tripping by John DAgostino

HOME AND BACK HOME AGAIN

Sunday the 4th of January 2004. Three days and 7 minutes ago I arrived back in Istanbul on KLM flight 466 from Amsterdam. I breezed through customs as usual. The only problem for the customs officer was finding an empty place to put the entry stamp. I love that sound; the pound of rubber on the ink pad and then again on my passport. Every Turkish customs officer does it the same way. The arm rises as if almost in a salute and the stamp comes down to collect the ink. Up it goes again with a bounce over then down to precisely hit the page in the desired location. I think that they must do this procedure with such a flurry to compensate for their meager one-finger typing skills. The airport was mostly empty except for our flight and the few poor souls who had to work New Years Eve. The Duty Free was open, but I had to wait while a technician changed the date on the cash registers and the saleswomen kissed on the cheeks, hugged, and wished each other good fortune in the coming year.

Ataturk Airport in Istanbul was easy, but getting back there from my trip was another story. I had traveled to America to spend my birthday with my twin brother and visit for the Christmas holidays. I arrived in New Jersey at 2:30 in the morning on December 3rd, which was about the same time I was born 47 years ago on that same day. I got off at the train station at Bradley Beach on the Jersey shore and went to the nearest payphone. It was bitter cold.

No answer on the phone. I had caught an earlier train. They weren't expecting me until 10 or 12. I used up all my quarters leaving messages on my brother's and his wife's voice mails. I only had a light back pack at this time. I decided to walk to Barry's Tavern, which was about 4 blocks away and across the street from my brother's restaurant. My brother Joe and his wife Marilyn were regulars there, often stopping for a few beers at night after a long day at their restaurant, Joey Gia's.

Unfortunately Barry's was closed. Fortunately enough though Jerry, one of the owners, was still there cleaning up and I banged on the front window. It took a while to get his attention because he had the new Johnny Cash release blaring on the CD player. He came to the door all concerned and said, "Joe, what's the matter, everything O.K.?" I explained that I was the wandering twin brother of Joe, John from Istanbul, not Joe. Jerry and I had met before on a previous visit, so I didn't have to show him identification to convince him that I was John and not Joe high on hallucinogenic drugs. Jerry was great. He gave me some quarters, handed me a bottle of Bud (my first birthday beer) and let me use the phone. I got in touch with Billy, Marilyn's son, who said they were all home and asleep. Jerry finished cleaning and gave me a ride to my brother's house in the adjacent town of Neptune, where Joe and I were both born along with our 4 other brothers and sisters. My brother lives in a section known as Ocean Grove on the beach, which used to be a religious community until the Supreme Court decided that the town was in violation of the separation of church and state rules. I'm told there is a large gay community there now. I banged on the side door of the old two-story house until I woke my brother and he came noisily down the stairs. Half asleep he opened the door. I went in and flopped down on the red paisley couch in the living room. He went back to bed.

My first week back consisted of consuming many pints of Guinness shout, shots of Cuervo Gold, and a wide range pork products; all of these being rare or prohibitively expensive in Istanbul. It snowed. During the sober moments of these days I visited my mom in the hospital, helped my brother with deliveries and such, shopped for bargains at Value City, went bowling, and made phone calls to friends and family to plan the BIG ROAD TRIP. My sister drove down from Franklin, Mass. near Boston with her son, husband, and our brother Tony. We ate out a lot. I gained 5 kilos while in the States.
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