" H o m e "

A longass trip later, I arrived in Istanbul. After 7 hours layover in London, I had no patience left in me to wait another minute extra for anything. Fortunately, my bag made it to Istanbul OK (unlike the JFK/British Airways fiasco). My sister had set up a car to pick me up, so I was ready for smooth sailing to her apartment, check email, go to bed, try to get some sleep, and be up in the morning for the final segment of the odyssey: a short flight from Istanbul to Izmir (about the same distance as SFO-LAX).

But no.

Flights before mine were delayed, and, in turn, so were the shuttles that were picking up/dropping off passengers. I sat outside the arrivals gate for half an hour, cranky as hell, waiting for my damn ride. It was past midnight in Turkey by the time I reached my sister's place; I had left NY over 21 hours ago.

On the 26th, I arrived in Izmir, and took one more trip that night to the beach town, Çesme, where the heat is a little more bearable. This is my last stop for a bit until the gang from SF & LA comes to visit. It's nice to put my bag down for a bit and put my shit in drawers rather than live out of a bag. At the same time, the sawdust smell of my bags makes me feel all wistful. A wonder.




The first few days "back home" have been hard. The first day, I did nothing. I had no motivation to begin lesson planning; shit, I didn't even have motivation to go to the beach, and that should tell you something.

The second day, I made myself go swimming, knowing I don't feel quite at home until my nostrils and my chapped lips burn with salt. It helped to swim from one shore of the inlet to the opposite one. Quality alone time—just me, topless, and the sea. I also began withdrawing to read in solitude…appropriately, One Hundred Years of Solitude. I thought I was in the clear, but the following day, more of the same: I was ready to go to the beach; then, I passed out on the couch in my bikini and never made it out of the house.

V. reminded me I am in no woman's land; I relaxed into the discomfort a bit after I remembered that this is not the first time I am having a hard time adjusting to being away from one home to arriving and integrating myself into another one. I think last summer was a little like this, too, but I was only here for a short time, and I don't think I gave myself the time to feel awkward in my liminality. (And this time around, it hasn't helped that thanks to the wonders of Verizon in particular and our DSL problems here in general, I have not been able to connect with my life back in the US while beginning to nest here.)


I am writing this now so I remember this transition period next time. I used to give myself a hard time thinking that these transitions that take longer and longer for me to make might be signs I am getting too old for the nomadic life. Well, that was stupid. I've said this before and I'll say it again: I'm in my PRIME! So I have a different perspective now. I think San Francisco/the US has become more and more of a home. I can still make transitions into new places in a short time, yet going between one home and another is an entirely different process.



(Try me: give me tickets to two different countries I have never been to. Brazil and Argentina would be just fine, thanks.)