I’m back in Cincinnati.

So I am somewhere a few hundred miles west of Limerick and Cork, Ireland, cruising at 32,000 feet and listening to some Kenan Doglu over the roar of the wind outside. I decided I couldn’t wait until I landed to write about the end of my Turkish summer.

I don’t really remember what I wrote last night, because I was running on no sleep. I’ll fix it up when I get home, because I’m sure there’s some sense to be made of it. The long and short of it is last night was a busy night for all of us. I didn’t finish packing until around 4:00am, and ended up getting maybe 30 minutes of sleep on one of the couches. Dane was on the other one, and Michelle was on one of the spare beds, because the original plan was to stay up all night watching movies and eating snacks. Turns out exhaustion won the day for all of us. I set my alarm for 5:00, and we all were up by 5:30. I had to leave a lot more than just my pillow and towel behind. As I sit here writing this, I’m actually worried that I’ll never be as happy again as I was this summer. I know I usually don’t like acknowledging stuff like this, but I honestly can’t help it this time.

Dane caught a cab with Rachel from Süperdorm, and Michelle and I followed after I ran to the taxi stand and had them come pick us up. The driver opted to bungee the trunk shut rather than put Michelle’s suitcase in the back seat with her duffle. I said “I think there’s room on the back seat…” and he got offended and said “Believe me.” He also drove very fast. We were going about 145km/h, which I think is about 90mph on the highway. Fortunately it’s Saturday, and it was 6:00am, and there was literally no traffic. Six o’clock is the time of day where the garbage men change shifts. That’s a pretty good indication that the city’s dead. We drove past a bunch of ironic highway exit names, like “Bahçelievler,’ which means “Houses with yards/gardens,” but actually was a housing project. Anyway, I got a kick out of that. The sun was just coming up behind us. It was really nice.

When we got out, I paid the driver (it was really cheap, actually) and this guy came up and started stacking our bags onto a cart. Turns out he wasn’t an airport employee, and was going to charge us 10 YTL to cart the bags across the street, literally 25 feet. I was like no way, and we grabbed our shit and took it ourselves. His “cart” was actually a rented cart that we could have gotten ourselves for maybe 2 YTL. Thieves. Inside we met up with Dane and Rachel and waited in the security line. Then we waited another 15 minutes for our counter to open up so we could check in. While we were waiting Doruk showed up. He’d just dropped his cousin off and stuck around to say goodbye. It took longer than he expected, because the line for check in lasted about 30 minutes. Dane, Michelle, and I managed to check in together and get seats in a row, but Dane was across the aisle, which sucked because the plane was loud and it was hard to talk across it.

After checking in we headed to some duty-free shops to not buy stuff. I got a Coke because I was practically dead, and we sat at a cafe in the terminal and enjoyed the seats. I think that’s when we realized we weren’t in Istanbul anymore. Michelle wanted simit, and the Gloria Jean’s didn’t have it. They didn’t have Turkish coffee, either. What the hell? Did we step through the Stargate, starring Kurt Russell? We downed our shit because our flight was going to start boarding soon, and we still had to go through immigration.

Turns out the Turks are very good at stamping shit (I should have known) and we got through that in less time than Fatih Bey took to bring out our tea at lunch the other day. We waved goodbye to Doruk and set off toward our plane. There were some cute kids on the moving sidewalk walking against the flow, so I did too. After the cops finished beating me, Michelle carried me to the gate and we got on the plane. It was a really enjoyable flight. I slept a bit, watched some stand-up on my laptop with Michelle, and played some music. Our breakfast on the plan was, for lack of a better term, French. Michelle said it best when she said “Of all the food I’ve seen this summer, this is the most foreign.” We had cheeses, which were decent (meaning I liked them. I don’t know shit about cheese, other than it goes well with crackers, Gromit), a croissant, and some kind of jerkey meat thing for which the stewardess didn’t know the English name. We hit some rough patches, but we managed to get through it with no yapin’ in the pantalomlar.

Michelle had to remind me several times that the French people on the plane, while maybe not speaking English, could probably recognize a bad French accent and mocking tone when they heard one. Also that the woman next to us spoke English. And Turkish. It was odd, randomly she asked us where we were from, in a really American accent. I asked her where she was from, and she said she was Turkish. Later on, when she asked me the time, and I answered in Turkish, she repeated it with a heavier American accent than I have. It was spooky. Maybe she’s CIA. Yeah, I’ll tell myself that. I suggest you all do the same. The long and short of it was that none of us really felt like speaking English, and since we were now out of Turkey, Turkish became less of a language and more of a code. It was fun. I totally said “Are you masturbating?” to Dane in the concourse in France. Again, Michelle had to remind me that the people in front of us were Turks.

I know I wrote great deal about Charles De Gaulle Airport last June, but I feel like I should reiterate a few points. First of all, the place is a shit hole. It’s been under construction longer than I’ve been a confirmed Catholic. No progress was made, I don’t think. We arrived at the same terminal that I did last time. I had flashbacks, which led me to say some choice words about the place. I was probably a really whiny little bitch the whole time. Sorry Dane and Michelle. I think I might have crossed the line while we were waiting for a shuttle bus when I said “Where the fuck are the buses? Did a mob of angry students burn them?” I have to say, though, there was a cool moment on one of the buses where someone’s phone rang and the ringer was “Run Run Rudolph.” For those of you who suck ass, that’s the song from Home Alone’s airport scene. Yeah, you know, where they’re trying to catch a flight to Paris? Sorta like that. Secondly. (sorry, I know that was a long break between “first of all” and “secondly,” but try and stay with me) the security measures were annoying as shit. I know, I know, the news. I read it. But they wouldn’t even let Michelle bring her Chapstick on the flight (albeit 5 tubes of it), which seems a bit excessive. Even if the first confiscations were understandable, with the exception of my Orbits gum (an outrage!), they still sold parfumes and all that other “forbiddened’ shit at the shops beyond the securty checkpoint, so a lot of people were just buying more there thinking it would be okay since they got it at the airport and it was known to be safe. WRONG! I went through two more security checks before I got to my gate. Two. So that’s two bag searches and a questionnaire.

I would have easily missed my flight, but it ended up being delayed by an hour and a half. Hooray? It was before the second security check that the worst part of my summer had to happen. I had to part ways with Michelle and Dane. It happened really fast, too, which sucked. I was running late for the flight, and the security guy was bugging me to keep moving. We hugged, falan, and I had to stow that baggage away until I was safely on my flight. Seeing them walk away was really hard, like this whole summer was some mean trick that was being played on me by an eccentric billionaire, and I’m never going to have this much fun ever again. Michelle gave me her little blue plastic footies that we got at the first checkpoint as a parting gift. She threw them and almost hit a businessman in the face. It was fairly awesome. I’ll probably miss them just as much as I’ll miss the city, if not more. And the whole time, we were wishing Kent would randomly show up and say “Hey, yeah, so I was just at the duty-free shop…” But Kent yoktu. Happy fucking birthday, you fool. Be sure to visit Princeton Prep! (Sen biliyorsun…) I think my battery is about to die, so I will conclude this from the comfort/seclusion of my basement later on. I can’t believe it’s over. This is going to hurt…

Alright, back home safe and sound. Not that you could have been able to tell…nevermind. I’m here. The flight was really bumpy from Newfoundland onward. I watched “The Sentinel,” which sucked, and then the classic “Sneakers,” which continues to rock to this day. I also finished Michelle’s copy of “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” which was really sad, but I had bigger fish to fry. I didn’t cry on the flight back, which amazed me. I think I was just trying to stay busy, or something. I felt like it, though, I got that really weird feeling in my stomach. I get the feeling that missing Istanbul is going to be one of those grinding things that doesn’t come all at once.

I was totally missing the chewing gum come landing time. I managed, eventually, to pop my ears by yawning and swallowing air. I only had 3 new voicemails when I turned my phone on. I guess that’s expected. Who would have called me that didn’t know I was gone? One of them was the same lady that calls my phone all the time. She left a message 3 days ago after being in a car accident. Nice. So, I hope she ended up alright. Whatever, she called me so many times during the dead of winter while I was walking back with my hands full from Chipotle that I honestly don’t care.

Customs was no problem. They didn’t search me at all. They asked me if my form was right in saying my total gift value was $150. Bingo. Hepsi bu. I was kind of disgusted by the amount of human I saw piled into each skin while I was in line. Totally miss the Turkish lasses. Also the accents sounded really heavy, probably because a lot of the English I heard in Turkey was British or Northeastern US, obvious exceptions aside (my own voice, Michelle, Dane, Osvaldo, Ali…actually a lot of people). Maybe I just forgot how people spoke here. I got through and met up with my mom, who surprisingly didn’t say “you need to shave.” She told me she thought she had seen my friend Ajay upstairs a minute earlier, and I wanted to say “Mom, please. I know there were plenty of Indians on my flight, but they aren’t all my friends,” but I remembered Ajay telling me he would get home Saturday. While we were upstairs at the baggage claim, I happened to glance to my right and saw him standing there. WHAT A COINCIDENCE LOL!

Dinner was LaRosa’s. That means nothing to 99.9% of you, but you should Google that shit and then come to Cincinnati to try it. I decided against my better judgment to see The Ballad of Ricky Bobby with the guys, and I actually had to be shaken awake by Pat a couple of times. It’s good to be back in my house, where I can pass out without fear of being hit by a car. Most of the time. Michelle called to let me know that she was forced to eat some Turkish Delight she’d bought to prove that it wasn’t poisonous. I realized today that if it hadn’t been for the terror threat, I would have absolutely missed my flight from Paris. Weird how things work out. I need sleep, so I’m going to go do that so I can get up at noon and eat Skyline Chili with the Nati Crew. Peace out. I miss it already.