Wiki Friday: criminalized colour schemes, bonsai kittens, and more

Where to even begin. I guess with hello. It's nice to be back. Nice to be writing a Wiki Friday.

Today is the first day my daughter is in daycare. She's barely there for a few hours, but wow, the spaciousness I feel in this toddler-free home. Even with a head cold I can imagine, for the first time in a while, completing the writing process involved in a Wiki Friday. 

Composing Wiki Fridays is, believe it or not, one of my great joys. I haven't read Thinking, Fast and Slow, by Daniel Kahneman, but I think I get the gist. Most day to day activities, these days anyway, ask us to think quickly, to give opinions quickly, to react quickly. Thinking slowly, deliberately, while living with a smart phone strapped to one's hand, seems nigh impossible. Pausing from reacting, to pursue my own line of inquiry, is a true refreshment to my mind and spirit. Let us begin.

Red, yellow, green – a criminalized colour scheme

The book Gardens of Water, by Alan Drew, had been sitting on my shelf for years. I knew the novel was set near Istanbul after the devastating 1999 earthquake, but I guess I hadn't read it through to the end. It's quite gripping, and really goes deep with the perspectives of different characters, from a Kurdish teenage girl to an American father who can't resist proselytization. In one plot point, a Kurdish boy in Eastern Turkey is shot by the Turkish military because he appears to be wearing red, yellow, and green, which make up the colours of the Kurdish flag, above. 

Folks on the internet debate whether this colour scheme, or the flag itself, is technically illegal or banned in Turkey, but suffice it to say, the colours have been dangerous for many. I am personally drawn toward red, yellow, and green, in art and nature, and as a result have been thinking about these colours together a lot. As we go into fall in the northern hemisphere, we will see them everywhere, in berries, leaves, dried grasses, and vegetation made lush by rain. Perhaps more on this another time.

Grapes

This search was generated by the fact that I couldn't picture grapes vines having flowers. But as with all fruits, they do flower. The flowers are just small.

While scanning the Wikipedia pages, I learned that Concord grapes are named so because they come from the city in Massachusetts. They were cultivated from wild grapes there by farmer Ephraim Wales Bull. I only tried Concord grapes as an adult, and my first response was, "Oh, this is 'grape flavour'". And indeed it is! Concord grapes spawned an entire industry of grape-flavoured products, from candy to soft drinks.

Bonsai kittens

I tentatively brought up 'kittens in jars' to David. Did he remember this urban legend that was floating around when we were kids? It was an urban legend, right? No one was actually growing kittens in jars to stunt their growth, surely. David looked at me with bemusement. He had never heard of such a thing.

Wikipedia confirms that this was a big hoax around the year 2000. An MIT student created a website that described the "lost art" of bonsai kittens, and the internet, particularly animal rights people on the internet, went nuts. Somehow the hoax even reached me.

Tolkien

Good old J.R.R.

We're watching the news Lord of the Rings: Rings of Power series, or, as I call it, 'Ring TV'.

Maya will be home soon, so I'm just going to share some quick little zingers:

Tolkien worked for the Oxford English Dictionary, on Germanic words starting with W.

We have his mother, Mabel, to thank somewhat, for she homeschooled him, including in botany and Latin.

He was bitten by a large baboon spider as a child.

He served in World War I and it is understood that Mordor is based on scenes from the trenches.

He was very into Beowulf.

In a letter, he said that the purpose of life is to know God and be moved to thanks.

He may have been the first to use the term 'phonoaesthetics', regarding the relative beauty and pleasantness of certain words or sounds within words.

Until next time.

Wiki Friday: Corvids, car engines, and Oregon grape

 A little Wiki Friday for you this Sunday morning.

Corvids

Crows and ravens are probably the most identifiable corvids, but the group includes jays and magpies, too. I was curious about their range: everywhere, except the southern tip of South America and the poles. Apparently they are a kind of bird called passerines, meaning that their toes are arranged such that they can perch. I have never thought about birds even having toes.

This is the best:

Young corvids have been known to play and take part in elaborate social games. Documented group games follow "king of the mountain", or "follow the leader", patterns. Other play involves the manipulation, passing, and balancing of sticks. Corvids also take part in other activities, such as sliding down smooth surfaces. 

But also this:

Magpies have been observed taking part in elaborate grieving rituals, which have been likened to human funerals, including laying grass wreaths.

Playing and grieving. Their brain-to-body ratios are like those of whales, not far from those of humans.

Car engines

You know when you just get tired of not knowing something?

Well, I watched a couple of videos, and I get the basics. I get what the four strokes refer to:

1) Intake (open, pull stuff in)

2) Compression (close, squish it all together)

3) Power stroke (a tiny explosion, creating power, opening back up)

4) Exhaust (closing again, to push stuff out)

I can also tell you that the difference between a gas and diesel engine is about compression being sufficient for that tiny explosion to happen without an external ignition source. So, there. Leave me alone.

Oregon grape

A.k.a. Mahonia aquifolium (the last part refers to its pointy leaves)

I knew that it was native to the Pacific Northwest and that the dark berries produced a dye, because I squeezed one the other day and told myself to try painting with the juice.

I did not know that the roots yield a yellow dye. That it is the state flower of Oregon. Or that indigenous people have used the berries for indigestion. Apparently you can make a wine from the berries, but it will take a lot of sugar. You can eat the berries raw after the season's first frosts. Delightful.

Şalgam or ayran?

Basically the question out here.

Astringent juice made of Russian turnips, or frothy salty yogurt water.

I'm not joking when say it's hard because they're both so good.

Club Athletica

Hatha rajul mezyaaaaaan.

This man is goooooood.

Said the drunk man, clutching Peter. I concurred. From across the bar, a Spanish man bought us two more gin and tonics. Mohammed resumed his rant on the importance of his wife being intelligent, if only for the sake of his 10-month old son. Karim, the owner and manager of Club Athletica, which I now understand to be a private drinking establishment and not a gym, introduced himself and said that I was welcome any time. The pleasure of the Tetouani bar experience, however, came largely from the novelty.

Ashara faqat

I told my Arabic teacher that I loved the "q" sound. It doesn't exist in English. It's the sound you make when you pretend you are drinking something--that glug glug glug sound in the back of your throat. Turkish translates it into a "k" sound.

daqiqa (minute) becomes dakika

faqat (only, just) becomes fakat

At the cafeteria around the corner (my favourite food source so far), I finally ordered the ubiquitous fava bean soup. A hearty bowl was delivered, topped with a layer of olive oil and a spoonful of cumin. Bread, too, and a mix of potato and green salad. It was the perfect meal. After, I went to the counter to pay and handed the boy a 20-dirham coin. He handed me back a 10-dirham coin.

Ashara faqat?

Ashara faqat.

Incredible. Ten dirhams is $1.50. I may never cook again.

Friday couscous

"Mary, why do you guys keep saying l'avion? Doesn't that mean airplane?"

"La viande! Meat!"

"Ohhh."

Wednesday night

Here is a bottle of Caña Manabita. In it, is liquor made from cane sugar.

Last night, Jordan charged me $6 for one such bottle. Mas barato en San Cristobal, I grumbled. Yeah, well you aren't in San Cristobal anymore, he shot back, in Spanish, of course.

I bought the bottle and then, out of the blue, ran into three friends from the old island, who are here in Isabela with tourist work. There were four limes at home in the fridge, so only two things to do: make caipiriñas and find somewhere to drink them.

Caipiriña Recipe:
Caña
Sugar
Limes
Ice

We drank them at the flamingo pond behind my house. Four full-grown specimens wandered toward us in the dark, and I was very happy.

Embrace change, blah blah blah

After 5 months on San Cristobal, I raised my hand to move to Isabela, a less developed island, because the university decided to offer English classes to its meager population. My first week was sweaty and stressful, but major hurdles have been jumped, such as:

1. Opening an account at the fisherman co-op, because there is no bank or ATM.

2. Buying a bike. A tire popped on Day 2 and an axle jammed on Day 3, but neither Junior nor his father (Senior?) charged me for repairs.

3. Finding Pancho the water man and pre-ordering enormous bottles of water so that I don't ingest worms and E. Coli from the untreated tap water.

4. Stocking the fridge. $1 for two carrots? Fine.

5. Meeting the neighbours. Reuben took me to his farm yesterday, Jeanette invited me to her sister's birthday party last night, and today people gave me more bananas than I can eat in a month.

6. Finding a laundry place. $13, you say? Petty cash is here for a reason.

7. Finding a lunch place. The woman hasn't smiled in the last decade, but she doesn't serve me red meat, so I'm a fan.

8. Accepting that homes on the beach with tile floors need to be swept daily, if not more.

9. Accepting that the internet cafe might not open all weekend. 

10. Remembering my good fortune.

Chickpeas

Eating out in San Cristobal means:

rice
fried fish
fried chicken
fried beef
fried plantain

Which is why I have started cooking again. The woman who weighed my dried chickpeas at Dos Hermanos asked what I planning. She used them for a foot scrub, I think she said. I tried to explain hummus in Spanish. En otros paises...como pure...con sal y [holding up my olive oil and garlic]...[mashing gesture]...con limon, pero es una otra cosa como limon--mas grande y amarillo... How do you explain lemons to someone who's only seen limes? She held up a yellow lime. "Lemon?" No, still a lime.

She caught up to me at the till to ask more about this strange pure. It was exciting to talk about food from other countries, especially because people here never talk about the world beyond the island. My students ask me nothing about Canada or Saudi Arabia, though they know I lived there. Hooray for chickpeas for prompting a little mental flight.

Strange fruit

Waxy and hollow; brown pit like a wooden marble; smell of roses. "Eww, tastes like potpourri," said the American girl, so I ate them all myself. They're delicious. They grow on trees in the highlands.

Cheers!

Congratulations to Kai, who won the second name-that-movie contest (see comments for the answer). I wanted to send him a beer from Saudi Arabia, but the country had me stumped, booze-free as it is (if only in decree). But then it hit me: near beer! The skinny, jeans-sagging, Airwalks-rocking seventh grade boys of my youth came back to me in all their glory, sipping warm cans of non-alcoholic beverage at the Third Street snack bar. The things we do to look cool. Here's to sobriety!

Death by empanada

$1.50 for a fried banana with cheese and a massive empanada? You can't say no to that. Or at least Josephine and I couldn't, when two women lit up a deep fryer at the beach yesterday afternoon.

The empanada, soaked well in grease, revealed its meaty innards when we were halfway in. I knew it wasn't chicken, but I pressed on, fool that I am. After wiping our oily fingers with our towels, my new Swedish friend and I hiked to the lookout in time to watch the sun set in a pile of clouds. I felt OK. I felt less OK at 3AM this morning when I rolled over and thought to myself, "You deserve this."

The last time I tried to digest ground beef was in Ankara, where my three Turkish hosts produced a very special dish from their hometown Antakya: a meatloaf the size of a poker table. The boys slept soundly that night as I learned how to throw up into a squatter toilet.

Four-legged animals have been off the menu for, oh, eleven years now, so maybe the enzymes for dissolving their special flesh have washed out of my system; I don't know. All I know is that from now on, quadrupeds can stay on that side of my line in the sand.

In Turkey, I might note, I knew what was coming to me. I asked the boys what they were cooking, and they said et (meat). Here, I know the word carne, but I'm still shy asking questions. In conclusion: less meat, more Spanish.

Salad days

I miss vegetables. We're 600 miles from the mainland, so importing them is expensive, and the farms in the highlands don't seem to produce more than a few wilted herbs. 

Yesterday I started daydreaming about vege stir-fries, dragon bowls at the Naam, and my mom's caesar salad. I mentioned it, and apparently I'm not the only extranero with a longing.

Fabio the Italian drew an artichoke in the sand. He eats the leaves raw with salt and quarters the heart with a knife, he says. He flies home tomorrow, presumably to wait for the first artichokes of spring.

Tubias the Dane craves asparagus. He likes them steamed in salt water, dressed in butter, and topped with black truffle.

Strangely, what I want most is celery.

To the winners!

This post is dedicated to Parker and Kai, good friends and winners in the name-that-movie contest. See "comments" for the answer.

Their secret prize is this virtual beer. Pilsener, of course. It's the only beer here. I'm no expert, but it seems okay, provided it's served really cold.

I'm reminded of Turkey, another one-beer country. There you'll drink Efes Pilsener, which apparently gets its unique taste from rice added at the brewing stage. Its been described as having "a tangy malt and hops aroma, rich malt in the mouth, and a bitter-sweet finish that becomes dry and hoppy." Thanks, Wikipedia. Ecuador's Pilsener, meanwhile, "has a noticeable corn edge to the flavor and it reminds me very much of the flavor and feel of Miller High Life." In addition to being corny, Ecuador's beer of choice is a measly 4.2% beer, compared with Efes's 5.0% Sorry, boys.

two beers, please:

iki tane bira, lutfen

dos cervezas, por favor