Can I have another year abroad - in Istanbul please?

Istanbul: a mix of Europe and Asia; the exotic and familiar; doner and kebab.

We arrived here on Sunday, having been tipped out of the plane into 30 degree heat. After 5 days of exploration, I am fully besotted with this city of marvels. But what makes it so special?

1) the fishermen on the main pedestrian/ tourist bridge. Walking along, you have to be careful not to trip over the lines of fishing rods and buckets of tiny sea creatures. I don't know who buys their smelly offerings but the view is enchanting.

2) the cats! Oh, the cats. Just like India was overrun by ownerless dogs, in Istanbul the cats are in charge. They guard shop fronts, staring in longingly at the coffee shops after hours. And at nighttime, all they do is fight and cry. Silly teenage cats. 

3) the FOOD. I hated the food last summer in Asia. All I wanted was peanut butter on toast. In Istanbul however, the streets are my oyster. Roasted chestnut stands fill the squares with the smell of autumn, there are burger places aplenty, and traditional Turkish dishes (even things which aren't doner!) constituting an evening meal for under £3. The bread is the softest, bounciest I have ever had. 

4)the buildings, and the seasidey location. It's beautiful. Fairytale minarets, mosques that used to be cathedrals (they just painted over the Jesus mosaics) and secretive side streets. 

Sunset overlooking the main road and river 

Uni Sport in Germany

Everyone knows how much fun sport at university in the UK is. From trips away to socials to competitions to balls, it can be the foundation for firm friends. We have belly-dancing clubs and non-serious volleyball and sports which are so weather-dependent that most of the year is spent talking about the sport and dressing up for nights out. Anyway, I needed friends in Berlin, so I duly signed up to not one but three sports clubs, ready for the onslaught of new pals.

1) Bauch - Beine - Po (Bums tums legs to you)
It started out promisingly - I struck up conversation with a fellow class-taker in the changing rooms and thought she was the one: the key to German friends and endless conversations auf deutsch. Then, she disappeared, and the next time I saw her was three months later when I was preparing to leave.

Take 2) Yoga
Yoga was supposed to be me turning over a new leaf and becoming a lover of the mornings. The class started at 8AM, which meant, with a commuting time of an hour, embracing the dawn and getting up at 6.30. I lasted two weeks. This was a shame because I met a lovely German girl who could also have been the one, except my early morning conversations skills were exceedingly poor.

Take 3) Indoor Climbing
I had the highest hopes for climbing. (Unintentional pun but nonetheless very proud). You have to get into pairs and talk about ropes and knots and things - the obvious path to lifelong friendships. Except that in my first climbing class, half comprised foreign students, which was really great, apart from they lacked the language skills I so desperately wanted in a friend. Due to class timings, I moved to a different day. The class was smaller and 5 thousand percent keener than my previous one. I was very, very bad compared to the others, getting cramp in my leg all the time and forgetting how to tie the important knots. On our penultimate meeting, the trainer asked who would like to take the climbing award test. All shot up their hands -and then looked pointedly at me (arms firmly by my side). Embarrassing. The next moment of awkwardness came the afternoon after my parents had left. I was already quite emotional, and struck with further terror when the instructor announced today was the day for purposefully falling off the wall 'to see how it felt'. I managed it the first time, and it felt TERRIFYING. However, my climbing partner was a very adamant German who insisted I try it again. After a small break in the toilets giving myself a tiny pep talk, I strode out, and she wrestled me into my harness. At the top I remembered what an insane idea the falling was and asked to come down. There were laughs from below. Eventually I did it, filling the small climbing hall with squeals. Afterwards, I bid everyone a swift goodbye. 'Mach gut' they said, which I think means have a good rest of your life.

The Olympic Stadium in Berlin - somewhere I will never be due to my sporting weaknesses.

Culture Shock

We had lots of year abroad meetings before we were sent out on our merry ways to different countries. One was dedicated to logistics, detailing that one person had actually died on the year abroad. Grimaces were pulled and the slideshow went on to insurance matters. The next comprised lots of sheets of paper and strict instructions on the number of credits and year abroad essays to write. Another offered leaflets and explained how to deal with that thing called 'culture shock'.

Truthfully though, I don't feel like culture shock was a big thing on my year away. Yes, getting up at 6am every morning for school was definitely shocking. The rude Berlin attitude was also a bit unpleasant. The bureaucracy was a nightmare, but at least it gave a sort of framework for arrival and departing. I never found that I felt totally lost because of the different culture.

The last selfie of my year abroad

Que my return to the UK, and I was suddenly at a loss of how things were done normally. I halted at a red man to be pulled along by my companion: 'Hurry up!' he said, appalled that I was obeying the high way code. One day I was walking home and really wanted a chocolate croissant, but there was no friendly neighbourhood bakery to be found. It was odd being surrounded by voices I could automatically understand - to the point that I heard German near the university and paused, astounded by the language that had suddenly turned into a rarity. My wardrobe had acclimatized itself to German standards and now it has to spruce itself back up again and look nice. Not needing to make myself understandable for foreign friends and flatmates, I have reacquired my usual fast-paced speech and my Sheffield(ish) accent. In conversations I sometimes just want to say the German word (who needs 'airport' when you can say 'Flughafen'?). Nevertheless, there are surprising effects of culture shock: lots of things are so much easier. The Germans never got used to 'How are you?' at the beginning of every conversation, and I can now make small talk knowing what I am saying is grammatically correct. Every road sign I see makes sense to me (well - not that much sense for me to have passed my driving test), which used to be baffling in Berlin, when trying to navigate the city by bike. One of the things I miss most is the excuses. There's no excuse to look silly any more because I'm 'that english girl'. I can't walk into chemists holding up wikipedia on my phone and demand medication which may or may not be correct. I can't barge into the busiest library in the city and sit where I'm not supposed to. I can most definitely not cycle around Sheffield in the daytime with my flashing helmet and lights and fluorescent workman's jacket just because the roads scare me. It's strange being expected to know how to do everything again.

Arriving at a new place was so simultaneously scary and exciting that these feelings acted as a buffer. But now, trying to dissect my year and its events, I going through the shock of not knowing which culture I am supposed to be in.
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