Living a "Domestic" Life: Life at home for an Ex-pat at heart

In a foreign country, when there is something that potentially rubs you, say, construction, healthcare, pollution, marriage practices, you can shrug it off and say, "Well, how peculiar. This country is not like mine." Of course, I can look at them as potential business opportunities or something--like opening a recycling facility in Istanbul or something. However, for the most part, the ex-pat cannot be expected to solve the problem of the foreigner.

Flash to my town of origin in rural Pennsylvania. Route 28 is STILL under construction. One medication that I could have gotten in Turkey for $10 is $42 here. There are shootings at LA Fitness nearby. I see trash on the roads. Public Education nearby has turned into more like a juvenile detention center.

Basically, the problems that the ex-pat may click their tongue to are in their own country. And by I mean that ex-pat, I mean me. I can't shrug it off because this system directly affects me. Regardless of what country I am in, the fact that my state's education system is not doing so hot, or that my healthcare costs are through the roof (and no comment on the Obama plan...)--all of this has some impact on me, the Passport that I hold, the life I lead, and where I go.

So though my life is far from Domestic yet (even though I'm cooking Creme Brulee and Baklava like Julia--great movie), looking at the stagnation (and death?) of the area I came from can fill any ex-pat's conscience with a little bit of sadness, or even guilt!

I can't even vote to change it here. I'm a Connecticut voter.

I'm sittin at an Airplane Stations, got a ticket for my destination... mmmm mmmm

Yea, I went there. Go Simon and Garfunkel. Its the truth though. I'm sitting at the Istanbul International Airport after spending a decent amount of time at a D & R Bookstore, a Starbucks, and watching Turkish Customs Officials Drag a shouting man away. Oh Turkey. 

Right now, there is an ad for Reina on the screen (the Night Club I went to on my 19th birthday--thank you Murat). There was a soundtrack for the club at the bookstore. I have about ten YTL in my wallet that I want to spend. I see simit looking croissants in the Starbucks case. Fake blonde dye jobs are everywhere. People are carrying expensive duty free items around, especially the Saudi Tourists ( who probably stayed at my hotel last night, where there were thongs, condoms, and boxers in the Mini Bar to buy--chilling.)

I am sleepy after days without sleep, thanks to my father's snoring in our cave hotel in Cappadocia and our Airport hotel. Last night I ordered a Sutlac out of nostalgia and sleeplessness. It was bad--the sleeplessness and the sutlac.

I could talk about my summer and reflect about my successes, my challenges, my moments.... but the summer isn't done. I still have reports. I still have budgets to complete. I still have meetings in New York that were set up in Istanbul. I choose to remain silent for now. 

I'm surprisingly quiet in the mind. When I do think, I think only of how much I do not want to leave... but not obsessively. It is a quiet longing. I read the newspaper. I read my Turkish Authors I picked up. I listen to Manu Chao as I watch the Turkish Starbucks man take away some plates and mop the leak from the ceiling. 

I have to go and catch my flight to London. 

"All those tours and one night stands, got a suitcase and guitar in hand, and every stop is neatly planned for a poet and a one man band." 

Homeward Bound I guess? (Well, not for another 5 days). Simon and Garfunkel took the words right out of my mouth. 

Turkish Tea and Patience

Tonight at dinner in Cappadocia, my father burnt his tongue on a hot cup of Turkish Cay (pronounced Chai) and proceeded to add cold water to the tiny glass, perhaps out of the frustration of having a sore tongue and the desire to conquer that which was trying to make him wait (waiting is a sin in America land you know). It reminded me of the land which I was away from for some 3 months now and what I will face when I go back to it on Saturday.

The little cups of cay that I have encountered in Turkey have taught me a patience that I don't think I had back in the states. Ask my younger sister--part of my daily routine was burning my tongue on my black coffee and then spilling it on a black shirt (planning ahead you know). I could never wait for something to cool off. I wanted the rich satisfaction of the bitter blackness on my tongue, even if it meant pain. I had to wake up. I had to go to school. I had to do it and I had to do it NOW.

Something has changed here. After burning my tongue on a cup of cay that was not meant to wake me up, that was meant for me to enjoy (out of hospitality, during conversation, after dinner), I realized---why the hurry? Why can I not have the temperance to simply wait and sip my cay, making the small cup last infinitely longer than a large black coffee from Tazza D'Oro? Something about drinking from that little cup made me enjoy stirring the sugar cube just a little longer, waiting in between sips, taking my time, letting the tea cool. The purpose of the tea was not to slug it down. The purpose of the tea was for the time it passed. It taught me patience and temperance--skills to be had that I never thought could be learned from a cup of tea.

Now that I am going back to the land of the 2 minute cheese burger and the 99 cent chicken nugget, where large coffees can be downed in a minute and people get antsy if they have to wait more than 1 minute for their computers to load, I imagine I will go back to burning my tongue on my large Mexican Peaberry in the morning. However, when I sit down at the end of the day with my cup of tea and begin the night of studying, I think I'll have that patience I have been praying to learn.

I guess I'll have to wait and see what happens.