Not long after we met, Tamer and I were in German class together when we were assigned to do a sketch, entirely in German, about people in an airport. As I recall, we did the sketch and barely made it through with a straight face. Today, Tamer and I found ourselves in a real German airport using our pidgeon German not unlike our assignment 22 years ago. In life, it all comes full circle eventually.

I figured today that we flew the equivalent of going from Los Angeles to Orlando, turning around in midair, landing in Las Vegas, changing planes, flying to Chicago, then changing planes again and flying to Detroit. We would then get into a car and drive to Flint. Despite the sheer length of travel, it was happily uneventful. Turkey is in every way a modern country, an oasis of Muslim secular calm in the middle of Syria, Iraq, and Greece. The Burger King and Sbarros in the Istanbul airport were visual proof of that (and a concession to my western upbringing on this trip began with my purchase of a diet pepsi, or as they call it, pepsi light.) There was no visible signs of the recent civil unrest, which is centered many miles away from here in Istanbul and Ankara. English signs are everywhere. Even without my interpreters, I would be able to get around at least the airport with no problems.

From a food standpoint, I ate something called a borek, a bread tube filled with ground beef. Its taste was comparable to a white castle, which naturally left me wanting more. The road we took to Ayvalik was reminiscent of the western roads of Utah, Wyoming, and Montana from the motorcycle trips. Ayvlik reminded me a lot of an enclave of somewhere like Miami, with palm trees, street life and the smell of salt air from the adjoining sea. Pictures to come on Facebook.

So here I am now, facing the Aegean Sea, smoking a cigar that Steph gave me for Father's Day. The clock on the wall says it's 1 a.m. but my body is telling me its 6 p.m. Tonight, the world feels a bit smaller.