You won’t need sugar in your fincan kahve (cup of coffee) this morning. Şekerpare, a delicate cookie made with semolina, almonds, and love, delivers the sweetness. So, inhale the rich aroma and galvanize your senses with robust brew. If you closed your eyes, you could be in Istanbul.

Re(sound)

Oh, I see: At cultural festivals, details evoke worlds. At Monterey’s Custom House Plaza, the percussive rhythm of the davul and the string-song of a bağalama become a soundtrack for Turkish memories.

The singsong pitch of street vendors and the sonorous calls-to-prayer of the muezzin; the miyav (meow) of sociable kediler (cats); the sparkling humor and plaintive beseeching of TV soap operas; the clatter of plates and clink of glasses at a meyhane; the buzz and bump of motorbikes on cobbled alleys; the banter of fishermen at the Galata Bridge amid the commentary of seagulls.

As if on cue, a colony of seagulls above Monterey Bay choruses raucously, bringing my senses back to California.

Re(scene)

At a cultural festival a single image can reassemble memory’s mosaic. I spot a display of nazar boncuğu, blue glass eye beads. Traditionally, these talismans warded off misfortune’s “evil eye” by staring boldly back, commanding misery to come no closer. In reality, Turks collect them mostly for their beauty and to give as gifts.

Seen in Monterey, the blue beads trigger a montage of memories: The blue-tiled Rüstem Paşa Mosque, bluer even than Istanbul’s more famous Blue Mosque. The azure blue of summer sky as you ferry across the steel blue Bosporus from Istanbul’s European side to its Asian side. The intense dark blue of lapis lazuli in a jeweler’s window. The shimmering blue of peacocks in a palace garden. Blue-black figs at an open-air market.

Re(word)

One 15th-century word encapsulates the entire spectrum of blues that first dazzled travelers in Turkey. The French pronounced it tur-KWAZ.

Yes, turquoise, or literally, “Turkish.” Today, we reserve that word for the bluish-green stone mined in arid regions of Turkey, America’s Southwest, and elsewhere. “Phosphate of copper and aluminum” lacks a certain poetry.

A Thirst for Memories

Turkish wines are superb, but it’s too early to sample them. And other beverages offer their own complexities. A glass of gold is made using two stacked kettles, the lower kettle to boil the water, the top to warm the loose-leaf çay, or tea. Tulip-shaped glasses are essential.

Now let’s order lunch and ayran (EYE-rahn), a salty, ice-cold yogurt drink. It’s an acquired taste, but a refreshing one, too. The savory, restorative counterpart to the American milkshake.

Ne yemek istersin? “What would you like to eat?” Turkish cuisine goes way beyond doner kebap. It reflects two continents, a host of regional, seasonal variations, and the experiences of 2,000 centuries. From palatial restoranları to rickety stands on street corners, Turkish kitchens produce some of the world’s most splendid fare.

The Taste of Memories

Turkish breakfast is a lavish affair, a beautifully constructed spread of the finest regional cheeses, cured olives, egg dishes, rose jam, and more. But nothing inspires morning rapture quite like simit. It is to Turkey what the croissant is to Paris—deceptively simple and simply superb.

To find simit in Turkey, just look for the man wheeling a red trolley or balancing a tray stacked ten tiers high. In the U.S., simit is increasingly available at Mediterranean delis and bakeries, including Monterey’s International Market.

Served fresh and warm, simit are downright inspiring. They have even inspired the noun can simidi (jahn SIH-mihd-ee)—the name for the ring-shaped life preservers on Turkish ferries.

Turkish Memory Lane

By now even a passing California car inspires Turkish reverie: While driving from Istanbul to Bodrum, my Turkish relatives and I stop at the town of Ortaklar. Ortaklar’s main street is lined with carwashes, but each represents only half of a family-owned business. I discover the other half when we pull into Necati’nin Yeri.

While the car is seen to, we join festive diners at long tables under shade trees and canopies. Dish after exquisite dish arrives, and a young man slides flat rounds of dough into an outdoor oven, where they puff up like balloons. This is lavas (lah-VAHSH), so irresistible it’s a wonder the customers don’t puff up like balloons, too.

Recalling this feast, I momentarily conflate thoroughly Turkish fare and American thoroughfares. Oh right, I’m in Monterey, California, not Ortaklar. But everything is redolent with the sweet confusion of memories.

The Taste of Turkish Words

I savor, too, the taste of Turkish words. A cultural festival offers the chance to practice. The Turkish language is considered fiendishly difficult to learn, but I disagree. Difficult to master, sure, but that’s true of any language. The spelling of modern Turkish is largely phonetic, so once you recognize differences in the alphabet and get the hang of certain sounds, you might be surprised at how quickly you catch on.

Learning to say hello, surely that’s the takeaway of cultural festivals. Hello to the connections between here and there, past and present, you and me. Merhaba to families strolling along the Bosporus and families strolling along Monterey Bay. Hello, Merhaba, and Welcome to whatever connects us all.

Thank you to Ceren Abi for contributing to this article. Seni seviyorum, Ceren!

$\"A$

Derya Bolg\u00fcn, age 10, welcomes you to the Turkish Arts and Culture Festival
in Monterey, California.\u00a0
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n

A Cultural Festival Calls Forth Memories<\/strong><\/h2>\n
You won\u2019t need sugar in your fincan kahve\u00a0<\/em>(cup of coffee) this morning. \u015eekerpare<\/em>, a delicate cookie made with semolina, almonds, and love, delivers the sweetness. So, inhale the rich aroma and galvanize your senses with robust brew.\u00a0 If you closed your eyes, you could be in Istanbul.<\/p>\n
But you\u2019re at a Turkish cultural festival in Monterey, California.<\/p>\n
$\"Pastries$
Is baklava<\/em> Turkish or Greek? Depends on whom you ask. \u015eekerpare<\/em> (center) and irmik helvasa<\/em> (right)
reflect culinary traditions of Turkey’s Ottoman Empire.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy (L)\/ Ceren Abi (R)<\/p><\/div>\n
Re(sound)<\/strong><\/h4>\n
Oh, I see:<\/strong> At cultural festivals, details evoke worlds. \u00a0At Monterey\u2019s Custom House Plaza, the percussive rhythm of the\u00a0davul<\/em><\/a> and the string-song of a ba\u011falama <\/em><\/a>become a soundtrack for Turkish memories.<\/p>\n
$\"Young$
Young women in Monterey, California reflect the exuberance of Turkish line dancing.\u00a0
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Every note I hear is layered with sounds remembered:<\/p>\n
The singsong pitch of street vendors and the sonorous calls-to-prayer of the muezzin;<\/em>\u00a0the miyav<\/em> (meow) of sociable kediler<\/em> (cats); the sparkling humor and plaintive beseeching of TV soap operas; the clatter of plates and clink of glasses at a meyhane<\/em>; the buzz and bump of motorbikes on cobbled alleys; the banter of fishermen at the Galata Bridge amid the commentary of seagulls.<\/p>\n
As if on cue, a colony of seagulls above Monterey Bay choruses raucously, bringing my senses back to California.<\/p>\n
Re(scene)<\/strong><\/h4>\n
At a cultural festival a single image can reassemble memory\u2019s mosaic. I spot a display of nazar boncu\u011fu<\/em>, blue glass eye beads. Traditionally, these talismans warded off misfortune\u2019s \u201cevil eye\u201d by staring boldly back, commanding misery to come no closer. In reality, Turks collect them mostly for their beauty and to give as gifts.<\/p>\n
$\"A$
The eyes have it: Shown here in Monterey,\u00a0nazar boncu\u011fu<\/em>\u00a0are everywhere in Turkey.\u00a0
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Seen in Monterey, the blue beads trigger a montage of memories: The blue-tiled R\u00fcstem Pa\u015fa <\/em>Mosque, bluer even than Istanbul\u2019s more famous Blue Mosque. The azure blue of summer sky as you ferry across the steel blue Bosporus from Istanbul\u2019s European side to its Asian side. The intense dark blue of lapis lazuli\u00a0<\/em>in a jeweler\u2019s window. The shimmering blue of peacocks in a palace garden. Blue-black figs at an open-air market.<\/p>\n
Re(word)<\/strong><\/h4>\n
One 15th-century word encapsulates the entire spectrum of blues that first dazzled travelers in Turkey. The French pronounced it tur-KWAZ<\/em>.<\/p>\n
Yes, turquoise<\/em>, or literally, \u201cTurkish.\u201d Today, we reserve that word for the bluish-green stone mined in arid regions of Turkey, America\u2019s Southwest, and elsewhere. \u201cPhosphate of copper and aluminum\u201d lacks a certain poetry.<\/p>\n
$\"A$
The color blue is prevalent throughout Turkey.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
A Thirst for Memories<\/strong><\/h4>\n
Turkish wines are superb, but it’s too early to sample them. And other beverages offer their own complexities. A glass of gold is made using two stacked kettles, the lower kettle to boil the water, the top to warm the loose-leaf\u00a0\u00e7<\/em>ay<\/em>, or tea. Tulip-shaped glasses are essential.<\/p>\n
$\"A$
Serve Turkish tea in glasses to assess its strength and admire its color.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Now let\u2019s order lunch and\u00a0ayran<\/em> (EYE-rahn), a salty, ice-cold yogurt drink. It\u2019s an acquired taste, but a refreshing one, too. The savory, restorative counterpart to the American milkshake.<\/p>\n
$\"Two$
In tiny pop-up kitchens, two chefs\u2014one in Monterey, one in Istanbul\u2014satisfy hungry crowds.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Ne yemek istersin?\u00a0<\/em>\u201cWhat would you like to eat?\u201d Turkish cuisine goes way beyond doner kebap<\/em>. It reflects two continents, a host of regional, seasonal variations, and the experiences of 2,000 centuries. From palatial restoranlar\u0131\u00a0<\/em>to rickety stands \u00a0on street corners, Turkish kitchens produce some of the world\u2019s most splendid fare.<\/p>\n
$\"uyers,$
Colorful Turkish ceramics in Monterey (upper left) recall a feast of colors in Istanbul.
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
The Taste of Memories<\/strong><\/h4>\n
Turkish breakfast is a lavish affair, a beautifully constructed spread of the finest regional cheeses, cured olives, egg dishes, rose jam, and more. But nothing inspires morning rapture quite like simit<\/em>. It is to Turkey what the croissant is to Paris\u2014deceptively simple and simply superb.<\/p>\n
To find simit <\/em>in Turkey, just look for the man wheeling a red trolley or balancing a tray stacked ten tiers high. In the U.S., simit<\/em> is increasingly available at Mediterranean delis and bakeries, including Monterey\u2019s International Market<\/a>.<\/p>\n
Served fresh and warm, simit<\/em>\u00a0are downright inspiring. They have even inspired the noun\u00a0can\u00a0simidi (jahn SIH-mihd-ee)\u2014<\/i>the name for\u00a0the ring-shaped life preservers on Turkish ferries.<\/p>\n
$\"Simit$
The perfect Turkish breakfast begins with simit<\/em>, a circular bread encrusted with sesame seeds.
\u00a9 Ceren Abi<\/p><\/div>\n
Turkish Memory Lane<\/h4>\n
By now even a passing California car inspires Turkish reverie: While driving from Istanbul to Bodrum, my Turkish relatives and I stop at the town of Ortaklar. Ortaklar\u2019s main street is lined with carwashes, but each represents only half of a family-owned business. I discover the other half when we pull into Necati\u2019nin Yeri<\/em>.<\/p>\n
While the car is seen to, we join festive diners at long tables under shade trees and canopies. Dish after exquisite dish arrives, and a young man slides flat rounds of dough into an outdoor oven, where they puff up like balloons. This is lavas<\/em> (lah-VAHSH), so irresistible it\u2019s a wonder the customers don\u2019t puff up like balloons, too.<\/p>\n
Recalling this feast, \u00a0I momentarily conflate thoroughly Turkish fare and American thoroughfares.\u00a0Oh right, I\u2019m in Monterey, California, not Ortaklar. But everything is redolent with the sweet confusion of memories.<\/p>\n
$\"Two$
On a day in August, families stroll in Monterey and Istanbul. Can you tell which is which?
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
The Taste of Turkish Words<\/strong><\/h4>\n
I savor, too, the taste of Turkish words. A cultural festival offers the chance to practice. The Turkish language is considered fiendishly difficult to learn, but I disagree. Difficult to master, sure, but that\u2019s true of any language. The spelling of modern Turkish is largely phonetic, so once you recognize differences in the alphabet and get the hang of certain sounds, you might be surprised at how quickly you catch on.<\/p>\n
It begins with Merhaba<\/em> (MEHR-hah-bah). Hello!<\/p>\n
$\"Fisherman\u2019s$
Left to right: On Monterey Bay and Istanbul’s Bosporus, friendly people go with the flow.\u00a0
\u00a9 Joyce McGreevy<\/p><\/div>\n
Learning to say hello, surely that\u2019s the takeaway of cultural festivals. \u00a0Hello<\/em> to the connections between here and there, past and present, you and me. \u00a0Merhaba<\/em> to families strolling along the Bosporus and families strolling along Monterey Bay. Hello, Merhaba,<\/em> and Welcome<\/em> to whatever connects us all.<\/p>\n
Thank you to Ceren Abi for contributing to this article.\u00a0<\/em>Seni seviyorum, Ceren!<\/i><\/p>\n
See more of the Monterey Turkish Arts and Culture Festival here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n
Comment<\/a>\u00a0on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here<\/a>.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":null,"protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":31791,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[98,102,513,199],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-31786","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-crossing-culture","category-culture-language","category-turkey-mappoints","category-usa-mappoints"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31786","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/15"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=31786"}],"version-history":[{"count":33,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31786\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":31842,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/31786\/revisions\/31842"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/31791"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=31786"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=31786"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.oh-i-see.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=31786"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}