Do I owe whatever success I have had in professional life to the unifying power and cultural relevancy of sport? Almost certainly, given that my essay for my college application covered my experience going to a football (soccer) game in Istanbul with my cousin when I was a child. And surely that essay was my golden ticket to a good university, which led to a good job, and onwards ad astra. My essay used a game, a tense 1-0 victory for Fenerbahce, the club team of my heart, over Trabzonspor in 1999, to discuss not only the joys of watching sport but also how my personality and worldview is the product of two cultures and traditions, American and Turkish, which has enriched my life to no end.

I have been to only two Fenerbahce games in my life as I usually visit Turkey during the off-season. The details of the games have started to fade and conflate with the passage of time but the experience, the emotion, the feelings I still remember well. The excitement of a large crowd, vibrating, excited, there for one purpose, to support a group of eleven people in contest against eleven others. The songs, both scripted and impromptu, roaring from the rafters, spliced by raucous and raw shouts of encouragement, gasps at near-misses, whistles of disdain at referees and opponents and any others that would dare stand in the way of triumph.

My team was always going to be Fenerbahce, despite my father rooting for Besiktas, one of the other great Istanbul clubs. Several of my cousins were – and to an extent still are though a bit more mellow now – near-fanatical supporters of the club and despite being born in a different country in a time before internet, when even phone calls across borders were difficult, I would inevitably fall under the gravity and the influence of their fandom. My box of keepsakes from my childhood include newspaper clippings of Fenerbahce victories and team mementos my cousins, all much older than me, sent by mail as I was growing up.

As it is for billions of people around the world, football is in my blood. While I only lightly follow Turkish football and Fenerbahce these days, and only so often watch football on the telly, I am still an avid fan, well-versed in players and trends across nations and continents. One of the biggest draws of the sport is how international it is, how a team could have players from a dozen different countries in its squad, how different nations embrace football in different ways, how the national playing style inevitable leads to anthropological discussions on how said style reflects the culture of the nation. Football is integrated into the quotidien nature of life in Turkey, as it is in so many countries. And so, despite being an American, my support of the Turkish national team was always inevitable as well.

The terminus of my trip out west was San Francisco, timed so that I could see Turkey play in the World Cup, a bucket list item if ever there was one. I had such anticipation and such hope for this game and this team, despite the disappointing loss in their first game. Spoiler alert: Turkey lost this game as well, crashing out of the tournament in ignominious circumstances, disappointing, especially given the expectations. But such is the world of sports. For every moment of joy is built on heaps of heartbreak and despair. As UVA’s former basketball coach aptly said, quoting from the Bible: “weeping may endure for the night but joy comes in the morning.” I consoled myself with watching highlights of Euro 2008, when my father and I jumped around in delirious joy after Turkey mounted an improbable comeback against the Czech Republic.

Despite the loss, it was an amazing experience. I sat by myself – a friend who also went was in a different section and the stadium was full, teeming to the brims, with Turkish fans so trying to co-locate was impossible – behind the goal designated as the Turkish supporters’ section. The atmosphere was electric, only momentarily deflated by a goal conceded far too early by a slow and tentative defense. The entire section watched the entire game standing, shouting, groaning and cursing at their players and the opponents and the referees in a uniquely Turkish way (football fandom, even more so than football playing style, distills and concentrates a nation’s ethos and personality perfectly). I ended the game hoarse and at one point near the end, after a near-miss, let loose a keening howl so despairing it likely woke up children in Santa Clara in a fright.

There is a dark side to sport fandom. Given that it is built on the shared purpose of a large group of people, the throngs of people who make up the singular and unpredictable entity of a crowd, it can turn angry and violent. A quick search of the shenanigans in Turkish club football over the past couple of years, with pitch invasions and attacks on referees, will reveal an ugliness to sport that has no place anywhere. Then there is the effort of plutocratic organizations to sanitize the match-going experience, to commoditize the passion of sports into a product, which leads to anodyne and ho-hum environments. This game, however, was the perfect throwback: an engaged, excited, vibrant group of people, always positive and passionate. Two people in my section were not Turkish (or Paraguayan) and after the game they were smiling ear-to-ear, amazed at what they had experienced, caught up in the emotion of the moment.

In total I spent two days in San Francisco, catching up with old friends and exploring the corners of the city I’d not seen before. I have mixed feelings on San Francisco. In many regards, it’s a lovely city, with diverse personalities and cultures and even microclimates across its different neighborhoods, its environment quite pretty as it abuts a bay to the east and the ocean to the west. In other ways that I find hard to explain, I’m not a fan. The tech-bro culture is not as obvious as one might think for a casual visitor given how significant the Silicon Valley world is to this city but still I have a feeling that San Francisco is a bit full of itself. It is an easy place to simultaneously like and dislike in equal measure.

And so this journey to the west comes to a close. Over 11 full days, 2000 miles of driving, 100 miles of walking and hiking, good times with good friends, experiencing both nature and urban life, several excellent meals, taking hundreds of photos and building memories that will last a lifetime, it was a great trip and a great start to my sabbatical. I am writing this final entry at home, back into a daily grind of sorts, though thankfully not of the corporate ilk, but still uplifted and grateful for the good fortune of living in this world.