One Horrible Travel Hangover: Istanbul

If you like to look at book-related websites (like I do), chances are you've seen something like this before.  Maybe not the same image, perhaps not the same exact phrasing, but it's a common sentiment that the internet expresses well.

We've all felt this way.  You know, when we're so lost in a book, that when we look up, we're startled to find that the rest of the world isn't having the same emotional experience we are.  Sometimes the book is so powerful it gives you a whole new perspective.  In a way, it changes you, but the world around you hasn't altered one bit.

That's how I feel about my trip to Istanbul.

The Blue Mosque at night.

That moment when you come back from Istanbul, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives…

I've tried to explain my trip to my friends.  To my family.  I tell them what we did, where we went, our best (and worst) stories, but it isn't the same.  Words are a powerful magic, but even words cannot capture the majesty that was this sunset viewed from the Galata bridge.  The profundity of that one moment, the unspoken wonder shared between friends, the blazing emotions that consumed my entire being…

It's impossible.

The photo just doesn't capture the moment.

All week I'd been thinking about what I was going to blog about in relation to Istanbul, but all my ideas fell flat.  They wouldn't do my experience justice.  They wouldn't do the city justice.

My favorite story from the trip is that of Muhammed.  It was our last night, so we decided to end our trip by getting tea and baklava at a relatively fancy pastry shop.  Once we had finished eating, we spread our map over the table in order to review where we had been.  Upon noticing the map, our waiter, Muhammed, came over and offered to give us directions.

We started to talk to him about where he lived in Istanbul, how long he had been there, where he was from…

Syria.  Which, if you don't know, has been in turmoil for a few years.  (Click here to learn more.)

His home was destroyed.  His university was destroyed.

And all his friends are dead.

He's my age.

I tell this story, but nobody can see the expression on his face when he told us he never ever wants to go back to Syria.  When he brought us Turkish Delight, on him, against our protestations.  When he said, "America is nice, yes?  I would like to go there, but…"

The way his voice trailed off at the "but…"

That moment when you meet someone you'll never forget, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives, as though you didn't just experience emotional trauma at the hands of a Syrian waiter.

Left to Right:  Me, Sean, Muhammed, Natalie, Josh.
I seriously hope we meet again someday.

It really is strange that the world keeps going without acknowledging the experience, and even a few days after my return, I'm having a hard time carrying on with my life.  I simply want to sit, and remember, and think, and wonder, and ask if that really happened, and realize that it did.  It happened, and only I will ever fully understand it.

I don't even like to tell people about Istanbul anymore.  At first, I tried my hardest to make them understand.  I gave them a day-by-day play-by-play.  I showed them photos.  I found the call to prayer on YouTube and sent it to them.  But the truth is, it's something that can never be truly shared.

No matter what, nobody will ever have my same emotional experience.  Really, it's the same when reading a book.  Just as you can go to the same place, you can read the same words; but your emotional experience is entirely unique to you, and that's what makes it so darn difficult to connect with people while you're still suffering from a "book hangover," or in my case, a "travel hangover."

Have you ever had a "book hangover" or a "travel hangover," or any other type of emotional experience that left you feeling somewhat alone while the rest of the world carries on with their lives?

When to Put Down the Book

Another weekend, another adventure!  Where, you ask?  AFRICA.

It's casual.

The most glorious sunset.  That's Africa.

Yep, I spent three days in Morocco, exploring the beautiful cities of Tetuan, Chefchaouen, and Tangier.  Cool, right?  Way cool.  Every few minutes I said to myself, "Is this real life?  This cannot be real life."

Guess what?  It was real life.

We left Spain on Friday, crossing at the Straits of Gibraltar.  As we sailed for Ceuta, a Spanish city located in Morocco, we watched the most glorious sunset I have ever seen.  With Africa to one side, and Europe to the other, the sun dipped below the Mediterranean horizon, momentarily lighting up the sky with a million colors.

A street in Chefchaouen.  Notice the mountain.

We spent most of Saturday in Chefchaouen, a picturesque town on the side of a mountain.  (Almost all the towns are on the sides of mountains).  There I had my first experience with a Moroccan market:  unlike in the States, it's acceptable--no, expected--that you haggle.  I'm terrible at it, but it was still a ton of fun!  Like when I turned my back on the shopkeeper, strutted away with mock confidence, and sure enough, he called me back:  "Okay, okay, you can have for 70 dirham!"

I thought so.

Anyway, now I'm loaded up with a beaded shirt, a sundress, three giant bags of Moroccan tea, several grams of saffron, some soap, earrings, a scarf, three pairs of harem pants, and a magic lamp.  (The Disney nerd in me could not in good conscience go to Morocco and not get a magic lamp).

I'm on a camel!  In MOROCCO.

After a Moroccan lunch, we headed for Tangier.  The next day we rode some camels, explored Tetuan, and finally, went back to semi-reality, a.k.a. Spain.

So what does any of this have to do with reading and writing?  Lots, actually.  I could talk about cool settings, or gender roles in books, or world-building, or fun dialogue (I mean, just think about the banter between a shopkeeper and a potential customer).

But instead, I'm going to talk about not writing and not reading.  Sometimes, it's actually a good idea :)

The three cities I visited are relatively far from each other:  at least an hour, sometimes two or more, on a narrow road that winds through a rugged countryside.  Lots of bus time to get work done, right?  Good, because I had a ton of reading to do:  reading for class, reading for my internship, research reading for my WIP, reading friends' manuscripts, and so on.

Moroccan countryside.

I turned on my Kindle.  Looked down.  Read a sentence.  A paragraph.  And turned it off.

How could I stare at a page when the beautiful Moroccan countryside was rolling by my window?  I can read anytime, I can write anytime.  But who knows when I'll next see Morocco?  Even if it's from a bus, through a window, the vista is so breathtaking, so awe-inspiring, that I'd be a fool to miss it, even for a gripping page-turner.  Because guess what?  This is real life.

Market in Tetuan.

It's those moments when real life becomes as awe-inspiring as fiction that it's time to put down the book, look out the window, explore and dream and live.  Writers always inhabit the heads of their characters, but every once in awhile, they need to leave those characters behind in order to go on their own adventures.  Otherwise, they'll miss the wonderful story called life.

What if I had been a good student and did my assigned readings while on the ferry?  I would have missed the Most Glorious Sunset.  And if I had read on the bus?  Or if I had been writing?  I'd never have noticed the rippling streams that course through the hills, or the little boy riding a donkey, or a multicolored herd galloping in sync over a field.

Books are great.  I love books.  I love words.  They truly are magical, but it's important to remember that they are just words on a page.  Powerful words, but words nonetheless.  Simple inkblots.  Turn away for a moment, and you'll find that the real story is the one that's all around you.

Travel Days = No Fun

I'm sorry, but this "Writing Blog" is now a "Writing/Travel Blog."  Theoretically I could have a separate blog for my travels in Sevilla and beyond, but considering I barely update this one, I figured it's better this way.

After over 24 hours of travel (I lost count of the actual number.  It's something like 32) I am finally in Sevilla, Spain.  Arrived last night :)

So, what was travel like?  Well, I started in Philadelphia and flew to New York.  Yup, a 25 minute flight.  (But for some reason, it saved me $1500, so I guess I can't complain).  Then I sat in JFK for five hours and took off at 7:50.  Flying, flying, flying, until we landed in Madrid at 8:10 local time (2:10 in the States).  Great!  I had four hours before my next flight.  Plenty of time to get my luggage, shuttle on over to another terminal, check in and recheck the luggage, and find my gate.  I also managed to meet up with some friends.

But alas, I knew everything was going too smoothly.  For some reason, I was given a "Standby" boarding pass.  And just my luck, there was no room on the plane.

As Customer Service quickly figured out, I was supposed to be on that plane.  They put me on the next flight and gave me 250 euros.  Woot!  I had to wait in Madrid for 6 more hours, but while waiting, I made met some students who, turns out, are in my study abroad program.  Hooray new friends!

That's all for now.  I'll update more once I have photos!