Thursday. I loved Thursday. Thursday was the most idyllic
day in Istanbul thus far (although I’m sure there will be many more).
I clamored onto the double decker at 9:30 and reached Umit
in the city center by 11:30. He then led me to the apartment he shares with his
brother where I will be spending half my time during my stay in Istanbul. Çasim
greeted me with a smile and a broken “Hi, how are you?” Part of the reason I’m
moving between apartments is to help Çasim with his English. Another reason is
to minimize the inconvenience of the tedious commute. Another reason is Öykü.
Unless you’re Seher (who possesses super powers beyond my mortal
comprehension), one can only take so much Öykü. The darling, cuddly, bubbly
baby requires constant care and I’ve discovered that I’m not a natural with
humans in the “before speech” phase of life. I love them – I just don’t know
how to communicate with them. At best, I make half-hearted, doleful attempts at
baby sounds (I’ve never been one to scrunch my lips and “goochy, goochy, goochy
goo!) and tickle the chubby belly and gently squeeze the rosy cheeks. The
charming one year old redhead I babysat in Colorado seemed much more
intellectual and we had grand conversations about the meaning of life whilst
watching the chickens poke around in the backyard.
But despite my general awkwardness, Öykü seems to be growing
fond of me. When I’m at home, she toddles around the house calling, “Aimee?
Aimee? Aimee?”
She is one. ONE. And she can say my name better than I can
say hers. Stupid Turkish ö, you will always make me sound ridiculous.
However, even though Öykü can say my name admirably well,
she still experiences great confusion regarding my gender. “Abla” is “big sister” in
Turkish and "agabey" is “big brother”. Because I’m staying with the family for so long and because Umit and
Seher are so welcoming, they introduced me to Öykü as “abla”.
But she insists on calling me "agabey.
We think it’s my short hair that’s throwing her off.
But back to Thursday.
After unlacing my boots and placing them in the corner by
the door, Çasim brewed tea and gave me a tour of the apartment. The place
looked sweet and clean, flowered carpets softening hard, wood floors and flowered
pillows adding color to cream couches.
“I’m sorry for the mess,” Çasim looked embarrassed as I
surveyed my new accommodation.
“What mess?” I asked, sincerely confused as to what manner
of disorder he could be referring to. The only clutter I saw was a crumpled
tablecloth in the dining nook.
“What mess?” Umit asked, equally bewildered. “This is not
acceptable. Seher would not be able to sit down in here.”
“Oh...” I struggled to see this mystical mess they saw, but
no matter how hard I squinted and which angle I craned my neck, I just couldn’t
make it out. To me, this “mess” was as elusive as the imaginary animal people
from Munich tell tourists they have to find. As elusive as the nonexistent
castle people in Nice tell tourists to hike to. As elusive as the haggis
Scottish people tell tourists they have to hunt.
No animal.
No castle.
No haggis (not to hunt, anyway).
No mess.
Thursday was my final meeting with Umit’s highschool
students. As Wednesday had left me feeling haggard, I
decided to follow Umit’s advice and just allow the conversation to be more
natural. To speak a lot with those whose English was good and a little with
those whose English was... improving. Most of all, I remembered to
SLOW
DOWN.
And we had a brilliant afternoon. The kids were engaged,
sweet and sincere. After a couple of false starts with wrong buses, we ended up
in Taksim. I loved how eager these students were to give me a good experience
and how concerned they were with making a good impression. I felt like visiting
royalty. Like a movie star.
“You like us?”
“Do you think us funny?”
“You have a good time?”
The mistakes that people make when struggling with
vocabulary can be wonderful.
“What. Is. Your. Favorite. Thing. To. Eat. In. Itanbul?”
“I like, umm, the people.”
“haha... I hope not...”
“Can you repeat?”
“What. Is. Your. Favorite. Thing. To. Eat. In. Itanbul?”
“To eat?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!!! To eat!”
*eruption of
hysterical giggling*
We walked around Taksim.
The highschoolers bought a bag of
kestane for me and we walked some more.
I asked them about traveling – where
they would go if they could go anywhere in the world. As three were fanatical
about Dr. Who, I recommended they visit Cardiff (I call Wales the secret
country next to England. Because nobody knows
that it exists. It’s the secret country of dragons, delicious seaweed and brown
Labradors). Two girls wanted to visit Pompeii, so I gave them the link to my
website and mentioned they might like to check it out. One boy had spent a week
studying in Brazil, and I desperately wished the language barrier didn’t exist
so that I could ask him more questions about his experience.
You’ll make it to
South America soon, Bourget. You’ve got all the time.
We ate lunch at the top of a kebab café, where I demolished
a plate of köfte and quenched my thirst with an Ayran (salty yogurt drink). We
then meandered down one of the loveliest streets I’ve seen thus far, as it was
composed entirely of instrument shops, bookstores, cute cafés, and artisan
craft shops.
I drank fresh pomegranate juice for the first time. It was
scrumptious. The perfect combination of sweet, bitter and sour. As pomegranate
season is upon us, I anticipate many more glasses of this pulpy, intense beverage.
This street has most
everything I love.
I even found a polka dot Vespa.
I want this. Badly. I would ride it whilst wearing the polka
dot skirt given to me by Svetlana and feel like the world was made of rainbows
and lollipops.
We visited a tower (the name escapes me) for the final part
of the tour. The kids, the city, the food – everything was perfect.
When I skipped through the door of my Turkish family at
seven o’clock, I heard the big voice of the tiny girl asking, “Aimee? Aimee?
Aimee?”
I rushed to give Öykü a hug and a quick tickle.
“Hello, how are you?” I shook her hand.
“ello,” she tried to repeat with an angelic little grin and
sparkly brown eyes.
With great effort and tact, I extricated myself from Öykü’s
iron grip and opened the laptop to check my messages.
Maybe they’ll be
something from Maud.
Maud (in case you don’t remember) is the friend I made in
Germany who got tipsy and spent the night spooning me (most of which I don’t remember, as I was equally
tipsy).
Goodness, I’m looking
forward to seeing her.
Maud would be flying into Istanbul on Friday, to spend a
long weekend with me in this chaotic, exotic city before beginning her new job
in Amsterdam.
Nothing. Oh! Something
from Milda!
Milda is the coordinator for a wellness retreat in Croatia
whom I’d contacted regarding volunteer opportunities.
Hi Aimee,
I hope you're well! We've finally established the retreat dates for the spring, here they are
12-19t April
19-26 April
26 April - 3 May
3 - 10 May
10 - 17 May
We will be of course covering your accommodation, meals and we'll be able to pay some fee, I will let you know about that a little later.
Let me know if you'd be interested in participating in all the retreats or just some!
We are also launching our new website on Monday and I wanted to ask you if you could send me a little text about yourself and your photo so that we can put that on the site as well if that's okay with you!
Would you like to be involved in our blog during the time prior to the retreats?
We're very excited! :)
Best,
Milda
Sometimes. Sometimes it feels like life can’t get any
better. It’s hard to not become
attached to how good this is.
Bourget. This can all
blow away. The future is a fantasy – a specter that can slip through your
fingers in a heartbeat. So don’t get attached. Be grateful for your fairy-tale
picture, but don’t try to put your heart inside. Pictures and fantasies haven’t
got enough dimensions to hold hearts.
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