Carpetblogger

Word of the Day: Buzcu

Our favorite construction in the Turkish language (other than the brilliant "miş" tense, which allows one to disassociate oneself from the information one is relaying) is designating an occupation by adding the suffix -ci/-cu/-cı/-cü to a noun. By using this construction, you create a new word that means "guy who does X" or "X guy" (and it is always a guy, though the word itself is gender neutral).

There is no occupation too small or insignificant to warrant a "-cu" ending. For example, our new favorite word is "buzcu" (booze-joo) or "ice guy."  In fact, we just discovered the existence of buzcular, which doesn't make a lot of sense. If there are yağcilar (olive oil guys), karpuzcular (watermelon guys), turşucular (pickle guys), hurdacılar (junk guys), tavukcılar (chicken guys), balıkcılar (fish guys), a davulcusu (Ramazan drummer guy) of course there will be buzcular.  Turks are logical like that.

In Istanbul, you can't just go to your local market guy (your bakkalcı) or even the Carrefour for a bag of ice for a party. They don't sell it. You have to go to Buzcu Sokak Now, there is no such alley, as far as we know, called Buzcu Sokak*, so don't go asking around for it (and we're sure it's probably accusative too, but, seriously, we've stopped even trying). But since Turks also tend to name alleys after the types of businesses and the -cis clustered there and we don't know the actual name of the street, it's become known as Buzcu Sokak in the parlance of the day.

That doesn't mean there's not some mystery associated with the buzcular. Most of the buzcular on Buzcu Sokak are also çamaşırhanes (full service laundromats. Someday we might explore how putting the ending -hane to a noun means "place."). We cannot explain why the çamaşırhanes and the buzcular are the same enterprises, but it makes them easy to find. We're also not at all sure why all the buzcular we've seen are also çamaşırhanes but not all çamaşırhanes are buzcular. We're pretty confident that someone will explain this all to us.

*Buzcu Sokak runs parallel and in between Tarlabaşı Bulvarı and Nevizade/Balık Bazaar, if you need ice this weekend.

Ask Carpetblogger: What Is the Origin of "STAN"?

When not vetting vice presidential candidates for the McCain campaign, my ancestor spends his time thinking up questions for Carpetblogger. Not only did his most recent query arrive during our recent vacation to the Aegean coast, it generated some controversy, so it's taken some time come up with a response.

I had a wonderful dinner with U.T. and A.P tonight and the burning question is   “What is the origin of the “STAN” portion of the country names in the region?”   What does it mean and why is it in all the country names?  We decided that only you can answer our question.   So that we can sleep all night please inform us, either by direct e-mail or on the blog.  It is creating great stress and we must have the answer.

The Producer came straight out of the gate with a definitive "Russian. Stan means settlement in Russian." That may be and may explain all the central Asian 'Stans, but it doesn't explain all the South Asian 'Stans or lots of others that have no connection to Russia. Thinking of "Yunanistan"(Greece in Turkish)" and "Ermenistan" (Armenia in Turkish), plus all the Turkic-speaking central Asian stans, I thought it was of Turkic origin. But that also doesn't explain Pakistan or Afghanistan (which are both post-colonial, made-up countries anyway). The most we discussed it, the more Stans we came up with that didn't fit anywhere; what about Hindistan, Baluchistan and Uyghurstan? None of our contemporaries added anything useful to the debate, which is typical.

So, before this turned into a bar brawl, we turned to Wikipedia which provided an answer which, correct or not, satisfied all parties.

The suffix -stān (spelled ـستان in the Perso-Arabic script) is Persian for "place of", derived from the Indo-Aryan equivalent, -sthāna (pronounced [st̪ʰaːna] (स्थान in the Devanāgarī script), a cognate Sanskrit suffix with a similar meaning. In Indo-Aryan languages, sthāna is also used as a word to mean "place".

They appear in the names of many countries and regions, especially in Central Asia and the Indian subcontinent, areas where ancient Indo-Iranian peoples were established; in Iranian, however, it is also used more generally, as in Persian rigestan (ريگستان) 'place of sand, desert' and golestan (گلستان) 'place of roses, rose garden', Hindi/Sanskrit devasthan (place of devas, "temple"), etc. Both suffixes are of Indo-Iranian and ultimately Indo-European origin, the Proto-Indo-European root being *stā- 'stand,' which is also the source of English stand, Latin stāre, and Greek histamai (ίσταμαι), all meaning 'stand,' as well as many other words, for instance the Russian word стан (stan) meaning 'settlement' or 'semi-permanent camp' (used in reference to semi-nomadic settlements encountered in certain areas of Central Asia).

So, it turns out everyone is right. But the best part of the wikipedia entry is the list of Stans you've never even heard of.

• Hayastan, the name of Armenia in Armenian
• Hindustan, the poetic name of India and people are called hindustani
• Avaristan — Avari name for Avari land in Dagestan (Russia)

• Balawaristan — another name for the Northern Areas, Pakistan.
• Balochistan or Baluchistan
• Baltistan (in Pakistani Kashmir)
• Bantustan — Apartheid-era South African black 'homelands'; the term is coined by an analogy
• Bashkortostan — constituent republic of Russia
• Cholistan Desert
• Dagestan — constituent republic of the Russian Federation, literally "place of mountains"
• Gulistan ("rose garden" in Persian, an Iranian province and a city in Uzbekistan; compare with Gulistan Palace in Tehran and the poem by Saadi)
• Hindustan - originally either the subcontinent of India, or northern India and Pakistan.
• Kabulistan — ("The Kabul land" — old term used in many historical books and old Persian literature books for Kabul. Kabulistan contained a larger region than today's Kabul Province. Some times it is called as the country of Kabulistan)
• Kafiristan — ("land of the infidels"), historic region in Afghanistan until 1896, now known as Nuristan
• Karakalpakstan — constituent republic of Uzbekistan
• Khuzestan — a province of southwestern Iran
• Kurdistan — Kurdish region
• Kordestan - a Kurdish province in Iran
• Lazistan — another name for Colchis, a region in the Caucasus
• Lorestan or Luristan — a province of western Iran
• Nurestan Province — Afghanistan, formed in 2001
• Pashtunistan or Pakhtunistan is what many Pashtun nationalists call the Pashtun-dominated areas of Pakistan.
• Rajasthan — a state in India
• Registan — historic site in Samarkand, meaning "place of sand"
• Seistan or Sistan — a province of Iran and Afghanistan
• Tatarstan — a constituent republic of the Russian Federation
• Talyshistan - ethnolinguistic region in the SE Caucus and NW Iran
• Turkestan — ethnolinguistic region encompassing Central Asia, northwest China, parts of the Caucasus and Asia Minor
  • Russian Turkestan - Turkestan in the Russian Empire, later Turkestan Autonomous SSR
• Uyghurstan - Region of the Uyghur people, located in the north west of People's Republic Of China
• Waziristan — region of northwest Pakistan
• Zabulistan — a historical region in the border area of today's Iran and Afghanistan, around the city Zabol
• Zanjistan, or Zenjistan, term used in medieval texts to refer to the homeland of the Zanj, black slaves of probably East African origin

Carpetblog: answering questions you didn't know you had for a couple years now.

Want to Know Why I Haven't Posted in a Week?

• My washing machine broke;
• My hot water heater broke;
• My refrigerator broke (is still broken);
• My camera broke (is still broken);
• My roof still leaks
• I still have rats (though I may downgrade to mice)
• I started, then quit, Turkish class out of rage and frustration that after four months of classes, I am very good at filling in blanks in workbooks but cannot communicate that someone needs to come to my house and fix all these things in a way that anyone understands.

It's been a rage-filled week. Plus, I finally joined Facebook and that's more fun than blogging.

It Takes a Village to Install a Klima

It's OK if you have concluded, based on this blog, that I am obsessed with AC (I like the Turkish word, klima, better, BTW). I am. My new house has western exposure and a west-facing skylight, so it becomes an oven in the afternoon. The only reason I went to Turkish class was to sit under the klima for four hours a day*. You have no idea how cranky the carpetdogs get in this heat. They go sulk on the ground floor every afternoon, resentful and bitter.

After last week's heatwave I decided all the logistical, linguistic and financial issues associated with a klima purchase were subordinate to my personal comfort. Since I value transactions that minimize discussion and debate, I went to Koc Tas, the Turkish Home Depot. I already knew which brand and BTU of klima I wanted, so all I had to do was point and pay. The installers (the montaj) would call Monday, I was told. I felt smug and competent.

Even though I sat around all Monday waiting (with my busy schedule, you have no idea what a sacrifice that was), but no montaj. Tuesday, they called while I was out (and since "in two hours" and "at two o'clock" sound a lot alike in Turkish, I ran home needlessly quickly). I was so excited.

I became less excited when I saw that the four montaj dudes didn't have a ladder, which would make it pretty much impossible for them to put the klima in a place that made any sense, or install the motor on the outside of the house. They suggested putting it over the kitchen window in a way that would prevent the window from ever opening again. I told them to take their klima and, uh, return it from whence it came.

Koc Tas willingly refunded my money, but the cool weather and rain that made me think that that I didn't really need a klima after all was replaced by 90 degree heat. My problem persisted.

As I lay sweating and sulking on my couch, I noticed the apartment across the alley was getting a new klima installed. I seethed with jealousy. But as I watched the klima monkeys work, two things occurred to me: first, klima montaj is not fucking rocket science, and two, if they could do it there why couldn't they do it in my house? I figured that any klima monkey who could stand on the motor brackets three stories above the street while drilling holes in the side of the apartment had the kind of moxie needed to montaj my klima.

I'm sure those klima monkeys thought they'd hit the jackpot when yabanci (foreigner) lady invited them over for a klima consultation! They assured me that they could install my klima, climbing up on the roof if necessary, and that all I needed to do was walk down to the neighborhood Arcelik (a Turkish brand of appliances) shop and buy one. This I could do.

I am very well known in my neighborhood. Kemal, the dude who runs the local parking garage, and I have a chatty relationship and, as I walked by on my way to the Arcelik shop, he asked me how my new klima was working out. I told him my tale of woe (I'm certain he was a bit fuzzy on the details after my "explanation"). Nodding as if it all made complete sense, he said could not allow me to go to the shop by myself because they would give me the yabanci price, and by going with me, he would ensure that I got the komsu (neighbor) price. He left his garage in the able care of the old blind and deaf dude who sits in front of the hamam all day and we walked to the shop.

Since the guys who own the shop see me walk by every single day with the carpetdogs, and the klima monkeys had already told them that I would be coming by, Kemal's assistance was superfluous. I got the komsu price and, over tea and polite conversation about the status of the carpetdogs, got assurances that the klima monkeys would montaj my klima on Saturday. I tried to explain that the montaj might be difficult, but the sales guy would have none of it. "My friends told me all about it. No problem."

They came on Saturday. Instead of letting the lack of ladder stop them, the klima monkeys used my bookshelf to install the klima and scaled the walls carrying the motor to get to the roof.

So there's a lesson to be learned here. It may be psychologically easier to go to the Koc Tas and buy your klima, but if you want to get the job done, it's more effective just to use your damn Turkish and buy locally, where they know you.

*Since not one word of English was used in any of these transactions, a case could be made that had I used my Turkish classes as an opportunity to learn Turkish, rather than a source of klima-ized comfort, the whole process would have been substantially less painful.

Another Insurmountable Cultural Obstacle Presented by Turkish Class

So, we were learning the grammar for "because of/as a result of/that's why." It's really important to understand the grammar because the word order might not tell you what you need to know about the meaning of a sentence.

Here was the example used:

                    I ate ice cream. I have a sore throat.

Now, where I come from, cold is a noted treatment for painful swelling. I'm no doctor, but I think this is because it reduces blood flow to the inflamed area. When kids get their tonsils out, they get ice cream, right?

So I constructed the following sentence:

            Because I have a sore throat, I ate ice cream.

WRONG.

Imagine my confusion when the teacher tried to explain to me that there's no way the grammar I used could be correct when the idea I was expressing was patently false. Not only did I commit grammatical crimes, I also violated basic Turkish medical principles. Everyone knows eating cold things -- ice cream, cold water, ice -- can make you sick. The correct sentence:

            Because I ate ice cream, I have a sore throat.

There were the people in the class who could see no other way to construct the sentence than the way I did it, and a much greater number who could see no other way to construct it than the way our teacher demanded.

No amount of cultural assimilation will ever close the gap between our peoples on the uses and abuses of cold.

The Biggest Tragedy About Being Held Back In Turkish Class

No, it's not feeling like finally passing the test -- even when I get the lowest score -- is going to earn me a stadium full of cheers, just like in the Special Olympics;

No, it's not that my old classmates shun me. Sure, they're nice to my face and all, but they don't want to practice with me because they're in the third level now and I'm repeating second, like the slow kid with unwashed hair who lived in the house down the street with blacked out windows and who your mother told you not to make fun of but you did anyway.

(For those of you keeping track, this is my fourth month of Turkish classes. Yet I am in the second level. Classes are a month long. You do the math, 'cause you already know I can't do that very well either).

Herein lies the tragedy. My retardation uh, disability keeps me that much farther away from learning the "mish" tense, which is taught in the third level. This Turkish verb tense allows the speaker to distance herself from what she is saying and to avoid taking responsibility for her words. It's also known as the gossip tense. Finally, something I can use is being taught in Turkish class and they tease me with it, dangling it just out of reach. I anticipate never using any other tense than the mish tense.

In the meantime, I'll just have to make do with my other favorite tense, the present continuous, which I call the "Inshallah" tense. It is used (logically) when talking about  facts ("water boils at 100 degrees Celsius") and when one is using "Inshallah," which means "if god wills it" and in my experience means "probably not."

I use the present continuous to talk about my plans to advance to the third class.

Ask Carpetblogger: What Have You been Doing Lately?

I have been cringing. A lot.

I am back on the Turkish language bandwagon and have been spending a lot of time in Turkish class. Since I am a known language retard, the last class didn't take all that well, so I am repeating level one, but at a different school. My class is quite entertaining. The list of students includes:

• An Iraqi who left Baghdad with her family last month
• A Jordanian
• A Lebanese
• A Syrian
• A Bulgarian
• A Greek
• A smattering of Euros, including a German
• A teacher who likes to use geopolitical discussions to teach grammar

Those are pretty much the major inheritors of the chaos that followed the collapse of the Ottoman era, and representatives from the top regional conflicts of the last and next 100 years. If we had an Armenian and an Israeli, the list of aggrieved parties would be complete.

Here are some sample grammar lessons our teacher has provided:

Dates and past tense:

"Nora, what year did the Americans come to Iraq?"

Cringe.

Why:

"Yason, why do the Greeks hate the Turks?"

Cringe.

As an aside, I don't think I have ever mentioned my objection to learning the word "why." It is a most useless word for a beginning student. Let's assume you ask a "why" question and are understood. Even in the unlikely event you understand the words in the answer, you will never understand the concept behind the answer. This is especially true in the FSU.  Asking, like Enidd did, "Why did the landlord shut off my water?" will never result in a satisfying answer.

Jokes:

"An American, a Frenchman, a German and a Turk were sitting in a train compartment. The Frenchman takes out a bottle of wine, takes a drink and throws it out the window. "Why did you do that?" ask the other passengers. "We have lots of wine in France." The American smokes a cigarette then throws the pack out the window. "Why did you do that?" ask the other passengers. "We have lots of cigarettes in America." The German gets up and throws the Turk out the window*......HA HA HA HA.

Cringe.

*this joke is funny because there are lots of Turks in Germany. Get it? Sort of like Mexicans in the U.S. and equally appreciated.

The Difference Between "Cok Guzel" (very nice, beautiful) and "Cok Yakisikli" (very handsome).

"Lawrence of Arabia: Cok gozel?"

That was a trick question. "Cok gozel," when referring to men, means gay. "Cok Yakisikli" is the correct term to describe a handsome male. I recalled in my mind all the small children in my neighborhood whom I had described as "cok guzel."

Cringe.

Even though everyone has their own version of history (and at times, expounds at length, in multiple languages), the discussions are always good natured and often hilarious. I am learning a lot more than in the last class.

Ask Carpetblogger: Post-Invasion Etiquette

Has your country ever invaded someone else's on false pretenses, sparking sectarian violence and civil war? If so, can you offer some suggested conversation topics, should you ever meet someone from that country in, say, Turkish class?

Answer: Yes and yes! As it turns out, I found myself in this sticky social situation just today.  I don't know how other people have handled it, but here are some topics of conversation I suggest trying out if an Iraqi sits next to you in Turkish class:

• Our freedom: Why do you hate it?
• True or False: The terra-ists have won. Justify your answer
• Didn't you just have an election? That means Iraq is a democracy now, right?
• Cutting and running: pros and cons.
• Don't you worry that the country will be destabilized if Turkey invades Kurdistan?
• The news media never report the good news coming out Iraq. Why is that?
• Why can't you people get along?

I'm counting on these to last through the whole month long course! Does anyone else have any other suggestions?

Ask Carpetblogger: What alphabet does the Uyghur language use?

Funny you should ask this because just today, I learned myself! Sorry for the recent obsession with Uyghurs, but I've been sitting next to these two women from --whatever you want to call it, Uyghuristan, East Turkestan or the Xinjiang Autonomous Region -- in my Turkish class four hours a day every single day this week and I find them intriguing, even though we can hardly communicate. I mean, here you have two very spunky gals from a country that doesn't exist, that's also known to harbor people who hate us because of our freedom! tm . What's not to like about this scenario?

Anyhoo, today I was looking at their notebooks only to see a useless (to me, since I was trying to copy them) mixture of Chinese and Arabic characters. Then it occurred to me that the Uyghur language, which is a Turkic tongue somewhat related to Uzbek, still uses Arabic characters!  Clever readers might know that until Ataturk modernized the language in 1928 (and Allah bless him for that -- it makes Turkish very regular), Turkish used Arabic script as well! Isn't the Turkic empire fascinating?

So, the fact these gals speak and write a language that uses Arabic characters and is spoken by only about eight million people in the world  AND are of possibly nationalist persuasion AND know Mandarin makes them complete bad-asses in my book.

Check back for additional information about the Uyghurs as it comes in!

Turkish Class

In order to meet my goal of being functionally literate in Turkish by the end of the year, I have been spending four hours a day, five days a week in a small room with two Korean women, a Argentinian woman, a Turkish/Swiss woman (who speaks German but no Turkish) and two women from "Dogu Turkestan."

There is no common language, so the attempts to communicate are really quite funny. For example:

• The Korean woman who speaks no English trying to explain how to pronounce her name to the rest of us, in Korean;
• The woman from "Dogu Turkestan" trying to explain, in Uyghur,  to the other Korean woman, where "Dogu Turkestan" is. Don't feel like a tool if you don't know, 'cause it's not a country -- it's the eastern, Muslim part of China, also known as Uyghuristan.  The term "East Turkestan" has strong nationalist undertones and it would be fun to talk to her.  Since she described her country's flag as blue and white, I suspect she has some nationalist tendencies.
  
                                               
  
  She speaks no English, but her Turkish is quite good already because Uyghur is a Turkic language. She loves to ask the rest of us questions about topics like religion and Turkish music in rapid fire Turkish.

I never thought the words, "boy, am I glad I spent a year learning Azeri!" would cross my lips, but it's true. I'm almost thinking that Turkish is a little easier since there seem to be fewer exceptions.

                              

This picture is apropos of nothing