So I was walking to Starbucks after class today (I know, I know, don't judge... I paid the price for my indulgence in the form of a $3.50 tall iced coffee, but it's the only place with decent air conditioning and a quiet area to study in the afternoons) when I told friends I was with that I'd have very little to write about for today's post. Nothing exciting had really happened and I was hoping to have a quiet night at home to catch up on emails and sleep. Of course, I spoke way too soon, and this evening proved to be one of the most culturally intense experiences yet.

While we were going over the day's homework assignments, my host mother called me to ask if I wanted to join the family at their cousin's house this evening. I of course said yes and made plans to meet my host sister at the metro later on. When I did, we went out to a nearby neighborhood where her younger sister was already playing on a swingset with their year-old nephew, Ahmet, and his grandmother. We stayed outside for a bit before heading over to their cousin's house. He and his wife, Zeynip are moving in a few days, and we were partly there to help with some of the packing.

After playing with Ahmet in the living room for some time, my host sisters and I ate dinner in the kitchen while we waited for my host mother and the cousins to arrive. I tried to understand the news that was playing on the small kitchen TV (did Obama misspeak in some way when he met with Putin? or did I understand that wrong?...), but I was mostly distracted by an inscreen live video feed of Michael Jackson's hearse driving up an LA freeway to the Staples Center. It seemed a bit unecessary to show the whole thing, but I guess the King of Pop was beloved here too.

Later on, once everyone was home, I hung out with Zeynip, my host mother, and my host sisters as we helped to pack up some of her clothes for the move. We were crowded into her bedroom, the four of them talking as I tried to understand as much of the conversation as I could. Thankfully, I've gotten to the point where I can understand most of what's said to (or about) me, I just can't respond with more than one sentence at a time. At one point in the conversation, Zeynip looked at me and joked (a little bit too seriously) that I should marry her brother, before suggesting that I try on her bridal costume and take pictures of myself in it. The costume is traditionally worn by the bride on the eve of her wedding - her hand is tatooed with henna ink, her head is covered, and she's expected to cry. We've talked about this tradition quite a bit in my Turkish class, but it was an entirely different story when Zeynip actually brought out her costume for me to put on.

I spent the next half hour or so in the living room, wearing full-on Turkish bridal gear while taking pictures with various combinations of the female family members (plus Ahmet, the baby boy). It's actually a pretty cool outfit, although a bit too hot for the current weather. If I ever do have a Turkish wedding, I'll have to make sure it takes place in a cooler month. But I don't plan on having a wedding of any kind in the near or even semi-distant future, so I won't worry about that too much right now.

After taking the costume off, I watched Tugba (my host sister) make Turkish coffee, ostensibly learning from her as she went about the preparations. When she finished, all of the women came to the kitchen to drink the coffee together. In Turkey, coffee (unlike tea, which is consumed in mass quantities at all times of the day) is traditionally reserved for special occasions, and comes with the added bonus of fortune-telling. After we finished our cups, my host sisters and I turned them over to allow Zeynip to read the lines formed by the leftover coffee grounds. She made up some cute fortunes for each of us, and I felt even more included (if that was possible) in the family atmosphere.

As I was leaving, Zeynip offered me a stack of old Turkish cookbooks that the family was trying to get rid of before the move. I was busy salivating over the pictures when she pulled out a small but beautifully decorated copy of the Koran and handed it to me, asking if I would like it as a present. She went on to explain the proper procedure for handling the book respectfully, as well as the importance of the Koran itself. I tried to express that I'm fairly familiar with most of the basic tenets of Islam (my Turkish is in no way good enough to say any of that) and that I've even read parts of the Koran in the past. I thought I was understood, but the whole family went on to tell me who Muhammed was and that the Koran is the equivalent of "my" Bible. I didn't have the will, energy, or vocabulary to explain that I tend read both (or all religious texts for that matter) in the same way, and that I'm not a particularly religious person, so I thanked Zeynip sincerely and said goodbye for the evening. I'm looking forward to trying to read (with the help of a very large dictionary) some of the text later on, although I'm probably going to need some more help with the half that's in Arabic.