A Yankee Abroad

Hello internet. It's been a while. I apologize for my recent lack of proper blog maintenance, but I have been fairly preoccupied with assimilating, to the best of my ability, into my current city of residence: Istanbul. Because of this, I will aim to steer my posts during the next three months away from topics in American politics and more towards musings that concern my displacement out of the United States and into a foreign land.

I hope that this will not mean that The Grappler will develop into another proverbial "travel blog", which, though at times are interesting and insightful, can be of a particularly sensational and narcissistic brood. Instead, I aspire to produce a collection of posts that explore what it means to be a traveler in an unknown place, a guest in another's home, and, perhaps most naturally, an American in Turkey.

During the past few days, I have at times found myself trying to both understand and deconstruct the pervasive, yet subtle, Orientalist predisposition that I believe many Americans (myself included) pick up from various indistinct channels back home in the United States. Though we are certainly further removed from the "East v. West" dichotomy than our forebears were, it is still difficult on occasion to break away from the feeling that we are simply observers, forcing ourselves into the citizenry of some exotic elsewhere.

And yet, this city has such a warmth to it, something that is reinforced by every "hoşgeldiniz!" that greets you whenever you enter a shop or a restaurant. Already, in my short time here, I have met some of the friendliest and life-loving individuals I have ever encountered, and they are often beyond eager to show me every facet of the city that they are so proud to be a member of. The pastel colored stucco and winding, illogical street plan of Istanbul reiterate the fact that this city was not carefully planned to maximize municipal efficiency, but rather grew organically as more and more people recognized this place as their home.

It is at times impossible to resist submission to this land's welcoming embrace and, to an extent, I do not believe that is necessarily a bad thing. A successful voyage in another country should envelope you in experience and make you feel like you are part of the population. It is, however, important to remember that we, as Americans, are still outsiders. I was not raised as a Turk, I would assume that I do not think like a Turk, and, as is evident whenever I open my mouth, I certainly do not speak like a Turk (no matter how hard I try).

Although acknowledging these differences is vital to understanding the experience of travel, dwelling on them would only serve to destroy what would otherwise be one of the most informative practices a human being can engage in. Physically being in another place materializes the world in a way that is impossible to do through reading articles or watching television. Furthermore, living somewhere that has been heavily featured on the news or in films has the potential to dispel many of the myths that these imperfect media ascribe to those lands. 

I have no doubt that my time spent in Istanbul will teach me a great deal about Turkey, the United States, and myself (there's your freebie travel blog cliche). Trying to deconstruct stereotypes about people, places, and experiences is an ambitious task, especially when we come from a country with a culture that is intent on telling us what the world is like according to our own proclivity. It seems to me, however, that all I can do right now is eat my kofte, down my Rakı, and let the balmy Turkish sun char my skin.