For Sewran
Notes on travelling home for the people we love.
Last week, I went on one of the longest trips I’ve ever taken. No, I didn’t travel to Vietnam. I went somewhere far more familiar to me, my hometown. Regular readers of Inner Pages might already guess that, as someone who struggles with travelling, especially with flying, it wasn’t the easiest journey for me. And yet, in many ways, it was one of the easiest ones too. I do enjoy a contradiction like that.
Before I get into this contradiction, I should probably explain why my journey was so long. I’m not sure if you know this, but I’m currently in the process of moving to Valencia. A couple of months ago, I received a job offer and simply couldn’t turn it down, partly because it was my one and only option. So, when I started planning my trip back home, I assumed I would already be living and working in Valencia by then. Because of that, I organised everything around this imaginary version of my life in Valencia. I booked the cheapest flights possible, all of them non-refundable and impossible to change. Stupid me.
Well, the paperwork involved when you come from outside the EU takes ages, and as of today, I’m still not in Valencia. So, to begin my trip home, I first had to travel to Valencia just to start the journey. Great.
I woke up at 5:30 on Thursday morning. I left home at 6 and began my 30-minute walk to the train station. I actually do that quite a lot. I don’t really mind waking up early and having a little walk to the station. It’s calming, and I love the breeze. Probably everyone living on the way to Campo Grande hates me because I aggressively pull my luggage behind me, and Spanish pavements are not exactly the smoothest. So yes, I do make quite a bit of noise. Sorry, mi gente Valladolid!
I took my calm three-hour train to Valencia. Trains in Spain might be expensive, but they are definitely comfortable. I arrived in hell-hot Valencia at 10 am and then had to wait seven hours in the city. You might ask, “Then why did you take the earliest train?” Well, loves, that was the discounted ticket. I may have a job, but I’m still a budget queen.
Don’t even ask me about those seven boring hours under the sun. It was unbelievably hot, and as someone who hates warm weather, I suffered dramatically. Finally, I made it to the airport and waited for my flight.
♪♫♪ Ding dang dong ♬ˎˊ˗
TK-some-random-numbers flight to Istanbul has been delayed by three hours. We apologise for the inconvenience.
…
There are days when I’m a fan of Turkish Airlines, and then there are days when I absolutely hate them. That was definitely one of the hateful days.
So, I slept. Then I slept some more. Eventually, I boarded my three-hour flight, watched Zootropolis, and aggressively ate my chocolate mousse. Of course, I missed my connecting flight to Mersin.
It was 2 am when I arrived in Istanbul. They handed me a Burger King coupon and kindly asked me to sleep at the airport. So once again, I aggressively ate my chicken nuggets, drank my ayran, slept for a couple of hours, and took the first flight to Mersin.
I arrived, took a bus to the city centre, and finally reached my hometown at 9:30 in the morning.
For the wedding of my dearest friend, Sewran.
Sewran is Kurdish and, of course, her wedding was a Kurdish wedding. Which means the wedding day starts early. I was hugging my friend at 10 am sharp in the hairdresser.
I knew I was exhausted. I knew I looked awful and probably smelt terrible after all those hours of travelling. But the moment I saw my friend in her wedding dress, none of it mattered anymore.
Looking back now, I actually find that feeling a little strange because I know myself very well. I’m not the kind of person who enjoys weddings. To be honest, I’ve never really understood the logic behind them. Maybe it’s because I know I’ll probably never have one myself, and because I tend to reject the romanticism attached to them. But somehow, none of those thoughts existed that morning.
It was Sewran’s day, and all I wanted was for her to be the happiest person in the world.
Oh, how beautiful Sewran looked. I tried to hide it, but seeing this girl, someone I’ve known since we were twelve or thirteen years old, dancing around, smiling at people, kissing her lover, my dear friend Miloš… it made me unexpectedly emotional.
For a moment, it felt strange to realise how much time had passed. We were no longer teenagers trying to figure out who we were. Somehow, despite everything life had thrown at us, we were here, together, witnessing each other becoming adults.
I was simply glad to be there, to be part of Sewran’s family for a day and share something so special with her. I didn’t mind anything anymore. Honestly, I felt like I could have done another twenty-something hours of travelling just to be there.
After so much rakı, laughter, and dancing, the day sadly came to an end. I spent the whole next day with my mum and sister, eating a bit more local food and watching a horror film together, like we always do. Then, early the following morning, I left home once again to return to my other home.
During the whole journey back, I kept thinking about how beautiful it felt to witness the happiest day of someone from your inner circle, your best friend. Maybe that’s why, for the first time in a very long while, travelling didn’t feel unbearable to me. The delays, the airports, the uncomfortable seats, sleeping on random chairs, all of it somehow felt smaller afterwards.
Because sometimes a warm hug, loud laughter, and seeing someone you love genuinely happy makes every exhausting mile worth it.
Ali Baran Y.
P.S. On the way back home, I didn’t hate Turkish Airlines that much. On my first flight, they gave me an emergency exit seat for free, and that chicken sandwich was actually surprisingly tasty. Then, on the flight back to Valencia, they upgraded me to Business Class for free. So yes, I officially stopped being a hater and peacefully enjoyed my champagne while watching The Matrix.
Beatiful travel my friend.