Ice Mosques: Coming Soon to a Theatre Near You

Impossible as this may seem, I occasionally exhibit moments of spousal support wherein I suck up my better judgment, keep my mouth shut, stand by Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad, and smile sweetly. Or in the case of today, suck up my better judgment, keep my mouth shut, stand by Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad, and skate.

Skate? you ask.

Indeed. Several weeks ago, Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad had introduced a sports theme to his elementary class - a class which still just barely manages to produce sentences (although admittedly without verbs, articles & prepositions) - and the topic eventually turned to hockey. We are, after all Canadian, and are therefore expected to know everything there is to know about hockey. Which fortunately we do.

It turns out that there is an ice rink (a buz salonu) in town and because it is almost impossible to say no to your students' request for an extra curricular activity (although I have learned how), a skating outing was penciled in with Mr. Cat. I say penciled in because he had successfully blown these students off for the past five weeks because a) he didn't want to spend an unpaid afternoon with an elementary class - a class which still just barely manages to produce sentences (although admittedly without verbs, articles & prepositions) - and b) he cannot skate at all very well.

In fact, he thought he had dodged the bullet when the class ended and they moved on, assigned to a new teacher, but no, they found him and cornered him. A date was chosen. In ink, as it were. And they invited me as well.

Shit.

So this afternoon, we threw a pair of socks into a bag, trekked out into a gloriously sunny mid-20 something degree day, met the elementary class - a class which still just barely manages to produce sentences (although admittedly without verbs, articles & prepositions), and hopped on a dolmuş - a veritable stuffed grape leaf on wheels - and set off for our 20 minute bus ride in the area of the Police Station - a.k.a. Another Place in the Middle of Nowhere. A short walk from the bus stop led us past the "old" buz salonu (the ice salon) - an arena - to the "new" buz salonu which was an inflated dome (like a humongous kiddie play castle).

In the shadow of the neighbourhood mosque.

The "new" buz salonu was a beehive activity with some two dozen people in various stages of falling down on the ice, with the exception of a Polish man (whom we would later meet) and his 4-year old granddaughter who actually knew how to skate. They were given a decidedly wide berth by The Tumbling Turks on Ice.

We went to the rental counter and received our skates. And by skates I mean impermeable space-age plastic Frankenstein boots that undoubtedly see double-duty as ski boots for the (nonexistent) Turkish National Ski Team except for the fact that they have strips of railway track - no one in their right mind would call them blades - attached to the bottom. They looked painful. They were.

A whistle blew and a zamboni took to the ice - and not a second too soon because, as it was a gloriously sunny mid-20 something degree day and the salonu was a terrarium an inflated dome (like a humongous kiddie play castle) the ice had been reduced to soup. The whistle blew again and it was showtime.

For the next 45 minutes, we skated, deked past The Tumbling Turks on Ice - for lo! their number was legion - and sweated in our t-shirts. I swear I saw mould (black and green) growing on the sides of the terrarium buz salonu. After 15 minutes, my feet were in tortuous pain from the impermeable space-age plastic Frankenstein boots that undoubtedly see double-duty as ski boots for the (nonexistent) Turkish National Ski Tea. On top of that, the strips of railway track - no one in their right mind would call them blades - attached to the bottom were so incredibly dull that you couldn't penetrate butter the ice. It soon became apparent that the toe picks were just for show.

Apart from my feet's excruciating torment, it was enjoyable in that for most of the 45 minutes, the elementary class - a class which still just barely manages to produce sentences (although admittedly without verbs, articles & prepositions) - clung to the boards texting their friends on their cell phones, posing for photos, and, from time to time, doing their best to uphold their cultural ice skating heritage among the other Tumbling Turks on Ice by falling down a great deal. Mr. Cat and I just skated around and around and lost three kilos in the heat & humidity.

And because he is a polite man, after we returned home, Mr. This Cat's (Not) Abroad texted one of the ringleaders of today's outing to thank her for including us. She texted back with, and I quote: Your welcome. I thank you for came.

Ladies and gentlemen: that's one & a half verbs. Not a wasted day after all.

Post note: just a word of apology to Turkish skating champion & Olympic hopeful Tuğba Karademir who is anything but a Tumbling Turk on Ice. Of course, she's been living and training in Canada for the past 13 years. Interestingly, she had been a member of the sports club here in Izmit and well ... let's just say that she's probably enjoying the ice - rather than the soup - of Canadian skating rinks.