Bittersweet.
Bittersweet/it wasn't so bad/thank god it's over/I WILL MISS EVERYONE/now I'm homeless again. Goodie.
City life was stressful and the culture shock of Istanbul was overwhelming, but...
I will miss Ümit's enthusiasm, Seher's kindness, Öykü's giggles and Ayse's fantastic cooking. I will miss Cesim's big heart and Semra's failed attempts to communicate with me. I will miss all those eager children shouting out how much they love me and I'll miss my airport guys.
I finished packing my bag (leaving every single "vanity" item in my discarded green suitcase for the next volunteer), downloading enough podcasts for twelve hours of travel and printing off my tickets.
Ready, I slid my important papers into my laptop sleeve and made sure I had Charlotte's address written and ready to give to the immigration officer. I paused. Am I ready? Can I do this again? Can I learn how to live in another person's home again? I'm just so tired of adapting. I want to be in charge of my life. Decorate a room how I like. Clean how I like. Buy what I like. People have this notion that I'm free, but I've really just chosen a different kind of freedom. Most are confined to a place but are free within. I have the freedom of movement but am confined in the moment. If that makes any sense at all.
I propped my hulking eggplant backpack against the wall and scanned the room to make sure it was Öykü proof before reluctantly tiptoeing with my computer into the kitchen.
I've been dying to cook a proper meal for my Turkish family, but have been intimidated out of the endeavor by their particular eating habits. No cooked celery because cooked celery is stinky. No sweet mixed with savory. No lamb, no pork, no alcohol and no strong cheese.
well... that takes out my favorite dessert of pear poached in wine and served with honey and blue cheese. Effectively eliminates everything I learned in Morocco, France and England. What can I cook that these people will enjoy? Arrgghh... picky palates ruin everything.
After a prodigious amount of contemplation and google searching (I probably could have finished learning French in the amount of time I spent googling "best potato recipes"), I settled on a simple meal of scalloped potatoes, stuffed chicken breasts, a green salad and a dessert of lemon bars.
There is nothing tremendously offensive in any of that... the lemon bars might straddle the too intense fence, but the rest should be insipid enough to be delicious.
I started cooking around noon as I was determined to feel relaxed and to simply enjoy being in a kitchen again.
God, how I've missed this, the smell of sauteed garlic and onions in olive oil permeated the air as I sang along to the few Carla Bruni songs I can manage in French. I diced roasted red peppers and stuffed them inside the chicken breasts with feta cheese, onions and thyme. Sometimes I would just like to be a housewife. Cook and... cook... and... no, I would not like to be a housewife. I would only like to be a cook. One who doesn't have to worry about maniacal munchkins or entertaining or keeping the place tidy.
Seher and Ayse wandered in from time to time, but as they were busy with child minding and mopping (Seher is a far better housewife than I could ever dream of being), I was primarily left to my own devices. Seher had asked if I could do something with the broccoli and brussels sprouts before they went off (which resulted in a minor panic attack and some frenzied googling), so I added sauteed brussels and cream of broccoli soup to the menu and butchered/sang a few more songs.
I hope they don't think cooked broccoli is too stinky to eat...
The next volunteer arrived at around 19:00. She's a vagabond from South Korea who has spent the last three months in Ireland and just wanted something different.
"You picked the worst time of year to be in Ireland," I commented as I gave her my Istanbul Kart and the defunct volunteer cellphone. "You should try again in spring," I added, even though I hate it when people tell me to come back to their country or city at a different time of year.
Yes, I know winter is nasty and unpleasant. Winter is nasty and unpleasant everywhere. But I can't just hibernate like a marmot and pick up life again in spring -- no matter how much I would like to avoid the whole cold thing. I have to be somewhere, so I'm here -- and I doubt I can come back because there's so much of the world I still have to see. But thanks for making me feel GREAT about where I am now. Geez.
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| Seher trying my soup. Moment of truth. |
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| The new volunteer. |
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| She nearly finished my soup! and was then distracted by paper and the wonderful messes she could make by mixing paper with cream of broccoli soup. |
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| Lemon bars. Turkish people don't seem to use rectangular cake pans, so I just cut it up like a pie. It was a great success. |
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| Cesim and Öykü. I've never met a more doting uncle. |
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| Final meal with my Turkish family. |
"You are always welcome here," he said.
Seher told me I had become like a sister to her. My eyes burned in a way they haven't burned for months.
"You are always welcome here," she said.
Umit told me I had done well with his students and thanked me for my help.
"You are always welcome here," he said.
"Thank-you for taking such good care of me in Istanbul. You have become a kind of family to me. I'm going to miss you."
I said.
I didn't sleep that night. I set my alarm for four o'clock, but I knew I wouldn't need it.
Three months. Three months with one family. Three months sharing a life with people I may never see again. Three months of learning internet passwords, table manners, laundry machines, public transportation, phone numbers, expectations... and it's finished. Just like that.
And now I'm off to England. Can I do it again?
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