The Reluctant Backpacker

Turkey, Ireland, London, Paris...

Once I made it to the European continent I could start bouncing from friend to former familiar locale. Once of my best friends moved to Turkey shortly after we graduated. I visited her in Istanbul for a week shortly after she moved. This time she gave me the choice between a food tour and a cultural tour. Naturally, I chose the food. I met her in Istanbul where she was living with her new Turkish boyfriend whom she would later marry.

The first time I went to Turkey she lived on the Asian side of Istanbul. We spent most of our time on ferry boats and mini buses. This time, after nearly four years in the country, she was a relative local. She had learned the language, had moved to the European side and was a natural at pushing her way through the impossibly crowded streets. After a couple of days in the capital we flew south into Bursa where we rented a car and started our journey.

---

"What is this that I'm eating?" was the most common thing I asked in South America. In Turkey, the question morphed into: "What is this that I'm drinking?" Every venue/restaurant seemed to boast a signature drink; each different from the last. Often, the answer was some form of yogurt. Yogurt with milk, yogurt with water, yogurt with cucumbers. All drinkable.

We had embarked on our food tour of Southeastern Turkey. Blessed with a travel partner who lived in the country for four years and who spoke the language, we ventured far into the heart of the country, for a trip that was much more authentically middle-eastern than any experience I could have achieved were I on my own.

Traveling through the villages outside of Gaziantep, drinks and dishes with the same name would taste completely unrecognizable from the last, depending on location.

We stayed in near hovels, fended off locals who scoffed at our bare legs and uncovered shoulders (I was hissed at more than once on the rare occasion that we saw a woman outside of her home.) We drove too close to the Syrian border, encountering standing troops who were less than charmed by our apologetic cuteness. We got in fights, got lost, got trapped in a family's house in the middle of nowhere with temperatures dipping below freezing. We reestablished and then burnt down our friendship. We built each other back up and though the route was never direct we always made it to our eventual destination.

Turkey is the perfect example of a country whose dreams are far richer than its reality. Istanbul is almost European in its offerings. It's crowded and smelly. It's cosmopolitan and exhausting. It's impossibly massive. It's modern and it's pocketed with glimpses of what once was. Leaving the city you realize that Turkey is a long way from what Istanbul promises it will be. It's deeply rooted in religion, food, cultural and regionalisms. More than was expected, the country changes drastically from city to city. People are tied to their village more than they are to their nation. There is a genuine lack of national cohesion. So much of Turkey longs to be European and so much of it will never embrace the Western customs its spent centuries warding away. It is both the future of the Middle East and a perfect representation of its past.

Each time I've gone I've been warned about how I'll be treated. I've never felt anything less than safe each time I've visited, but I understand why the fears persist. Turkey can be unexpectedly under-developed. We think of its massive capital as the whole of the country, but it's only a small part. Most of the country lives simply and for cheap. It's full of diversity and unexpected beauty, but it's nothing like everyone says it is; not even what it claims to be itself.

---

It's funny how situation can dictate response. Two years before I ran away, a friend of mine did the same. She chose a slightly more settled path, choosing to spend six months in Guatemala rather than travel without an itinerary, but hers was a runaway, just as mine was.

At the time I didn't long to be her. I was proud and happy for her, but I didn't ache to follow. The second I started wishing that I was the leaving one I knew that I had to. Awake one night in rural Turkey I thought back on the time that friend told me she was running away to Guatemala. We worked together sharing daily commiserations. Ours was a true friendship but one that wouldn't have developed were it not for a shared situation. I thought of her often when I was between destinations. I followed her trip through her blog and sporadic emails. By this point she had returned home, but was still despondent. Some time during the spring I got an email telling me that she'd decided to study for her Master's Amsterdam, if I were ever in the area I should let her know.

Just like that I started adding destinations to my list; no longer precious about visiting new places, I got on the move again. Even if I had been to a city before I bounced from friend to friend for the next three months.

IRELAND

From Turkey my itinerary stopped making sense. I spent a weekend in London catching up with my university roommate whom I hadn't seen since graduation five years prior. I slept on a bench at Gatwick, then had to take a shuttle bus overnight to Heathrow, back into the city for a day and then out again on an idiotically cheap Ryan Air flight to Shannon, Ireland where I would stay with another university friend, in her final year of med school in Limerick.

After a night in Limerick we drove south to Dingle where she was placed at a hospital for the month. The school had given her and another medical student their own four bedroom townhouse. Ireland was drastically affected by the housing crisis, leaving thousands of housing developments unfinished or uninhabited. I benefited because it meant that I got my own room in Dingle. It was shocking, though, that in such a tiny country there could be so much over development and now so much abandon.

My friend, LD, had to work during at the hospital during the day so I was left to entertain myself in the tiny village. She lent me her car and in the matter of an hour I learned to drive stick on the left side of the road. I traveled up and down the coast, stopping for snacks and photo opportunities. It was surprisingly warm for April, allowing me to swim and drive with the windows down.

The next weekend she had scheduled a hiking trip in Killarney where we would meet up with four of her friends and her boyfriend who was also studying in Limerick. I hadn't done much physical activity aside from my never ending walking explorations so where I would have previously scoffed at the idea of a day long hike I actively looked forward to it. The hike was more than we expected. The weather spit rain for most of the hike, at one point we got down on our hands and knees to pull ourselves over the hill, still, it was Ireland and even the tallest mountain in Ireland was nothing worth writing home about.

The photos that we took to document our success are pathetic representations of the accomplishment. At the very least we'd earned ourselves a pint.

I spent most of the day laughing with LD's friend, another fellow med student and a total nutcase. He was, at best an adrenaline junky, at worst a seriously scattered genius. We sprinted over hills and raced back into town together. He picked me up in the pub and we danced to every Irish jig, sweating by the end.

At 1am, nearing a pass out, I excused myself and stumbled into the now rainy streets, making my way back to the hostel alone.

I thought for a moment he'd pull me outside and kiss me in the rain. Instead he gave me a fist bump before turning back to order another beer. He showed up back at the hostel hours later and I woke long before he did in the morning. I drove home with LD and her boyfriend, sleeping most of the way.

---

I spent one more night in Dingle before taking a bus north to Dublin where I slept some more. Alone again I spent every day in a used book shop or a vintage clothing store, things Dublin seemed to supply in plenty.

My next deadline was to be in Paris for Easter where I'd meet up with Todd, who was studying there for the semester, and two of our great friends on holiday. Still in full backpacker mode I attempted the longest and cheapest travel route, first to London and then across the channel into Paris. If it took me a full day I would have been happy. I was in the mood to linger. And I was feeling romantic.

I hadn't properly prepared myself for how much love and how much happiness I'd find in Paris. If I knew before I probably would have bursted with excitement.

Instead, I slowly made my way to Paris, strolling with my backpack on the long RER train.