Our last day in Istanbul was a Sunday, and so we made the trek to the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate. From the outside, the Church of St. George is small and unassuming, hardly noticeable outside its gates. Inside the church was packed with people moving around. There was no place to sit, but standing is just something you grow accustomed to after a year of Orthodox worship. As is learning to translate what I like to call “church Greek”; while there wasn’t a smidgen of English throughout the entire Liturgy I was still able to pick up pieces here and there. At the end of the service, Patriarch Bartholomew gave an address, and at that moment I really wished for a translator. Of course, I was exceedingly nervous when we filed forward to have a flower and cross pendant handed to us by the Patriarch, wondering if there was any possible way for me to mess up kissing his hand. I didn’t.