So close, yet so far

Today hasn't been a very good one for me. Well, yes and no. Let me back up. The past couple days have been great actually. Yesterday, despite the chilly weather and intermittent rain, friends and I ventured out to the Book Bazaar in downtown Istanbul. The bus ride was bumpy and abrupt as usual (the public transportation is pretty good, granted, if crowded at times, but the bus rides are rather erratic at times, and you really have to hold on to keep your balance most of the time), but we arrived in one piece, had lunch and set off to explore. Most of the books we saw were in Turkish of course, but there was a goodly amount of English books, as well as bilingual dictionaries and how-to-learn-English books, which pleased me to see. We found some lovely posters of local sites (anyone want a 18x24 photo of the Blue Mosque or the Hagia Sophia? Only 3 TL), admired the beautiful Korans, and then lo and beyond, came across one of the many entrances to the Grand Bazaar itself.

Now the Grand Bazaar, let me tell you, is quite large. It's also quite a maze, and one street (yes, it's divided into streets and "districts" actually) can look quite like the other. How the vendors themselves don't get lost, I don't know. There are so many vendors selling the staples: silk and "cashmere" scarves, multi-colored glass lanterns, ceramics in all shapes and sizes, Turkish delight and traditional sweets, leather goods, hookahs, backgammon boards, and of course, the famous Turkish rugs. There is just so much to see, and of course, because it's as plain as day that we're not natives, the vendors step out in droves to invite us into their shop and look at their wares, and as one grinning young man put it, "help us spend our money". The vendors are a funny bunch too, tossing out all kinds of comments and "compliments". "American? Washington? New York? No, Texas! Anyone from Texas, y'all?" We were a group of 6 women with 1 man, and poor Alex got all kinds of teasing once they figured out we were all with him.

But the vendors are polite, just persistent. We did step into one shop for a cup of tea, and Lessa was treated to a free glass by the waiter, who also took a photo of all of us. We mostly did window shopping, and I kept my eyes open for potential souvenirs. Right now, I'm looking for a few scarves for myself (it's still cold, so this is a practical desire!), but also I'd like a nazar or two, which are the blue glass "eyes" that ward against the evil eye. They're very popular here and you'll see them hung on the walls in restaurants and stores, wore as jewelry, keychain charms, you name it. Like baklava and tea, they are a quintessential part of Turkey.

Yesterday evening, we went out to Taksim again to experience a little of the nightlife there. Again despite the weather, people flooded the area. It's one of the most popular areas in the city, so supposedly no matter the time of the day, it's always busy. We passed a couple hours in a local bar, trying the Turkish unofficial national drink, rakı, which is anise-flavored (think Sambuca), and is traditionally drunk mixed with water, which causes it to turn a milky-white color. It's strong, and not sweet, so I didn't particularly care for it.

So all of that was well and fine. But I am still reminded that one of the hardest parts of going away to a foreign country is just being so far away from your home and your loved ones. I mean, we aren't nearly as "far away" as we used to be. Modern technology allows me to tap into the Internet any old time that I like when I'm in my room and sitting at my laptop, and with a few clicks of my mouse, I can even make a phone call through the internet and see people on my webcam and "talk" with them that way. And then there's emails, IMs, blogs, Facebook, so you'd think that you couldn't possibly feel alone with all that at your fingertips.

But I'm not home, and when it comes right down to it, I'm not there in person, and especially now when I want to be. .. Russ (my other half, my boyfriend, my partner, for those of you who don't know him by name) left me a message last night, so I walked into my room around 1:30 in the morning to find out that he had our cat put to sleep yesterday. Shadow, our 14 year-old grey lady, had gotten sick over the past couple of days, and he didn't think it was too serious, but had taken into the vet just in case as she had some bad sores in her mouth. He found out that the sores were the end result of kidney failure, and she was dying. There was nothing that the vet could do. So he decided on the humane option, instead of letting her suffer, and he let her go.

It's hard for me to accept this. I want to think that she's still at home, maybe curled up on the couch with him as he watches TV, and when I come back to California in July, she'll be there to greet me. But she won't be. I only really knew her for the 3 years I've lived with Russ, but he had had her for 14 years, since he adopted her as a young cat from the SPCA. She was "as dumb as a box of rocks", as he liked to call her fondly, but she was the sweetest, gentlest cat I've known. So tolerant and lovable. She was my cat, I guess. When I moved in with Russ, she adopted me as "her" human. When Russ and I were curled up on the couch, she'd come up, popping her grey fuzzy head over the edge of the cushion, meowing. Sometimes she'd jump right up, other times she'd hesitate and judge, hesitate and jump, then then hop up. She had arthritis in her legs, so she didn't move especially quickly, but usually ambled through the house in her wobbly slow gait. But she'd always manage to find a little corner of room on the couch with us, and often, on my lap, where she'd flop down and purr, blinking at us with those lazy golden eyes of hers. And sometimes, when I'd get up from the couch, I'd come back and she'd have slipped into my spot, curling up where it was warm. I'd lean in close to her sometimes, and touch my nose to hers, and she'd sniff at my face, and sometimes, I'd very gently lay my head on her warm body and listen to her purr. I'd skritch around her ears and under her chin, and stroke along her whiskers. She loved that.

This is hard. I cried for a couple hours last night, and today tried to get by as best as I could, but now as I'm alone, writing this, too late at night, I'm crying again. It's hard to be away from home ordinarily, especially when you're a stranger in a strange place, but this makes things even harder. I can't be home to mourn in my own home, the space I shared with her. I can't comfort Russ, who I know is mourning the warm fuzzy ball of fur that we both loved and miss. I'm just here, alone in my grief. My roommate, Katie, asked me if I believe if things happen for a reason, and I do. Shadow got sick, she was an older cat, and I knew that some day she would leave this world to cross the Rainbow Bridge, but I just wasn't expecting it to be so soon. But then I guess that we're just never really expecting it, nor are we ever really ready. Maybe somehow it's better this way. Her death isn't so.. immediate, I guess you could say, because I'm not there.

I'll miss her, my sweet grey lady.