Every now and then I'm reminded of just how surreal and wonderful my overseas life is. Eric is currently in the States, so he tried to send flowers to my home for my birthday yesterday. For some reason, no flower site here would take his credit card, so he called his roommate Serder here to place the order himself. No luck - his card wouldn't work, either; apparently the Turkey network was down temporarily. Luckily, Serder has a friend who works somewhere near my apartment building, so the friend was dispatched to find flowers somewhere and deliver them to my building. Did I mention that street addresses aren't really used so much as "big apartment building next to Landmark X," which meant that the friend, apparently, could find neither flowers nor my building yesterday. So as I was getting ready for bed, Eric called to apologize for the fact that, despite a collective effort on three continents, no flowers could be obtained. As far as I was concerned, the story's awesomeness made the day - who cares if they actually arrived after such an amazing endeavor?
The flowers arrived this evening and are currently gracing my dining room table, hiding the ever-present Istanbul winter smell of coal. I am a happy hannah.
(I also brought home several boxes of birthday presents that arrived in today's mail, and almost every box contained salsa, among other delightful things. I am loved!)