In Post-earthquake Haiti, only Inequality Survives

At 4:53pm on Jan. 12, the earth trembled near Haiti’s capital Port-au-Prince; within seconds, roads cracked open, buildings fell like bowling pins and hundreds of thousands of people were crushed underneath. Perhaps, no neighborhood in Port-au-Prince offers a better view of the ensuing devastation than Fort National, a maze of streets winding up the top of a hill, in the heart of old town. In this poor area of one-story homes, only mounds of rubble and despair are left. From up on top, one can see the avalanche of debris that now covers the side of the hill.

It is tempting to believe, in awe of the devastation, that there is a blind rage, and an almost democratic flair, to the actions of Mother Nature. The tremor shattered everything it encountered: the young and the old, the rich and the poor alike. But, this is only partially true. Just about the only thing that even natural disasters fail to level are social and economic differences. While the loss of friends and relatives, and the difficulties of living in Port-au-Prince in the days following the tremor, were shared across all strata of the population, quickly the gap between the rich and poor returned.

In Haiti, this gap is particularly wide. The poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere, with 80% of its population living under the poverty line, Haiti had, at the start of the millennium, a GINI coefficient (which measures income inequality within a country) of 59.2, the eighth worst country in the world. According to a December 2007 paper from the World Bank Institute, Haiti’s income inequality is “the highest in the world,” with 1 percent of the population that controls nearly half the country’s wealth.

Some hope the earthquake will offer a chance to rebuild Haiti a more just society than it used to be. However, the socio-economic inequality that for centuries has plagued the country seems to have come out the rubble unscathed. More expensive, solidly built structures withstood the tremor better than their cheap counterparts, sparing lives and limiting the relative financial loss. While the children of the wealthy can fly abroad to continue their studies, the underprivileged have to wait months to go back to the classroom. Compounded by a government that, for all intents and purposes, ceased to exist on Jan. 12, a historically uncaring elite, who should stay and rebuild, seems more inclined to get out, while everybody else is stuck amidst the debris. In the meantime, the international community doesn’t seem to have a plan beyond flooding Haiti with humanitarian aid, making the country’s poor even more dependent than it was on the never reliable charity of foreign countries.

In the earthquake, as Fort National dissolved to fine powder, residences in more upscale areas, like Juvenat and Boutillier, managed to stay upright, although gravely damaged. “Many of the older houses survived,” said Henry Noel, a Haitian American who was on vacation in Port-au-Prince on Jan. 12, and whose house still stands in the upper-class suburb of Petionville. “But more recently-built homes use poor construction materials with no respect for security,” Noel said.

It’s a sentiment echoed by experts familiar with Haiti.  Nashville architect Alan Dooley is a partner in the construction of the Visitation Hospital in Petite Rivière de Nippes, about 50 miles from the capital. In his experience, the lack of quality control leaves it up to the good will of the individual contractor to behave correctly. “A bag of cement in Haiti goes for twice as much as what we pay at Home Depot,” said Dooley. “In order to stretch that bag as much as possible, they cut it.” Residents in poor neighborhoods like Ft. National are the ones most likely to “cut” the cement.

The absence of building codes, a reflection of the government’s weakness, didn’t help. “Had an earthquake like this happened in another country,” said structural Engineer Steven Baldridge, “it would not have caused as much damage.” Baldridge, who traveled to post-earthquake Haiti with a NGO called Applied Technology Council, says he was “disgusted” with the construction he saw, the result of lack of seismic detailing, quality control, and proper construction material. “Most buildings in Haiti would be red-taped by any US building official,” Baldridge said.

Once the reconstruction phase kicks-off, Haiti’s rich will repair or rebuild their homes. The poor will either remain in makeshift shantytowns, or relocate to “permanent” tent camps — that is the government plan for now – miles from their traditional source of income and to the mercy of gangs, which will, as has happened in the past, soon take over these encampments.

There are other crises that also risk exacerbating the income gap. Education is often the ticket out of poverty, but with an estimated 95% of schools in and around Port-au-Prince collapsed or damaged, the future of Haiti’s deprived children hangs by a thread. It will be months, maybe years, before classes resume on a regular schedule.

“It’s a very somber prospective for this generation,” said Jean Fils Sainton, General Secretary of Education for Haiti’s Methodist schools. He used to supervise six schools, serving 7500 underprivileged students from age four to 18 in Petit Goave, 40 miles southwest of Port-au-Prince and the city closest to the epicenter. Five of them were leveled.

In the meantime, the Haitian upper crust is shipping off its children, so that they can continue their studies in French high schools in Florida or in the Dominican Republic. “A few of my cousins and friends have already sent their children abroad,” said Leroy Jubee, an Haitian American who was visiting Port-au-Prince and will soon return to his insurance job in the U.S.

Along with the children, affluent parents are leaving too. Hardly a soul can be spotted around Haiti’s wealthiest enclaves. Only the servants are left, to guard their employer’s fortified mansions. Surrounded by 15-foot high walls, many of these villas have been built by one of the world’s most corrupt elite (Haiti ranks 168 out of 180 countries in Transparency International’s 2009 Corruption Perceptions Index), once nicknamed by U.S. diplomats and journalists MRE, or the Morally Repugnant Elite.

Since independence, Haiti’s economy has been in the hands of this small cluster of people. This “mulatto” elite comprises fair-skinned Haitians who are descendants of both the European colonial rulers and of local notaries, who took control of the country once the world’s only successful slave revolution kicked the French out in 1804.  Interpreting their country’s history of colonialism and foreign interventions as a sign of its fragile sovereignty, this elite never shook off the fear that their wealth could be lost to yet another invader. Instead of focusing on investing in Haiti’s development, the rich chose instead to reap the benefit of their position before it was too late. Today, this small circle of people controls all sectors of the economy, from textile factories to energy, from telecommunications to big government contracts.

Smaller entrepreneurs also seem to want to leave. Those who can afford the $80 USD fare, queue for hours at the entrance of Caribe Tours, a travel agency that specializes in bus trips to the Dominican Republic. Before the earthquake, said the owners, they sent about a bus a day, with thirty people onboard. Now, given the hardships of living in Port-au-Prince, the figure has quintupled, with people lining up from the wee hours of the morning. One-way tickets are in high demand. Some think the people should stay though. “These people have employees and a responsibility towards those who are dependent on them,” said Caribe Tours’ owner Maryne Rouzier, “We don’t want this to happen, we think Haitians should stay here.”

Haitian entrepreneurs, many with businesses downtown, have certainly taken a hit in the earthquake. Theirs might be, in $ amount, the largest loss of all, but not in relative terms. With at least some of their properties standing, they have the opportunity, and some argue, the responsibility, to bring their businesses back to life after the earthquake.

According to a study by the National Academy of Public Administration titled “Why Foreign Aid to Haiti Failed”, between 1990 and 2003 Haiti received more than $4 billion in international aid. Yet, the paper says, “after consuming billions in foreign aid over three decades, […] Haiti remains politically dysfunctional and impoverished.”

Perhaps, the international community can find a path other than dumping humanitarian aid on Haiti, for example enticing the same business owners catching the $80 ride to the Dominican Republic, to stay. Given Haiti’s history of inefficient governments and corrupt elites, if the country wants to begin again as a more just society, its small yet lively group of small business owners might be a good starting point. Losing them to foreign countries would be an enormous blow, leaving the country stuck, more so than ever before, between the very rich and the very poor.

Despite the discouraging reality, some people see the earthquake as an opportunity. “If politicians come together for a national plan, leaving behind their power struggles,” said an official with the Haitian government, “if the international community is ready to implement a Marshall Plan for Haiti, then there is an opportunity.” I asked him what were the chances that this would actually happen. “Almost non-existent,” he said.

Haiti – Unpublished Photos – 1

Devastation in Port-au-Prince, from the vantage point on top of Fort National

Most times, it's hard to tell whether people are looting other people's homes or if they are just trying to retrieve possessions from their own collapsed ones

Haiti's President Rene Preval recently said it could take up to three years to clear the rubble in Port-au-Prince. With mounds of debris everywhere, this is not hard to believe

Two weeks after the earthquake, Fort National still reeked of corpses trapped under the rubble

The resilience of Haiti's kids is nothing short of outstanding. Many of them still manage to smile, despite the desperation that surrounds them

Residents of Fort National were still burning corpses of loved ones two full weeks after the earthquake

Very few families in Port-au-Prince have survived the earthquake together

It'll be months, if not years, before schools reopen in Port-au-Prince. Until then, the capital will see most of its kids roaming the streets with nothing to do

Since the earthquake, people have moved into packed makeshift tent camps, where the lack of sanitation is abysmal and privacy doesn't exist

With 60% of its population reportedly under the age of 25, babies, children and young people are everywhere in Port-au-Prince. They'll be the earthquake generation

A school nestled on top of the Fort National Hill collapsed, with who knows how many kids inside

People in Fort National try to go about their daily lives. But the look on their faces is unmistakable

Haiti – Unpublished Photos 2

Mounds of debris cover both sides of the main street crossing through Fort National

This old man looks at the exact spot where his sister is still buried under the rubble

A stark contrast between the Caribbeans' natural beauty and the devastation in Port-au-Prince

Even those whose houses have not collapsed, continue sleeping outside afraid of yet another aftershock

Children posing in front of the truck where their entire family is now sleeping

Many neighborhood committees have been formed by the residents of the makeshift camps scattered across the city. It remains unclear what exactly they are committed to achieve

In the face of growing challenges, families in Port-au-Prince continue to have to take care of a multitude of children

The half-collapsed Hotel La Villa Creole, where we stayed alongside hundreds of other journalists

Welcome to Jakarta

Jakarta is a sprawling metropolis of modern high-rise hotels and office buildings, large and heavily trafficked thoroughfares, one too many shopping malls (increasingly, and sadly, the commercial and entertainment hubs of the city) lush tropical vegetation and, tucked in the south, more characteristic residential neighborhoods of low-rise houses and shops. Naturally, the nicest ones of these have now been taken over by the expat community, which has settled in comfortably, contributing to hijacking the cost of living. Only wealthy Indonesians, and there are quite a few, have remained, besides, of course, the throngs of much less affluent ones who sit by the side of the road selling street-food such as Gado Gado, the typical Indonesian salad.

While South Jakarta is residential and full of foreigners, Central Jakarta functions as the city’s business, political and monumental heart. North Jakarta (or Kota) instead, where the Dutch first built the city of Batavia (now Jakarta), has slowly seen its past glory fading and is now considered among the poorest, and potentially dangerous areas of the city (although I’ve also been told that a rather intense, mostly Indonesian nightlife takes place up there). Most of the colonial-era buildings have, purposely, been either torn down or simply abandoned until they collapsed. However, a couple of interesting spots still stand, namely the old train station and Taman Fatahillah square. The train station still functions as a hub for commuters coming into Jakarta for work from neighboring towns and, in Fatahillah Square, you’ll find a host of high shool students on field trips, a couple of museums, and Cafe’ Batavia, a posh, richly decorated restaurant and bar that most accurately represents the legacy of colonial-era Indonesia.

On Saturday morning, under a scorching sun, I strolled around North Jakarta with my friend Budi and descended back to check out the city’s Chinatown…Nothing particularly charming there as far as architecture but, as with all china-towns, a somewhat shabby but very lively neighborhood bustling with all sorts of activities. Photos below.

Chinatown - a desperate attempt to cross the street

Ancient Chinese medicine and mysterious little white powders

Baozi: one of China's greatest culinary inventions

Everything is possible in Chinatown, including a red flying dolphin

Frogs' killing fields

Intellectual property

Is this stone good?

More ancient Chinese medicine: mysterious little mushrooms

Welcome to my little convenience store

Need help typing up your Masters thesis? We do that too

Sitting down after carrying a heavy load

Typically fried Indonesian food

We sell shoes or, alternatively, veggies

Old train station - Varieties of Indonesian youth

Patiently waiting for the train to leave

This is heavy

Mom I'm hungry!

Kota - Hiding behing a window

Lunch break

Traffic in North Jakarta

The smiling porter

Saturday in Bhaktapur

Mara, a tourist in Bhaktapur

Bhaktapur is a late-medieval city only 13 kilometers east of Kathmandu, although it takes about 50 minutes to drive there from the capital because of the appalling road conditions. It is a typical Newari town (Newaris being the people that originally inhabited the Kathmandu valley) and probably the best preserved historical downtown in all of Nepal. It was heavily restored in the 1970s thanks to German money and, while it would probably need a new round of maintenance, Bhaktapur still stands out for its pristine beauty. Foreigners are charged a hefty fee by Nepal standards (about $10) just to get inside the city walls. But in exchange, the visitor will find an almost entirely pedestrian downtown (only the unavoidable motorcycle drives by), beautiful temples, and a red-brick, wood-carving type of city that, surprisingly, is reminiscent of medieval Italy, and places such as Siena. While Bhaktapur is touristy, it has also preserved its real-life dimension, and during our Saturday afternoon stroll, we encounter local residents busied in all sorts of domestic and professional chores. But I’ll let the photos speak now…

Nepal's medieval past and new beginnings

Two wise men

And a wise woman

Grazing roosters

A family moment

Family-run business

A kitchen counter conversation

Monkey guardians

Lions

Open for business

Saturday morning chores

Preparing food for the wintertime

More farm work carried out in Bhaktapur medieval downtown

Not for sale

Indoor barbershop

Outdoor barbershop

Reading the paper

Riding elephants into the sky

Upright

While mom works

While mom is still working

Water from the well

Working the fields outside Bhaktapur

I've got better things to do

Cooking momos

Happy Tihar

Photos at the bottom

Kathmandu – This is an important weekend across the Indian subcontinent, as each nation in the region celebrates its own version of Diwali — the festival of lights — and the Indian New Year’s.

The Nepali adaptation of Diwali is known as Tihar, and it’s the most important Hindu festival of the year after Dasain, which just took place in September. Tihar lasts five days, during which the country shuts down, families get together, and everybody honors certain animals, and one’s own siblings. On the first day, rice offerings are given to crows; dogs are celebrated on the second day with garland of flowers; on the third day cows have their horns painted silver and gold; finally, on the fourth day, the people of Nepal give thanks to bullocks. On the fifth day of Tihar, brothers must celebrate their sisters and sisters must celebrate their brothers, placing a tika, a spot of red-sandalwood paste with a religious meaning, on each other’s forehead. Sisters also gift sweets to brothers, receiving money in return.

In the hours running up to Tihar, Kathmandu becomes even more chaotic than it normally is as everybody rushes to do the last bit of shopping. Street vendors line up the streets and sell a most bizarre array of things, from garlands of flowers, to the powdery paste needed for tikas, to fruits and vegetables, to small gifts that sadly look Chinese-made and are dreadfully cheap. Shop owners decorate their windows and kids and teenagers improvise traditional dances in the street hoping to be gifted some money by passers-by.

The already overwhelming mix of street children, deformed beggars, rancid smells of rotten veggies, and women in elegant sarees that proceed with their shopping indifferent to their otherworldly surroundings, which characterizes every day life in Kathmandu, will certainly send you in sensory overload during Tihar.

I took a walk in and around Kathmandu Durbar Square, the city’s medieval heart and a stunning example of Newari architecture (Newari is the name of the original inhabitants of the Kathmandu Valley). But walk isn’t the word I would use after all. Rather, it was more like an unsuccessful effort to stagger along in a jam-packed crowd of families, sellers, belligerent taxis, unrepentant motorcycles, and disorderly rickshaws.

Feeling besieged, I sought shelter on the rooftop terrace of the Kantipath restaurant, where I quietly sat for two hours and watched the chaos below me continue undisturbed. Finally, as the sun set, people began lighting up candles and turning on colorful, Christmas-like lights in their homes, their stores, and everywhere in the streets. The pungent smells of the day made room for the sweet, perfumed aromas of incense. Darkness fell, and the small candles that had been lit up across town came to dominate the night, creating a rather magic atmosphere.

I returned home to Nepali shopkeepers painting rangolis on the ground just outside their stores. Rangolis are circular sand-painted decorations made with finely ground colored powders (similar to that used for tikas). A frightening explosion of firecrackers electrified the night.

Chaos in Durbar Square

Preparing Malas (flower garlands) for sale

Shopping for flowers

The coffee and juice bar decorates its window while making espresso shots

A jewerly store decorated for Tihar

A child selling Tihar gifts

The owners of a purse shop decorate their window

A woman shops for malas (flower garlands)

The Himalayan Spa hangs malas out in the alley

A street seller stirs Rangoli powder

Tihar sweets

The making of a ranguli

Greetings from Kathmandu

Kathmandu, Nepal – I landed in Kathmandu Tribhuvan International Airport on a sunny Sunday afternoon. Having taken off from New Delhi, I flew over hundreds of miles of plains and fields, until finally, just before landing in the Nepali capital, I began seeing below me the steep lush hills of the Himalayas’ foothills. Like a ring, this lower mountain range surrounds the Kathmandu valley on all sides, with the bustling, chaotic city at the valley’s center.

Thanks to the fact that I had been here once before, I managed to survive immigration formalities relatively quickly. Otherwise, getting your visa upon arrival, with separate lines to pay the fee and then, have the visa manually written into your passport, can turn into a time-consuming process. This is especially true when you have to do so together with the other hundreds of tourists that have just come out of the plane with you.

A rather interesting note on health-care concerns around the globe: Traveling between India and Nepal, I came to the conclusion that developing nations are fixated with the Swine Flue, or H1N1 virus, even more than we are in the west. But Nepal, so far, goes far beyond anything else I’ve seen. India, really, simply collects small sheets of green paper from all incoming passengers, where they declare that, no, they are not infected with the virus and, no, they have no intention of getting it in the near future. That and all immigration officers are made to wear sanitary masks on their mouth and nose. Instead, upon landing in Kathmandu, we were all lined up in a long queue, and, one by one, we were shot in our foreheads with an elongated yellow-and-black electronic pistol, by a lone man in a white shirt and scruffy gray trousers, and the obligatory white mask covering his face. I’m guessing he was taking our body temperature, although I’m not sure.

While I managed to get out of the airport in about an hour, Oli and Matthew, a German/Norwegian trekking duo that had booked a room at the same ACME Guest House where I was planning on staying were not so lucky. Their further hour-long ordeal allowed me to make friends with Karma, an employee at the guesthouse who had arrived in a rather old Maruti Suzuki six-person van to take us there. Karma is of the Sherpa people and comes from the larger Everest region. He has a B.A. in education and a sister who also lives in Kathmandu while attending college. The rest of the family is still up in the mountains, farming some little piece of land during off-season. But now Nepal is at its peak tourist time, and Karma’s brother is busy assisting international expeditions that are going for the top of the world on Everest.

When my hotel mates finally arrived, we launched into the ride toward the city, experiencing some of the most interesting and less regimented traffic I know of (however, I think Indian traffic still beats it.) And Thamel, the touristy neighborhood at the heart of Kathmandu, was there waiting for us, as always a picturesque, irremediably chaotic maze of too many people, too many shops, too many restaurants, too many vehicles that should not realistically be able to fit in its narrow alleys. Thamel is a marvel in and of itself, one of the best-equipped tourist places I’ve ever seen (you really can buy anything you want in it), stuck in the middle of one of the poorest countries on earth. But Kathmandu is the climbing capital of the world, and in Thamel, where you can buy high-altitude gear while listening to American rock music at almost every one of the hundreds bars that populate the neighborhood, this shows.

ACME Guesthouse, hidden behind a tight street corner across the street from the Kathmandu Guesthouse (possibly the city’s most famous landmark), has two really good things going for it: A small, well-kept courtyard and garden at the entrance — oasis of peace and true rarity in Thamel — and a recently opened SPA right next to it. I, of course, have already tried several of the SPA services and I wouldn’t have a problem recommending their foot massage – although China still does it better – and their hour and a half long Ayurvedic massage. You can expect the masseuse to work on your every muscle very seriously and while it might hurt in the process, by the end of the massage you’ll reach a surprisingly pleasant, liquid-type of state.

A not-so-fun curiosity to report: Energy demand in Kathmandu is far superior to the ability of local infrastructures to meet it (in general, Nepal seriously lacks in infrastructures of all sorts.) Hence, the Nepali Government manages a daily schedule of planned electrical blackout, rotating between neighborhoods. Thamel is hit every night approximately for two hours, between 8 and 10PM. Almost all tourist establishments have their own independent generators, which kick in once the lights go off and fuel at least a basic, bleak emergency bulb in every room. This, of course, until one of the guests decides to shave his beard on the generator’s power (it happened last night), causing the whole emergency system to crash.

The cult of a nation

Ankara — Atop one of Ankara’s highest hills stands Anitkabir (literally “memorial tomb”), the mausoleum of Turkey’s founding

The entrance to Anitkabir

father Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. Built in archetypal socialist style, the monument was clearly designed to withstand the passing of time and to indefinitely remind the Turkish people of the greatness of their only forefather. Its massive proportions bring to the mind of the casual, emotionally unattached visitor places such as Tiananmen Square and Mao Zedong’s mausoleum in Beijing. Egyptian-inspired carvings on the heavy, orange-colored stone blocks that make up Anitkabir are a revealing indication of the ambitions of this memorial. Complete with a 15-minute video on the life of Ataturk that plays incessantly both in Turkish and English (“Born a genius, he grew up to be an idealist and a leader,” the video says and adds, only a few sentences later, “but Ataturk was not a dictator at all”…), the mausoleum is, in short, a good compact of nationalist propaganda and the destination of the Turkish people’s most valued pilgrimage.

The message pronounced at the memorial's inauguration by President Inonu

While all modern nations have their own founding myths, and all the heart-felt rituals associated with them, from America’s George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, to France’s Charles De Gaulle, to Italy’s Giuseppe Garibaldi, Turkey surprises an outside observer with the utter devotion felt by all its citizens towards Ataturk. Through the years, this profound affection of the Turkish people for their “blue-eyed” leader has evolved into a near-cult, which makes the foreign visitor, well, slightly uncomfortable. Turkey is, after all, supposed to be a secular democracy ruled not by god (of whatever kind) but by the will of the people. Talking to a young Turk last night, I heard Ataturk being described as “the most powerful leader the world has ever seen.” A similar opinion appears to be shared by the vast majority of Turkish people.

Mustafa Kemal Ataturk died in 1938 having certainly been a uniquely

A guard looking over Ataturk's mausoleum under the scorching sun

visionary leader, who decided that Turkey needed to modernize in order to protect and secure its independence and territorial integrity and, therefore, pushed the country to do so in the space of only a few decades. He succeeded greatly in this difficult endeavor. Not only did he found the Republic and establish the Grand Assembly (Turkey’s Parliament), he also imposed the adoption of the Western alphabet in place of the Arabic script that had been used for centuries under Ottoman rule. He radically

A veiled woman visits Turkey's Temple of Secularism

reformed the education system and transformed the country’s social customs and norms, from women’s rights, to the press, to attire, to alcohol consumption, to entertainment and hobbies. He managed to do so largely because of the extent of power he held in his hands. Ataturk was the authoritarian leader of a one-party state. Yet, childless and with no relevant direct heir to his political fortune, Ataturk succeeded in handing over the country he had founded to an increasingly democratic system of governance.

But the truth is that he wasn’t alone in shaping Turkey into a modern nation and moderate Muslim country. And I wish that, at Anitkabir, I had seen more pride in what individual Turkish people did in order to follow through with Ataturk’s radical reform. They were the ones who took up the challenge and worked hard to accomplish the goals that Ataturk set forth. This should be celebrated; the achievements of the Turkish people, and the monument should stand as a

A guard: it should give you a sense of the place's dimensions

reminder of the choices made by the people for the people. Instead, as it stands right now, the mausoleum is an altar where people go and bow to the greatness of a single

A young visitor

man. And by doing that, they nurture a dangerous sense of personal insecurity, as citizens who don’t feel they could have brought the country anywhere without their one and only supreme father.

The small tomb of President Inonu with the backdrop of Ataturk's mausoleum

The worst part of Turkey

Ankara – While you’ll find Turkish people generally welcoming, helpful and forthcoming, the same can hardly be said of the country’s taxi drivers. They are, without a doubt, the worst aspect to an otherwise enchanting Turkey, particularly in Istanbul.

To begin with, taxis here come with a meter. However, the first kind of this not-so-nice species will typically offer (rather urge) clueless foreigners to go without using one. You may simply want to, say, cross the Galata Bridge, from Karakoy to Eminonu — a ride that, with a meter, costs around 5 Turkish liras (TYL). Suddenly, you’ll be asked 25 TYL to get there.

There’re also those who take your 20 TYL note for a drive that was only going to cost 10, and when you ask for change will turn around and tell you that you just gave them a 10 TYL note and why would you ever want anything back? And how dare you question their honesty?

A trick they sometime employ which is particularly difficult to uncover is that of the “alternative route.” Never ever let them take you via the “alternative route,” even if they say there’s a lot of traffic on the regular one. Go with the traffic!

The last time I accepted such an offer I was northbound, going from Taksim Square to the general Etiler neighborhood to meet with a women’s rights activist. The “alternative route” turned out to be a very long drive on Istanbul’s ring road (which takes you for many more miles around the city and allows taxis to charge you extra-urban fares). To make the bill just that bit higher, this one cab driver went way past my destination to the north, then left the highway and drove back south on the waterfront (pretty views at least, I concede). After a few turns along the sinuous Bosporus coastline, he decided to hit another highway, turned around a couple of times and he finally dropped me off at my address with the meter flashing an exorbitant 80 TYL total (approximately $50!!!), all for a ride that I was later to discover should have cost no more than 20-25 TYL.

Another couple of things to keep in mind: taxi drivers in Istanbul really just do not know their way around the city at all. And granted Istanbul is impressively huge and hard to navigate, but they will rarely know the address you’ve just given them. They’ll go the wrong way and u-turn back and forth several times, and stop to ask for information at local shops and other cabs parked by the curb. All the while the meter keeps running. Basically, the worse the service, the higher you’ll pay for it at the end. Just a tad counterintuitive.

Because of precisely this problem, the taxi I took from my home in Istanbul to the bus station to board the Ankara bus, not only almost made me miss the bus, but also cost me twice as much as the entire six-hour ride to Ankara.

Finally, taxi drivers in Turkey rarely have change at hand, or so they say. Which means that, if you do insist on using them, you should try to have change on you and never try to pay using notes higher than 20TYL. Otherwise, they’ll just round up the bill to whatever note you give to them and tell you they don’t have change to give back and, thank you very much for the tip.

Public transportation is pretty good both in Istanbul and Ankara. Unfortunately, for other than the main tourist areas, which are served incredibly well by the tram system in Istanbul and by a small metro network in Ankara, its buses if you want to go everywhere else. And while they are relatively cheap and run on an extensive network of lines and stops, they can be hard to navigate at first. Which is why, despite being upset with 80% of my cab drivers, I still take cabs whenever I have to go somewhere that I don’t quite know how to get to using public transportation.

Turkey goes weapons shopping

Istanbul — Turkey is looking into buying helicopter gunships, with the explicit intent of helping its military fight the never-ending war against the Kurdish insurgents of the PKK. But it doesn’t know yet where to shop. The U.S. or Russia? And who will give them the best deal?

At a seminar on military issue known as “Silk Road 2009 General/Admiral” seminar, held in Istanbul on Monday with the participation of military representatives from NATO and the EU, General Ilker Basbug, Chief of Turkey’s General Staff, said the military is determined to wipe out the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, or PKK.

From the Anatolian News Agency:

For terrorist organizations to believe they can hang on to their arms and only seek economic and socio-cultural change is wrong and that is why we are very determined to fight the terrorist organization until it is disbanded and lays down arms,” the General said.

A couple of weeks earlier, the same General Ilker Basbug had traveled to Washington to try and convince the Americans to sell him gun-ships and armed pilot-less drones that the Turkish military says it needs to fight the PKK more effectively.

The two systems that Turkey wants from the US are the AH-1W Super Cobra attack helicopters, made by Bell Helicopter Textron, and the MQ Reapers, an armed drone manufactured by General Atomics. The main problem is that the AH-1W is not currently being manufactured anymore and the US Marines only has 170 of them.

Reportedly, Turkey wants to buy a few of these helicopters that are part of the Marines’ inventory. Daily newspaper Hurriyet says that officials from both countries are looking for a solution.

From Hurriyet:

A senior procurement official said he expected U.S. permission for the systems’ sale before the end of the year. One U.S. official said that President Barack Obama’s administration in principle was looking favorably to the drones’ transfer.
But in addition to a green light by the U.S. administration, both sales require the U.S. Senate’s approval. It is not clear at this point if such transfers would prompt congressional opposition.

Turkey’s helicopter shopping trip doesn’t seem to be limited to the US however. On June 16th, The Russian News & Information Agency, RIA Novosti, reported that a Turkish military delegation had visited Russia to discuss the possible acquisition of Mi-28 attack helicopters.  According to RIA Novosti, Turkey may buy between 12 and 32 helicopters within two or three years, while it waits for another prototypes of choppers to be rolled out by the Anglo-Italian AgustaWestland in 2015.

The Mi- helicopters should be particularly appealing to Turkey, for two reasons:

Ria Novosti writes:

The Mil helicopters have for years been used in similar terrain [similar to southeastern Turkey where the PKK operates] in the Caucasus, Central Asia and the Middle East. Moreover, Russia’s influence and relations with Turkey have grown dramatically and many contradictions in bilateral ties have been smoothed over since the 1990s.

The U.S. or Russia? Turkey plays the Cold War all over again?