We paddled our yellow raft down the cold Kern River, Ben, Aiden, Evan and I. The smooth strokes through the freezing water were relatively coordinated, and our path wasn’t a complete zig zag. Aiden and Evan sat in the back, steering. Ben and I sat in the front, supposedly moving us forward. We looked to the left, and saw Alex, Sara, Conor and Gabe paddling their raft gracefully along. Moving in a straight line. They looked over at us, and saw us struggling to move forward, and struggling even harder to not hit the banks of the river.
Ok, Ben, I said. Ben, you and I, we gotta keep moving, keep paddling. Aiden, Evan, you two just gotta get us to the middle of the river. Just get us there and we can have wiggle room. Just do it, please?
They agree, reluctantly, to do work. Before long, the four of us are cruising right along, making good time, with no potential crash areas in sight.
And then BOOM. We hit something, a rock I think. I couldn’t tell, I was disorientated. Up, down, up? I thought we were going the other way... And then I realized we were going down the river backwards, and heading straight into the rapids, unable to see ahead of us.
What do we do? Ben yelled in my ear.
I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know! I yelled back.
Paddle! Aiden screams desperately, so we paddle.
Aiden, Evan, turn us around! Do it do it do it! I screamed.
They paddled as hard and fast as they could, while we were tossed mercilessly around in our little boat. The water poured in over the sides, into our raft, and Ben nearly fell out as we hit a large rock, but I dove to the other side of our little bench and pulled him back to the relative safety of our boat.
Evan and Aiden finally turned us around, so instead of being pushed blindly through the water, we could see where our fates lay.
Paddle guys, paddle! Try to get around the rocks on the left, those look like they’d hurt, I ordered.
They paddled, I paddled, we paddled as a team. We missed the rocks on the left, and swerved out of the way of rocks looming on the right. All four of us were breathing sighs of relief until we hear Ben.
Oh shit! Oh shit Oh shit! We’re gonna die! No way we’re gonna make it!
And then we see it, a row of rocks, unavoidable, lined up in front of us. And then we’re all copying Ben’s words, and I’m pretty sure we all believed them.
Our puny yellow raft hit the rocks, we were all holding on to each other, grasping all the life we could find. We flip like a coin, over, and over through the air. It can’t have been more than five seconds, because soon we were underwater. We popped up, amazed.
Alive? Alive! Dude! We’re freaking alive! That was awesome! Dude! Let’s do it again! We rescue our boat, pull it ashore, and we truly are invincible.
~molly
Few places have ever effected me in such a way as Istanbul. It's been more than a year since I went, yet I still can't quite put my finger on what it was about that city that pulled me in. I'm not sure if it was noisy, cobblestone streets, maze like bazaars, or spices stacked so high that if they toppled, you would die smelling heaven. It could have been the stray cats that napped in the shade, or the big old dog that sat watching everyone in the park. Maybe it was the conjuncture of new and ancient, towering minarets and a mysterious underground Medusa head. It might have been all the families crowded into the park, breaking their Ramadan fasts, or street vendors selling roasted corn or the children eating cotton candy and shooting light up toys into the sky. Whatever it may have been, something about Istanbul drew me close, and made me feel as if I could live there my whole life. 
Perhaps the reason Istanbul had such an effect on me was the same reason I was so enthralled with India: I didn't know much about it. My knowledge of Istanbul before I went was this: it used to be called Constantinople, and before that it was Byzantium. And it had some pretty buildings. And that was it. I didn't know, for instance, that the streets were so winding and narrow in the part of town that we were staying in, that our cab driver wouldn't even know where we were going, even though we were staying next to the biggest landmark in the city. I didn't know that the fountain in Sultanahmet park lit up with different colors (at least during Ramadan) or that you could get almost any flavor of Turkish delight that you could think of. I certainly didn't know how much I would love ayasofya (Hagia Sofia). Being inside that building was the closest thing that I have ever had to a truly religious experience. The scale of it was beyond anything I could have dreamed of; it's sheer size left me in speechless wonder for more than a few 
Basilica Cistern was another place that, like ayasofya, had a great effect on me. It wasn't to the extent that I had felt from ayasofya, and maybe in a slightly different way, but Basilica Cistern was one of the weirdest and most interesting places that I've been. I can't really remember the history of it, or why it was built, but I can tell you this: it is one strange place. Underground, it is an enormous cavern with hundreds pillars and platforms that suspend you above the water it is filled with. It's dark and cool and damp and a little creepy. The platforms are slippery and it smells a bit (not too bad though). The pillars have dim lights on them and the entire time I was there, I was writing the climactic chase scene of a movie in my head. Maybe the strangest things of all in the Basilica Cistern were the Medusa column bases. No one is sure of their origin, or what they might have been used for previously. They stare at you menacingly, striking into you a fear that perhaps they will turn you to stone and you will be trapped underground forever. Fresh air was a relief when we resurfaced.
While the grandeur of places like Blue Mosque, ayasofya, or Topkapi Palace were surely a reason that I loved the city, what I think may have caused me to fall in love with it was not the architecture (amazing), but the atmosphere. As began to set, families spilled onto the streets and into the parks, toting picnic baskets and coolers. As they spread their things out and set up their meal, lights strung between the minarets of Blue Mosque flickered on, and the official band of the night set up on stage in Sultanahmet park. Leaning against a fence and eating a big, juicy slice of watermelon that I had bought from a street vendor, I was reminded vaguely of the 4th of July. Children were running around laughing and screaming, the aroma of wonderful, wonderful food filled the air and music played on. Wandering away from the park and on down the main roads, hosts beckoned you into their restaurants while cars and the occasional streetcar (tram/train/trolley?) whizzed by. Looping back around and walking up a quieter street, the shops were closed for the evening, and through the windows you could see people eating at higher end restaurants. There was almost no one on this quieter street, and at first I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. But the noise grew louder as we approached an outdoor restaurant down the block from our hotel. Floating gently through the Istanbul night was the theme for the Godfather, being played mournfully by the live entertainment for the night. As the song played on and I returned to my hotel, I thought to myself that perhaps one day I would return to Istanbul, but the tune was carrying me to Italy, and as sad as I was to leave, you can't complain if your next destination is Venice. 
