Young Turks

My most recent revelation about parenting came from an unexpected place: Turkey.

CDG play area: a moment of respite.

Rebecca had talked me into going to Istanbul. She had a meeting there that ended on a Friday afternoon, and she suggested that I meet her there with the boys. I was skeptical, but she said we had to do it.  Her argument was that we might never get a chance to do something like this again.

I agreed. Istanbul wasn’t at the top of places I wanted to visit, and if I didn’t do it now, I might not ever.  Plus, I was kind of intrigued by a place and a culture I knew absolutely nothing about. Zip. I was a blank slate.

Next best thing to TV

I had one concern. The boys and me on a flight by ourselves? That could be a disaster. We’ve had our travel issues in the past. One that was even too painful to blog about. How did I think I could manage this? Plus, it was a 7 a.m. flight. I knew I was a tantrum away from a complete mental unraveling.

Rebecca tried building my confidence by reminding me that it would only be a three-hour flight and that with the TV monitors allocated for each seat, I would be able to just plug the kids into videos. No fuss no muss.

Much to my disappointment I discovered that there were no such TVs on our particular plane. I had to kick it old school. Reading, coloring, talking, and generally interacting with my children. They’re probably better for it, and so am I, but man it was exhausting.

We got off the plane in Istanbul, got on a bus to the terminal. At the terminal we had to buy a visa. So, visa line, then passport control line. By the time we approached baggage control I had two wild animals looking for a crack to squeeze through and run wild. And boy did they.

The went sprinting so fast to the baggage carousels that I didn’t even try to run after them. I would have had an easier time catching a gazelle.

I had to bark at them like a drill sergeant to get them to stop. Running in loops around every carousel claiming they could see our bags. Totally disregarding me. I was frazzled after I finally got ahold of them. I started babbling to myself for a little bit.

When we walked toward the ground transportation area, it was complete pandemonium, and my hotel shuttle driver was nowhere in sight. I thought I might have a complete psychotic break.

Finally the driver was located, just when I had been thinking, why the hell did I agree to this? Then something happened that, when I look back on it now, was definitely a sign of good things to come.

The guy who walked us to our car was holding O’s hand. Admittedly a little disconcerting, and I should probably make sure Owen knows not to do that with just anyone. (There was also a fellow passenger who accosted the guy to make sure he wasn’t running off with my kid. Love people like that.)

But from then on, I was blown away by how friendly people in Turkey were with the kids. Kissing, hugging, picking them up, handing out treats, talking, saying “I love you” to them. It was kind of trippy.

Patrick received the most attention, but even O was getting patted on the head and people were actively engaging him in conversation.

People in Istanbul are so kid-friendly they make Italians look like the French. Ha, I kid the French! But really the differences in having the kids in public were so stark it made my head spin.

We had this game we played with O to count the “evil eyes” he saw. I played my own game of seeing how many people would touch the kids. Both games ended because the numbers became too daunting to count and keep track of.

We would walk past this carpet store near our hotel every day and the store owner would be outside. Each time he asked Owen how many eyes he had counted. Or he would tease the kids by taking their hats and saying they were his. The kids couldn’t get enough of this guy.

One isolated person would be one thing but everywhere we went there was something like this. I felt like I was part of a celebrity’s entourage. And it wasn’t only the people selling stuff. It was people on public transit, other customers at restaurants, people just walking by us. It was everywhere.

Ok, not the kid-friendliest item.

We went to the Grand Bazaar and we stopped at this place selling tea. The vendor offered some of this sweet tea to the kids. O eagerly took some but P refused. Not a polite refusal either, he acted offended. Like he was offered poison. The guy tried to encourage him, but I said, “Don’t worry, he’s crazy.”

The guy looked at me and said, “He’s not crazy, he’s a child.” I felt kind of stung and a little ashamed. I wanted to say “He’s crazy in a good way. Crazy adorable.” But it was too late. The guy saw right through me.

On a boat cruise, the dude working the concession stand came over and handed the kids two giant candy bars. Not pieces of candy mind you, big ass bars. Then he was off and dancing with P. I figured we were on a boat, he probably wouldn’t run off with him. And by this time, I was getting used to people treating my kids like they were their own.

In contrast, I just walked around my Paris neighborhood with my kids the other day. I visited at least 5 stores and went down many pedestrian filled passages. I would say I received maybe 2 positive responses. One was the from the store across from us where we’ve been about a thousand times.  One clerk always hugs P and this time she stuffed his pockets with candies. But she’s kind of an outlier. And the warm fuzzies there didn’t happen overnight.  It took some time to get to that place.

That being said, I’m not faulting the French. I would never, ever touch someone else’s kid. Ever. I’m just not okay with it. On the other hand, I have absolutely no qualms with other people picking up my kids and hugging them and whatnot.

Also, people in Paris are always looking out for kid safety. And people have picked up my kids and carried them up the steps of the Metro without a thought. It’s just not so over the top and lovey-dovey as Istanbul.

Maybe if I lived there it might freak me out, but for a couple of days I was liking it. A lot. It even changed the way I responded to my kids.

I swear P did not take this pic! He’s off to the side angry at us.

In France I often feel like I’m not doing enough to discipline my kids. In Instanbul I felt like I was doing too much. I could tell people were looking at me and thinking, “Dude, chill, he’s 3.” In France you feel like people are thinking, “Why can I hear your child right now? ”

Or maybe it’s just me.  At their school and especially at the centre de loisirs everyone is super kid-friendly. They dote on them. But in public it feels like the expectations are just a little different. When you’re in the streets, it’s like everyone has to be an adult. Time to man-up, toddler. Scraped knee? Suck up your guts, as my father-in-law would say.

The trip to Istanbul really made me think about how the attitude and expectations of people around affect how I interact with my kids. I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. And I think my kids pick up on this tension. Either they start to feel my stress too, or they sense that good behavior is more important in some cases than others and sort of use that to their advantage to get a little more attention. Not that they’re being manipulative, but having that sense of power and control I suppose is important when you’re a little person.

The sites were pretty cool too.

Istanbul has gone a long way in showing me how to lighten up a little more. It’s been one of my goals to be more patient as a parent and the trip was a good reminder that I’m dealing with kids here.

Overall, it was a great trip and I’m glad I went. The city is beautiful and amazing. I know I didn’t talk about the sites, which were impressive to say the least, but as with most trips they’re often secondary to the people you meet, food you try, or just the general atmosphere. So far, Istanbul has to be one of my favorite places, and I would recommend it for anyone with small kids.

(Did I mention I went to a Turkish bath? Maybe that’s for another post.)

In fact, Rebecca and I loved it so much we’re already planning on going to visit again, possibly when the kids are away in college.  We’ll just need to wrangle up a couple of toddlers to take with us.