On the eve of municipal elections in Turkey, and after international media coverage of Twitter and YouTube bans, my mind is occupied with thoughts of this country. Years and years ago (we won’t count how many), I spent my last high school year in Istanbul, on an exchange program through Rotary International.
I lived with three lovely Turkish families – one on the Asian side of the city and two on the European side. With my school on the Asian side, that meant for more than half of the year I crossed continents every day, which made for wonderful stories back home. I made close friends with my classmates, was warmly welcomed into their homes by their families and had experiences I simply never would have had at home. I managed to learn enough Turkish to get by, although in retrospect, not nearly enough, and had a simply incredible once-in-a-lifetime year. I loved Istanbul.
It was one of those turning points in life where you can reinvent yourself. You grow and change so immensely that people hardly recognize you when you return home – even though you don’t see the changes in yourself because they’ve happened so gradually. Once I did recognize them, I promised I would make them part of my life forever, making valient efforts during my university years.
Of course, life happens and apart from one quick visit during Reading Week in university a couple of years later, I didn’t manage to make it back again until last summer, when I had ten glorious days to explore a city that has changed so much in the intervening years that outside of the historical tourist areas, it’s almost unrecognizable by sight – even though it smells, sounds and “feels” much the same.
I spent time – not nearly enough– catching up with several of those old friends whom I’d only conversed via Facebook and email for years, including my Rotary exchange co-ordinator. I met some of their friends, who immediately became friends of mine, and who were hospitable in a way I can’t even begin to describe.
I returned to tourist sites that I had only viewed with young teenage eyes and saw them anew, understanding far better their significance. I visited others that for some reason I had never been to while I lived there, and made time to visit some newer places that hadn’t existed. It’s humbling, coming from a country that is less than 150 years old to experience the history that’s there – and to remember that the “New Mosque” was completed in the 1660s.
I smiled to hear the call of the muezzin, which rang out from the minerets five times a day, stirring up more memories. I nostalgically wandered down streets I where used to live and ate street food I remembered from my that year (simit, dondurma, lahmacun, balık ekmek anyone?! I could go on…). I strolled along the Bosphorus, watching yachts, fishermen and seagulls, fondly remembering many afternoons along its banks with friends. I sadly walked through parks where peaceful demonstrations had recently been broken up in such very non-peaceful ways – surprised, actually, at just how much I felt that sadness. And I spent hours just staring out over the water, sipping tea out of ubiquitous tulip-shaped glasses, letting my mind wander and simply being.
I came back home to Canada after that solo visit determined to return again – and soon. I don’t really understand why this city has such a hold on me. And yet it does. Perhaps because it’s where I reinvented myself for the first time, I’m unconsciously thinking it holds the key to figuring out the next “act” in my life. Regardless, this magical place, which both literally and figuratively straddles east and west, has again entranced me with its sights, its smells and its inhabitants, who are among the kindest and most generous I have ever known.
Despite the country’s recent troubles, I had a dream the other night that I had managed a month-long holiday, had rented a flat with a little terrace where I could drink tea and watch the activities on the Bosphorus, where the curtains fluttered from the wind off the water. I was writing.
I don’t know when it will happen, but it’s a dream I’d like to turn into reality one day. Perhaps there’s a book in me after all…
