I'm homeward bound, although I have to confess, I'm not quite sure what that means...
After nearly a month of nomadic existence through the Nepali Himalayas, I
am sitting in a hard metal chair at the Kathmandu international airport
staring at a bright red boarding pass. Two boarding passes, in fact,
the first of which will take me from Nepal to Sharjah, UAE and the
second, again to Istanbul late this evening—two boarding passes which
will be the first in a total of 5 or 6 over the next three days that
will eventually land me back in the good ole US of A. From Istanbul, my
plan is to hop an overnight bus straight from the airport to Balıkesir
where I will throw my grungy Nepali gear into a larger suitcase, zip it
closed, and haul it back on the bus back to the other Istanbul airport
the following morning. To catch my next flight. İnşallah.
Picturing myself disembarking back into Istanbul is a little less
climactic than I had previously anticipated. The minute I left Turkey
(initially for a few days to Greece with my family, then again a few
days later for Nepal) I had a hard time leaving my Turkish-self behind.
Over the past year I had slowly but steadily worked to integrate myself
more and more into the culture of the country I then called home. I
learned Turkish, ate Turkish food, made Turkish friends, listened to
Turkish music, followed Turkish TV programs.
By the end of the year, I
was by no means Turkish, but my frame of reference for the world was
firmly rooted in my Turkish-expat existence. I could participate in
Turkish traditions and superstitions, sing along to the songs I heard on
the radio, carry out small talk with people in the grocery store or on
the bus, was a "regular" at a handful of restaurants and cafés, and had a
passionate stake in who would win Turkish Survivor. Moreover, I had a
slew of inside jokes and memorable experiences originating from this
pseudo-Turkish-American-English Teacher persona that I shared with a network of other Fulbright colleagues and friends across the country.
The minute I crossed through exit immigration in Sabiha Gökçen, however,
(only after successfully arguing with the officer that my visa was
valid because my residency permit was expired—my last conversation in
Turkish thus far) that perspective was suddenly irrelevant. Nepal was
immediately a chaotic explosion of unfamiliar colors, sounds, and
smells. It was exciting and overwhelming, and I was hopelessly at a
loss. Normally I crave that feeling of being out of my element when
traveling, but this time, after a year of painstakingly working to trade
my "yabancı-ness" in for cultural integration, I couldn't help but
mourn the loss of my insider-card. The Nepali people I met were kind,
welcoming, and couldn't care less that I could carry on a conversation
in a country thousands of miles to the west. They accepted my one word
of Nepali ("namaste") with grace, and regarded me as what I was: a
tourist.
The next three amazing weeks were spent trekking through the mountains
and jungle, learning bits and pieces of Nepali culture, processing the
past, wondering about the future, and boring my poor friend Kacie with
stories about everything Turkish. My Fulbright friends went home to
amazing jobs, or off on last-minute adventures themselves, and slowly I
began to accept that the past year of my life, like all good things tend to, was
slowly coming to a close.
Now, as I sit in the airport and try to picture myself stepping back
into my apartment in Balıkesir, I feel a bittersweet twinge of
displacement. In fact, the next few weeks will be something of a
whirlwind of displacement—Kathmandu to Sharjah to Istanbul to
Balıkesir to Istanbul to Amsterdam to Portland to Sacramento to Loomis
to San Jose. One night in Balıkesir, the place I have called home. One
night in Loomis with my parents, the only 'permanent address' I've had
to list for several years. Then on to San Jose where I will immediately
start my new job with nothing but a car full of suitcases and a spot on a
friend's couch. Part of me is exhausted just thinking about it. Here I
go again, starting from scratch, no house, no community, no clue what
lies ahead. But the other part of me, the more significant, grounded
part of me, knows I wouldn't want it any other way.
A lot has changed over the past year, but the thrill of a new place, new
people, new job, and new adventures has never seemed to lose its
appeal. In fact, after a year abroad, California seems just about as
distant and exotic as anywhere I've been thus far—a land of kombucha
and coffee shops, reliable wifi and endless toilet paper. Almost too
good to be true.
More significantly, however, is the whispered voice that remains when
all the excitement, anticipation, and uncertainty fade away.
The same voice that I heard so clearly while staring at a different set of boarding passes—these ones also starting from a familiar place and
ending in a strange city that I would soon call home—almost one year
ago. It is the voice that says, "I know the plans I have for you, to give you hope and a future" and "I will bless you and keep you" and "fear not." That voice, so clear in the deep wilderness and mountain-top
splendor of Nepal, is the voice I want to cling to as the hundreds of
other tired, worried, stressed, or lonely voices flood in with the "real
world." That is the voice I choose to trust. The voice of a God who was also both homeless and at home.
The past few weeks have marked of
the end of my time here in Turkey… and, to be honest, it’s freaking me out.
It’s so hard to believe that a year has come and gone since I first opened my
email and found a message from the State Department inviting me to hop on a
plane to halfway across the world at their expense. I can’t even begin to describe
the crazy ups and downs of this adventure or how much I have come to love this
place and the people I have met. So, rather than wallowing in my angst, I’ve
decided to channel all my emotions into constructing the following lists:
THE TOP THREE THINGS I WILL MISS MOST ABOUT TURKEY...
1. Friendly strangers
Turkey is a country where you can receive a homemade-dinner
invitation from the woman sitting next to you on the bus and where strangers
will go far out of their way to help you. Take, for example, any of the
following scenarios:
- I was deathly ill within the first few months of being in
Balıkesir (kidney infection… don’t get one). My roommates managed to somehow
get my feverish self to the hospital. Upon realizing that I did not speak
Turkish, half the nursing staff was engaged in the act of Google Translating
communication between the doctor and me, then ten minutes later, someone from
the radiology department showed up and announced that he knows a little English
and may be able to help.
- My roommate and I visited our friends in the neighboring
sea-side province of Çanakkale, and we all took a day trip to a vineyard island
called Bozcaada off the coast. It was off-season for tourists, and the island
was quiet, so we decided to rent a car to explore. The man who we rented the
car from mentioned that his family was having a mangal party (Turkish barbeque)
on a beach across the island and invited us to drop the car off there once our
time was up and join in. We met the whole group and were treated with grilled
lamb, fresh sucuk (garlic sausage), köy ekmeği (village bread), cheese, and
free-flowing homemade red wine brought in a plastic water jug from their
vineyard.
- My other roommate and I traveled to the Southeastern part
of Turkey during one of our weekend breaks. After one of our day trips, we
rushed back to Diyarbakır, where we were staying, to see if we could make it to
a Kurdish cultural center before it closed. The place served as a center for
Kurdish seniors to sing traditional songs in order to preserve their culture.*
We got there 30 minutes before the center closed, but upon asking, we learned
the singing was done for the day. A group of men heard us asking, though, and
invited us to drink tea and ask questions. One of the seniors then agreed to
sing a few songs just for us, and treated us to the song in the video below (hence the “Americans”
reference at the end :) Our Kurdish friends then
proceeded to give us a broad education in the history of Diyarbakır and even invited
us to a Kurdish wedding (where it’s culturally appropriate for anyone in the
neighborhood come in off the street).
Diyarbakır Dengbej Evi from Kealy Jaynes on Vimeo.
*Check out more about the history of Kurds in Diyarbakır
here.
2. Food
Food is an art form and a point of pride in Turkish
culture, and for good reason—it’s delicious. After a year of constantly talking
about it, eating it, buying it straight from farmers at the pazar, I can’t
imagine what I’m going to do without it. Thankfully, there have been a number
of people who have invited me into their kitchens and shared their secrets with
me— even if the only thing I can somewhat confidently prepare at this point is
Turkish coffee.
3. These people:
- Çiğ
köfte lady who knows my roommates and I by name and our orders by heart. No
other çiğ köfte in Balıkesir can compare. And no one else believes me when I
say I want “bol acılı” (lots of chili sauce).
- Baklava
guy was one of our first friends in Balıkesir. We owe our education on and
addiction to baklava to him… A debt I can never repay.
- Yusuf
Bey who I buy flowers from at the market each Saturday. He always remembers me,
and puts together the most beautiful bouquets, which then prompt everyone else
in the market to comment or ask me where I got them from for the rest of the
day.
- United Fitness Clubs
staff: The people who work at our gym and who I see more than just about anyone
else in Balıkesir. I started as the crazy yabancı girl training for a
half-marathon on the treadmill in the corner, and friendship blossomed from
there. None of them speak English, yet the friendship and jokes shared here
have been some of my favorite memories.
- Turkish
Friends: The English-speakers who were so gracious to invite me into their
homes, cultures, and friend groups. The non-English-speakers who are incredibly
patient and creative in sustaining a friendship via my pathetically limited
Turkish.
- Fulbright
Friends: My roomies in Balıkesir, my friends across the country, and the endless
inside jokes that originate from our shared yabancı perspective.
- Students/Colleagues:
The crazies that made every day at work memorable, who put up with my pushing,
challenging, disciplining, pantomiming, ridiculous facial expressions, and
silly games for an entire year— and maybe learned some English in the process. And my work friends, who helped us through the system and who always made downtime in the teachers' room fun.
...AND THE TOP THREE THINGS I DIDN'T EXPECT TO MISS BUT PROBABLY WILL
1. The things that keep me on my toes
- Walking past the fish market and knowing exactly which
pavement stones NOT to step on in order to avoid dousing my shoes with fish
water… and sometimes still forgetting.
- Still almost getting run over every other time I attempt to cross the
street.
- That physical whirring noise that I swear I hear in my
brain whenever I am tired or distracted and someone starts speaking to me in
Turkish: “…what… oh… response… words… English… no… Spanish… no… something in
Turkish… hadi, tamam…”
2. The smells
Çay, cigarettes, body odor thinly masked by
the same deodorant smell that every Turkish man wears, döner on the street,
limon kolonya, the weird musty smell that never seems to leave our apartment no
matter how clean it is…
3. The sounds
The train blaring its horn outside my window
at all hours of the night, the musical calls of vendors at the market or simit
sellers on the street, hearing the same 3 Turkish pop or American top 40 songs
everywhere, car horns...
And lastly, because it makes me sad to think about
leaving Turkey, I'll end on a happy note… My motivation for returning (apart from friends and family, of course, and not surprisingly, all
food-related):
FIVE THINGS I AM MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO ABOUT GOING HOME
1. California burritos
Anything giant with black beans,
avocado, and multiple types of salsa
2. Coffee
Preferably from a snobby shop where the barista
talks about bean origin, served in a cup that I can take with me that will take
more than 10 minutes to drink, and with any number of vegan milk substitutes
3. Salad
As a main course. Topped with sprouts, nuts or
avocado.
4. Trader Joe’s
Enough said.
5. Indian food/Thai food/Chinese food/Vietnamese
food/Macn’cheese
Or basically any ethnically-diverse food option that I don’t have
to cook myself.
