Shopping should never be this stressful.

I went out with my host sisters and their aunt today to wander around and do some shopping in a different neighborhood of Ankara. Their aunt had said earlier that she wanted to buy me a present, but didn't know what I wanted - she was looking forward to buying whatever I picked out for myself during the day. So there was, from the beginning, pressure to buy something. And that's not usually a good thing. We started out in a few shops, filled mostly with Turkish fashion-clothing that, to be quite honest, I would never want to buy. As we looked around, all three of them kept asking me what I liked, and if I wanted to try something on. In broken Turkish, I explained that I just wanted to look, and that because everything was so new, it was hard for me to decide what I wanted right away. I didn't know how to explain that none of the clothes interested me, and the more I became frustrated, the harder it became to speak at all. I'd never really encountered this problem before.

Shopping is one of my favorite activities (unfortunately, for my wallet), and it's always been enjoyable, a way for me to relieve stress and try on new things. In France, language barriers hardly mattered when I went into stores, because I usually wanted to buy everything in sight, and in Germany or in the U.S., I've always been able to express myself without difficulty. It's awkward to be forced to consume, and to be unable to speak while shopping.

After about an hour of looking around, we went into a store that had a wide array of linen pants on display. I'd been wanting to buy a pair since I got here, hoping to replace my skinny jeans with something more climate-appropriate and comfortable, and was excited that I might find what I needed. It was taking me a while to pick out my size, as I was yet unfamiliar with the Turkish sizing scale (I think they have the same sizes in Italy?), so a salesman came over to help. The whole experience went downhill from there. I'm a very indecisive person, and I like to think a while before buying any article of clothing to make sure that it fits right and that I'll want to actually wear it more than once. My host sisters, their aunt, and a second salesperson then began asking me questions as I tried on pair after pair of pants. I didn't have the vocabulary to express my concerns with the fit of the pants, and as I stepped out of the dressing room each time to look at myself in the mirror, I was greeted not by my own reflection but by four pairs of curious eyes demanding to know which one I preferred.

At a certain point, I seemed to have narrowed it down to two pairs - one dark brown and one black. I wasn't sure that I wanted either of them, but I felt a distinct pressure to pick one as they kept asking, which will you get? One of the saleswomen spoke broken English, but it wasn't enough to help me at that point. I sort of hit a wall, the unfamiliar stress of the shopping experience somehow limiting my ability to communicate at all. My host sisters told me that they preferred the black pair, and so I eventually gave in and said I wanted them. I knew that they were slightly expensive, and tried to pay for them, but the aunt beat me to it. And so, on top of the worry that I had picked out something I may not even like, came the guilt of spending her money. We left the store, planning to walk down the road some more, but one of the apocalyptic dust-thunder storms we've been having lately started to pick up and we just grabbed a cab back to the apartment.

When we got home, I collapsed on the couch and tried to distract myself with homework. I haven't been very successful with that, but there are still a few hours left to finish what I have before I need to sleep. We've spent the rest of the evening in the living room - Buşra and I on our computers, Turkish soap operas on in the background (I can't understand what's going on yet, but the scenes seem to alternate between random and excessive make-out scenes, slapstick routines, and gun stand-offs). At dinnertime, I was still full from the mantı we had for lunch, but my host mom made crepes and I tried some of them with pekmez, or grape molasses. It was a very new flavor, something I don't encounter often. I told her that I love to cook, and she said she'll teach me how to prepare some more dishes before I leave. I'm looking forward to helping out more in the kitchen, and to bringing the recipes home with me.