I hated moving

My eyes were sagging and my body felt like it was breaking every step I took as I lugged myself off the aircraft.  I had been traveling 36 hours from my small town of Custer, WA, population 200, to Istanbul, Turkey; estimated population of 17 million. It was no secret I really didn’t want to be there.  Growing up in Custer, I was perfectly comfortable. I knew every street, every tree, every silo within a 15 mile radius. Life was easy.  When my father had professed to me in the parking lot of a Chinese restaurant that he had accepted a position for FOX Television in Istanbul, Turkey, I was taken aback to where my gut felt it had buried itself beneath my thighs.  My dream of having a normal teenage experience was coming to a drastic halt. No more football games, no prom, no prep rallies. No more understanding.

The day before my mom and I had left, I had outdone myself.  My weight training coach had no mercy and pushed me further than I thought possible.  The touch of a finger pierced in my muscles. With a ten hour time difference between the two cities, I was not counting on catching rest any time soon, but rather dreading my jet lag to come.

We lifted our 45 lb bags into the Navigator at 3:00 in the morning of February 13, 2007. Our breath fogged the windows of the car as we said our goodbyes to our home and the wilderness in which we lived. I didn’t realize that the crisp, fresh air of the northwest was the last refreshing breath I would take in months.

Secondhand smoke.  Likely to be the most common fragrance of the city.  Stepping into Ataturk Airport, I could sense that the Marlboro and Camel smoke streams has long since seeped into and stained the walls.  Frebreeze could in no way cover the smell.  It is said that smell is sense that brings back the most memories. I’m inclined to agree. That horrid smell that would more often than not give me an asthma attack has now become a direct link to that first day in Turkey.  The smell brings me to the insecurities of adolescence in an unknown world. The first day of my new life.

While scrunching my nose I looked around me and began to grasp exactly how lonely this venture would be.  I was the only girl with a lighter complexion, lighter hair, lighter eyes.  The only girl speaking English.  Going through customs caused for intense confusion.  The lack of organization in this country was clear immediately.  The idea of cues and waiting was merely just that: an idea. I felt lost and suffocated instantly as I watched person after person, race after race, whiz by me to their designated area: Turkish or Other.  I walked to the “Other” category where I saw a dark man with black eyes, one eyebrow, and a blue uniform sitting in a cubical, glancing at passports, pressing his stamp to the pad and pounding onto a page.  I approached the cubical and silently handed him my blue American passport.  Without glancing up, he quickly found the only visa, stamped it, and slid it towards me. He was my first interaction, and as impersonal as it was, I felt once again lost and lonely.

At baggage claim, my mom and I struggled with our bags and rolled them to the lobby of the terminal where we met my father.  He greeted us with hugs and kisses and directed us to our vehicle. We were shortly introduced to our driver, Harun, whom I learned very quickly didn’t speak a lick of English.  We awkwardly shook hands and he wordlessly relieved us of our bags and stuffed them into our small BMW wherever he could find room. With our bags stuffed in the trunk and carryon’s in the back seat I was left with a spot on my father’s lap. My muscles ached as I strained to find a comfortable position. Harun stepped on the gas and we were off to our hotel located an hour north. 

Culture shock filled my soul as we swerved in and out of transit, compact, and motorized vehicles.  He used the car horn more frequently than Americans use blinkers, warning traffic of our location. There were no white and yellow lines to indicate where law allows your car to be, but rather colorful suggestions on black concrete for our decoration or enjoyment. It was every man for himself as he impatiently sped to his various locations. What shocked me was the clear lack of rudeness or hostility, but rather the notion that this was how it had been for years.  Chaos was what they were used to.

We passed building after building.  Not many were finished, or looked as if they were in the process of being finished. They had been abandoned.  We passed people on the highway with netted bags desperately trying to sell water, tissues, phone chargers, anything to bring food on their tables- or more likely, alcohol and cigarettes. Every building was yellow or orange. Nothing was complete. Nothing confused me more.

Tears filled my eyes as I realized that this was to be my home indefinitely. Sitting on my father’s lap in that very enclosed space, I sobbed. And I sobbed.  I had hit a wall with my exhaustion and feeling as uncomfortable emotionally as I had been physically, I just could not hold it in. I now knew three people within thousands of miles, and one of them I would never be able to have a full conversation with. Nothing was familiar.  I knew it would be long before I saw a recognizable face or location.  I wanted my home.  I wanted the comfort of my friends.  I wanted my bed.  As I wetted my face I noticed my dad beneath me talking into his blackberry completely immersed in his business until my uncontrollable sobs were enough for him to rain check his phone call.  He attempted to calm my fears and insecurities, but I was having none of it.  It was almost as if I was content with my misery. I caught the eye of my driver and I could only imagine his bewilderment as this strange American teenager was having a breakdown only minutes after knowing her.

Through my emotional trauma, the car continued to swerve in and out of traffic as we came closer to our destination.  I noted the obvious shortcuts he took down alleyways and cobblestone one-way streets filled with handcarts, gypsies, and ragged windows with Turkish rugs hanging out to dry.  I stared through the windshield and noticed the foreign attire and the vacancy of women.  Men were everywhere. Men of every age, linking arms strolling with cigarettes in their mouths, possibly to work, but not likely. The occasional woman I did see tended to surprise me with either a colorful headscarf tied neatly around her hair, or a very metropolitan black get-up with each article of clothing never under the three figures.  I continued to cry as I watched the world taunt me of my loneliness. My eyes swelled through the fatigue and salt water. I felt ignorant and terrified. The comfort of my dad’s arms would no sooner calm me than a herd of elephants.

My father narrated as we drove, pointing out palaces, embassies, and Islam mosques. My ears were fuzzy as he spoke. I could only focus on myself, my selfish self.  The car sharply turned right and we drove down a cobblestone path to the hotel Radisson where we were to stay.

 Harun shifted the car to park, and no sooner men in black suits opened our doors and treated us as they would the first family. It would have been perfect if I had allowed myself to enjoy it.  I had never been anywhere as glamorous.  The cream colored walls, retro lighting and Mont Blanc boutique beckoned me to claim happiness. I refused it, convincing myself I wouldn’t be comfortable again until I had reached American soil.  I was staying in a suite by myself and was escorted by a smiley Turkish man to my room.  Even in my given state, I had to admit the room was gorgeous. The lighting was impeccable, the bathroom was luxurious. This however, was mostly overshadowed by my great distaste for the situation.  The man left me alone to my misery.  I dragged my legs to the window and lifted the satin pearl colored curtain. As light streamed in I starred at the sight.  The sun was shining, the sky was a clear blue. Ahead of me I looked in awe at the beautiful, intangible Bospherous separating the European world with the Asian.  This intersection of the Mediterranean and Black Sea contained colors I didn’t know existed. The blues and greens of the water contrasted with the lush hills behind holding white and orange colored homes, certainly millions of dollars in value. Through my tears I saw a world that I never imagined. Over my thoughts and the distance I heard a religious call to prayer.  The melodic arrangement filled my heart with peace.  The uniqueness of this sound gave me the curiosity and desire to know more.  This place I had only minutes ago despised, was now somewhere I couldn’t wait to learn more about. 

This is the near the view from the window. Pretty fantastic. 

At this moment I saw Istanbul for what it was.  I saw a place where history began, where Christianity was founded. The peace that I had been searching for for months was there because of religious song. A religion I didn’t and never would believe in. What I felt was the serenity of the idea of living in an area as beautiful as this.  In a part of the world where I could gain understanding of people and cultures drastically contrasting with my own.  I was blessed with the peace I never thought I would have in merely an instant.

To this day I look back on that moment and feel that confusing yet reassuring feeling that everything was going to be fine. More than fine. My time there was unlike anything I had ever experienced and was more rewarding than I had perceived during my stay. That day was a whirlwind of emotion and a time of contrasting feelings. In that brief moment of approximately thirty seconds, my views began to change and my soul was lifted.  I was at peace.