those walks: peeling the tangerines as I went, throwing the peels in the ditch or a passing dumpster, tasting the delicious fruit. I remember the cool, damp air, rain puddles — the senses of winter — the Wonderland.
But there is something else I noticed. Even when I had bought a lot of tangerines, unless I ate them on my walk, they stayed in my refrigerator. I seldom, if ever, ate them at home.
This is my third winter in Izmir. I no longer walk to school — a school van takes me to and from work. And while I love tangerines no less, I find myself eating fewer, forgetting to put them in my school bag. It’s not because I love tangerines any less. I’m not moving as much as I did the first year.
Turks: No Eating Outside
Another thing I have noticed is that I don’t see Turks eating outside, or combining eating and drinking with another activity — as Americans love to do. You can get your coffee in a to-go cup here, but for every person I see walking around with a coffee in their hand, there are 50 drinking coffee with a friend, relaxing in a cafe, all seasons of the year.
The same goes with food. On Saturdays the parks are filled with families grilling köfte (Turkish meatballs) and drinking tea, but I don’t think I have seen someone walking — or even sitting on a park bench — eating out of a bag of potato chips or munching on a snack bar. I mean, I still do, but I know that I must seem odd to onlookers.
This year I joined a community choir. To get to choir practice, I ride my bike to the ferry, ferry across the bay, and ride the rest of the way. I found that not only was I tired whenever I got home after practice, I was also hungry.
One day I decided to take a bag of popcorn along and eat a snack while I waited for the ferry. There are benches outside the ferry terminal, so I sat there, reaching into my bag of popcorn from time to time, munching on a handful at a time. No one else was eating in the outdoor waiting area.
The ferry approached and a worker walked out of the office to assist with disembarcation. He looked at me as he walked by and stopped with a look of utter disgust on his face.
He pointed at me, then at the ground. He said something to the effect of “clean that mess up.”
I looked down. Some pieces of popcorn had fallen below the bench where I sat. There were even popcorn pieces in the wrinkles of my shirt. I nodded to the worker, bent down, and picked up every last crumb as he continued on the ferry.
As I wadded up the empty bag and threw it away, a new scruple grew inside me. The time for eating and — yes — snacking is when you are seated inside, preferably with family or friends.
My on-the-go Americanness slowed a little, and that is probably a good thing.