June 1st

The God's are telling me to go. Either that, or I've gone off the deep end. Too much alone time? Too little English? Hormones? All of that. Not only was I the only American at the track today, but I was the only person wearing shorts. And if those two characteristics aren't strange enough for the covered elderly couples who monopolize Edebali Stadyum between the hours of 3 and 7, than the fact that I was running barefoot was.

In radical, hasty decisiveness, my roommate moved to an apartment sans electricity. Having just returned from a baklava and karisik kebab bender in Gaziantep, I needed a comfortable spot to be. I've serendipitously come full circle, now residing in the hotel I was kept for the first month or so when I first arrived. Only this time, it's me, not the University, paying the bill. The stress of having to deal with sudden homelessness, compounded with my final trip to the Rector's Office for a quick gesture of appreciation, and where I was subject to a not-so-subtle anti-semitic lecture/narcissistic diatribe, was a bit much. I checked into the hotel, flung my belongings on the ground, and reached for my running sneakers. But they weren't there. Though my roommate didn't care to move my luggage with the rest of the apartment, he still managed to take my running sneakers. But after a long day - one rife with homelessness and anti-semitism - I had to take it out on the track. Lack of sneakers wouldn't stop me. I slid on my running gear and... my slip-on boat shoes... and trudged up to the stadium. Yea, it was weird, but I needed to burn off the stress and excess baklava.

I'm once again living out of my suitcases. I'm about all packed up, which is a weird feeling. And tomorrow, I'll spend the day making the rounds, saying good-bye's and see-you-later's. Everyone I run into is asking if I'll be back next year. It's sad telling them I won't, but they're excited to hear that I'll continue learning Turkish and that, one day, inshallah, I'll be back.

Now is your opportunity to ask for things. I'll hopefully print out a number of my better photographs and perhaps use them for gifts when I get home, but if there's a certain something you're dying for, something sparked by a mysterious, Orientalist, fantasy you've had since your childhood, I can try to find that certain something in the marketplace. Things I can't take home: monkeys, swords, carpets of the flying variety (they take themselves home), those ridiculous Aladdin pants (out of principle).

This is 100th post. I'm bound to write one more, probably on the melancholy flight back to America when I'm finished watching 'Karate Kid' and 'Kung Fu Panda 2' on the tiny screens embedded in the headrests.