The Split

I’ve arrived at day 15. We’re two weeks in and Hannah is heading home, but Turkey is holding onto me for another 15. Fifteen days of posts and they’ve taken be back. A semi-nebulous trip made clearer each time I return to the page. This is the jet lag I’d long for upon arriving home, a visceral reminder of the journey that will live on much beyond its real time life.

We exit the airport together, but it’s me that will stay. She’ll take a bus to the city, but neither of us know where it will drop her. We’ve been out of Istanbul a week and the country has been in turmoil. I want to know how she’ll spend her last night and if she’ll make it Zeynep’s shop to pick up the custom shoes. She wishes she was boarding the boat with me tomorrow; she wants to sail the southern coast too. We are a pair of comings and goings, a friendship of arrivals and departures. A farewell now can only mean a hello somewhere down the road, another locale, another piece of life commonly shared, where each day is so rich it amounts to years of shared experience.

Maybe that’s why I never felt the jet lag. Jumping back into life at home is full of richness of a different kind: author talks and musical performances, art exhibitions and cultural encounters. It’s multi-lingual and colorful, every day its own zig-zagging map of intersecting, overlapping sometimes parallel but always unique moments.

But now we’re back at the airport and the woman at the table is wondering what her husband will procure from the simit stand. The exhaustion of travel weighs her elbows down to the table. The neon dizzies my head. Four hours will pass before I hop on another flight. Four hours to feel the split where the journey changes rhythm. Another 15 days to keep practicing it.

Day 15 of 30; Postcards from Turkey


~ by maureenmoore on July 23, 2013.

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