(From August 16, 2009)
Istanbul, Turkey
“Remember that time in Istanbul when you had your 22nd Birthday?”
The day marks my 22nd birthday. My journal documenting the day gave 1-sentence blurbs about the things I did. Thankfully, the details are returning to me. Objects around me fill in the memory blanks. It was a blast.
……
My eyes awake to the dorm surroundings. I see the camera on my desk. I’m lying down but my legs feel heavy from fatigue. Memories stir. As tired as we were, John, Joe, Muhammed, and I stayed awake and trekked out. At the ludicrous time of 5:45am, we walked. Past the closed Baklava shop. Through a dark alleyway with stray cats wandering the corners. Past an over-turned garbage heap; putrid stench wafting through the air. All to get to the bridge spanning the river. Fisherman already cast their lines out. The structure already smelled like mackerel. What was the point? Was it worth it? Four words: sunrise over the Bosphorus. The clouds exuded a dark pink/purple hue while the orb of orange slowly rose over the horizon. Rays of hope for a new day. The water shimmered as the light shone on it. A cool breeze passed through our hair. Worth it? I think so.
I look over at the clock. 2:00pm. Normally, I’d freak out but today, I’m okay with it. After all, I went to bed just seven hours before. Exhaling, I smell the scent of melon on my breath. Hookah. First time trying, and it wasn’t bad. Nothing special either, so I won’t do it for some time, if ever. The memory piece of what happened several hours prior to sunrise fit into place.
But why an all-nighter? I’m wasn’t cramming for an exam or anything—couldn’t I have just gotten up early? In my attempt at recollection, I put my fingers into my ear. They ring. Could it be from the 3 hours of dancing at a techno club? The lights flickering on and off with familiar and strange faces appearing and disappearing from the mass of people. The bass thumping and synchronizing our movements. A slippery, white-tiled dance floor. Beads of sweat running down everyone’s face. Looking for confirmation of the event, I glance over and see a sweat-stained t-shirt designed with a Turkish flag draped over a seat. I smile with the memories. More hours recalled.
Perhaps instead, the ringing is from a Turkish instrumental quartet —a tambourine, double-reed, drum, and plucked string of sorts—playing “Happy Birthday” in my ear while everyone sang (out of tune like all good renditions) and I sipped beer. A bar before the club—my mind fit the temporal puzzle piece into place.
Shifting my gaze away from the alarm clock, my stomach growls. I am starved. For me, this means I over-ate the day before. What could have caused this? It may have been dinner. The tastes still linger in my mouth. The bread brought out in slices. The mélange of spices making up a reddish sauce playing foil to the comparatively neutral eggplant dish. The bite of arugula in a salad dressed with vinaigrette. The grilled chicken, savory meatballs, and aromatic fish.
The other possibility is beer. I had three over the course of the evening along with a strong licorice-like drink called Raki (Hey, I’m over 21 so I can talk about drinking—yay for calories). Problem is, I’m not a fan of licorice. Overall, I didn’t have enough alcohol to black me out but did drink enough to receive a pleasant veil over my senses for the evening. The final memory piece fit into place.
There. Done. The memory puzzle complete, I lay satisfied. How much more could I ask for on a birthday evening? I get out of bed and dress to face the day; the dorm room now empty except for the four of us and the sun shining through the curtains.
“Yes, and it was AMAZING.”
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