T-minus 10 days and counting...

...until I leave my now-beloved Istanbul. It only seems like yesterday that I was stepping out of that taxi in front of the dorm, knowing barely a dozen words in Turkish, blinking away the near-tears of amazement and fear, and now, I am only a week and half from leaving. I'm far from fluent, but now I can carry on a simple conversation in Turkish - enough to express the basics of my feelings and desires, how to order food, and lots of fun Turkish curse words. I have walked, head-scarfed and socked feet, over the carpeted floors of Sultanahmet. I have swum in the cold-blue Mediterranean. I have sat and stared up at the Library of Celsus at Ephesus. I have strolled the halls of the Grand Bazaar and Spice Market. I have climbed the ancient fairy chimneys of Cappadocia, and listened to the midday call to prayer from the highest point of Uçhisar. I have explored the shadowy nooks and crannies of the ancient underground city of Derinkuyu. I have scrambled over the backs of ruins that are older than Christ. I have acquired the Turkish "no". I have had an amazing time here, and I know, I know, that one day I will return.

Now I sit in my dorm room, glancing up at the calendar occasionally with both a pained look and hope in my eyes. It's an odd place to be. I love it here and I want to stay, but at the same time, I miss my home in California, my friends and family, and most of my, my Russ. I can't have one without the other. In order to go back home, I have to leave my Turkish home. To say hello, I have to say good-bye. Yes, yes, I'm being melancholy and overly dramatic. Shut up. I know. But if you spent four months in one of the most magical cities in the world, with some of the best people that this world has to offer, some of the tastiest cuisine, some of the most spectacular views and histories, then you would understand. I am going back home, but I cannot take the simits, the hamams, the lokum, the call to prayer, the tangled crowded bazaars, or any of it home with me. I will take the language that I know, the recipes that I have learned, the nazarlık, the scarves, the photos and music, and of course, my memories.

I will miss you, Istanbul.