Off to Asia

So on our first day off I went down to the main port of Istanbul, Eminonu and hopped on a ferry. I didn’t really know where I was going but figured for 1.30 lira it couldn’t be far. It was a beautiful sunny day as I road the ferry across the Bosphorus, seeing pieces of Istanbul in every direction, huge mosques on every hill of the city. The sea birds were riding the air currents around us, darting in and out of the wind, riding their way from Europe to Asia just as I was. The ferry was just old enough to have character, old wooden seats lined the sides, the rubber rimmed bottom connected to the dock by an old plank, the weather worn paint peeling in some places. But new enough to feel safe and serve cappuccino. Istanbul is beautiful from the water, three land masses all accessible by ferry. One can really get a sense how big the city really is. I sat on the deck and watched my new city go by as Turkish people smoke and drank tea, breathing in the sweet salty sea air. Nothing makes me happier than being on the water, seems like a body of water defines a city to me, and this city has four of them.

I got off the ferry at Uskudar and started walking. My tour book didn’t have anything interesting about the area except for a legend about the lighthouse on a 5x10 island off the coast. But I didn’t care, I just like walking around and seeing a new part of the city. Plus, I just found myself stepping foot onto the continent of Asia and how cool is that! So I got to walking and found the market area filled with people selling goods from small shops and tent covered stalls. I bargained for some much needed cheap sunglasses then made my way to the food section where dried fruits and nuts spilled over from huge bins. I bought some roasted hazelnuts (a Turkish specialty) and dried apricots (the best in the world…. Juicy and plump still). I perused the pickled store, everything from olives to hot peppers, and many things I can’t identify. I passed spice shops with large canisters of herbs and spices in every color of the rainbow and walked down the produce sections, colors once again bright and fresh, sometimes so much so that you can’t believe they are real. Silver fish with red fan shaped mouths sat glistening on ice, lamb heads stared out of glass cases as merchants shouted and sprinkled water from metal bowls on their bounty. I stopped at a bakery and brought special flat bread for Ramazan and sat an the steps of a mosque to eat my bread and write postcards.


The next week I did the same thing; down to the port, a fish sandwich, and a random ferry boat this time to Kadikoy on the Asia side again. (The fish sandwiches are sold all over the waterfront, kiosks with grilled mackerel sizzling and fresh bread, tomatoes, lettuce and onions. With a little salt and lemon juice they are such a treat.) When I got to Kadikoy I walked down café lined streets, bought hair scarves from Nepal, fresh spinach and garlic from an old man with wooden crates of vegetables, and walked the rows of fresh food vendors before stopping on the docks for a cup of tea with my book. Then it was back on the ferry where I watched the huge city go on for miles, boats crisscrossing the bodies of water, ferries, massive cruise ships, and small fisherman alone bobbing in our wake. The Bosphorus bridge was in the distance, suspended high about the water, connecting Europe and Asia for drivers.

There are fisherman everywhere here. Boats line the shore along the whole city, rickety old boats out in the morning, weathered skinned men holding nets in the sun, selling fish in markets along the coast. Everywhere you look someone is fishing, off the docks, along the rock beaches bordering the highway, and on every bridge. They line up next to each other talking and working and drinking chai of course.

Men here seem to have close relationships. Much like Greece, old men congregate everywhere, under a gazebo between apartment buildings, outside stores, in special men’s only tea houses where backgammon is played. They hug each other, kiss each other, and walk arm and arm down the street. There is nothing cuter in the world than two old men walking down the streets, their arms linked like school girls, leaning on each other chatting. But it isn’t just old men, young men are just the same. And in general people hug and touch each other more, my teammates and I are always arm locked or leaning on each other. Its nice.

High on Life

Its definitely been an interesting few days here in Turkey. When living abroad, things just seem to happen in quirky unexpected ways. It can be hilarious and fun or annoying and pointless. We’ve had the whole spectrum of experiences already….

Saturday morning I woke up late and ate breakfast, talked on my new internet phone connection (Skype is the greatest thing EVER!), and got ready for practice. Our bus picked us up at noon and we made our way downtown to our gym, driving along the water most of the way, the huge cargo ships dotting the sea in the distance. We got ready like any other day and came together at midcourt and began dividing into two teams when I heard our coach say, “Futbol.” I immediately started cheering and looking at my teammates with new eyes, as potentially good or bad soccer players. I hadn’t played since high school but it’s a sport I absolutely love, love to play, love to watch. If I hadn’t played basketball it definitely would have been my sport of choice. Plus playing indoor soccer (or American football for that matter) for basketball practice every once in awhile is SO much fun. It makes everyone remember why we play sports, it awakens your competitiveness in a new way, and has you laughing and body slamming each other with a new enthusiasm. So we played and although my touch was way off, it was fun to trap the ball and juke someone, do a give and go, and fight to head the ball. We all argued over calls and celebrated excessively with goals; flying like airplanes down the court, lining up on hands and knees to do the caterpillar (don’t ask), and anything else to rub it in the other teams face. Ahhhh, good times. we played for well over an hour.

To finish off practice we had a four on four tournament and my team kicked ass. It was fun to just play and have fun. I really think a Saturday morning practice like that is just what our team needed.

After a very cold shower in the locker room, they still haven’t figured out the hot water situation, I headed down to Sultanahmet square to meet a friend. I am early, however, and very hungry and I am not sure if he is fasting or not so I don’t want to wait. I stop on the way and eat some stuffed mussels from a man on the corner. The salty, oily taste with fresh lemon is my new favorite thing to eat here in Turkey. I kept walking towards our meeting place, and even after sitting down a bench and icing my ankle (which got me some weird looks) I still had time to kill. So I continued to Sultanhamet Square, a huge area between the famous Blue Mosque and the Agia Sophia. There are booths set up as far as you can see with food and sweets, jewelry, and tea and hookah houses. It is Ramazan here so every night is a festival in every part of the city. At seven in the evening fasting breaks and the streets are packed with people eating kebap and lamb off the spit, handmade lollipops, made by men twisting sticky sugary colors around sticks, and a hot sweet milk drink. People sell everything on the street here and not just during Ramazan. You can easily eat dinner walking down the street, wheel barrow type contraptions serving everything from lamb, to chicken with rice and yoghurt drinks, to mussels and corn on the cob. And of course, random old men sell tea (chai) on the street from large steel kettles served in little plastic cups. I hadn’t yet tried the corn so I stopped at a booth and bought one. As I was turning to leave the three men working the stand insisted I come to the back of the tent and eat and chat. So I did. There I am, in the middle of Ramazan Festivals, with men starting up their businesses for the day, cooking chestnuts, shucking corn, and me sitting there eating and talking. What we talked about I couldn’t really tell you, we looked at mobile phones for awhile, I learned one of them was Syrian, and I think one of them took my phone number. What I will say when he calls should be interesting. I meet men on every corner in this city.

So I finished up my snack and headed to the next tram stop where my friend Ekrem was waiting. I met Ekrem last week when I was perusing the book bazaar. Very cool place. When books were banned in Turkey, they began selling manuscripts and then continued selling books of all kinds daily. They have some beautiful old leather bound books. Most things are in Turkish but books are books and I just like looking at them. Anyway, Ekrem starting talking to me and his English is pretty good so we went for chai and walked around the city that day. Anyway, this day we planned on meeting and doing some more sightseeing and then going to his house for Ramazan dinner. His friend Jim (they swear it’s a Turkish name) was with him, a textile trader that was dressed in all black Armani, a leather coat draped over his shoulder and aviator sunglasses on. He looked like a model, and was about the size of one too. So we all started walking and went into Topkapi Palace area, walking around a central park type area, the canopy of trees letting in specks of sunlight, lovers on every bench holding hands. We didn’t go in the actual palace, it was too late in the day and I was too tired for much but it’s a huge area and one can definitely see from the outside of the buildings a glimpse of a prior era.

As we walked out of the arched entry way you could see the water off the coast of Istanbul, huge mosques in the distance as we walked along the cobblestone streets to the hotel district. We chose a nice European hotel, and made our way up narrow winding staircases to the top deck for some chai. The view was breathtaking. You could literally see for miles in every direction, the evening fog rolling in from the Princes Islands. (see picture) I felt on top of the world as I sat level with the Agia Sophia and Blue Mosque, felt like a bird as I looked across at roof top decks on every building surrounding us, some with doors leading straight off the edge like a hurricane took of the top story and left on a door frame. I could see to the Asia side and all the water in between, ships rolling quietly across the foggy sea. We sat and drank our chai, and worked on my Turkish.


After chai it was time to make our way home to Ekrem’s house where his mother was busy cooking away for Ramazan dinner. Ramazan is obviously a huge holiday here, thirty days of fasting from 5 am to 7 pm really affects the culture. Not everyone abides by the rules, my teammates don’t because they are athletes and my coaches did for about a week instead of the full month. But nevertheless, especially in the smaller towns and cities, it can be difficult to get food and drink during the day. Today we walked about 15 minutes trying to find chai. That just doesn’t happen in Turkey normally. Usually, every business has chai on hand, from hair salons to travel agencies and they are all ready and willing to share.

But whether you fast or not, eating at seven is a big event in Turkey during Ramazan. Everyone is hungry and has plans to eat. The mosques all over the country announce when it is okay to eat and everyone gathers around a table where ever they are. After our practice our coaches are crammed onto a picnic table, with a feast of food waiting for them. I think just random people bring food; our teammate’s husband, our bus driver, the man that opens the gym. Wherever you are, you eat at seven. And although none of us are fasting, all the players cram around the table as well, shoveling food in after practice.

So Saturday at about 6 pm, Ekrem and I are making our way back to his house where his family is waiting for the mosque’s announcement to eat. Sultanhamet square is a mess, people are pushing past each other on the street, restaurants have lines of 200 people blocking the sidewalk, and the tram has throngs of people forcing their way on at every stop. We get on the tram and somehow, after a few minutes I get a seat. Of course as soon as I do the tram stops and a man’s voice comes over the loud speaker. I can’t tell you how many times I have had to follow the locals filing off public transportation in foreign lands with no idea what is going on. Luckily, Ekrem was there rushing me off the tram and down the street, where everyone was moving fast and with purpose. Nothing like a whole city of hungry people, its madness. We make our way past the van blocking the tram line, somehow it has crashed into the iron guard rail, bending it fully back, and to the Grand Bazaar area where everyone was trying to hail taxis and run onto departing buses. Taxis were lined up on the side but they weren’t moving, it was nearly 6:30 at this point and all the drivers were anxiously waiting for the fast to break. Those that were working were dropping people off on their way home to eat so we couldn’t get a ride anywhere. Ekrem is very frustrated at this point because we have to be at his house before 7 to eat all the wonderful food his mother has prepared. There isn’t much to do except keep asking taxis if they are going in our direction. But its not working. Finally he goes up to a random car at a stop light and asks if we can get a ride to another central location in hopes of either taking the metro home or another taxi. Sure enough the random Turkish man is going our way so we frantically get in his car as the light turns green, cars honking as we hold up traffic. There I am, speeding down a main street in Istanbul, in some stranger’s car as he darts in and out of traffic, waving at police officers at intersections as he runs red lights. I am laughing the whole way, totally high on life, and loving every second of the craziness. He drops us off and we hail a taxi who is just as intent on getting home himself and with Ekrem and I cheering him on, drives like a bat out of hell so we can be on time for Ramazan dinner. Not a boring second around here.

So we arrive at Ekrem’s house with time to spare and I meet everyone in his family, his soon to be married brother, his mom, dad, uncle, cousin, cousin in law, and a little 7 year old girl that belonged to someone. The table was packed with food and with people huddled around eating at the sound of the bells. We had chicken with rice, soup (Turkish soup is awesome), flat bread, Turkish cheese and pastrami, bean dishes, dates, yoghurt, salad, and stuffed grape leaves. The food was amazing and every dish had a story, special pastrami from Kayseri, special dates from Adana, special cheese from their home town of Cappedocia. They have a lot of ‘special’ things here I have noticed. I sat there having Ramazan dinner with people I couldn’t understand so I just kept repeating the few words I do know, ‘good, wonderful, food, etc.’ Good times. We finished with chai of course, as Ekrems father smoked, then moved into Ekrems room to wait for desert. I sat listening to music with Ekrem and his uncle as everyone rushed around getting ready for the big night of visiting the future in laws. His uncle, a rounded 50ish man, was immediately likable and through some translation I learned that he likes whiskey, works as a civil engineer, will take me and my brother out to eat when he gets here, and likes my smile. He also seemed to be in Ekrems fan club, saying things like, “nice boy”, “very good boy” so I’m pretty sure they all think we are dating. Great.


So the family all piled into one car while Ekrem and his uncle and I got in another. They had decided that they would drop me off on their way. I had made the mistake of telling Ekrem that my teammates and I were looking for some reasonably priced vodka (alcohol is highly taxed here) so his uncle, smoking and cutting people off of course, pulls to a screeching halt in front of a corner store where we rush out and buy some vodka. After a long day, filled with every kind of excitement you could want, its time to hit the town with my teammates because Sunday is our day off….. more on the nightlife later.

All in all my life here is not boring. I finished the day back at my apartment thinking of all the random things that happened to me in a single day. I kept getting flashbacks and laughing to myself; a teammate falling on her ass over the soccer ball with no one around, hungry head scarved women elbowing their way through throngs of people, a random driver waving at the police officer as he runs the red light, the taxi driver going Nascar on us. It was completely fabulous. I am loving this city….

Speed Racer

People in Istanbul drive like they are at an arcade playing a video game or driving go karts around a tire buffered racetrack. Only there can the freedom of hitting someone be realized, the fear of totaling your car ignored. For normal people that is… I thought Greek drivers were crazy but here in Turkey there are even less rules and no one follows them. There are also 10 million more people in Istanbul than there are in Athens. Here there are no lanes, no right of way, and every person competes to see who can do the most stupid things consecutively. They dart in and out, cut each other off, pass people on the shoulder of highways, and no one stays in their lane. Its basically a free for all with a lot of honking and yelling. We pass people on the wrong side of the road with cars in plain view up ahead, back out of streets onto arterials with a small wave to oncoming cars, and off road it through construction sites to get to our gym. Me and my English speaking teammates (one other American and an Australian) have gotten to instigating our driver. We clap if he cuts someone off-“Bravo,” we say. And yell “Allah Allah” if some other driver is doing something stupid which is pretty often.

The first week I was here I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen any accidents. Of course I spoke far too soon. On the way home from practice suddenly we braked hard and everyone lurched forward as we skidded for a good 10 seconds, finally stopping by t- boning a car with three women, frozen in the road like deer in headlights, their bright floral printed headscarves jerking violently as the bus slammed into their passenger door. Then we proceeded to hang out in the bus for an hour waiting for the police, blocking the entire lane, laughing as cars crashed into the curb behind us, trying to get past.

Now that I have been here five weeks I am pretty accustomed to the driving and no longer gasp at every close call. When we are rushing to practice and every attempt to find a shortcut finds us waiting for five minutes for the one way road to clear out, every corner met with another back up of vehicles, I am not surprised. I know that it could take us anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour to get to practice, depending on traffic, and almost hitting small children is just part of life in the big city. Seriously though, kids play soccer in the streets, chasing balls past rushing vehicles and run down the street in their school uniform and no one seems to be concerned. We honk at old women and pin them up against cars trying to get by, yell at hunched over old men with their wheelbarrows of fruit and nuts. It can be scary, or it can be really fun if you don’t think about it too much.

Massage Massage?

One of my favorite people here is our trainer, Rasim. He gave me a massage the first day I arrived so he got a gold star for that and has continued to simultaneously take care of me and keep me endlessly amused. The massages are full body of course, sports bra off, spandex pulled down and up as far as they go, and Rasim with baby oil really punishing those glutes, ass jiggling and muscles relaxing. He uses about five different creams: hot cream, cold cream, icy hot cream, anti inflammation cream, and about three others that are in Turkish. The other day in the hotel I had a full body with only underwear on, the three single hotel mattresses piled on top of one another served as our massage table, a white sheet covered up the essential areas. He really does get up close and personal. My English speaking teammates and I always finish a massage with “Well, Rasim and I are now officially married in some cultures.” “Just got molested by Rasim and liked it.” “Pretty sure I just got goosed in that massage.” “I am now carrying Rasim’s baby.” The last one I left the room, thinking “I didn’t know my underwear stretched in that many directions.” He’s about two inches away from making it a very VERY special massage and with that baby oil things can easily slip. And he always comes back to the glute area, finished with the calves? Better loosen up that butt. Stretching out the quads?... don’t neglect the glutes, Finishing up…. Better grand finale in the ass area. But I can’t complain, I do carry a lot of stress there:)

Today he gave me a facial with baby oil, not my most favorite thing but I do like a good face rub, the rubbing of the inside of my nose I could do without though. What is it with me and inappropriate massages overseas?. And why don’t I care? The thing is, Rasim is the sweetest man and although he crosses some lines, he is all business and truly wants our bodies to feel better after practice. He actually has us schedule massages with him in the hotel. Heck he even tried to give my brother a massage after he flew to Turkey. He just wants to help everyone. He is SO sweet. When I was sick he just kept trying to force feed me vitamins, bring me tea and kept asking "massage massage?" That man will rub my feet on the bus and massage my neck without me even asking. He will have me lay down on the back seats of the bus, our driver swirving in and out of traffic, and Rasim trying to keep his balance while giving me a full body massage on the way home. LOVE him. Plus he speaks like twenty words in English but always teaches me and my American teammate words on the way home. He smiles and says a word in English such as ‘good or bad’ then says it in Turkish. Or he’ll point to something, “Sea” in Turkish “Deniz”. Or my favorite is when he acts things out. Sometimes it is simple things like eating or drinking but absolutely hilarious when he acts things out like “relax”. Half the time I have no idea what he is trying to tell me but his face is so animated I don’t even care. Oh my he keeps me amused.

It can be difficult to have a trainer that doesn’t speak English though. I mean between the two of us we can communicate things like ‘little, big, good, bad, hot, cold’. It just doesn’t narrow it down when you are trying to explain what hurts and where. But hey its an adventure. But….. for all I love about Rasim, his B.O. I just can’t take. Its nauseating. If he lifts his arm and you are within 15 feet, you are screwed.

The First Week....

I left Seattle on a rainy afternoon, happy to wake up and see the familiar Indian Summer slipping away just as I was leaving the city. I made frantic phone calls all day long, trying in the last few hours to speak with everyone I could before ten hours of time difference and complications of transatlantic phone conversations limit my contact. SeaTac airport was deserted so my dad helped me drag my exactly 50 pound bags, pre weighed on the bathroom scale, to the British Airways counter which consisted of a thousand people clustered in the one part of the airport I needed to be. So I stood in line and talked to other travelers- a firefighter headed to Greece for the first time to visit family (‘get ready to eat’ were my words of wisdom) and an American man returning home to his boat in Barcelona after a summer on his Seattle houseboat (he inherited money). Halfway through my dad wisely asks me if I have a contact in Istanbul, you know just in case someone (whoever that may be) isn’t there when I arrive. I, of course, have nothing but my American agent’s phone number and my passport. The situation got resolved quickly. Just one more sign that I have been playing overseas too long because I wasn’t worried in the least.

The flights were fairly painless except for the London security which didn’t allow but one carry on, limited in size to no bigger than a briefcase. So for extra fun I had to leave international departures, wait two hours for my flight booking to open, shuffle all my things and check my bags before going through security yet again. Literally people were holding laptops in Heathrow airport plastic bags, their cases too big to make it through. The British…..

So I sat killing time in an overpriced English restaurant, nodding off while reading an US weekly magazine, everything I never wanted to know about Paris Hilton and Tom Cruise’s daughter-one aspect of American culture I wouldn’t miss. Finally I had to ask someone to wake me up before they left for their flight. With two hours to go I knew I would wake up with out realizing I had fallen asleep and miss my flight. Sure enough I was in full REM when I was woken up, totally unsure of where in the world I was…literally. Finally it was time to board and I got in line, groggy and ready to sleep again. Up ahead I noticed two women in full Burka, only their dark eyes shown beneath their black veil. The man they were with was in cargo shorts and a checkered button down shirt. Sweet. Couple things ran through my half asleep mind- what the @#$#^$*? Why does he get to wear normal clothes? And how exactly do they identify the women in their passport photos? Food for thought…..In all seriousness though, I have seen plenty of Muslim women with head scarves, went to high school with many of them and it was never a big deal. But the full body cover up is fascinating to me. I can’t imagine experiencing the world without showing my face. Never smiling at a stranger, missing out on communicating with facial expressions, its like never having an identity. People wouldn’t recognize you at the grocery store, no one would ever tell you how nice you looked today. What a strange life that would be….. faceless to the world.


However, since landing in Istanbul I have seen only three women in full burka although I do anticipate seeing many when we travel to central Turkey this week. Apparently, the Eastern part of the country is quite different, more conservative and much more rural. Istanbul is a lively city with everything you could ever want or need. Its very western in many respects but it still has its unique identity. You can definitely feel the Islam influence: not much alcohol, no pork, head scarves, fasting for Ramazan, and mosques with loud speakers moaning like ghosts at prayer time. But like any city, people are open to most things- young people go out drinking, there is great music, fabulous shopping, and any kind of food you could ever want. My teammates are like any teammates I have ever had, except I have yet to learn a Turkish swear word and I don’t hear them making sex jokes or talking about boys. Maybe I am just used to Greece where my first word was “asshole” and my owner was asking me to marry him (among other comments) right in front of my laughing teammates. But its still seems different to me, although the girls on my team are fairly young, mostly about 20 years old. Come to think of it, that is the time when talking about boys and laughing about sex is the most fun- before you get cynical and bitterJ

There is a huge language barrier between myself and my teammates and coaches though. I think it is going to take awhile to really get a feel for what is going on, what the culture is really like, and who are these people that I see everyday. I don’t really know much about them. I like them very much, we joke and they teach me Turkish (while they point and laugh at my pronunciation- its great) and they are generally really fun to be around. But I don’t know much about them. Slowly I am learning what they are studying, where they are living, what they do with their time outside the gym. But its slow. When you miss out on locker room talk, you miss out on a lot. Off to Anatolia (Central Turkey) this week and the overnight 8 hour bus ride should give me plenty of time to get to know my teammates better. It should be fun to see the rest of the country. Plus my brother Jordan is coming to visit this week so I have a lots of exciting things coming up…..

'Merhaba' from Istanbul

Its seems strange to think its been well over a year since I have last typed away about my overseas adventures- the oddity of time passing, seems like I can never quite grasped how both fast and slow it goes. It seems like last month I was packing up my body bag sized suitcases in my Athens apartment, having last taverna dinners with teammates and friends toasting a safe trip over wine and greek salad, and jetting around the Greek Isles one last time. But here I am again and I have to say it feels good to feel the clicking beneath my fingers, putting words to the myriad emotions of welcoming a new city into your daily life. This past year I enjoyed being home but I definitely looked forward to a new exciting life in a strange foreign land. I didn’t have any idea where I would end up and didn’t care so long as it was a ‘good situation’ which consists of a multitude of factors, some involving basketball, others having to do with how many fun American players live nearby, none of which you ever seem to know until your thrown off the deep end. But I have learned to swim regardless of what the unknown waters bring at me. And that is a big reason I wanted to go somewhere new.

I loved Athens, I loved Greece and I love the people and life I had there. I will always want to return. And yet it was time for a new challenge, Athens felt like home yet without my family around to share it with. And while I am young and adventuresome I want to take advantage of my opportunities and see the world. I like the idea of a completely new place, the sounds and smells opening up your senses again, the fun of learning a new word from your teammates and saying, ‘how much is this’ all practice long so you don’t forget the new phrase, I enjoy walking down the streets of a strange city-seeing locals making their living in a corner shop, sipping tea with their friends, buying fruit and nuts from a wheelbarrow vendor trying to avoid irreverent drivers. You see the world, and its not revolving around you. My life opens up before me, everything I know is thrown in the air when I step off that plane. And the beauty of living overseas is that the pieces of my life fall in unexpected ways- everything I thought I knew, all that I expect from the comforts of daily life are challenged. And I never know how I will change. Sometimes its insignificant things, like discovering that I like olives or have a propensity for Persian blooded Turkish men. Other times it’s the huge revelation that your life is your own, and cultural expectations don’t bind you to a life that doesn’t fit you. The freedom in that is powerful. Maybe you don’t want to stress about things that don’t matter, maybe sitting down for coffee instead of getting it to go fits you better, maybe the very fabrics of your daily life need shifting in order to live YOUR life to the fullest. In a nutshell, you relearn your self. You get to start over in a way, mold your habits and your expectations with a blank slate in front of you. The big issues of life, religion, cultural norms, the multitude of reasons we get out of bed in the morning are all illuminated by the small seemingly inconsequential fragments of life. Living in a foreign land is like the light being turned on to the world. Its like looking out from a snow globe that’s been shaken. Its life rediscovered.

I am so in the moment overseas. I witness my life in every little way. I notice the smile of a stranger, the way the cashier at the bakery hands me my change, how little children run in the street. I try new food that I can’t pronounce, not knowing even if it is a meat or a bean. I look at peoples body language and I connect with perfect strangers over a thumbs up or a laugh. My mind is stimulated by a trip to the grocery store. Life’s littlest errands become adventures, challenges in the produce section, frustration and exhilaration at the deli counter, surprises when I return home with balony masking itself as sliced turkey, shampoo dressed in a conditioner bottle. There not all good experiences but they are life, they are chances to experience something new, it molds me into what I want to become. And in many ways it humbles you. It puts you in a weak situation where you have to sink or swim, where you often times make an ass of yourself but the in the end it creates an empathy for other peoples struggles. You can identify with almost anyone challenging themselves, stepping out of their comfort zone, experiencing life to the fullest.

But it has its difficulties to be sure. Its exhilarating to mold a new life for yourself in a new country but its unnerving as well. As great as it can be to throw the pieces of your life in the air and watch them fall into place, it’s a huge leap of faith where your whole base disappears from under you and you feel so completely alone in the world. A strength comes from that in the end. But in the beginning you know not who you are or where you are going and it’s the most unsettling feeling you can imagine. Its not just out of your comfort zone, its more like not having a zone at all. Like free floating in a world where nothing looks familiar and no one knows you or loves you. You become completely ungrounded. You have to explain yourself and watch yourself and remember that these people are learning you just as you are learning their culture. Its a very satisfying feeling having experienced that and come through it stronger and more confident but its not easy. Its interesting seeing new American players overseas for the first time, feeling all those lost feelings for the first time. You can literally see it in their eyes; unhappiness meets loneliness meets a deep seeded fear of not having control of the situation. No one knows how to react first off. Inevitably everyone gets together to bitch at first. I can’t talk to any of my teammates! My apartment stinks and the water leaks. My team has not gotten me internet yet. What is with the toilets (more on that later because I haven’t gotten over them)? Why do they drive like bats out of hell (definitely more on that later too)?

Its always so funny to tell people at home where I am going, what I am up to next in my latest adventure. The questions immediately flow. “Do you know anything about the team?”- no. “Where will you be staying?”- I don’t know. “Do you know any of your teammates?”- no. “Do they speak English?” – I don’t know. “When do you leave?”- I don’t know, they haven’t told me yet. “Do you know anyone within a thousand miles of you.”- no. “Is someone picking you up at the airport.” –gee I hope so. It’s the first of many examples displaying the mindset of an American, of which I will have to check at the door of the airplane. Come to think of it, Greece kind of checked that side of me for good. I just don’t stress about the things we seem to think will stop the earth from rotating. So needless to say, I generally sign a contract for a team somewhere in the world, not worth much more than the paper it is written on, pack my vitamins and contact solution, and get on a plane and off I go. It seems weird saying it out loud and yet it seems in some crazy way normal to me. So here I am and as for new and exciting? Turkey certainly fits the bill…..