Greek and Turkish Delights

In honor of Christmas, the Ottoman Empire and the upcoming theatrical release of The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe, (which is mostly upcoming to me because it has not been released in Greece yet) I feel that it would be appropriate to say a few words about Turkish Delight. I think most Americans really only think of Turkish Delight when they think about the Chronicles of Narnia. In fact, I would venture to say that most Americans don't actually have a clue what Turkish Delight actually is, but they are generally excited about it anyway, since they know it as the candy that lured Edmund Pevensie away from his family and into the cruel clutches of the White Witch. Any candy that causes a person to forsake their entire family for a second bite has got to taste pretty good, right?
Well, the author of this article (http://www.slate.com/id/2131903/nav/tap1/) really doesn't think so. Actually, whenever I see the stuff I think back to my middle school theatre days, when I played Susan in a local production of The Lion, etc, and the entire cast tried the stuff, only to declare it thoroughly unworthy of all that fuss. Personally, I do not have any particular malice toward Turkish Delight, but if a witch offered me a box of whatever kind of candy I wanted, that's not the first thing that would come to mind. I agree with the person who commented that, basically, it's just not chocolate.
In case you are not familiar with this particular confection, it's a sort of jelly-like substance, flavored with almond extract or rose water, and covered in powdery sugar. So really, it's sugar covered sugar, and it looks something like this photo here. I bought this stuff at the market, where, much to my amusement, it happened to be labeled "Greek Delight." I guess that's fair enough- the Turks conquered Greece for all of those years, and in exchange, the Greeks tried to conquer Turkish candy.
True, it's not really worth forsaking your siblings for, unless your siblings happen to be a real bunch of losers. But honestly, if I'm willing to suspend my belief long to enough to accept that a little boy walked through a closet into a magical land where the wildlife talks, I'm willing to accept that he also liked Turkish Delight better than chocolate.
Also, I think there's a uniquely gross feeling that one acquires from eating too much sugar, and that's sort of how I imagine Edmund feeling after eating all of the witch's candy; just saturated in sugar, but not quite full in any satisfying way. Chocolate can actually fill you up, but Turkish Delight just turns your bloodstream into syrup.

If you're not a fan of the Narnia books, perhaps because you can't overlook all of that Christian allegory, or because you find them a bit old fashioned, I've got another childhood literary reference for you. I grew up loving The Enchanted Forest chronicles, by Patricia Wrede. They were a lot funnier than the Narnia books, and a little more modern (The Princess knew sword fighting and decided to live with the dragons rather than marry the dope who was her betrothed.) The reason I mention these is as follows: in Book One, Dealing With Dragons, the king of the dragons is poisoned when someone slips deadly dragonsbane into his Turkish coffee. I believe one of the characters comments on the poisoning with statement along the lines of "It's easy to poison Turkish coffee. That stuff will take the roof off of your mouth."

Well, Turkish coffee exists in abundance here, but it has been renamed, you guessed it, Greek coffee. And no, it won't actually take the roof off of your mouth, but it is strong. So strong, in fact, that the coffee grounds are right there in your coffee cup, and when you finish, there is a little pile of coffee sludge at the bottom. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "cup of mud". Apparently, some people tell fortunes with coffee grounds in the same manner that others read tea leaves. (Like professor Trelawney in the Harry Potter books, which brings my number of children's literature references up to three for this post alone!) I know that's not a very appetizing way of describing it, but actually, it's good stuff. I like it. It's made in a pot called a μπρικι, or a Briki, a word that I know because 'Making Greek Coffee" was a recent lesson in my Greek class. It's then served in a tiny little cup, just about the size of an espresso cup. I don't have a picture right now, but next time I drink some Greek coffee, I'll be sure to bring my camera. And I'll watch out for potential assassins.

Speaking of food, Greece has gorgeous, delicious pomegranates. I have been gorging myself on them, trying to get my fill before they go out of season. They are so good, even though they stain my kitchen counter, sink, and hands a bright reddish color, which of course leads to my hands staining other things, like the handle to my refrigerator and my jeans. But pomegranates are worth it. Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds and had to stay in Hades for six months out of the year. If eating pomegranates requires you to stay in the place that grew them, I will be be in Greece forever and ever. As a matter of fact, it was several days after I started eating pomegranates when I was informed that I am not legally permitted to leave the Schengen states until I get my residence permit. Maybe it's some god or goddess, getting their revenge on me for something or other.

If I were a cat, I could have an EC Passport

And the latest news from Hellenic territory is....
I have a cat. She's damn cute. See?

I didn't intend to get a cat, but she wandered into the dorm one night, and all the kids loved her, and she is quite tiny and helpless, so I just didn't have the heart to send her back out into the cold. I would take her for a few days, I figured, or maybe a few weeks, and then let her outside again. Or maybe I would find a real home for her with someone at Anatolia. In any case, I bought some cat food, and some kitty litter and christened my friend Calypso, in honor of a) James Joyce, who wrote the best description of a cat that I have ever read in a book of Ulysses by the same name, and b) Calypso the nymph of the Odyssey, who was so seductive that she kept Odysseus on her island for nine years when he was supposed to be going home. It's an appropriate name, I decided, because she's a damn seductive cat, as evidenced by the fact that she is now living in my (previously much cleaner and quieter) apartment.

Then I emailed pictures of the cat to my sister, a lifelong animal lover, who announced that she was head over heels in love, and that I must find a way to bring my new roommate back to the States with me after my time in Greece is up. "I am doing research," she explained to me on the phone the other day. "Research on pet immigration laws. I contacted the Greek consulate about restrictions on moving cats from Greece to the US, and whether quarantine is required. They should email me back soon."
"Ah," I said, "Good. You should get a response from them sometime in, oh, June maybe..."
"But I just emailed them now" she explained again. "I already asked them."
"Right." It was the phone version of a nod-and-smile. I have had enough dealings with various Greek administrative offices to know that one must try to communicate at least two or three times before any questions are answered. Sometimes you have to try two or three times before you can even find a person who will admit that it is, in fact, their job to help you. And email is utterly useless; most Greeks seem to regard it as a newfangled curiosity that should never be used for actual communication, especially not if there is a cell phone available. My sister, I figured, would never, ever, not in a million years, get a response from anyone living within twenty blocks of the Greek consulate. She would have better luck discussing immigration with the actual cat.

Yesterday she emailed me. "I have been exchanging emails for a while with someone at the Greek consulate," she said. "They say that Calypso doesn't have to be quarantined. Can I bring her home?"

Just the other day I sat chatting over coffee with some study abroad students from Marymount Manhattan, bonding over our mutual love for Joe's Shanghai in Chinatown and stories about red tape at the New York Greek consulate. (I was definitely given three different versions of the student visa requirements). Two weeks ago, Brad and I went on a wild goose chase through Thessaloniki just to figure out how to pay our required tax fee - I mean, we each had one hundred and fifty Euros to fork over the government, and we couldn't even find anyone willing to take it. To top it all off, Residence permits take so long to be processed that they have almost invariably expired before they are issued, which means that I'm technically not supposed to travel outside the Schengen states for the next eight months to a year. I hear that Greek citizens need a visa if they travel to the US for a vacation, and apparently they can be tough to obtain.

However, my sister emails the consulate about a cat, and not only are they are suddenly communicative and helpful, (not just one email, but multiple emails) but the cat is allowed to go wherever she wants, red tape free. All she needs to travel, according to a friend who is bringing a cat home next week, is a health certificate and a "kitty passport" which costs ten Euros and identifies the bearer as a resident of the European Union. No kidding. What the hell is going on here? Is that why things take so long in Greece? Because people are devoting their time to cat passports?

That said, we have not determined that Calypso is actually coming to the US, we just know that it's legally a possibility. I'm not so sure that my current cats in New York would be thrilled to have a new friend. (And, as exactly thirty seven people have pointed out to me "they wouldn't be able to understand her! She probably meows in Greek! haha!") However, one thing is quite sure- this is one lucky cat. One week ago she was wandering through the cold of the Anatolia campus, and now she has food, clean water, warmth, an international fan club and no travel restrictions.