In Finland. Where Everyone is Blonde.

Finally. Out of the abyss I call February, where no one sees the light of day and no one smiles. Despite Valentine's Day or the fact that it is the shortest month of the year, still---no consolation. February Sucks.

But. Back to my calling. The open sky. The open road. The open world. (Or at least when you have your Russian visa). However, je divague.

Preface: I'm going to Russia with Misha, Evin, and.... Alex. If he was here. He didn't get his visa in time and is stuck in New York. I am on Spring Break and finally free... for two weeks.

I'm in Finland on my 3-4 hour layover. If there ever was a perfect place, an Aryan utopia, this might be it. The airport is spotless. The architecture has sharp and beautiful angles. The couches are either dirty white, off white, or beige (as Evin insists). The landscape is flat, though picturesque. This big building is near empty. (Helsinki only has half a million people). There is no music playing. No loudspeaker. There is stoic silence that adds to the chic nature of the women walking around with thick black sunglasses, Longchamp bags, and delicate Finnish speech. There is an accuracy in every angle and the color scheme could not be more spot on.

If people think Scandinavia is the ideal, I can see why. Everyone is just beautiful, well dressed, and has a sense of color in their design and clothing.

Even the off white (beige?!?) couches match the landscape.

Excuse me while I got pour perfume on myself at a duty free shop. I need to shower.

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. 

Morning...?

I've recently discovered what I think is a morning in Istanbul. I think. Maybe. The sun rises, so it must be the sign of a new time, a new day, but as far as a change in pattern or clock goes, I'm still confused. 

Last night, or morning, or yesterday (the 31, night of the 30), I enjoyed tea, mussels, and second hand from cheap cigarettes (not so enjoyable), with five Kurdish men, a El Salvadorian (edgar), a pole (pawel), and a canadian (Jeremy). I was the Mexican sister of Edgar for the night, so don't get too excited. After our American going away party for our co-workers at TOG, Tesev, the Turkish Daily, Koc or otherwise, we ended up making friends with not just our co-workers the average chai man, the usual nut seller, or the guy who cleans your table who only speaks Kurdish, or zazaki (of the Zaza people of course). Chatting about their experiences is unique and when you know just enough Turkish, Arabic, English, or Spanish--well, conversation is limited but entertaining. It was night, but morning. Turkcell was planning its carnival and beginning to hang banners at night's end, but morning to it. I saw men ending their nights and some beginning their days.  

Right now it is nearing 8:00 of the 1st. The sleepy watch guards at the desk of my guest house are just waking up with a heavy dose of Turkish Soap Operas. Perhaps the convenience store has opened. I bet that simit is being made somewhere (its always being made). People are getting up. In my case, my flatmates are leaving. One by one. 

Why am I finding a sense of finality in the morning? (can you feel the subtext of the previous paragraph?). I feel like something is over and its only 8:00AM. Something must be beginning. Normally nights give that sense of closure with the promise of the next day. Anymore, with my insomnia, mornings tell me "Its okay to be awake... now. Too bad Advil PM did not work." 

No. That aside, I've come to appreciate the early morning as limbo. A time of change. Not finality. Forever in limbo, in peace---my mantra. Good Morning Istanbul. Good Night America. Happy 5 o'clock. Somewhere.