Had lunch with sweet, wonderful old friends, siblings, Tülin and Ali. I hadn’t seen them in over 25 years, and it’s as though no time had passed. We spent about three and a half hours at a restaurant in Nişantaşı, one of the upscale neighborhoods of Istanbul. Here are some photos from the neighborhood, in keeping with my apparently obsessive drive to document contrasts in Turkish women. The women in this neighborhood are incredibly stylish and sophisticated.

FINAL THOUGHTS:
I woke early this morning, ready to finish packing and so on. I sat on the balcony, taking in that beautiful view  of the Bosphorus one last time. Whenever I come to this hotel, I pay a little bit extra to have a room “with a view.” I watched the sunrise and listened to an incredible concert of birds. 

My friend Zeynep commented on Facebook: I was also angry at Istanbul at one point, but then I fell in love with her again.

 I just have to visit more often.

In my play PATHETIQUE, the character Bob characterizes his home-town, St. Petersbug, as “a tired lover who abandoned me.” My character Murat, in PERA PALAS, could say the same thing about Istanbul. There was a time when I called Istanbul “my city” but when I arrived this time, I realized I didn’t feel that way anymore. 
I spent most of my formative years in Istanbul - from age 11 to age 19 - at Saint Joseph, a French Jesuit boarding school. If that sounds horrifying, yes it was. It was my Oliver Twist chapter, especially in the early years. It was a “strong education,” and I’m grateful for it now, but as a teenager it was difficult. 
I usually spent my weekends with my grand-parents or aunts, which sometimes required me to cross the Bosphorus on the ferry, often at sunset. Because I felt so lonely and disconnected, Istanbul seeped into my soul. As several writers have expressed - real writers, not mere playwrights - Istanbul became a romantic and melancholy companion for me.  I still don’t do well with sunsets: I’d just as well get them over with.
In all relationships, of course, partners change and evolve. Over time Istanbul became much more crowded, self-involved, and arrogant. I became - well - I grew to be happier, more fulfilled and confident. Istanbul doesn’t quite like that. 

My trip yesterday was almost uneventful. There was a longish line at security in Konya. I waited with others for quite a bit but then realized I should be holding my passport. I took off my backpack and unzipped it - a very short pause - and the woman behind me, covered, snuck right in front of me. Well! I couldn’t notsay anything, it was so audacious. Covered women, more than others, feel particularly entitled these days. On the subway I watched a young woman staring a man down until he finally got up and gave her his seat. So I said to this woman: you just stepped in front of me! She ignored me but the man behind her, a brother or husband or whatever, became obstinate. But you stopped, he shouted. You have to keep moving! I said, only for a moment! 

And then he insulted me. He called me artist. He sort of mumbled it: artist.

To my amusement, I had heard Salih use the same term during his speech about “we shouldn’t pre-judge people.” He had met an “artist-like” man but then realized he was actually a good man at heart. So “artist” is the new derogatory term for pretentious snobs and know-it-alls like me.

Inside the airport I ran into an English woman whom I’d met at Çatal the day before. We arranged to sit together on the plane. Amanda is a documentary film maker working for Al Jazeera. She’s planning a documentary about Çatalhöyük. 

We were delighted to realize that we’re both nervous about flying and shared many anecdotes about Çatal and other things, while paying attention to any unusual sounds that may come out of the airplane. Amanda understands all the distinctions between “pings.” Some mean we’re alright and stewardesses my move about. Others mean there’s turbulence ahead.

Yesterday I took the ferry across the Bosphorus and back, and then hung around Beyoğlu, Istanbul’s bustling thoroughfare.
I snapped a few photos. 

I'm not on the fence about this. It's pretty clear to me that most of the women who cover are not doing this out  of pure free will. This image is upsetting to me because this woman is cowered over, as if trying to get away - from whatever it is she's trying to escape. She's uncomfortable being on the street. She's dressed, prepared, covered herself with as much defense as she can muster - and clearly she's worried about being seen, noticed or heard. She just wants to get away. This is not an extreme or unusual example. 

One friend recently made a fairly compelling argument: Place, she said, a covered woman next to a woman in a bikini, desperate to show whatever she can to get attention. Which woman is freer? I get this to a certain point - yet we live in a world that pressures all of us to look a certain way to gain attention, or narcissistic gratification. Still, I think the bikini woman has freer choice than the covered one. 

Here is a woman who demonstrated in a bikini during the recent Istanbul riots next to the latest Turkish swimwear.

Last night Salih invited me to dinner. He’d been telling me, ever since I arrived, that I should try Konya’s specialty dish “Etli Ekmek” which literally means bread with meat. I know it sounds funny, and it kind of is. I had no idea what it was but was looking forward to try it out.

He showed up to pick me up at the hotel around 7:30. Fast-breaking time last night was 8:12. The idea is to get to the restaurant so you can break your fast at the exact right moment. He was somewhat dressed up - so I was glad I wore my nice jeans rather than my usual shorts and sandals. I had expected (and hoped) that he’d bring his kids but it turned this was just for us. 

Konya is a much larger city than I imagined. It’s very crowded and lots of scary traffic. We drove around for a while and arrived at the restaurant that specialized in Etli Ekmek. We were told that we should’ve made a reservation, and there was no room.

Back we got into the car with Salih’s typical “it’ll all be alright” attitude. He drove like a maniac for another half hour. By this time I’m used to his driving style but now we’re in the city, not in the open road. Instead if sheep and cows, we’re dodging humans. It turns out this restaurant has a branch on the other end of town. We got there very close to fast-breaking and thankfully there was one table left, and it was for us.

Now I don’t know quite how to explain the population of Konya. The women are almost always covered. By that, I don’t mean the severe looking dark hijab that only shows the eyes. These women practice a fashion of their own. The economy in Turkey is very strong now - the government is very supportive of everybody - free schooling, free health-care, everything you can imagine - and the people of Konya are, for the most part, middle class (by American standards) and wealthy. And ultra-conservative.

When we were driving to Çatal this morning there was an older woman walking down the street, completely covered (a long coat with long sleeves buttoned up to the neck and a scarf around her head) in the heat. And I said to Salih - why is this old woman covered when it’s so hot? It must be so uncomfortable. (it seems the reason for the heavy dress is to protect women from men’s attention. Here is a link that sort of explains the reasons for this. ) Salih said - and this the wildest rationalization I’ve ever heard - he said, it’s better for her. The clothes, he said, protects her from the heat. That’s why they cover up so much - they’re cooler that way. And I looked at him, and his short sleeves, and I said, then why aren’t you all covered up? Won’t it be good for you too? Let’s go buy you a coat and a scarf. He thought this was awfully funny but then changed the subject.

This was a rather luxurious restaurant by Turkish standards. The people were all nicely dressed and very cosmopolitan. Not all women are covered. Next to us there was table with two young couples - if you saw them you’d think they were from New York. These differences in dress are the norm and go unnoticed. My mother worries that under the current administration the head scarf is becoming the social norm and that eventually women who don’t cover will be scorned. I  wouldn’t be surprised. 

Salih and I enjoy ourselves. He shows me how to eat etli ekmek. You break off about six inches and then roll it up. It’s very specific.

Here is the thing about my friendship with Salih: I know everything about him yet he knows very little about me. He thinks I’m a great guy - gentle polite and generous. He knows I’m not a true believer. Today he said we should never pre-judge people. He practices that brand of Islam that is all loving and kind and generous. But not entirely forgiving. He says that if a person doesn’t keep the fast and doesn’t have a very good reason, that person will be punished. 

He’s very open with me. He says he had his days of crazy living. He took alcohol and ran around with women. He shared a few incidents. He’s pretty much an open book with me.

The other day he asked: Sinan Bey, why didn’t you ever get married? I didn’t think about it very long because I knew the question would come sooner or later. Again, as with my seat partner on the plane, I had to make a decision: lie or tell the truth. I decided to lie. Not only did I lie, I became quite elaborate. I said I’ve been with women here and there, and nobody seemed the right match. I said, I like being a bachelor because my work requires me to travel. I couldn’t sustain a family like you, I said, I could never hope to be as good a father as you. He seemed to accept this and we moved along.

What was surprising was how easy this was for me. I just fell into the lie naturally and without batting an eye. I was confident and sure of my story. It was a bit sad because it reminded me that this is how I lived for a big part of my life. That many gay men - and women - continue to live as though they are someone else. It’s safer, of course, to lie. I’m not - as my mother would put it - “waving a flag.” I’m just simply playing a role and not being myself. And it’s fine, it’s like riding a bike with a bad seat. When I had that experience with the woman on the plane it felt as though I’d upset her balance, like a turtle on its back. In this instance, I decided to protect Salih. 

On the subject of the excavation of burials at Çatalhöyük and the skeletons that get carted in boxes:

In the muslim faith, when someone dies they do what's called a nefrit (?) They wash the body and rinse it in rose water or other nice smelling liquid. Then they wrap it in a very white sheet before they bury it. The idea is that the body leaves the earth cleansed and pure. If someone touches a bone of that body, the entire process must be repeated. Removing those skeletons is immoral because no one performs the nefrit on them.

On the subject of ramadan: 

The benefits of fasting. Fasting rests the blood. It also rests the essential organs - the stomach the spleen and the liver. These things work too hard and a rest for them is beneficial.

The other benefit is if someone is wealthy, fasting makes them realize what it’s like to be poor. Even if they have the bread to eat, they will not eat it, no matter how hungry they get - like the poor.

Here is WHAT SALIH LEARNED FROM ME:

On our way back from Çatal to Konya, there is a very prominent stop sign. It says DUR. The first few times Salih would drive right through it which was rather shocking for me. And I kept saying, I can’t believe you drove right through that DUR sign. And he’d just chuckle and say there’s no traffic. Then, one day, suddenly he stopped. I was surprised and I said: what happened? He said I stopped the other day and I liked it. I enjoyed it so I’m stopping now.

The seat belt for Salih was an unnecessary accessory. He was a bit surprised when I strapped on as soon as I got in the car. He took notice. Then one day he started putting on his seat belt as well. I took notice. He smiled and said: I’m beoming an American. But only on the open road, not in the city.

In the typical Turkish manner, suddenly a red light appeared on the road. Who knows why? Salih is somewhat annoyed by this. He says it’s perfectly unnecessary. We don’t stop at the red light.

Early tomorrow morning Salih will drive me to the airport. I’m off to Istanbul for three days, and then back to Provincetown. I’m a bit sad about leaving Konya - and it will be an emotional parting with Salih.

As with many other “artistic types” my job comes with emotional consequences. I’m prone to occasional sadness and depression - and they can show up quite unexpectedly. Sometimes they show up in the middle of the night and keep me tossing and turning. John and I both affectionately call these “our demons,” like unwanted guests we must tolerate, accept, and pacify.

My way of keeping my demons away has always been work. If I’m involved with a project I’m usually safe. Thinking, planning, being inspired, researching, and executing the thing - all of these keep me afloat. Of course sanity is the hoped-for standard, but for me it’s sanity with work.  On a recent radio program several writers were asked what writing did for them. Not one of them said: it keeps me sane. I was appalled.

Musing aside, the demons arrived just last night in the from of profound sadness for having to leave Çatalhöyük. The season is coming to an end, some archeologists are already heading out, and I must get home to my home to my work, and, of course, I can’t wait to get back to this:

The photo up top is the whole team gathering for a class photo. Archeologists from all countries, ages and backgrounds, the Turkish men and women hired as workers from the near bye village. The men work hard, excavating while keeping a fast. The women clean and cook and are generally silly and rowdy. Here is me with the excellent cook, Ismail Usta.

The women do a lot of mopping around. Mavili, (who is the sister of site gueards, Mustafa and Hasan) is mopping in front of me and I tell her “Kolay gelsin,” an expression meaning, may it be easy. 
You say this to anyone who’s working in Turkey. I ask her how she is and says I’d be better if people were more considerate. I mop the bathroom and I tell them FIVE minutes but they still (and she does a little arrogant strut here) walk right through. 

Only one more day left at Chatal.

The current excavation at Çatal - and Ian Hodder’s philosophy - represent a radical departure from the classic archaeological method. Instead of archaeologists making definitive interpretations of the finds (we know that this is the wall of a house and we’re certain this over here is a shrine) Ian accepts and allows different interpretations from different groups or individuals with disparate views. Understandably, this makes the work here much more diverse, complex, difficult, and often controversial. 

When James Mellaart, who belonged to the earlier generation of archaeologi
sts,  dug here back in the early 1960’s, he made some deterministic statements. 

Gimbutas' claim is that the Neolithics of South Europe were a peaceful people who venerated female goddesses until the invasion of warrior societies from the north. She writes: "Little by little, we became a patriarchal and warrior society. We dominate nature; we don't feel we belong to her. This warrior society goes back to the Indo- European conquest of Europe, which eventually led to such people as Stalin and Hitler. We have to come back to our roots."
The news that a goddess worshipping Neolithic community was discovered in Turkey spread across the globe like wild fire. By the 70s and 80s - as the feminist movement was gaining ground - it became a cause celebre for goddess worshippers everyhere. Each season goddess worshipping women in the busloads would arrive at Çatal. They would get naked, dance around the mounds, and eat the dirt. This, of course, was rather shocking for the archeaologists but more so for the ultra conservative muslim villagers, some of whom had jobs at the site.

I understand this went on for some years. Ian Hodder tells me that the Turkish Government told him to ban these women from coming but he refused to do so. You have to understand, Ian’s every move, and everything that happens at Çatal is under heavy government scrutiny. So this decision by him, did have some risks.

Ian handled the situation quite elegantly. Keeping with his all-inclusive, reflexive philosophy, he decided to give these women - and their particular interpretation - a voice. He welcomed them and started a dialogue with them.

Figures suggesting the goddess are found at the site regularly. Yesterday, when I was visiting the west mound, the site director said “we found a goddess!” and she handed it over to me. A very small, worn little figure (a lot like the one on the right in the below photo.) I put it down because I wanted to photograph it but by the time I took out my camera, she had snatched it away and placed it in its plastic bag. She was right, of course. The object seemed quite ordinary and I had treated it carelessly. Not good, Sinan. 
I understand the controversy abated for a while. Ian said the women even stopped coming. This year, however, a new group showed up. I wasn’t there but Christopher Knüsel from the human remains team said it was rather shocking. During their meeting with Ian, the women became very aggressive. They claimed that it was sacrilegous for a man (Ian) to violate this sacred territory. They said he was raping the goddess. Knowing Ian this does seem rather comical. He’s such a calm, centered and compassionate man. Yet he would take these assaults composedly and even try to establish further dialogue.  So the goddess still lives - and the controversy continues. 
Sadly, Mellaart passed away during my visit to the site, on Sunday July 29. Archaeologists paid their respect with a moment of silence and a walk through the area that he excavated. As controversial a figure he was, and as careless his method may have been, he is still respected as an important figure and a pioneer. He will always be remembered as the man who discovered Çatalhöyük.

The other controversy, somewhat related to the one of matriarchal society, is the theory that Çatal was an egalitarian society. That men and women were equal and they lived in relative piece. I don’t feel qualified to say much about this except to say my vulnerability - like many others - is the inclination, or the desire to wish something like that were true. Of course many of us romanticize the past and even believe things were better back then, before civilization emerged and it all went to seed. We want to believe there was utopia and perhaps we can achieve it again. As romantic as this notion is, it seems Çatalhöyük does offer some promise for the possibility of such an early community. Some believe there are no weapons found. Christopher Knüsel argues that there are some objects uncovered that suggest that they could have been used as weapons. There are some skulls found with clear gash marks and, of course there are all those beheadings. 

There are a number of headless burials at Çatal. These people did things with their dead we may never completely understand. The bodies were bunched up and buriend in fetal positions. Some individuals were beheaded. Some of skulls were plastered, even painted, and kept. Nobodyknows if this is a sort of reverence for the dead - or a ritual to celebrate ancestors, or something much darker and morbid. Nobody knows if the bodies are beheaded while alive or after death. Headless bodies are also seen on the art work. 

From the analysis of human remains, we can tell that men and women lived similar lives. It seems that both sexes engaged in the same amount of vigorous activity and that they ate the same food. Women were beheaded at burial as well as men. Although, while talking to me, most of the archeologists were circumspect about the question of an egalitarian society, Ian seemed a bit more convinced about it. Evidence points to it, but as things in pre-historic archaeology, a definite answer is not possible. 

Part of what drew me to this project was this question of interpretation. That much of interpretation has to do with the individual’s own experience and point of view. That there is no objective interpretation. Ian and his colleagues are extremely mindlful of this. They know all opinion is biased. It seems to me a tricky territory - especially for scientists -  to navigate.

If I were to give my “biased,” uncultured and uneducated guess, I’d say something like: this was the moment in history when humans first settled down and formed communities. They developed agriculture which was the key to a sedentary civilization. They built walls and houses to live in them. It seems to me that this is the first step toward an individualistic, material and ownership based society. Do you see where the bias is in that???

The above photo is from last season. I lifted it from the Çatalhöyük website where there are many more wonderful photos organized by excavation year. The reason I chose this almost uninteresting photo of a wall is to demonstrate a find from last year. If you look carefully at the lighter strip toward the top of the wall, you can make out a series or red handprints going across. Archeologists are not sure what these handprints signify. They’re definitely deliberate so they may be decorative, but we don’t know. The reason I bring this up is because yesterday I was at another area of the site when a young Turkish archeologist came to alert the site director Burcu, that something was found.  

Hodder’s project is innovative in many respects in the world of archaeology. One of these qualities is how much time is spent on each feature and how meticulous and precise the method is. During the four seasons Mellaart excavated Çatal back in the early sixties, he revealed more than 150 rooms and houses. This excavation has unearthed fewer than fifty in a ten year period. I'm told that only 95% of Çatalhöyük has been uncovered so far.
Altthough many features are excavated (houses, walls, figurines, pottery, body adornments and trash, which tells archeologists a lot about how people lived) archeologists tell me that tourists almost always zero in on the burials. I’ll admit I’m one of them. 
There are several levels of burials at Çatal. Neolithic burials are the oldest and  obviously of the most interest to the archaeologists. Still, the later burials (Roman, Byzantine and even Ottoman) are given just as much attention and care. Here is my buddy Jack (wearing a Kansas Jaayhawk t-shirt) working on a Roman burial.

The archaeologists work with small brushes, sticks, and sometimes their own breath to remove the dirt around the bones. It’s a very intimate process as they try to get as close to the sample without disturbing it. I saw one archeologist, Scott Haddow, from Canada, in fetal position next to a skeleton. I was at a distance and wished I could have snapped a photo. He was so still that it looked like he was cuddling the skeleton. I found it very moving. Each bone is removed with utmost delicacy and the work must go quickly. If the bones are exposed to air very long, they tend to dry out and break. Each bone, no matter how small, is recorded and stored in bags and boxes. 
Scott has a blog documenting this season’s work at Çatal. Much more professional and articulate than anything I can post. Please check it out. 

My driver Salih asked me today: what do they do with all those skeletons? When I was interviewing Scott Haddow in the human remains lab later in the day, I asked him the same question.”They’re right there on the wall” he said, pointing to shelves behind me. “All in boxes, more than 400 of them.”
A little later I had a session with Jenny, also on the human remains team. I wanted to interview her because she made an interesting post on the digital diary about skeletons and how archaeologists treat them. “I've always thought while excavating human burials that if we're going to remove them from their resting place, we should at least do it with dignity and respect.” 

I should also add: on Scott’s desk sits an actual skull, wearing - uhm - a skull cap. I’m almost certain it’s real. I didn’t want to ask. I love archaeological wit.

The initial grant proposal for Chatal.
It’s interesting to look back at where I was some months ago and realize how much I’ve learned since this trip. It’s all out there by now, so why not.

PROPOSAL: 
I’m working on a play set at the archaeological excavations at Çatalhöyük, a 9000 year-old Neolithic settlement in Turkey’s Central Anatolia. My story is inspired by the cutting edge work done by the team of international scientists working at Çatalhöyük, some of whom I’ve met, interviewed and become friends with. One of them - recently retired UC Berkeley professor, Ruth Tringham, has become my mentor and collaborator on this proposal.  She and several other Çatalhöyük archaeologists continue to be a great source of support and information as I continue the adventure of composing this play.

My story centers on Joan, a middle-aged American archaeologist who returns to the field after an absence of ten years. Once a well-respected and accomplished archaeologist, Joan’s had a checkered past. The archaeological community rejected a theory she put forward ten years ago and she lost her academic job after a bitter, drunken scandal.  After her husband also abandoned her, Joan stopped drinking, swore off archaeology, and has lived in relative isolation for the last decade,  “gardening,” as she puts it, at her home in Illinois.

When an invitation arrives to visit Çatalhöyük from Alice, a graduate school friend and excavation director at Çatalhöyük, Joan is somewhat perturbed but intrigued. The excavations at Çatalhöyük are famous for the scientists’ innovative methods and radical feminist interpretive approach. Joan, a human remains specialist in her own right, is intrigued by the burial practices at Çatalhöyük  (they buried their dead inside the houses, under sleeping platforms.) After some hesitation she travels there, and finds herself drawn to the work as soon as she arrives.  When Alice announces that she’d like Joan to join the human remains team, and become its leader, Joan is surprised and apprehensive. She’s out of practice, hasn’t kept up with the new methods, and she finds the youthful energy of the team intimidating. Alice - who has much more trust in Joan’s capabilities than she does herself - is in a bind, however, and Joan reluctantly agrees to participate. 

Soon Joan meets Nikki, a student of hers from some time ago, and Nikki’s boyfriend Miro, a Polish archaeologist, both on the human remains team. Joan doesn’t remember Nikki but Nikki has very strong memories of Joan and her feminist philosophy. These three characters embody the central interpretive conflict of the play. Another character is Masum, the affable Turkish villager who’s been hired as the site’s guard. Like other fellow villagers, Masum has a moral problem with excavated skeletons “being carted away in boxes,” and privately questions the archaeologists’ motivations.  The involvement of the villagers at the excavation site, and how this has altered their lives economically, spiritually and politically, is a parallel and central aspect of my story. Sonya Atalay, Professor of Anthropology at the University of Indiana, has conducted community- based research with the nearby villagers, since 2006. She is helping me with this angle of the play.

As a dual citizen of Turkey and the US, I spent many boyhood summers on the Mediterranean coast, an area rife with ancient ruins. I’m equally at home in the world of the Western archaeologists as that of the Turkish villagers. This play, like much of my earlier work, is about bridging cultural gaps (Islam, Christianity, East and West, the past and the present) and my passion for finding common ground between disparate perspectives. These were the themes in my most frequently produced work PERA PALAS, and another play about religion and culture, THE CRY OF THE REED.

I was first drawn to Çatalhöyük in 2009, when I was researching a play about the excavations at Troy.  The dearth of research material on Troy was frustrating me when I ran into an abundance of material (diaries, research papers, photos, videos) on Çatalhöyük, all accessible online. Çatalhöyük’s open philosophy, of sharing the findings with the public, and even welcoming the interpretation of the data by other groups, intrigued me. The objectivity vs. subjectivity of archaeological interpretation had always been at the core of my interest in writing about archaeology. At Çatalhöyük, I found new and groundbreaking approaches to interpretation, and a new method - coined by the visionary leader Ian Hodder as Post-Processualism or “the reflexive method” - that revolutionized archaeology the world over. I’ve spent a good part of the last two years steeped in research and grappling with a story.  After a trip to California to meet with Ruth Tringham and other archaeologists last spring, I finally began to formulate a plot and recently started to write some dialogue. 

I continue to be challenged by the intellectual and creative aspects of this play. One of my challenges is to write fictional characters set against a well-documented background. My greatest handicap is that I’ve never visited Çatalhöyük. Lori Hager, who’s served as field director of Human Remains at Çatalhöyük since 2000, and who’s been helping me with that aspect of the play, has encouraged me to visit the site during the summer season. Funding from EST Sloan would allow me to take a summer off to observe the archeologists at work and to further authenticate my story.

Anyone who visits the Çatalhöyük Homepage will see how indispensable video documentation is to the process of excavation. Video and photographs are used extensively for recording, analyzing and presenting the data. It only made sense to incorporate video into this play.

One of my sources of inspiration from the start was the video of the uncovering of a Neolithic skeleton. The meticulous process of bringing this individual - presumably a young woman - back to sunlight after so many thousands of years, was provocative and moving. Who was she? How did she live? How did she break her ribs and dislocate an arm? Did she have children? Why did she die? This is the tricky issue of archaeological interpretation. Archaeologists are consumed with these questions yet they must be very careful. They must somehow remove who they are from the process of interpretation, and be objective or “scientific” - disregard or negate their own biases, hopes, perceptions and views. But is that possible? Alternatively, they might accept their own biases and recognize them as their only way into the past. This is the “self-reflexive” question the archaeologists at Çatalhöyük continue to wrestle with. 

The video - named “Dido” - was shot by Çatalhöyük videographer Michael Ashley and is narrated, quite movingly, by Ruth Tringham. Michael has served as the Media Team Leader for the Çatalhöyük Research Project for more than 7 years, and has generously agreed to assist me with the video component of the piece.

Çatalhöyük is one of the earliest known agricultural communities in human history. It marks that evolutionary moment when hunter-gatherers began to settle down, and formed communities sustained by agriculture. One of the main purposes of the excavation at Çatalhöyük is to explore this transition and piece together the puzzle of why this happened. Similarly, my central character is in the process of finding out about her own origins. Joan’s early, failed relationship with Alice, her days of drinking and teaching, her successes and failures, and, most centrally, her choice of archaeology as a career and a way of life, are all under question. My tentative title for the play is DIGGING THE SELF. 

A list of the scholars I’ve mentioned in this piece and who are assisting me in this project:

Ruth Tringham, Ph.D. recently retired Professor of Anthropology UC Berkeley
Lori Hager, Ph.D. field director of human remains at Çatalhöyük
Sonya Atalay, Ph.D. Professor of Anthropology Indiana University
Michael Ashley, Ph.D. Chief Technology Officer, Center for Digital Archaeology @ UC Berkeley

Also:

Slobodan Mitrovich, Çatalhöyük Excavator and Professor of Anthropology, Brooklyn College
Banu Aydınoğlugil, Çatalhöyük Research Project Assistant since 1996
Burcu Tung, Çatalhöyük excavator, archaeology Ph.D. candidate, UC Berkeley
Colleen Morgan, Çatalhöyük excavator, archaeology Ph.D. candidate, UC Berkeley

I intended to write another Çatal update today but experienced something that I felt I should write about. My good man, my driver Salih, while driving me to my hotel from Çatalhöyük, asked me- rather coyly - if I’d like to join him and his family for the daily Ramadan meal. 
Most observant Muslims will fast every day during the month of Ramadan. Salih tells me if a person is not able to fast - for health reasons or otherwise, he/she is obligated to feed three meals to a poor person each day. He expands on this: it should be someone in his own family, and if not that, someone in the neighborhood. And there is no needy person close by, it can be someone in Konya or the rest of the country. And if not that, it can be a Christian or a Jew. I’m paraphrasing but that’s the idea. Salih believes that all relgions are the same. However....
In Konya most people fast during Ramadan. The Turkish workers digging ditches are fasting in the heat. As well as the women who work in the kitchens. The idea is that you don’t eat, drink, have sex, and I don’t know what else - during daylight hours. People rise at 3 am and have a large meal before sunrise. The next meal is at sunset. 
I was tired and wasn’t inclined to go but wanted to meet Salih’s wife and children. The idea was that we would have a picnic in a park where the whole family would break their feast. His three boys, Ahmet 13 (barely looks 10), Furkan (8 think) and little Abdullah who’s five - are not obligated to fast but they all do to one degree or another. Little Abdullah boasts that he only ate two things all day. The other two boys are in full fast.
Anyway Salih showed up with his wife and three cherubs packed in the back seat of this taxi, and offered me the front seat. The boys are truly adorable. Very cute, smart, curious, wonderful kids. They are completely open. His wife Şefriye is covered. Her hair is covered and she wears long sleeves - almost a full coat - in the heat of August. She’s mostly quiet - even though I can sense that she and Salih have great respect and love for each other. I hesitate to address her by name since her name is very close to another word in Turkish - şehriye - which means macaroni. It’s just too easy.
We arrived at a large park - many other families had gathered there. Salih made a  coal fire (there are pits everywhere) and produced large amounts of meat. Turkish meatballs (köfte) and kebabs on skewers. Şefriye laid newspaper down on the picnic table and set down condiments, salads and fruit. She poured coke and fanta for everyone. All the food was laid out, the drinks were poured, but no one touched anything. The kids, especially the little one, were slightly impatient but good humored. They ran to the fountain nearby - where Salih had told them to put the whole watermelon to cool - and they splashed and ran about. The middle child, Furkan, was more subdued. They all sort of regarded me in a kind of awe - this foreign creature that their father really talked up or whatever. Furkan stayed with me. He had his father’s fancy phone - maybe an iphone. He’s fascinated by technology and loves playing with that phone. He showed me photos and set a timer to count down to eating time.  Today sundown was 8:10. Furkan gave us a minute by minute count-down and everything had to be timed exactly right. At 8:10 we heard the call to prayer, Şerife offered a few words of prayer herself, and all the families all around the park began to eat.
Salih says that western people - especially secularists - think his lot are monsters. He says, they think we’re monsters, but look at us. We’re just ordinary people. They’re the ones who are monsters. They’re brainwashed, they can’t seem to be able to think any other way.
It saddened me. I felt sort of like a spy. I felt sad that these beautiful boys were living in this indoctrination - yet it’s peaceful and loving and, in many ways, fulfilling. He has a happy family life. His kids are happy. His wife seems content and confident in her faith. After dinner she went off to pray. Salih and I drank tea. The three boys attend Koran school during the summer holiday. The older boy also takes English class. His father boasts: Ahmet is learning American English. I say really, as opposed to English English? They both say yes and then Ahmet adds: I learn American English in summer school but when I go back to regular school, I learn normal English.
The middle kid now plays music on the iphone; an islamic/pop mix with heavy religious lyrics - he sings with it off-key. I glance down at the newspaper covering the table and there is full page ad about the evils of Darwinism - that Darwinism is a sham. Someone just went and invented it. 
Salih is very glad I came. He tells me several times how happy it made him that I accepted his invitation. 
The thing is, I really like Salih. He and I are friends and I’ve developed true affection for him. And I fell in love with his boys. Furkan who, as the middle child, doesn’t get much attention but is thoughtful and attentive. He was my companion the whole evening. Ahmet, who, now a teenager and is trying to be more independent, is perhaps a bit rebellious (his parents worry about this.) When his father tells him to talk to me in English he smiles and blushes. I help him out: What is the color of my shirt. Hello how are you. He answers and is pleased with himself. He knows the days of the week. And the little one, five year old Abdullah, he’s the one who truly grabbed my heart. He’s afraid of dogs but there is a street dog lying on the grass not far from us. Abdullah wants to throw food at him, which his father allows. He and I approach the animal and toss the bone. It’s a largish but calm dog. He eats it and lies back down. Abdullah is shrieking with delight! Do you see that? Let’s do it again! Eventually we’re able to get near enough to the dog that Abdullah gets to touch him. I’m a bit uneasy because - of course - it’s not a good idea to approach strange dogs, especially street dogs. But Salih reassures me: he says the town gathers up all the street dogs and treats them and vaccinates them before releasing them. I say, when I was child, they used to poison street dogs - which was the fate of one of my family’s favorite pet, Tommy. Salih says that doesn’t happen anymore. 

Salih and I have interesting discussions on our 50 minute drive each way. We come from different perspectives, have very different points of view, and we enjoy sharing them. Well Salih enjoys more than me. He literally doesn’t stop talking the whole way. Sometimes he apologizes - have I worn out your ear? I say of course not. What he says is usually fascinating.

The bekçi of Çatalhöyük, which means the guard, is usually in charge of accompanying visitors to see the excavations. Mustafa is the man. When visitors arrive, he takes them around.  Ian Hodder told me it would be fine for me to accompany Mustafa and the tourists on the next tour to visit the excavations. 

I was sitting, bored, drinking tea when Mustafa came along and said, we have visitors! Come!

One of the stops on the tour is a replica of what archaeologists think would be a neolithic house. The houses are built right next to each other. There are no streets. The entries are from the ceiling. So the Çatalhoöyük people navigated on rooftops and entered there houses from above. There is a staircase that leads down, there is always stove, and a platform. The dead are buried under the platform and we assume that’s where the “family” sat and slept. There are also adornments. Wall paintings and bulls’ horns hanging on the walls. Here are some pics of the Neolithic house. Standing inside in the shadows is Aina (sp?). Ruth Tringham was the instigator in building the house and Aina executed the wall ornaments. The small wall opening is for vistors to get in and out.

The next day - the fourth day, I was given approval to roam about the site as I wish. More on that next time.

My second day was a Friday, the muslim holy day of the week, and Çatal was closed. I hung around my hotel for the most part. Read, wrote and visited the pool. The hotel has two pools and a fairly well equipped exercise room. There is a common word in Turkish, YASAK. It sounds a bit severe, and it is. It means forbidden. This is the word I kept encountering while navigating the hotel. It was YASAK to enter the exercise room without proper attire. And if you place your bag next to the rowing machine, it is YASAK because your should leave it in the locker room. And it’s definitely YASAK to enter the indoor pool without a cap - but it’s fine for the outdoor pool, which is rather a scene of  lounging Turkish ladies.
Across the street from my hotel there is an overwhelming, American-style shopping center. 

I braved the extremely dangerous street twice (pedestrians have no rights in Turkey - you must simply learn to duck traffic) to the mall for meals. 


I was headed over there for lunch when a girl of around 12 and her younger sister (maybe 5) approached me. The little girl was crying - kind of exaggerated sobs and the older girl asked me if I’d please buy them lunch. They both looked dirty and a bit ragged. She said, please I don’t want money, but we’re hungry so will you please buy us something to eat. My initial - quick - reaction was to walk away. It reminded me of an incident at a McDonald’s in St. Petersburg a few years ago. There was a mother with two small children. The children were looking up at the board, crying. but the mother clearly didn’t have enough money. It was truly heartbreaking. I’ve always regretted that moment because I sort of didn’t have the guts to do anything. Like everyone else around, I just walked away.

This time I stopped. I said, where are your parents - she said they’re outside but they have no money. So I said, come with me. The little girl immediately stopped crying. They followed me up the escalators to something like a food court - with many Turkish fast food places and one Burger King. Burger King is what I know so I took them there. I ordered some chicken fingers and a burger and the man asked what would I like to drink. I asked the girls and the older girl said, whatever you choose. I ordered them ayran which is a Turkish yogurt drink instead of a pepsi. I told the man to give the food to the children and said good-bye and walked away. I don’t think they even noticed me anymore at that point.