Tuesday, 30 March 2010

swiss human is easily frightened

our school shares its fifth floor with a beauty parlour specialised in sun beds.

was teaching on the fifth floor tonight and there was techno music blasting from their side.

how bizarre.

i tried to get some empathy from my students - but, as usual, they laughed my puzzelment off and commented (as usual) "it' s nooooormal. it's turkey. NOT IMPORTANT".

when they say (all the time, actually) "not important" i gather they mean " it does not matter" - one of the first things (no wonder) i have learnt to say in turkish.

"bosh-var" - that is.

if you translate it word by word it means: "empty-there is", which i somehow find (perhaps twistedly so) rather fascinating...

some interesting quotes from tonight's session:

1. "i heard that now in england it is very hard to enter. they give very few visas to foreign people. i read in the paper that actually even english people... people with english passport - they now have to get a visa to go into london".

2. "my friend went to rome with her boyfriend and they throw coin into, you know??, the LOVE FOUNTAIN ((trevi)). they pray for all of us when they throw coin. then my friend say that in rome people when there is green light for people walking... yes, pedestrians i mean... my friend say that the cars stop. not like turkey. i was shocked when my friend say this. i think WOW... very different..."

3. "i know that in switzerland if you use your horn (beep) when driving in the street... if in the street there is an old human (man) walking - they give you penalty (fine) and you have to pay money because of scaring the old human"

then, since they seemed fascinated by how civil european drivers seemed - i tried to find some enlightment on why in turkey people drive like schizofrenics on high doses of crack; and, also, why people here stop at crossroads to insult and threaten (if not beat) each other; and, while i was at it, why people here are 100% colourblind and cannot perceive any significant difference between a green light and a red light...let alone an orange one.

my students seemed to identify only two (2) plausible explanations:

1) "it is the government's fault. they do not do anything about it. people die constantly on the street. every day. because of terrible driving. but the government does not care";

2) "it is because they sell fast cars. they should sell cars that go maximum up to 140 km/hour. i do not know why they sell fast cars when you cannot drive 160 in the city".

this time, surprisingly enough - i was lucky enough not to get "IT IS NOT IMPORTANT" as a final remark...

at least that!

Sunday, 28 March 2010

sunday quotes

MANY birds and the beating of wings
Make a flinging reckless hum
In the early morning at the rocks
Above the blue pool
Where the gray shadows swim lazy.

In your blue eyes, O reckless child,
I saw today many little wild wishes,
Eager as the great morning.
(Carl Sandburg)

Poetry is the synthesis of hyacinths and biscuits (Carl Sandburg).

"Jealousy would be far less torturous if we understood that love is a passion entirely unrelated to our merits." (Paul Eldridges)

Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. (leonard Cohen).

"An inexhaustible good nature is one of the most precious gifts of heaven, spreading itself like oil over the troubled sea of thought, and keeping the mind smooth and equable in the roughest weather." (Washington Irving)

Wednesday, 24 March 2010

london calling

had my first haircut in turkey today. i had not had a haircut in seven months and was starting to look like Cousin It of the Addams family - so i reckoned it was high time i had a chop.

a lady from my school swore her "kuafor" was an absolute talent - so i asked her to accompany me for some (much needed) translation backing up.

the kuafor did a great job - and in about 15 minutes, without asking many questions, he finished my cut. as he was working - his wife and 10 months old son were playing behind us.

on my way out and very happy with the final result i was in shock when the kuafor asked for 15 turkish liras for his service. 15 turkish liras! 7.50 euros? i could not believe it.

i tried to explain that he would be a millionaire and a total king if he worked in europe, say, in london - or anywhere else, really.

"how much would i get for the same thing there?" he questioned me.

"perhaps 120 turkish liras...easily" i explained.

he did not look impressed - just kind of amused.

then he smiled and turned to his wife - "hey, we are moving to london... now, baby" he announced.

she looked up, half surprised and half confused.

and then picked up her son from the floor, as he had fallen on my wet hair bits, scattered all over the floor around the armchair i had just left.

d.o.b. and pamuk

found out two surprising things about turkey.

1. most children's date of births are fake.
it is common to "register" births with three, four, five, six months of delay.
some people, when asked when their birthday is say "i don't know" with a shrug and a smile and the all star of all comments i always get "IT IS NOT IMPORTANT".
the older the people are the wackier the stories are about their birthdays.
on this issue - some of the feedback i have received so far includes:

"i do not know when my father's birthday is. nobody knows. he does not know. he says he was born in the spring, sometime";

"my mother was born on some day in july - but they registered her on 1st January of the year after";

"i was born in december - but my official birthday is 1st Jan 1980";

"i was born in november - but my parents registered me on 21st January";

"i work as a nurse and once a patient came to reception with his identity card. his date of birth was day:00 - month:00 - year:00. we did not know how to help!"

interestingly - 9 turks out of 10 seem to be born on 1st January.

2. the number of pupils in a typical primary school class (in a single room, that is) is 50 to 60.
a typical primary school in the east of the country puts in the same room all grades and levels - with one teacher trying to teach six things at the same time.

our housekeeper's mother came to visit.
she looks like the witch in snow white. she wears a black dress, a black headscarf. she is short - with very thick olive skin and the eyes of a fierce lemur.
as i open the door she hugs me and takes my head in her hands kissing both sides of it.
"may god bless you - may god bless you" she says - but i am distracted by the stubble i feel on her left cheek.
"you are very sweet" i say - but she looks anything but sweet.
she must be a total dragon, actually.
"you are toooo young" she squeals, with a hint of offence in her voice and scanning me from head to toes as if she had x rays super powers.
"no... no... you are very sweet. god bless. god bless" i say back.

thinking about the seven dwarves and the poisonous apple.

had a class with three of my favourite students last night.

as i could not ask them for an opinion on obama's health reform - which nobody seemed to be aware about - i decided to ask them about "change" and what changes they wished for - in their country, in their lives.
"i wish i could change turkey's education system" one of them, a young woman doctor said - "and if i could change something in my life... i would go never go back to university in ankara. i hate the city. it is dull. people are boring and cold there".

then z. spoke. he is a salesman - looking very much like robert de niro in "raging bull".
first he said he would try to tell people here to stop having so much prejudice "about everything" and then... talking about himself he comically added "before getting married i had a girlfriend for six years. if i could go back i would never waste so much time with someone like that. she was jealous, controlling, self absorbed. she had no sense of humour. she was not happy at all. can you imagine? can you imagine six years with someone like that?? i could have had sooo many other girls in those six years!!!"

then a very serious guy spoke. he is a lawyer. he wants to be a university professor.
he explained he hated "the lack of conscience in today's turkey" since "people do not even know they are on earth...they live... day after day... and do not even realise they are living".

which i thought was kind of deep - perhaps a tad too much.
so i went on to say "can i ask you something...? when is your birthday?"
"on 1st January" he said.
"but...is that your real birthday?" i asked again.
"no, actually i was born a couple of months before that" he added in a rather matter of fact way.

galvanised by the uptenth case of twisted d.o.b. - i turned to the g., the doctor and asked when her mother's birthday was.
"1st January... but she was born some time at the beginning of the summer actually".
"i think it is a bit crazy" i replied.
"no... not crazy" she smiled "birthdays... i mean... IT IS NOT IMPORTANT" she concluded.
then her pager next to her hand went off.
"you need to answer that? any problem?" i checked.
and she smiled again.
"no, no problem..." she told me, quietly and then explained with a very soft, sweet voice:
and kept on smiling.

my turkish is flying.
so to speak.

my vocabulary is expanding beyond any reasonable expectation - with funky new entries like:

after the visit from the mother of our housekeeper i now know how to say "snow white" in turkish.
"pamuk prenses"
which literally translates into "the cotton princess"

Monday, 22 March 2010

four poems (4) by raymond carver


So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.

I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.

They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.

Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.


A few minutes ago, I stepped onto the deck
of the house. From there I could see and hear the water,
and everything that's happened to me all these years.
It was hot and still. The tide was out.
No birds sang. As I leaned against the railing
a cobweb touched my forehead.
It caught in my hair. No one can blame me that I turned
and went inside. There was no wind. The sea
was dead calm. I hung the cobweb from the lampshade.
Where I watch it shudder now and then when my breath
touches it. A fine thread. Intricate.
Before long, before anyone realizes,
I'll be gone from here.


This morning was something. A little snow
lay on the ground. The sun floated in a clear
blue sky. The sea was blue, and blue-green,
as far as the eye could see.
Scarcely a ripple. Calm. I dressed and went
for a walk -- determined not to return
until I took in what Nature had to offer.
I passed close to some old, bent-over trees.
Crossed a field strewn with rocks
where snow had drifted. Kept going
until I reached the bluff.
Where I gazed at the sea, and the sky, and
the gulls wheeling over the white beach
far below. All lovely. All bathed in a pure
cold light. But, as usual, my thoughts
began to wander. I had to will
myself to see what I was seeing
and nothing else. I had to tell myself this is what
mattered, not the other. (And I did see it,
for a minute or two!) For a minute or two
it crowded out the usual musings on
what was right, and what was wrong -- duty,
tender memories, thoughts of death, how I should treat
with my former wife. All the things
I hoped would go away this morning.
The stuff I live with every day. What
I've trampled on in order to stay alive.
But for a minute or two I did forget
myself and everything else. I know I did.
For when I turned back i didn't know
where I was. Until some birds rose up
from the gnarled trees. And flew
in the direction I needed to be going.


As he writes, without looking at the sea,
he feels the tip of his pen begin to tremble.
The tide is going out across the shingle.
But it isn't that. No,
it's because at that moment she chooses
to walk into the room without any clothes on.
Drowsy, not even sure where she is
for a moment. She waves the hair from her forehead.
Sits on the toilet with her eyes closed,
head down. Legs sprawled. He sees her
through the doorway. Maybe
she's remembering what happened that morning.
For after a time, she opens one eye and looks at him.
And sweetly smiles.

sunday blues, sunday bums

on mondays around this time of the morning i usually head to the swimming pool. but today nico is not 100% and fell asleep on the sofa as we were listening to "parachutes", coldplay's first album.
so i just grabbed the pc and am now typing this as he is next to me, looking like an exhausted badger curled up in his winter lethargy. "parachutes" is still playing and i will be forever surprised at how amazing early coldplay music sounds...while their latest albums seem just so very predictable...
always have a hard time feeling energetic on sundays. the fact i now work on sundays does not change much this - and i walk to school every sunday morning feeling forlorn and grumpy... oh, so grumpy.
i still do manage to blag my way through all the atrocious niceties of the teachers' room - but i tend to hang out very little there. i still find the working attitude here rather bizarre and verging on the crazy / moody /bitchy / jealous / aggressive and temperamental - which might have to do with the fact that most teachers are women.
most working women in this country enjoy diplaying mannerisms and attitudes i have seen in some over the top american mafia movies where everyone is supposed to bow and kiss the feet (and hands and cheeks) of someone imitating (and unsuccessfully so) robert de niro in the Godfather.
i have kind of come to the conclusion women here are still living the very early stages of emancipation on the job and therefore assume they have to behave with the same hideous bravado they have been given for centuries by their fierce men, trying hard to look as arrogant, crucially pissed off and vain as possible.
the main result for me is that, during breaks, i take long...loong visits to the Ladies.
toilets are a great place to disappear in.
some kind of handy no-man's-land.
a cubicle of neutrality.
the switzerland of all offices.
despite constantly being in a fowl mood on sunday mornings - i must admit i absolutely adore my sunday morning class. they are everything you can feel partial to in a group of young people: chirpy, curious, naive, sweet, genuine and at times awkward and clumsy.
as stroppy as i can feel on a sunday morning - they always manage to disarm any sad thought.
yesterday the topic for the class was horribly serious and had to do with putting together public presentations in three different areas:
1) giving information;
2) creating comparisons;
3) explaining cause and effect processes.
as i was about to tackle number 2 with some notes on the whiteboard - i watched from the corner of my eye two girls rolling up their sleeves and comparing their arms very intentely.
i could not help but smile.
"don't tell me you are talking about waxing while i am here like an idiot talking about TEXT ORGANISATION..." i said, rather amused - while the boys in the room rolled their eyes to the ceiling.
"can we see yours?" the two girls asked, half laughing.
to which i obliged.
"you have no!" one of them said.
"i have no what? no skin? no arms? no what?" i pretended not to understand.
"no, i mean, we cannot see hair on your arms. i have a lot" one of the two girls said.
"but that's because i take it off. ever heard of epilators? like...machines to wax it off?" i said, finding them sort of sweet as they listened with eyes wide wide open to my absolute revelation.
"no...no...if you do that - i mean - the machine...it gives you ACNE" one of them complained with a worried face.
hilarious, i thought..."acne? on your forearms? you must be kidding" i replied "who told you that?" i then asked.
"my cousin" she told me, to which i kind of concluded "i can promise you that there are more chances of getting acne on your butt than on your forearms" - which seemed to finally involve and amuse the boys in the class.
and, before anyone started asking questions about pimples on bum cheeks...
i turned to the whiteboard and wrote - "DEFINING CONTRAST".

Sunday, 21 March 2010


Under the Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine
Must I recall
Our loves recall how then
After each sorrow joy came back again

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

Hands joined and face to face let’s stay just so
While underneath
The bridge of our arms shall go
Weary of endless looks the river’s flow

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

All love goes by as water to the sea
All love goes by
How slow life seems to me
How violent the hope of love can be

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

The days the weeks pass by beyond our ken
Neither time past
Nor love comes back again
Under the Mirabeau Bridge there flows the Seine

Let night come on bells end the day
The days go by me still I stay

Friday, 19 March 2010

brilliant brilliant brilliant brilliant brilliant brilliant

Louis MacNeice (Snow)

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink rose against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it.

World is crazier and more of it than we think,
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various.

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes --
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands--
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses.

Thursday, 18 March 2010

books on heroine (s) 1971

found out that there is actually a small library at the school. before i could get excited about it - i realised by looking at the half empty shelves that most of the titles could make the day only of a 6 year old living in norwich during the 1950s.

they are all very old volumes - children stories.

"black beauty" stood out as a remarkable and daring title - and i reckon that really says it all!

yet, faced with this odd literature selection... i ended up turning the pages of a rather daunting tome, bearing the title "2ND BOOK OF HEROINES, 1971".

in it, propaganda-like pages put one next to the other the likes of lady jane grey, novelist george sand, maria theresa, charlotte bronte, elizabeth the first, elizabeth fry...etc.

the headings of the chapters are one better than the other - and all sounding extremely matronising.
e.g. -

mysteriously - the book also dedicates praises and plauses to the following HEROINES:

- sappho (?!)

- shirley temple (...tip tap might be a form of martyrdom, after all)

- the norwegian icea skater sonja henie (well, she married three times...)

- pat smythe and her pony bubbles (...right...)

i think elizabeth the first and mother theresa would approve...

Wednesday, 17 March 2010

very american, very gay, very happy

still chilly and windy here - but with the brightest sun shining.

i have come to the conclusion that you can tell with a fair amount of precision that nicer weather is coming when you see the wives of the american soldiers posted here parading towards starbucks wearing jeans and flip flops on their bare feet.

it works better that any weather forecast!


today our housekeeper asked me if she could borrow a dvd from us and she picked "hamam" by ferzan ozpetek.

"is it nice?" she asked, with hopeful eyes.
which prompted a perfect example of how neanderthalian my turkish is.
knowing she is very religious and easily shocked - i tried to explain (a) the gay element in the movie; (b) that she was going to find amusing the part in which the rather stern and stiff italian wife visits istanbul and hates the lavish breakfast she is offered.

so i said... "movie nice - but - very gay...because - ozpetek very gay. italian man - from rome - go - istanbul...comedy part - breakfast - italian wife - (voice imitation) - breakfast turkey - too much food".

she gave a confused smile and took the dvd despite the "very gay" warning.
not to mention my scary butchering of the turkish language.


today, as we were strolling by the sea, nico said "look, i catch the wind with my mouth" while parting his lips as far as he could.

i think it was graham greene that explained...
"nothing really happens after one's first twelve years"
how pefectly true.
how inevitably beautiful.

Tuesday, 16 March 2010

green days

it is march...but the temperature suggests it is kind of "january - part 2".
the sky is amazingly bright and the wind blows fast and sharp.
when i drop by our house around this time of the (late) afternoon i love the noises the wind makes around the old building where we are staying.
bangs...hisses... and whimpers...it feels like there is some ghost knocking at our door.

and when somebody uses the elevator (that, like most lifts here in turkey, does not have a door...so when you come up you just see the floors sliding before your eyes) you can feel a series of sudden jolts and clanks...like an old tin train breaking down.
and right under your feet, picture that!

we have a "family" of pigeons that have nested on our balcony - something that i initially found filthy and appaling (to say the least) - ...yet i have done nothing to send them away.
turkish people say everything is meant to be.
and, perhaps out of tireness - on this matter i seem to comply with the rather inshallah-inspired way of thinking of the locals.
it somehow seems like a good idea, after all.

had a class last night that was meant to start at 7 pm but could not - as, inexplicably, as we entered we found a man armed with a blowtorch and a huge mask (and sparks and smoke and an earpiercing noise) working on the air conditioning unit.
but with such whim and violence that he looked like a murderer.
i love these situations - especially because my turkish students never look surprised - not even slightly surprised. whereas i cannot avoid making aghast faces / worrying / fearing this is all some kind of candid camera exercise and i sort of want it to...end.
"10 minutes. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. maaaaybe" my students reassured me and made a beeline for the dreary coffee machine we have in the lobby.
i loove their MAAAAAYBEEEEEE's.

and, indeed...MAAAAAYBEEEE i...
...i kind of looked at the blowtorch a bit too long, i think.
"i might use that for the bloody pigeons" i thought for a second or two, staring blankly (and through the sparks) at a nasty tattoo the man had on one of his bushy forearms.
vote for pigeon-cide!!

or maybe not.
as EVERYTHING is meant to be.

yes...everything is...

even if it too often comes in the shape of green, splattered bird poo.

Friday, 12 March 2010


delivered as "essay" - and accompanied by the sentence "i try to draw you"
flattery goes a long way...

Tuesday, 9 March 2010

mr. T

today i had my very first experience with turkish coffee cup reading.

i drank a cup of steaming hot turkish coffee and then tipped over the cup onto its plate. the school's cleaning lady collected it from me and told me to come back in half an hour - and with a translator...

so, after class i went to the teachers room and asked one girl who looked particularly cheerful whether she could help and we ended up in the tiny kitchenette at the top floor where the aforementioned cleaning lady goes to smoke her muratti cigarettes.

she lifted my cup and started saying: "you get rid of all stress in your life" which did not sound extraordinary... she then added quite whimsically... "i see that all your relatives are veeeeery happy. you family members are veeeeeery happy. the ones close to you are. the ones far away from you are. all your relatives are veeeeeery happy" - they sure are, i rather meekly conceded - (...but what about me...?? i sort of screamed inside).
she went on to explain... "i see a key at the bottom of the cup. you are going to buy something BIG" -
like an elephant? a hot air baloon? a grizzly bear?, i tried to joke -
oblivious to the humour she replied, sternly... "no, it is either a car or a house".

"to be honest, i cant see that happening any time soon..." i mentioned, politely.

she responded it was meant to happen "at some point in your life".

"...ok" i conceded, i guess looking like a disappointed babboon - "can you see anything else??" i continued.

and she whispered "...i see that your life is full of people... and that there is a man... a man..." - which spurred the enthusiasm of my translator "a MAN??"

"yes" the cup reader explained "a man whose name begins by T"

"T?? i am not close to any man whose initial is T..." i told her - but my protest went slightly unnoticed "t... T... T needs your help... he is going to ask you something..."

"alright" i said rather unenthusiastically... thinking that i was being told:

- my family was happy;

- i was about to purchase an old beat of a trailer, a rhino or a copycat of the Enola Gay or something similar:

- mr. T was going to nag me with some request


note to self... never try bloody cup reading again!

"anything else?" i tried, with the conclusive tone of somebody trying to wrap up things.

"ha!" the cleaning lady gave me a happy look and then asked with sparkling eyes:

"does anybody close to you suffer from any heart condition?"

to which i turned to my (still cheerful, i noticed) translator and said...:
"i think we can... kind of... go on another time...??"

Sunday, 7 March 2010

Henrik Nordbrandt

Our love is like Byzantium
must have been
on the last evening. There must have been
I imagine
a glow on the faces
of those who crowded the streets
or stood in small groups
on streetcorners and public squares
speaking together in low voices
that must have resembled
the glow your face has
when you brush your hair back
and look at me.

I imagine they haven't spoken
much, and about rather
ordinary things
that they have been trying to say
and have stopped
without having managed to express
what they wanted
and have been trying again
and given up again
and have been loking at each other
and lowered their eyes.

Very old icons, for instance,
have that kind of glow
the blaze of a burning city
or the glow which approaching death
leaves on photographs of people who died young
in the memory of those left behind.

When I turn towards you
in bed, I have a feeling
of stepping into a church
that was burned down long ago
and where only the darkness in the eyes of the icons
has remained
filled with the flames
which annihilated them.

Days move along in one direction
faces in the opposite.
Uninterruptedly they borrow each other’s light.

Many years later it is difficult
to determine which were the days
and which were the faces . . .

And the distance between the two things
feels more unreachable
day by day and face by face.

It is this I see in your face
these bright days in late March.

--- sailing ---

After having loved we lie close together
and at the same time with distance between us
like two sailing ships that enjoy so intensely
their own lines in the dank water they divide
that their hulls
are almost splitting from sheer delight
while racing, out in the blue
under sails which the night wind fills
with flowerscented air and moonlight
– without one of them ever trying
to outsail the other
and without the distance between them
lessening or growing at all.

But there are other nights, where we drift
like two brightly illuminated luxury liners
lying side by side
with the engines shut off, under a strange constellation
and without a single passenger on board:
On each deck a violin orchestra is playing
in honor of the luminous waves.
And the sea is full of old tired ships
which we have sunk in our attempt to reach each other.

arturo's island (elsa morante)

One of my first boasts was my name. I soon learned (it was he who first told me, I think) that Arturo is a star: the swiftest and most radiant in the constellation of Bootes, in the northern sky. And what's more that this was the name of a king too, in ancient times, commander of a band of faithful, who were all heroes, like their king himself, and treated as equals by him, as if they were brothers.

Unfortunately, I then found out that this famous Arthur, King of Britain, wasn't definite history, just legend; so I put him aside for other more historical kings (I thought that legends were childish). There was another reason, though, that sufficed, for me, to give a heraldic distinction to the name Arturo: it was that the person who gave me this name (without knowing, I don't suppose, its noble symbolism) was, so I discovered, my mother. In herself, she was no more than an illiterate girl; but more than a queen, for me.

Friday, 5 March 2010

big beard, big ego, big queue

heard in class
i want to go to italy to see the leaning tower of... Ibiza
i would like to do...erasmus... but there is exam. so... before... i need to... pass away
me: i suppose in europe now - people generally marry later, have children later, much later than here... actually.
reply: why? they have.... no money?
in turkey virginity is big tabu. if a girl in school does it... everybody knows immediately. so all the girls say "bitch". so all the guys make loooooong queue.
me (to a girl in my class): wow, i love your dress. you have great fashion sense.
reply: thank you. i wear for my best boy.
me: i see...a boy you like. any result?
reply: no result. he not interested. very big ego. very big ego not good thing, ...i think.
me: ok... but what's so special about him?
reply: ...nothing.
me: c'mon...i mean... is he cute? funny? clever?
reply: he has big beard. he is big. we not talk. msn...sometime...maaaaaybe.
me: alright... in english you can say "he thinks a lot of himself".
reply: no...he not think a lot.

ME: ok. so, if they interview you for a job - well, you try to be polite, say good things about the prospective employer / company etc. like... if you apply for a job with coca - cola... you start off by saying that you would loooove to work for them because of the great reputation of the company, its amazing success etc etc.

now... i know that some of you are going for this turkish airline selection. so, let's imagine i am the person asking you questions... like. why would you like to work for this company?

REPLY: money veeeeery good.