After yesterday’s call, I think I’m set. I have already started packing my suitcase yesterday night. I put on some music. I was listening to Ghali – an Italo-Tunisian artist that I love. There is this song that I kept listening to on repeat “Good Times”. The first line is “Sembra la fine del mondo, ma mi calma” – Seems like the end of the world, but I will calm down. Well, how appropriate.
I’m very proud of myself. I had packed a fair deal of my stuff yesterday and most importantly I would be coming back so I left my summer dresses and cute yellow wedges in my room. If I was about to leave, I would definitely have a reason to come back. I mean, aside from the fact that I am in love with the city and staying away from my lover would gradually affect my heart.
It’s 8:00 am: I’m dialing the number of the German embassy. “Deutsche Botschaft, Wie kann ich Ihnen behilflich sein/ how may I be of help to you?”
“Hey my name is Sandra, I’m currently studying here in Istanbul and well I was wondering if you’d recommend me staying or getting back to Germany?”
“Well right now, we cannot say anything for sue. It is up to you to decide, since the situation around the globe is similarly bad, I cannot tell you to stay or leave. Anyways, if you decided to leave though, today and possibly tomorrow will be the last flights before borders close.”
“Thank you.” Still not knowing what to do, I was facing an inner struggle. Would I stay in Istanbul all by myself with some friends that well have become friends over the past few months and risk being exposed to so many people on a daily basis, not being in my home country, not sure about health care systems. Would I have to cancel my semester here? How will all this be handled regarding my studies? If I got home, I could put the safety and health of my parents at risk because who the fuck knows if I do not already have this shit and being at an airport would definitely increase the risk of catching it… My head is about to explode. Let’s call up Bogazici universitesi and see what their point of view is.
The university states that they will resume classes starting the 6th of April. Since many students already left the country, they are working on digital classes. Regarding normal classes, they have no idea what or when to get back to normality. Everything is uncertain. She advised me to go home. University will stay in touch via mail. At least at home, I would be with my family.
10:00 am: Calling my parents once more. I have to admit, as my dad said he would be more comfortable with me being close to them, my decision was set. I would reserve this flight now and get back to Germany today.
10:15 am : Flight booked. Direct flight from Istanbul International to Nuremberg at 4:25 pm which means I should get my ass out of here in minimum one hour. People said, it would be wiser to be at the airport 3 hours in advance. So I threw all I could into my suitcase, started distributing my newly acquired groceries among my roommates that would be staying, got my saxophone and a backpack full of documents and my laptop. All important things were in this suitcase or my backpack. Leaving behind: summer clothing, sandals, hair extensions (had to mention them, although I really never wear them, but they are an asset that ought to be mentioned since I purchased them for 150 bucks) and a wall plastered with pictures of me and my best friends reminding me of wonderfully carefree times spent together last semester. A most precious golen framed piece of art that was really hard to leave behind on an emotional basis. But whatever. I’ll be back.
Carrying my 30kg suitcase 5 floors downstairs to the garden only to carry it up the stairs into the main kitchen in the house next door was the work out of the year. Honestly. I sweated like crazy. I felt stressed from inside out. Outer circumstances were increasing the stress that had already started rising inside of me.
A beautiful Danish Angel living with me, Victoria, helped me with my saxophone and backpack. We rushed to the Havabus Station at Point Hotel not far off Taksim Square. Giving the suitcases to the bus driver who safely stored them in the trunk, I was ready to go. I could not quite grasp that I was actually about to leave…
I was so stressed, I accepted a cigarette and smoked it together with Victoria waiting for the bus driver to tell me to get in the bus.
He started waving at me. That was my cue, I had to leave and although hugging should have been a no-go, we still did. We hugged very intensely, wishing each other good luck and promising to see one another again in the summer when all of this would be over. It was the first time I felt inner sadness. REAL sadness since a long time. I had tears skyrocketing up my eyes. I managed to suppress them successfully and jumped into the bus, putting on my mask.
The bus ride to Istanbul International Airport takes around 40 minutes. 40 minutes I would eagerly avoid to spend on reflection about my stay and beautiful moments lived in this city. I won’t need my emotional overwhelming version of myself just right now. There are enough factors already contributing to a potential mental breakdown. Keep away from that shit, Sandra, my inner voice kindly advised sipping on what I assumed to be a martini. (I know. Vast imagination. It’s how I survive).
So, emotional Sandra-mode switched off and Call-center robo-voice on. I am impressed by the fact that I actually managed to call around 10 people very objectively describing the current situation without any sign of me tripping at the edge of what I like to refer to as the emo-abyss of my brain. Good job.
Arriving at the airport, I grabbed my stuff, breathing like Garfield after his 7th lasagna. This shit was so heavy, damn. What was I thinking? I’m no fashion-blogger, why on earth would I need so much clothing? Fair punishment was awaiting.
I hasted to the check-in counter, because that is what I do at airports. I haste, even if there is 3 hours left, I prefer to run. I guess it’s adding to the excitement and dramatic scenario I have created in my mind. You know in my mind, I see a beautiful 1.80 m tall blond long-haired goddess, effortlessly rushing from the check-in counter through the security check right onto the boarding area; unfortunately reality looks kinda different. Every single time… I mean aside from the fact that my hair is not blond, all features apply to my appearance. Haha. (I do find this funny.)
The line at the check-in counter was rather short so I was surprised… Would things go smoothly for a change? Would I be the effortless goddess? Carried by enthusiasm, I floated over to the counter. In front of me sat a cute girl, around 26 years old, I assume. I handed her my passport and waited for the usual procedure. She would scan it, hand me the boarding pass and I’d float over through the security check. Basta.
Well, not this time darling, my martini-sipping inner voice whispered.
She looked up and asked: “So are you sure your surname is WEIS?”
I responded that I knew of no other surname that may have applied. She continued searching and finally uttered: “Uff, yaaaa. Bu ne, yaaa. Bulmadim ya” (Translates into: Oh fuck yeah, fuck I can’t find this, let’s Uff another time to creep the shit out of the girl standing on the other side of the counter).
I asked: “So you cannot find me on this flight?” Astonished she looked at me, potentially wondering how the fuck I was capable of understanding her Turkish complaint-routine and said: “No I’m sorry, lady. You have to go home. There is no flight today with your name.”
Now I do want to shorten the drama and just tell you how it ended, but I won’t spare you the beauty of what I will henceforth refer to as “The Eruption”. Cause giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirl; I erupted. Wow. A phenomenon, scientists would have loved to witness. The eruption of a rare natural phenomenon of moving volcanoes. Barely found, this one was about to deliver a hell of a performance.
I took a breath, looked at her and said: “Lady, I will not go anywhere. I can see my ticket number printed right there on the confirmation e-mail that I received around 1,5 h ago. I did work in this industry before, so having a ticket number implies that an actual ticket has been issued, which kind of juxtaposes your sayings. What are we going do about that? I think I know. Let’s just reconsider what you just said, call up your supervisor and find out why on earth I would have to get back on a bus carrying 30 kg of luggage, a saxophone and my backpack.”
I assume she was just overwhelmed by whatever the fuck the weird girl had just uttered and obeyed, calling her supervisor. After a few meetings of deliberately married consonants and vowels (they call it Turkish), she looked at me and said: “Your ticket was changed for tomorrow. We do not have space on this flight anymore, so they changed it.”
Clearly that makes a lot of sense. Just overbook the flight and kick out the girl with the heaviest and most unhandy luggage. Dude, nope. I refuse. Wallah, I swear, this ain’t happening today. I felt a stomach ache and my temperature rising. Pray it’s not the damn virus. I just assume it was anger in the form of seething, rumbling hot lava. It was.
She sent me over to the ticket sales’ office where I allegedly would be capable of sorting out this problem.
I arrived at the ticket sales’ office and had to get a number and stay in line. I became incessant, hearing the clock tik-toking. I had another 2 hours, but with this tremendous line of people in front of me, there was no way I was getting on that plane.
I patiently stood there waiting for my number to be called when I heard two Tunisian guys behind me saying “Yallah let’s just skip the line, you just squeeze yourself in there and get to the counter, forget about the numbers.” (in Arabic “Yallah, t7arak, shihemek fel numrouet, t3ada men hon w a3mal ro7ek meta3rash”).
Wow. That was it. Triggered. That was too much. STAY THE FUCK IN LINE PEOPLE. IS THIS some kind of joke to you, do you think we work with vitamin B like in corrupt post offices in Tunisia, dude?! That was too much for me, I whirled around furiously (the fun part here is that one may only tell the anger looking at each other’s eyes, since everyone was wearing masks, fortunately… so the volume of my shouting was muted a little), I said : “Wen maaaaaaaashy ya m3allam, te7seb ro7ek fel bousta fi Tunis ne5dmou bel ektef ? Barra oukef fel queue; maksh tshouf fel 3abed elkoll testanna. Hall hamm.”
- Translates into: stay the fuck in line. Are you serious?
He got back in line and I finally got on the flight after another hour of waiting and them telling me there was no actual spot anymore. Well, magically, there was in the end and boarding the flight, it was not even fully booked to its capacity. Whatever.
Having boarded the flight, I sat down in my seat. A window seat 27 F. This was going to be tough. Refrain from thinking. Just sleep.
I couldn’t. With all the in-flight entertainment and marvelous food provided by what I believe is one of the most excellent airlines, Turkish Hava Yollari; I still could not be distracted enough. Looking out of the window, I saw my beloved city and then a vast ocean and countless clouds, tears began to fill my eyes. I swallowed down the tears dwelling up, closed my eyes and only opened them when we had already initiated our descent to Nürnberg.
I looked out of the window again. No vast ocean, instead: vast amount of trees and some awkward mix of relief and nausea. I started playing around with my necklaces. I loved these. One is a silver whirling dervish, which was offered to me by my dear friend Ismail. One of the very rare people that grasp me on a more profound level. I love exchanging thoughts with him. He is this wise person, full of inner peace that I have and will always look up to. I still recall what was written on the sheet accompanying my gift.It will be my lucky charm. I will always keep it. He said it was crucial for me to wear it at all times, especially now. So I did, along with an amulet I got from a very special person. Putting up as many of these as I can. Maybe a little superstition will do me good.
Back to the airport.
It all went very quick and smoothly except for the involuntary arm-workout, heaving all my heavy suitcases from one train to another. I finally arrived in Schweinfurt Central Station.
Arriving at our house, I greeted my parents from afar, not quite grasping the strangeness of this remote greeting. I was home. My parents looked happy. So was I. whatever the fuck was going to happen now, at least I was close to my family.