The Ants Go Marching . . .

Our most recent adventure took place in our own kitchen . . .

Under our kitchen sink.

Sergeant Chip:  “All right, troops!  This little shin-dig just got a little more interesting.  Pointing to a map of our kitchen. They’ve set traps here, here, and here.  So lets give’em something to talk about.”

Private Cookie:  “Permission to speak, sir?”

Sergeant Chip:  “Yes.”

Private Cookie:  “What exactly is the risk level of this assignment?”

Sergeant Chip:  “Given that none of you are dim-witted enough to touch the bait they naïvely expect us to carry back to our colony, the risk is almost zero.  That, however, is beside the point.”

Private Cocoa:  “This assignment includes ant killer bait??  Awwesoooommeee!!!!  This is totally cool, man!”

Sergeant Chip:  “OK, if we’re all clear, let’s move out.”

The children’s tune “The Ants Go Marching One by One, Hurrah!” plays in the background as the company marches out.  Scene switches to the kitchen where Elisabeth is pouring her morning coffee at 6:03am.

Elisabeth:  “Ahh!”

Brenda, entering the house from her morning work-out:  “I know.  We’re being invaded by ants, but I know how to get rid of them.  Just spray this Clorox Spray and drown them.”

Todd, dragging through the kitchen door just in time to hear Brenda’s remark:  “What!!!!  That will never work!!!  The only way to get rid of them for good is to let them take the bait back to their colony."

Elisabeth:  “Well, we can’t let them crawl around our kitchen!”

Sergeant Chip (who has been intently listening to this conversation):  “Hear that, boys?  The sweet, sweet sound of dissention.  They’ll spend enough time arguing for us to complete this devil of an assignment.”

Private Cookie:  “Whew.  That’s a relief!  I was starting to sweat there for a minute.  Oh wait, I wasn’t sweating.  The weird girl dripped her coffee creamer on me.”

Private Cocoa:  “I’m not worried.  This is the best!!”

A few moments later they have completed their fiendish mission and begin to march out.

Private Cocoa, skipping along behind the others and accidentally trailing his tail through the poison:  “See, this is like, totally, no big deal!”

Thus, the over-zealous compatriot proved to be the downfall of his company.

Other than this rather distressing experience, we’ve been plugging along as usual.  Georgetown is holding their annual Model United Nations conference this weekend, so I spent last night at the airport greeting the Israeli, Jewish delegates.  Apparently, the Arabs didn’t want to greet the Jews, so they had to get the “Christian, American girl” to do it.

Emily heads off to Malaysia in a few hours.  We’re placing bets on how many leeches she’ll have to ward off during the trip.  No, just kidding.  I wouldn’t wish a leech on anyone, especially not in the middle of the Malaysian rainforest!  I would, however, give anything to see Emily in a Malaysian tree with natives hunting for dinner with blow-darts.  She has always been an adventurous one . . .

I’ve commissioned Nicole to take a plethora of pictures, so hopefully we’ll feel as if we were almost there when they return.

That’s all for now, folks.  Sorry it’s so short, but we’ve got quite a lot going on between ant invasions, Jewish MUN delegates, and Malaysian explorers.  Until later, then.

"The Apple of my I"

I hit the books again this week.  Yep, that means dusting off those notepads and pulling out the rusty Arabic vocabulary.  However, rather than bore you with excruciatingly predictable comments on “the first week of school,” I’ve decided to utilize this moment to bring you a random but fun “school secret.”

I have always been overjoyed at the fact that my name contains the letter “I”.   For one little line, it is a remarkable letter!  There are endless possibilities in the “dotting” of one’s “I”.  I have experimented open-mindedly but usually end up back at the classic "heart" for a dot.  If you are wondering what this has to do with the school secret, don’t lose faith yet.  For you see, I liked my writing class a lot in Junior High.  For several years, we focused on creative writing, which involved tenacious vocabulary expansion.  Now I don’t mind telling you I had a fairly good vocabulary.  The embarrassing part is that this vocabulary expansion was in part fueled by my desire to find new, exciting words containing plenty of “I’s” for dotting with hearts.  Yes, I was known for slipping in an unnecessary use of “ubiquitous” just so I could dot both “I’s” with hearts and make a curvy little “q”.  Even in Latin class, I would choose to write sentences with words requiring “I”.  This was rather clever of me even though it was pretty dippy.  The only problem with my mastermind determination in this area was that Joey figured out what I was doing from the beginning.  And he was relentless in his teasing about things such as this.  His persistent banter about my strange obsession drove me to give up the quest for “I” words.  Thus, if my vocabulary has dwindled from its former mélange of meaningful expressions, I know whom to blame.

So, the school secret of the day is indeed the letter “I,” which has always been the “apple of my ‘I’”—sorry for that rather ridiculous pun, I just couldn’t resist.  :-)

In other news, my past two posts appear to have been extremely full of foresight.  For you see, this week I was treated to that odious—oh, excuse me.  Did I say odious?  I meant edible of course . . . wink, wink.—brew which my mother is so very fond of.  Yes, the resplendent halls of our villa overflowed with a whiff of broth (note the sarcasm as this broth obviously has no flavor or scent).  In any case, I slurped it up like a four-year-old with a slushy.

My post prior to the one on stew also becomes rather ironic given the times.  It was, as I am sure you remember, concerned with “The Road to Plato’s Academy”.  Well, I have once again departed down this highway of knowledge over the past few days.  In my Political and Social Thought class, we are reading none other than Plato’s own little devil, The Republic. 

Interesting read altogether, but I am most fervently troubled by Plato’s view of human nature.  I seem to have an uncanny knack for finding “human nature” discussion questions.  When I brought up the subject in class today, my querulous classmates bemoaned my persistence on the subject, asking if I “try to find human nature problems in everything we read”.  I responded that one’s view of human nature is key to one’s worldview.  It becomes a question that merits scrutiny no matter what text one is reading.  With an apathetic groan, my ever-intrepid classmates acquiesced to my request, and I had my say about what I consider Plato’s huge fault.  While he acknowledges that humans are driven by “appetites” and “desires” for unworthy things, he tries to find a remedy within the human saying that each human being contains a “divine spark” of goodness which must be enkindled into a full flame of goodness.  In this soul, according to Plato, Reason would rule and all other “desires” would serve Reason.

Now I could go into a loquacious tome on the problems with considering Reason the highest good, but I really must get back to actually reading Plato instead of writing about it, so I will be brief.  Can one really suggest that a disillusioned soul (seeking fulfillment of its appetites and desires) would find something better on its own or even within itself???  That is what Plato is suggesting, is it not?  That humans have the divine spark (of Reason) within them and that they can enkindle it?  While Plato astutely realized the human condition to be plagued by a problem, an imperfection, he couldn’t see beyond the human.  He looked for the answer within the human instead of within God.  And it just doesn’t work like that.

OK, enough fun for now . . . back to my innumerable readings.

Stewing on Stew!

I am not one of those disturbed teenagers who can’t wait to “move out of their parents’ house.” In fact, I am in no hurry to take this step, and I enjoy threatening my parents that I will stay with them indefinitely. Perhaps this reminds them of the beloved yet frustrating Lavinia in “Washington Square”. Dear Lavinia was supposed to “make an asylum of [Dr. Sloper’s] house while she looked about for unfurnished lodgings.” In Henry James words, “It is uncertain whether Mrs. Penniman [Lavinia] ever instituted a search for unfurnished lodgings, but it is beyond dispute that she never found them” (Washington Square, pg. 69). If I remind my parents of this slightly disturbed woman then I am most dreadfully sorry. For the truth is that I do not intend to stay indefinitely, no matter how profuse my threats on the matter may be.

Nevertheless, I have determined my first course of action upon leaving my parents’ dwelling. Do not worry; it is not exactly a course you might expect from a normal person in the same situation. However, as I have said before, I have never professed to be a normal person. Normal is so very close to conformist, and I absolutely refuse to be a conformist! Excuse that digression, but I really felt it was necessary to clarify on the matter.

Now, upon exiting the home of my youth and setting up residence in my own abode, I declare that the first meaningful step I shall take is as follows: the abolition of stew! Indeed, I vow to strike stew from the recipe book forever!

You are no doubt asking, “Can stew possibly merit such a vehement admonition and declaration?” I respond to you with the utmost sincerity, it certainly does.

Stew is the epitome of abomination, yet it sneaks its way into your family with its perky scent and trendy little vegetables! My own mother, brilliant as she is, has been indoctrinated into this pseudo-taste cult from her adolescence. How much longer can we allow this atrocity to continue? The time has come for those victimized by this barbarism to stand up for true food! Far be it from me to be hastily judgmental, but we cannot allow the American populace to be propagandized into believing that stew is “comfort food” or a “meal that brings families back to the dinner table.”

This obsequious dirt is invading our homes daily, and it is our responsibility to wipe it from our tables. For the good of our children and our childrens’ children, I urge you to take heed of this warning!

And if I haven’t already convinced you, maybe this will . . .

With a platform as good as this, maybe I should run for president! I can see it now, “Vote Elisabeth Kent 2008—Hope for the Dinner Table!”

It’s a good thing I’m going back to school tomorrow because I obviously have WAY too much time on my hands! ;-)

Walking the "Road to Plato's Academy"

One of the entertaining tidbits we found in Athens was the ancient "Road to Plato's Academy".  Of course, being the history buffs we are, we couldn't resist taking our own little stroll down that proverbial highway.

As I reflect on my life, however, I realize this has not been the only time I’ve walked this road.  Surprise you though this may, I was not born reading Plato, Thucydides, or Herodotus.  Just like normal human beings, I had to learn my alphabet.  I too “sounded out” the onerous tales of “Dick and Jane”.  Despite my natural affinity for all things literary, I have worked up in my reading from the meanest of stories.

Thus, it seems that “walking the road to Plato’s Academy” symbolizes my intrepid journey along the path of words. 

What, you ask, did you read as a child?  Well, those of you who see what I read now will no doubt find my former reading lists juvenile and jejune.  I, however, refuse to let these books be denounced.  While they may not satisfy a cultivated reading taste, these books became my stepping-stones on the way to Plato’s Academy.  Without these volumes, I might have slipped in the mud, fallen down, and gone running home without ever arriving at my reverential destination.  

It is with this said that I give you, “Elisabeth’s Reading List for the Young and Young-at-Heart”. 

Please understand that however many times I may read “Jane Eyre”, “The Age of Innocence”, or “City of God”, I will always hold a special place in my heart for the following books.  They have served as milestones in a great journey and conversation.

According to Madeleine L’Engle, “The great thing about getting older is that you don't lose all the other ages you've been.”  That’s how I feel about these books.  It’s all right to move past them because I’ll always have them in the deepest reservoir of my mind, just waiting to be recollected and reminisced over.

A GINORMOUS thanks goes out to Mom for teaching me to love reading from such a young age!  Without her, I would still be at the Athen’s city gate, not even realizing I should walk towards Plato’s Academy.  Seriously though, Mom has been the driving force in my education!  Although I always loved reading (due to her unending read-alouds when I was too young to read for myself), I did not always want to read “books for school”.  Thanks to Mom’s tireless efforts, however, I did not lay down in the “road” and say “I’m sitting right here, and you can’t make me move.”  When I tried to quit, she kept metaphorically dragging me by my hair towards the Academy.  :-)

So, here’s the list . . . it’s by no means comprehensive because I probably read about a million other books besides these, but these are some of my favorites.  And by the way, I’m a “series girl”.  If it includes 65 books, it’s got to be good, right?  Not really, but that was my naïve, childhood reasoning.

• The Boxcar Children—these were some of my favorites from very early childhood!  I think I was reading these in the figurative cradle of reading.
  
• Little House on the Prairie—Mom read these aloud to me when I was about 4, and I loved them!
  
• The Chronicles of Narnia—Another awesome read-aloud from Mom when I was 6 (My, what a wonderful mother I have!).  The only problem was that we had a hard time finding quiet times to read together.  Often, Mom would be completely engrossed in the book and keep reading while I went to bed.  Then I would wake up and be furious, so I would start reading and get ahead of her during the day while she was taking care of Emily and Abby . . . good times, good times.  We could never stay together, but we tried.  My favorite was “The Horse and His Boy”.  Everyone is always like “Boo!” about that one, but I loved it (just goes to show how unusual I am.)  I remember one night when Mom read almost the entire “Horse and His Boy” to me in one evening.  It was like a marathon or something.  We would get to the end of the chapter and Mom would say, “You need to go to bed.”  But I would BEG for “one more chapter” and she would acquiesce because she wanted to keep reading just as much as I did. 
  
• The Betsy Series—You know, “Betsy and Tacy Go Over the Big Hill”, etc.  I’m embarrassed to say I still like picking up one of these (the one’s where she’s in High School) every once in a while.  They bring back wonderful memories of being curled up in bed late into the night because I didn’t want to stop reading.
  
• Nancy Drew—Oh yes, I read every one from 1 through however many the author could think up.
  
• The Hardy Boys—you would think I would have gotten tired of the same-old, same-old, but nope.  I read all of these too.
  
• The Bobbsey Twins—It was like Nancy Drew or The Boxcar Children as twins.  How cool is that?  ;-)
  
• A Wrinkle in Time—SUCH a good book!  That whole series is good, but this one definitely deserves its place in the shelf of classics.
  
• The Redwall Series—Hey man, you can’t go wrong with talking animals!
  

Some of the series above are perhaps slightly unworthy of praise.  The following books, however, deserve enthusiastic acclamations!

• The Witch of Blackbird Pond--It reminds me of a sort-of children's version of The Crucible.
• Carry On, Mr. Bowditch
• Johnny Tremain
• From the Mixed up Files...
• The Iliad and The Odyssey (abridged versions by Rosemary Sutcliff)
• The Eagle of the Ninth
• The View From Saturday
• The Black Arrow

The list could go on and on and on and on . . . eventually, though, even The Boxcar Children ran out of mysteries to solve (teardrop).  Bereft of all reading enjoyment, I set out on the Quest for Bold, New Books!  Soon, I found, the Puffin Classics!  Oh yes, delving right in, I read every classic on the shelf (albeit slightly abridged) from “Jane Eyre” to “Pride and Prejudice” and “Great Expectations”.  This was truly “The Start of Something New” to quote “High School Musical”.  Suddenly, I not only had enjoyable reading material, I also had thought-provoking, challenging, interesting, timeless, reading material.  The world became a whole lot brighter, metaphorically and literally—I had a great time reading these new books and I also began to understand the world in which I lived (if only a little bit).  This “sea change” to return to “Hamlet” occurred around the time I turned 10.  Slightly before this, Mom became a strong proponent of Classical education, so reading these classics at a young age fit right in to her teaching philosophy.

After a few years rushing through these somewhat abridged versions, I was ready to progress to “THE REAL THING”!  From “The Great Gatsby” to “The Odyssey” and “As I Lay Dying”, I have been reading these classics voraciously ever since—both in the classroom and out.

Now before you say, “That’s great for you, but I am SO not that nerdy.  The classics just aren’t my type,” you have to understand that I don’t particularly like these books because they are nerdy.  I continue reading them because they are expository in a certain way of the world in which we live.  Each book brings up a new question and exhibits a new worldview.  When these texts interact with one another, suddenly tentative answers to unspoken questions begin to formulate in the mind.  Yet these tentative answers only require more reading and thinking and hypothesizing and theorizing.  The only book I have ever found to be completely true is The Bible.  Everything else is full of right and wrong, Biblical and unbiblical, true and questionable, difficult and obvious.

Besides, the classics were written for normal people, not nerdy scholars.  The philosophers sitting in their high towers contemplating “great thoughts” weren’t the only people who read “The Iliad”.  This book like so many others was used as an educational tool.  Apparently, somewhere in the time since the Ancients, we’ve lost an appreciation for great literature because we deem it “too difficult” or “too boring” or “not useful”.  The problem with this is that if students are only fed information while they are in school, they never learn the ability to think originally for themselves and be self-learners.  Reading and not only reading, but struggling with a text as you compare it to the objective truth, The Bible, is crucial in learning to think well.  Thus, I am convinced that Classical Education has it right, the Socratic method is truly “the way” to go! Sorry, but I had to get my little plug for Classical Education in here somewhere.  :-)

Anyway, back to books . . . the wonderful (or frightening) thing about all of this is that there is always another book!  For each book I finish, there is invariably another one on the list, screaming my name.  It’s a never-ending conversation, which brings me back to Plato’s Academy.  In some ways you could say that I’ve reached Plato’s Academy by joining the great conversation of classical literature.  However, Plato may have been the end of one segment to this journey, but he was only the beginning of this odyssey to date.  Thus, by reaching the end, I only reach a new beginning.  Perhaps I should travel across to Augustine and then continue on until I reach Tocqueville.

Wherever I travel, though, I will always remember how far I’ve come.  To end this post any other way than with a heartfelt thanks to my mother would be entirely hedonistic, or at least wrong of me.  Without my Mom’s undying enthusiasm towards my education and her commitment to helping me learn to the best of my ability, I would probably still be reading The Boxcar Children.  Now remember, I have a very special place in my heart for those four adventurers, but it was time to move on to bigger and better things.  Thanks to Mom, I press on each day to reach my full potential as a student who thinks well with a Biblical worldview about history and the literature it has produced.

Note:  No, it is not suddenly Mother’s Day although you would think it might be from the way I’ve been writing.  In any case, however, every day should be Mother’s Day because my mother is absolutely amazing!!!!!!!  :-)

Also, for a fabulous essay on Classical Education, particularly the Socratic method, see this article.

Rewind: Summer 2007

I know I'm a bit behind, but what better way to ring in the new year than a look at the Kent Family's 2007 summer extravaganza! Including never before seen footage and select pictures from College Station, Carlin, Reno, The Woodlands, The Lakehouse, Seattle, Juneau, Skagway, and Victoria among other places, this slideshow offers a picture for everyone (and pretty much of everyone too--that's my hint that it's LONG). Enjoy!

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Dramatic Details from the World of Istanbul!

Headline 3: The Kent Girls Bare ALL for the Turkish Baths!

Yes, people. You read it here first. We simply couldn’t leave Turkey without experiencing the Ancient Baths!

To fully do justice to our experience, I must briefly flash back to a few weeks ago in Doha. We were discussing the baths, and Abby exclaimed, “I am not going nude. I’m wearing my swimsuit!” Mom responded with the classic quote, “It will be too embarrassing if we’re NOT nude!”

I want to know, since when is it LESS EMBARRASSING to be NUDE??? Seriously, what is this world coming to??

In any case, Abby opted out of the baths upon being threatened that she could not wear a swimsuit. Thus, Mom, Emily, and I set out to face the unknown. And in this case, the unknown quickly became a very frightening known!

We arrived at the baths and contemplated our “package options”. Mom chose the “massage” option while Emily and I much preferred the self-wash option. I have never liked massages. Ever. Up until this point, the experience progressed in a fairly normal way.

We went into the changing room and got our towels. Notably, it was rather awkward to completely undress, but cloaking ourselves in towels, we took the plunge. You must understand that Turkish Baths are nothing like regular baths. They are just a huge, heated marble slab on which one lies.

After quickly snapping the picture above, we walked around the corner to the baths and were completely SHOCKED! People weren’t wearing their towels—need I say more? Scooting around the edge of the room we perched precariously on the edge of the marble and just sat there half giggling, half feeling like running out of the room. One of the attendants growled at us, “Lie Down.” We responded in unison with a squeaky, “OK” and did as she asked.

Lying there staring up at the ceiling was the most awkward thing ever! And of course we looked completely ridiculous to all the Europeans because we kept our towels wrapped tightly!

Well, Mom got her massage, which I won’t go into detail about. As soon as it seemed appropriate to leave, we did so being more than anxious to escape that disgusting enclosure!

All in all, I will not return to the baths, and I suppose I can quote High School Musical and say of them, “How tribal!”

Headline 4: Speakin’ Espanol and Cruisin’ in the Snow

After a night of sleep haunted by the baths, we set out to take a Bosphorus Cruise. The conditions were slightly unorthodox to say the least—it was snowing like crazy! Fortunately, the snow let up for a moment so we could take this picture:

When we arrived at the docks, our boat didn’t set sail for an hour, so we scuttled into the nearest restaurant as quickly as possible. Our waiter was once again talkative—too talkative if you ask me. We had our drinks and then prepared to leave. Mom rushed off to the bathroom while Dad and Abby dashed outside to watch the snowfall. That left Emily and I sitting and talking to the waiter. As you know, I am not very friendly in such situations, and I didn’t disappoint in this moment. Emily, however, makes up for my un-enthusiasm with her overwhelming enthusiasm. She and the waiter were chattering away and something came up about Spanish. Well, you would have thought it was the most exciting coincidence in the world that they both spoke Spanish . . . they begin blabbering to each other and of course I have no idea what they are saying. Desperately wishing Mom would just hurry out of the bathroom so we could leave, I looked out the window. While I was thus occupied, however, “strange waiter” and Emily start motioning towards me and continue chattering with increased hand motions in my direction. So I’m thinking, “Oh this is just great…a strange Arab and Emily are talking about me in Spanish and I have no idea what they’re saying”. Awkward! Fortunately, it was at this moment that Mom re-entered the situation, and we quickly departed. You can imagine that I immediately bombarded Emily with questions about what was going on. Here is her version of part of the conversation:

Waiter: “How old is your sister?”
Emily: (accidentally misspeaking my age) “seventeen”
Waiter: “NO WAY! I am eighteen.”
Emily: “Umm… oh.”
Waiter: “You and your sister are very pretty and nice.”
Emily: “Umm…thank you.”

AWKWARD!

Dashing away as quickly as possible, we boarded the boat glad to be out of the way of the waiter and the snow. Once onboard, we whiled away the ride taking pictures and looking out the windows and the various castles dotting the shoreline.

We got off at a little village very near the mouth of the Black Sea. It was SO COLD and snowy!

After looking around the town momentarily (and there was nothing to see) we hurried into a little restaurant for lunch.

That was basically all there was to do in the town besides a hike, which it was far too cold and snowy to attempt. So we wandered around, took some pictures and then got back on the ferry to enjoy the beautiful ride home. Emily became grouchy as can be seen in this lovely picture:

Back at the hotel, we took warm showers and became unfrozen for the first time that day.

Headline 5: Freezing Weather, Frightening Terrorists, and Frantic Flights

Our last day in Istanbul began with a bang. Dad left early in the morning to catch his flight to the states for business, so it was just the lively Kent ladies wandering the streets.

During breakfast we read the news and found out about a bombing in Istanbul and another in rural Turkey. “Oh, great,” we thought. “This is the last thing we need today.” Apparently, there had also been a terrorist threat to blow up tourist sights in the city. The Turkish government took this warning to heart because there were police with huge machine guns EVERYWHERE! We weren’t sure whether to be re-assured by this measure as it was undertaken for our safety or to be distressed that it was necessary in the first place. I chose option one because fretting unnecessarily would do no good.

We determined to attempt the city tour, so off we went. When we boarded the bus, Mom insisted on going to the top, which was not heated.

It was extremely cold, and the snow came in torrents and melted upon landing, so there was the added bonus of being slightly wet as well as extremely cold. The city tour was good nonetheless. Our visibility was almost nothing, but we enjoyed what we cold see. At one particular point at which we could literally see NOTHING, Mom remarks, “I’m glad we sat up here on top so we could have a panoramic view.” Through chattering teeth, I responded, “Oh yes, because we are seeing SO much…”

After the tour we set out for Starbucks, and I can honestly say that this was the coldest I have EVER felt! Wet, Snowy, Windy. The conditions were murderous! At one point, my hair molded to my hood rather interestingly. It is slightly difficult to see in this picture, but I’ll post it anyway.

Notice I am not smiling in the above picture. Yes, it was that bad!

Around four in the afternoon, we headed to the airport and a long process of getting home ensued. After surviving almost missed flights and strange seat partners, we pulled into Al Fardan Gardens II at 4:30am. It had been a long day, but we were home. Home until the next great adventure. The End.

Living "A Room With A View"

Headline 2: Living “A Room With A View”

After arriving in Istanbul on the infamous “Oriental Express”, we set out to find our hotel. From the beginning, we could tell that Istanbul was much rougher and less cultured in a European sense than Athens had been. While this did not distress us, we felt a certain sadness at leaving Athens, the fountain from which Western thought sprung forth. Istanbul had none of the same classiness, but it did radiate a vivid vibrancy, which was promising from the outset.

Enough with comparisons, however—On with the story! At long last we reached our hotel, but it was far too early to check in. The hotel, though, was more than accommodating! They stored our luggage and took us to their complimentary breakfast buffet. This is where we begin living “A Room With A View”. You will remember the classic beginning to that beloved novel. Lucy and her cousin arrive at the small, cozy, European hotel around dinnertime and are ushered into the dining room where their fellow hotel residents are eating dinner. The other residents set about examining them and whispering about them, etc.

Well, that is precisely what happened to us. Granted, we were quite a sight to behold by this point. We looked like drowned rats, who washed ashore and were then picked up by stray cats and thrown around. I personally have a long history with drowned rats as my professor at piano camp one summer told me I looked like a drowned rat after I got very wet in a fierce rainstorm. Anyway, we appeared to be an entire family of drowned rats. It was, no doubt, an unappetizing sight, and for that we were extraordinarily regretful. Nevertheless, our situation was not one reached through our own volition, so we could hardly be condemned in any just sense of the word.

With breakfast out of the way, we set out to see the city. The Grand Bazaar was interesting and fun, but its similarity to our very own Suiqs in Qatar took away part of the originality. After a while at the Bazaar, we returned to the hotel looking forward to finally taking a shower! Here is a picture of how we looked as drowned rats:


We checked into our hotel and our rooms gave a whole new meaning to the phrase “a room with a view”. They looked straight out onto the Hagia Sophia! Here’s a picture through my window:


A warm shower later, we thankfully looked once again like regular rats instead of drowned rats--that's a relief. We were ready to take on Istanbul. The Blue Mosque was only a block away from our hotel, so it seemed like an easy attempt for the afternoon. Of course, to enter the mosque we women had to wear our hejabs as you will see in the pictures, which are rather entertaining.





And, of course, we had to take off our shoes:



After the mosque, we set out to find a good restaurant for dinner. Now one thing I despised about Turkey was the incessant hounding as you walked down the street to come into the person’s restaurant. Everyone was yelling at you, “Come in! Very warm salon! Very Nice! Good for Lunch!” I HATE being badgered like this! My reaction to such persecution is always to absolutely refuse to go into their restaurant or shop. Nevertheless, it seems inevitable in these regions, so we eventually capitulated to the attack and entered a restaurant.

Everything seemed fairly normal at first, but such first impressions are generally false as they proved to be in this case. When our waiter came up, he looked at Abby and said, “Hello, my darling. I love you.” We were, of course, rather shocked by this strange behavior, but this was not the end. A moment after making this strange declaration to Abby, he started STROKING MY HAIR!!! I have NEVER been so horrified, and at that moment I secretly cursed my decision to return to blonde hair before the trip. I mean honestly, the frequent stares I receive in the Middle East due to the blonde hair have become routine and not so bothersome. This stroking, however, was not at all acceptable! My entire family giggled hysterically. He stopped stroking my locks, but followed that action by saying, “I have a very handsome brother. Are you interested?” Now, dear reader, please understand that in situations like this I am not a very friendly person. I glared back at him with my most startling evil eyes—very satisfying! Poor Emily with her infelicitous brunette locks received not even a smile from the overzealous inhabitant of our table space.

The conversation (and I don’t know why we were having a conversation instead of placing our order) turned to where we were from, and we mentioned our residence in Qatar. He then asked a few more questions and found out that I am learning Arabic. At this realization, he slit his little beady eyes, became quite offended, exclaimed, “They’re all terrorists!” and stomped off without even hearing my response that "I like the Arabs immensely". Good riddance! The offense was perhaps not unexpected considering he was a Kurd. In any case, he may have been a Kurd, but in our memories he will be forever enshrined as a turd!

We returned to our hotel and slept. Upon morning, we set out to see the classic Istanbul sight, the Hagia Sophia.

Historically, this magnificent edifice was more than satisfying with its mismatched Christian and Muslim occupancy. Its visage shone with magnanimity unmatched in most probably any other sight we have visited recently. Besides the sheer size of the enclosure, we were most impressed by the mosaic detailing!

Unfortunately, however, much of this mosaic was lost when the Muslims converted the building into a mosque. In the picture below, you can see part of the mosaic, but the plastering of the Muslims ruined the lower half.

In the following picture you can see the medallions put up by the Islamic group.

Pictures do not do justice to the immense beauty and in Emily’s words, the “absolutely incomprehensible” establishment. We were awestruck!

Following the Hagia Sophia, we visited the Topkapi Palace.

From there, we had excellent views of the Bosphorus, and I bored my family by unfolding the mythological story from which that mighty passageway receives its name. Since I already wearied them with this, I shall not do the same to you. Moving on . . .

The Harem was definitely a highlight, and we now like to refer to ourselves as Todd’s harem. :-)

From the Palace, we returned to the hotel briefly and then set out on what would be our most entertaining adventure yet. Coming soon in installment three of this saga . . .

Headline 3: The Kent Girls Bare ALL for the Baths!