It's been just over a week since I swung my 43 lb. backpack off my shoulders and onto the checked baggage scale at the Air Canada counter at LaGuardia. "Your problem now, Air Canada," I thought, trying to hide my smile.
Twenty-four hours later I jerked awake to the ping of the overhead announcement, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our descent into Istanbul..."
The first few hours on the ground was a whirlwind. At the visa counter, the attendant took my $20 USD and shoved a 90-day tourist visa sticker into my passport without even glancing up. The non-Turkish entry line was serpentine and endless. I glanced around and realized I was the only blonde. The man in front of me smelled. Soon after, I realized I did as well. I wanted a shower and a nap, like whoa.
Walking toward the baggage claim I realized I didn't know what to do next. My contact at the Work and Travel agency I'd be working for had only said someone would meet me at the airport. I've secretly always wanted to see my name on one of those signs drivers hold, so in my excitement I hadn't thought to ask where they stand. With my 43 lb pack strapped into place and my camera bag and laptop lashed in front, I did what I usually do when lost in strange places: follow the crowd.
Sure enough, just outside the airport exit, I spotted a crowd of sign-holders, and at last "KATHERINE LILJEGREN - EDUYORK".
The man holding it wore a slim-cut, deep blue three-piece suit. "Spiffy driver," I thought.
"Merhaba!" I said.
"Merhaba! Very good, you speak Turkish!" he replied, with a wide, shy smile.
"I knew was you," he motioned to my face, "I think this what all Americans look like. Blonde and light eye."
I laughed and told him Americans look like everything.
"I am Ibrahim. I work Eduyork with Osman," he said. "First, we go there. You can meet everyone."
I slowly pieced together the implication of this. I'm in a sweatshirt, jeans, and snow boots. I smell. My hair is knotted from sleeping against the window, and the last time I looked in a mirror was 4am the day before. My impeccably-dressed coworker is taking me to meet my new boss, and an office full of coworkers.
Awesome. Just, awesome.
I managed to pull my makeup bag from the top of my pack as he loaded my bags in the trunk. I briefly considered all the social norms I could be breaking by doing my make up in the car, but vanity pushed them out of my mind.
On the ride to the office Ibrahim tried to make me feel at home by blasting Jay-Z. The N-word reverberated off the windows, assaulting my eardrums, and I wondered if he had any idea what it was saying.
We attempted conversation as I contemplated the veritable deathtrap outside my window.
"You know Ottomon?" he asked, pointing to an aqueduct.
In front of us, a suicidal man on a motorbike shot between two busses.
"Yes, the Ottomon Empire, I know a little bit about it. Those are Ottoman?"
"Yes, yes."
I could barely hear him over the blaring horn of a passing taxi. The driver must have through the white stripes on the road were just decoration.
The traffic slowed at a roundabout and out of nowhere, the street flooded with pedestrians. Dodging and darting from one lane to the next.
....
Twenty-four hours later I jerked awake to the ping of the overhead announcement, "Ladies and gentlemen, we're beginning our descent into Istanbul..."
The first few hours on the ground was a whirlwind. At the visa counter, the attendant took my $20 USD and shoved a 90-day tourist visa sticker into my passport without even glancing up. The non-Turkish entry line was serpentine and endless. I glanced around and realized I was the only blonde. The man in front of me smelled. Soon after, I realized I did as well. I wanted a shower and a nap, like whoa.
Walking toward the baggage claim I realized I didn't know what to do next. My contact at the Work and Travel agency I'd be working for had only said someone would meet me at the airport. I've secretly always wanted to see my name on one of those signs drivers hold, so in my excitement I hadn't thought to ask where they stand. With my 43 lb pack strapped into place and my camera bag and laptop lashed in front, I did what I usually do when lost in strange places: follow the crowd.
Sure enough, just outside the airport exit, I spotted a crowd of sign-holders, and at last "KATHERINE LILJEGREN - EDUYORK".
The man holding it wore a slim-cut, deep blue three-piece suit. "Spiffy driver," I thought.
"Merhaba!" I said.
"Merhaba! Very good, you speak Turkish!" he replied, with a wide, shy smile.
"I knew was you," he motioned to my face, "I think this what all Americans look like. Blonde and light eye."
I laughed and told him Americans look like everything.
"I am Ibrahim. I work Eduyork with Osman," he said. "First, we go there. You can meet everyone."
I slowly pieced together the implication of this. I'm in a sweatshirt, jeans, and snow boots. I smell. My hair is knotted from sleeping against the window, and the last time I looked in a mirror was 4am the day before. My impeccably-dressed coworker is taking me to meet my new boss, and an office full of coworkers.
Awesome. Just, awesome.
I managed to pull my makeup bag from the top of my pack as he loaded my bags in the trunk. I briefly considered all the social norms I could be breaking by doing my make up in the car, but vanity pushed them out of my mind.
On the ride to the office Ibrahim tried to make me feel at home by blasting Jay-Z. The N-word reverberated off the windows, assaulting my eardrums, and I wondered if he had any idea what it was saying.
We attempted conversation as I contemplated the veritable deathtrap outside my window.
"You know Ottomon?" he asked, pointing to an aqueduct.
In front of us, a suicidal man on a motorbike shot between two busses.
"Yes, the Ottomon Empire, I know a little bit about it. Those are Ottoman?"
"Yes, yes."
I could barely hear him over the blaring horn of a passing taxi. The driver must have through the white stripes on the road were just decoration.
The traffic slowed at a roundabout and out of nowhere, the street flooded with pedestrians. Dodging and darting from one lane to the next.
....