My mind was blank, filled with only quiet voices and soft Turkish music playing from the speakers above my head. I registered little else from my surroundings. Shoved against the dreaded window seat, I sat upright in an uncomfortable position. The blinding white light outside shined through the two small oval windows next to my cheek. I squint. My hands jumped at the tan blinds and shut them before my eyes stung and my vision blurred from moisture. I heard the plane engines roar and braced myself for takeoff. While above the world and among puffy white clouds, I waited with both eagerness and impatience for that rare view of the pocket-sized city below. Unexpected, I felt the bittersweet sadness. I felt it in the way my eyes stopped blinking and lingered at the disappearing land below, the way my mind flashed pictures of Turkish delights, tulip shaped tea cups, yellow taxis, stone pavements, and mosques on hillsides, and the way my mouth lifted up in a simple, transient smile.
I miss Istanbul.
I miss the weird, drowsy feeling of waking up at 5 o’clock in the morning to a man’s voice, seeming to echo all around me. In my half-sleep state, I tried to locate the source of this noise. Was the sound coming from a radio in the room? It was dark. I could only see the outlines of bunk beds, a table, and the window across the room. I lifted my body; a failed attempt and I fell back onto my stiff mattress. I heard the ruffling sound of blankets, a sigh, and two clicks. The window closed and so did my eyes. The now distant chant followed me into my dreams. This was call to prayer, the sound of Istanbul.
I miss the sweaty palms, veins pulsing loudly, and my heart racing at an abnormal speed as I bargained for the first time. “I will buy it for two lira”. My voice was quiet, passive in an annoying way. The man in a blue, half-buttoned up shirt and black pants stood with most of his weight on one leg and the other relaxing out in front held up four fingers and smiled, showing his smoke damaged teeth. “I give you for 4 lira”. My mind was racing to tap into the Asian response that would get me what I want. I gave up. Perhaps I did not possess that innate bargaining skill. Tur suk cu lar, I replay each syllables over and over in my head, and gave him the best version of my Turkish thank you. I smiled goodbye and stepped back into the crowd, with cramped bodies pushing, shoving me along the traffic of shoppers.
I miss the steep hills and uneven cobblestone pavements. In Berlin, I walked for hours and felt no tightness of skin around my calves, aching in my leg muscles, or the sore feeling in my back. Berlin, a flat land with large streets, cross walks, and walled in shops was replaced with Istanbul’s narrow alleyways, open fruit markets, and large hillsides. Berlin at night was quiet, peaceful in a sense. Istanbul, with its neon lights illuminating the large streets filled with people walking, talking over loud music and thumping bass, was invigorating. Vendors stood behind their tables yelling out “ni hao ma”, “pretty lady”, and “I have this for you”. Stray cats, like the bees in Berlin, wandered around, fearless among the people. It was nearing 2 A.M and yet this city remained alive.
I miss the fast pace world where crazy ships moved about aimlessly in a vibrant blue sea, passing each other with only a few inches apart. “In Turkey, there are no rules, you create your own”, a Turkish friend announced before I ran, with full force across a street, nervous and praying for survival. Traffic rules did not exist here. I will never forget the Taxi driver with one hand on the wheel, the other holding a grilled corn. With each giant carefree bite of his corn, I gulped in air, a shocked breath. My heart nearly stopped beating and my feet slammed down at an invisible brake. This cycle repeated for the next 10 minutes as the driver continued down the road at 70 km/hr while eating, changing lanes, and passing cars.
I expected Istanbul to be a city of ancient history, rich culture, and cheap shopping. Little did I know that this city would sweep me off my feet, take me out of my comfort zone, and throw me into a pool of new experiences. In just four short days, I was able to discover the place where I felt both at home and out of place. Perhaps I drank too much Turkish tea, eaten too sweet of a peach, walked up too many hills, and sat on too many benches stained with dark green pigeon poop. Perhaps it all ended too quickly because “too much” wasn’t enough. I wanted more of this city than just some 4 days’ memory.
I stared out of the plane’s small, plastic window at a disappearing city. I felt that feeling. The feeling of longing, remembrance for a place I fell in love with.
I miss Istanbul.
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