OK, here’s the setup: A guy in California quits his job, sells most of his things, packs two suitcases, puts the rest in a 5 x 10 storage unit (which promptly floods, but that’s a rant for another blog. Thanks, U-Haul!), and heads off to live in Turkey. And yes that is Turkey the country, not turkey the luncheon meat. Zany antics ensue.
I know you have questions. So many questions. With all the hands up in the air, I think the best way to handle this is to answer up front those most commonly asked when I tell people about this wacky scheme, a.k.a. my life.
Q: Are you really moving to Turkey?
A: Yes, I really am. I hold in my hand a one-way ticket to Istanbul and a six-month lease on a furnished apartment in the section of town called Beyoglu. Alright, I’m not literally holding them, but they’re in my bag somewhere, I’m pretty sure.
Q: So why Turkey?
A: It seems like an interesting place, and I’ve never been there before.
Q: But surely there are many interesting places in the world that you’ve never been to before.
A: Surely you’re right. But that’s not a question.
Q: Do you know anyone in Turkey?
A: I do not. I do know people who know people, sometimes who know other people. It’s good to know people who know people, especially in lieu of knowing no one else within a 2,000-mile radius.
Q: This some kind of mid-life crisis thing, isn’t it?
A: Yes, I considered buying a Porsche and running off with the dental hygienist, but you know, it’s been done.
Q: Aren’t you afraid to go to Turkey? Didn’t you see "Midnight Express?"
A: Yes, I did see "Midnight Express." I also saw Prince’s "Under the Cherry Moon," but that didn’t stop me from living in Minnesota. Still, I have promised all concerned to avoid the issue entirely by not having heroin strapped to my body as I arrive at customs.
Q: Have you learned any Turkish?
A: I’ve learned how to say "Where is the men's room?", "How much is the kabob?" and "Another raki, please." I think that pretty much covers the essentials.
Q: You’re kind of a smart ass, aren’t you?
A: You picked up on that?
Q: See? Right there! You just did it!
A: Oh, calm down. It could get a lot worse, believe me.
Q: What you’re saying is you going to Turkey just for the hell of it?
A: Yes, that’s basically what I’m saying. Well, that’s basically all I’m saying. For the time being at least.
Q: You really have no idea what you’re doing, do you?
A: No. I really don’t. I am completely making this up as I go along.
Q: So why are you doing this blog?
A: You can only make so many smart-ass comments on Facebook before people get tired of you and start blocking your posts. I see this as a way to gather all of my asinine comments in one convenient place, allowing them to be avoided en masse if that’s what it comes to.
Q: Doesn’t this all strike you as self-indulgent and fairly ridiculous?
A: Listen, I’m just looking for a few good stories to impress people at cocktail parties. If that strikes you as shallow then I guess I’m guilty as charged.
Q: Will you be taking any further questions?
A: No, that’s it. I think this bit is starting to grow tiresome.
Q: So we’re done for now?
A: We’re done for now. See you in Turkey.
You wouldn't happen to have the number of that dental hygienist, would you?
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