Sitting on my boyfriend's patio – my current temporary home – I contemplate the idea of mentally preparing myself for a six month working stint in New York City... Staten Island to be exact. Leaving in five days, my life is scattered about me in piles of textiles and cosmetics. Having purchased a round trip ticket from Istanbul to New York, I suppose I intend to return... but we shall see my fine young friend, we shall see. Really no time to think about that at the moment however – must concentrate on the next task at hand... successfully running a Summer English program on Staten Island of all places. The UK office is leaving a bunch of crazy hellions in charge of the entire US operation – hahahaha – a fact I seem to find more and more comical each time it pops to mind. The role-call consists of: Two of my ex flat mates – the lovely Skye (whom got me out to this crazy country in the first place), and the Polish Chicagoan who ever-so-kindly let me share his loft last summer on my brief return to Krakow from Oman. In Boston we have the Adams – two vastly contrasting expats, both residing in Krakow as well, whom have some how managed to remain staunch allies and friends for many years, as well as running this program in years past. Lastly we have a fellow Coloradan expat whom recently split with his Warsawian girl friend of five years. So, all in all – a charming entourage of 'recovering' derelicts left in charge of the US... in hopes we do not burn down our respected east coast cities.
Having given very short notice to an unhappy company - whom could not even guarantee me enough hours during the summer to survive on, mind you – I finish up work on Tuesday, will hopefully get paid and leave my future return of my employment there at, 'questionable'. Not a bad gig really, yet my indifference gets the best of me and I find having to think about two months down the line, uninteresting. So I pack my bags – after a brief mental break in which consisted of throwing everything I own out onto my boyfriend's living room floor – lied amongst the scarfs, torn jeans and various knick knacks – took a brief nap before I meticulously began folding, discarding the pieces which would not be making the long journey to New York with me.
I will have surgery tomorrow – nothing major – just a quick, let's-get-things-taken-care-of-and-in-line- before-I-leave kinda thing. Should be a blast and am looking forward to adding to the insanity of pre-departure mayhem.
In the meantime, all I want is to swim. Jagged rocks aside, the swimming season has treated me quite well. Antalya has three different types of swimming holes to choose from: two beaches, on either side of the city – one with a pebble beach (which I prefer), the other with a sand beach (which normally I would hole-heartedly embrace, but the combination of salt and fine sand is a sticky, dirty mess). The last option, and by far my favorite, are the cliffs. In walking distance from my house, they are hidden from the eyes of the tourists and you will mostly find a few fisherman and some teenage boys showing off for one another as they dive (or flop) into the water. Walking down steps and ladders to get to the sea, this cove is pocketed nicely out of reach from wandering beach searchers and the cold spring waters that rush up out of the bottom of the sea make for the most refreshing afternoon swim on a wretchedly hot and humid day. Not as calm, quiet and clean as the pool clear waters of Adrasan – but it does the job.
So for the next few days, I will swim, pack and continue to sort my brain out before I depart for the Big Apple – the city of possibility, wonder, chaos and amazement.
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