"Sent to Save" Part 2

Hi all and happy week two of October! The following story is the conclusion of "Sent to Save" Part 1, which was published last week. If you haven't read that section, please procede one week back in time to catch up with our heroine. For those of you who are all caught up, read away!

"Sent to Save" Part 2 

Fears of abandoning my old life, the destruction of the world I knew and the reality into which I had been thrown were obliterated by the blast of that bomb. Not that there was much time for me to consider the repercussions of following the demands of my heart. For a fraction of a second, when the heat from the blast's shockwave lightly burned the right side of my body, the fear of losing my life ought to have struck me then. But it didn't. Crazy as this entire story sounds, this may be the cherry on the cake - I was not afraid. Not for myself, for the people I was helping, yes. But for me, it was nuts, but I felt immune. Yes, I was burned and scared and yes it was horrible, but it was as if it was inconsequential. Like my pain did not matter. Strange, and it only progressed deeper into the mist. 

Once the door was completely shut and sealed, I blinked hard and instantly opened my eyes, but once more my reality had shifted. When my eyes opened it was not the day of the blast, but ten years later. Again, I cannot explain how or why, but this is what happened. Ten years had passed. Ten years gone, but not lost. Though my mind was blank of solid memories, my heart and body met the passing of the time. I caught an image of myself in the reflection of a mirror. The tale was told right there on the looking glass. Women my age always dread turning thirty, but they cannot begin to imagine what it's like to look at yourself one day and be 29 and then the next time you see yourself to be nearly 40, with radiation scars on your face, no less. 

The ten years that were lost to my mind were not spent in waste by my heart and body. In this morning, the tenth anniversary, people were coming to me for guidance, answers directions. At some point in this parallel world, I had managed to position myself as a leader. A literal underground resistance had grown, and I was its face. But instinct was begining to tell me as I rushed around helping people to grab and pack survival supplies from their once exceedingly well-stocked shelter, that my time was running short. These people had apparently followed me for ten years, but the government learned of our survival underground. It was time for us to move. The conditions of the earth above our white walled shelter were unknown, but we knew through intercepted radio transmissions that the government was preparing to advance on our hiding place. How they determined we were there was lost on us, but we did not have the time to debate their rhymes or reasons. Had the advance taken place five, even one year ago, the people would have been able to sit through and wait out the advance. But the food and the general supplies were all but spent. There would be little hope in waiting.

I stood and watched the people prepare and saw that their priorities were merely to take food. I directed all of them to fill their canteens with water - a resource that came naturally from an aquifer that ran through the lower caves. Without question or command, I grabbed as many small tools as possible and shoved them in the various bags of the people who were cconveniently around. Those small tools, knives, forks, cups - those and access to water were the items that the people had grown comfortable to always having around - they had no idea how handy those tools could be off the table as well as on. 

About midmorning, the first door was opened. We sent out scouts to patrol the area. While the shelter had been extremely well lit, this was going to be the first time our people had seen the light of the sun in ten years. We all gathered around the open entrance, daring not to speak or move. The familiar unknown was paralyzing. I thought of deer caught in the headlights of a car. The light was harsh, but welcoming. The air seemed surprisingly clean. In my last reality I knew of post-radiation disaster zones and I knew that this soil would hardly bode well for us to dwell upon, but the sight I saw before me was nothing I could have expected.

What little memories people had of the ground above was long forgotten, so the landscape before us, was foreign, but more in part because of what we could easily see; after the blast, the government had clearly gone through these lands and planted trees, some stunted, some enormous from the poison that had been hurled over their soil. The instant giveaway that the trees were planted, were the neat little rows in which the pines stood. The government's attempt to cover up their intended major disaster was futile and pathetic, particularly with us alive. Because we remained we were far too great a liability. We had no idea how many other commmunities were destroyed in this way, but we were not about to let our people be obliterated without a fight.

The scouts returned with good news; the government had not yet found this area of escape and their forces remained many miles away. With a subtle nod of my head, the people began to move out in small, tight units. Many of the children that I had helped to pull inside this underground world were nearly adults or already sprouting families of their own. It was an odd sensation to watch the people that in my reality I had seen just yesterday with baby fat and abject fear clinging to their faces and yet on this day they passed by me with stoic expressions, like well trained soldiers off to save their lives and those of their families. 

I remained on the cusp of the entrance, standing beside the once little boy that I came here to save, the now adult who I knew in my heart I had adopted as my stepson. We stood proud, quietly beside one another as we watched our people seep out from the undergrounds. We refused to leave until everyone was out safe. His father, my apparent husband, had helped to facilitate the first to leave. He was guiding them to a zone we determined to be safe for the time being. Our son would then procede with the last of the citizens of our emerging underground community, to lead them on to lands far away from here, taking my position as their new leader. Because of this foreign familiarity that we shared, I could sense that my son was nervous and scared, but no one looking at him would ever know. His expression was stone and his position confident. I thought of how the great leaders in my reality stood and whether it was the maternal love that I had developed for this young man or the truth of the situation, but never before could I recall a person looking so right for the impossibly large role he was about to undertake. 

The last of the groups were preparing to leave, and a group of about twenty men and women stood behind me. They were the cadre that I was to lead towards the governments men. Our task was to draw the soldiers as far away from our people as possible, regardless the consequences. My face was one that the government would know - how, I have no idea. Perhaps somehow I was a trouble maker in this world before I stepped out from that tunnel. As a journalist in the life I knew, I had been a bit of a rabble rouser, it would make sense that a parallel soul of myself here would be the same.

Our time was running short. I turned to my son and in a motherly way fiddled with his brown tweed vest. "Do not be afraid," I queitly said to him. "You are ready for this." He knew that this was our last time together and looking him in the eye expressed every human emotion expected in so sorrowful a case, but it was alll masterfully contained. Inhaling deeply, I touched his face and said, "You'll always know what to say; you know my words because they come from your heart." I touched my fingertips to his heart and then took hold of his hands. I briefly saw that on my own hand, I wore a plain gold ring on my middle finger that his father likely gave me to mark our marriage here in these caves. It was strange to think that an entire lifetime had passed in these ten years, which had occured to me in the span of time no longer than a blink.

The young man nodded proudly. I could feel that he and I had already expressed our goodbies, but that did not make the moment any less difficult.

But it was time. I held the boy close and then looked once more into his blue eyes. I will never forget his face. 

And then, my cadre and I bolted. 

Out from the shelter, out from the protection of our dwelling place and up the hill. We headed north, towards the same direction from which I had originally brought the boy and his father. It was strange. The area then had been sparsely populated by trees, but today, it was a dense thicket. We lept and jumped over fallen logs and squeezed between the overgrown rows of trees. The only word I could think to describe the whole scene was "wild" - the forest itself, completely untamed and the way we threw ourselves through the brush, we were equally as wild. Like animals. It was a freeing and terrifyiing experience all at once. We had thought that the government troops were far though closing in, but we had no idea how close they in fact were until they were right upon us. 

Gun fire instantly started to pelt through the rows of trees. As planned, my companions and I parted in every which direction, except backwards towards our exit from the shelter, to conjur as much confusion as possible. The plan worked. The soldiers had to quickly decide which darting imp to follow. It wasn't long before I had three soldiers on my tale, shooting like mad. As a journalist, I had only ever been to post-conflict zones, never live action. I have a far new appreciation for how raw animal instincts take over when literally running for one's life.  

That odd sensation of being led by my heart again overtook my actions, though that sensation of immortality was waning. I sprang down a hill at high speed. The forest was so dense and bullets were ricochetting wooden splinters all around me. Characters falling when monsters were chasing you in movies seemed so much more realistic to me now. 

The hill was steep and it seemed to go on forever, until there was an unnexpected break from the trees and there before me was a beach. A thin, but deep looking inlet led from the ocean on my right and a thick forest of planted trees led right up to the sand on either side off the stream. This place looked nothing like it had when first I stepped onto the sand ten years ago, or a mere few hours in my head, but I knew it was the same beach where first I emerged into this world. I hesitated on the sand for just a second to catch my bearings. The cool mist coming from the sea did nothing to cool or to calm me. My face and back were dripping in sweat, my heart pounding, and the sound of soldiers shouting continuous. They would be right behind me in a matter of seconds and I was completely exposed. Darting back into the forest was out of the question at this point - they would find me easily. I was likely to get shot if I tried to cross the watery inlet. There was but one chance for me to get out of this alive.

Looking to my left, I saw the bluff from which I had emerged, but there was no sandstone visible - the face had been completely covered in wild vines. But I didn't care. I wasn't about to sit here and wait to be shot. Even if I was shot in the back, at least I'd die trying to reach my freedom.

My booted feet bolted towards the bluff. Running in the deep sand made the task so much more trying, but my adrenaline powered me forward. The cliff was so close! But so were the soldiers. They were nearing the beach.

I reached the cliff and slammed into it, unable to stop. My hand desperately ripped through the ivy, pulling down the branches, ignoring the sharp spines equally ripping through my hands. The task seemed hopeless as I destroyed the viney network, praying that I would find the tunnel. 

Behind me, the soldiers had reached the beach! They began shooting immediately. At least their distance and their running toward me temporarily threw the aim of their bullets. Until...

A sharp, scream of pain wretched clean through my shoulder, sending blood rippling across my face and the cliff. I cannot describe the pain of being shot. My left arm was useless and bleeding terribly, but I did not give up. My right arm made one last rip down and there it was. I couldn't believe it! There was the same round hole that I had squeezed out of and I was seconds away from dieing in front of it.

Without completely clearing the spot, I dove in head first. My body slammed into the base of the round tunnel, knocking the wind from me. Amidst my coughing and bleeding, I turned onto my back and kicked my way back through the water that occupied the tunnel, never losing sight of the beach. I could see the soldiers. They were running up to the entrance of the tunnel. Just as I saw the barrels of two guns reaching into the hole to make their death shots, my upper body slipped out of the tunnel, dropping my body into a wider pool. 

I was completley submerged. Fearing drowning ontop of being shot, I threw my arms up to the surface and kicked hard against the bottom, throwing my face up out from the water. 

I expected to be shot instantly. I expected to be dragged out of the tunnel by the soldiers and then be shot on the beach execution style, but what instead occured was silence. 

Silence.

I was in a pool shallow enough so that I could stand, but my feet were barely able to support my weight with the high of adrenaline throbbing through me. The walls were white, glowing. The natural ceiling was high above my head. The waters familiar. I stood as straight and as solid as I could, so to look at the waters. I expected to be surrounded by a pool of my own blood, but there was none. The pain was gone. I grabbed onto my shoulder, the bullet wound, gone. The clothes, the boots that I had been wearing when I ran through the forest and on the beach, gone. 

I was again in the navy blue swimming suit that I had worn to swim in this place at least a dozen times before. My eyes darted up to the rabbit hole spot where I had been lost. The hole was gone. Gone. The wall was solid. My left hand slowly reached up and touched the wall where the tunnel should have been. But there was nothing but solid rock, glowing white as it always had before. 

There is no way for me to tell you how long I stood motionless with my hand pressed against that wall. It could have been ten seconds it could have been ten hours. Time, reality, all those were lost to me. I knew where I was, I knew these walls and these waters better than most, but what I had just experienced ripped away every thing I thought I knew.

The memories of me leaving that cave, returning to my locker and bike to get changed and to go home are fuzzy at best. The only reason I know I did these things, is because of what happened to me as I neared the top of the hill leading to the natural wonder. Thank God for auto-pilot, which did steer me to grabbing my keys and clothes, otherwise I would have trekked this road twice in a dripping bathing suit in order to go home. Of course once I did reach home, I curled up in a ball on my sofa and remained motionless for hours trying to rationalize what had happened. However, before I made it back to my condo, as I neared the top of the path, I heard a woman's voice calling to me, "Excuse me?" Apparently she had been trying to get my attention for a little while. 

I turned to face her, but my expression surely gave nothing of welcome. I was still lost in the caves. The off-put look that she returned to me realized as much, though I'm sure she assumed for other reasons. Sounding quite snooty, she asked, "Can you tell me if there's really anything interesting in those caves?"

The question seemed so terribly dull to me, considering all that I had seen. I could barely summon a thought. I squeezed the handles on the rails on my bike and I noticed something incredible - the ring. The ring given to me by the man who was my husband in that alternate reality was there plain as day on my middle finger. I stared at it dumbfounded for a moment and just before the woman completely gave up on me, I turned my face to her and said with utmost conviction, "Oh yes. Yes. But that is completley dependent on what you choose to see."

The answer made all the sense in the world to me, but the woman clearly decided that my head was full of fluff and smoke, so she continued on her path toward those mystical caves. 

I turned around to peer down once more at the entrance to the atrium where those incredible petroglyphs were etched on the far back wall. I know that I will never be able to explan what happened to me, how it happened, or if that reality will ever again present itself to me in my lifetime. All that I know   is that those petroglyphs were carved by the hands of the children that I was sent to save.

End

Thoughts, questions, comments? Please feel free to write them below in the comments section - I'm always happy to hear your responses!

Until our next spooky tale dear readers!

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

  

"Sent to Save"

Hi All,

As many of you know, October is my FAVORITE time of the year. SIDE BUT IMPORTANT NOTE - It is breast cancer awareness month -  men and ladies, check, check, check! 

October is my favorite month for a number of reasons - the season is changing, the best fruits are fresh, apple cider and Oktoberfest brews are abundant, and of course, my favorite holiday is a mere few weeks away - Halloween!!!!!!!!!!!!! 

I have many a new trick up my sleeve this year to make yours and my Halloween a delightful treat. Like last year, I will be doing a series of short, spooky stories to satisfy you thrill seekers. This first one is based on a dream that I had, so if you are into the extraordinary, you are indeed in for a treat. Curl up with your favorite cider or pumpkin spiced latte, and buckle in dear readers, you're in for a wild ride.

Sent to Save

I must account the strange events that happened to me before time makes the clarity of the details fade, though these events will haunt me to the end of my days.

It happened when I was visiting a national monument, one of those natural 8th wonders of the world places that I had visited countless times. The extensive sight is known as the White Caves, an underground network of rooms and caverns thought to be carved out from the workings of a nearby lake. A long, downward path leads you to the impressive sight that you can see from the parking lot a quarter of a mile away. The entrance, or the atrium as we locals call it, sits like a valley that a recent earthquake unveiled after several thousand years of being hidden from man's eye. But, we contemporary visitors were not the first to these white walled caves. On the tall wall at the back of the entrance, there are ancient petroglyphs depicting tales and legends unknown to any local or global cultural experts. The conclusion of the specialists, determined that this collection of pre-modern people were extremely intelligent, resourceful, and detached from interaction with the rest of the world.

The site was naturally a highly sought after place to see, and as a researcher and journalist I had been here more times than I can recall. Just this summer, it was determined that the historical aspects of the site were strictly limited to the entrance and that the standing cavern walls were sound. This was great news for outdoor-activity junkies, such as myself, as it meant that the caves were open to hikers and explorers, along with swimmers who were now allowed to dip in the highly rich mineral waters.

The site that spaned two miles underground was well lit. The salt and minerals in the walls obsorbed the sunlight and sent a warm glow throughout the underground caverns. Being that the site was within a decent biking distance from my suburb condo, I made at least three visits a week to the pools within the caverns. I'd peddle over, lock up my bike, change out from my biking sweats, dawn my suit and submerse myself in the thick, rich waters. By the end of September, there was not a crevice nor a slip in the smooth caverns that I did not know. So it was to my great surprise when I found a cylindrical opening in a quiet corner of one of the caves farthest from the entrance. Tourist season had ended and it was early enough in the day that I was alone in this cave. Now, I've been on journalist missions around the world where we women are respected about as much as dirt, but my calm heart and analytical head have always gotten me out of trouble and helped me to see clearly through danger. In other words, being alone in this environment was about the equivalency of having breakfast alone on my patio in the morning. 

Being able to investigate this new detail by myself was satisfying nearly every thrill seeking bone in my body. This new cylindrical tunnel was fascinating to me. The water that filled these caves to about four feet deep came in slowly, gradually from a source a mile away from where I was, but here I was staring through a tunnel that clearly was feeding water into this cave. The incoming stream was not rapid by any means. It was calm, and from what I could tell, there was naturaland direct sunlight on the otherside of the tunnel. Now, this was another surprise. The only source of direct sunlight into these caverns was in the entrance. It simply did not make sense to be seeing sun rays, forgive the pun, as clear as day on the other side of the tunnel. Every inch of this site both above ground and below had been documented by researchers, quite often with me jotting down notes a mile a minute at their side. This was something new and I had to see what it was. I hate to use this phrase, but little did I know what I was stepping, or in this case swimmig in to.

The tunnel was small, but large enough for me to half swim, half crawl in a squatted position through. It was filled about half way, but I could see as I progressed by the markings on the wall, that the tide in there did not vary either way. That was comforting, but what was increasingly peculiar was the unmistakable sound of gentle waves rolling onto a beach. This made no sense. The lake was miles away and the nearest ocean was over a hundred miles away. And yet, once I made it to the other side, I could not believe what I saw. 

I emerged from the tunnel, slowly, carefully. There was sunlight alright, but no direct source of water feeding into the cave. My mind was so overwhelmed with the vision before me that my body operated automatically to remove itself from the tunnel and out onto the moist, coarse sand of a beach. My eyes scanned my surroundings, absorbing every detail but unable yet to process what had happened. I stood on a long beach that led out to an ocean a quick walk away. To my right were tall, steep cliffs, with light colored sand stone towering above me. To my left was a long band of sand with pine trees leading up a hill, with numerous plateaus. This was not an unoccupied place. I could see numerous stuctures on the hill, and they looked like maintained beach shacks.

I suddenly came to realize, although it continues to completely baffle me, that I had stepped through some sort of rabbit hole. For a moment I thought that maybe I knocked my head going through the cave and had passed out, slipping into a dream, but that couldn't be true. This was too real. Every one off my senses was being stimulated. I could smell the pines on the hill acrosss the thin bay. I was squinting from the sun reflecting off the glittering waters. I could feel the sand scraping between my toes. I could hear the waves splashing. I could taste the salt on the air.

Whatever had brought me here, wanted me to stay. I knew this, I can't exaclty explain why, but a sense of purpose and knowing filled my body, like I was being possessed by a mission I had no prior knowledge of: there was a boy here that I was sent to save.

At first this seemed ludicrous - here I was soaking in a swimming suit in a land I did not know on some hell-bent mission to save a boy I also had no idea about. And yet, somehow, my heart knew. It was the  strangest sensation of my life. There was a feeling of energy pounding from my heart, that commanded and forced my actions, with which my head would struggle to keep up. 

Regardless the madness and the hesitation and any sense of security that was on the other side of the tunnel from which I emerged, I had to move now and fast. 

My feet made an abrupt turn to the right and I was bounding up a set of stone steps that my eyes had not seen. As I climbed, I saw that my feet were no longer bare, but in boots. My entire outfit had been changed! In an outfit like one would see in steam-punk movies, I was able to comortably make my agile climb to the top of the cliffs. Once I reached the flat apex, I instantly locked onto a white light house at the edge of the cliff. That was where the boy was, the boy I was sent to save. To the day I die, I will never be able to explan "how" or "why" any of this happened, only what transpired.

For a moment, I hesitated to see my surroundings. From the top of the cliffs, I could see that this was a coastal area. A long strip of beach went for miles to the north, and to the east through a thin haze I could see mountains. This area was populated, but largely undeveloped. I took a deep breath of the clear air as my eyes continued to scan eastward. And then, a sudden, dire sense of urgency and dread filled me before I even saw it. Far off in the distance, yet still only a few miles from where I stood, I could see a structure that I knew had a supremely dark purpose, one that spelled out an apocalypse for all of the people in this area. The dread was not for mysellf, but for the boy.

My feet again bolted, this time in the direction of the house. Without any greeting or announcement, I threw open the front door. There in front of me was the young boy and his father. The man looked to be about my age and a lightness, like hope from familiarity passed between us. 

"Come on," I directed, taking hold of the boy's hand. "We'v got to get him to the shelter."

With nothing but the clothes on their backs, the father and the ten year old boy, raced with me across the cliff tops and down a short hillside past the beach where I had emerged. As we ran, I realized that we were headed to the area that in the reality I left, were directly over the caves. We ran on solid ground that in my reality was where the wide-mouthed entrance of the cave should have been. 

Our trail raced down a short slope where a thick half circle door stood agape. There were a small number of people in this entrance to what was a well fortified shelter, hidden in the hillside. It was clear that the people were unwilling guinea pigs for the government that was about to unleash hellfire on its own. I pushed the young boy and his father into this shelter and they turned to look at me as if I was killing them by not staying. For whatever reason, I knew that there was another shelter entrance that I had to go to. I would enter the safety zone from there. 

"I have to go," I said to these strangers who knew me enough to trust me with their lives.

Their looks were hurt, but they understood. They clearly knew more about my role in this society than I yet did. 

My feet once again began to bolt down farther down the hill where I spotted yet another shelter entrance, but this one had a long line of school aged children waiting to go inside. It was immediately apparent that there was a disproportionately small amount of adults to the children. 

The bone chilling and unmistakable sound of sirens began to wail. These were the screams that anyone who had lived through the Cold War in the 1950s would recognize that doom was on its way. I bolted to the front of the line where a small number of administers were clearly processing the children before letting them enter.

"We have to get them inside now!" I commanded, hearing the authoritativeness in my voice like never before. The idea of these children being outside when the package dropped from that devious blacktower was not something I would stand for in this reality or my own.

"Ma'am, we don't know where half of their parents are, we have to ensure we know who they are!" the female administrator with a large hand written list replied. 

"There will be plenty of time for that!" I yelled, the sirens were so loud and the imperativeness of the situation dire. "Get out of their way and get them inside!" Without waiting for any response I threw up my arms and motioned the children to rush forward as fast as possible. The children needed little incentive to escape. They rushed into the shelter as orderly as could be expected given the circumstances. As I watched them run into the shelter, I thought of all the horror movies I had seen in my reality where someone always falls when some monster is coming after them. As the last of the children made it into the cave, I felt hugely relieved that luckily in this world, that sort of nonsense did not occur. However, right after the last of the children passed by the sirens stopped.

The silence that followed was the deepest sense of terror I have ever known. There were still a small number of people running out from the surrounding forest and towards the door when it happened.

The initial shock wave came rolling through the trees, like a blast of wind that nearly knocked the wind out from me. It felt as if the entire right side of my body had been slapped by a fiery hand. A person running fell foward and a man who was nearly at the entrance and struggling to help his aged mother make it to the caves bent forward dramatically from the hit. There was nothing I could do for the   majority of the people pressing forward, but I could not close the door knowing that these two were so close. I bolted out from the cave and helped to carry the elder woman with her son into the solid edifice of the shelter. Right behind us was the second wave, one more powerful and far more deadly. Three of us grasped our hands onto the four foot thick led door to close it. The extra push from the second blast sealed shut the door, locking us inside the caverns.

~*~*~

What will happen next????? Tune in next week to read the exciting conclusion of "Sent to Save."

Until then,

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

Turkish Tea Time

 After a full week of unnnesessarliy warm weather, we've finally come to a break in the heat. Fall is in the air. I'm sitting outside watching Bella Tuna take her morning stroll, and I'm getting some fresh air in hopes that my cough that can wake the dead will be healed by the delightfully pleasant weather. 

Bella Tuna working out some of her boundless energy.

Yep, for those of you who tuned in last week my valiant batle against a sinus infecction has not ceased. It's getting a bit frustrating to be bested by a cold for this long. Any cold cure tips out there? If any of you have a "this is what mom had us do as kids" remedies, feel free to leave your suggestions in the comments section and I'll be more than happy to try any of them.

You likely noticed that this week's post is entitled "Turkish Tea Time;" allow me to elaborate: On Saturday night, my family hosted a "Welcome home" party for me, in which I shared with them a Turkish style meal. With the wonderful help of my mom, we put together a beautiful spread, trying to replicate the experience that I had in Turkey in our very own backyard.

As I've said in previous posts, one of the primmary reasons for my visit to Turkey was to bring back the cultural lessons that I've learned to the States to share with as many people as possible. I think that this will become a standard practice for me after every country that I visit. Otherwise, if I learn about all of these amazing cultures, people and places, what good would it be to anyone if I selfishly keep what I learn to myself?

So, with my mom and an exceptionally large amount of tissues and hand wipies with me to help contain my cold, we scoured San Diego in search of Turkish goodies. From the International Market on Balboa Avenue we found bread, rose jam, and Turkish Delights.

From North Park Produce also on Balboa Avenue I bought Middle Eastern tea cups, they weren't Turkish style exactly. Turkish style are tulip shaped without a handle. These are tulip shaped, but have handles, which is fine.

The teacups that I purchased. 

I also purchased the fresh produce from this shop and some freshly baked Baklava. Yum.

For the feast, my mom and I prepared Turkish meatballs, Shepherd Salad, and a dill/cucumber yogurt dip. The rest was fresh or already made. 

The spread also included: spicy mixed olives, a creamy, salty cheese, flat bread, peaches, cherry juice (called "vishna" in Turkish) pomegranate vinegar, and lemons.

The spread.

We all sat down around the table and I explained to my family that for Shepherd salad, which is a culmination of essentially whatever veggies you have, you start by pouring on the olive oil, then the vinegar and then lemon. This is the Turkish way of serving it. I then showed them how to sprinkle fresh mint over the meatballs and to eat them with the yogurt dip. To our delight we discovered that the cheese and the rose jam on the bread made an exceptionally yummy treat. 

As we enjoyed ourself on the fine dining, I went inside to start the tea. Turkish tea is a process and a time honored tradition. While I currently do not have the proper tea making equipment, I'm making due with what I have. Once I have access to the proper tea kettle/pot combo I will go into greater detail as to how to make Turkish tea. But, essentially you let water boil and then pour it over loose tea leaves and then you let those tea leaves settle for 17 minutes. Yes, it is specific and this is how I was taught in Turkey. It varies from family to family. Once the tea is done steeping, you pour the tea in the cup, but only to the thinest part in the glass, then you fill the rest witih hot water. 

This is an image of the tulip shaped tea cups in Turkey - see how the middle becomes thin? That's the line to which you fill up with tea. The rest is filled with water. And yes, the cups are hot to the touch. On one evening, one of the gentlemen with whom we were dining noticed that I couldn't hold my tea cup so he improvised a tea cozy/sleeve for me out of a napkin, which I should have figured out to do, but alas, I hadn't yet enjoyed caffein. 

My dad and I brought out the tea on a lovely tea tray that I bought from Goodwill and we served the tea with sugar cubes and lemon. The best way to have the tea is to sweaten to taste, squeeze the lemon and then drop it inside the glass. The tea time was lovely and we all shared many laughs.

After tea we all went inside for coffee and treats. Turkish coffee, of course. Amid my coughs and snuffles all week, I'd been practicing the art of making Turkish coffee. I cannot tell you how many videos I watched in attempt to figure out this process and of course, no two videos are the same. BUT I am a thorough researcher, so after compiling my findings I thought I had found a descent process for me to follow.

Turish coffee is made in an "Jezvet," (photo below) and one made out of copper is the best. It is served in small, espressso sized cups as seen here:

In the photo, you see the white Turkish delight. It is a nice accompanyment to the coffee.

Here is the link to the video that was the most instructive toward how to make Turkish coffee and this instructor can explain the process much better than I. http://youtu.be/OOaI8JC1_EE 

While making the coffee myself, I was trying to explain the process to Victoria (my best friend) only to fail miserably on several attempts. I spilled coffee all over the stove top and I completely messed up the  ratio of water to coffee. Luckily for me, my family was not paying attention and it is customary for Victoria and me to laugh almost uncontrollably when we are together, so the status quo did not seem altered enough to gain attention.

On the third try, I managed to make a passable cup of Turkish coffee. I served it to my family with the traditional Turkish delight on the side. 

I failed to tell my family not to stir the coffee because there are dust-sized coffee grinds on the bottom of the cup and stirring them up makes drinking difficult. However, I did tell them not to swig the last sip because they'd have a mouthful of grinds. Alas, my parents did not receive the message. However, we shared many laughs and the food was wonderful. 

Victoria and my sister Amanda learning about Turkish food culture.

My family truly enjoyed the experience and they were abel to learn about a culture new to them. We went through a slide of the photos from the trip, which further allowed me to talk about Turkish culture and the current happenings in the country. 

Me feeling right at home (literally) feeling like a professor while sharing my experiences with my family.

The evening was a great success and as I happily shared the culture with my family, I hope that you too are inspired to go out and learn about a culture foreign to you. Go on, go and try it! You will likely be delightfully surprised with what you find. And please, by all means, share your experiences, your culture, or your family recipes with us here in the comment section at the Weekly Read! 

Now please excuse me, I have to go save a lizard from Bella.

Lizard that Bella kidnapped and took all over the backyard. He's mostly in one piece and now contently catching his breath in a lemon tree.

Until next week,

Your humble author,

S. Faxon

The End and the Beginning

{Please forgive me for not posting over the last few days - I've been valiantly fighting a sinus infection and 100+ degree weather simultaneously, which has stolen the majority of my attention and energies. BUT I'm well enough to upload this now and I hope I don't sound like I'm rambling in this post!} 

Waking up was getting tough, but we took solace in the knowledge that we were in for a decent drive to our first stop. I.E. nap time. 

The place to which we were headed was on the Asian side of Istanbul (keep in mind that half is in Europe and the other half is in Asia) in a bit more remote a part of town than that of which we had yet seen in Istanbul. This area was not half as developed as the compacted and densely populated European side, but everywhere you looked tall active cranes told the tale that development was on its way. The traffic heading into that side of town was also telling of the development.

       

The view on the bridge that crosses from Europe into Asia.

We arrived at a beautiful building that stood several stories tall. We walked inside into a large atrium and were lead to the media room of the non-profit organization Kimse Yok Mu. In our meeting with one of the project directors we learned that Kimse Yok Mu is an international humanitarian aid organization that grew quite literally from the ashes of great tragedy. In the 1990s, a major earthquake struck Turkey, bringing down countless buildings and leaving many stranded underneath the rubble. People involved in the search and rescue were hollering through the rubble, "Kimse yok mu?!" - "Is anyone there?!" Likewise, people trapped beneath the rubble were hollering back, "Kimse yok mu?!" Out from the rubble came this incredible organization that provides relief all around the world. I'm including a link to the video that I found in English for you to continue to learn more about their valiant works to make the world a better place. For those of you who can read Turkish or who have clever browsers that translate, their website is www.kym.org.tr But I've also included a video so that you may learn more about them:

We spoke with the project coordinator for over an hour about the many different aspects of the organization, including their situation room, which has numerous screens displaying natural disaster zones and a series of broadcasting channels. 

Mesut, Rosemary, and Walt with the ASYA signs in the background - ASYA is the highly trained search and rescue team that is ready to be diployed anywhere in the world at a moment's notice. Oh, did I mention that the rescue team is composed of 100% volunteers.

Of the many other programs in which it is involved, Kimse Yok Mu also provides food aid to people within Turkey and internationally. Here is the project director showing us the insides of the care packages that people would receive domestically.

One of the items for Turkish food aid was a bag of tea and my initial reaction was, "That's kinda a waste of space when other items could be placed instead." But then I instantly realized how tea is an integral, and I mean that, absolutely important piece to the Turkish identity. Think of the soup kitchens during the Great Depression - people were served coffee. It was a matter of pride and of identity to have a cup of coffee in the morning, whether one was preparing for work or not. We heard many times while we were in Turkey that Turks do not ask "how are you?" or "how do you do?" when you first meet them, instead they ask, "What will you drink?" and odds are you'll answer tea. It is a part of who they are and in this way it was the most important piece in the care package. Keeping a person's dignity in tack during times of crisis is so important to preserving one's humanity. Being dehumanized in times of crisis is only too easy and it destroys the soul.

We were able to tour the food containment area and to learn about all the different services Kimse Yok Mu provides. We were extremely impressed and honored to have had the opportunity to tour and to explore so awesome a human aid organization.

The organization was fascinating and we could have spent hours there, but we had another appointment to get to. 

Have you ever been to a news and television station? I hadn't and neither had anyone in my group, so we were in for a number of treats once we arrived at our next destination: Samanyolu TV. The first person that we met in Turkey (aside from Mesut) was a man named Emre. We all agreed that everyone who visits Turkey should meet Emre first because he is the most energetic, dynamic, person with more character than most people could fit in one body. Margie later described him as a gumdrop and that was pretty fitting. He was our guide at Samanyolu and we learned all about the station, including its numerous international awards and its place in the day-to-day life's of Turks. Emre took us all around the station, including into a live broadcasting room where we were able to watch a reporter give her live address. Emre indicated to us that we needed to be quiet, which we all respected, but, true to his character, it was Emre who ended up bumping against a stool that made a loud screech right as the reporter went live. It took everything we had not to laugh, but throughout the day Mesut and I would joke about how the reporter looked like she was going to kill Emre.

From there we went into another room where the Emril ('90s reference - if you don't know him, that's sad, but think Guy Fiery or Rachel Ray status) of Turkey was preparing the food for his show. As a foodie, it was really cool getting to see a food show studio and the chef was really nice, he even took a group photo of us, which I'll upload once I get a copy of it. 

The next studio room that we visited was for a women's talk show like the view. Emre and I attempted to do a selfie, but failed.

Walt was able to get a couple of really good shots in there because the lighting was every photographer's dream.

The day was getting on and due to the heavy traffic we said our goodbyes to our buddy Emre and we jumped back in the van, heading off to our next destination: a private elementary school for a late lunch.

The school was atop an extremely steep hill that felt as if it was on top of the world.

You can't really tell from this photo, but the view of the city (Istanbul) was incredible. We were a bit rushed, so I didn't stop to take too many photos, but the scope of this hill is prety telling as to how high up this neighborhood was.

Inside the school we were able to sit down with a couple of administers as we nibbled on a typical lunch that the students would enjoy. None of the adults were able to finish our servings. The meal was  ENORMOUS: salad, soup, a generous portion of mac & cheese, lamb, fries, tomatoes, a piece of cake and a yummy yogurt drink. It seemed to never end. I don't think the "baked" chimmy changas that I ate from my elementary school were quite as nutritious. (Granted, I went to public school and I did really enjoy those chimmy changas and pizza bagels at the time...today, not so much).

We discussed the curriculum, the trials and triumphs of a school like this, which followed the Gulen movement like all the other educational facilities we visited (more to that in uno momento). It was a great learning environment for students to ever be surrounded by educational and creative stimulation. The educational system in the private schools like this one are different from our own - for example, their school starts at nine and goes until 2, with extra curricular programs until 5. The children have a 1.5 hour lunch/recess break, which helps to relieve a lot of the students' energy creating a very productive learning environment in the classroom. The extremely full bellies probably also aids in calming the students.

With our eyes on the clock, we had to hit the road again, but first we had to walk down that steep hill. I think with our full bellies, it might have been safer for us to have rolled down.

The next appointment that awaited us was at the Journalists and Writers Foundation. The building was also quite lovely, filled with a myriad of awards recognizing their excellence.

Rosemary, Carole and I stepped into the elevator first and it was different from what we are used to in the west where the doors close automatically and then the elevator proceeds to the appropriate landing. This elevator had a swinging door that one had to pull. Once our elevator reached its floor, we failed to realize that we had to push it open to get back out. The elevator proceeded to go back to the first floor where poor Mesut stood standing staring at us laughing hysterically at our "oops". Armed with this newfound knowledge we were successfully able to remove ourselves from the elevator the second time. This is tried and tested, but boy is it true - the elevators that we would encounter throughout the day would have their ups and downs. (The elevator in our dorms that morning stopped below the landing and much later in the evening, Mesut, Margie and Emre were trapped in an elevator that refused to go all the way down to the floor. They were able to get out and down by going back up in the elevator then wisely deciding to take the stairs.)

We settled into a conference room and watched a video on the Journalists and Writers foundation. It is an organization founded on the belief of universal democracy and dialogue. The organization has celebrated enormous success, not only in Turkey, but internationally. Here is a short video depicting their missions and values:

The man with whom we had our meeting informed us in depth on the Gulen movement. (Hey, that's the name from the last post I said I'd expand upon!) The Gulen movement in a nutshell stresses dialogue and understanding between all peoples, from all walks of life, culture, creed and politics. Gulen is a leader who stresses the imperative need for universal education and how once you have an educated society, the eyes of the world will be open to the needs and struggles of one's neighbors. The civil society movement that he has founded has had enormously positive implications throughout the world and it is growing. Here is a brief video that I found by CBS' 60 minutes that summarizes Gulen, his movement, and the impact his followers have had globally. (It also conveniently summarizes my group's meetings for the day.)

Just like our pilgrimage in Turkey was and will continue to build bridges between geographically seperated communities, the Journalists and Writers foundation has been doing the same on a global scale.

This was yet another meeting at which we could have stayed for hours, but we had another stop to make. Before we left, we each received a packet of reading materials on the Journalist and Writers Foundation, including Mr. Gulen's book Toward a Global Civilization of Love & Tollerance. I'll return to talking about this book later.

With messages of hope and of love in our hearts and minds, we drove to the Armenian church that stood along the eastern shore of the Bosphorus. Unfortunately the church was already closed (traffic delays strike again!), but that allowed us time for an incredible walk alongside a beautiful shore.

I deeply enjoyed this evening because we were the only "tourists" in sight. We got to see how your average Istanbul citizen enjoys their Friday evening and we all thought of locals strolling along La Jolla cliffs or through the cobblestone streets of Sea Port Village.

Dinner wasn't for another two hours, so we went for a walk. Following in a line behind Mesut, who wore the name "Mama Duck" from his following ducklings.

Walking amongst the people calmly, without a real time restraint or agenda during a breathtaking sunset was one of my favorite evenings in Turkey.

Eventually though, all things must come to an end. It was time to go to our dinner. We met two new friends who were connected to our group through a sibling in the States and we enjoyed an absolutely lovely dinner with them. The food was expected, meeting them was expected, what we didn't expect was for Emre to show up and that these two new people in our lives would give five perfect strangers exquisit gifts: personalized, hand made, porcelein plates. 

As you can see, Emre wasn't expected, so he boasted his tea cup plate.

As if receiving our own personalized plates was not enough, a fireworks show set off over the Bosphorus from a seaside castle. Really. Can't make that up. It was simply a magical evening.

And what would a magical evening in Turkey be without dondurma! (Ice cream!) 

We walked to a nearby ice cream shoppe and poor Mesut had to order for his now 8 full grown children. It took upwards of 10 minutes for our ordering process. I felt so bad for the waiter, but we kept him laughing, so I hope we made his evening.

And boy did the ice cream make mine!!!! (As if the evening was lacking in any way.)

That's mulberry on the left and vanilla on the right on top of what I would describe as a sweet, moist angel cake.

The evening drew to an end and we wished our new friends numerous well wishes, countless thank yous, and invitations to come visit us in California. It was sad to say goodbye, knowing that this was our last night, but we also knew that this would come.

There was one last stop to make before we could go home and rest - the grocery store. Carole, Margie, Mesut and I went into the grocery store by our dorms and bought that instant coffee I raved about in an earlier post, sweets, spices, and tea. We wanted to share the treats that we had enjoyed in Turkey with our friends and families.

The next morning we woke up early and enjoyed our last Turkish breakfast (for the time being - I have a sneaky suspician I'll be enjoying the food and the rich company of the Turkish people there again). 

It was time to say "gule, gule," "goodbye."

Even the evening before one of the last things we saw on our magical evening was this sign:

I have no idea what the majority of it says, but "Gule Gule" means bye-bye. I thought of Ben Franklin's quote, "Guests, like fish, begin to smell after a few days." And without having access to laundry, if we stayed much longer, we undoubtably would. 

Bidding Mesut goodbye at the airport was not so difficult as we initially imagined because we knew we'd see him again stateside soon. He had family to visit and wasn't scheduled to return to the States for a little while still. Even though we're all big kids now, it was odd to walk through the airports without our our mama duck. It's really quite sobering to realize how dependent we were on Mesut and I truly hope he knows how much we appreciated his guidance throughout the entire experience. It truly would not have been possible without him.

Boarding the plane was tough. I wasn't quite ready to leave Turkey, but I was happy to be heading home. I couldn't wait to sleep in my own bed and to see my family (of course that especially includes Bella Tuna Todd). 

On the exceptionally lengthy flight, I started to read Mr. Gulen's book. 

The book is already worn due to the long flight, but I'm about 1/3rd of the way through and it is one of the most inspiring reads I've enjoyed. If you're looking for a light but powerful book, or if you are lost and searching, I highly recommend finding this book. Please do not assume that it is stricktly an Islamic text. The book was written to open the hearts, eyes and minds of people to the core values and truths of what it means to be Muslim, and to be a global citizen. I've made numerous notes and marked passages throughout and I will quote three passages for you: 

"Love is the sultan that reigns on the throne of our hearts, with no power struggle being involved." (Gulen, page 4).

"[T]he greatest gift that the generation of today can give their children and grandchildren is to teach them how to forgive - to forgive even when confronted by the worst behavior and the most disturbing events." (Gulen, page 29).

"[W]e should remove all ideas and feelings that pull us apart, and run to embrace one another." (Gulen, page 7).

Reading this on the plane ride home was a perfect threshold for the responsibility that now lies on the shoulders of my companions and me; to spread the word, to teach those who will listen that we are all brothers and sisters, regardless our differences. Like the professor we met in Izmir said, "Our nationalities are different, but our hearts are the same."

These words, these values and beliefs have echoed in my heart strongly over the last few weeks and with the gifts from my brothers and sisters in Turkey posted throughout my room, I will daily be reminded of these messages. I hope that through reading these posts, you too have shared a laugh with me, learned, and grown, on this, our shared adventure through a culture different, but so very similar to our own.

Until next week dear readers. Thank you for coming with and taking me to this passage that will shape the rest of my life. 

Your humble author,

S. Faxon