Driving up the mountain on a foggy road – finally. We have waited quite a while for the shuttle to take off – they always do wait for that one final passenger that fills the bus. But now, our Bursa-Uludağ shuttle is on the road at full speed.
Here I am, in the second grade of primary school. This next week, I will be sharing a room with 12 girls my age, spending time with hundreds of children of different ages and skiing levels. And for the first time in my life, I am on my own, this is what I call freedom!
The excitement, curiosity and happiness leaves me breathless… Should I have bought my striped bed clothes instead of the heart-shaped ones? Should I be on the top bunk or the bottom bunk? How much longer do we have left before we arrive? Why is it so hot inside? My ears hurt because of the climbing. Mom, can I please take off my coat? When are we going to arrive?
This road is endless. Though it is only a 45 minute drive on the winding road through the pine trees that are halfway covered in fog, it feels like a lifetime to me.
Finally, we arrive. Here we are, at Uludağ Ski House. There are countless children, first graders to High School Seniors, from all around Türkiye who came to join this winter break camp for a week. When I think about it now, it literally looks like the first day of Hogwarts where the older children who know their way around immediately rush in to pick the best spot in the dorms, while the little ones look around in surprise, waiting for their mothers to take the lead.
Inside, there are endless stairs. The first floors accommodate the ski rooms where they store all the ski gear – feels cold and metallic.
When we reach the upper floor, we enter through another door and suddenly, it is extremely hot inside – Mom, can I take off my coat please? The chalet-style wooden interior and stairs give this cosy and peaceful feeling immediately upon entrance. Now, all I want is to run upstairs to my new dorm room. Let the winter break begin, long live freedom!
I spent one week at Uludağ Ski House every winter until my junior year in high school, with the exception of the year when I had an ear infection. Throughout my time there, I experienced taking care of myself and living in a shared-place with my friends. I had my first dance there, I have learnt to keep on moving even if it hurts – when I had to climb up with skis on my back, I played my first card games in the lounge after dinner, I heard that Barış Manço (a famous Turkish singer who had a huge fan base amongst children) passed from the TV in that very same lounge and cried together with the rest of the children. And while all this was happening, I learned not only to ski at a competitive level, but also to express myself, to have self-confidence, to communicate and to exist on my own. My favorite memory group that made me who I am today has always been the weeks spent in Uludağ Ski House…
Every year, I have eagerly waited for the time to come when we go to Uludağ via that foggy road through the pine trees.
The feeling was similar to the happiness of the first after-work beer on a Friday after an exhausting week or the gentle burn of the sun on your skin on the first warm day after a long winter. The peace of stepping out of the classroom after your last final exam, or leaving the office for the last time after telling HR that you got another offer.
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Years and different lives have passed since those winter breaks.
One day, while driving up a mountain on the other side of the world – exactly 11 time zones away – I gazed out the car window at the pine trees, lost in thought. And an indescribable peace filled my heart.
That feeling… Peace, joy, excitement, childhood, happiness…
Same pine trees, same fog, the city floating below us, the road slowly being painted white… It is as if we are going to my winter break camp at Uludağ, not Cypress Mountain. This time, I got my striped bed clothes since I’m grown up. And I am going to be much cooler this year with my new ski jacket and pants. Where will be the annual dance take place this year, which songs will they play at the closing party, is Uncle Muhittin still there, will he help us put on our ski boots – I am so used to his help, will they take us to eat sujuk sandwiches again, will they let us ski down the racers’ track, did we set off early enough to get the upper bunk bed by the window? Dad, we should have hit the road much earlier than this!
I turn my head to look at Orhan, driving with utmost care, his eyes fixed on the road. Half-pleased, half-nagging, he’s giving me a speech: “This car doesn’t have winter tires; what we’re doing is actually dangerous. That’s why rules exist, and it’s because people follow rules like these that I love Canada.”
This is our new home, Vancouver – a city with a unique way of unexpectedly carrying you back to your childhood, your youth, or fleeting moments from your life in Türkiye. A place so far away, yet achingly familiar, that speaks a different language but somehow understands you before you even speak. A city that takes your breath away with a glance of beauty just as you begin to grumble about the rain.
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The feelings that emerged as we drove through the pine trees on the way to Cypress Mountain led me to reflect on a detail I hadn’t noticed before about our journey in this new world.
No matter where we go on Earth, we always have the chance to find a corner that holds the echoes of our childhood. For me, it is the journey to the Uludağ of my heart while driving up another mountain; for someone else, it is the similarity of an apartment in the junction of Commercial and Venables to one in Ankara, or tasting Fatih from a beef skewer in a Chinese Restaurant on Kingsway.
At each new beginning, we find ourselves forming bonds with the details that feel familiar and draw our strength from them as we embark on writing our new story. Though the skies may shift and the trees may change, our memories remain ever with us – supporting us on our new journeys, holding our hands and carrying us toward our future.
When you look at it this way, distances, new beginnings, and the unknown no longer feel uneasy. One gathers the courage once again to embark on new adventures.
Long live freedom!
