By Erika Hoffman
If we shall take the good we find, asking no questions, we shall have heaping measures.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
No matter how many TV images, Internet videos, or snapshots I view, a location never possesses authenticity until I'm there. So it was with Turkey. I had always pictured the place as a third world country with roaming camels.
I couldn't have been more wrong! It's thriving, bustling, and jam-packed with the entrepreneurial spirit. When we landed in Istanbul in the summer of 2009, I sought a shuttle to take us from the airport to the hotel. After I located the bus stand, I turned to see Byron talking to an Antonio Banderas lookalike, only Turkish. The young Turk wore a white shirt, black trousers, and a name tag designating something regarding tourism. Byron motioned me to return inside the terminal, but I had already exited and was on the other side of guarded doors that didn't allow reentry. To enter again would necessitate walking a long way round so I signaled him to join me outside. He obliged. My husband and his new acquaintance picked up the luggage and stepped out the door.
If we shall take the good we find, asking no questions, we shall have heaping measures.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
No matter how many TV images, Internet videos, or snapshots I view, a location never possesses authenticity until I'm there. So it was with Turkey. I had always pictured the place as a third world country with roaming camels.
I couldn't have been more wrong! It's thriving, bustling, and jam-packed with the entrepreneurial spirit. When we landed in Istanbul in the summer of 2009, I sought a shuttle to take us from the airport to the hotel. After I located the bus stand, I turned to see Byron talking to an Antonio Banderas lookalike, only Turkish. The young Turk wore a white shirt, black trousers, and a name tag designating something regarding tourism. Byron motioned me to return inside the terminal, but I had already exited and was on the other side of guarded doors that didn't allow reentry. To enter again would necessitate walking a long way round so I signaled him to join me outside. He obliged. My husband and his new acquaintance picked up the luggage and stepped out the door.
"This fellow can get us a shuttle to our hotel," Byron announced, pleased.
"But, I see the bus right over there." I pointed.
"No. No. You don't want that!" the young Turk said with a dismissive gesture at the shuttle that I now noticed was surrounded by protesters carrying signs.
"Follow me," he said with a strong accent. This stranger led us into a stairway, down dark corridors, and into a deserted parking deck.
"A shuttle comes here?" I said. My voice dripped with skepticism.
"Yes, madam. Here."
"You mean a taxi?" I asked cautiously.
"No. No. My friend." Before I could interrogate him further, a white subcompact whipped up and another attractive Turk in pressed white shirt and black pants hopped out and popped his trunk. With no fanfare, he began throwing our suitcases in. "Get in," our new companion advised.
We hunched over and squeezed into the back. Our escort jumped in, next to the driver. They spoke limited English. I wasn't sure how much they understood so I felt unable to communicate my concerns to my husband. My mind raced: We are now hostages in a car driven by two foreigners in a nation where we know no one and not a word of the language.
I stared at my husband who was grinning about his good luck finding us transportation. I elbowed him and mouthed, "Is this safe?"
He nodded yes. And, he began asking the fellows questions. They pointed out the fishermen on the bridge. Byron inquired about the kind of fish they were catching while I busily memorized the route and desperately tried to recall kickboxing moves. Then, I punched hubby in the side again and lip-synched: "Are we being abducted?"
He leaned over and whispered, "They are respectable young men -- entrepreneurs."
I rolled my eyes.
Defeated, I slumped back, resigned to my fate, and tried to picture myself in a burka. The young men asked if we'd like to drive past the Blue Mosque. "Sure!" bellowed my protector, who seemed to be enjoying this sightseeing escapade, while I was secretly formulating my escape plan. We stopped the car near an alley. Wide-eyed, I stared at my husband.
"Would you like to go inside the mosque?" our self-appointed guide asked.
My husband turned to me. "How 'bout it?"
"No! Just want to go to the hotel!"
They started the car, and the driver asked if we'd mind if we drove to his pal's house first. His pal would then drive us the rest of the way in his car. I looked over with narrow slits for eyes at my husband.
"Are you comfortable with that?" the driver asked us.
"Sure," said my husband sealing our fate as fish bait at the bottom of the Bosporus.
As we were stuck in traffic, I commented on how some women dressed in black burkas and how awfully warm they must be on a day like this. "Fanatics!" our friend in the passenger seat exclaimed, disgusted. I relaxed.
They rode along the river and showed us where our cruise ship would be stationed the next day. At some point, the driver must have changed his mind because he drove us directly to the front door of our hotel and gave us his card and said he'd love to chauffeur us around tomorrow if we had time. I bit my lip. My husband paid them the agreed fare and gave them each a healthy tip. They acted happy and thanked us profusely.
"I would never have gotten into a car with strangers like that," I said after their departure.
"They were professionals. I saw their nametags. Nice boys trying to make an extra buck," responded my husband.
I've travelled ten times more than my husband and should be more comfortable in the presence of exotic tongues than he, but he correctly sized up the Turks as young men trying to earn a little cash at the end of their workday by ferrying tourists to their hotel and giving them a taste of hospitality along the way. My husband wasn't suspicious, mistrusting, or guarded. He welcomed the helping hand.
Turks, I found in our few days in Istanbul, Kusadasi, and Bodrum, will go out of their way to be cordial. They'll offer you Turkish coffee or ouzo on the house; they'll take you on a walking tour of the Blue Mosque just in the hope you'll stop by their carpet shop afterward; they'll negotiate with you on prices and throw in an extra embroidered towel if you've bought other wares. They are welcoming. They are polite. The men don't gawk at women or make lewd remarks. They are persistent businessmen, but they are not too pushy.
Because Turks long ago conquered Greek civilization, I think I always harbored resentment toward them. Since I was a schoolgirl, I've been enamored with the glory of Ancient Greece. But, seeing modern day Istanbul with its clean streets, friendly folks, and fabulous vistas and parks, I now reassess what I used to believe. I am filled with wonder. I wish I'd studied more about Turkey when younger. Yet, learning is a lifelong process and with so much media at my modern fingertips there's no excuse for not redressing prior gaps in my education. Tonight I'll watch Gallipoli.
For a better world, we need to trust a little more, assess people individually, and when given a chance, travel far and wide while always keeping an open mind. Those entrepreneurs taught me something. And so did my husband! Think positive and give people the benefit of the doubt.
"But, I see the bus right over there." I pointed.
"No. No. You don't want that!" the young Turk said with a dismissive gesture at the shuttle that I now noticed was surrounded by protesters carrying signs.
"Follow me," he said with a strong accent. This stranger led us into a stairway, down dark corridors, and into a deserted parking deck.
"A shuttle comes here?" I said. My voice dripped with skepticism.
"Yes, madam. Here."
"You mean a taxi?" I asked cautiously.
"No. No. My friend." Before I could interrogate him further, a white subcompact whipped up and another attractive Turk in pressed white shirt and black pants hopped out and popped his trunk. With no fanfare, he began throwing our suitcases in. "Get in," our new companion advised.
We hunched over and squeezed into the back. Our escort jumped in, next to the driver. They spoke limited English. I wasn't sure how much they understood so I felt unable to communicate my concerns to my husband. My mind raced: We are now hostages in a car driven by two foreigners in a nation where we know no one and not a word of the language.
I stared at my husband who was grinning about his good luck finding us transportation. I elbowed him and mouthed, "Is this safe?"
He nodded yes. And, he began asking the fellows questions. They pointed out the fishermen on the bridge. Byron inquired about the kind of fish they were catching while I busily memorized the route and desperately tried to recall kickboxing moves. Then, I punched hubby in the side again and lip-synched: "Are we being abducted?"
He leaned over and whispered, "They are respectable young men -- entrepreneurs."
I rolled my eyes.
Defeated, I slumped back, resigned to my fate, and tried to picture myself in a burka. The young men asked if we'd like to drive past the Blue Mosque. "Sure!" bellowed my protector, who seemed to be enjoying this sightseeing escapade, while I was secretly formulating my escape plan. We stopped the car near an alley. Wide-eyed, I stared at my husband.
"Would you like to go inside the mosque?" our self-appointed guide asked.
My husband turned to me. "How 'bout it?"
"No! Just want to go to the hotel!"
They started the car, and the driver asked if we'd mind if we drove to his pal's house first. His pal would then drive us the rest of the way in his car. I looked over with narrow slits for eyes at my husband.
"Are you comfortable with that?" the driver asked us.
"Sure," said my husband sealing our fate as fish bait at the bottom of the Bosporus.
As we were stuck in traffic, I commented on how some women dressed in black burkas and how awfully warm they must be on a day like this. "Fanatics!" our friend in the passenger seat exclaimed, disgusted. I relaxed.
They rode along the river and showed us where our cruise ship would be stationed the next day. At some point, the driver must have changed his mind because he drove us directly to the front door of our hotel and gave us his card and said he'd love to chauffeur us around tomorrow if we had time. I bit my lip. My husband paid them the agreed fare and gave them each a healthy tip. They acted happy and thanked us profusely.
"I would never have gotten into a car with strangers like that," I said after their departure.
"They were professionals. I saw their nametags. Nice boys trying to make an extra buck," responded my husband.
I've travelled ten times more than my husband and should be more comfortable in the presence of exotic tongues than he, but he correctly sized up the Turks as young men trying to earn a little cash at the end of their workday by ferrying tourists to their hotel and giving them a taste of hospitality along the way. My husband wasn't suspicious, mistrusting, or guarded. He welcomed the helping hand.
Turks, I found in our few days in Istanbul, Kusadasi, and Bodrum, will go out of their way to be cordial. They'll offer you Turkish coffee or ouzo on the house; they'll take you on a walking tour of the Blue Mosque just in the hope you'll stop by their carpet shop afterward; they'll negotiate with you on prices and throw in an extra embroidered towel if you've bought other wares. They are welcoming. They are polite. The men don't gawk at women or make lewd remarks. They are persistent businessmen, but they are not too pushy.
Because Turks long ago conquered Greek civilization, I think I always harbored resentment toward them. Since I was a schoolgirl, I've been enamored with the glory of Ancient Greece. But, seeing modern day Istanbul with its clean streets, friendly folks, and fabulous vistas and parks, I now reassess what I used to believe. I am filled with wonder. I wish I'd studied more about Turkey when younger. Yet, learning is a lifelong process and with so much media at my modern fingertips there's no excuse for not redressing prior gaps in my education. Tonight I'll watch Gallipoli.
For a better world, we need to trust a little more, assess people individually, and when given a chance, travel far and wide while always keeping an open mind. Those entrepreneurs taught me something. And so did my husband! Think positive and give people the benefit of the doubt.
http://www.chickensoup.com
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