Today was full of Ephesus, heat, and more heat. We leave this area tomorrow for another, and I'm ready to leave. It's hot as Hades, and even if the next location is no cooler, I'm sure the hotel will be more comfortable. I'm ready to go back to Istanbul. I really like Istanbul a lot, but I would hate being at the mercy of traffic.

At the moment, I'm sitting with my computer brightness dimmed, watching the remains of the Turkey v. Croatia match in the Euro Cup. So far, all I can think is that they are too evenly matched and simply butting heads; neither of them have scored, and both have similar statistics between shots and even fouls. Both of them have been so,so close to scoring the whole night, and still haven't managed it. It's bizarre. Not to mention that the game itself doesn't have the same sort of even distribution I usually attribute to football matches. The Turkish goalie has been pretty damn impressive so far, constantly defending. And I hope they win, the Turkish team. I'd really love to see Turkey go mildly faint with happiness. The team has so much heart, courage, and leaves me, at least, refreshed. I'd forgotten sports can be... Fun? Is that the word?

Nevertheless, I'm at the mercy of my bothersome brother, who insisted he could not fall asleep while the TV was on. (Despite the numerous times he's mysteriously managed it before, and could accept the light of my computer, and seems to have fallen asleep just fine.) Wouldn't even let me listen to Coldplay's new CD, grumbling that I get headphones. Grouch.

As I come back from the dead: TURKEY JUST WON ON PENALTY SHOTS!

I feel so happy and proud of them, and this isn't even my dang country. The stadium is simply a sea of Turkish fans who went all the way to Basel. Boats in the harbor are blaring their horns, and I can hear people watching celebrating. I think I heard fireworks just now. They've made it to their first ever semi-finals in the Euro Cup, and will play Germany. Victory is so much sweeter when you're the underdog, isn't it?

Hello! So, I haven't got any photos for you tonight as I've been traveling mostly without internet for the past several days and haven't had a chance to transfer / edit / sort through everything just yet. Instead, I wanted to take the time to write a little more tonight, and jot down a couple of things, for fear of forgetting. (If you know me, you know how horrible of a memory I have.)

Some general thoughts on Turkey. One of the things I love about being outside of the United States is that suddenly, the world feels as though it is suddenly being put in perspective. You are part of an international lifestyle, where the focus is no longer on yourself and where you come from; it's also about coexisting with other human beings in a peaceful, civilized, caring manner. That being said, the first piece of information exchanged between people is generally "Where are you from?". And usually, it's easy enough to discern, either from accent or language or looks. Judgments are passed, but if there's one thing I've also realized, it's that travelers are really the ambassadors of their country to those that never meet any leader of their country.

When we first arrived in Istanbul, my apprehension immediately disipated. I didn't know what to expect, frankly. I expected many run down, ghetto-esque areas, but the city is mostly modern, clean, and absolutely vivacious. Almost all of the streets are cobbled, with steep inclines and sloping hills. The landscape is dry, though hardly noticed when looking at the water instead. Most people speak minimal amounts of English, and apparently they begin studying it in grade school there. I am slowly but surely distinguishing between all of the European languages now, which I really enjoy; it's a delightful challenge to pick out words. Although I know for a fact communicating fluently in another language is the same whichever language you speak, something intriuges me about being able to communicate entirely in another language. I wonder how it would have affected me. Turkish is definitely one of the most interesting, confusing languages I've encountered yet, though. When Suleymann tried explaining the suffixes to me, it was complicated. Nevertheless, because Turkish is virtually impossible to spell incorrectly because it is all phonetic, Suleymann said they don't have spelling bees, because everyone would simply win. (I like this fact.)

One of the things I do like is that while shopowners do obviously want you to buy their touristy items, they're not as persistent as they are in say, China. And that may simply be a cultural and financial difference, but I appreciate not being trailed by people harassing me into buying something. Everywhere we have gone, the Turkish people have been fantastically warm, polite, and plain wonderful. Their hospitality is incredible, and they are so willing to help in every way they can, even when completely unasked for. The nationalism is also quite overwhelming, but frequently in a good sense. Everywhere, you see Turkish flags hung and stuffed into the ground with pride, even in private homes. The night Turkey won a match in the Euro cup, our neighborhood went into complete and total uproar, with the people screaming, dancing, singing and blaring their car horns as they drove through the streets. When compared to Turkey, I almost understand why the Turkish don't think much of elsewhere; they have such a rich, diverse cultural history that they don't need anything else, even if their existence is simple farming. Their country was the crossroads of civilizations for centuries. They are protective of their homes, their history, their families, and rightly so. I think it's wonderful that people can be so proud of their country, particularly as someone who has been disappointed by her nation as of late. I hope that Turkey will be let into the EU soon, before the Turkish feel insulted by EU politicians telling them that they are inferior and dangerous, etc. As we drove through the streets today, I couldn't help wondering if the children who live here think cities are just like the gigantic apartments carved into the stone that they have here. Or the adults, for that matter. It just kept hanging in my mind: whether they know just how special and unique this area is, whether they treasure it like that, or whether cultural heritage sites are just another local playground to them.

Something people may have been wondering about, as I did, was the gender role situation in the country. As a woman, I was not nervous to come to Turkey, but I definitely expected more conservative outlooks. I was ready to wrap myself in a blanket and wander around the streets all day. Just today, I wore short shorts, and it was the first time I had felt comfortable doing so, but it was also not something regarded as drastically liberal or inappropriate, from what reactions I could see. If anything, I felt more inspected by the women at times, and not always with an air of disapproval, but more of astonishment.

...Drat. I'm being dragged to bed by my father. So much for telling you about our ballooning excursion and my father's face of absolute fear and lots of other random crap. For now, just trust me when I say the rock formations here are unbelievable. I'll be back! <3,

Sammi
xoxox

I am still a day off, but at least I'm catching up at a decent speed, riiiight? So yesterday, we started around 10 AM, and managed to get through Tokapi Palace and went out on the water afterwards. Because I haven't got the time just yet, I think I'm just going to chuck photos at you. Sounds like a plan, right? Awesome. Here goes:












The view from Tokapi Palace of the Bosphorus, which leads into The Golden Horn and Sea of Marmara



Several of the mosques from our boat



Inside the Sultan's mother's quarters within the Tokapi Harem



More of the Sultan's mother's room



The Sultan's mother's courtyard



Ceilings of one of the Sultan's entertainment rooms within the Harem



The same room, continued



Since I'm obsessed with their tiles...



More tiles inside the Harem



Another room



The same room, most likely for daily activities



Yet another courtyard. The rooms along the top level were for the Sultan's and his mother's favorite women. They're simply more spacious and beautiful than the other rooms in the Harem.



Another view of the same courtyard



Traditional dress of an Ottoman soldier

Yipes. I'm supposed to be keeping a travel journal (blog?) and have already fallen two days behind. Silly me. I'm supposed to start at the very beginning, right? Our first stop is Istanbul, Turkey. We barely got onto our flight, pleading at the check-in to let us on, and once let through, were rewarded with about an hour waiting to take off the runway. I definitely caught up on my recent movie intake, though, to be sure (4, I think? Definitely, Maybe; The Bucket List; The Golden Compass; Charlie Wilson's War.) We landed at about 10, completely jet lagged, feebly bought tickets, and shuffled through the short queue at immigration. All of our bags fortunately landed with us, and we again, shuffled outside, where our wonderful driver picked us up.

I still have to learn how to spell his name correctly, but he's wonderfully sweet and very funny. I came down early today, so he, Suleymann and I sat around talking and making jokes. We all discussed the coming US election, particularly Obama; compared to Turkey, which has already had a female Prime Minister, it's pathetic that with all of our freedom we're incapable of accomplishing that much. Before I ramble too much, we made a couple of stops that first day, with our Turkish guide, Suleymann. He literally takes us everywhere we go, giving us a walking and talking tour of each place. Here are photos from yesterday, just to give you a peek at our two stops, the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia. (I have tons more, but here're a select few. Sorry for the poor picture quality, it's LJ's fault entirely.)

It will become increasingly difficult for me to write here, as my privacy is, well.. Limited. However, I hope I won't succumb to the influence of fixing things too much for watching eyes. I intend to remain completely honest, but even honesty can become dulled if not carefully maintained.

Aaaanyways, I had to do a little shopping on Gigi's birthday. Julie and I walked into a store claiming to sell Tibetan goods. What was really inside was more of a discombobulating combination of products from India, China, and the Himalayan region (obviously including Tibet). Because of my trip to Turkey, I've had to buy a couple of scarves to use as head scarves while there. Julie had left the store to throw out her drink, and I was suddenly prey. As I bought one and a few smaller jewelry pieces for Gigi, I started talking to the shop owner.

We slowly discussed the situation in Tibet, and I said I was very sorry about what has happened there in recent times. He graciously thanked me, and then started interrogating me. He was very soft spoken, mumbled and had a bit of an accent, so at first I couldn't understand him. I thought he was asking if I ate duck, and eventually figured out he was asking if I do drugs. He then proceeded to ask me whether I smoked or was depressed. To all of them I answered no, and he did the most peculiar thing next: he asked me, "So why your finger shake like that?" and I looked at my finger rather curiously, though it looked no different than it ever had. He demanded to know whether or not I was lying to him, though I obviously had no reason to. Everyone's hands are not perfectly stable, and mine are no exception, but he then propped my arm with both of his hands, one near my elbow, and one near my wrist, closing his eyes to concentrate. Suddenly, my ring finger on my left hand started shaking. It was the strangest, most surreal moment I've had in a long time.

(What else would you expect from a place on St. Mark's, though?)

All I can say is I hope he doesn't do that to all of his customers, because I'm not sure all of them would be quite as understanding as I was. Part of me was thrown off by the fact that this timid man asked certain questions that are not naturally open to discussion so easily. The other part of me felt insulted that he felt he was being lied to; though I'm sure he meant no particular harm by it and was earnestly concerned, it did not make me feel comfortable in his store, nor encourage me to come back.

Today was lots of packing joy. And when I say joy, I mean that packing and unpacking has become my least favorite activity, ever. I'm ecstatic to be leaving this country again, but much more apprehensive than I anticipated as well, particularly about Turkey. Living abroad is not unrealistic, but it does take time to adjust. My perspective is essentially entirely international, but I do not know what to expect from Turkey. Most of my context is scraps about the Ottoman Empire, Silk Road, and their acting as a buffer between Europe and whatever remains of the Middle East.

More than anything, I am worried about my gram being on her own any longer than she absolutely has to be. I don't want to be away, but I also know I don't want to stay in the U.S. She called me up on the day of the Puerto Rican Day Parade, when I went down to St. Mark's with Julie, practically demanding that I come over, and sounded very upset. I'm scared of reaching that point, mentally, and hope someone will be as attentive to me in my later years. But at the same time, I had no desire to crosstown, through the parade, most likely taking hours. Chances are they wouldn't have even let me cross anyways, and as a woman, I don't like being out during the Puerto Rican Day Parade.

Recent events occurring in the city are only more indicators (to me, anyways) that New York is changing much more rapidly than anyone here is willing to admit. On my block, between Madison and Park, there have been two muggings within the past six months. If you're unfamiliar with NYC, my area simply does not have crime rates that the rest of the city do. I live on the Upper East Side, which is primarily residential space, restaurants, boutiques, and stereotypically upper / middle class. If it gives you any perspective, my building was used as part of Charlotte's apartment in the Sex in the City movie (when they're leaving to go to Carrie's wedding).

The first mugging happened to a close friend of mine, and while she was held by a man at knife point, she lost just about everything: her laptop, cellphone, iPod, music, cash, credit cards. I forget at this point if there were two men; I think there were. It was miserable, but more typical, understandable mugging situations: late at night, on the way to another friend's house after dinner with me, and barely any light on the street (if any).

At this point, I don't walk on the block, but what is more unsettling to me is the second incident, which occurred to a neighbor of mine. While walking down the block in broad daylight around 7:30, a man attacked her from behind, smashing a piece of metal into her face, landing her several fractures, stitches, and a blackened eye, besides a stolen purse. If my neighbor were more petite, I would understand their targeting her much more easily, but as it is, she is very tall, definitely not weak, and there were several others on the same block as her. To me, this indicates that the assaulter is no longer concerned about being seen, let alone caught. And that is what scares me; the fearlessness that seems to be pumping through his veins.

Hopefully, I'll be able to write something a little more intelligent soon, but I'm extremely exhausted at the moment. I suppose the heat wave passing through the city recently has fried my brain more than I want to acknowledge. Apples to Apples is awesome and definitely needed on a more regular basis! (More on Kung Fu Panda and other movies later.) Much love & take care,

~ Sammi <3
xoxoxoxoxo

I have so many lingering thoughts and things going on in my head, and even within an hour, they're all gone again, replaced by new ones and dreams and hopes and fears and worries and I don't know what to do about them. All I know is that I want them to stay, I want to remember them and hold them close and I'm so tired of moving on and going on and on. Why do I feel so incongruent with the world?

IT IS SIXTY FRIGGIN' DEGREES FAHRENHEIT.


YESSSSSSSSS.


(Yep, that's it.)


Much love,


Sammi <3
xoxoxoxo

I have had a dream that has roughly repeated twice now. Besides the somewhat strange component of Smurfs, a detail dully noted but of no particular importance except for comedic value, it essentially involves someone telling me, "That won't do. It's not enough."

Being inadequate has always been a perpetual fear of mine. I have no idea why, because I don't think of myself as a competitive person generally speaking (maybe it's an ego thing?), but I need to feel reassured that I'm doing well and that I'm doing the right thing and that I just have to keep going. So for my unconscious to be telling me that even if I do my best and do everything right everything can go wrong worries me in some way. And while I naturally know worrying is nonsense and useless, I can't help feeling stressed by it.

Something else:

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/02/19/books/19cathy.htm

In response to the above: keep the fucking product advertisements out of my books, you asshole publishers. Is there absolutely nothing sacred anymore? Can I not even read a book without having to be conscious of the low, underhanded messages you hand to me and the younger generation? How *dare* you take advantage of a simple pleasure that releases so many of us from cares of the outside world and when we let down our guard? Something about this just really, really pisses me off. Books have always seemed apart from the technology revolution, a constant stuck in time, something that does not *need* any advancing thanks to the repulsive modern world. If they start infiltrating material with such garbage, I will seriously throw a fit. More than one.

Much love,

~ Sammi <3
xoxoxoxoxo


P.S.: The Adventures of Baron Munchausen blows my mind. Terry Gilliam, you rock my world.

People have frequently told me that I'm a cynical person. Hardened, unbreakable, relentless. Some people tell me that's part of the New Yorker mentality - the cold, headstrong individual constantly pushing at boundaries. If anything, though, I feel completely weak on the inside. I have the mentality to push on through whatever comes at me and endure it, bear it, tolerate it, but what goes on inside my mind is usually a completely separate feeling.

On the topic of being desensitized, yes, most people on the street are invisible to me. And when I say people on the street, yes, some of them are beggars, homeless, and completely impoverished. It is not that I do not care about these people. Rather, it's that if I look them in the eyes, I'm scared. Not scared of them in any way, but hurting for them. I start tearing up, I start feeling remorse, imagining what a life of being invisible to others must be like, when people couldn't care less what happens to you; however much you cry out for help, it's as useless as wailing at a wall.

My other conflict is the lack of trust we've begun to assume must be necessary and constant in our daily lives. A while ago, I was rising from the subway, stumbling over the steps, when someone dropped a plastic back. I simply picked it up, and went calling after the person who had dropped it. She turned around and smiled graciously, thanking me for returning her bag to her.

What happened next, however, I did not need. She told me about how she was being abused by her husband, how her children were temporarily in foster care because she didn't want them to be hurt by him, showed me where her teeth had been knocked out, and told me about how her husband kicked her in the stomach while she was pregnant, causing her to lose the child born 4 years later as a result of that initial injury. Apparently She was trying to get to Brooklyn to see her brother because she was run out of her own house out of fear of her husband, but had been out on the streets for something like 4 days, and now 2 days without food. The bag she had dropped contained her only extra clothing; a pair of pants she had borrowed from an acquaintance. She had no job to speak of, no money, and no way of going anywhere. Hesitantly, she asked for some money to buy food.

By this point, my head was whirring. I couldn't help it, the tears started welling up in my eyes. I wasn't thinking about the flaws in her story, or how it could have easily been composed. My gut reaction was to help in any way I could, and if that meant money, so be it. I gave her $10. She immediately started hugging me, kissed my cheeks, thanking God, and saying she would pray for me, asking me soon afterwards to keep her in my prayers. We parted, and I held out until I reached my apartment.

As soon as I got in the door, locked it, and had taken off my jacket, I broke down in my room. Sobbing, tears streaming down my face. While I cannot possibly imagine what it is like to be through that, I am positive some poor soul has endured it, if she had not. My mind was thinking of all the pain and suffering and horrible things that we all are able to endure; and, hopefully, recover from. I just want everyone to be at peace and happy. If that's what we all want, why is it so hard to achieve?

More later. Much love,

~ Sammi <3
xoxoxoxoxo

Tonight, we saw a production of Cyrano de Bergerac on Broadway with the heartbreakingly incredible Kevin Kline. I've never read Cyrano, so I was caught completely unaware by the brilliance of this production. I have no idea why I write after so many theatrical productions, but they always make me think, and I suppose that in turn spurs me to write. Writing is, after all, essentially, thought physically formed.

The one thing that has been killing me from the inside out is that I am uncertain about everything in my life. There is nothing I have that is stable and certain, and I don't know if this is because I'm being paranoid or just abnormally, unusually doubtful. Nothing is definitely good or bad, or positive or negative, or any other pairing of extremes for that matter. And this applies to all areas of my life.. I can't pinpoint anything. I can't decide, I can't do anything definitively. There is nothing certain besides the topics that are subjective, which ultimately does not leave a lot left, leaving me incredibly frustrated. (Angry?)

The way these past couple sentences relate to Cyrano, at least for me, is that the majority of theatre, along with the majority of art forms and the humanities in general, comes to no conclusion. One of the reasons I think I love film, theatre and various forms of entertainment is that they deliver some sort of hope about humanity to me. They refresh my belief that justice will be served, that morals still exist somewhere in life, and that what people do really does matter.

For Cyrano, this is particularly true.. I started hoping that his solution to his problem might help me solve mine of feeling physically cursed at times (fiction does after all offer solutions to reality sometimes), but the plot offered nothing besides trickery and deception so that Roxanne is simply tricked into falling in love with him before she sees him. Rather than resembling any form of reality, Cyrano is able to solve his love troubles by sending letters and win over Roxanne with his wit and intelligence. If I tried to do anything like that, I can't help thinking that it would instantly fail. For some reason, such qualities in women seem instantly repulsive to most men, if not threatening, and I wonder if it's because I'm too strong that people just can't handle me.

My gran has developed Parkinson's. There's no way for me to talk about that reasonably, so I'm not going to elaborate.

...On a very random topic, there was an advertisement in National Geographic that I was reading.. And it basically said that a pack of cows are more "dangerous" than a pack of wolves because livestock create mass amounts of CO2, thus destroying the O-zone and whatnot. Basically, this led to me thinking, "Well, what would you prefer we do? Kill off all the cows?" which consequently went to "What's more dangerous: all of us humans, or a pack of cows? Wouldn't you rather die than sacrifice the cows, mortal?" Bad, I know.

I really just want the holidays to be done and over with in some ways, which is absolutely horrible of me to say. But without my gran being able to gather us all together and having her with us for everything simply because she can't move, with one year coming and going, and just generally not feeling in the holiday spirit, I can't say I'm honestly in the mood right now. Ever since losing my faith, particularly religiously speaking, Christmas feels much darker. Christmas is usually the one time of year that brings my faith back to me, but this year, it's just not happening. I hope it does, though. Everyone needs hope and faith to keep going.

Much love,

Sammi <3
xoxoxoxo



P.S.: We also saw the wonderful, talented Matt Damon tonight at the show. My goodness did I want to tackle him and sing his praises. But him and his wife are very sweet together, so I really can't hate the adorable. (Why IS it that all the best men I can't hate?)