Adventures in Turkey pt. 9: Reflections on the Longest Flight Back Ever

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Well, I was right about there being tears today.

In addition to being tired and already emotional, we had quite the adventure going through customs this morning…or should I say, TRYING to go through customs this morning.

We entered the airport, ready to go through the usual process of removing our shoes and going through security. I was personally in a “Let’s go,” mode; if I HAD to leave, I wanted to just be back in the States already. We asked for where we were supposed to go, were escorted to our place, and waited patiently in the long line, only to be told when we reached the front of it that not only were we in the wrong line, we were in the wrong part of the airport. We were given directions and trooped over there to wait in yet another long line. We had snaked through half of that line when a worker came over and asked us where we were flying to. “Chicago?” he repeated incredulously. “Why are you here, then?”

“We were told–”

“No, no. You’re not even in the right part of the airport. Follow me.”

Trailing behind him like a pack of lost, sad, American puppies, we joined the end of yet another long line. My patience was thin at this point, and judging by the faces of my silent friends, they were feeling the same. We finally reached the front of that line, where a very disapproving worker informed us that we needed to trek to the other side of the airport.

Reaching that designated area, Dr. B asked a security guard before we even got in line if we were in the right place. He checked our passports and shook his head.

I reached a low point.

“Are you kidding me? Is this for real?” I demanded, turning to Natalie, in line behind me. Her lips had tightened into one thin line and frustrated tears ensued from some. If we had been in the wrong place because of our own ignorance, that would have been one thing, but we had been taken not once, not twice, but three times, to the wrong place.

Finally, we found the correct spot, and worries churned inside me as I looked at the clock while remembering the time we were supposed to fly out. Thankfully, flying out of Turkey was less of a hassle than flying out of America; we breezed through security and customs, waited at our gate for a few moments, and then boarded. Seated by Natalie, I settled into my seat and turned around to peek several rows back at Beth, Dram, and Bayleigh, who all gave me a thumbs up, seemingly just as relieved as I was to finally be on the plane. Allyson and Caleb were seated several rows ahead of us.

Once we were in the air, I was able to lean back in my seat and relax (I’m not afraid to fly anymore, but I still get nervous on take off) but I found myself becoming restless. Since we flew out of Chicago at 10pm to get here, I slept the whole flight; flying back in the middle of the afternoon was a different story. I scrolled through some pictures I had taken, tried to do some homework that’s due tomorrow when I get back, and played peek a boo with the adorable 10 month old in the seat in front of me, but time is crawling by as I sit here writing. It’s surreal to look back on the time I’ve spent here and all of the experiences I’ve been able to have. I admit that I’m still a little on edge (aka crabby) but I am excited to tell all of my stories when I get home.

(Later)

We landed in Chicago at 7pm, disoriented and COLD. (It was nice to escape the Michigan winter for Turkey’s warmer climate.) As the plane taxied onto the runway, Natalie turned wide-eyed to me and said, “Turn your phone on.” I did so, only to receive text multiple text messages saying something along the lines of, “I know you’re not flying Malaysian Airlines, but I’m still nervous…please text me when you’ve landed back in the States.” I turned back to her with eyes just as big and asked, “What happened?”

She shrugged. “My mom said that we don’t even know all of the details yet, but apparently there’s a plane that’s just disappeared. I’m thankful we flew Turkish Airlines and not Malaysia.”

(A note several months later: I still get chills sometimes when I think about what could have happened had it been our plane, or had we been flying to Malaysia.)

Happiness over being home warred with the sadness of being home as I loaded my bags onto the bus and climbed in the seat. We have a loooong drive back to school now.

(Later)

We got back to school around 2am. Mom and Dad picked me up (and went to bed shortly after we returned home) but I’m wide awake, unpacking, doing laundry, and reliving my experiences rereading through this journal. Words are insufficient to express the gratitude I possess over having this opportunity. I’m so blessed.

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 8: Dealing with Prejudices, Mustaches, and Bargaining

Adventures in Turkey pt. 7: Eat, Pray, Love

Adventures in Turkey pt. 6: Exploring More Ancient Cities

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

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Adventures in Turkey pt. 8: Dealing with Prejudices, Mustaches, and Bargaining

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We started out the morning at the Journalist and Writers Foundation, and my heart (which dearly loves both of those things) felt as though it would burst. After a tour and a Q and A session during which they served us chai, of course, our host gestured to the books behind him and told us we could pick something out. I picked “Toward a Global Civilization of Love and Tolerance” by Fetullah Gulen himself, and as I flipped through the pages on the bus, I was particularly captured by his statement on 9/11, a mere 24 hours after the attack (that’s before our own President even released his statement, folks):

“I would like to make it very clear that any terrorist activity, no matter by whom it is carried out or for what purpose, is the greatest blow to peace, democracy, and humanity. For this reason, no one—and certainly no Muslim—can approve of any terrorist activity. Terror has no place in a quest to achieve independence or salvation. It takes the lives of innocent people.

Even though at first sight such acts seem to harm the target, all terrorist activities eventually do more harm to the terrorists and their supporters. This latest terrorist activity, which is a most bloody and condemnable one, is far more than an attack on the United States of America—it is an assault against world peace as well as against universal democratic and humanistic values. Those who perpetrated this atrocity can only be considered as being the most brutal people in the world.

Please let me reassure you that Islam does not approve of terrorism in any form. Terrorism cannot be used to achieve any Islamic goal. No terrorist can be a Muslim, and no true Muslim can be a terrorist. Islam demands peace, and the Qur’an demands that every true Muslim be a symbol of peace and work to support the maintenance of basic human rights. If a ship is carrying nine criminals and one innocent person, Islam does not allow for the ship to be sunk in order to punish the nine criminals; doing so would violate the rights of the one innocent person.

Islam respects all individual rights and states clearly that none of these can be violated, even if doing so would be in the interest of the community. The Qur’an declares that one who takes a life unjustly has, in effect, taken all the lives of humanity, and that one who saves a life has, in effect, saved all the lives of humanity. Moreover, Prophet Muhammad stated that a Muslim is a person who does no harm with either the hands or with the tongue.

I strongly condemn this latest terrorist attack on the United States. It only deserves condemnation and contempt, and it must be condemned by every person in the world. I appeal to everyone for calmness and restraint. Before America’s leaders and people respond to this heinous assault out of their justified anger and pain, please let me express that they must understand why such a terrible event occurred and let us look at how similar tragedies can be avoided in the future. They must also be aware of the fact that injuring innocent masses in order to punish a few guilty people is to no one’s benefit; rather such actions will only strengthen the terrorists by feeding any existing resentment and by giving birth to more terrorists and more violence. Please remember that terrorists represent an extremely small minority within any society or religion. Let us try to understand each other better, for only through mutual understanding and respect can such violence be prevented in the future.

I feel the pain of the American people from the bottom of my heart, and I assure them that I pray to God Almighty for the victims and I pray that He give their loved-ones and all other Americans the necessary patience to endure their pain.”

I blinked to clear my vision and thought about all of the prejudices and stereotypes I used to possess as a frightened, angry family member of someone who used to work at the World Trade Center. Although God began changing my heart years before this trip, the realization that I had been so utterly and completely wrong to hold such bitterness toward an entire culture because of the actions of extremists sank in completely. I don’t judge all Christians based on the actions of the Mormon church, which advocates child brides and multiple wives, nor the Catholic church, in which priests have molested young children. Friends of a friend were victims of a terrorist attack in Jerusalem a few years ago at the hands of an Orthodox Jew, but I didn’t write off Judaism after the event. Yes, there have been more events of terror done in the name of Islam than Christianity and Judaism, and I will not even try to defend them; but that means that there just needs to be a line drawn more firmly in the sand, separating the extremist Muslims from the loving, accepting, welcoming ones I have met on this trip. I realized with a start that there have been times in my life where I have been treated with disdain from Jewish friends for my faith in Jesus, or judged as legalistic from Christians who are horrified that I should “place myself back under the law”; I have received none of these attitudes from the people I’ve met here.

As we were preparing to leave, I noticed a Hebrew Bible, Quran, and Christian Bible all open and on display. Noting that the Hebrew Bible was open to the Psalms, I began reading and translating to myself, making a note to remember to tell Dr. Bowman, when our guide suddenly exclaimed, “You can read that?!” Salih piped up, “She knows Turkish, too!” and the guide began speaking rapidly in Turkish to me. Embarrassed and slightly exasperated, I pulled out my notebook and showed them the list of words Allyson and I had learned by either putting two and two together, or by English translations underneath them: a grand total of 55 words. “I am far from fluent,” I said as the guide laughed at the random list: for rent, strawberry, push, and snails.

As we were waiting for the bus, though, I realized that a word on the list did not have a matching English word; I had seen it on a billboard that had captured my attention due to an enormous picture of a man with quite an impressive mustache, but had no other reference for what it could mean. Not wanting to leave this country without my curiosity satisfied, I pointed the word out to Salih and asked, “What does this word mean in English?”

He looked at it and frowned. “Where did you see this word?”

I flushed, thinking of all of the questionable words on billboards in America and realizing that my method of writing down random words I saw on signs was maybe not the best. “On an advertisement in Downtown Istanbul…is it inappropriate–?”

“No, just so random.” He frowned again. “I can’t think of the word in English. What is…you know, the white in your hair–” he wiggled his fingers in his scalp.

“Dandruff?” Caleb offered.

“Dandruff! That’s the word,” he said. He laughed at my obvious relief that it wasn’t anything sketchy as I wrote down the English translation and closed my notebook. “Such a helpful word for you to know if you are going to teach here.”

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Afterwards, we headed to Somanyolu (Milky Way) TV station, where we learned about Turkish television and then got to tour some shows being taped, including Yesil Elma (Green Apple), a very famous cooking show here in Turkey. 1891073_449440291855929_228197443_n

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After Samanyolu, we headed to a beautiful park to enjoy our lunch on the gorgeous day. Still feeling questionable, I split a mini Turkish pizza with Natalie and Beth, and we mostly picked at it and gave bites to the cats roaming around our table.

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As we explored the park after lunch, the call to prayer sounded, and I had to get it on video, though I’ll always remember the sound. There’s something haunting and beautiful about it, almost reminiscent of the Torah being chanted in synagogue.

After lunch, it was finally time: the Grand Bazaar. Dr. B tried to explain bargaining to us, but Bayleigh and I just got more and more anxious the more he told us the do’s and don’ts. “Pick a price and try to have them reach it, but don’t insult them. Remember that everything’s priced up to 75% more than it should be so don’t get ripped off, but remember that they’re trying to support their families. Don’t waffle, but be willing to pay more than you had originally wanted if they won’t budge. Judge what you want before you walk up to the owner; if you linger too long and don’t buy anything, that’s insulting. Oh, and don’t get lost. It’s an enormous place. Remember this gate, because it’s where we’ll meet at the end of the day.”

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I decided right then and there to stick with Allyson, who has bargained everywhere from China to Japan to Turkey, and we trooped off of the bus and into the market. It was overwhelming at first. There are so many people selling everything from two lira trinkets to Turkish rugs worth tens of thousands of dollars. One man kept pestering Caleb to buy a large, elaborate one, but we didn’t think it would quite fit in his carry-on.

I noticed a t-shirt that said “Tin Tin in Istanbul,” and immediately thought of my little brother. As I watched Allyson haggle over a t-shirt for her Dad, I listened to the price of the shirt, how much she was actually willing to pay, and how much she fought for it. Preparing myself for the same experience, I held up the shirt and asked, “How much?”

“Five lira.”

“Oh!” $2.50 for a t-shirt? Allyson’s had been more, but it made sense that a child’s shirt was cheaper. “Okay, great!”

He raised an eyebrow slightly but whisked the shirt away to bag it up before I could change my mind, and it was then that I realized I hadn’t even attempted to bargain the price down. Slightly embarrassed, I accepted the bagged shirt and made a note to do better with my next purchase: a Turkish scarf for myself. I scoped out the place I wanted, where there were a variety of different colors and styles. Narrowing those choices down to three, a purple, red, and blue one, I finally decided to go with the blue one, and turned to the owner. “How much?”

“60 lira.”

I blinked, not expecting it to be that much. Remembering that Dr. B had said things were priced 75% more than they were worth but also remembering not to go so low as to insult him, I went a little higher than 50%. “35 lira?”

He took the scarf from me, folded it up, and placed it back on his pile. “You insult me.”

Things were not going much better than the Tin Tin t-shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said sincerely.

“I have family to feed–”

“I’m sorry. I meant no offense.” My heart was pounding and my face was hot, but I was not going to slink away. “I do love the scarf. It’s very beautiful, and I would like to reach a deal with you. Name a fair price?”

He scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. “38 lira.”

Relieved, I accepted, counting out the money and handing it to him, and he relinquished the scarf. It was only as I was walking away that I realized he had only bumped up my “insulting” bid $1.50 more (American). Allyson gently informed me later that he could tell I was new to all of this and wanted to have some fun intimidating me. Well, I don’t care. I have my scarf, and she did admit that 38 lira was a fair price for it.

As we walked on, shopkeepers began asking us where we were from, guessing England and Germany most often, interestingly enough. When we would say America, we would get a wide range of responses from everything to, “Ah! Of course,” to, “Oh! I know Bill Clinton!” to “Ohhhh, Spice Girls, yes?”

I bought presents for everyone back home, saving a beautiful pocket mirror and scarf for myself. As our time began winding down, I had one more person on my list, and noticed a bracelet that would be perfect. “How much?” I asked the owner.

“Normally, 20 lira, but for you, pretty lady….15.”

Knowing that he was only using shameless flattery to get my business, I have to admit that it worked anyway. Still, I shook my head and extended the seven lira I had left in my hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have enough left. Thank you anyway. It’s very beautiful–”

“I will take seven, then, since you like it so much.”

“But that’s not even close to 20–”

“It is good. I will get to tell my family I gave a good deal to a beautiful American. Take it.” He began wrapping it up before I could protest further.

I handed him the last of my money, thanking him, but as I walked away, he called me back. “You’ve given me too much. This coin is not a lira.”

I resigned myself then to the fact that I would never be a professional–or even remotely successful–bargainer. “Isn’t it…the one worth a half a lira?” I asked, hating myself for forgetting the name and appearing so stupid.

“No, no! It’s worth several lira.”

Nice job, Kate. I shook my head and gave an embarrassed smile. “Well, keep it, anyway, since the bracelet was 20 originally–”

“We agreed seven, and I will only take seven. You can buy something else with this. Enjoy the rest of your time in Istanbul.” He wouldn’t take the coin back.

Reunited as a group once more, we all excitedly began comparing purchases and swapping bargaining stories as we headed back to the restaurant we had eaten on our first night here (which seems like an eternity ago) to meet up with Professor Saeed and his group. I have to admit I was slightly envious of them and the fact that their trip was just beginning and ours was rapidly coming to an end. On the bus, I rearranged my packages, pulling out the necklace I had bought for my sister to admire it once more.

“How did bargaining go for you?” Salih wanted to know.

Proud, I named the original price of the necklace and then the price I had bargained for, a fraction of what the owner had originally asked. I was surprised when Salih raised an eyebrow. “So much?”

I blinked. “I thought it was a good price. 75% off. I didn’t want to insult him–”

“Things are priced about 90% more than they’re worth in the Grand Bazaar. He saw you coming,” he said bluntly.

I wrapped the necklace back up and sighed. At least I can comfort myself with the fact that I love what I got for everyone, and I don’t feel like I paid more than I should have.

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After another amazing dinner (Mercimek Köftesi is my absolute favorite) we prepared to say goodbye. Words were insufficient to thank Salih and express our gratitude. Laughing over our pose with Salih and his broken arm, there was no time for tears (it’s a miracle that I didn’t cry, really) although I suspect there will be some tomorrow. I felt an aching emptiness as I packed up my things in the room that had become my home over the past week and a half. I don’t know how I’m going to be able to leave tomorrow.

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If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 7: Eat, Pray, Love

Adventures in Turkey pt. 6: Exploring More Ancient Cities

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 7: Eat, Pray, Love

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We’re back in Istanbul!

We started off the morning by visiting The Jewish Museum of Turkey. Turkey is the only predominantly Muslim country in the world to have a Jewish museum, so Natalie and I excitedly trooped inside to take everything in. I learned that sultans took in Jews who were fleeing from persecution during the Spanish Inquisition; 95% of the Jewish population here consists of Sephardic Jews. Former President Ataturk (who, admittedly, had his shifty moments) also invited Jewish doctors and scientists to come to Turkey during World War II to seek asylum and continue their education. Pictures weren’t allowed inside (although I took some, anyway) but Natalie and I had to get a picture together outside of the former synagogue turned museum.

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After buying some souvenirs in the gift shop, we gathered in the alley to wait for the others. As we stood there, I suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching me; I whirled around to find a displeased looking German Shepherd hiding in the shadows. As someone who’s not a huge fan of dogs anyway, I looked around cautiously to see what I should do. The owner appeared, smiling and speaking Turkish in a pleasant tone, so both the dog and I relaxed. “Nice? My dog,” he told me, and I nodded, able to agree now that the intimidating animal was wagging his tail at me. He said a Turkish word and pointed to the dog, and, determined to add more Turkish words to my dictionary, I pulled out my journal and wrote down what (I thought) he had said, pleased with myself and my use of Turkish accents and odd g’s that are pronounced as w’s. Looking at my writing, he furrowed his brow and shrugged. “Dog?” I asked, pointing first at the word and then at his dog.

He hid a smile, shook his head, took my pen, and scratched out my word, rewriting a completely different one. I’m not sure that I left a lasting impression about the intelligence of Americans on him, but he was gracious nonetheless.

After the Jewish museum, we went to Taxim Square, the site where all of the protests last year occurred, resulting in tear gas, water cannons, and the famous woman in the red dress photo. The protests started after it was announced by Prime Minister Erdogan that Gezi Park was going to be renovated into a mosque and shopping mall. Although the people’s objections were more about Erdogan wielding his power than conserving the park’s natural landscape, these protests went on for over a month, increasing further with the police brutality. Dr. B told us that the situation was more like the Occupy Wall Street protests here rather than the atrocities going on in Syria, the country right next door, but it was still sobering for me, a sheltered, protected American, as Salih pointed out the many police officers standing by tanks with water cannons. He told us that the park gets closed down on the weekends because people will come protest again when they don’t have work or school.

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After Taxim Square, Salih left us and we headed off to find St. Anthony’s church. Taking in the tall, old buildings and wonderful cobblestone streets (why don’t we have these in America?) I actually wasn’t paying that much attention to how long we had been walking until Dr. B asked, “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve walked more than half a mile?” I paused, considering this, and he stopped and asked a street vendor for directions. “Oh, yes, St. Anthony’s, St. Anthony’s,” he smiled, waving us forward, so we continued on in the warm sunshine. After several blocks downhill, however, Dr. B shook his head and stopped to ask someone again. The first man didn’t speak English, so he called his business partner, who apparently didn’t speak enough English to understand us completely. He went across the street to get his friend, who repeated incredulously, “St. Antoine?!” and then turned around, pointed sadly back up the steep hill we had just descended and said, “So, so far.” We had passed it almost right at the entrance to the city, but the day was so beautiful that none of us minded. And the gorgeous church was well worth the wait.

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When we finally got to the church, Salih said he had been waiting there for quite some time and wanted to know what took us so long. Dr. B sheepishly told him what had happened, which resulted in quite a bit of teasing from our translator about how he couldn’t even leave us alone for one afternoon. He even got the men serving us lunch to join in the laughter. As we were leaving the restaurant, however, he said to me, “Want to know a secret?” Intrigued, I nodded. Salih leaned in and whispered, “I, too, walked much farther past St. Antoine’s church than I was supposed to because I couldn’t find it, either. I hadn’t even been there for five minutes before you all showed up because it took me so long to double back.” As I stared at him in delighted horror, he grinned and said, “Don’t tell John!”

Some of the girls had been complaining of tummy troubles since Ephesus, so I had assumed that maybe it was the chicken or rice that they had had there (since I was fine and I had had lamb and spinach.) After lunch today, though, it hit me, too, and I felt rather green as we walked to the Turkish military museum. Ultimately, since we had only eaten in nice restaurants where food contamination wouldn’t be an issue, we all decided that it wasn’t the quality of the food, but rather the quantity, that we had been consuming, particularly all of the beef, lamb, and chicken served to us at lunch and dinner.

Once we arrived at the museum, we settled in among several elementary schools who were on a field trip to wait for the military orchestra to begin playing, and we again were held in awe as the kids ran around us, shouting, “Hello, goodbye, I love you!” in English. I called, “Merhaba!” back and they stopped, stared at me warily for a moment, and then ran off, shouting, “Hello, goodbye, I love you!” again.

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After the concert, we had some free time, so we headed back to Midtown Istanbul on the Bosphorus. Caleb, Allyson and I walked through the alleys, made friends with some cats, and eventually joined back up with Natalie, Beth, Brynn, and Bayleigh, where we found, much to our delight, that jellyfish had washed up on the cobblestones from the waves crashing against them. We just had to poke their squishy bodies.

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We got lost (a habit of the day, it seems) on our way to our host dinner, so it was late and dark by the time we finally arrived, but that didn’t hide the fact that we were pulling up to a mansion on a sprawling estate right on the Bosphorus with an amazing view of Istanbul’s Asian skyline. Our host, a wealthy, single man, was understandably very proud of his house and property and promised to give us a grand tour after dinner.

As we sat down to eat the abundance of delicious looking and smelling food, my stomach still rebelled. Bayleigh nudged me and whispered, “Bread. Water. Maybe some rice. That’s all you and I are eating tonight. Sit next to Dramell and sneak all of the meat you’re served onto his plate; he promised me that he would eat our portions since we’re both so sick and he isn’t.”

As I slid into my chair next to Dramell, I gave him a questioning look, and he responded by stealthily removing the chicken kabob off of my plate and placing it on his own without missing a beat. Relieved, I made it through the dinner eating only a piece of bread and a few bites of rice without notice (I assume, anyway, since no one said anything), although I did drink a glass of a cool, refreshing citrus juice in addition to the water that I sipped. I don’t know how Dramell ate my and Bayleigh’s portions of meat in additions to his own (and then he asked for and received a second helping) but apparently all of the boys have escaped unscathed, since I noticed Beth slip some of her beef onto Marv’s plate, too. Natalie and I have both decided that it will be a long time, if ever, before we eat meat again.

Our host wanted to have us back to eat breakfast with him tomorrow morning, but it’s looking like we have to be at the Journalist and Writers Foundation too early to stop by before. It’s hard to believe tomorrow is our last full day here. I’m not ready to return home.

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 6: Exploring More Ancient Cities

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 6: Exploring More Ancient Cities

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Every night, I climb into bed and think to myself, “Today was by far the best day of the trip,” only to say the same thing the next night, and the next night, and the next.

Muhammad had been disappointed last night when his pleas to skip school had been turned down, but we promised him that we would look for him in the morning, since we were staying in some of the dorm rooms connected to his school. As we were walking with our luggage to the bus, Dramell yelled, “Hey, Muhammed!” as he spotted him in the crowd, and the young boy came running over to give him a hug and then chatter excitedly in half-English, half Turkish as his friends gazed up in awe at Dramell. One of them punched Muhammed playfully on the arm, shaking his head in admiration, and Muhammed beamed at us and said, “He did not believe me when I told him that you all came to my house last night.”

We headed off to the other host family’s apartment for breakfast, where the host was extremely interested in all of us and asked each of us what we were studying. Of course, Salih told the Salgam story again, to gales of laughter. More extended family members and friends joined the apartment, as well.

As we were leaving to head to Laodicea, I took the grandmother’s hand in mine, thanked her in Turkish (no easy feat!) and handed her one of the mugs we had brought. Though I’m sure I butchered the pronunciation, she clasped her hands in delight and kissed both of my cheeks, warm words flowing from her mouth. She stood in the doorway and watched us leave, proudly waving.

Highschool student Aprul and her father joined us on the trip. We chatted with her on the bus, and Dramell was asking her what she knew about American culture. Yes, she had heard of Katy Perry and enjoyed her music; no, she did not like One Direction. This led to questions of other American music, after which someone facetiously started the “Fresh Prince of Bell Air” rap; of course, we all had to join in. This led to an announcement by Brynn that her father was quite the rapper himself; it took some convincing and he was reluctant at first, but eventually Dr. B, provost and professor of religion and philosophy at Rochester College, treated us to, “Roxanne, Roxanne.”

Once we arrived at Laodicea, we tumbled off of the bus, eager to explore. I was so thankful for the sunny, 70 degree weather we experienced in Ephesus, but it seemed only right that ominous storm clouds rolled in over the city that was strongly rebuked in Revelation. I was also thankful to be currently enrolled in Dr. Stevenson’s Revelation class and to apply the knowledge I learned from him firsthand. Laodicea, a city far away from both Pamukkale’s hot springs and other sources of cold water, had to have all of its water piped in to the city. By the time the hot water from the north reached the city, it was lukewarm; by the time cold water was brought in from the west, it was also lukewarm. Revelation 3:15-17 states of Laodicea, “I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. I counsel you to buy from me gold refined in the fire, so you can become rich; and white clothes to wear, so you can cover your shameful nakedness; and salve to put on your eyes, so you can see.” All of these admonitions are significant; Laodicea with only access to lukewarm water, too cold to have healing properties but too warm to drink, was only used by doctors to induce vomiting in their patients–hence “I am about to spit you out of my mouth.” It was not flirting dangerously with idolatry like some of the other churches written to in Revelation, but it was also not faithful: it was lukewarm, just like its water, and therefore useless.

Laodicea was also a proud city; after natural disasters such as earthquakes, the government would offer financial assistance to rebuild, of course on their terms and with heavy interest. Laodicea often boasted that they never needed to be reliant on the government, as they had stores of wealth in their banks and were able to be financially independent. They didn’t realize that they were poor spiritually, which John tries to tell them about.

It was significant in both the textile and medical fields; they were famous for their black garments and eye salve, which was used to help treat and cure various eye diseases. John takes all of these aspects that make up their very identity and uses it as a word picture to show them where they are lacking spiritually.

I knew it was going to be cool to visit some of the churches that I was studying in my Revelation class, but it especially hit home walking through this city.

Unlike Ephesus, ongoing work is being done to Laodicea, and Allyson said a significant portion of what we walked through had been buried when she had been here two years prior.

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More English major pics in the library

More English major pics in the library

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After Laodicea, we were off to Pamukkale “cotton castles” hot springs, where calcium deposits in the water form a hardened, slippery, calcified floor. We removed our shoes and socks and rolled up our jeans, excited for this new adventure. As Salih turned back to warn us to be careful, he slipped and fell, landing hard on his wrist. With words like “fracture,” flying around his pained face, the spirit of excitement and adventure fizzled out a bit, and I eyed the roads ahead of me with a bit of trepidation. Picking our way slowly, we gained our footing and became more confident as we splashed through the warm water. Although I was slightly relieved when we reached the end of the springs and I could put my shoes back on solid, non-treacherous ground, the view was well worth it and I loved living yet another once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Creepy Sarcophagi

Creepy Sarcophagi walking on the path to the springs

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As Salih headed to the hospital for X-rays, we went for lunch and then took off for a visit to a high school, where we learned about academics and sat in a classroom (that looks nothing like high schools back in America) before heading to the airport and flying back to Istanbul. We have another full day tomorrow and I’m exhausted!

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 5: EPHESUS

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My heart is just so full tonight.

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There are hardly words for the experiences I had today.

After a quick breakfast at the hotel, we headed to Ephesus. After being buried in an earthquake, the city was practically completely preserved when excavations began. We walked through the Celsus Library, Mary’s church, climbed up and down steps in the amphitheaters, tried to see Hadrian’s temple (under construction and covered with scaffolding) and stepped back centuries in history walking through the city. It’s overwhelming to try to sum it up.

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Excited, shameless English major selfies in the ancient library

Excited, shameless English major selfies in the ancient library

Cats. Cats everywhere. This guy did not appreciate Allyson interrupting his nap in the unseasonably warm weather.

Cats. Cats everywhere. This guy did not appreciate Allyson interrupting his nap in the unseasonably warm weather.

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Especially wonderful was to sit in the amphitheater mentioned in Acts and listen to Dr. B read that part of the story. The wind coming off the water whipped through my hair as I got chills listening to him read what had happened, as I was sitting in the very place that it happened.

After several hours had flown by and we had finished walking through the city, we headed off to see the Temple of Artemis. Once larger than the Parthenon and the largest marble structure of the world at the time, it was sadly destroyed by Christians and a few lonely pillars are all that remains. We explored the marshland and examined the few remains with some fish and turtles swimming nearby.

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After exploring there, we headed to a pottery place, where we learned about Ephesian pottery, watched them working on forming some, painting others, and preparing others to be fired.

The man molding the pottery into jars reminded me so much of the bad guy from the movie Ever After

The man molding the pottery into jars reminded me so much of the bad guy from the movie Ever After

Following a three hour drive to Denizli, we met another host family for dinner. There were considerably more people than Hakan and Ezra and they spoke less English, so there was a lot of smiling, nodding, and looks to Salih on both ends to translate. Even more people arrived as we were eating, and we quickly realized that there were both extended family members and friends who, hearing of our arrival, wanted to come and meet us. We gathered in the stunningly beautiful living room, where the host explained to us (through Salih) that, upon a couple’s engagement, the woman picks out whatever she wants to decorate the home, regardless of price, and the man is not allowed to say a word. Observing the sparkling glass tables, soft white carpets, and beautiful throw pillows and curtains, we all agreed that we loved the sense of style our hostess possessed. He also told us that, sadly, much of the beautiful wooden furniture made in Turkey gets slapped with a “Made in Italy” tag, since people are more likely to purchase it then.

We noticed a guitar in the corner of the room and asked whose it was; it belonged to the preteen girl who had been too shy even to join us for dinner, so our attempts to get her to play for us were futile. She quickly handed it to her brother, who played a few songs for us. Though we couldn’t understand a word, the music and his voice were beautiful. He played a few songs for us, and RC students and Turkish hosts alike relaxed, leaning back into a more natural stance opposed to the awkward, stick-straight poses we had been sitting in. The youngest girl immediately attached herself to Bayleigh, while Muhammad, a young boy in 2nd grade, practically worshipped Dramell. The shy preteen girl disappeared at one point only to return with some papers, which she shyly extended as she sat down next to me. I took them, slightly confused, and turned to Salih, who, with his eyes sparkling, informed me, “I told her that you’re going to be a teacher so she wants you to help her with her English homework.”

As the instructions were in Turkish, I had to rely on the lone example provided to help me, but I quickly realized that the assignment was about matching words with their synonyms. I tried to explain what a synonym is, only to receive the same nodding and shy smile, but after Salih spoke two Turkish words to her (I assume synonyms themselves) she was able to finish the assignment with few corrections needed. I tried to pantomime some of the adjectives (hot, cold) that she didn’t understand, much to the amusement of the crowd.

Another apparently universal tool that binds us all is Salgam. The host asked us if we enjoyed the meal (which, of course, we did) and then he and Salih began conversing in Turkish. Allyson and I caught the word “Salgam,” followed by uproarious laughter. We didn’t need a translator to figure out that he was telling the story of our experience with the foul juice. I pulled out my iPhone to show them the pictures documenting Natalie’s reaction, and more laughter ensued, followed what I’m pretty sure is the Turkish equivalent of, “Never by itself!” One of the young men told us that he didn’t like it at all, either, salty fish dinner or no salty fish dinner.

As our time together began to wind down, we discovered that there was to be yet another memorable experience: the man hosting us wanted to arm wrestle Dramell. We all gathered around the table and took pictures to document, especially when the father helped his losing son win by pushing on Dramell’s arm while hiding his face in mock shame from the camera.

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Muhammad told us he was going to tell all of his friends at school the next day that he beat President Obama at arm wrestling

Muhammad told us he was going to tell all of his friends at school the next day that he beat President Obama at arm wrestling

 

The joy on this little girl's face after she "beat" ;) ;) Dramell was priceless

The joy on this little girl’s face after she “beat” 😉 😉 Dramell was priceless

One of the friends of this host family who had joined us when he heard that we were staying there invited all of us to come to his home for breakfast the next morning. We left this host family with a chorus of “goodbye, thank you,” and warm hearts. Truly, as Hakan told us the other night, “All people have the same heart.”

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If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 4: Confronting my Own Ignorance

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 3: Some Heartfelt but Definite Jet-Lagged Rambling

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After our usual breakfast fare (minus the French fries but still with the weenie sausages and cocoa puffs for our “American food”), we made Dr. B try that horrendous carrot juice, and he was not pleased, even though he was a good sport about it. The only person in our group who wouldn’t try it was Mr. N, but we’re going to eventually break him down because we’ve decided it’s our initiation into the group for this trip.

Dolmabache Palace: We started the day by visiting a palace built in 1856 which stayed in commission until the revolution in 1923. We weren’t allowed to take a ton of pictures inside (although Dramell, of course, did) but Ohhh my wordddd was it gorgeous. Gold plated ceilings and chandeliers weighing 4 & 1/2 tons and marble pillars….Stunning. While we were there, I lost one of the slip on shoes they gave us to protect the carpets and didn’t notice until someone pointed it out so we decided that meant that I’m basically Cinderella. Natalie and I frolicked in the gardens and people laughed but we didn’t care because we decided that we were princesses and were going to live in that palace, and Fred (our tour name from yesterday) also became an acronym for the first law we’re going to pass: Frolic Regally Every Day.

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Next, we went on a boat ride on the Bosphorus. I was a little nervous as Dr. B talked about how it was once the most dangerous strait in the world and how in some parts, sailors had to sail at a 60 degree angle because of the winds and the current. Thankfully, we had no such experience; once we got there, it was AMAZING. The weather was windy, but almost all of us stayed above deck, anyway, to enjoy the breeze and view. 

View from the boat ride

View from the boat ride

 

As I peeked over the railing into the water, I noticed the abundance of jellyfish.

As I peeked over the railing into the water, I noticed the abundance of jellyfish.

While Natalie and I were sitting there silent and contemplative, a group of people came over to us gesturing with their cameras. Natalie stood up to take their picture, but she shook her head; through several hand gestures, smiles, and nodding of heads, we finally realized that they wanted to take pictures with us. As Natalie and I awkwardly slid closer to the men and girl already posed and waiting on the bench, we sat through several snapshots as all five of them each had to get it on each of their phones. Every time they took it, one of the men would say, “Good one! Good one!” even if he didn’t see it and we think it’s the only thing he knew how to say in English so were just laughing and they were laughing and it was so weird and hilarious and wonderful. We don’t know if they wanted the pic because they knew we were American, but you’d think then they’d go for blond, blue-eyed Beth, not super dark haired Natalie and I. (She has a darker skin tone and brown eyes and Dramell told me he thinks I could pass as Turkish.) Even though Natalie and I had just been sitting on the bench enjoying the wonderful breeze and sunshine, I wondered if maybe we had done something to warrant attention. When we asked Salih about it, he told us that we looked very natural and like we belonged there, so he wasn’t exactly sure why they had wanted pictures with us. Natalie’s theory is that princesses have to get used to paparazzi, especially gorgeous princesses like us. I approved of that idea.

Beth snapped the event from the other side of the boat

Beth snapped the event from the other side of the boat while she, Caleb, and Allyson laughed at our predicament

After the boat ride, we got to explore Midtown Istanbul, which was incredible. I felt a little less friendly toward the Turkish felines that roam the streets as commonly as squirrels do in America as a cat actually tried to sabotage Natalie for her wrap with spinach and cheese. We walked up and down the winding streets as merchants sold everything from bracelets to scarves to watches to art. Keeping in mind that Dr. B had advised us to wait for the Grand Bazaar to buy most of our souvenirs, I couldn’t resist buying bracelets for my cousins, one red, one blue, with tiny imitation Turkish coins jingling from them.

I also used a squat toilet for the first time today. It was actually kinda gross and definitely not my favorite, but I feel the need to document it here.

Moving on.

After exploring for a while, we went to Süleymaniye Mosque, which is another very important mosque and we stayed there for a while, watching the men pray. I’m always very impressed by mosques. There are definite boundaries that can’t be crossed because I’m not Muslim (and because I’m a woman) but I really appreciate that as long as I’m shoeless and have my head covered, I’m welcome inside there. I also really appreciate the sense of unity and devotion that they share. Salih prays five times a day and it’s just very admirable to me to see how faithful he is. My prayer life is sadly lacking.

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After the mosque, we went to our first host family, newlyweds Hakan and Ezra (John and Esther). They were so wonderful. Salih had talked about Turkish hospitality, but we definitely experienced it first hand as they gave all of us stunning notebooks from the newspaper company where she works (which we will be visiting tomorrow). Since there were so many of us, Beth, Brynn, Bayleigh and I ate at a table on their screened in porch just off of the dining room, where they provided us with slippers to keep our feet warm. They’ve been married for eight months, and I whispered to the girls if it would be rude to ask if we could see pictures from their wedding. Since we weren’t sure (but really wanted to see it!) we asked Salih when he came in to check on us. He considered it for a moment and replied, “Some couples would not be comfortable with that, but I think they might. I’ll ask them for you.” Next thing we knew, a beaming Ezra was bringing the wedding album into the room for all of us to admire. Hakan winced and said he felt like an actor, fake and posed, in those pictures, but we all agreed that they both looked absolutely stunning.

As we were drinking Turkish coffee (which was definitely not my favorite but there was no way I was NOT going to not finish it), Beth commented on how much she loved their cups and next thing we know Ezra had gone back in the kitchen, washed them, and packed them up for her to take them home. They’re both heavily involved in the Gulen movement (which influenced the Niagra foundation) and Hakan kept saying how he loved that we we were willing to come and be a part of this and wanted to make a difference. They kept thanking US, to the point where we finally said, “YOU invited us into YOUR apartment and made all of this food and gave US gifts; we should be thanking YOU!” We gave them our Kibo mugs, Ugandan coffee and RC pens, and Hakan got choked up when Mr. N was explaining what he does and why he founded Kibo and he said, “I can’t believe you’re not only involved here, but also helping Africa. You are wonderful people” and so we all got choked up and it was such a wonderful, wonderful night.

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I also added a LOT more Turkish words to my vocabulary and as Allyson and I were reading the bag our journals came in (obviously in Turkish) and pointing out the words we knew (library, book) and trying to pronounce them, Salih said, “I didn’t know you studied Turkish before you came here!” I began, “I didn’t-” and he exclaimed, “You’ve picked all of that up since Friday?!” And I said, “Salih, I really hate the idea that Americans have of how everyone should speak English and I try to break that stereotype. Plus I love learning new languages!” And he said, “But you’ve even got the pronunciation down perfect with the different s’s and g’s. I’m amazed.” Before I could explain that I only knew that because of Allyson, who had been here before, he turned to Dr. B and said, “She’s better than you are, John, and she’s never been here before!” I felt a definite stamp of approval being given, and I loved it. I did learn that my C’s are incorrect though; C’s are pronounced as J’s, so mosque is “jah-mee” even though it’s spelled “camii.”

Jet lag is definitely taking its toll. I fell asleep at midnight but woke up at 3am and my body was like “That was such a nice nap!” I tried to tell myself, “Noooo, body, it wasn’t a nap; it’s sleeping time,” but I was up from then until after the call to prayer at like 5:30ish but I must have fallen asleep again because Allyson’s alarm woke me at 7:30. We slept on the bus on the way to Hakan and Ezra’s house, too.

When we got back to the dorms, we all expressed how thankful we are to Salih for all of this and he teared up, said, “It’s not me,” and pointed upwards. I was struck again by how even though Christianity and Islam are two obviously very different religions, our principles are the same and I respect him all the more for it. Hakan and Ezra’s character were so godly and to be honest, I’ve seen believers that don’t have as healthy, loving, and supportive a marriage as they do. I’m sure part of that’s because they haven’t even been married a year yet, but I appreciated SO much the mutual love and respect between the two of them. I guess in my biased ignorance, I was expecting the silent little homemaker wife with the controlling husband, but she told us that he had helped her with both the cleaning and cooking (since there was so much of it!) and she works as a computer engineer. He mentioned several times how proud of her he is for that and her college education. They were so wonderful.

So now we’re just hanging out, journaling, and catching up on emails. Tomorrow we’re going to visit Fatih University and Zaman newspaper where Ezra works, and then we fly out to Izmir tomorrow night, where we’re staying at a Hilton for a few days. We stay in Izmir for part of Monday and all day Tuesday, then drive to Denizli and stay there till Thursday, then drive back to Izmir to fly back to Istanbul for a few days before we have to prepare for the dreaded H word: Home.

If you missed previous entries:

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement

Adventures in Turkey pt. 2: In Which We Hit the Ground Running

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Today was seriously PACKED. It’s a huge blur as I look back on the day. We had breakfast of different types of cheeses, tomatoes, cucumbers, Turkish bagels and hard boiled eggs in the morning. Salih suddenly announced, “If you all don’t like this, we also have some American food for you,” and gestured to cocoa puffs, weenie sausages, and French fries. Lol! I made sure to eat stuff from the first list because even though it was nice of them to consider us, that was one American stereotype I was NOT going to fulfill. We had coffee and tea to drink, of course, and then we were off to Topkapi Palace, where sultans lived for nearly 400 years. It’s more of a museum now but there are certain rooms and areas they’ve left untouched and it was AMAZING. It was surreal especially to walk through the parts of the palace that only the sultans were allowed in.

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The palace was inside of the old city, with Constantine’s wall surrounding it. I ran my hand along the stones of the wall and tried to fathom how old it is. After we went through the grounds and looked at old swords and other relics (where we weren’t allowed to take pictures but Dramell was sneaking some, anyway) we got lunch at Ottoman Restaurant, where we were served an ENORMOUS amount of food: salad, of course, and lentil soup and bread, and then we got to pick our entree from what felt like 30 different options. For dessert, they served us baklava which was AMAZING and I don’t even like baklava. We felt bad because we just couldn’t finish all of it; we did what we could but it was just SO much.

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After lunch, we started walking again when suddenly someone pointed at Dramell and yelled, “Obama!” And then all of these other people started chanting, “Obama! Obama!” which was hilarious because yes, Drammel is African-American, but unless our President has suddenly changed to a darker skinned, 6’4 college student with both ears pierced, they don’t look a thing alike. But now we call him either Odrama or Drambama, depending on our mood.

He's been stopped so many times for pictures.

He’s been stopped so many times for pictures.

Next was Hagia Sophia: oh my word. The stunning beauty of it. I could have stayed there for hours. It’s doubly amazing because it was a church before it was a mosque (and a mosque before it was a museum) so it’s the only place in the world to have Christian and Muslim art in one place. It’s enormous and gorgeous and stunning…oh my word. So old and wonderful. After various earthquakes, it had to be rebuilt three times, and parts are still under construction.

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When the Ottomans took over, the Hagia Sophia was converted from a church to a mosque. Because Islam respects Jesus, Mary, and other religious figures, they did not destroy the paintings already there. In order to be respectful, they simply covered up the Christian art with plaster and added the Islamic art. (Muslims do not have paintings or portrayals of people while they pray, as they believe it distracts them from their prayers.) The paintings, preserved from being weathered, were discovered (some almost completely in tact) when the plaster was chipped away as it was being converted to a museum in the 1930s.

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Then we went to the Bascilla Cisterns which was a little freaky but way cool; we were informed multiple times that the cistern was used during the filming of From Russia With Love. In addition to admiring yet another centuries old structure, we laughed at the giant ugly carp swimming in the water and I looked Medusa in the eyes even though our tour guide told me I would turn to stone if I did. I forget what his name was; we all called him Fred because he asked in the beginning, “What’s this group’s name?” meaning Rochester College or Niagra Foundation or something he could shout so we’d all hear him and know where to go, but Natalie said “Fred,” and he thought that was hilarious so we stuck with it. And every time he’d say, “Over here, Fred!”, a whole group of people (mostly girls too) would troop over to him and he’d just laugh and laugh.

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After picking our way through the slippery, underground cavern, we emerged to walk along the Hippodrome, an oval shaped area where horse races were held because gladiator type games were deemed barbaric. The Hippodrome was not immune to bloodshed, however; in the wake of the Nika riots (during which the Hagia Sophia was partially burned), Justinian had 30,000 of his enemies brought in, closed off all exits, and had them all slaughtered. I felt a chill run down my spine as I looked at the cobblestones covered in rain water, knowing that blood once filled the cracks.

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Next was my favorite! Blue Mosque: It’s the third holiest site for Muslims (falling behind the Dome of the Rock and Mecca) and it’s enormous and beautiful. It was such a cool and unique experience that I’ve never had before. In between the calls to prayer (during which visitors are not allowed in) we removed our shoes, covered our hair, and stepped inside. Despite religious, cultural, and ethnic differences, there was a mutual respect for everyone within the building that I so appreciated. In a religious building with people from all over the world and from a variety of different religions (if they held a religion at all), there was peace. It was comforting to my eternally optimistic heart to think that, perhaps, someday, such peace and understanding between humanity is a possibility. Regardless of personal beliefs, we all stood together with nothing but respect and admiration in our hearts for those around us. There was almost a tangible sense of unity that could be felt. A woman actually stopped me and started speaking Arabic before she realized that I’m an American. There were several other times, however, when people would walk by our group and say, “Ahh, Americans,” so I guess we’re pretty noticeable. I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad thing!

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It’s nearly impossible to have your hair covered and still have peripheral vision.

We grabbed dinner which was Turkish pizza an the restaurant owner was the cutest EVER. I said “Merhaba” and attempted, “Teh suchre etarim” (hello and thank you). It was hard to learn how to say thank you! Salih just told us “Sal” but that’s the informal way and we wanted the authentic way to say it. Brynn finally got us all to remember it by saying, “Tea, sugar, and a rum,” but then we all got scared we would accidentally say that.

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I know I keep saying everything is delicious but it seriously is….excluding Salgam.

After we made it back to the dorms, I showered and headed to the hang out room by the lobby to journal for a few minutes before we all played cards. As soon as I walked in, everyone bombarded me with, “KATIE, KATIE, TRY THIS JUICE” which should have been my first tip that something was off. I examined the bottle closely; it was purple, but whatever was in the basket was definitely not a bunch of grapes. I didn’t see any English words on it, so I asked, “Is it date juice?” There was the briefest pause before they all exclaimed, “….Yeah!….DATE juice!” which should have been my second tip off, but I gave in and tried it and it was VILE. I was choking as Katy took pity on me and gave me some water. Dram had no sympathy for me because he said I didn’t get a sip that was big enough; apparently, he thought it was grape juice and downed back a nice, big glass when he got back to his room. Determined to discover when I had just consumed, I searched the bottle and found tiny, English words proclaiming FERMENTED BLACK CARROT JUICE. My horrified announcement created such an uproar that Salih poked his head in to see what we were doing, so we asked him, “Salih, do you drink this?!?” He replied, “Eh, yeah, sometimes, it’s good with really salty fish dinners and stuff–” but then he noticed our traumatized faces and said, “Um, I would never, ever, drink it by itself, though. Did you guys–?” and then he just started laughing. Our mantra for Salgam has become, “Never by itself,” and several of us agreed that we’d much rather drink Ayran again than Salgam.

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Poor Natalie entered after I did and had to have her Salgam experience documented.

After dinner, Salih asked, “Are you guys tired?” And we were EXHAUSTED because of the long day and I think jet lag caught up finally so we said, “YES,” and he shrugged and said, “Oh, never mind, John, they’re too tired for my great and wonderful idea,” so of course we said, “No! No, tell us!” And he replied, “Oh, I was just gonna suggest a night walk along the Bosphorus to see Rumeli Fortress, but if you’re all too tired….” There was no question in any of our minds; we wiped the jet-lag from our eyes and trooped out into the slightly chilly (but still much warmer than February in Michigan!) night to explore. Mehmet the Conquerer built the fortress right before he overtook Istanbul.

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After our walk, we came back and hung out because we weren’t tired by then, so we played cards and talked for a couple hours. I’m still not tired, but I should go to bed because it’s midnight here even though it’s 5pm at home. We’re going for our boat ride on the Bosphorus and having dinner with a host family tomorrow so I do know I need sleep, but it’s difficult to because I’m still so amazed to be here. It’s a life changing, amazing experience and I’m so thankful I can take part in it.

1899921_449429731856985_1777918228_nIf you missed last week’s post: Adventures in Turkey pt. 1: Anxiety and Excitement