Is this what getting old feels like? A blur?

I am nine days away from being in Turkey for 300 days. I am 2 days away from turning 24 (but 26 to all my students, to whom I've been lying...).

It seems fitting, in light of the numbers, to recall a year which has passed with blinding speed.

• I have flown, driven, or bussed almost 10,000 miles.
• I drink Nescafe on a daily basis.
• I still miss good beer, avocado-smothered burgers, real fries and Thai food. But the longing has lessened.
• I still miss home. One of my students asked me how long it will have been by the time I go back. Two years, I said. His face dropped--respect? disbelief? a brief admission of my insanity? That's a long time, he said. Yeah, I nodded slowly, not really smiling. It is a long time. And some little sensation of home--apple crisp, the pond, and a smile--flitted through me, and immediately, right there in the classroom, I could have started balling like an infant. Could have. But somehow averted it and didn't.
• I can detect a yabancı from twenty yards away.
• I have been conditioned into Izmir's general modesty about clothing and am scandalized when I see the rare excess of thigh, or a tank top displaying a tattooed shoulder, or (this only happened one time) a white dress through which one can clearly determine a thong.
• In general I have less pride. I'm no longer overwhelmed with sadness or embarrassment at being an obvious fool, with clearly limited communication skills. I just laugh, smile, draw a picture or point to a word in my dictionary and somehow manage to get by.
• In general I have more pride. My presence as a teacher has grown tremendously. I will be a good teacher, dammit. If that means that I play charades or use my horrible art skills, or embarrass myself otherwise to convey the meaning of verbs, adjectives or nouns, so be it. But they will realize that I am giving it my all.
• Either I can bullshit better, or I understand English more than I did before. Nine months ago I couldn't tell a grammar lie to save my life. In fact, I repeatedly fell on my face with horrifying clarity. Three days ago one of my students asked me why "Six bed dorm room" had no plural "s" on "bed." I don't fucking know! I looked at it for less than a second--"Because 'six bed' is an adjective here and there are special rules for plural when a noun is an adjective." She nodded, pacified: The guru had delivered a satisfactory answer. But sure enough, I checked a Wikipedia entry later and buried amidst horrible linguistics jargon I found a bit about compound adjectives having special rules for plural. But I'd never studied it before...
• I'm learning how to relax. Balancing my intense work ethic is the fierce determination to sit on a beach and do nothing productive for six or seven hours. In university, I couldn't have such a simple separation of church and state, as it were. Work and fun constantly bled into each other. But especially over the past couple months, I've been able to establish boundaries.
• I can't change my students. They've grown up in an intensely patriarchal society and women are here where America was in (get ready for a huge, over-generalization that is very likely FALSE because I wasn't even alive and can't really know about...) the 1960s. I haven't had that many problems but there is the occasionally open, mocking, sexist student who finds the picture of the female pilot or female chef amusing. Or the students' general repulsion by Chinese and Japanese food. Or their claims that Indians are dirty and Bollywood films have strange dancing. What can I do? Isms (racism, sexism, age-ism) exist and I can't single-handedly eradicate them from my classroom. I just roll my eyes, or raise my eyebrow, and move on with whatever I was doing.
• I have even less of an idea of "what I'm going to do when I grow up" than I did before, but this year has shown me that I'm going to age faster than I thought I would.
  

Çeşmeye gidiyorum (I'm going to Çeşme)

It's finally my weekend again. I have one plan for today. Indulge in more of this:

Locked Out

A few weeks ago I forgot my keys in the flat. My flatmate, Sondra, wasn't home and wasn't going to come home for awhile. I ended up going to a friend's to wait it out, but vowed to fix a spare set of keys inside our mailbox, so that I could avoid future incident.

Did I follow through?! No. Do I have anyone to blame but myself?! No.

So when I was on the bus tonight, rummaging though my bag to find my keys, I was fucking irritated to discover the lack of distinctive jangling at the bottom of my bag.

And once again, Sondra wasn't home and wasn't going to come home for awhile. I was lucky because the restaurant a meter from our building door--which had gone out of business for a couple months--reopened just yesterday. I called the waiter with a rather surly disposition and grumpily parked myself in the chair closest to our flat. I bitterly ordered a tea to wait for my housemate.

It dawned on me after awhile that she might not be coming home at all--her days off are now different from mine, and tonight (though Sunday) is the end of her workweek, so she might be going to party. What if I just sat here all night waiting for her?

I fumed over my tea, sipping it to make it last longer, looking up longingly at the fifth floor (which in any country but America is actually the sixth floor). So close, yet so far. I wondered if I could lower myself to our balcony from my upstairs neighbors'. I had left my balcony door open for the breeze this morning, and I could easily get inside once I was on my balcony. In my head I made some sentences to ask Orhan: "Benim anatarlarımı unutdum. Senin balkonın kullanabilir miyim? (I forgot my keys. Can I use your balcony?)"

It would be risky, and I doubted Orhan would be happy. How would I explain to him that I have gone rock-climbing and rappelling? How would I assure him that I could do it? Would people across the street notice me climb down? I envisioned the neighbors watching me dangle above the concrete. "Crazy yobancılar," they would mutter. But what, I defended in my head, would they do if they got locked out?! Surely Turks, too, must forget their keys occasionally.

I concluded that my descent would be easier if I had some kind of sheet or rope to tie around the railing. However, when I checked my immediate memory for "sheet" or "rope", I found no Turkish equivalents. I doubted that neither İsan (the corner market owner) nor the new restaurant waiter would permit me to snoop through their closets.

Unable to explain my needs, I would have to perform my death-defying stunt relying only on my hands. But my hands would be sweaty from anticipation. I remembered my days of rock-climbing and pool-playing. I needed chalk to absorb the sweat. Would Orhan have any chalk? Highly doubtful, but flour would work. His wife must surely have flour. Any Turkish woman worth her weight in kebab would have flour in her kitchen.

The waiter brought me a second cup of tea. The wind was starting to blow harder, and it was getting darker. My mood blackened further. I was tired and wanted Sondra to come home. Why the fuck had I forgotten my keys again?! Would spending all night waiting outside for Sondra, or splattering onto the concrete after slipping as I tried to get from one balcony to another, help me learn my lesson to be less scatterbrained?

To facilitate wallowing in my own pity, I pointed up to the fifth floor and told the waiter that I lived here but had forgotten my keys. My housemate wasn't coming home soon. Oh woe is me.

Before I'd even finished explaining the situation, he'd flipped open his cell phone and called his locksmith friend. He spoke ludicrously fast, despite my repeated attempts to slow him down and repeat things, but I understood that someone was coming to open my door for 25 or 30 lira.

As my third cup of tea arrived, so did the locksmith. The waiter accompanied us up to my flat. About ten minutes after the he'd called for help, my door was open.

What's more?! When I handed the locksmith a twenty and a ten note, asking if he had five in change (only to be told no, he didn't), the waiter handed me back my ten, opened his own wallet and paid the remaining five. I offered my money to him-- "Çay için (For the tea)." He declined. "Lütfen! (Please!)" I tried to give him the money again a few seconds later but he clucked his tongue, batted my hand away, got into the elevator and disappeared.

Moral #1: Never underestimate the hospitality of a Turk.
Moral #2: The amount you can accomplish in your own language is staggering. Life is supposed to be this easy, J, you dummy. Prolonged exposure to being an Other is obviously hazardous to your mental health.

Ask and ye shall receive

Step One: State Your Demands
It's been an interesting six days. Friday morning I woke up a little irritated. It was the start of another work week and I wanted to go to Bafa Gölü (Lake Bafa) on Wednesday. I didn't really want to go alone--not because I can't travel on my own, but because it gets boring sometimes.

I don't know if I believe in god, and I don't really pray, but I do have a habit of asking good ol' Mr. Universe to pull a favor for me now and then. Friday morning I wrote Him a message (this is absurd but I'm not kidding):

"Ok Universe. Is it so much to ask for to send me my long-awaited traveling companion?!?! I'm trying not to get desperate but I'm running out of time."

Can you tell I was peeved?! Anyway. I tacked it on my wall and went to work. My day passed without incident and as I descended the five floors of stairs at work, it occurred to me that I wouldn't be meeting anyone. How could I?

I walked the few blocks from work to my bus stop. As I passed a corner, two blond guys were speaking English with a Turkish girl. I did a double take but they didn't notice. I kept walking, put off by the daunting task of breaking up the energy of a triangle. But I remembered my cranky note and stopped, kept looking back. The guys stayed on the corner and sat down to drink a beer at a pub.

"Don't be an idiot J, just go home."

I've never been so divided as I walked away from people. I've walked by other yobancıs in Izmir, and regretted it after. "What's the worst that can happen?" I told myself as I stopped and started walking back. "Maybe you feel awkward for all of two minutes, in which case you abort mission."

Step Two: Cowgirl Up
Long story short, I approached these total strangers and ended up befriending them. They're European and in Izmir indefinitely, working on a company project. It turns out there aren't just two, but three of them. And their English is virtually perfect.

Finally I dared to ask: "So what are your Wednesdays and Thursdays like?" Might I snag a traveling companion?

Unfortunately, no. They're working constantly, except when they drink at night (hmm... sounds kind of like English teachers...). But we hung out a bunch over the next few days and for the first time since arriving (some 268 days) I felt like I had friends.

But I also decided that I was going to Bafa alone--because otherwise I would just sit at home...

Step Three: Recognize that gifts come in installments... like a treasure hunt
Gift 1: One of my students works for a bus company that runs all over the place. On Sunday, I asked her about how to get to Bafa Gölü. I just wanted information about departure times and locations, etc. She insisted on getting a free ticket for me, picking it up after class, and delivering it to me at work. Thanks!!!

Gift 2: So this morning I woke up agonizingly early to find the random city bus that takes an hour plus to wind through Izmir to the bus garage on the outskirts of town. It was probably going to take a long time, and it occurred to me at 8:45 when I pulled the door of my flat shut, that I might already be running late if my bus left at 10:00...

The elevator was being called up to the seventh floor, and if I hadn't been so tired and lazy, I would have walked down the stairs. Instead I waited for the elevator and opened the door to see my neighbor. We exchanged pleasantries and I asked him about where I could find the city bus to the bus garage. I showed him my ticket and he knew to look for information about the free service bus that runs from the city center to the bus garage. My neighbor took me under his wing and ushered me along, giving me directions to find my way quickly and painlessly to the bus garage. Once again, thank you!!!

Once on the bus leaving Izmir, I settled down to enjoy the ride and the opportunity to sleep some more. I woke up as we were passing Bafa Gölü, a beautiful, huge (10 kilometers by 1 kilometer) lake that used to be part of the sea but became closed as silt deposits filled in the mouth. It was gorgeous to drive by, but I couldn't see any villages, and when the bus finally stopped for me in Bafa, I did NOT want to get off the bus. I just had a strange feeling that was like, "This is not the thing to do."

So despite my embarrassment, I told the bus steward that I wouldn't be getting off and I wanted to continue. I finally ended up in one of those middle-of-nowhere freaking boring, characterless towns where the only thing to do is wait at the bus garage for the next bus home.

I texted my colleague about alternative destinations and debated just going back to Izmir. I finally bullied myself into going and finding Apollo's Temple in Didim--I had, after all, come this far and it would be lame to waste the entire day.

I went to Apollo's Temple and chatted with some tourists but didn't meet anyone interesting. As I was leaving the site, I saw a young Turkish couple having their picture taken by their adorable 7-year old son. I offered to take their photo, which they were happy for. I said it was my pleasure and headed up the stairs to find out from the museum guy how to get back to Izmir. I was talking with him when the couple wandered up the stairs and overheard my belabored conversation.

Gift 3: The husband and wife intervened. Oh! They were going back to Izmir and did I want a ride and no, really, it's no problem so come on, just follow them to their car and they really don't mind shoving the cooler of food, or the bag of toys to the side, making a spot for me by the car seat.

We headed back to Söke, but on the way, I asked them if they knew about Prieme, which my colleague had told me about. No, they didn't, but when we saw a sign for it, they veered left and bumped along back roads until we found ourselves at an unkempt pile of ruins. We clambered around for a good hour, then got back in the car, and continued till we found Prieme proper, a DIFFERENT pile of ruins on the top of a giant hill. Afterward we were exhausted and starving so we went to--of all places... anything to make the yobancı happy--McDonald's. To be loyal to Turkish food, I ordered the double köfte burger. I felt strange eating McDonald's food, which is so conspicuously expensive here (the experience warrants its own essay, for which I don't have the energy now).

After dinner, we drove back to Söke to take the son to a playground that was basically on crack. You HAVE to look at the pictures, but it was Disney meets Smurfs meets Gulliver's Travels meets traditional Turkish folk story characters like Kel Oğlan (literally "bald boy"). Oh sorry. And Santa Clause. And a mosque rising in the background. What what what?!?! This is a strange, mixed world we live in.

After that, finally, finally, FINALLY I was dropped off at my door. I'd say I got my traveling companions... Albeit in a strange, unexpected form.

The morals of the story are:
Don't stay at home.
Talk to strangers.
Always bring your camera and your dictionary.

Afterword...
In honor of Mr. Universe, I would like offer these sacrificial victims, who I saw earlier today. Their pants say it all. They need Mr. Universe's help... and they deserve to be in the Really. Bad. Tourists. album.