Rain rain go away

The rain has been unrelenting. Even now, in my new room--with a window that affords sounds of Izmir that I didn't hear before (like the rain, the Call to Prayer, dog and cat fights)--even now, at 9 o' clock, the rain is pouring. It was pouring when I woke up at 7 this morning to go to work, and it is still drip-dropping down the trees. Thunder rumbles. It is beautiful and cozy, so long as I am inside and free of work.

The rain clouds blanket the city in its own warmth. And on rainy days, the bus is a microclimate of its own--tropical in its steaminess--and densely packed with silent, sullen Saturday- and Sunday-morning stiffs making their way to work or school or wherever.

After a few months, we have worn a path through the city. Habit. After we pile out of the bus with possibly 30 to 40 other people, we break away to walk the six blocks to the tall building where PEÉ is located. We walk past restaurants and shops, down a road used heavily for bus transfers. Uniform sidewalks do not exist on these side streets. A marble-tiled sidewalk may be in front of one posh restaurant, but then abruptly disappear a few steps later. A wood walkway changes to bare dirt becomes ancient cracked concrete switches to a different height of ancient cracked concrete. The incessant shifting demands a certain level of attention which is always absent at 8:18 am. It is much easier to brave the road with cars and buses rumbling just inches away.

Normally on Saturday and Sunday morning we shuffle to work. Tired and less-than-enthused about the 9 hour teaching day yawning before us, we shuffle. But in the rain, the movement changes; the pattern varies.

The heavy rain causes the familiar side streets--planes of uneven asphalt that would drive a perfectionist to suicide--to become a foreign territory that requires a new attention. Puddles appear, deep enough to soak my entire foot. Rivulets stream through the shallow gutters and spread over the road in slick pools. Motor oil glistens in rainbow designs on the dark road. This morning, brains still fuzzy from sleep, Sondra and I scuttled around puddles, trying to make it the six blocks with dry feet.

We had only a couple blocks to go when I heard her cry, "Shit!" from behind me. "Did you step in one?" "Yeah," she groaned.

Getting home was equally treacherous. Our jackets--soaked from 20 minutes in the rain--are on the laundry rack in the living room with the fan blowing on them. They'll dry in time, but hopefully it'll have stopped raining by then.