I sweat and swelter in the 100-degree Mediterranean sunshine, with no air conditioning to come to the rescue. One fleeting hour of weak Internet signal a day entertains me and my four younger cousins. My only other companions are big, dark, hairy men smoking cigarettes and conservatively covered women sipping tea. This is how I have spent half my summers for the past 16 years.

I grew up in a Turkish-American household, in a culture much different from that of my peers from the Connecticut shoreline, the majority of whom are white and upper middle class. I am fluent in English, Turkish, and French, and instead of eating at fast-food chains, I opt for my mother’s huge home-cooked Turkish meals. Meats, olive oil, thick sauces, and spices make up the core of my diet. Every other year, my grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles visit my family here in Connecticut, and then we go to Turkey alternate summers.

I have spent many of these visits in Marmaris, a rural village on the coast of the Mediterranean. Over the years, Marmaris has become a center of tourism; it seems to be especially attractive to Nordic Europeans traveling en masse, who bounce from one cheap night club to the next. For native families like mine, this is a great source of annoyance.

My mom has been summering in Marmaris since she was a child, in order to take care of her grandparents and work in her grandfather’s restaurant, which still stands on the same street it did 40 years ago. My family can unanimously call Marmaris our memleketi (hometown).

Together, we break Ramadan with gourmet Turkish buffets in the middle of the night. We maintain traditions including removing our shoes when entering a house. If I don’t kiss an elder’s hand in greeting or serve my grandparents tea at the end of the night, I am scolded. We go sailing in the clear turquoise waters of the Mediterranean and endlessly argue over Turkish politics, with contributions from even the youngest in the family. We return to Marmaris not to vacation, but to rekindle the traditions of our large Turkish family.

Though my language fluency always returns within a few days of my arrival, I have never been able to rid myself of the culture shock I experience in Turkey. Compared to the United States, it is a relatively underdeveloped country. The bustling cities of Istanbul and Ankara can be compared to New York City, but the rest of the country tends to lag behind in technological advances.

The image of my six young cousins rushing to gather around the family iPad for an hour once a day continues to remind me of how fortunate I am to have grown up with two completely distinct cultures. When I walk into any social setting in my Connecticut hometown, I see children bent over their personal electronic devices, disengaged from the events surrounding them. Taking a break from the comparatively prosperous and egotistical culture of the “American dreamers” has given me a point of view on life that I would not have otherwise. I’m aware of societal differences around the world, which helps me open my mind to new ideas.