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Today in my Intercultural Communications class, we had 20 seconds to come up with an alliteration to fit our first name in order to help the class remember each other. There was a Zoological Zack, a Mistaken Mike, and a Jazzy Jess. I managed to come up with Rockin’ Rachel. Why.

Speaking of Rockin’ Rachels, check out this redesign.

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After arriving in Connecticut, we took a walk down Main Street with the friend of Gökhan who we were staying with. Every house was colonial-style,spotlessly white and trimmed in black, with perfectly-trimmed foliage and at least one American flag displayed under a window or hanging from a flagpole in the front yard.

Upon reaching the end of the street, we realized we were hungry, and stopped at what happened to be a colonial-style Wendy’s. It gave a whole new meaning to “old-fashioned hamburgers.” Not only would my french fries be soaked in grease and chocolate frosty, but they would be dripping in history. I don’t think anyone could fully understand what that means to me.

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One unspeakably long subway ride, 1,857 pictures, and a good amount of airport tears later, the summer is coming to a close.

After the trip to the airport, where I said goodbye to Gökhan for the last time (and tried to be cool in doing so, to no avail), I sat pensively on the subway, drowning out the screeching and chatter of the train, and made a very incomplete mental list of everything that happened over the last three months. After 45 minutes, I opened my eyes, my makeup undoubtedly smeared, and looked around as if I’d just awakened from a three-month coma.

Thinking about it all, I wondered to myself, “What the hell just happened?”. In June, I looked forward to a good coaching job on the East Coast and returning to school at least two weeks early to prepare for my junior year. And here I am in New York, one of at least five cities I’ve been to over the course of the summer, having just said goodbye to a Turkish boy who I traveled with for no reason other than the experience. And I start school Monday. School. Monday. I would have given anything to board a plane last night. France. Italy. Turkey. Anywhere. I’m not ready for reality yet.

And the stories. I’m already forgetting the first memories of the summer. My Moleskine has a running list of words and moments that I hope will help me to remember exactly what happened on what day. A different day, a different memory, a different blog I need to catch up on. For now, I’ll just have to work backwards.

I still can’t believe I start school Monday.

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• Harvard is tiny.
• Strangers stop and talk to one another. A lot.
• The metro system is really old.
• The little cafés have better food than the expensive restaurants.
• It’s as interestingly historic as D.C., but it’s better all around.
• There are universities everywhere.
• It’s surprisingly quiet at night.
• Walking is the best form of transportation.
• The buildings are beautiful. There are tons of trees.

Shots from the city:

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I don’t think I’m ever going to want to leave Boston. It could help that the weather is perfect, and the streets are clean, and the buildings are beautiful. There are students with coffee parading around everywhere and I’m more than tempted to approach one, reach out my hand, and whisper, “Do you go to school here? Can I touch you?”

Our eight-hour car ride passed surprisingly quickly. I was extremely sad to leave the house in Ocean City. The morning we left, the girls who lived there woke up and taught me to cook this amazing Turkish breakfast. This was after they coerced me to rise from the couch the night before to teach me to dance properly, to Turkish music, which involved a lot of snapping and more hip movement than Shakira can account for. The boys looked on, laughing and clapping. It’s those kind of moments that make it necessary for me to travel. Forever.

I’ve developed so much patience from not being able to communicate entirely. At the house, everyone did their best to try to speak to me in English (with Gökhan attempting to translate what he could), apologizing often for wanting to talk to me more in-depth but being unable to. I responded by smiling, constantly, and incorporating several Turkish phrases which Gökhan has taught me into my speech, including “hello,” “oh my God,” and, “yes, thank you.”

That being said, it’s also true that the extent of my English while in the house was limited mostly to “hello,” “oh my God,” and, “yes, thank you.”

Also, their favorite conversation with me, which occured at least twice a day, especially upon meeting new people, and only when Gökhan left the room, went something like,

“Gökhan is 24, yes?”

“Yes.”

“He is boyfriend?”

“No. Only friend.”

“But you marry him?”

“No. He will go back to Turkey in a week.”

“So you come to Turkey?”

I wasn’t ever really sure how serious they were, but I laughed nonetheless.

Gökhan graciously drove the entire trip here. I often freak out when I’m driving through a new city and have no idea where I’m going. Luckily, he finds this hilarious and merely laughs when my voice gets higher and I begin moving around the car maniacally, trying to see out of every car window at once, a death grip on my MapQuest directions. I don’t know when I began to trust him so entirely, especially in unnerving traffic situations, but I’m lucky to have him with me.

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Gokhan and I decided that the first few days of our trip would be spent in Ocean City, serving as the vacation portion, during which time we wouldn’t drive or worry about anything. Our itinerary would consist of shopping, tanning, and sleeping until noon.

Right now, we’re staying in a giant yellow and blue house which sits on the main street across from the ocean. The house is being rented by no less than 14 Turkish students who Gokhan met on our last trip here. With hotels running no less than $150 a night here, I was ecstatic when they asked us to stay with them. Although it’s the first time I’ve ever been the complete minority in a situation (they all speak Turkish), I’ve never met more wonderfully amiable people. They gave up two of their beds for us and offer us everything all the time. Initially, I waited for the moment that I would see one of the gorgeous, dark-haired, dark-eyed girls roll their eyes at my all-American presence. They’ve been nothing but completely welcoming. They hardly ever stop smiling.

I asked Gokhan what I could do to thank them. He explained to me that in his country, visitors are an extremely important part of life, and that usually a “smiling face” is the best gift. I’m still somewhat amazed that they opened their home so graciously.

Being surrounded by another language all day, it almost feels as if I’m in another country. I’m momentarily surprised when I leave the house and hear English again. Often, when I’m walking with Gokhan, he’ll turn to me and begin speaking in Turkish and I’ll stare and we’ll both laugh. He’s said, “We’ve become so close that sometimes I forget that we don’t speak the same language.”

Tomorrow morning we leave for Boston.

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Recommended list of items:

• Travel to the beach and live completely out of the car for one full day. No hotels permitted.
• Have an all-inclusive summer fling.
• Waterski.
• Run at 4:00am from the woods to the beach. Preferable: Have 6+ athletic teenage boys ambush you with water balloons as you sleep to set up an excellent chase for a hard run.
• Lose time. Lose balance. Lose sleep.
• Drive for hours. Stay for hours. Come back late.
• Laugh until you can’t speak. Repeat.
• Scream in sheer happiness.
• Lose the cell phone.
• Smile. Stare. Talk all night.
• Wear the same three outfits for over five weeks. Dress up for dinner like it’s prom.
• Hold hands. With both sexes.
• Learn culture. Respect it. Incorporate.
• Begin life over. Look forward to doing it again.

This weekend:

Remember when I left my job early to travel with that Turkish boy? You know, the superhuman athlete who smiles when asked if the rumors are true, is he really in that video game, and wears Abercrombie and Fitch like it’s his job?

Yeah, that was right now.

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It was 6:00pm in Washington and I was panicked.

Two of my friends, Guy and John, were desperate to see the Declaration of Independence. I decided to go ahead with the rest of our group to stop by the Lincoln Memorial, promising that I would wait for the two of them there. We stopped at a museum and proceeded to walk to Lincoln.

After about 25 minutes of taking pictures, my group wanted to shop. I did not want to shop. I wanted to wait for Guy and John. I spent another 10 minutes convincing them to leave as I waited.

An hour later, they still hadn’t shown up.

Since it’s my job to worry, I got to work. What if they got here super early and I missed them? What if they’re somewhere in this massive crowd of people and we keep missing each other?

And what was worse…

They don’t have cell phones. What if I don’t find them for the rest of the night? What if I’m stuck at the hotel alone because I can’t get a hold of them?

And, of course, the question came to me: What did people do before cell phones? Well, for one, they probably made better plans.

I hopped a subway back to the hotel, turned on the TV, and crawled into bed, convinced that I somehow lost them for the night and would be spending it alone watching reruns and avoiding the nightlife of D.C.

The moment I closed my eyes, I heard the sweep of the key card outside of my door. Guy strolled in, sat on my bed, and shook me while yelling in his loud, British accent, “Get up Rachel! We’re going out!” John followed, apologizing for being late, they had been stuck in an extremely long line.

Instantly, I was happy. Not only because my friends had come back or because I wouldn’t be stuck in the hotel alone. I smiled because I knew, that no matter what circumstances could arise, people can really live without cell phones.

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Tomorrow I will attend my first Yankees game. It will probably be nice and hot. And extremely unexciting. Because it’s baseball.But what is the opposite of unexciting around here? The lightning storms.

At home, when lightning strikes, it is usually just ignored and accepted as a passing storm. No one bothers to give it any more attention beyond the first flash and goes about their business. We live with the lightning.

This, I hear, is how things used to be around here as well. However, last summer, in the middle of a practice, a storm quickly moved onto campus and the children sauntered to the cafeteria to avoid the rain. Around fifty children were walking across the lacrosse field, when a bolt of lightning struck a tree less than 20 yards away.

This wasn’t just any bolt. This lightning had places to go. Immediately after striking the tree, it moved into the earth, and came back up right under two younger boys who were moving especially quickly to the dining hall. They were instantly knocked from their feet, as well as the mass of kids surrounding them, creating a ripple effect of children across the field.

Fortunately, the boys were fine, but as with any chance occurence at a kids’ camp, the administration acted quickly and installed lightning alarms all over campus.

My first experience with the system happened earlier this summer as I was rock climbing. The sky began to grow dark and I shrugged it off. Suddenly, a loud, obnoxious siren rang through the sky and the two male counselors I was with began running about like the wall itself would explode. They looked at me, alarmed that I wasn’t acting as if the drops of rain would kill me instantly, and told me to run.

Since then, the alarm has sounded no less than once a week. Every time, choas ensues and the staff drops everything and runs, gathering children along the way and tossing them headfirst into buildings.

This past weekend, in Ocean City, as we slept on the beach, an advertising boat rode along shore and sounded an attention-grabbing siren which happened to be very similar to the familiar ring of death by lightning at camp. We sat straight up at the first tone, trapped in the routine of saving lives, and before gaining complete apprehension after being asleep for two hours, were briefly panicked by the amount of children on the beach that day that we would have to rescue.

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