Beginnings

I wish I could say I felt something other than ready. Anxious, emotional, or simply excited would be infinitely more poetic ways to begin a trip to İstanbul. But I was none of these, and to say I was anything other than primed to go (and slightly paranoid about loosing my passport) would be romanticizing something very real. There is nothing very romantic about eating my last American supper in the international terminal at O’Hare (a rubbery imitation deep dish pizza split three ways between my sister, mother and I. However, I soon discovered that Turkish Airlines is no peanuts and Bloody Mary operation. I was fed dinner, saran wrapped cheese sandwiches as a midnight snack, and finally breakfast before my arrival. I even got a small travel bag complete with a mini toothbrush and slipper socks as a party favor.
I felt relieved as soon as the flight took off. I had been craving these 10 hours of solace for weeks. I read the entire Sunday edition of the Chicago Tribune (minus the business and sports sections) a trashy tabloid, and one-third of the Curious Incident of the Dog in Nighttime before trying (unsuccessfully) to sleep.

I thought of my attempts to squeeze every last sock into five suitcases so as not to seem like a pampered American princess who can’t go without her entire boot collection or rosemary mint shampoo for a few months. I would soon learn that many new teachers brought ten plus bags complete with their coffee makers and good china. All I had was a plastic knife and fork in the way of cutlery.

Upon my arrival at my new apartment, I was pleasantly surprised to find my fridge stocked with the staples of Turkish diet: a container of natural yogurt, a box of cheese that resembled gauze tape floating in cloudy white liquid, a jumbo box of tea, a jar of honey, and a carton of eggs. Oh, and a silver and blue amulet hanging on the wall to protect me from the evil eye. I pulled out an egg to scramble for dinner, but decided against it when I realized it was plastered with a feather.

I didn’t expect to find my apartment more spacious and well-equipped than my place in Chicago, but indeed it is: I am the sole occupant of a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment, complete with an office and front and back balconies. The teacher who lived her prior left a full set of dishes, non-stick pans for all the cooking I won’t be doing, and a microwave.

I am extremely fortunate that my school is giving me the royal treatment, although at times I feel like I’m on a field trip to the rest of my life. Along with the other new teachers were escorted on a shopping trip to Ikea (I have not yet learned where is the Tupperware in Turkish), Bauhaus (a Home Depot) and the Carrefour, ( basically a Turkish Walmart but better because the salespeople zoom around on roller-skates).