MUN-ing in Amsterdam

I have recently decided to move to the Netherlands. I made this decision after spending a week in den Haag for yet another Model United Nation conference (The Hague International MUN). The cities of den Haag and Amsterdam were some of the most inviting and aesthetically pleasing places I've ever been--canals, windmills, and tulip markets dotted every corner; fleets of bicycles rushed past every crosswalk; and it seemed that in almost every shop an enormous, hairy dog would wander past dolefully. Windmills, bicycles and dogs...what could be more perfect?

We left Ankara at eight in the morning, and somehow managed to board a plane successfully and land in the Netherlands. If you've ever traveled by airplane, you'll know how much of a hassle checking-in and boarding can be, but multiply that stress by fourteen impatient teenagers and you can begin to understand our situation. Anyway, we finally found ourselves in den Haag, Holland. Our hotel was aptly named "Hotel Petit,"a charming little bed-and-breakfast that exuded Dutch charm. After a brief excursion to a Greek restaurant for dinner, where we hotly debated whether yogurt is Greek or Turkish--we returned to our hotel for some much-needed rest.

Late Saturday morning, we enjoyed a delicious breakfast of thick, buttery raisin bread, and departed to Amsterdam. Our first destination was the Anne Frank house, a somber memorial of the Frank family and all the victims of the Second World War. What struck me about the house was how narrow and steep all the staircases and ladders were. All the windows were closed in blackout curtains, and the overall effect was one of claustrophobia and fear. After that edifying experience, we spent a few hours wandering the streets of Amsterdam, peeking into antique shops and independent art exhibits. After a refreshing lunch of cheese toasts, we decided to tour the renowned Rijksmuseum, where Rembrandt's masterpiece "The Night-Watch" was displayed. Nearly an hour later, everyone was stupefied by the presence of such extraordinary paintings, so we decided to eat an early supper and return to den Haag. Someone had the brilliant idea of eating at Hard Rock Cafe, which we all agreed to enthusiastically. Unfortunately, no one quite knew where the cafe was, but we convinced our ever-patient chaperones to let us use our collective innate sense of direction to lead us there. After a few hours traisping the darkening streets of Amsterdam and asking directions from every person we made eye contact with, we finally glimpsed the iconic neon "Hard Rock Cafe" sign shining from the darkness.

Cries of hallelujah sprang from our mouths as we ran blindly towards the oasis. Sadly, it was packed full, and closed for the night. Deflated, we slunk into the steak house next door and cried into our ridiculously expensive rump steaks.

Early the next morning we awoke, and set off for the Escher museum in den Haag. MC Escher was a Dutch artist known for his depictions of optical illusions and "impossible structures" of staircases going up and down, water flowing in the wrong direction, and houses seemingly designed in an alternate universe. The museum housed many of his original woodcuts and prints, and also contained some fun optical illusions, like a room that made someone standing in one corner appear gigantic, and another person seem tiny. 

Visions of birds metamorphosing into fish danced in our heads as we left the Escher museum for the Hague city center. There, we dined at a small cafe that possessed a beautiful terrace overlooking the square. Our time touring was cut short, however, as we had to register at the World Forum for THIMUN conference. 

I had almost forgotten that we'd come to the Netherlands for THIMUN, but as soon as we walked into the polished lobby of the World Forum Convention Center, where THIMUN was to be held, a burst of MUN-induced adrenaline raced through my veins. THIMUN is arguably one of the biggest and most prestigious Model United Conferences in the world. It spans different continents, being hosted in the Netherlands, Qatar, and Singapore each year, and attracts sponsors like Saudi Aramco to fund its week of debate. We registered quickly, and set about exploring the enormous conference center. Floors were divided into mountains, continents, rivers and oceans; my committee was in the "Amazon" room next to the "Nile" and the "Yanghtze."

 The conference lasted for five days, from Monday until Friday afternoon. It was perhaps one of the most intense weeks of debate and speeches I've ever experienced. I was almost relieved when it ended on Friday afternoon--the sheer enormity of the conference (three thousand students attended) was overwhelming; in my own committee there were six hundred people alone. And yet, as the closing ceremony concluded and the gavel was hit for the final time, something amazing happened. From the doors of the World Forum Theater came an immense drumming sound, and a marching steel-drum band burst inside. They started dancing and weaving through the audience, and everyone leapt up to enjoy the spectacle. All the ambassadors of the countries represented in THIMUN started a procession onto the stage, where they waved their flags in time to the music. 

It was extraordinary.

It was the kind of sight that stays in your mind for long after it's gone.

So many people had gathered here, to learn from eachother and find ways to better our collective future. It was cliche, yet (as I find myself so often during these conferences) I was filled with hope. Surely, if all these people believe in peace and diplomacy and environmental sustainability, surely somehow we will make a difference, whether through our personal choices of turning off unused lamps and switching to cleaner lightbulbs or becoming more educated on a global level.

We walked outside into the crisp night air, and again I was reminded why I love participating in MUN so much. This feeling, of having accomplished something significant, was like nothing else. 

A dozen yells filled the air, and I suddenly remembered that tonight was the THIMUN dance. Grandiose thoughts of world peace and fair trade evaporated from my head, like a thousand flags fluttering in the breeze.

My Weekend with the Pope

Sometime last year around October, our family received the news that my uncle, a monsignor in the Vatican City, would be elevated to Archbishop and Papal Nuncio to Ireland. Of course, my mother's family was overjoyed and everyone decided to come to Rome to witness his ordination by the Pope. (Here, I will jot down some of the most important details, but a full article containing a lot of thrilling adjectives is sure to follow!)

So on a windy weekend in January, my mother, father and I boarded a flight from Ankara to Rome. After a blur of airport lounges and tasteless hot chocolate in the early morning, I found myself speeding along a Roman highway to the sweet soundtrack of U2, Tom Petty, and the Rolling Stones. (I must say that Italian taxi drivers have exceptionally good taste in music.)

We arrived, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, to the North American Pontifical College, where we would be staying for the weekend. From there, we walked the short distance to St. Peter's Basilica. Seeing the basilica decorated for Christmas was truly magnificent; an enormous Christmas tree and Nativity scene dominated the square. After pausing for a while to admire the picturesque scene, we headed over to the Vatican entrance for the famed Scavi Tour.

The Scavi Tour is a Vatican-lead tour that takes groups underneath St. Peter's Basilica, to various archaelogical finds, and chronicles the attempts made to locate the actual bones of Saint Peter. Traipsing through underground tunnels and peering into carefully preserved tombs was certainly very thrilling, but the climax came as our guide finally presented the last remains of Saint Peter.

We finally emerged above ground after having roamed underneath the basilica for the better part of an hour, and decided to meander over to the restaurant where the rest of the family was gathering. It was a charming little bistro called Settembrini cafe, filled with bookshelves and ancient bottles of wine and Italian quotes plastered onto the walls. The menu was a gourmet feast--in traditional Italian style we started with a fish course of raw fish meat served in a broth of freshly squeezed tomato juice and olive oil. After that delicacy, we moved on to the pasta course of delicately seasoned creamy mushroom ravioli, followed by a dish of risotto and ash-baked steak. The desert was a traditional "bamba," a pastry stuffed with cream and sugar.

The evening stretched on until we finally bid goodnight and retired to our apartment in the nearby college.

Early Friday morning, I awoke to the melodious tones of seagulls squawking outside my bedroom window. Today, my uncle would be ordained an archbishop by the Pope, so we dressed in our finest clothes and hurried outside. St. Peter's Basilica had been transformed overnight in preparation for the ordaination, and Swiss guards lined every corner. We walked up the aisle to our seats in the front row of the cathedral, directly in front of the Bernini altar. Behind us, rows of photographers were busy capturing every moment as the final preparations were added. Finally, a great rush of applause swelled from the entrance of the basilica; the procession had started. Priests, monsignors, bishops, archbishops, cardinals, and finally Pope Benedict XVI himself filed into the cathedral. 

The ceremony was very elaborate and lasted about three hours long, as my uncle and another future archbishop were presented with a signet ring, a scepter, and a copy of the Holy Gospel as symbols of their roles as archbishops and ambassadors. Afterwards, a small group of close relatives and my uncle's colleagues and friends gathered for a reception within the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, where my uncle used to work.

There were still a few sunlight hours remaining before the celebratory dinner, so my parents and I decided to stop by some of our favorite Roman landmarks. We took a quick trip to the Piazza Navona, where I ordered a gelato ice cream. The piazza was incredibly crowded--we learned later that January 6 is actually a holiday in Italy, and is when parents give presents to their "bambinos." We attempted to stroll casually through the city, but every street was packed with throngs of balloon-wielding toddlers. Finally, we ducked into a small side-street close to the restaurant we were going for dinner, and found a charming coffee shop. I nursed a hot chocolate for an hour while we watched the street outside gradually dim and grow silent. At around eight o'clock we meandered back into the Piazza Pilotta, and eventually located the Casa Santa Maria, where the dinner was to be held.

Dinner was an extravagant five-course affair, with delicacies ranging from smoked salmon salad to seasoned lamb to a fragrant baked lasagna, followed by a meringue cake. By the end of the night, my tastebuds had experienced several revelations of the culinary kind. 

Saturday was perhaps the most exciting day of our vacation. We were scheduled to have an audience with the Pope Benedict XVI in the morning, so after a flurry of excitement we departed into the inner sanctums of the Vatican city. The Papal residence was a magnificent building, decorated by renaissance-esque painted ceilings and damask-patterned curtains. We passed through room after room filled with ornate chairs and statues, led by elegant guides in tuxedos and waistcoats, and eventually ended up in a small lounge filled with carpets and plush chairs. After an anxious half-hour had passed, we were solemnly led into the library, in which Pope Benedict XVI stood surrounded by bodyguards.

In single file we approached, preceded by my uncle, as he spoke a few words about each of us. Suddenly it was my turn, and I stumbled forward as if my legs were frozen. I clasped his hand, answered a question he posed, and moved along. The cameras flashed, we were presented ceremoniously with rosaries, and suddenly were ushered out as quickly as we had been ushered in.

After that experience, we were all a little star-struck, and could only talk in murmured whispers. It was surreal, seeing Swiss guards stand to attention and salute my uncle as he swept past them in his ceremonial robes. We concluded the day with a meal in the Villa Strict neighborhood (another lavish affair of pasta, meat, and desert), and spent the rest of our vacation wondering how, exactly, we ended up meeting the Pope.

"100"

Last night, our school presented a production of "100", a play by TheImaginaryBody of which I was lucky enought to be a part of. The premise is simple--imagine you've died, and you have one hour to choose a memory from your life to live and re-live throughout eternity. It focuses on four recently deceased people, from very different walks of life, who in turn have to choose their most treasured memory.

Being part of a play like this really opened my eyes to the amount of creativity and inspiration that goes into creating a story from a script. The set consisted of only four wooden blocks and a few wooden poles, with which we depicted a busy subway, an Amazonian rainforest, and an office Christmas party. This was theater at its most intense--stripped down scenery, minimalist props, a cast of only nine people, and the audience only a few centimeters removed.

When "100" was first performed for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, the cast was only five people. Those five people supplied all the main roles as well as supporting characters, and literally became the props themselves. For example, if the scene required a house, a few actors would use their bodies to portray walls; some would be windows or a door.

As we were an amateur high-school group, we didn't have quite the skills needed to perform such feats of Physical Theater, yet we still had fun pretending to be sheep or throwing oranges around on stage. 

Have you ever been part of a play, high school or otherwise? And if you had to choose one memory from your life to live over and over again, what would it be?