Technology and Loss: A Reflection

More about my adventures in Turkey are forthcoming, but I needed to take a moment to reflect. I was digging through my email earlier today looking for my account number for my German internet provider and something in my search terms ended up pulling up loads of emails from my mom.

As I'm sure many of you know, she died in 2012 from rapid-onset lung cancer. What I haven't been so vocal in sharing is that in the 12-18 months leading up to her death, she and I had become somewhat estranged. My mom was an alcoholic, and could either be my biggest supporter or worst critic - depending on how much she had to drink on any given day. My entire life, I stayed close to her and let most of the inconsistency roll off me - after all, she was my mom, and the only one I'd ever have. I supported her through her divorce from my first stepfather (who she married when I was 3, and who was basically my father figure growing up); I supported her through her tumultuous marriage and then her divorce from my second stepfather (who she married when I was in my early 20s, and who is still an important person in my life). I was there as the glue trying to patch together the broken and battered relationship between her and my siblings. I was there when she went to rehab, and emerged - both times - promising to do better, to not drink, to pull herself together. I was also there for her when - after stopping by unannounced for a visit while in Cincinnati - I found her passed out in a room of old food and wall-to-wall bottles, covered in her own filth. I cleaned the house, did laundry, and sobered her up enough to shower and change. I was there when my brother called to tell me that he had stopped by and found her passed out again, the house a complete disaster.

At some point, I just broke down. I loved my mom so very, very much but I just could not continue. She was breaking my heart, day after day. My biggest fear was that I'd get a call that she was in jail, or beaten outside a bar or - even worse - dead from liver failure. I had been living abroad for about a year, and was trying to make a life for myself. I just - well, I just could not, ... not anymore.

And so I broke off communication. I defriended her on Facebook. I stopped sending emails. I couldn't cut the cord entirely, so I did send the odd couple hundred dollars here or there - never enough that she could get in real trouble, but enough to keep her eating if she was struggling. During Christmas of 2011, we struck up a tentative reconcilliation - each of us suddenly shy around the other, and unsure of what to say. We began emailing again and talking on the phone. Things seemed good. And then, in late February or early March, she went silent. She would disappear for days at a time and then her replies would be erratic and odd. My first - and only - thought was that she was drinking again. And so, I stepped away. Then, on the 3rd of July, 2012 while in town for a friend's birthday, I picked up the voicemail that would change everything. I still remember how it began - "Erin, it's the mom. Please call me. I'm in the hospital and I'm sick. I promise it has nothing to do with drinking." I called back only to discover that she had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and was given less than 6 months to live. She hadn't been drinking, or ignoring me. She had been so sick that she couldn't get out of bed.

She died 7 days later, on what would have been her 58th birthday.

As I read through the old emails today, I saw everything through a different light. Her emails to me towards the end of 2011 and beginning of 2012 are suddenly clear and poignant, full of self-reflection and honesty and apology. They have a clarity that could only have come from sobriety. Reading them now is both comforting (to "hear" her voice again) and heartbreaking - oh, how I miss her so very, very much. I am weighed down by the enormity of all the things I never said - and all the things I should have said. I wish I had added her again as a friend on Facebook because she loved following my life. I know she was very proud of me, and yet I shut her out. I wish I had answered her emails, or picked up the phone.

I am so glad that I found these messages. Reading through them, it has become abundantly clear that I have only just begun to grieve - and that the tears I'm shedding today are but the smallest drops of a river that will flow from me until the day I, too, say goodbye to this world.

Turkish Delight & Other Adventures - Part 1, The Arrival

 After the end of boxmania, it was only fitting that I celebrate with a fabulous holiday ;) On the 13th, I headed to Sarigerme, Turkey to meet my friend - let's call her Queen W- for some much needed relaxation. I hadn't been to Turkey for about 4 years, and I was excited to see an area outside of Istanbul.

I flew Turkish Airlines for the first time for all legs of my trip. On the positive side, the flight attendants are very nice, the seats are comfortable and they actually offer a meal in Economy for free. On the negative side, they seem to adhere to the Turkish standard of timeliness - which basically means not on time at all. Compounding this is the fact that despite one of my flights being at least 90 minutes delayed, it kept saying "On Time" on the airline's app.

I landed in Istanbul about 30 minutes late and came off the plane to find a passport control queue that had at least 150 people waiting. As I had a decent layover, I tried to adopt a zen attitude and not get too frustrated by the inefficiency. I didn't mind the line so much as the blatant and overwhelming lack of deodorant. (Side note: what is with people in super hot countries? Can they not smell themselves? I know that we as humans can acclimate to nearly anything, but I'm still pretty sure that if I had to deal with all that funk on a daily basis, I might pass out on the regular). The line moved pretty fast and soon I was at the desk, where I presented my passport and e-Visa. And... so began the drama. Turns out that my e-Visa was dated the 14th. I landed on the 13th. Given that the e-Visa is valid for a 90 day stretch, I thought they would adjust the date on the computer and send me on my merry way.

Negatory.

If only it looked that orderly...

I was sent out of the line and over to the visa window. Here I encountered a very surly old Turkish man whose English vocabulary consisted of "No", "You pay", "Thirty dollar" and - my favorite - "you problem". I showed him the e-Visa and tried to explain the situation. His answer? "You pay." I explained that I had already paid, I just needed the date adjusted. His answer? "Thirty dollar." This continued for a good three or four refrains before I asked to speak with someone who spoke English. His answer? "No."

So I looked around for anyone who looked like they might be able to help. I don't know if it was the heat, the job or the general lack of deodorant clogging up the place, but nearly every employee looked like they had just been ejected from the bowels of hell. I must have asked four people before I found a guy who was at least willing to listen to me. I explained the situation again. He kept pointing at the date and telling me "No right. You problem". I agreed with him. His answer? "You pay." My answer? That I had already paid, and that I wasn't going to pay for a visa twice, and that I just needed the date corrected. We did this dance for a couple more times.

And here is where I made my mistake. I didn't just shut up, go get money, and pay. I tried to infuse some logic in what was clearly an illogical system. Next thing I know, I'm surrounded by Turkish police and ushered over to another desk where I'm put on a phone with someone who spoke passable English. I explained the situation again, adding for good measure my thoughts on the general level of ridiculousness this entailed and the level of rudeness of all present. The man on the phone was nice, and tried to be helpful but his solution consisted of two nonsensical options:

1) "You pay. Is you problem."
2) "You wait airport many hours. When is 14, you visa is ok. You go then."

Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to camp out in the damn airport for the next four hours just so that my freaking visa was valid. I asked why - if the visa was valid for 90 days and I was clearly present - he couldn't just adjust the date? It seems that this was akin to asking him to explain the mysteries of the universe, or the origins of the divine. I heard intense silence... and then a very quiet response of "System no do that. It just... is no... cannot... (silence)... you problem... you pay."

At this point I was, I'm ashamed to admit, crying tears of frustration. Several Canadians stopped me and asked if I needed money. (Side note: why are Canadians so very nice?) When I explained that I was grateful, but that I didn't need money and that I just didn't want to have to buy a visa twice, I was greeted by a look that was half compassion and half pity.

The guy at the desk then grabbed the phone from me and started a 3 minute long discussion in Turkish from which I could piece together that he was trying to change my flight until after midnight. He only stopped when I started jumping up and down (literally) and yelling "No! No! Luften hayir! Luften dur!" (big shout out to Google translate for helping me say "Please, no! Please stop!"). This resulted in him slamming down the phone, putting his hands on his hips and practically yelling - "You date is no good! You no inside Turkey! YOU PROBLEM!!! You PAY!!!"

(I'd like to point out that I recognize that I should have just sucked it up and paid again in the first place, as the wrong date was my own fault. But it made me so MAD! It made zero sense and was not logical in the slightest. It also frustrated me that Turkey is trying to promote tourism and yet the level of helpfulness in the airport could be measured at about negative zero.)

So guess who went to the ATM, withdrew money and paid? The upside is that the passport guy had been very nice in the beginning (which I think led me to believe that I could solve this situation super easily... HA!) and told me that once I had sorted out "my situation", I could cut the line and just come back to him. Which I did, despite murderous looks from all around me. I darted through passport control and rushed upstairs to go back through security for my transfer (yep, exactly like when you land from Europe into the US and have a connecting flight) only to find that my "on time" flight was very much not on time. It started out 25 minutes late and ended up being nearly 90 minutes late. The airport had no wi-fi and no real shopping to speak of, and so I passed the time having a largely charades-based conversation with a nice Ukrainian couple I met in a cafe. When it was finally time for my "on-time" flight, the boarding process was a hot mess (imagine about 100 people trying to rush through one turnstile with no rhyme or reason or (in many cases) deodorant + crying babies + general pushing and yelling). Thankfully, the flight itself was relatively uneventful.

I landed in Dalaman airport, only to have to board a bus to go to the "international" terminal. (For the record, I absolutely LOATHE taking buses at airports. The whole concept makes zero sense.) The airline had a representative waiting by the door with a huge sign that said "INTERNATIONAL LUGGAGE" and yet so many people just walked by, oblivious. So the entire bus was delayed while several Italian and German families were chased down. The best part of the bus ride was that halfway to the terminal, it appeared that our driver fell asleep. The bus just stopped and sat there for a good 5 minutes before a couple of the passengers started banging on the windows and doors (thank you, Italian friends!) This apparently woke the driver, and we continued along to the baggage claim. We were then directed into the Lost Baggage Office only to meet a very confused man who was clearly not expecting 40 some odd people. Finally we were sent to the right carousel where the bags were already waiting. I was very glad I had booked a transfer to the hotel in advance as the road was nearly pitch black and wove in and out of a very rural area. To my eyes, arriving around midnight, it looked exactly like something one would see on "Without a Trace" or "CSI" where the girl goes missing from a random taxi.

I checked in, got to my room and found:
- Two twin beds jammed right next to each other. Seriously, Europe, WTF with this? As I've said before, if I need 2 beds, that means 2 people and it also means that these 2 people don't want to be on top of each other. If there are 2 people and they DO want to be on top of each other, then 1 bed should suffice.
- The beds were rock hard. Very, very German. And each had one thin blanket. Thank goodness the pillows were decent.
- The rooms had A/C - but it only worked if the balcony door was closed and locked. (It took me a call to the front desk to find this out)
- No amenities were provided outside of towels and a soap dispenser (think the kind you see in public bathrooms). Additionally, there was a loofah and piece of hard soap about the size of a hard chocolate.

I unpacked and decided to meander down to the beach bar, where Queen W had told me there was an "Oldies night" disco. It turned out there was a disco (read: DJ) every night from 11pm - 2am, but on Thursday nights the hotel had various themes. There were all kinds of decorations along the way, the kind which led me to believe I would be encountering a 50's sock hop. Instead, I turned the corner to encounter shiny disco balls, strobe lights, a fog machine, German techno music and a bunch of very, very white Europeans spasming all over the dancing area. I didn't stick around very long - just long enough to realize I didn't like the house wine, and that I had an even greater dislike for what they were trying to pass off as "music."

No escape

There is apparently no escaping the German trash system for me. Here we see, in Turkey, separate bins for clothes/shoes, paper, plastic, metal, general waste and glass. 

I knew this was a hotel frequented by Germans but this is taking it to a whole new level. I swear if I see a single cardboard box I may just lose my mind. 

Ende der Box-Manie

Ladies and Gentleman, the boxes have left the building!!! (*cue George Michael's "Freedom")

It only took me five trips with my tiny rental car to the Werkstoffhof Kofferaumservice (http://www.fes-frankfurt.de/buerger/service/kofferraumservice) to get rid of them all. The upside is that I clocked new records on my Fitbit going up and down my steps with all the boxes. The downside is that I'm pretty sure I looked like an extra from Samford & Son tooling around town with my ride packed to the ceiling with boxes and styrofoam.

Boxes in ze schlafzimmer!

Boxes in ze gastezimmer!

Boxes and boxes boxes, oh my!!!

Come to find out that the boxmania was completely unnecessary. My landlady stopped me yesterday as I was putting the final load in the trunk and told me that she asked around and that the delivery men were supposed to remove and take the boxes with them. She told me that they took advantage of me being non-German and had a few choice words to say about their laziness. I was instructed to come and get her the next time I have a delivery involving cardboard, and she will set them straight.

This morning I dropped off the final load (as the Werkstofhof is open for the incredibly convenient hours of 07:00 - 12:00 *eye roll*). Each time I have visited, the rules are somehow different. Sometimes the boxes go in one bin, and it is fine to throw the sytrofoam in too. Other times, they have to be separated. Today, I encountered a self-styled box-master who insisted upon me separating them by size and that I empty all the plastic bags and put everything in different, specially-marked bins. One of the other people dropping off boxes turned to me and said (in German) that garbage is the main hobby of the German people. I needed no translation, and I heartily agree.

The blog has been a bit quiet lately due to various travels and dealing with boxes. It's funny that cardboard should have consumed so much of my life. I'm happy to report that my apartment no longer looks like a homeless encampment and that as soon as my couch and spare bed arrive, it will be complete. I still need to hang pictures and such, but I'm in no rush for that. It is strange how much joy I have in my box-free rooms and how much pleasure I took in beating the system.

Tomorrow I head off on a much-needed holiday. Ten days by the sea in Turkey. I can't wait. Also fun is that the resort is German-owned and so I think I'll get a chance to continue practicing my burgeoning language skills. I feel like a kid again, as each day I add a new word or words to my vocabulary - and it is exciting! Last night I had a work dinner at a restaurant called "Altes Zollhaus" and I figured out - all on my own - that it meant "Old Tollhouse". Turns out the restaurant is in a building that in the medieval times used to be the tax collection house for those entering the city boundaries of Frankfurt. I was also able to figure out about 80% of the menu, although my choices were somewhat constrained by my understanding that the dish was "Chicken Something Something potatoes Something baked something and vegetables something" or "Something something style pasta with something sauce and something something green." But I'm getting there!

Tonight I'm taking some visiting colleagues from the U.S. out into central Frankfurt. This should be interesting, as their requests consist of "beer", "hot dogs" and "pork knuckle." Given that this is Germany, these should not be hard to find - and I will most likely be able to find all three in one place.