Assignment 3

I like to think of myself well traveled and independent, but in reality I have only traveled abroad once without family and that was only for 10 days. It was because of this reality that this summer I decided to study abroad in Berlin, German with an excursion to Istanbul, Turkey.

Istanbul, a city of history. The home of the Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque. Valleys dipping into the Bosporus and horizons littered with the domes of mosques. This is all I knew of Istanbul. It may have been partly due to my inexperience that I packed so lightly. I brought 3 t-shirts, 1 pair of jeans, 1 pair of shorts, a towel, a pair of socks, the shoes on my feet, and myself. All of which I would soon learn the hard way were no match for the conniving mosquitoes of Istanbul. Flying to Istanbul was as if we were going on vacation, escaping the hustle and bustle of “home,” Berlin, and taking a break from blogs and postcards, the craziness of the world. I did not know what to expect in Istanbul, but I had some idea of the culture. See we live in a part of Berlin called Kreuzberg. Kreuzberg is the home of a substantial part of Berlin's Turkish community, a community that holds the largest population of Turks outside Turkey. Oh do I love Döners, a Turkish meat sandwich. And yes, we have experienced the oh so flattering charm of drunken Turkish men. I did not know what to expect in Istanbul but I had no preconceived notions of Turkish culture, no cultural lens.

Our first day in Turkey was nothing but a vacation. A vacation from home. Home being Berlin. As of now Seattle is nothing but a distant memory. Oh, it’s also where my parents live. On this trip I am a Berliner. It may not be my country but what one realizes after spending time in the “real” Berlin, not “tourist” Berlin, is that Berlin is a mixture of international culture and identity. You don't have to be born and raised in Berlin to be a Berliner. I am a Berliner not a Kruezburger? I don't think that is a word but Kreuzburg, although a significant part of Berlin is submerged in Turkish culture and identity.

We visited the famous Blue Mosque a gargantuous piece of history. What struck me was the deafening silence that resonated from such a massive piece of history and focus of tourism. Flaubert put it best when he wrote of the “black hole … infinity itself.” The chaos of the crowd was drowned out by the “fixity of a pensive gaze.” This very same idea of the “melancholy of the antique world” rung true at most other historical sites and contemporary slums. It rung true in the vast malls and also the depths of Istanbul's valleys.

Coming back to Berlin I had butterflies fluttering in my stomach. Although our experience in Istanbul was thorough and fun, I had enough of Istanbul to last me for a while. I just wanted an extra change of socks; boxers would have been nice as well. I was tired of looking for banks in an attempt to exchange Euros for Liras and dealing with confrontational drunk Turkish men. I was definitely relieved to be home. On the U-bahn, the U8 (Wittenu), a tourist approached me and asked me for directions to Olympic Stadium. Without hesitation I told him to ride the U8 and get off at Alexaderplatz, then transfer to the S-Bahn, line S5. He thanked me and I smiled. It was then I officially endowed the title of Berliner on myself. From then on I noticed tourists walking around snapping pictures, shopping, and trying to figure out directions. I wasn't one of them anymore. I am a Berliner.