Hats Off
He tumbles, his small souvenir fez cap flying. The boy and his younger sister had been running down the cobblestones by the Archaeology Museum in Istanbul, dashing on ahead of … Continue reading
Baby’s First Swim
The mother slowly hands her infant to his father, who waits in the shallow end of the hotel swimming pool. The baby wears a diaper and a cloth head wrap … Continue reading
Visas and Patience
He took the window seat and buckled himself in. His adult daughter shuffled belongings around the overhead compartment and gave commentary on her discomfort. He nodded at her words, not … Continue reading
On The Move
Whenever he was en route from one place to another, he was able to look at his life with a little more objectivity than usual. -Paul Bowles. The Sheltering Sky … Continue reading
Spring Resolutions
Meanwhile nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring. –Vladimir Nabokov. Mary. Photos from an Istanbul spring to inspire further restlessness. Are you … Continue reading
Have a Nice Trip
I stumbled over a dip in the sidewalk, tumbled over my own black boots in the peripheral glance of a … Continue reading
You Can Read Over My Shoulder, But You Can’t Come Along
In the shuttle bus to the airplane, I break into scraps of conversational Turkish with a group of teenage boys from Kahramanmaraş. Even the boldest among them–a boy with smooth … Continue reading
Say Peynir!
From a spot in Gülhane park, one can keep a clear sight of the lines of people posing with the Atatürk statue. A bronze figure on a stone base, he … Continue reading
Welcome Home
Long blonde ponytailed-twentysomething balances on her wedge shoes and tugs her jacket over her leggings and looks as angry as she had in our excessively hot airplane. She waites for … Continue reading
Hand-Holding, Skeletons, and Snacks
Whenever I remember that I have a skeleton, I get a wave of anxious queasiness. In science classrooms, I would cringe at the bleached construction of what allegedly resides under … Continue reading
Underline.
Read sparingly but ardently. That way you’ll look far more knowledgeable than those who read a great deal but enjoy nothing. -Orhan Pamuk. The Black Book. (One might even trade … Continue reading
French on Film
Two French tourists in white running shoes jogged yet another lap through the park packed with visitors. Actually, not jogging so much as springing in an animated walk. Even on … Continue reading
Safe and Sorry
An elderly woman in a headscarf lined up the start of YMCA, arms outstretched, but there was no one else to finish the chorus. Preparing for the 2 am flight … Continue reading
Pick Me Up
The Taksim bus station, night and day, hosts chaos. Buses line up and depart from four doubled-up lines and feature the soundtrack of air brakes and honking horns. Pedestrians, as … Continue reading
Last Minute Turkish Lessons Because…
Being in the foreign country means walking a tightrope high above the ground without the net afforded a person by the country where he has his family, colleagues, and friends, … Continue reading
Packs of Blondes
Granted, it was a small sample, but from the Turkish TV dramas I’d watched in passive attempts to learn the language, all of the blonde women were evil. Friends in … Continue reading
Misguided Tour
Waiting at the station, she made a quick phone call. “Hi, baby, hi, yeah. Your brother is here, he’s going to take me around today. But he doesn’t actually speak … Continue reading
The Lost Tourist as Herself
Mothers walking with daughters needed time to assess whether to engage strangers, especially strangers who smiled too much and managed to turn up lost just past the auto repair shops … Continue reading
M’s Party Trick
M. is a shy Peter Pan. Reddish-brown hair, chestnut eyes, trim in the macho-black button-up shirts of his fellow Turkish waiters, he stands with his hands behind his back while … Continue reading
I Miss Istanbul. And, and, and…
Basically, like nine-tenths of humanity, I always wanted to be somewhere else, usually in the place I have just fled from. -Thomas Bernhard. Wittgenstein’s Nephew.
The Nice Thing About Strangers 