The Landing

I awoke to a ghastly image of a man in utter shock. I had passed out (yet again) on the flight. At least, this time, it was the last leg. I awoke, about twenty minutes prior to our landing in Istanbul, and my companion in Row 12 shuffled through his belongings like a man frantically searching through a pamphlet on how to disarm a bomb. I looked up at him, my eyelids heavy:

"You look like you lost something..."
"I did," he replied.

His hands shaking, he explained to me that while in a dead sprint to catch the plane, his wallet must have fallen out of his back pocket.

"I am coming to Istanbul. Not a penny to my name. And it is very late at night."

I shrugged and told him he was welcome to ride along in a taxi with me to the Koc University campus. A wave of relief splashed over his face and he smiled. He introduced himself as Paul and explained he was a Byzantine archaeologist flying in for a business trip. With little trouble, we landed, got our visas stamped, picked up the bags and were off. We flagged the cabbie and Paul informed me he was able to negotiate a low price for the ride up to Sariyer, the town in which my school resides. As we zipped about the narrow European roads, Paul did his best to answer my myriad questions about Turkish culture. He mentioned that within two minutes of being in the cab, the driver had asked him (in Turkish of course)- "What the hell do you feed that boy to make him so tall?!" Around this time he revealed his two favorite rules about Turkey- "1) There are no rules and 2) There are no rules!"

I bid Paul farewell as we dropped him at his hotel and he made arrangements to reimburse me the 40 Lira for the ride. As the cab sped off and nearly took out a 93 year old bag of bones in the process, I realized it was just the cabbie and I for the next 30 minutes.

I took in the views. The serenely lit mosques, the Bosphorus shimmering in the moonlight. The harsh scent of sulfur mixed with scents I have never before experienced. I thought about making small talk with the cabbie but soon realized that for the first time in my life, I faced a communication barrier that proved insurmountable. I knew not a lick of Turkish and he, not a hint of English. The silence engulfed us.

We finally arrived at the university at 2:30 am. Having commuted for 23 straight hours and eaten little, I began to regret that final complimentary whisky, courtesy of British air.  We got through the main entrance and made our way past the dorm buildings. Having no idea where to go, the cabbie and I pulled into a frighteningly vacant lot and he began to honk his horn, searching desperately for any evidence of life. When he began to scream Turkish out his window into the pitch black night, I knew it was time to make a phone call. Finally, around 3:15 am, a heavy set, overly courteous Turk made his way toward the taxi, unloaded my bags and checked me in for the night. Knowing full well that orientation began in 5 hours, I did my best to settle down and get some sleep despite my body's reluctance. As the blackness took hold, feelings of displacement and anxiety retreated and a rush of excitement came forth. Something deep down told me I was in for a treat.