Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
I have always loved the song “Fix You” by Coldplay. It’s one of those songs that speaks to me, but I never really knew why – am I trying to fix someone? Is someone trying to fix me? I didn’t know, but it’s becoming a lot clearer these days.
I started singing the song in my head while my dad and I were sitting in a plane out on the tarmac at Chicago O’Hare Airport, getting ready to fly back to Minneapolis after a 10-day trip through Europe.
It was dark out, and the bright runway lights enticed me as they always do. And in that moment, just as the song popped into my head, I realized I was home. And I wasn’t just “home” as in back in the states, I was home in Chicago.
When you try your best but you don’t succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can’t sleep
Stuck in reverse
My life, just like everyone else’s, has been filled with ups and downs. There have been tough times and feelings of hopelessness; there have been good times and lights at the ends of many tunnels.
During college, living with a toxic combination of depression, obsessive-compulsive disorder and disordered eating took its toll on me. My body and my mind were always tired, but I pressed on and did my best to power through class, homework and exams. I was working hard, but I didn’t know what exactly it was I was working toward.
After graduation, the future of my career always felt uncertain. I had met the love of my life, which brought so much needed happiness into my world, but I still didn’t know what I was doing – I didn’t know what my purpose was here on planet Earth.
I worked in newsrooms, I did communications for a nonprofit, I did website work at an energy company and most recently I found myself writing for the Minnesota Department of Health – where I currently still work. All these jobs had profound impacts on me and helped shape me into a better person, but I had no idea what my end goal was, and I didn’t know what these experiences were preparing me for.
High up above or down below
When you’re too in love to let it go
If you never try, you’ll never know
Just what you’re worth
A few years back, I fell madly in love… and in case you’re wondering, my husband and I met more than seven years ago, so no, it wasn’t with him. Don’t worry guys, it’s not scandalous… I was out for a run near Minneapolis-St. Paul Airport, and was blown away when and airplane lifted off right over my head. I was hooked. I quickly realized how “right” this all felt though… I mean, my parents met as flight attendants, my dad was in the Air Force… aviation was in my blood from the start.
I began reading about the physics of flight and watching documentaries on airplanes. I found myself out at MSP multiple times a week taking photos of the planes, and before I knew it, I was identifying many of them from decently far away. I was learning a lot and, more importantly, this was bringing me joy.
Almost a year ago, I had an “aha” moment… “Why can’t I combine my passion for aviation with my journalism degree and my love of writing?” Simple answer: I can. I reached out to Aviation Queen Benét Wilson, an aviation journalist who has inspired me in so many ways. And that decision to ask someone for help, proved to be so worth it.
Benét critiqued my writing and helped me to develop my skills and get my name out there. She also introduced me to Chris Sloan, the managing editor at Airways Magazine. Chris, too, helped me in more ways than one, he suggested topics for me to research and write about that I never would have thought of on my own. As a contributor to Airways, I was improving my industry knowledge, becoming a better writer and making connections out the wazoo.
I was so, so glad I found something that brought me so much joy. It was that one piece in my “happy life” pie that was missing, and now it was there. I kept working and learning, traveling and exploring… just trying to figure out what I was going to make of all of this. I knew that someday I wanted to find a full-time job in the aviation industry, whether at an airline or a manufacturer… I just didn’t know.
Another thing I didn’t know, was that the opportunity to work full time doing writing and communications in the aviation industry was about to present itself… a lot sooner than I had ever expected.
Tears stream down your face
I promise you I will learn from mistakes
After years of uncertainty… years of ups and downs and years filled with (yes) plenty of mistakes, I learned, I grew and I found my passion. On day one of the trip I just took with my dad, I accepted an offer to work in communications at BOEING.
Wait… did I just say that? Someone pinch me, please.
YES. It’s true… in December I’ll be setting up shop in Chicago to begin this new journey. It’s amazing. Of course, there will be hurdles… as my husband will be up here in Minnesota finishing his last year of school, before joining me in the Windy City. Our love is rock solid though… so I know we’ll be fine. He is over the moon knowing that I have this opportunity, and his love is truly what helped me to realize that I was (and still am) capable of anything. So… I finally know why that song speaks to me. No one was trying to fix me, and I wasn’t trying to fix someone else – I was trying to fix myself, and I think I’m slowly but surely doing just that.
It was more than 10 years ago that I first began dealing with mental health issues and constantly feeling hopeless for what the future may hold. Who would have thought that in my upper twenties I’d fall so in love with these huge, flying machines, and that in the end, those guiding lights would be runway approach lights, and home would be this city that’s always held a special place in my heart.
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
See you soon, Chicago.
I am an only child. My parents divorced when I was five years old. Throughout my childhood and into young adulthood, aside from spending every other weekend together and going out to dinner once a week, my dad and I traveled – that was our thing.
We took the Empire Builder from St. Paul all the way out to Seattle, we went to Hawaii, we went to the 1996 Olympics in my hometown of Atlanta, we cruised, we drove… we did it all.
Into high school and throughout college, there was a bit of a hiatus… my dad was remarried to my dear stepmom Carolyn, and I… I mean – I was an adult! What more is there to say? We saw each other as often as we could, but we certainly weren’t vacationing together anymore. I was busy with school and my dad was (expectedly) traveling with his wife.
Upon graduating from the University of Minnesota School of Journalism in 2009, my dad told me that my graduation gift would be another trip. I was ecstatic! The following spring, we went to Germany, Austria and Italy. It was a different kind of trip – I was old enough to drink beer! Suddenly we weren’t just a dad and daughter duo, we were friends.
Just weeks after returning to the states, I met the second of the “two main men” in my life – my now husband Scott. My life changed forever… in the best possible way.
Just a year after meeting and upon finding my first job in journalism, Scott and I moved to Kansas City together. Ultimately, our journey brought us back to Minnesota just a couple years later. Once we got back to the Twin Cities, Scott decided to go back to school and after a few more years in television news, I decided to switch career paths and went into public relations and communications.
Scott and I got engaged in September 2013, and just months later in December, my stepmom Carolyn was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer. It was devastating and it was scary. She and my dad lived in Nashville (she was from Tennessee and both of her children, along with her sister still live down there), though she and my dad had a second home in Florida. I didn’t see them as often as I’d have liked to, but we were fortunate enough to visit at least a couple times each year, whether it was in Tennessee, Florida or up here in Minnesota.
About a year and a half ago, I thought back to all the trips my dad and I had taken, and I went out on a limb – I asked him if we could take another trip together… we were both married, he was supporting Carolyn as she battled the beast that is cancer, and I was supporting Scott as he attended college full time and worked part time – a challenge in and of itself.
I was surprised, but now that I think about it, maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised… just a week or so after my request, my dad told me he had booked a special trip for us. He told me that in October 2017 he and I would fly to Switzerland and take a cruise from Basel to Amsterdam on the Rhine River. I could not believe it. I was so, SO excited.
Throughout winter 2016-2017, the thought of that trip understandably took a backseat to my stepmom’s deteriorating health. It was a difficult time for our whole family. Scott and I flew down to celebrate her 70th birthday in March of this year – it was quite the occasion, but it was bittersweet as I feared it would be the last time I’d see her.
In June, she wasn’t doing too well. I told my dad I wanted to be down there with him and the rest of the family. He booked me a flight down to Nashville toward the end of June, but something inside me told me I needed to get down there sooner. My dad switched my ticket to the next day. I flew from Minneapolis to St. Louis, where I connected to Nashville.
I exited the airport in Tennessee and immediately saw my dad. He hugged me really tight and whispered in my ear, “Carolyn died.” My heart sank into my stomach. I hadn’t made it in time. I didn’t know what to think.
Needless to say, the months following her passing were difficult for everyone. There was sadness, there was frustration… but we all stuck together and supported one another. I was so happy to have been there for my dad in his greatest time of need. And, as October neared, I realized that this trip – a trip that I had at one time doubted would even happen – would not only happen, it needed to happen. This trip would be so meaningful for both my dad and for me… I felt more thankful than I ever had that this adventure was becoming a reality.
Tomorrow, my dad is flying into Minneapolis, and Thursday we’ll fly to Amsterdam together. From there we’ll head to Zurich, and ultimately Basel before embarking on a trip that will bring us through France, Germany and the Netherlands. I’ve been waiting for this trip for what feels like my whole life.
There is something else about this trip that is so incredibly special. When my dad booked our trip, I was just getting into aviation… photography, journalism, anything and everything flight. He knew how much I had dreamed of flying on a Boeing 747… the beautiful, iconic Queen of the Skies that undoubtedly would retire in the years to come.
Not only did my dad choose a flight back to the states simply because it was on a KLM 747 (a combi at that!), he even adjusted our schedule by jumping through a number of hoops when he found out our flight was switched and we would no longer be on the Queen – that just wasn’t acceptable to him! This trip means so much to me, but knowing that he wanted that experience so badly for me, makes it that much more special.
In just 48 hours my dad and I will be high in the sky, nearing the Atlantic where we will drift to sleep and wake up in Amsterdam. There, we’ll spend a half-day exploring Schipol Airport (a one-on-one behind-the-scenes tour a year in the making!). We will then fly to Zurich, spend the night, and take a train to Basel the next morning, where we’ll board our ship later that evening.
We’ll stop in various German, French and Dutch cities before ending back in Amsterdam, where we’ll spend an additional two days. A week from next Monday, we’ll board a KLM 747-400 mixed configuration aircraft (half passenger, half cargo) that will bring us to Chicago where we’ll catch our final flight back to Minnesota.
Honestly… this trip, and the memories that will be made, means the world to me. I am so grateful for the opportunity to spend this time with my dad, and I cannot wait to share the experience with you all through photos and through writing.
To blue skies and tailwinds… and smooth sailing!
“I loved the hills and all of the reddish-orange roofs… the small winding streets. I loved seeing how similar life is over there yet also so different. But, it was really just the people like you, and the pure kindness and willingness to take care of someone you didn’t even know. And… just the history and the culture. I love it so much.”
I struggled to come up with the first word, much less the first sentence or even the first paragraph I wanted to write about my time in Istanbul. Then I remembered a conversation I had only hours earlier with someone who has quickly become so dear to me, just like a sister.
I typed to her as I floated through the clouds 32,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean… I told her that I could not stop crying. I felt a pain and a sadness about leaving a place I had fallen in love with – it was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
She asked me what led to my attachment with the city of Istanbul and the country of Turkey. I responded with those opening words above. You see, I left on this trip with a plan, I had a mission… but what I planned for and what actually happened were two very different things.
I’m so excited and I just can’t hide it… but should I be scared?
I found out only about a week and a half in advance of my trip that I’d have the opportunity to cover a Turkish Airlines event for Airways Magazine… I was so over the moon that I couldn’t even comprehend the adventure that was to be had.
I told my family. I told my friends. I told my coworkers. While everyone was thrilled for me, some expressed concern over whether or not Turkey was in fact a safe place to travel to.
I get it. The U.S. Department of State is warning people to carefully consider whether or not they actually need to travel to Turkey, but the heaviest restrictions are on the Southeastern portion of the country. This comes after several terrorist attacks occurred in the country over the past few years, many in and around Istanbul, the very city in which I was going to travel to.
Attack at Atatürk
In June 2016, 45 people died and more than 230 others were injured at Istanbul’s Atatürk Airport in a terrorist attack involving shootings and suicide bombers. Turkish officials said the attackers were affiliated with the Islamic State of Iraq and Levant (ISIL), but no one claimed credit for the event.
Post-trip update: Last week I spent significant time at Atatürk Airport on two separate occasions. While the airport itself will permanently close in roughly a year and a half (it is being replaced by what will become Europe’s largest airport), Atatürk was by far one of the neatest airports I’ve ever been to. It was beautiful and bustling.
Bombings at Vodafone Arena
In December 2016, car bombings and suicide bombings outside Istanbul’s Vodafone Arena killed 48 people and injured more than 150 others. Most of the casualties were police officers and the Kurdistan Freedom Hawks claimed responsibility for the attacks.
Post-trip update: The arena was less than two miles from the hotel I stayed in. And if there would have been a football game that I was able to get tickets to, you can bet I would have been there… happy as a clam.
On the first of this year, Abdulkadir Masharipov shot and killed at least 39 people in an Istanbul nightclub. More than 70 others were injured. ISIL claimed credit for the gunman’s actions.
Post-trip update: On Friday night I ate dinner directly across the Bosphorus Strait from where this occurred. The view was breathtaking and I wouldn’t trade that experience for anything in the world. The nightclub has since permanently closed.
I knew it would be humbling to put myself in the middle of an unfamiliar city, surrounded by unfamiliar people who speak an unfamiliar language. I knew it might be a little bit scary, but I knew that more than anything, it would be humbling.
I wanted it though. And even more than that, I needed that experience. I was ready.
The night before I left, I couldn’t sleep. I was so incredibly excited and still didn’t quite understand how or why of all people it was me who was chosen to do this. My aviation journalism career is in its infancy, so naturally I felt as though I didn’t deserve this. Surely I didn’t.
I woke up the next morning, tired from the lack of sleep, but still with a spring in my step, knowing I was about to travel further from home than I had ever been in my life, and I was doing it alone.
Widening my world
My dad happened to be in town visiting from his home in Florida, so he, my mom and my husband were able to see me off at the airport. My first flight would bring me to Washington-Dulles, and from there I’d board a Turkish Airlines Airbus A330 to Atatürk Airport in Istanbul – a 5,500-mile journey in total.
This flight would mark my first time flying business class (a perk that came along with attending this event). Anything above and beyond standard economy is a luxury that I simply never thought I’d be able to experience… as it is something I just could never afford, at least not in a practical sense. It was amazing and the crewmembers were so genuinely kind. I was pampered like a princess. I felt like I must have been dreaming.
The view coming in to land in Istanbul was unlike anything I had ever seen. The crisp blue sky and the deep blue ocean sandwiched hills filled with beautiful red-roofed buildings… the Mediterranean color palate has always been so pleasing to my eyes, and it was even more so in real life.
After deplaning, I easily found my way to where I needed to board a bus to my hotel. While the traffic was awful, the commute seemed quick… probably due to the complete and utter newness of every single thing we passed.
When I entered my hotel in Istanbul’s Bomonti neighborhood, I first noticed a distinct floral-like aroma. It was a very particular scent that I couldn’t quite place my finger (or better yet, my nose) on. Check-in was also a lengthy process, but that too seemed to fly by as I made conversation with other conference-goers from around the globe.
Upon entering my room, I knew that after 21 hours of traveling I wouldn’t be good for much more than changing into my pajamas, ordering room service, snuggling into my bed and falling asleep to the quiet murmur of the television. But when I first drew my blinds, the sun hadn’t yet set, and the view before me was nothing short of breathtaking.
I should have known I’d be a bit awestruck, as I was staying on the 18th floor of a hotel in a densely populated neighborhood in a densely populated city. But the view was so gorgeous that I had to just stand there and look out the floor to ceiling windows that overlooked this picturesque city. I was in love. But alas, I was tired, and within two hours I was out.
I awoke sometime between 6 and 7 the next morning, and I wasn’t feeling too hot. I had an unusually painful stomachache, but I’d say I tend to have more tummy troubles than the average person, so I wasn’t terribly alarmed.
After an hour or so, the pain hadn’t subsided. I really didn’t know what to do. I had woken up alone in a strange place, and to make matters worse, it was the middle of the night back home in Minnesota… I wasn’t about to wake my husband or parents just to whine to them.
But after awhile, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was scared.
I tried to reach my husband, Scott, knowing he has his phone set to ring if one of his close contacts calls in the middle of the night.
He didn’t answer though.
I tried calling again…
I called my mom, knowing she was merely two to three hours from waking up for work. I knew she would answer, and she did.
“I’m sick,” I told her.
By this point I had polished off three of the four bottles of water in my room, and I lay in bed curled in the fetal position, pouting to my mom whenever the pain subsided enough that I felt I could bring myself to speak.
I was convinced I had food poisoning. How I got it from the grilled vegetable sandwich and french fries I had eaten the night before, I wasn’t sure, but my mom agreed with my self diagnosis.
And then it happened. “I think I’m going to throw up,” I said to her as she tried her best to console me. And the funny thing was, I was so incredibly excited to throw up. I just wanted this to end. I sat cross legged in front of the toilet, with my phone and a bottle of water sitting next to me.
I knew it was coming. And it did.
I cried. And then I cried more. I was soaking wet and freezing cold all at once, a combination I knew couldn’t be good.
I wished my mom was there with me, rubbing my neck and holding back my hair, but instead she was just a voice coming out of my phone’s speaker. She talked me through it though.
The next time I had to throw up, she talked me through it again. And all the times thereafter. At that point it really was as if she was sitting right there with me.
I felt better. I thanked my mom, we said our goodbyes and we hung up our phones. I knew she needed sleep, and I knew I needed rest. My gut told me I was unfortunately not going to be able to partake in the Bosphorus Tour that afternoon, no pun intended.
Maybe 30 minutes later, I realized I wasn’t in the clear. The pain was back and this time it was worse. I called my mom and she told me to call the front desk and ask if the hotel had a doctor on hand. I did that, and the gentleman’s answer was unfortunately “No.” He did tell me, however, that he could call an ambulance.
I couldn’t afford that. And, quite frankly, I didn’t really think I needed that.
I had been given contact information for a local Turkish Airlines communications team member, whom I had already connected with via text the night before. I asked him if he knew of any nearby doctor’s offices or urgent care clinics. And to be perfectly honest, that’s when the whirlwind began.
I kept thinking to myself… “Why me?”
Selfishly I felt like this was my trip… this was my time to shine. I didn’t even know what was happening, or what would come of all of this, but I knew it wouldn’t be good.
I was having trouble walking and I nearly passed out twice. I was almost folded in two when I answered the door to grab the extra waters I had requested from guest services.
I already had Lira, but only huge bills. “Do you even tip someone who delivers bottled water to your room?” I thought to myself. I gave the woman American money… three bucks. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Water is free.” I thanked her and shut the door.
I somehow made it downstairs to the lobby with the help of hotel staff. I was donning my airplane patterned leggings and a bright pink T-shirt. I had bedhead. I was in too much pain to be embarrassed about how I looked though.
As I lay pathetically limp on the lobby sofa, I could tell all of the Turkish Airlines conference workers were looking at me, and I figured they were talking about me too. After all, I did stand out like a sore thumb amongst the other vacationers around me, but I didn’t even care.
Before I knew it, a cab had arrived. Two gentlemen and I got into the “Taksi” with one sitting up front and the other in back with me – both worked for Turkish Airlines.
My head fell back onto the headrest behind me, I opened my window and shut my eyes. I could feel the cab driver hastily speeding up and down Istanbul’s steep, narrow hills, but the breeze felt nice.
Hastanesi: The first Turkish word I learned
After what felt like a lifetime, we arrived at the hospital – more specifically, the Emergency Room entrance of Amerikan Hastanesi. I was helped into a wheelchair, brought into a room and placed on a bed.
A doctor soon visited me and asked about my symptoms. She poked, pressed and prodded… trying to remember those moments is difficult as it was all such a blur. Shortly thereafter, a nurse came in and inserted an IV to administer pain medication. It helped. It helped a lot.
By that time, there were several Turkish Airlines staff either outside my hospital room or sitting inside the room by my bedside. The nurse returned shortly to draw blood, and while I anxiously awaited the results, I expected they’d find nothing, since I was certain I was suffering from food poisoning.
While I so much appreciated the kindness of everyone who was present at the hospital even for just a few minutes, one special person, who I now consider my sister, spent upwards of 10 hours with me.
She held my hand and told me everything would be OK. She was with me when I had my IV put in, she was with me when my blood was drawn, she was with me when I was wheeled into the imaging room and she was with me when the radiologist performed my ultrasound and said, “Aha… you have appendicitis.”
And that was it, I knew what appendicitis meant. I knew I was going to have surgery and I knew I was going to have surgery in that very hospital in Istanbul on that very same day.
Ready to go under the knife
Seriously… I couldn’t even comprehend that this was happening to me. “How? Why?” I asked myself.
Back in my room, the nurse and my sweet new friend helped the highly-medicated me to change into a hospital gown. Of course, during that process, I accidentally ripped out my IV – spraying blood all over the place and setting off a chain reaction of panicked hospital staff.
Soon a surgeon came in to examine me and explain to me in more detail the radiologist’s findings and what they would need to do. I remember feeling tired and weak. I had mustered up enough energy to send a text message to my mom, telling her that I had been diagnosed with appendicitis. I asked her to tell my dad, and to also tell Scott, who at this point still was not answering his phone.
I didn’t want to be alone. Of course it was so nice to be in the presence of such kind hospital staff and such caring people from Turkish Airlines, but it still would be nice to see a familiar face at such a scary time.
After countless attempts, Scott finally woke up and returned our calls. I knew he would be scared and I hated knowing he would awaken to such a flurry of missed calls, voicemails and text messages. Hearing his voice was so comforting. And before I knew it, he was working with the staff at Turkish Airlines to fly out (for free) that very night.
My immediate family and friends were in the loop. My sweet family at Airways Magazine was in the loop. Now all that was left to do was to loop me up and put me under.
My sweet friend held my hand all the way as hospital staff wheeled me into the prep room. She prayed for me at my bedside and I felt those prayers… they filled the room and they filled my soul. I knew I would be OK.
I left my appendix in Istanbul
“All done,” I heard a voice say. I squinted, looking up at the bright lights… I couldn’t see anything clearly without my glasses, but I could make out a sea of people in blue scrubs moving about the room.
A women propped open my mouth and stuck something inside. I realized it was a lozenge of some sort, and until my pain medication first started to wear off, I didn’t know why she had given me that lozenge. My breathing tube must have really done a number on me… my throat felt raw and my top lip was swollen.
I noticed that my right shoulder hurt, and found out later it was due to the process of pumping air into my stomach pre-surgery. My stomach was stiff and puffy for hours following the operation.
I was rolled into a new room where I was greeted by familiar faces. The room was beautiful… state of the art. I was in a comfy bed and a few feet away sat a couch in front of a big window that let in lots of natural light. There was a large television in front of me turned to a news channel.
A number of people surrounding my bed, both hospital and Turkish Airlines staff, asked me how I was doing. It was then that I met for the first time the sweet guy who I had texted with earlier in my hotel room… the local Turkish Airlines contact who had helped facilitate my being brought to the hospital in the first place.
I was told that he’d be staying the night with me in my room. I felt incredibly lucky to be surrounded by such love and comfort in this strange new place. I was able to eat a little broth and drink some juice later that evening before turning in for the night.
I felt so thankful to have someone staying with me. I felt so much less scared. The evening seemed to last for a very long time. I couldn’t pass on much news to family and friends back in the states, as it was the middle of the night their time. And before I knew it, it was bedtime for me as well.
The night was odd, as I drifted in and out of sleep and received frequent visits from hospital staff to check my vitals and assist me to the restroom. It was difficult and painful to walk, but the nurses did all that they could to make it as painless as possible.
There was one period of time where I had several hours of uninterrupted sleep… and when I awoke from that, it was morning. My sweet roommate helped me as I was waking up. He poured me some water and made some tea too. I can’t explain what a difference it made to have a friend by my side.
When I was ready to eat, he helped to prop me up and brought me the food that the hospital staff had delivered to the room. It was a traditional Turkish breakfast consisting of a couple pieces of cheese, some olives and sliced cucumber. It tasted great.
When lunchtime rolled around, I was able to eat a few bites of tomato soup and some noodles. It felt good to be able to nourish my body as I hadn’t really eaten since I had my room service dinner the night before this all began.
During the early afternoon hours I heard some talking outside the door of my room… I even heard someone say my name. Shortly thereafter the door slowly creaked open and a sweet gentleman accompanied by a woman and an older man entered. He explained that he was a friend of Enrique’s (the Editor-in-Chief of Airways).
He came to wish me well and also to deliver two model aircraft to me, both Turkish Airlines planes. I was speechless and I smiled so big… we took photos together, holding my new prized possessions, and he invited me to visit his model aircraft museum later in the week – an invite that I quickly accepted.
Before I knew it, the plane that Scott was on was only a few hundred miles from where I was. That brought me great comfort. The surgeon visited me one last time before letting me know he thought I was ready to be released.
Even though I was moving at a snail’s pace, I packed my things, changed into a loose-fitting dress and began the journey back to the hotel.
Turkish Airlines had a car sent to the hospital to pick me up, and when I arrived at the hotel, I found my husband standing next to my new Turkish sister. There were lots of (gentle) hugs, and there was a whole lot of relief and happiness.
Three days after arriving, I finally saw the city
Thanks especially to my amazing friends at Turkish Airlines and Airways, I was able to extend my trip a bit, both so that I could have extra time to recover before such a long flight home and also so that I could actually see a bit of the city that I had looked so forward to exploring.
I moved slowly, but walking felt good. It was amazing and humbling to walk the streets of a city with so much diversity, history and culture. The language is beautiful and the people are beautiful. So much about Turkey was so different, yet so much was the same.
The streets are all narrow and the hills are steep. There are textile shops and cafes lining the sidewalks, and the car horns echo in and around the buildings. Shop owners stand outside and greet you and smile warmly at you. You’ll find at least one bowl of cat food on every block as hundreds of “kediler” fill the streets and the parks. These are not your typical feral stray cats either, they are happy street cats who get love and attention from the good people of Istanbul.
We saw some lovely sights in old Istanbul, like the Hagia Sophia, Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace and the cistern – all so beautiful, each in their own way. Though the soreness of my stomach made it difficult to do as much walking as I’d have liked to, it was still so magical to be able to get out into the middle of this beautiful city and take in at least some of its history.
Now I was even more glad that I had gone
It makes me sad to think that some people will never visit the beautiful and idyllic city of Istanbul, and they’ll never see the rolling hills and gorgeous scenery of Turkey. But that sadness is slowly turning to frustration, because so many people will never make that trip, not because they can’t, but because they don’t want to. They’re scared.
Let me tell you something… terrorism doesn’t discriminate by country. Terrorism doesn’t happen in “this type of city” or “that type of state.” Terrorism doesn’t happen at a certain time of year and it doesn’t only occur at large, widely-attended events like sports games and concerts.
At the same time, terrorists don’t all dress alike and they come in all shapes, sizes and colors. They identify with a wide array of religions, political parties and/or militant groups. Sometimes they don’t identify with any group at all. They act alone and they act in groups. Sometimes they’re sick with a mental illness, other times they’re perfectly sane and healthy.
Here in the U.S. we’ve seen our fair share of horrifying and unspeakable acts of terrorism in all corners of our country and everywhere inbetween. They’ve been committed by terrorist groups from other countries and by mentally ill or purely evil U.S. citizens of all colors.
Just this past Sunday night, at least 59 people were killed and another 500-plus injured in our country’s largest mass shooting in modern history. It’s unfathomable. These concert goers were expecting nothing more than a fun evening of rocking out to country music… instead, they saw a completely different type of show.
Despite the sadness and grief, let me ask you this:
Why isn’t there a travel warning to the U.S.?
Should I never attend a sporting event or concert again? Should I constantly spin in circles surveying what’s going on around and above me? Maybe I could bring my binoculars with me everywhere I go so that I could see into all the windows of nearby buildings and possibly spot a gunman before he opens fire… would that work?
Seriously. This is awful and depressing and has most of us wondering what in the world our dear planet Earth and its people are coming to… but, as tough as it is to come to terms with, life must go on. We need to love and support one another, and put our prejudices aside for good… for the greater good. Easier said than done, right?
We are all in this together. Let’s start behaving that way. I feel like the events that transpired over the last week so perfectly serve as an example of why not to succumb to fear… I travel to Turkey, despite the U.S. Department of State explicitly warning me not to, I come back home and within one day the Las Vegas massacre happens. So where would I have been in greater danger? Istanbul or Las Vegas?
There is beauty all across the globe, and at the same time, there is evil. Of course there are countries and cities that are known to be more dangerous than others, that’s fine. But do yourself a favor, before completely writing off a potential travel destination, learn a little more about its people and its history, and if you must read about all of the awful things that have ever happened there, at least do some reading on the same type of awful things that have taken place right here on U.S. soil – you may be surprised.
Inspired to learn, love and give back
I have fallen so deeply in love with the city of Istanbul and the country of Turkey… I wouldn’t trade what happened to me for anything. I was supposed to be there exactly when I was. My appendix was supposed to start failing me at the very moment that it began to… because if it hadn’t, I would not have formed the special, magical, lifelong relationships and friendships that I did.
I have never met people more kind, selfless and welcoming than the people of Turkey. When I boarded my last Turkish Airlines flight with my husband, a big Boeing 777 headed to Chicago, I felt a sense of loss. I didn’t want to leave. And as soon as the wheels left the ground, I lost it.
I cried for so long and I cried so hard. I have never felt an attachment to a city and its people in the way I feel attached to Istanbul. I know that I will be back. I hope that it’s soon and I hope that it’s for more than just a vacation. Because I left more than just my appendix there, I left my heart there too.
I seriously feel like my hometown airport, and the place I like to call my second home, is recognized for something nearly every week.
Most recently, Airports Council International – North America (ACI-NA) recognized the Metropolitan Airports Commission (MAC) for its work on carbon emissions.
MAC recently developed a carbon management plan, which is the second step of the official carbon accreditation process. MSP achieved the first step in accreditation by mapping its carbon emissions in 2014 and 2015.
The Airport Carbon Accreditation program is aimed at reducing emissions at airports by encouraging efficient heating and lighting technologies, more eco-friendly vehicles like EVs and hybrids, and public transportation, among other tactics.
The plan MSP developed for the second step includes a carbon metric and reduction target (along with the necessary actions and projects to reach that target), and implementation plans to continually reduce emissions, year after year.
The entire process involves four steps, and thus far 27 North American airports have been recognized for attaining accreditation. MSP is one of six that upgraded to the next level of accreditation this year.
Minneapolis is all about going green… and I love it. Our public transportation options are endless, we have bountiful bike paths and a lot of hybrid or electric vehicles on our roads.
It just makes me so happy to know that as airplanes themselves are getting more eco-friendly… so are the hubs that receive and send off those big beautiful beasts.
We’re one step closer to a cleaner, greener world!