To the Sea
If you’d prefer to listen to this week’s newsletter, you can find The Fig podcast here.
Dear Friends,
Time keeps moving as we wait in the in-between. The Kyrgyz government finishes cutting down the poplars on Mira and closes the road to begin widening it. Our commute to work lengthens from 8 minutes to 20. Nora moans every time we get in the car.
The American government officially lays off all of our USAID colleagues with a “RIF”—a reduction in force. We’re angry. We’re grieving. We’re relieved that everyone gets to stay through the end of the school year. We’re confused, indignant, to feel feelings like relief.
The Office of Personnel Management sends a notice to other agencies, including the State Department, to develop plans for further RIFs and government downsizing. Agencies submit these plans in mid-March, but we don’t know what’s in them. They’re supposed to begin executing plans within 30 days, so we watch the clock for our own RIF notices.
The cherry blossom trees bloom. Having lived most of my life near either Macon, Georgia, or Washington, DC, Bishkek’s blossoms feel personal.
It’s alright, in these strange days, for this place to feel like home.
In the beginning, the deconstruction of USAID and talk of layoffs paralyzes us. There are no parameters or timelines, so no one is sleeping. Instead, we wake several times a night to check email, to see if there’s news.
I stop scheduling events at the Embassy. Everyone’s wandering around wide-eyed, speculating in corners, making contingency plans. No one can do anything.
But then, after a few weeks of this, we realize we can’t live in fight-or-flight. I start planning the Embassy spring picnic. I schedule a happy hour and a house party and a felting workshop. We start the next session of Music Together.
Months before the inauguration, Jake and I had booked an inexpensive cruise leaving out of Istanbul. Though we’re not sure if we’ll still have jobs in a few months, the trip is already paid for, so when spring break arrives, we go.
People have a lot of opinions about cruises. Too many crowds. Too much risk of norovirus. Too tacky. And to be fair, these are valid concerns.
There’s nothing more garish than a cruise ship. They’re bad for the environment. They’re also not my favorite mode of transportation because my equilibrium is delicate. While a cruise can be relaxing, I find I need literal stillness to feel truly myself.
But Jake loves them. They cut way down on the planes-trains-automobiles nature of traveling. You unpack once. Every day you wake up in a new city, and you get to go exploring. There is order to your day: you eat dinner at the same table with the same waiter every night. There are reliable snacks. There is entertainment.
And, after Nora’s scathing review of our India trip, we wanted to go on a vacation that was more appealing to her.
Like with most things in our capitalist hellscape, there’s a hierarchy of experiences one can have on the sea depending on how much money one drops on choice of cruise line.
Disney cruises have the rave-est reviews, as they have mastered nothing if not customer service. I have never been on a Disney cruise because they are one million dollars.
I understand Holland America and Norwegian are also lovely. But they’re also pricey and aimed more at retirees than the under-5 set.
Carnival is affordable, but populated with very beautiful 20-somethings enjoying their drink packages to the fullest. I am very tired and very incapable of drinking the amount of alcohol that would make the cost of the drink package worth it.
The happy medium, in my opinion, is Royal Caribbean. The service is fabulous. The food is great. But you’re also paying for what you’re getting, and there aren’t as many routes on this side of the planet.
MSC cruise lines it is. The service is okay. What you see on the printed program of activities might be what’s happening at the given time. Lots of machines and services on the boat are out of order, and the pool is only kind of heated. The food is basic. But it is a boat that, for a very low price, will take your entire family to Greece, Italy, and Turkiye, so, as our friends in the Gulf say, yallah bye. To the sea!
The ship we take for spring break is the MSC Sinfonia, which was once renovated by being chopped in half and expanded stretch-limo style. As a result, nothing on the boat makes sense. There are some elevators that visit all floors, and some that stop two decks below our cabin level. You have to walk through the dining room, which is often closed, to access the back half of the ship. Our cabin number is 1125, but is on deck 10, not 11.
On the first night of our cruise, Nora asks to be dropped off at the “Kids Zone” to do crafts and hang with People Who Are Not Us.
Jake and I cannot believe our good fortune. We cackle maniacally. We walk around the top deck and admire the Istanbul skyline. We speculate about what we will do with all of our free time, since she is surely going to want to ditch us tomorrow, too.
Dear friends, of course this does not happen. After ninety minutes of delight and solitude, we pick Nora up to go to dinner, and she informs us that under no circumstances will she be returning to the Kids Zone. No reason is given. I suspect she can tell we want her to go, and she is not having that.
Our cruise stops in Corfu, Greece; Bari, Italy; Izmir, Turkiye; Athens, Greece; and then returns to Istanbul.
Every day, we’re in a different country and a different time zone. Istanbul is only a few hours behind Bishkek, time-wise, but then we lose another hour going to Greece, and then we lose another hour, and then we gain an hour, and then lose, and then gain.
The earliest possible dinner seating on the MSC Sinfonia is 7PM. 7PM is also, coincidentally, when Nora usually goes to bed.
The first night of the cruise, she falls asleep at the dinner table and cries later when she realizes she’s missed dessert. By the last night of the cruise, she is bunny hopping around our cabin until well after 9 o’clock (no dessert left behind).
As our sometimes-accurate printed cruise program reminds us, though, it’s not the minutes that count, but the MOMENTS.
Before we left on this cruise, we wondered about what nationalities would be represented onboard. Our MSC cruise to the Norwegian fjords in 2019 had been populated by lots of elderly Spanish women enjoying topless sunbathing on the top deck. Our Royal Caribbean cruise around the Gulf in 2016 had been filled with Chinese tourists, some of whom cleared the dining room by singing political propaganda songs on Christmas Eve when they felt left out of the holiday talent show.
Spring Break 2025 is all about the Young Italian Dudebros.
Armies of Young Italian Dudebros. All of them have the same haircut. Close shave on the sides, floppy on the top. All of them wear black shorts or pants and black and white t-shirts. All of them stand in the middle of the hallway in whatever deck they are occupying, blocking the flow of traffic.
The Young Italian Dudebros are on the prowl. In contrast to their booming numbers (probably hundreds), there seem to be just three or four Young Italian Ladies who are on vacation, not to man-hunt in groups, but to spend time with their families.
Young Italian Dudebros corner the three ladies at every opportunity. On the pool deck. In the bar. In the elevator. At one point I witness an MSC staff member threatening to call security on some Dudebros for being too aggressive with their affections.
“You need to move on,” the staff member tells them.
While I enjoy marveling at Dudebro antics, Nora makes herself at home with the cruise ship’s amenities.
Cruising, she has decided, is much superior to visiting tourist sites in India and spending the day in the car. Did you know the pizza bar is open ALL DAY LONG? Did you know there is a gelato stand?
My friends, have you heard the good news about the HOT TUB?
Because the pool is too cold, we visit the hot tub several times. Nora makes friends with an old Italian gentleman who pretends to be a sea monster. She is so, so happy until I explain hot tub politics to her, namely, if there are people freezing their butts off waiting on the deck, and you’ve been monopolizing the tub for half an hour, it’s time to get out.
Nora would like me to be a little less considerate to other people.
Unlike previous cruise experiences, Jake and I decide not to book any shore excursions for spring break. Our India trip was programmed to the minute, and we would like to be able to attend a bit more to Nora’s whims.
So each day when we pull into port, we get off the boat and take a taxi to whatever old town or bazaar is available, and let the whim-ing begin.
Here are Nora’s whims: gelato. Donuts. Candy stores. Stores that just happen to have candy, but are not candy stores. Toys and trinkets of all shapes and sizes. In Bari, she chooses a unicorn cape costume, which she wears through our entire food tour of the Old City. She is not entirely certain about the meaning of the evil eye, but she would really, really like one.
She throws a full-on fit in Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar because I will not buy her a wooden recorder or a bird whistle.
“I know,” I tell her, “they are really cool. But my ears don’t like the sound they make.”
“I promise I will play it IN PRIVATE,” she whines.
I remind her about how she said the same thing about her harmonica.
Cats are also a whim, and in the Mediterranean, they are everywhere. We must stop and speak to each one “in cat language” and see if it is open to being patted. I remind Nora to give the grumpy cats space. I remind myself that Nora has not yet had her rabies vaccine because the Embassy just got them in. Fortunately, Nora’s whims also include many cats that are not real. She must stop and examine every cat tote bag, t-shirt, and toy. In Istanbul, she spots the ultra-tacky pillows made out of photorealistic images of cats, and insists we bring one home.
In between initiating my child into the magic of bazaar shopping, I use our visits to the more major cities to scope out felting supplies at the local wool shops.
In Athens, we find a few beautiful yarn stores all in a row. I have success buying raw wool at one store, but at another, the shopkeeper turns his nose up at us.
“This is only a knitting store,” he says. “Needle felting—it is raping the wool.”
Oooookay then.
Not everyone is hostile. In Corfu, Nora needs a bathroom at an inopportune moment, so we barge into the first café we see and ask them to take pity on the small, cute child. After Nora visits the facilities, we stay for a glass of wine, and Nora makes friends with the barista’s daughter. She has balloons, as it’s the café owner’s birthday, and she and Nora play together in the alley by the café for an hour. The kids don’t speak the same language (Nora mostly just meows at the girl), but they have a great time.
In Athens, we make friends with a couple of Dutch guys who are eating beside us on the patio. One tells me all about the leather jacket he bought in the market for a steal.
“We love to brag when we get a good price,” he tells me. “The rest of Europe thinks we’re so tacky. We’re kind of known for it.”
“This is the same for Americans! If someone compliments you on your outfit, the first thing you say is, thanks, it was on sale!”
“EXACTLY!” he says.
At this same lunch, Jake and I notice a group of Americans sit at a table nearby. The dad looks like Larry the Cable Guy, and is wearing a camouflage hat proclaiming his support of the 2nd amendment. After sitting for a few minutes, we see him talk to the waitress and ask for directions to another restaurant. The waitress leads them away down the street.
Jake is appalled, as well as embarrassed on behalf of our country. When he says something to the waitress about it, she assures us that they were only being a little rude—they wanted, instead, to go to the restaurant’s other location.
“I love Americans,” she says. “They’re so friendly!”
Then she brings us free shots of ouzo.
This, I think, is the best of travel. The people you meet. The surprising connections and differences. The shared delight. These experiences, despite current situations with Greenland and Gaza and Ukraine and Mexico and Canada, can still exist. On an individual level, people are still people.
After we get off the cruise in Istanbul, we check into an AirBnb for a few days of exploring the city. On the first night, Jake gets food poisoning from the restaurant downstairs, which takes him out for 36 hours.
Before and after his recovery, we do manage to visit the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, but mostly I spend the days wrangling Nora so Jake can rest.
Tourists get lots of attention in Istanbul anyway, but with Nora, Queen of No-OP-SEC, we are in the spotlight.
“Where are you from?” every shopkeeper wants to know.
“USA,” I say, quietly.
“But we don’t live THERE, we live in BISHKEK!” Nora shouts.
And though, to me, this is code for “My dad works for the US government” (yikes), the shopkeepers are mostly just confused.
“Bishkek? Where is Bishkek? What is Bishkek?” they ask. Even in Istanbul, which is closer to Bishkek than Denver is to DC, they have never heard of Kyrgyzstan.
We are a spectacle, but not necessarily a Fat, Stupid, American spectacle. We are a spectacle of strange expat energy, me trying to disappear, alongside my child who is cawing about hating everything in this country except Turkish delight.
Nora especially hates cab drivers. This is largely because Nora hates riding in cars, but when the drivers try to talk to us, she is extra offended.
Nora begins every cab drive with stating “This is the WORST CAB I’VE EVER BEEN IN.”
The cab driver who takes us to the airport wants to talk to her, and when she rebuffs him, he turns to Turkish politics, namely complaining about taxes.
“Everything with a tax! Water, 18% tax! You know what has no tax? Diamonds. What, we eat diamonds for breakfast now?”
We, of course, are also victims of unfair taxation when the cab driver scams us into paying an exorbitant rate for our ride.
Connection! Shared humanity!
Back home in Bishkek, we speak tentatively about future plans. Jake, high off his favorite mode of vacation, googles cruise itineraries to Korea. I enroll Nora for her school’s summer camp. We begin to prepare for Jake’s parents to visit at the end of April. It seems that even if we are let go in the RIF, like our USAID colleagues, we will be granted a few months to get Nora through kindergarten and pack out our house.
I try to stay present. To consider what might happen if nothing else happens. If we get to continue on in Kyrgyzstan, enjoying this place and our friends who remain for the intended length of our tour—until summer 2026. If so, we’ll bid on our next assignment in the fall. Nora will start first grade.
In my head, the future diverges into separate paths—the calm and the chaos. The path where our financial future is stable, and the path where we have to get scrappy. (Well, scrappier than usual. Moving to a country even the Turkish people haven’t heard of makes me feel scrappy enough.)
It feels financially irresponsible to distract ourselves from our worries by always taking to the sea, but I’m glad the timing worked out for us to take this trip, even if it ends up being our last vacation for some time.
Between moments of kid wrangling, exploring, and dodging Dudebros, I allowed myself to look out at the blue water and let all the paths in my head clear. The horizon didn’t move or diverge. There was no chaos. It just stretched, flat and endless, while the ship rocked below.
Stay out of trouble, stay in touch,
Dot
Follow Along on Instagram
DISCLAIMER: The views expressed in this newsletter are my own, and do not necessarily reflect those of the US Department of State or the US Government.
I remember the Dudebros from my trip to Italy in 2014: different haircut, possibly different outfit, exact same vibe.