The Night Before

For all of those not so informed, I am off to Malaysia tomorrow, Kuala Lumpur specifically. It will be an all-day affair. And by all day, I mean literally all day...around 24 hours. But that's okay. Because it's Malaysia.

I am sorry that I wasn't able to see everyone for as long as either you or I wanted. I have been busy, and it's been very hectic leading up to today. In fact, tomorrow will still be hectic...and the day after. I will keep your affectations and kind words in mind as I sit on the plane staring blankly at the ocean, then as I bowl over in the lavatory from whatever I might be ingesting, and finally, of course, when I pick out souvenirs. I will try to keep all updated as much as possible as I trek about this new territory, and I have trusty Villie as my guide, so all will be well to those who are still worrying.

I will be arriving at Kuala Lumpur at around 12:15 p.m. baggage in tow. From then on, it's anyone's guess. But really, I will do my best to describe the sites and sounds as they present themselves to me. I am rather excited, and I will try to remember this "discourse." Obviously right now I haven't much to say...I'm assuming when I get there I will. However, do not expect any tweets. I refuse to twitter or fritter my vacation hours away on a website that bandies the mundanities of life like Venice merchants. I do want to stay in touch though. So for those of you who don't yet know, this might be a good place to find information on said topic.

And...on another note, and one not wholly in accordance with the subject at hand, I would like to say Happy Birthday to Mom. May 18 was her birthday. In honor of her birthday, and of course she would be mortified, I am going to post something that she wrote herself:

It was so strange to see soldiers standing at every corner, especially near the banks, dressed in their drab greens and holding machine guns at the ready. In fact, it is one of the few things I remember most vividly from my few months in Istanbul, not the people I met, not the foods I ate, not the sights I saw. Such an odd concept for me, soldiers, on corners, machine guns, ready. It is frightening now to think of it, but somehow it wasn't then. But I was only 17 and still felt pretty immortal--at least, compared to now, when at 33 I feel pretty close to death most of the time. I could even say that I felt a little comforted by the sight of the soldiers, as if they were some tangible guardian angels protecting me and others of the city from terrorists and other evil beings. Which is what they were there for, to keep control of terrorists. Turkey had just undergone a change from one kind of government to a military government only months before I and about 50 other kids had arrived as foreign exchange students from the U.S. It was with some degree of fear that I'd read about this takeover, but I was in the midst of saving my money and packing my bags for the trip. Military government?, I remember thinking abstractly. Was this a good thing? Was it safe? But would they, AFS, send us if it weren't safe? That was the big question here, but I was too young to really think of asking someone in charge. When it was time to go, I went an that was that. I suppose my parents might have checked into it (I would now if my son wanted to go somewhere outside of this city), but if they did it was secretly and without my ever learning of it.

Anyway, I grew used to these soldiers, although I never actually approached any of them, never offered to trim their rifles with flowers or ribbons, never even smiled and said hello. Then again, I rarely felt brave enough to smile and say hello to anyone, much less someone carrying a weapon and presumably watching out for bad guys.

It was the summer of 1981 and I had just turned that great old age of 17 about two weeks before departure. I was so excited to be leaving Arlington, so thrilled to be getting away from my family, that I could hardly breathe as the plane left ground and headed for New York. It would be in New York that I'd find myself in the first of two orientation camps, both geared to getting us prepared for the culture shock that we would encounter in a place like Turkey.

Unfortunately, the shock, cultural or not, would begin much earlier for me than for most because 1) I had not been camping since I was in the second grade (and had not liked it THEN) and 2) I had not expected to have to undergo such intensive preparation. The first camp was on a college campus, one whose name escapes me now. I was not happy to learn that we would be there for an entire week. For what?, I asked the window of the bus as we rumbled out of the airport and onto the highway. I was also not too pleased to learn that I'd be sharing a dormitory room with two other girls. This sharing room stuff was something I left Arlington for and here I was, in a situation that was, for me, even worse since I didn't know the girls. I was very shy back then and had quite a difficult time in the locker rooms at school, so the prospect of revealing what I thought was a completely hideous body to strangers was appalling. And it was hot, unusually hot for New York. Or so said the camp counselor that next day after we'd spent our first night sweating in our tiny twin beds, a sheet and scratchy old blanket each. No air conditioning in New York, not then, anyway. During the next few days, we would attend sessions and meetings that focused on Turkish foods, Turkish people, Turkish words, Turkish customs, and Turkish culture in general. It was long, it was boring, it was tedious.

We sweated our way through that week, an endless week I might add, and finally Friday arrived and we could prepare to board our flight to Turkey. It would be making three stops, one in France, one in Germany, and finally, Turkey. We were not going to be able to go sightseeing in either of the first two, but we didn't care--just get us to Turkey, please, and let this exchange thing happen. Little did we know what awaited us there. Camp New York seemed like the Hilton compared to that hellish place they bussed us to on arrival to Istanbul. But first, the arrival. The flight took forever, with long waits in Paris and Germany not helping at all. My time was spent mostly reading and helping out a Pakistani woman with her two small children. They were practically in my lap, anyway, so I was the logical one to provide on-board care for the poor lady. She was grateful and I was gracious, end of story. It was also a great way to keep myself from focusing on the fact that we were flying over a great expanse of water and emminent death.

In Germany, as we reboarded our plane after a fifteen minute break, we were told something very disconcerting by our adult chaperons: we had to land in Turkey at night, under cover of darkness, or not at all. Our questions were met with shrugs. Great, just great. It was not the best way to ease someone's mind about the safety of the country to which one is going. We finally approached the airport, or that's what the pilot told us we were doing since we could see absolutely nothing in the complete blackness below us. As we circled over this non-runway, I could not only feel but hear my heart pounding in my scrawny chest. The handy map of Turkey and its surrounding land and waterways that they'd given me in New York did not make me feel much better. According to it, we had a fifty-fifty chance of landing in the water around Turkey, much less at the tiny airport toward the tip of the country. I felt the air pressure in the cabin change as we descended hundreds of feet, still into total dark. But no one else seemed to be panicking (I kept a close watch on the flight attendants and saw no rush for their emergency seats), so I tried to calm down and ignore all the signs of my seemingly inevitable death. The Our Father was never so faithfully repeated as at that moment.

But we landed safely, obviously, for here I am to tell of it and we were shuffled quickly into a deserted airport to wait until morning. It was apparent that we could no more drive into the city at night than fly into the country duringn the day. So we slouched and slept uncomfortably around the airport for about six hours until they loaded us into three long buses. We were tired but elated--we were on our way.

Happy Birthday Mom. And may my travel narrative be anywhere as skillfully written. R.I.P.

Trey