[EXPAT VOICE] Why I don’t pray for snow

Winter here usually means rain, constant rain, varying from a dreary drizzle that grayed out my view of the Marmara Sea and short heavy downpours which turn Sultanahmet streets into rivers to the occasional violent thunderstorm that rolls in over the Marmara resulting in a shutoff of the area’s electricity.

That year, I kept hoping the winter rain would quit. As the dim dawn light began to reveal the world outside my window on a crisp Tuesday morning, I realized I had gotten my wish. Indeed the rain had finally ended -- it was SNOWING -- really snowing, sticking and building up and all. Yikes! Only a few days before, I had gone shopping wearing just a sweater. By Thursday, the snow was still on the ground. My view of the neighborhood had dramatically changed; the nearby sagging, rusting and half-repaired roofs were covered with a clean thick frosting.

Although the temperature was not extremely cold, I realized it was time to buy boots if I wanted to keep my feet dry. Having lived in Saudi Arabia, I hadn’t bought boots for over 10 years! My faithful tennis shoes weren’t up to the task. Of course, I had also put off buying a heavy coat, making do with a short wool jacket I’d bought in a used clothing section at a sprawling second-hand souk under the baking sun of Riyadh. I tended to walk like a shivering penguin.

My chief concern during that first real snow was how hard the weather must be on my poorer neighbors who heated with wood and whatever scraps of paper they scrounged from the dumpsters and from the trash bags people nightly put out on the street. Since I first saw some of the locals toting large collection bags from dumpster to dumpster, I took to putting anything safely burnable in one large sack and placed it in an obvious and reachable spot.

The snow continued to fall. The news headlines on all television channels were something like “Winter Disaster in İstanbul” and “Deadly Winter Paralyzes İstanbul.” The pouring rain that started on a Wednesday turned to snow on Thursday morning. At 11:30 a.m. the electricity went off and stayed that way for about 18 hours. All I could see from my dining room window was darkness except for the soft glow of the constantly falling snow. At least I had plenty of candles and a flashlight and my reading light, so I sat around, wrapped in cozy Turkish shawls and Mama’s afghan, and read. The snow not only stuck but started piling up and piling up. The perfect snowball snow fell for about 36 hours. Luckily the temperature wasn’t very cold, and the stiff winds that had come with the rain stopped.

By late that evening, the running water had gone the way of the electricity. I hate it when the toilet doesn’t flush. I had an idea though. I filled a few bowls and buckets full of snow from my ledges and balcony. After melting it on my gas stove, I used the resulting water to flush the pot and at least rinse off the dishes. I felt slightly silly and yet a bit pioneerish ladling snow into the pots and pans on the stove.

At about 4 a.m. on Friday morning I was awakened by sudden brightness. All my lights had turned back on. “What joy!” I murmured and went back to sleep. Alas when I awoke, there was still no water. But I COULD flush my toilet. (I still had a full bucket standing by.) Around 10 a.m. I had a funny feeling -- and I was right -- that the electricity was going to disappear again. I had just turned on the TV to look for news of the storm, saw one scene -- poof! I sighed and curled up in my afghan again.

Several of the girls who lived across the street in the students’ dormitory made me smile when they made rows of mini snow people on their balconies. They, like me, were making the best of a hard time.

In the early afternoon, I trudged out to get a few liters of water and a loaf of bread, despite my friend Mustafa’s horror that I should do this by myself. He kept calling and asking if I needed something. Good grief, I said, it’s just a snowstorm. I laughed and said I grew up in Chicago and wasn’t afraid of a bit of snow. One real problem I had was that half the stores were closed -- no lights, and so on. But a few tiny ones about the size of a closet were operating by whatever light filtered through the windows, so I got what I wanted. The walk back home was a challenge; I live at the bottom of a steep hill. Having carefully slithered up the hill, I decided not to ski back down. I could just imagine myself getting started on the slick packed snow and sailing off into the Marmara Sea. So I walked the long way around -- about four blocks out of my way, but reasonably flat. And around 2:30 p.m. both the water and the electricity came back on. Wheeeeee.

The snow itself wasn’t that amazing. It was only a few inches deep. The snag was that İstanbul is not prepared for major snowstorms. Back in Chicago, that storm wouldn’t have caused much of a glitch, but here it almost shut down the city.

Snow fell madly one week after, complete with electric and water outages. I was better prepared that time around and had only to haul out my stored jugs of water for the flushing of toilets and such exciting events. I’d also stocked up on essentials, so I stayed reasonably comfortable for the three days I didn’t leave home. When the temperatures warmed up considerably on Monday, I ventured out. Businessmen were busy clearing off the thick slush with a remarkable variety of utensils including cardboard boxes; snow shovels are unheard of here. The ruts made in the snow by intrepid motorists started turning into roaring torrents of dingy water, all running down toward the sea. I still avoided my local hill, especially after I watched one fellow start cautiously up, disappear from sight beyond the corner building, then suddenly reappear -- going backwards at a brisk rate with arms flailing and a look of panic on his face.