How I Almost Missed Showtime

In Turkey, I work with a few different talent managers. One evening, one of them called me to find out if I was free for a gig the following Friday at 11:00.

While I do speak Turkish, as most people who speak a foreign language will agree, talking on the phone in a foreign language can still be a challenge. Not to mention, this phone conversation took place while I was backstage at Cirque du Soleil. Needless to say, it was hectic and noisy back there. It is, after all, a circus.

Still, I think I understood about 80% of what the manager explained: that at 11:00 on Friday, I would be picked up from Mecidiyeköy by servis (shuttle bus) for a television appearance. I was to arrive no later than 11:30, but preferably by 11:00, just in case. I wouldn’t have to worry about anything–hair and makeup would be taken care of at the TV station, and payment would be transferred into my account within two weeks. Despite any communication difficulties, one thing was clear: This was a very important gig, and if I were late, the client would be furious.

I did, however, misunderstand one vital detail. I found this out the day of the gig when, while easing my way out of bed, the phone rang. It was the manager.

“Lara, is everything okay? Are you running late?”

“No, I’m fine. . . . What do you mean. . . ?”

Then it dawned on me–THIS WAS A DAYTIME GIG!

I was out of the house and in a taxi–albeit with my hair still in matted mess of frizzy tumbleweeds–in 5 minutes, and I made it to the meeting place just before 11:30. . . AM.

Below is my performance from that day.

Greece for the Day

Yesterday I hopped on a ferry from Bodrum. After a short nap, I woke up in Cos, one of the Greek islands. It’s only half an hour away from Turkey, but it feels very different. For starters, this was the first time I’d gone to a country without even knowing how to say “hello”, let alone, “Where is the bathroom?”, which to me, feels awkward and bit self-important. The only phrase I could remember in Greek is “Kataleveno ligo Ellinika“–“I speak a bit of Greek”–which is a lie, ’cause I don’t!

Secondly, the value of the euro is twice that of Turkish currency, so all of a sudden, I was broke, even though I’d bought nothing but lunch, a phrasebook, and a jar of honey.

I did learn “hello” (“yassou”) and “thank you” (“efharisto”) as the day progressed, and my wallet was saved from further damage when all the shopkeepers closed for business to take a two and a half hour lunch.

The Would-be Interpreter

At different times throughout my childhood, I wanted to be a dancer, a gymnast, an author, and a journalist.

As a freshman in college, I fell in love with learning Spanish.  Partly because my Spanish teacher was hilarious, and partly because I really had a knack for it and excelled in the class.  During this time, I was also working full-time as a preschool teacher, which I enjoyed.

I chose Spanish as my major, and subsequently took courses in Spanish grammar, reading, writing, conversation, and translation, and the history, literature and culture of Spain and Latin America.  For fun, I also studied Portuguese and a bit of French.  With the exception of one witch and one incompetent instructor, I loved all of my language professors, and I still can’t deny that in the witch’s class, I learned quite a bit about the preterite and subjunctive tenses.

My minor concentration at Howard University was elementary education, and I thought that I would become a teacher or start a language-focused preschool.  At one point, while studying simultaneous interpretation, I fantasized about becoming an interpreter for the United Nations.  Interpretation is fun, and working for the United Nations would be glamorous and make me rich.  I mentioned this aspiration to the witch once day when I ran into her in the corridor.  She smirked and told me it would never happen.  “Come back in five years,” she said, “and see if you’ve become an interpreter.”

By the time I’d finished school, I’d become a lover of languages and had learned that I quite liked to live abroad.  I’d spent a semester in Spain and a summer in Brazil, and my Spanish and Portuguese had become quite good.  I’d also returned to dance, and had been learning belly dance and taking Bollywood performance classes.  Upon graduation, I was torn between two job offers–a dance job on a cruise that traveled from Spain to Greece to Malta and back weekly, or a position as a pre-school teacher in Turkey.  I took the job in Turkey.  I rationalized that I could use my degree in education, learn a new language, and study dance all at once.

I lived in Istanbul for two years before moving on to Lisbon, then returning to the United States.  Now, back in Turkey, dancing full-time, and living with Brazilians, Turks, Georgians, Russians, and Mongolians, I often find myself facilitating communication between the Brazilians and the Turks.  I am interpreting every day.  It’s not the UN. . .  it’s better.