(Dis)Orientation

Before the impressions fade, a quick accounting of other memorable events since our arrival:

Ella locked herself in the bathroom at the first grocery store we found and shut down the entire operation as first the lone check-out girl, and then an assistant manager, and finally the big bossman was summoned to help extract her. I failed my father test that day and yelled at her for causing a scene, but soon realized it was my own embarrassment I was reacting to and apologized. For her part, Ella took it in stride and never got upset until I yelled.

Later that day, in an act of startling metaphoric appropriateness, I unknowingly blew every fuse in our apartment by plugging in an American power bar with a suitable adapter, in the hopes of lessening the number of additional adapters we would need. We had just filled our fridge with groceries of course. Three calls to the housing office finally produced a friendly electrician who patiently and diligently tested each outlet and fuse until he found the offending equipment. He threw me a nettled look but I apologized as best I could and he seemed to accept it.

Beyond that we are still struggling to acquire an internet connection and the proper IDs needed to initiate a whole host of other critical processes.The clock is ticking on our residence permits and there is so much left to do.

Our frustration reached a fever pitch at the middle school orientation yesterday, when we realized we hadn't been informed about a slew of events, options, schedules, requirements, books and other school supplies. This was doubly surprising given the cost of the place, and its alleged reputation. We have no experience with private schools, and no other option here, but it's kind of ironic our daughters had to move all the way to Turkey to experience elitism.

We also discovered the Bilkent shuttle bus would fail to get the girls to school on time. Looks like we'll have to catch a cab every morning. The only other option was an expensive private bus service with security guards. This is probably standard operating procedure at private schools everywhere but seemed ridiculous and unnecessary to us. Still, we worried that the girls would miss out on an opportunity to make friends and get labeled the poor outsiders and so we eventually capitulated to paying through the nose.

I have seen my wife tackle bureaucracies at the highest and lowest levels in this country, most often in their own tongue, but even she was stymied by the byzantine requirements and registration process of this stupid bus service and the rude young woman who served as its face. (Who is your emergency contact in a country where you know virtually no one, and certainly no one capable of helping in an emergency?) We finally managed to complete the multiple forms necessary but they somehow disappeared while the woman was dealing with other parents.

"Where are they?" Lizzie asked, and was shown absolute disdain, as if she was an idiot instead of a PhD and not competent enough to keep track of four pieces of paper. She began to panic because her phone had died by that point and it held all the information needed to redo the forms. She asked again, "Where are they, they were just here?" and looked to me, as if I might know. Only when it became clear that we weren't going anywhere did this woman go retrieve them from the trash, where she had "mistakenly" thrown them. I can understand being tired and frazzled by a long day dealing with clueless parents, but this was clearly an intentional act—this woman was definitely an ambassador of enmity. She then asked for nonrefundable payment, up front, for the entire year. We produced four different credit cards and she refused to take them all. 

The Turks have a way of saying no that involves throwing their heads back in apparent scorn and making an tongue click against the roof of the mouth and although I know better I've always found it to be one of the more offensive gestures I've seen. When this ill-mannered young thing showered Lizzie and our lowly credit cards with several such responses it was I could do not to fire back with some offensive gestures of my own. Overcome by my own helplessness, I stalked away before I made the situation worse. This turned out to be impossible. In the end, we took the taxi option and saved ourselves a significant bundle of cash in the process.

In truth, this bus fiasco was only the last in a day of chaos that made the car line at the Ankara airport look like a Japanese train station. But I'll refrain from "going there" and end this here.