New Website!

Friends, family and fellow travelers:

I have enjoyed writing to you over the last year from Istanbul, Turkey. I apologize that I have not posted more on this site over the past few weeks. I have been a bit preoccupied, having come back to the United States for a short time. The bad news is that I will not be returning to teach in Istanbul. Therefore, this may very well be the last post on this website. The good news is, I will be moving to Jeju Island, South Korea. This new job, new location and new adventure will surely continue to fuel my writer’s mind. And, with the new location will come a new website: Northwest to Far East. Of course, some of the same subjects will be covered such as the benefits of travel, world events and expatriate life in general. I will, I’m sure, be linking between the two sites often. So, if you’d like to continue to journey around the world with me, check in with Northwest to Far East from time to time, bookmark it, or subscribe to the updates. I have already added some helpful links, began a simple beginners guide to teaching English abroad, and tried to expand the idea of the Ministry of Travel. Check it out at http://nwtofareast.wordpress.com

Thank you to all of you who continue to read and support this website!

Matt

The first law of travel dynamics

The twilight of Tarlabasi, seen from our terrace.

With the impending move, this much has become clear. Organizing your things will always correspond with organizing your life. On my floor now, I am looking at two pieces of luggage to bring home, a black rolling suitcase and a gray backpack. That means all my possessions fall into two categories. The first category is reserved for items that are both important – or, I suppose, useful – as well as meeting the space restrictions. The second, things that are either not important enough to warrant space, or things that are too heavy or large to fit into the bags. Frantically and sometimes hastily making these decisions was once unnerving for me as a young traveler. Now, it’s a carnival of clarity.

This process is as black and white as it gets. There is very little room for debate. It’s either worth the trouble, or its wasting space. Computer and camera must come, if only so I can continue give you something to read. Guitar must come. Clothes, for the most part, have been donated to the neighborhood. As this process goes on, things get put in their place. Literally. Important things get the room, little things get consolidated or tossed away. Space equals importance, it’s the first law of travel dynamics.

As you pack your bag and give each item its due attention and room, it’s inevitable that your mind clears along with your apartment. As you assemble your suitcase, you are making a physical representation of what you are, the essential you. You are dividing the suitcase, and your life, subconsciously. Your suitcase will tell your story.

As I again narrow my life to a few bags carefully kept under the 23 kg airline limit, some things about myself become clearer. I am, it seems, sentimental. Space that could have gone to keeping that useful and stylish winter jacket, has gone to things with a story. Gifts from students whom I will never forget have found room. Shirts reserved for events I would never want to go to have lost out. I am a bibliophile, I must keep books, they are the giver of knowledge. Yet, jackets and scarves, the giver of warmth, can be left behind. Replaceable upon necessity. I am a writer and a reporter at heart. I need every piece of paper and napkin I’ve ever written a note, phone number, name, or rough draft on. Every thought, sketch and half-brained idea for a column, story, or book I’ve ever had should come, lest I lose out on discovering gold amongst them later. But, one pair of jeans and two pairs of socks will undoubtedly get me through.

And there it sits. My life, in two suitcases. Staring back at me, showing me what is important, and what is superfluous. What I value, and what I can toss. A pie chart of my priorities, divided up and revealed to me.

Why we travel

Here’s a good read, if you have the time,  about how traveling expands our creativity. It’s from The Guardian, a British paper. I’ve been on this same roll as the author, Jonah Lehrer, for a while now, trying to crusade for conversion to travel. Lehrer says it expands your creativity to travel, but I would have to add that it also expands your compassion and empathy. The mind and the heart, equally important to solving our personal, local and global problems. Also equally expanded by travel.

Read it here, Why we travel.

One of his last lines reads, “we travel because we need to, because distance and difference are the secret tonic of creativity. When we get home, home is still the same. But something in our mind has been changed, and that changes everything.”

As I head home for the first time in nearly a year, I’m guessing this is right on the money.

Arkadaşlarım

The hardest part of leaving Istanbul is saying goodbye to all the wonderful people I’ve met here. Yesterday, I put up photos of some of my favorite students. Today, I’ll post photos of some my friends who have made this a year I will never forget. Some of you have left before, some of you will stay after, but our memories will always remain. Thanks guys, I will miss you all. Stay in touch.

Two of the first people we met in Istanbul and certainly two of our favorite, left to right: Chris "Mook Fish", The Bev Skeen, and Taylor.

"Normal" Chris, Erton our favorite waiter at our favorite bar, and me.

Here we are eating vegetarian food at our apartment, before it was our apartment. Starting center bottom and going clockwise: Jason, Cassie, Taylor, me, Mook Fish, Normal Chris, Emma and Jonathon.

Our friends and the staff at Bab-i-ali, left to right: Bulent, me, Richard, Khalifa and Merit.

Erton, Mook and Normal.

Kim, Mook, Normal, me and Taylor just looking at some buildings.

Kim and Taylor.

Atilla, Poppy and Mike.

Celebrating my 23rd trip around the sun.

Our brother Tamer, tour guiding the Smith family.

Tamer and friend at Troy.

Öğrencilerim

As a friend and teacher once put it in jest, “Let the sweetness of English drip from your lips like honey from a comb.”

Here are some of my students, who taught me about their lives while I was only able to teach them about my language.

Some students from my first class in Istanbul, left to right: Hacer, myself, Firat, Esra and Kezban.

The survivors of Level 2 with Matt and Jonathon, left to right: Ali, Burhan, Gamze, Hasibe, me, Gurcan, Gulcan and in the front, Yunus Emre.

Taylor and I with my former student Sencer and his girlfriend Elif at Bab-i-Ali cafe.

Taylor and I having breakfast with Halil, former student and contributor to this blog, having breakfast in Emirgan Grove.

Taylor and I with one of our favorite classes, which we were both fortunate to teach. From left to right: unknown, Gulcan, Saime, Nuray, Esra, Me, Taylor, Fatih, Ayfer, Fahad and Mustafa.

Peace of Mind

With two weeks left before Taylor and I leave Istanbul, I find myself spending more and more time on our terrace overlooking Tarlabasi. One reason for this is that spring has come, providing warmth outside from the moment I wake up until well into the night.

Another reason, though, is that from this terrace, my little corner of the city, I can experience some of my favorite things about Istanbul. I can soak in the little things that I will miss most.

I am going to miss the sounds of the city, the calls of the simitci and eskici. The jingle of the propane truck. Even the squaking of seagulls on our roof in the morning and the sexual exploits of our neighborhood cats at night.

From here, you can hear all 5 calls to prayer. The first one rolls over the terrace and through our open door finding its way into my dreams every morning at dawn. The last one comes late, after 10 pm during this part of the year prompting reflection of the past day.

At sunset, the horizon takes the shape of building roofs and minarets silhouetted against the oriental orange sky. For the last few nights the clear night’s sky has allowed us to see the crescent moon align with the brightest star in the sky to mirror the flag of the republic.

During the day, the faint construction noise reminds me that this neighborhood with bad reputation and good people is trying to rebuild itself from the bottom up. The same could be said of the entire country.

The packs of children running wild through the streets remind me that this country is young and nothing if not hopeful for its future.

I can see clearly up here, what Turkey has taught me: simplicity. A food basket descends from a neighbor’s window, filled by the corner store owner and lifted up for the family breakfast. A doner delivery boy waves as he leaves another building. A fruit cart and tea seller bustle below me as I write. They are the symbols of our lifestyle here: Relationships are more important than convenience, and we should not take more than we need. When we buy food, it is for the next meal we will cook. We visit and chat with a butcher, a vegetable stand, a spice man, a wine guy, and on the way home with bags in hand, we stop and have tea with our neighbors. Oh, and we walk to get that food too, because you can’t buy what you can’t carry. We are not ascetics, but we have become minimalists compared to ourselves a year ago. A supermarket will never be the same again.

Mostly, though, I sit on this terrace because I can. Here, I can read, write, study and think in peace. Not peace from the outside world, but peace from within. Turkey, if anything, has given me a different perspective. It’s given me wider view of time through its long history and rapid modernization. A different vision of success through the disparity between its lush opulence and tragic poverty. I have seen a better vision of a community and culture through hospitality and friendship. But, I have also learned that my place in Istanbul is not to judge it or to try and fix it. My place is to enjoy it and celebrate it.

This, is why for the first time in my life, momentary inner peace has come without hurry or worry about the future. I found it in Istanbul. My worst fear about turning back to the states, is that I will lose this. I hope the cultural white noise of billboards and television, of materialism and fear-mongering, of us and them and Armageddon will not strip me of what I have found.

So for now, while I still have them both, I will enjoy this city in peace.

A little elitist in all of us

Seth Godin is a pioneering e-marketer. He writes one of the most popular business and marketing blogs around, which I glance over occasionally. I’m not into marketing specifically, but Godin has his moments of astute social commentary as well. Such was the case today, when he discussed a different type of modern elitism. To him, being an elite is overwhelmingly good and is not judged by bank account balance. He calls an elite someone who is “actively engaged in new ideas, actively seeking out change, [and] actively engaging.” The opposite would then be people “who accept what’s given and slog along.”

Read the post here before continuing. Link will open a new window.

Now, I like what he has to say. I just disagree on two points. One, the term elite. It sounds too much like a victorian aristocracy to me, when what he describes are mostly benevolent and grassroots progressive innovators.

The second point is that he doesn’t believe that people who are not already “elite” can become it. I, however, believe that they can. Moreover, I believe that they will. On one condition that is. They must travel. I’m sure that there are many other ways to open people’s hearts and minds, but the one path I’m sure of is travel. And not tourism. Not the big bus, big tour group bullshit. I’m talking about the real substantive connection that comes from trying to learn about and enjoy another culture, another way of life, even for only a few days.

I’ve said it many times on this blog, but I won’t stop saying it until the day I die: Travel can change our world for the better. It can change you for the better. When you see that the paradigm you knew, the comfort zone you left, doesn’t correspond to the world around you, you can’t help but be, as Godin says, “actively engaged in new ideas, actively seeking out change [and] actively engaging.”