Sheikh Zayed on a keychain

The end of November is a special time in the UAE. The date palms sway in the breeze, the sun smiles gently from the sky, and the workers of Abu Dhabi begin weaving long tubes of twinkly lights into decorative shapes and displaying them at regular intervals along the roadside. The shops fill with celebratory items, and most houses and cars are awash in red, green--and black. Yes, black. It's not Christmas being celebrated with such enthusiasm. It's the UAE national days on Dec. 2 and 3.

I was going to name this post "Pimp My Emirate" but I thought it'd be a little much. It would also be descriptive. The UAE goes crazy with national pride as the beginning of December approaches. This year our favorite federation of Gulfside city-states turns 38. If it's not a number to be proud of, don't tell that to my neighbor whose car is festooned with Emerati flags and plastered with stickers of Sheikh Zayed and sons. The aforementioned roadside light displays proclaim the birthday number every 10 feet or so, alongside the magic number seven, representing the seven emirates that make up the nation. In my favorite grocery store, one can buy Sheikh Zayed posters, tea towels, mouse pads, buttons and key chains, along with UAE-themed sweat bands, sundresses, scarves, bracelets, necklaces and several varieties of hat, including those super-tall baseball caps like they wear at Hotdog on a Stick. Only in red, green and black, of course.

Buildings get in on the act as well. My gym has the UAE flag in lights along the outer wall, and twinkly strands snaking up the palm trees in the parking lot. The skyscrapers downtown turn their floodlights to green and red. One enterprising organization projects a slideshow of UAE history 15 stories high. Featured prominently is everyone's favorite sheikh and photos of the fishing villages of Dubai and Abu Dhabi in the goat-hair-hut days of yore.

Or 38 years ago, whichever you prefer. Happy birthday, UAE!

Rain, rain, come and stay...

As most of you know, I just spent a week with the whole 6th grade touring the ancient Greek and Roman ruins near Selcuk, Turkey. It is a fantastic experience by any standards and meshes perfectly with the social studies curriculum. Kids learn the history and then they see it first hand. They even do in-depth research on a particular site, be it a temple, amphitheater, fountain, triumphal arch or stadium.

This year, however, the desert flowers of Abu Dhabi experienced a lot more than the wonders of the ancient world. They lived through a week of honest-to-goodness weather. And it was hard to tell which excited them more.

It all started back at school when we were preparing for the trip.

"It might rain," I said, in the tone of voice teachers use when delivering bad news.

"Yeeeeeessssss!" they all replied, to a kid, sounding like a nest of enthusiastic snakes and making the Jim Carrey fist pump.

I was a bit surprised. Rainy field trips, as both a teacher and a student, have all the appeal of a soggy sandwich.

"It may also get cold," I continued.

"Yeeessssssssssssss." More fist pumps. Some kids even slapped each other high fives.

"Will it snow?" piped up a kid from Norway.

Haven't you had enough snow? I wondered. "Probably not in Selcuk," I admitted.

"Awwwwwwwwwww."

"So, you want it to rain," I said, finally getting a clue, but not quite believing it.

"Totally/oh my gosh/how can you even ask?/yes/of course/duh," replied the kids. I heard a few whisper to each other about umbrellas and ponchos.

"It never rains here," a Korean kid explained. "So when it rains, it's special."

"It's wet," I pointed out. "And damp."

"Yeeesssssssssss."

Then we got to Turkey, and the first few days it was perfect. Sunny, warm, at least 80 degrees. We went to the beach. We frolicked among columns, Doric, Ionic and Corinthian. One of the drama classes did their play under the dome of the sky, like the ancient Greeks intended. We got back to the hotel every night, hot and sweaty.

What did we hear from the kids? Whine, whine, whine.

"I thought you said it was going to rain?" "When am I going to be able to wear my jacket?" "Isn't it autumn here?" "Why isn't it cold?"

Be careful what you wish for, kids.

The next day it poured. Buckets. It thundered and lightning. It wasn't that cold, but, boy, was it wet. And no one was prepared because when we left the hotel, it looked like another sunny day. I had left my rain jacket in my room. So had almost everyone else.

No sooner had the bus pulled into the parking lot, then it started.

"Ms. R, can we go outside?" "Can we play in the rain?" "Can I splash in the puddles." "Do you want to share my umbrella?" One kid even had one of those umbrella hats, honest to god, and his classmates thought it was the coolest thing they had ever seen in their entire lives. The kid looked like a grandpa at a golf tournament, but everyone was green with envy over his umbrella hat. He couldn't wait to try it out.

We stomped around the site in the pouring rain. It got colder. It got damper. The kids had enough of the water-from-the-sky thing after their shoes soaked through and their hair started to drip down their backs. But they were troopers, and didn't complain at all. Not like they had about the brilliant sunshine and balmy Mediterranean breeze of the day before.

"At least we're experiencing the rain," Umbrella Hat said solemnly, in the same tone you or I would say, 'At least we're experiencing these ancient monuments, which we may never see again.' It amounted to much the same thing.

The next day, it rained again, but got much colder. This time, the kids were prepared. Out came the hats, mittens, scarves and boots--clothes that spend months in the back of the closet until a ski holiday or perhaps a trip north for Christmas finally saw the light of day. We had a bright orange poncho, the kind for camping ("Don't you have a raincoat?" "No, why would I?") and a panda bear-inspired hat (complete with little ears) with a built-in scarf with matching mittens. Everyone wanted to wear it, but it lasted about 10 seconds in a real downpour. ("I guess it's not really waterproof." "No, honey, it isn't." "But it's cute, huh?")

When we got back to school and reconvened this week, kids talked about the rain as hardened vets recounting battle stories. Unfortunately, the 7th graders were having none of it. In their part of Turkey, it had snowed.

"Whoa!/Cool!/That is so incredible!/Can you believe it?/Oh my gosh," came the chorus from the 6th grade as they heard about the below freezing temps, piles of slush, stuck buses and frigid hikes of the 7th grade trip to Cappadocia.

And then the inevitable question, "Do you think we'll be that lucky next year?"

(I have purposely chosen photos from our trip that are somewhat blurry and that don't show the kids' faces clearly. But you definitely can get the idea of what it was like to tour in the pouring rain (in Ephesus) and in the beautiful sunshine (in Priene).)

Turkey cool

Last week, I once again skipped down the Road to Ruins with 70 6th graders, assorted chaperones and two excellent guides. We clambered over broken columns in Priene and watched the drama class perform in the great theater of Miletus (frequented by Pythagorus and mentioned by Homer). We braved rain and inclement weather to tiptoe around the Tetrapylon of Aphrodisias and gape at the library of Celsus in Ephesus (pictured left). On the last warm day of fall, we played on the beach of the Aegean. On the first chilly day of winter, we visited a Turkish school that had prepared a fantastic program for our kids (to be nice, and so their kids could practice English). As the seasons changed before our eyes, we saw some of the best of what Turkey has to offer.

I've now been to Turkey three times: twice as a teacher and once as a tourist. I've been to Istanbul, Cappadocia and the Izmir region (aka: the road to ruins). I've seen three of the coolest places in the country--but certainly not all the coolness there is to be seen. Nonetheless, in honor of turkey day, fast approaching, I feel totally qualified to offer the following list of Turkey cool.

Apple tea: Go anywhere in Turkey and you will be offered apple tea. Fall in love with the sweet, apple-y flavor, tarter than apple juice but not as thick and cloying as apple cider. Then buy some, take it home and just try to get it to taste like it did in the grand bazaar in Istanbul or across from the Ephesus Museum in Selcuk. I've tried and tried, and failed and failed. It just doesn't taste the same. It might be that I lack the curvaceous Turkish tea glass or the nerve to add the heaps of sugar no doubt required. Either way, apple tea is one of the most fabulous things about Turkey that can only be truly experienced within its borders.

Really cool pottery: This is not your grandmother's mountain mug. Turkish pottery and design is world renown, of course. You would recognize the vivid patterns and brilliant colors. In Turkey, you can go to a workshop and watch master potters spin out bowls, thin-necked vases, egg cups and pitchers without breaking a sweat. Painters likewise brush on vines, tulips and flourishes with about as much effort as it takes normal people to draw a stick figure. Go to Topkapi Palace (or the Sheikh Zayed Mosque in Abu Dhabi) and see whole walls adorned with tiles. Go to the local market and bargain for a bowl in any color of the rainbow. It might be machine made or it might be handpainted, but it's super cool nonetheless.

People who genuinely, honest-to-goodness like children: Imagine it's 3:30 a.m. You have stayed up all night for your flight from Abu Dhabi to Istanbul. You get to the gate, coffee in hand, only to find 70 12 year olds and 14 of their minders already there, buzzing with excitement. You wouldn't be a terrible person if your face fell and you turned back into the terminal to purchase an eye mask and some ear plugs. Now imagine you are a flight attendant on the same flight. The 12 year olds come thumping down the jetway in vibrating packs of pre-teen energy. It's 3:30 a.m. and you're heading back to Istanbul, back to your home port and your family. What would you consider a reasonable reaction? The flight attendants on Turkish Airlines flight 1167 from Abu Dhabi to Istanbul at 3:30 a.m. on Wednesday, Oct. 28, straightened their caps, adjusted their name tags and smiled as if nothing pleased them more than to host the whole 6th grade. Once airborne, they trundled out 70--yes, 70--plastic packages filled with inflatable airplanes and plastic airplane binoculars. The kids were thrilled, said thank you and proceeded to use the toys as pillows as one by one they fell asleep. Not a single stewardess brow was furrowed. Not a single voice was raised. The kids got freebies and smiles from their Turkish hosts. The same was true wherever we went. The staff at the small, family owned hotel where we stay in Selcuk made 70 sack lunches for six days straight. They cooked pasta, French fries and chocolate pudding. They checked in with the kids who weren't eating, made sure there was an option for our four vegetarians. They laughed at the clowns and fixed special teas for the homesick. I would recommend the Hotel Kalehan to anybody--but not the week we were there, and I work with kids every day. It's not that we were unruly--the kids were great, but there were 70 of them. All in one place. Yet the hotel staff seemed genuinely perplexed that an inquiring German couple turned down the one free room remaining. Who wouldn't want to be surrounded by such charming children? For these Turks--and for the flight attendants on TK1167--it was a no brainer.

Ancient ruins to suit nearly all tastes: You like ancient Greek? Roman? Ottoman? Maybe a little earlier? How about Minoan or even Assyrian? Name an empire, major invasion or cultural trend in pretty much all of human history, and the land of modern Turkey was somehow involved. Alexander the Great passed through on his way to India. Centuries later, Genghis Khan came the other direction headed for the gates of Vienna. The Assyrians rolled over and left a few ruins and the cult of Ishtar that morphed into the worship of Aphrodite once the Greeks arrived. The Romans loved the place, many of the choicest ruins from their old empire are located in Turkey. Not to mention that the whole empire moved to Constantinople after the hordes sacked Rome. After the Holy Roman Empire moved west the Ottomans picked up the slack and ruled the whole Middle East for centuries. It's no surprise that modern-day Turks are torn about where exactly their roots lie. Some are clamoring to join the European Union, while others want to forge closer ties to the Middle East. But whatever your geopolitical preference, Turkey has something for everyone.

A totally portrait-genic founding father: Spend two minutes in Turkey and you will see a painting, poster, statue or bust of Ataturk, the founding father of modern Turkey, the man who swept away the final corruption of the Ottoman Empire and ushered in an era of Western-style secularism and modernity. If most Turks don't love him, they at least agree to display his likeness almost everywhere, not to mention offering it for sale on plates, magnets, flags and rugs. Thank goodness he was such a striking guy. George Washington, Abe Lincoln have nothing on Ataturk. In some pictures, he is chiseled and determined with a marble jaw and crystalline eyes. In others, he is almost grandfatherly. And in the last (and possibly coolest) category, he looks a little like Bela Lugosi without the fangs, a dashing, if slightly cheesy, archetype in a long, black coat suggestive of a cape. My personal favorite (I even own the magnet) is Ataturk leering over a glass of what looks like milk. It would make a great Got Milk? advertisement, except I was told that the white stuff in the glass is a Turkish liquor and that Ataturk died of cirrhosis (a skim through Wikipedia confirms this). Oh well. Regardless of the manner of his death, the portraits of him in life are a daily highlight of any trip to Turkey.

And speaking of highlights, feel free to add your own Turkey must-sees and must-dos here. Either way, I hope you think of the country of Turkey as you eat your turkey later this month, perhaps with a glass of apple tea.