merhaba + ice cream

oh boy.

Things are happening. Wheels are turning. Errands are being run. Parties are taking place. Ice cream is being made - with fervor and passion. (Seriously. My ice cream maker and I are having a brief but torrid affair like whoa.) Panic attacks and crippling self-doubt are being thrust into a box with no key. New shoes are being acquired. Sluttier clothes are being worn with gusto and sadly placed back in the closet for a later date...

I'm moving to Istanbul in four weeks. Holy fuck. In twenty-eight days, I'll be on a plane beginning the great journey across the Atlantic Ocean, inhaling roasted hazelnuts and drinking a can of sour cherry juice. Probably cursing the day I watched the Bachelorette and saw Ali take her suitors to Istanbul for oil-wrestling and carpet-haggling. I mean, who can resist oil-wrestling? You? I didn't think so.

Here's the deal, since so many people have asked. (Feel free to skip this paragraph - lots of dry details on their way.)
I got a job with a private language school that specializes in English. They're giving me a job for at least three months, kind of a trial period. They'll pay me hourly during that time with about 30h/week expected of me. They'll also set me up in an apartment with possibly 1-2 other employees, free of charge. Except utilities. If they decide after that three month period that I'm not a psychopath, they'll ask me to sign a year long contract and I'll be salaried with two weeks paid vacation, as well as all Turkish holidays off. If I want to stay in the apartment, I can pay them 200 TL (~$125) per month, plus utilities. Or I can find my own place to stay. Pretty good deal. There was also something about them paying for half of a flight, but I'm unclear about that. I'll find out soon enough, I guess.

What's the rush? Why am I flying off to Turkey like a bat out of hell? It's not on purpose, I swear. I was hoping to move somewhere this Fall, but September 12th is on the earlier side of autumn when I was aiming for October... Truth is it isn't by choice. My contact at the school asked me how soon I could be there, and I said September 15th, half hoping he'd tell me it was too late, and tant pis - no job. He... uhh... didn't. And I lost at my own game of chicken.

Lesson here? Be careful what you wish for, because you might just fucking get it.

Don't get me wrong. I am TOTALLY psyched and jazzed and pumped and starry eyed. But I'm also a little scared. Which is a good thing. Maybe. I've done this before. I know what it's like to leave everyone and everything I hold near and dear behind. I know what it's like to feel like a foreigner drowning in her own foreignness. As Laura and I mention often, neither of us would go back to our first week in Bordeaux if someone paid us a thousand dollars. Seriously. That week of homelessness, insecurity, and total disorientation was pure hell. Emotional torture. Unnecessary cruelty. I wouldn't subject even my worst enemy to that feeling. Even the part where I magically lost like ten pounds in one week because food lost all taste and appeal. I'm not going into this move as baffled and blind as I was that last time, but I have no doubt it will be a bumpy road indeed.

I'm trying to remember that above all, I am doing this for myself. Because I felt so alive there - so intrigued, and so stunned with a side of the world I'd never before experienced. I'm doing this because I think it will honestly make me a better traveler, a better writer, and frankly, a better person. I need the stimulation and the challenge. I also need the quiet. I can't believe I'm admitting this to my friends who might hold me accountable, but I have a secret goal:

I want to write a book. In Istanbul. About Istanbul, maybe. Definitely about France. Definitely about labyrinths and journeys and analogue living.

I showed up at work yesterday after brunch with two old friends whom I always seek to impress, and I thanked my lucky stars. My boss Susan came up to me and said "Anya, I have a favor to ask." She's not really one to ask favors as much as give orders, so I knew I was in for something major. She told me she had a woman named Charlie coming in for an interview - something about a travel show for young women traveling solo - and Susan was supposed to give her some tips. In front of a camera. Susan looked at me timidly, and asked me to do it for her because "I can't do anything with my hair, you know." (Susan fell down the stairs a few days before and cut her head, though she is a) totally fine now, and b) her hair is too...) Uhh.. really? What the fuck? I couldn't think of a way out, so I agreed. It was BIZARRE. This girl who might be 22 or 23 showed up with a face full of slap, two blonde friends, and a nice camera dude who seemed VERY out of place with his colleagues. They were all leggings and Whole Foods t-shirts and flip flops, so I asked them if they needed help when they walked in and then one of them was like, "are you Anya?"

(am I?)

"OMG YOU'RE PERFECT!!!"

(am I??? what does that mean??!?)

"HAVE YOU DONE ANY TRAVELING???"

I don't mean to bash them. They were super nice and very well-intentioned. Charlie's friends seemed very capable, and clearly had a plan for this "interview." And Thomas asked me which books I might recommend for Moscow, so he's already got a gold star in my book. Charlie herself was also not a bad egg, though was clearly (and loudly) very nervous to do the whole thing. She asked me to pronounce my name about five times and then had me write it out for her. Then she wrote out "on-yuh" in her phonetic attempts. My friend Amy kept catching my eye and laughing. It was awkward as fuck, and hilarious, and weird. I was wearing a mildly revealing top and thankfully had my power lipstick in my purse from the night before, so according to the Triplets of Belleville + Amy, I looked okay. As Charlie was "interviewing me" about books and asking about various travel I've done, and she seemed consistently surprised by just how good my answers were, a thought struck me.

Why was she the one doing this project? Why is she trying to make herself the authority in cheap travel for young, broke females? That's what I do. And I'm really good at it. My friends are good at it. We know how to get around. We know how to stay safe, enjoy ourselves, and have real experiences. Smartly. This should be MY/OUR project. We should write guide books and have a blog and start a youtube channel. And, as a bonus, I can say the words "savvy traveler Anya" in one take instead of six or seven.

THINK ABOUT IT, FRIENDS. YOU + ME + TRAVEL BLOG. let's get on it. like, yesterday.

also - i need addresses if you want postcards. which you should want.