Redheaded Travels

Sitting in Matt’s kitchen area this morning, munching on the delicious omelette he made, I got this feeling in my heart: longing/slight homesickness/a general missing of you.  Now when I say you, I really mean several people and places but it felt individual.  Not overwhelming but specific.  It’s been so long since I felt I really fit somewhere, not thinking about the next place I’m going and I realized what I had built in Minnesota in such a short while.  Yes, at times LA was fun, but these past few months felt complete.  I was more sure of myself and my place in life.  

Does this mean I regret leaving or want to come home?  Hell no!  I love what I am doing, where I’m gonna be going and the people I’ve met so far.  It’s just a nice realization that if I decide I need to come home early/when I do come home, I’ll be going back to a great place, not just one of transition.  

And I do miss you (yes, YOU!)

the culling of my hair extensions that is. I began to pull a few out 2 days ago while at Matt’s friend’s apartment. I think they thought I was supremely odd. Then a couple more a few hours later. Now I’m getting to that stage where I just can’t stand them. It’s been exactly 34 days.

Most of this is because of all the weird stares I get. I’m quickly tiring of the looks. I know I’ll still get them but ah, I can lessen my impact. Be a bit more incognito perhaps? Who am I kidding, I’m a freaking redhead in the Middle East. I’ll stick out no matter what.

This will not stop me from removing them though. I grow tired of them faster and faster each time I get them. It’s time for a long break. It’s not worth the money or the upkeep.

I began the morning in a foul mood.  Well, once I remembered foolish things said and done, emotions felt and guilt possessing me.  As I tried to push these thoughts out of my head, I fell into a familiar pattern:  stuck in a thought without an outer action, then trying to do something else while the thoughts macheted their way back into the forefront jungle of my mind.

So I did what I always need to do: surrender to those thoughts and feelings, hoping that processing them will make them stop.   This works, briefly, but then I settle into state of slight discontent.

I needed to do my laundry today,  desperately.  Mostly desperately.  I borrowed a shirt from Matt and put on the one skirt I brought (not worn since ‘the incident’) which I later discovered has a small stain on it.  I easily found my way to the laundry, put in my shekels and let it roll.

 But then I began to ponder drying my clothes.  Should I?  Is it just a waste of money?  Matt said he hasn’t dried his clothes since he’s been here but alas, I am more picky and want my jeans dry now.  They’re my new security blanket and the closest thing I have to be fashionable, my fall back blanket.  I choose to dry but realize that the bill feeder on the machine is broken and I must rustle up some shekel coins.  I had heard of a mini mart and seen signs but not stumbled upon it.  I head out, wander for 7 minutes yet feeling much longer, increasingly frustrated and self conscious of my actions.  

Sidenote:  I hate being self conscious.  I hate valuing other people’s opinions yet it was the exact reason I was in such a bad mood this morning.  And it is usually the source of many of my varied frustrations.  I do not understand (or rather am just jealous of) those who don’t ever seem to care what others think, nor have they ever.  I get that in fleeting glimpses.  I hope for it everyday but perhaps it just needs to flow.  

Conceding to my lack of knowledge I suck it up and ask someone.  ”Just around the corner.”  Of course it is.  I enter, purchase the three things I get in every country (a can of Coke, Snickers bar and large water.  2 of these purchases need to stop) and receive my shekel coins.  Laundry is dropped in to dry and I have 30 minutes to fill.  (yes, Mr. Cwodzinski, fill.  I take this advice with me everywhere I go and spread it like Israel hummus on fresh pita: most generously).  

Not knowing what to do, I step outside into the sun and glance to my left at the playground.  Presumably for those students with children.  There is a swing set with 2 seats.  Reminiscing about how much fun I always had as a child, I head towards them.

My, how time has changed things.  The swings are much lower to the ground than I remember and the metal hooks dig slightly into my womanly hips.  I cannot recall the last time I sat on a swing but certainly it was before I got these curves.  Settling in, I gently begin to swing.  

And swing and swing and swing. I cannot put my legs under to pump so I hold them straight out, doing all the work with my arms and abs.  (Only as an adult would I notice how swinging works your core).  And glee fills me.  It breaks past the self pity and indulgent guilt. A smile cracks my sullen veneer.  I’ve jumped out of planes and off mountains to get a rush but the simple and childhood act of swinging brings it forth and sustains it.  I no longer care what the world thinks because I realize how silly, how foolish, how absolutely ridiculous it all is.  

I swing and rock out to She & Him until I need to fetch my laundry.  Then I set off, renewed.    

Do you ever make a mistake and then forgive yourself after much abuse only to find out more about the situation that puts you in a panic?  No, I won’t elaborate but sometimes when you mess up, you mess up good.  

Disclaimer:  The following story will cause you to worry about me.  Slightly.  Alas, I must tell it and you must live with it.  (Especially you, Mom).  

During my “Turkey Active” tour we spent three days in the port town of Kas (pronounced Kash.  It has a squiggly thing underneath it). Monday was Haley’s 25th birthday.  (She was my first roommate, a cool Aussie girl who I spent many hours talking to about boys, travel, life and boys).  The group had dinner at the pansiyon (that’s how they spell it) with Kate, Jen (2 awesome Canadians), Haley and I splitting a bottle of Istanblue (local vodka).  A- It was quite good, B- It had a twist top that created it’s own spout, C- We kept pronouncing it Is-tan-BLEU!  Ah-mazing.

So we make our drinks and head up to dinner.  Everyone was laughing and having a good time, especially us girls.  That had 50% to do with the Istanblue, 25% to do with being girls and multiplying our girliness, 10% to do with being the 4 youngest on the trip by 10 years with the exception of Richard a Kiwi/transplanted Londoner who never revealed his age but managed to seem mature and sophisticated while having a young face, 7.4% to do with the ketchup (it was written ketcap with a squiggly under the c.  Can someone tell me what that thing is?  it’s in French as well) and the rest with life.   

Eventually the rest decide to leave, heading out into town for the night, and we make plans to meet up with them later.  That leaves us and Richard, our adopted brother for the trip.  We all cavort and joke, pouring more beverages and generally having a good time with Suleman, our host (cue the Neil Diamond song).  

We head out for the evening which is filled with laughter. Kate and Brin, the wisest and eldest Kiwi man on the trip, take tequila shots and plenty of Raki is had by all (Turkish liquor, similar to the licorice liquor in Greece) Masses of pictures taken. Brin and Jo (who is incidentally his wife but very much her own person) decide to head back but the group heads on to another bar to: dance (Queen), sing along to Shania Twain and Chumbawumba (shameful that we all knew every word), take advantage of multiple photo ops, do shots of the Turkish equivalent of a slippery nipple and witness Richard doing some sort of stomping dance. 

Totally pooped, I herd a few people together to head back.  Everyone but Alan and Michael end up leaving (those two can stay out later and get up earlier and bushier tailed than anyone I have ever met).  We stop so Kate can call her boyfriend back in Canada.  The rest of the group is tired so I tell them to go, thinking in a small way that I should ask Richard to stay but instead gesture for all of them to go, it’s no big deal.  (Damn my sense of safety)

As Kate talks some Turkish guy walks to another phone, looking at us.  He says hello.  Too nice, I respond, smiling, but no more.  I wait patiently, trying not to eavesdrop.  The Turkish guy comes up to me and tries to say something.  I say, “I don’t understand, sorry.”  He looks confused and pensive then says “Fuck” while putting his two index fingers together.  (As I write this, I laugh but was not at the time).   Slightly taken aback, I say “No, no” and shake my head.  He proceeds “You are so beautiful.”  ”Thanks, but no,” I respond more firmly.  Not really getting the idea, I tell him he has to go, pointing in the opposite direction we are going.  Kate, who weighs maybe 50 kilos soaking wet (everything is better in metric), notices the commotion and interrupts her conversation to ask him in the most authoritative and sober voice “Can we help you?”  I tell her I’ve got it under control and go back to telling him he has to leave.  He repeats his two phrases and one gesture until I turn him around and firmly push him away.  He walks about 30 feet to these sinks used for ablution.  I tell him, “No, go” waving my arm at him.  He sneaks around a column, pretending to be gone.  Yea, cause I can’t see you guy.  

Kate begins to finish her conversation and I take the plastic stirrer in the shape of a golf club I’d been chewing on all night and snap it in half.  Gripping each firmly in my hands, I prepare if necessary to stab him in the jugular.  Yes, I realize I probably couldn’t have broken the skin and the eyes would be a better choice but I was thinking with maximum violence.  

Kate hangs up and we begin to walk back.  ”Is he following us?” She asks.  I turn my head and see him ducking out from behind the column and walking fast in our direction.  ”Yep.”

We walk briskly and when I look back again he has broken into a jog towards us.  Anger, self defense and my already large mother complex flares.  I step in front of Kate and yell “No, go away. Get away from us.”  Keep in mind it is 2 am-ish and most people are sleeping.  He motions that he is also walking home that way.  Yea, right.  So he tries to talk but I stop us and tell him to leave.  Yet again, he repeats how beautiful I am and the fuck gesture/phrase.  (Yes, I am beautiful but no means no, man).  Anger over takes me and I begin to yell.  (beware there are many curse words coming).  

“No, get the fuck away from us, leave us the fuck alone” and so on.  I think I may have even said I will fucking end you.  He looks confused, obviously, and as Alan later pointed out to me, it may have been because I was using the one curse word he knew but for a very different reason.  He says fuck again and grabs for my crotch.  I right hook punch/slap him, boxing his ear.  He runs off, unfortunately in the direction of our pension.  

Shaken, we begin to walk.  ”Should we run?” Kate asks, “what if he has friends coming?”  ”Yes, yes we should,” I say in a voice I still do not understand.  And run/jog we do, all 400ish yards back, and up a small hill.  Once we get back I close the front door and put a rock against it.  We walk towards our rooms and Haley opens the door to our room from the commotion and we both walk in.  Kate begins to cry and I’m too buzzed from the adrenaline to do anything but settle her and get angry as it wears off.  We eventually all settle down and slightly laugh at my manliness.  

So that’s my story.  It was a great night, we thoroughly enjoyed celebrating Haley’s birthday and I boxed a Turkish man in the ear.  

epilogue:  Upon returning to Istanbul I could not stop noticing Turkish men staring at me and getting angry about it.  A little aftermath that I did not expect.  I suppose it doesn’t help that I have crazy colored extensions in my hair but seriously, it is completely unnecessary to tell me I have large boobs and that you like them while raising the eyebrows.  Yes, that did happen and I was wearing a scarf around my shoulders, covering up. OK, the strap of my makeshift bag was accentuating the girls but come on.  Turkish men and women aren’t even supposed to sit next to each other on the public bus if they’re strangers and men will go out of their way not to touch you, but some think these comments are ok?  I guess there will still be assholes everywhere.    

I went to the airport early on Saturday.  Well, early for me.  Kate, Jen, Haley (lovely ladies I met on my Turkey Active tour) and I all had flights out.  Unfortunately for me, mine was 4 hours after theirs so I couldn’t even check in.  After a sad-faced good bye and a few pics I bid them adieu and settled onto an empty metal bench to read Richard J. Foster’s “Freedom of Simplicity.”  

No less than 5 minutes later, about 7 Muslim women and 2 men come and sit next to me, squeezing as many ladies on the bench as possible.  My US space issues said “hey, I’m sitting here too, and we don’t like to be touched.” (My US self also likes to use the royal we).  The traveler in me said “It’s cool.  They seem like nice old ladies and it’s no biggie.”  The most generous self said, “Get up!  You’re young and can sit on the floor.”  I ignored my first and third selves.  The ladies generously offered me some juice that I declined.  I turned my head back to my book as the first chapter is quite heavy.  

While reading the woman sitting next to me laid some prayer beads on my legs while she dug through her purse.  I was confused, not sure if she was giving them to me or using me as a shelf.  I looked at them, remarking to myself how they closely resembled rosary beads.  Ah, the similarities of religion.  She finished rummaging and wrapped the beads around her wrist.  I returned to my book and her to conversation with the others.   

Yet my third self would not stop.  Still speaking softly to me, nudging me, I finally looked up to offer my seat but the remaining ladies who were standing had walked off.  ’Alas, I tried’ I thought to myself(s).  

But this did not last.  Soon the remaining ladies returned and I knew I must act.  Gesturing, and speaking English though I knew they did not, I offered my seat, placing myself on the floor.  They tried to refuse but smiling at them I kept gesturing, saying please.  They all smiled at me and the youngest of all came to me, offering me juice.  I graciously accepted this time.  A sweet, slightly thick juice of peach nectar in a Fanta bottle.  She began to speak to me, possibly in Turkish and said the word english.  I responded, yes English.  She nodded and spoke to me again, conveying that she did not speak English only “Ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch.” (I only speak a little German).

Imagine my shock and delight.  I had always thought my German would not come in handy.  No, not even when I lived in Germany for a summer did I use it as I was afraid and everyone spoke english. But bam, in the middle of the Ataturk airport, it comes to help me. I said “Ich spreche nur ein bisschen deutsch.”  (I speak only a little german.  Now I realized I should have said I also speak a little german but we had communication, that was enough).  She smiled, delighted and told the women I spoke German.  I asked her name, which I now forget.  It began with an M and I told her my name.  She asked me where I was going.  To Israel, I responded and asked her the same. Gesturing to the group she said, “Mecca.”  

Now let’s stop and rewind for a moment as in regaling you with my tale I am unable to express the emotions I felt the entire time.  I felt a general sense of kindness towards them, a benign feeling that occurs in everyday life.  But once she began to speak in German, I was overwhelmed.  So excited and a natural high.  That she said they were headed to Mecca just pushed it over my head.  I knew that feeling was God, present and uncaring about religious affiliations.  This, along with many circumstances in my life, only proves to me that God does exist and loves us all.  And he/she/it doesn’t care about religion, only for goodness in your heart and pure actions.  

Back to the tale:  She smiled at me, and then another woman offered me some bread.  Incredibly dry and hard but covered with sesame seeds and delicious.  Honestly, that little piece of bread filled me up and did not upset my stomach (damn wheat/gluten allergy but when given to you by ‘the lord’ does no harm).  Every time I looked from my book the women were smiling at me, gently conversing among themselves.  They tried to offer me the seat a few times but I refused.  After offering it again once a few ladies left I took the seat not wanting to appear rude.  The woman next to me patted my leg, smiling in the most beautiful way.  The way only older, wise women can: conveying genuine kindness and love among wrinkles of experience.  

Soon, the ladies left to pray and they all smiled and nodded to me as they left.  I smiled back, sending love, safety and thanks with my eyes.  

P.S.  For those of you who don’t know, Foster’s “Freedom of Simplicity” is about Christian simplicity not just in outward but inward life.  The parts I have read so far are about opening your heart up to God and listening to that voice to make you pure of heart and to guide your actions.  I had been having a terrible struggle reading it and I don’t struggle reading.  I had to read the first chapter twice, continually stopping and re-reading sentences to truly understand what he is saying. Granted, others have said it is quite heavy ready, sentences thick with ideas.  Tightly woven sentences I believe my brother Josh said.  Since this experience the ideas have flowed in and through me, making this reading much easier but not lessening their impact.  

P.P.S. The book could not have been a better one to bring with me and choose at this time (Thanks Jessie!).  I recently wrote an email to some kids asking for their help on issues with how to wisely and morally spend money/live my life in the light of certain Christian teachings.  Upon re-reading the intro, Foster talks about just that and how reading the teachings and understanding simplicity, it will come to you.    

P.P.P.S (how many can I have?)  For those of you who think I’ve become some Jesus freak, well maybe I have.  But if that means living in a generous and good way, a way that my life benefits those around me in a positive way and, in turn, myself, then name call away!

Visited a Turkish/British/Australian/Kiwi war site today.  Learned quite a bit of history about the independence of nations and realized how little I actually know about the world.  Topped off our 5 hour walk/trek through the brush by snorkeling in the cold cold water to see a sunken ship.  Upon returning to land in my bikini that would be perfectly acceptable in the states but not in a country that is 98 percent Muslim realized there was a huge group of turks (50 plus), including some military, and felt so awkward.  They were all watching and even snapping photos.  Still had to change under a sarong.  My most paparazzi moment, aside from in Guatemala but I was taking the photos.  Wasn’t too bad and finished it up by riding in the back of a truck, taking a shower and napping for an hour.  A pretty good day.

my fear from the first day is gone.  Everyone on the tour is incredibly nice and I am the only person from the States.  (Gotta represent).  Amazing how a little organization and new friends can ease the way.  Definitely thinking about coming back befoer Thanksgiving though.  Realized how damn expensive this is and would rather make money then spend it. 

Honestly, I’m scared out of my mind.  I’ve never traveled alone.  Thailand didn’t count.  I had some hand holding at the beginning of the trip.  And I actually read about the country before coming.  Here:  nope.  I didn’t read a thing.  I made my hostel reservation 3 days before and overpaid a cab to get me to the hostel from the airport.  I fell asleep at 6:30 last night and slept through most of the night.  Now, I’m sitting here, comforted by the internet, just waiting, so I can go to the hotel to meet up with my tour. 

haha, can’t help but laugh at myself.  I got so freaked out on the plane/last night that I planned how I could change the trip to make it shorter.  I’d like to think this is 75% just to have a backup plan and that’s ok.  Right? Sure it is.  Everyone needs a backup plan.  Or an escape route.  I know it’ll be fine.  If I didn’t freak out a little. I’d be worried.  Mainly because I wasn’t thinking about it before I left so no time to freak out.  Plus I broke half a front tooth off 2 days before I left so I had that to worry about.  Oh, how did I do that you say?  Don’t know friends, don’t know.  Should I admit that to my multitudes of family and friends?  No point in hiding it I say. 

And now I leave you with that as I need to go figure out where my next hotel is so I can meet up with my tour.  Hopefully not too far.  I’m too tired and slightly sick to want to trek all over.  That’s gonna change though, heck it’s gotta change.