Kahramanlar

I live in a neighborhood of Izmir called Kahramanlar. The neighborhood itself lies to the east of Kültür Park, a large park at the city-center, built upon the part of the city razed in the fire of 1922. In fact, I can see the park and ferris wheel from my balcony. Beyond the park to the west is Alsancak, the wealthy downtown area with shopping, nightlife, and the sea. To the east is a substantially impoverished part of my neighborhood inhabited largely by Gypsies (or Roman in Turkish). Their horse carriages clickity-clack by my place towards the waterfront to give rides to Turkish families and tourists. The streets are loud and chaotic, which can be fun to watch from the balcony. It has a slight reputation among the middle and upper-class Izmiris, due to the gypsies, for being dangerous. But my experience has been anything but, mostly because any gypsy nefarious antics don’t apply in their own neighborhood, as if they are off duty. It’s my opinion that the neighborhood is on the perfect cusp – run down enough to be cheap yet enjoyable. It is also perfectly sandwiched in the middle of the city; with access to the downtown, metro, and bus lines while being much cheaper than a neighborhood two kilometers away.

When living in a place you hopefully get to know the people around you, even if it is mere polite acknowledgement. More than any other neighborhood, Kahramanlar has made me feel welcome. In some ways I’m a mini-celebrity. A foreigner who speaks Turkish is relatively rare, especially in this little nook of the city. If I lived in Cihangir, the diplomatic and artistic center of Istanbul, no one would notice or care about me. Not the case here – everyone is very friendly and interested in me. Why am I learning Turkish? Why am I living in Kahramanlar? Etc. My girlfriend recently pointed out that she knows more people in my neighborhood than her own because everyone talks with us.

It’s also systematic. In Southern California, where I am from, the suburban layout of most of the state discourages walking anywhere. There is little public transportation infrastructure so we barely come face to face except through a car window waiting in traffic. Further, there are almost no public places. In most American communities the popular ‘public spaces’ for congregating are actually privately owned – shopping malls, movie theaters, and so on. Even in daily business transactions personal interactions are corporatized. In the supermarket you put everything you want in the basket and only converse with another human being upon paying, and sometimes not even then. Even if you go to the same place everyday, the employees may be different. Building relationships with people in your community is more challenging.

The system here in Kahramanlar is different (although not in all of Turkey, the suburbs of large cities resemble that of Southern California). Rather than there being mega-stores where you go and buy everything you need at one place, there are countless tiny family-owned businesses. And unlike those large one-stop-shop stores, in Kahramanlar you have to speak to the attending family member to buy anything and everything. I used to get annoyed by this, after all, sometimes you aren’t in the mood to chat – but overall it is rewarding. I am friendly with most of the people around me. These days I can’t walk down the street without waving at someone. Here’s an example; the bakery downstairs. They make breads, morning pastries, as well as cakes and other deserts. They also have the best ice-cream in Izmir, made on the premises with fresh ingredients for minimal cost. I drop in there two or three times a day. The staff are overwhelmingly warm. The owner perceives that we have some connection between us because my ancestors are from Scotland and his are from Trabzon – both places are cold and rainy and the people have a bagpipe, or tulum in Turkish. He uses our ‘connection’ every time he wants to convince me of something, like how I should change futbol team allegiance from Galatasaray to Trabzonspor. They made a special cake for my girfriend’s birthday, they round down the prices, and they always say hello with a smile as I’m walking by.

I’ll leave here soon, heading back to California. Even if I were to move back to Turkey in the near future I doubt I’ll end up in this neighborhood. I’ll be sad to leave it and its smiling faces.

-Charles P. Pearson