Final Day with Dilara -- Istanbul, Turkey

Saturday was my final lesson with Dilara.

I have experienced a lot of joy in Istanbul. Working with Dilara's family has been one of my greatest joys.

Once again, we had hoped to spend the afternoon on Buyukada, but the weather conspired against us (as it is so fond of doing) and succeeding in foiling our plans. I'm a Colorado girl and drizzle doesn't deter me, but people from Istanbul are much more sensitive to "bad" weather and believe that when clouds cover the sun, roofs should probably cover their heads.

This would be beautiful weather in England. And the Irish would call in sick so that they could go play at the beach.

Gül, Dilara and Keran picked me up from the expensive café (with appalling service) near the Altunizade metrobus stop. I piled in next to Dilara and asked about her week. She smiled shyly.

"It was good."

"Anything exciting happen?"

"No. I wake up. I go to school. I come home. I do homework. I go to bed."

"Every day is the same routine?"

"Yes."

These are the moments I feel so blessed to have been homeschooled. My life has never been routine. My life has never been school from 8-4, homework from 4-6, dinner from 6-7 and free time until bed. I think this is one reason a full-time office job seems entirely unreasonable to my unstructured mind and makes me squeamish in my unstructured gut. I have not been conditioned to think that a strict routine designed by someone else is "normal". When I was a twelve-year-old child, I would wake up when I chose (my mother only got antsy if I stayed abed until nine) and then I would choose how to organize my day. If I wanted to start with math, I would start with math. If I wanted to start by going for a run, I would go for a run. If I wanted to start by eating breakfast and listening to my mother read historical fiction for two hours, by golly, I would eat breakfast and --

You get the picture. The intensely independent manner of my education instilled in me a deep awareness that shied away from imposed structure. I became aware of what I was feeling in that moment and lived my life accordingly. Each morning, I would make a list of the things that needed to get done, and I would accomplish that list in the order that best suited my present state of mind. This became my normal. 

Anyway...

Gül wove through traffic and down into the parking lot under a nearby shopping mall. As usual, security guards at the entrance opened the trunk and checked for weapons (or whatever it is they're checking for), and then we serpentined up and down until we found a spot.

"I've never been in a city with such strict security," I told Dilara as a security guard waved a wand across my bag and I stepped through a body scanner. "This feels really strange to me. Getting scanned to go shopping."

We ate lunch in the foodcourt and then played a few games in the arcade. Dilara humbled my pride in a fierce game of air hockey and then went and humbled my pride some more at car racing game. 

Bourget, I told myself sternly as I crashed into the hedge and exploded my car for the umpteenth time, you are good at many things. Playing video games is not something you are particularly good at. Neither is driving, for that matter. But you are getting good at painting water. That's nice. Enjoy being good at painting water.

 

Gül, Keran and Dilara. Love you all! Thanks for welcoming me into your beautiful home, for all the amazing lunches and for your contagious enthusiasm. Please, please, please keep in touch.

After Dilara counted her tickets, we splurged on pinkberry frozen yogurt. I chose pomegranate and passion fruit topped with candied pistachios and blackberries.

I could have died in that moment and my life would have been full. Istanbul has made me more appreciative of yogurt than I could have ever imagined possible.

I wanted to chat with Cesim before heading back to Beylikdüzü, so I stopped by the city center flat to say hello.

"Merhaba!" Semra opened the door after hearing my key pathetically scratch around for an inordinate about of time.

"Merhaba," I commenced the long process of unlacing my boots. Semra stood at the door and waited, silently smiling and looking welcoming. This is a part of Turkish culture that still makes me rather uncomfortable -- people tend to wait for you at the door. When I leave, Semra waits at the door as I lace up my boots. When I return, she waits as I unlace. As I come and go fairly frequently, I believe she spends a good ten minutes of each day just watching me lace and unlace.

And I can't help but think she's rather bored by this less than riveting activity. 

I looked around for Cesim and was disappointed to discover that he was out with friends.

Guess I'll just see him tomorrow. Pity. 
 
So I sat down with my kindle, a tulip glass of çay and some enormous salted peanuts and waited for rush hour to finish before I catching the metrobus to Ümit's. 

This is Semra, Umit's beautiful sister.