The way I see it, I'm practically Turkish...

Last week, although I was wary, partially because of our prior week's disastrous visit to get Chris' car papers renewed (2 hours in the car, surrounded by diesel fumes, to go about 3 kilometers, only to be turned away at the car office because Chris was missing a signed paper he didn't need last year for the original car papers) and partially due to Chris' uncertainty ("you can get one with just an address and your passport??"), I made my way to the Uskudar Tax Office to get myself a Turkish tax ID number... Walking into the 1960's style (and smelly, as most confined public places usually are here) government building and waiting on the "line" (read: amorphous group of people standing in the general vicinity of a desk), I thought my trip would be about as successful as Chris' car re-registration, but after about 45 minutes of waiting in the cloud of body oder, and some helpful translations from a gentleman in line who spoke a few words of English ("name of your father" and "what hotel?" - side note, you can get a tax number if you're just visiting and staying at the Hilton??) I walked out of there the proud owner of a Turkish Tax ID, oh-so-officially handwritten on a little teeny business card.

The next day, I opened my very own Turkish bank account (with the help of a co-worker, who explained that yes, I actually did need to sign each page of the 36 page "small print" document).

So, really, I'm almost Turkish now, right?