Family Visit to Turkey

March 20-28, 2016

After the Bursa trip, I was excited for my family’s visit to Turkey. My mother, father, older sister, and younger brother would be coming from March 20-29 for a total of 10 days. This is something I had been anticipating since January. I had booked their domestic flights and made accommodations for both Istanbul and Antalya. Everything was queued up and the only thing pending was their arrival.

In front of Ayasofya with older sister, younger brother, and parents.

The Day Before

I flew to Istanbul one day before, on Saturday, March 19^th. I was on a Pegasus flight that flew into the Sabiha Gockcen Airport around 10:30am. I had planned to spend a night with a Pakistani-American woman named Sophia Umar and her husband in their apartment in an upper-class neighborhood known as 4.Levent. Sophia and I connected online through “Muppies,” a Muslim professionals network. I was scheduled to catch a bus to her house after my flight, but as soon as I got out of the airport around 11am, I saw that I had several missed calls from Kari, the Fulbright program advisor. I became nervous because it can only mean something bad if the Fulbright Commission is trying to reach you. They had warned us not to travel this weekend, but I had informed them that I couldn’t change my plans because my family was set to arrive on March 20. I feared the calls were related to security. When I called Kari back, my suspicions came true. Unbeknownst to me was that a suicide bombing had taken place at İstiklal Avenue (central shopping street) at 10:55am that morning and the Commission needed to know I was safe. I was shocked that yet another attack in Turkey had taken place. The attack reportedly killed 5 people and injured 36 others.

Disturbed by the news, I cautiously walked towards the buses lined up outside the airport. I needed to find bus E3 to take me to Sophia’s neighborhood. A husky, charming bus driver was smoking a cigarette outside bus E3 when I approached him. He told me that the bus was scheduled to run at noon. As if he could read my emotions, he puffed out smoke, turned to me and said: “Oturmak ester misin?” Would you like to sit? I smiled and answered, “Evet, lütfen, eğer problem yok.” Yes, please, if it’s not a problem. With my curls bouncing on my shoulders and red lipstick drawing unnecessary attention, I quickly realized that my appearance was not the most appropriate given the events of the day. But how was I supposed to know? The driver then boarded the bus and we talked in Turkish; by now, I was comfortable fluently answering the basic curiosity questions of Turks: Where are you from? What do you do? Are you single? How old are you? After the driver’s fourth cigarette, I couldn’t bear the second hand smoke any longer so I offered him Dentee gum from my purse. Out of politeness, he took a piece. We continued chatting while chewing gum to kill time. At least he stopped smoking.

Finally, around noon, the bus filled up with more passengers and we embarked on the bus route. At one of the stops, the driver bought coffee for himself and me. I felt uncomfortable by this gesture of special treatment, so I offered my cup to the gentleman sitting next to me. He and others around me insisted I drink it, “ikram” they said, our treat. They could tell I was a foreigner. This isn’t the first time I received special treatment from Turks; their hospitality and respect for foreigners, especially Americans, is indescribable. I’ve acknowledged this privilege and sometimes when I would feel too guilty, I downplay my American-ess and up-play my Pakistani-ness, but my rapid-fire English in an American accent do not help me with these missions. This hospitality reveals the immense amount of respect and love Turks have for Americans. I feel double the love when they learn of my Pakistani origin.

When the bus came to the final stop, where I needed to get off, the driver asked me if I wanted to have lunch. Again, these gestures of hospitality are far too common, but as a young girl traveling on my own, I often take caution. I politely declined and told him I was running late for another scheduled lunch. I wanted to thank him for his kindness though—letting me sit on the bus for an hour, chatting with me, keeping me company, buying me coffee. Saying “teşekkür ederim” didn’t feel enough. So, I whipped out the Dentee gum pack, smiled, and offered it to him, adding in mumble-jumble Turkish: “If you ever feel the urge to pull out a cigarette again, I hope you reach for gum instead.” He smiled graciously and thanked me for the American commodity. We wished each other well. Even though our paths may never cross again, I was grateful that they did for the brief period.

Sophia picked me up from the bus station (near a big mall) and we walked to her apartment. She had set up a guest room for me and I met her husband. It was a stormy day and news kept pouring in about the attack on all news channels. We heeded the warnings about staying in and watched a movie in the living room instead of going to Prince’s Island or to the Istanbul Art Museum as originally planned.

Muppies dinner with Sophia, her husband, and friends.

That evening, after things seemed to have calmed down, we had dinner at an Italian pizza place called Upper Crust Pizza on Küçük Bebek Cadessi. I had organized this meet-up for Istanbul members of Muppies. There isn’t a big community of Muppies in Istanbul, unfortunately, but we had a turnout of about 6 people nonetheless, which was pretty good for a first go. The company included Sophia and her husband, a Pickering fellow studying abroad in Istanbul Salman Haji and his friend, and one other Pakistani girl named Nazia. Everyone introduced themselves and shared how/why they were in Istanbul.

There was a bookshelf next to our table and one book caught my attention: How to Become Rich by Donald Trump. As we waited for our pizzas, I humored the crowed by reading short excerpts from Trump’s book. “For many years I’ve said if someone screws you, screw them back,” writes Trump in a chapter titled Sometimes You Still Have to Screw Them. “When someone hurts you, just go after them as viciously and violently as you can.” I was appalled at such a published text! In another chapter titled, Have an Ego, Trump shamelessly writes, “As you know, this rule has been easy for me to follow. But hear me out—I’ve got a good reason for it. Having a well-developed ego, contrary to popular opinion, is a positive attribute. It is the center of our consciousness and serves to give us a sense of purpose.” The scary question is, will Trump’s ego help him win the General Election??

Family Arrives

The next morning, I had kahvaltı with Sophia and her husband, and hurried over to the hotel to drop off my belongings before picking up my parents. I didn’t realize this until I got off at the hotel, but I was being followed by a young Turkish man. I saw him lurking outside the hotel and I recognized him from my train ride. I picked up my pace and turned on different streets, but he managed to catch up. I confronted him and he said he wanted to help me. I told him I didn’t need any help but he insisted. He followed me on the train to the airport as well. My “longer route” made me late to pick up my parents, for which I was extremely embarrassed. As soon as I got to the airport, I ran as fast I could, dodging in between people until I lost sight of the man. My parents landed at 4:30pm and I arrived at 5:15pm. I felt horrible for being late, and my vision for welcoming them didn’t pan out. I had planned to wait at the arrivals gate with a hand-made sign that read “Hoşgeldiniz” (Welcome) with tulips around the word. Instead, I found them in the waiting area, wondering where their daughter was. They even had to use a stranger's phone to call me. Upon arrival, I hugged them and showed them the sign. It was so great to see them! I didn’t want to ruin the moment by telling them about a horror story of being followed, so I lied and told them there was extra traffic on the road because of what had happened yesterday. 

Touring Istanbul

Thanks to Attia’s hotel points, we stayed at the fancy Double Tree by Hilton Istanbul – Old Town hotel. It was quite luxurious, with comfortable bedding, a hamam in the basement, and buffet-style breakfast included. We even got complimentary cookies upon check-in. Our stay at the Hilton hotel was lovely; we even took advantage of the hamam bath, steam room and the sauna (dry heat).

Istanbul view from Sulemaniye Mosque's courtyard.

We spent four days in Istanbul and I showed my family all the tourist sights that I was familiar with— Sulemaniye Mosque (my favorite!), Ayasofya, Blue Mosque, Topkapı Sarayı, and the Grand Bazaar. We also did new things that I hadn’t done before, such as a boat tour around the Bosphorus, shopping at the famous Egyptian Spice Bazaar, and going up to Piyerloti Hill via Eyüp Gondola aerial lift ride. There were a few hiccups in our trip, of course, including being tricked by taxi drivers. I’ll share three quick stories and then let the pictures tell the rest. 

The first story involves an aggressive, stubborn, and lying taxi driver who dropped us off Piyerloti Hill despite our wanting to go to Sultanahmet Square. He insisted that there was too much security in that area, tourists weren't allowed, and buildings were closed. He knew that Sultanahmet was only a five-minute ride away (and thus a cheaper fare) so instead, he cleverly decided to drop off the non-Turkish speaking tourists at a location that was 30 minutes away (for a fare of 80 lira). We paid the crooked man 60 lira and shooed him off, with Baba yelling at him in English and he yelling back in Turkish—and me understanding both of them and wishing it was over. This experience ruined the start of our day yet we managed to have a great time any way—because when you’re traveling, you just have to go with the flow. Even though we hadn’t requested to be at Piyerloti Hill, it turned out to be a fantastic spot with breathtaking views of the entire Istanbul, both east and west, Asian and European. You could see the Golden Horn Bridge and the Bosporus Bridge, the Galata Bridge and Faith Sultan Mehmet Bridge. You could outline all seven hills of the city with your finger and point to the mosques that smiled from afar. Oh, it was quite a sight!

Istanbul in all its glory from Piyerloti Hill.

The second story is that Attia almost got pick pocketed at the Egyptian Spice Bazaar. She felt someone’s hand tug at her iPhone inside her purse; luckily her reflexes made the culprit drop the phone and dash away. In the busy streets of squirming tourists and storekeepers loudly yelling deals, one must be very careful of their belongings. Mom indulged in spices and silver coffee cups. Attia bought jewelry and evil eye key chains. Baba bargained for electronic items such as car phone chargers. Dani was just hungry for food, though he did buy 5-lira selfie sticks. And me? I’m always shopping for gifts for others.

The last story is about tourist traps. We bought lokum (Turkish delight) at one shop upon entering the Spice Bazaar, and two shops later, realized we were overcharged. When an Indian guy approached us and told us that his shop sells lokum for a lower cost, Mama and Baba were not too thrilled. Everyone falls victim to the trap (remember how many times I did that when I moved here?); there’s just no way around it. We used caution thereon after.

Touring Antalya

Antalya’s trip was equally successful. We didn’t have the luxury of a Hilton hotel, but my spacious apartment sufficed. Mom and Dad slept in the third, unused room; Attia took my room; and Dani and I crashed on the living room couches. Alex was a friendly host and welcomed my family into our apartment, and even helped me prepare a homemade kahvaltı, which we enjoyed on our balcony. We invited her to all our adventures—she was like another sister, since we were missing Laraib and Maryum.

Like Istanbul, we managed to cram a lot of sights in a few, short days. We relaxed and ate mediye (stuffed mussels with aromatic rice) on Konyalatı and Lara beaches; spent a lovely afternoon walking around the Düden Şelalesi (Waterfall Park); enjoyed an entire day in Greek ruins at Side; and walked the curvy bazaar streets of Kaleiçi. We met our landlords for dinner at a restaurant, and then they invited us to their house for a full feast. My family also got to meet my Turkish Hocalarim (teachers), colleagues like Meltem and Asli at Akdeniz University, Konak Kafe Baba, and our Pakistani family (Adnan Bhai hosted us). Mom wanted more time to shop, but because Attia was moody, our scheduled trips were quite delayed. In fact, of my 3-page planned agenda, only one-half was covered. I suppose it’s better to over plan and not meet all the destinations than to under plan and run out of things to do. Plus, Antalya is SO big, it took me several months so see all of it; expecting my family to cover the same amount of ground in a few days was unrealistic for sure. Nonetheless, we had a lovely time in Antalya.

It was so lovely to see my family and be surrounded by their presence. Living abroad is taxing, and seeing familiar faces is comforting. I am happy that they got to see where I live, how I commute to work, where I work, who my friends and colleagues are. It’s one thing to share these details over the phone, and completely another to experience it first-hand. Hopefully the visit filled in the missing details in their heads when they thought about me in Turkey. They also got to see what makes me happy: speaking a foreign language, interacting with diverse types of peoples, finding solutions to my own problems—this is my “zone.” I like being independent, I like navigating my own path, and I love sharing it.

Family Departs

Sometimes visits can be renewing. For example, after meeting Muzaffer Hocam, Baba encouraged me to continue my Turkish lessons. “Why did you stop?” he asked me. “If the school won’t give you teaching hours, at least take advantage of this great opportunity.” This was the push I needed to re-motivate myself and find a renewed purpose of my life in Antalya. A day after their departure, I showed up to class sharply at 8:30 a.m.

When I dropped off my family at the Antalya airport at 6am, warm tears streamed down my cheek. I courageously held back my tears until after they passed through the security checkpoint. I walked outside, feeling sad and exhausted after 10 days of nonstop travel. I sat on the curb and waited for my bus, making zero effort to clean the tears that trickled down my neck onto my jacket. With my blurry vision, I saw a tiny bird fly nearby me, chirping for food. I had nothing to offer the baby bird. It had clearly survived on its own for so long, but suddenly it was lost again. I felt bad for the bird. I secretly prayed that its mother would come rescue it, feed it worms, tuck it under warm arms, and take it home.

New Year's in Istanbul

December 31, 2015 – January 3, 2016

Happy New Year everyone!! May the year 2016 bring good health and happiness to you and your family.

New Year is one-of-a-kind holiday. It is special because it is celebrated universally, and it symbolizes many things: a new start, courage to let go of the past, strength to forgive and move on, and gratitude for being able to travel around the sun one more time. To me, a New Year is a mix of all these things. I look forward to what 2016 has to bring, while I smile at all what’s happened in 2015. I'm excited to let go of some of my past struggles and confront the new ones. For all the people that have hurt me or caused me anguish, I'm ready to forgive them and move on as a stronger person. And most importantly, I'm grateful to be alive for one more year, to spend time with my loved ones, and to live my life to the fullest.

I often use New Year's Eve as a time to reflect about the good and bad things that have happened in the last 365 days, while staying optimistic about what the next 365 days will bring.

As a recap, here are my 2015 milestones. I am grateful for all of these things.

• 2015 started with breathing in a sigh of relief after submitting all my grad school apps
• In March, I was selected for the Fulbright fellowship
• In April, I was accepted to the Tufts Fletcher School
• In May, I was offered the Pickering Fellowship, that brought me to tears
• In July, I left my work at Liberty Mutual with mixed emotions
• In August, I moved to Turkey, unaware of the challenges and opportunities that lied ahead of me
• Since August until now, I have been exploring Turkey, learning new things, making new friends, learning Turkish

Here are things I look forward to in 2016:

• Europe trip over winter break, if we can manage to plan it.
• Going home to America! Homesickness is real.
• Summer internship at the U.S. State Department’s Pakistan Desk.
• Moving back to MA for graduate school—brrr, hello snow again.

These are my three New Year’s resolutions:

• Drink more water. There is no better medicine than water. People drink a lot of Coca Cola in Turkey, and I plan to order su (water) at restaurants from now.
• Jog more and build stamina for running again, as I want to stay fit.
• Learn to read and write Urdu—Urdu is my native language and I can speak it fluently since I was born in Pakistan and lived there for 8 years before moving to the USA; however, I have lost the abilities to read and write this beautiful language. The alphabet is suppressed in my memory somewhere so I feel fairly confident that an intense summer course might bring me up to speed. Perhaps the State Department will allow me to study at their Foreign Service Institute (FSI) during my summer internship.

Traveling to Istanbul

Alex and I decided to spend New Year in Istanbul. We hadn’t traveled in three weeks, and revisiting Istanbul seemed like a good idea—we would get to see the famed fireworks and spend time with other Fulbrighters in Turkey’s historical city. We had a rough start, however.

Our administration failed to communicate to us that we had no speaking club classes the week leading up to New Year’s Day, which was frustrating because Alex and I booked an evening flight to Istanbul. Had we known we didn’t have afternoon classes, we could have booked an earlier flight. To make matters worse, it was snowing in Istanbul and there were an unusual amount of flights going to Istanbul, both of which contributed to major delays. Those that know me well know that I can be very impatient, especially during situations that do not have a logical justification. I could not figure out why every flight to Istanbul was delayed. Should the airport not plan for enough runways? This isn’t the first time people are flocking to Istanbul to celebrate New Year’s, therefore shouldn’t the airport officials and airlines plan for these types of situations ahead of time? Whatever happened to data analysis? If I were still at my desk at Liberty Mutual, I’d be slicing and dicing customer data like nobody’s business. Alas, I’m in Turkey and this place is surely teaching me patience.

Headed to Istanbul on NYE with Toffee Nut Latte.

Alex and I decided to kill our time by sipping Starbucks coffee. I’m actually not a huge fan of Starbucks—overpriced coffee is so overrated—but every once in a while, in peculiar situations like this one, when one’s soul is left with nothing but desperation, when frustration leaves you with no other choice, I resort to the multinational, multi-million dollar company to provide me with a warm cup of caffeine that can calm my nerves. And it worked. Toffee Nut Latte was just what I needed to calm my negativity and pessimism. I complained to Alex that we would miss the fireworks, that this trip was ruined, that it wasn’t worth it any more. I was grateful to her positivism because I was beginning to lose hope. That’s one of my favorite things about Alex; she reminds me of the light at the end of the tunnel. We make a great team!

Finally at a little past 10pm, our flight began boarding. In less than an hour, we were in Istanbul. Finally! But…it was snowing. We took a bus to Taksim Square. But the clock was ticking, and I feared that we would ring in the New Year en route to our destination. My fear came true. Alex and I counted the final minute of 2015 on an unusually quite bus. I couldn’t understand why everyone else was silent. Weren’t they happy for 2016? In hushed voices, Alex and I whispered “10, 9, 8, 7….” and then threw our hands in the air, and gave each other a hug. And this is how I spent my New Year’s Eve, my friends. No pity needed, because at least I was with someone I loved, Alex. Besides, all holidays are about being with the people you love. “Plus, it’s not New Year’s in America yet, so we really didn’t miss it,” said Alex, reminding me again to stay positive.

When we got to Taksim Square, we called our Airbnb host who directed us to take a taxi to the hostel. The weather was miserable; it was a blizzard as we got off the bus. We decided to taxi to our hostel, which was 10 minutes away. The driver made small talk with us and appeared to be very warm—but he turned out to be a crook! He asked us for 100 lira, which I knew was a joke; and then tried to tell us that he was giving us a concession and charging us only 50 lira. Which is still SUPER expensive. The ride should have only cost 10 or 15 lira, but instead we were forced to pay 50 lira. I begged the driver to give us 10 lira back so that we could buy baklava or something. Feeling guilty for ripping off two innocent girls, he smiled through the rearview mirror and handed us the 10 lira change. I expected rates to be high on New Year’s Eve, but this guy was a total crook. I don’t understand people cheat others. It’s an awful thing to do, and I don’t know how people live with themselves after having committed the deed. Needless to say, being overcharged by the taxi driver was the icing on the cake of our awful travel to Istanbul.

Hostel

Our hostel was actually pretty sweet, unlike the first one which was super sketchy. Four other girls joined us for this 7-bed hostel: Monica, Sara, Jessica, and Caitie. There were three sets of bunk beds plus a lone one. The hostel came with heating, towels, soap, shampoo, and slipper—I was super impressed. Felt like a mini hotel, but for a much cheaper cost of course. The only downfall of this hostel was the alley on which it’s located. Our host was also very hospitable, constantly checking in on us and being available at all times. The living situation was great, no complaints here.

Istiklal Street

Istiklal means ‘independence.’ Istiklal Avenue is one of the most famous streets in Istanbul. It is apparently visited by nearly 3 million people in a single day over the course of weekends, according to Wikipedia. “Located in the historic Beyoğlu (Pera) district, it is an elegant pedestrian street, 1.4 kilometers long, which houses boutiques, music stores, bookstores, art galleries, cinemas, theatres, libraries, cafés, pubs, night clubs with live music, historical patisseries, chocolateries and restaurants.” There’s even a historic red tram that runs up and down the street. The girls and I indulged in Persian food and sweets the night we hung out. I ordered an awful dish at the Persian restaurant—something sweet with walnuts, but curried in a dark gravy. Even though I didn’t enjoy my dinner, the cheesecake we had afterward totally made up for it.

 

Dolmabahçe Palace

One of the highlights of this trip was visiting the historical, extravagant, and ginormous palace of the Sultans. Sarah, Jessica, Alex, and I toured the Dolmabahce Palace on Saturday. It costs 30 TL for adults and 5 TL for students with IDs. The Dolmabahce Palace is a luxurious palace built by the many great Ottoman Sultans, and later used by the founder of modern Turkey, Kemal Ataturk. Ataturk used the place for work and occasionally lived in it. He also died in this palace on November 10, 1938 at 9:05am—all the clocks in this 285-room palace are stopped at that hour/minute to pay tribute to the father of this republic. Today, the palace is used as a museum and as a place to host foreign dignitaries. Maybe one day I'll be welcomed here as a representative of the USA. The palace is located near the Bosphorus, with huge gates smiling at the shining waters and waving at the tour boats swimming by. When my family and uncle visit Istanbul, I hope to take them on a Bosphorous ferry tour so that they can see the entire city. Because of the icy weather, it was very slippery to walk outside the palace. Our feet froze many a times, but we survived cold feet just to be able to see the magnificent interior. The palace had many rooms that were themed to a color, like the “red room” and the “blue room.” This reminded me of the East Wing of The White House, which, too, has color-themed rooms. We must have stolen the idea from the Sultans. Anyhow, even though we weren’t allowed to take pictures inside, the tour was lovely and this is definitely a destination I’m adding to the itinerary of my family’s spring visit.

Journey to Antalya

Sunday, September 12, 2015

The Journey to Antalya deserved its own post.

For the most part, the journey was smooth, unlike the hustle and bustle of my journey to Ankara. Alex and I had a hearty lunch and departed the hotel at 1:30p to catch our 4p flight, which was booked by the Turkish Fulbright Commission. We said goodbye to our peers as  we passed them, and it was impossible to track everyone down. We hugged Mevlude Hanim goodbye, jam-packed our luggage and our bodies into one taxi, and off we went. Our driver was a young 20-something man who tried to teach us some Turkish words in exchange for English words. I was sweating buckets that day because of a stomachache and dizziness; but the driver made the 45-minute ride to the airport enjoyable through up-beat Turkish music and good conversation.

One thing that is repeatedly happening to Alex and me is that Turkish people are trying to guess our ethnicities/backgrounds/origins. When we tell them we are from New Jersey and Virginia, respectively, they do not believe us. They politely rephrase the question to “where are your ancestors from?” I proudly tell them I’m Pakistani, because it is true, I was in fact born in Pakistan so part of me is Pakistani and then I’m American. But for Alex, who is of Italian heritage from generations ago, it feels weird to call herself Italian because she was not born or raised in that country. She says she doesn’t mind owning the Italian part of her background, but she and her parents were born and raised in America. For convenience-sake, however, we now just tell everyone our 'true' origins so they don’t have to scratch their heads and ask a follow-up question. We were definitely warned of this at one of the renewal grantee sessions during orientation: Turkish people’s curiosity stems from ignorance, not malice. That said, it is our responsibility as a Fulbrighter to showcase America’s diversity, so we shouldn’t shy away from owning our American identity and educating the Turkish people that America truly is a melting pot.

A nice bell-hop helped Alex and me push our luggage to the check-in counter, where we encountered—wait for it—yes, more baggage fees! Can you believe that only 15 kilo is allowed per person to travel domestically? Ridiculous. Alex and I each had two bags of 23 kilo each, because our understanding was that 23 kilos (50 pounds) is a normal baggage allowance. Anyway, we got a receipt with our luggage weight printed on it, and just like the Istanbul Airport, the ladies at the counter withheld our passports until we went to the sales office (half way across the airport) to pay the fees. I think I’m becoming a professional at Turkish airport travel, if I must say so myself. To those coming to visit, please, please be weary of this concept: they will make you weigh your checked luggage (pack lightly!), and they will withhold your passport at the desk until you pay overweight baggage fees (again, pack lightly!). Enough on that—the horse has been beaten to death, right? Moving on.

Security was miserable; they made us open our carry-on items only to discover beautiful jewelry and not harmful weapons. We waited at our gate for a good hour before boarding, and my nausea had calmed although I was still at unease. And then, out of nowhere, we spotted Casey at the airport! He was traveling to Malatya with a few other Fulbrighters. A selfie bayram.

View of Toros Mountains from our flight.

The flight to Antalya was short, about an hour or so. I had zero appetite so I skipped the white cheese sandwich and snacks that were offered, and instead, drank water. The view outside the window was amazing—the majestic Toros Mountains and the glistening Mediterranean Sea screamed “Hoşgeldiniz!” (Welcome!) to us.

We retrieved our luggage at the domestic section of the airport. You know what they say; fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. Proud to say, ladies and gentlemen, we were not fooled. Outside the arrival gate, our university representative, Meltem, (whom we had met earlier at orientation) and her friend picked us up and drove us to the campus’ Social Facilities Hotel, where we had pizza for dinner and spent the night.

Why do airports make you cry?

August 29, 2015

Today is my last day in the U.S. and it has been a pretty hectic one. I woke up two whole hours earlier than my normal summer hour, noon, and finished packing. My older sister took me to the mall to get comfortable Nike shoes, but malls over the weekends are crowded and it took us longer than we had anticipated. Nonetheless, we got home in a timely fashion, ate Mom's delicious chicken biryani, and got ready. As per tradition, my family took photos and then we all prayed for my safe journey. Around 5:30pm, we hit the road for Dulles airport.

I'm flying Air France from DC to Istanbul, with a quick layover in Paris. I packed two checked luggage, one carry-on, and a backpack. Luckily my first checked luggage was free, but the second one cost $100. There's nothing in the world I hate more than luggage fees. But alas, such is life. And no, this is not what made me cry at the airport.

Next, my parents and my younger sister went to the exchange booth because I wanted to have some Turkish lira on me before I got to the country. The current rate in the market is 2.91 lira per dollar; but the guy at the booth cheated us and gave us 2.51 lira per dollar, in addition to charging us a $10 service fee. Baba was not happy about this, and I rolled my eyes in frustration. There are some things in life that you just have to accept; sadly, a corrupt world is one of them. Again, no tears here.

The Departure Gates. That's where it happened.

There was a man standing in front of the big sign labeled "All Departure Gates." His job is to check boarding passes and only let traveling passengers through, which means he probably witnesses a lot of emotional moments. What a tough job! Speaking of emotional moments, my family and I had mine. My mom started crying, which made me cry, and we shared a warm hug for a good two minutes. Then I turned around, and saw Baba teary-eyed, and I hugged him goodbye too. Last time I saw Baba cry was when he dropped me off at Bowdoin College back in August 2009. Finally, I hugged my airport photographer, my sister Laraib and proceeded towards the man witnessing the scene. I didn't want to look back but I couldn't help it. I waved my family a final goodbye, took a huge breath (which helped clear out the emotions), and went down the escalators.

Saying goodbye to my family at Dulles Int'l Airport.

There's something about airports that just brings choking tears to people's eyes. I don't know what it is. Maybe they spray something special in airports to make sure eyes water up. Parting from family members, regardless of the occasion, is very symbolic and often emotional. I told my mom she had nothing to worry about because I would be back in 9 months, and she and Baba would be visiting me in a few months too - that we will all be reunited in just a matter of short time. This didn't console her much because I knew the thought that was lingering in her mind -- it was the same one that lingered in my mind. The thought that no one likes to admit but expresses with their tears: what if there is no next time? What if this is it, this is the last time you see your family?

As scary as that thought may be, I'm an optimist so I like to think the best of every situation. I am confident that my travels will be safe and that I will return to the USA in one piece, inshAllah. That said, there was one last thing that made me cry at the airport: I badly chipped my left thumb's nail, so much so that it bled a little. It must have happened at some point while I was handling luggage. I didn't have clippers on me, so a bandaid did the trick.