Tour-key

It often happens to me that after returning from a trip somewhere that I either think of buying a house in the place in question or moving there for good. It’s not, however, like I have the money to afford a property or are lacking in bonds back home. It’s probably just the fact that you’re on holiday and relaxed and no matter what happens, it can easily be sorted out and you picture yourself with a similar life to yours going to all these fancy restaurants and hotels, all the exhibitions and shopping, all the wine and exotic food, and you can’t help falling for it.

     Turkey has been no different from other destinations in this respect. It has proved to have delicious cuisine, amazing sights, great music-the so called “fasil”- and more than agreeable bars and cafés. But what has made a difference has been the people. I dare say the fact of not being fully “EUropeans” contributes to their drive and eagerness to do things and please visitors. I’m not saying you can’t find friendly people in places like London, Paris or Berlin. I’m just saying your chances are a lot lower. Politeness and friendliness are far from being the same thing. One is essentially passive whereas the other requires you to go out of your way.

      Unfortunately, in Istanbul there are too many things to see in two days to be able to focus on the people. We tried to see a few mosques, understand Muslim principles and possibly see a few of its palaces and museums and even going on a quick Bosphorus tour. We were moving south quickly wishing to see Cappadocia and its weird landscape.

Our first break was Cannakale which is a port in the north east of Turkey. There I found myself in a courtyard full of people, trees and small tables. It was a Han, a kind of old factory, or rather workshop which had miraculously been turned into an open air cinema. I met a guy who asked me to sit down next to him and explained everything while he was smoking from a big nargile-a water pipe with scented tobacco. Then I chose a beautiful fish in a delightful restaurant and ate it on the rooftop terrace. We went to the hammam too, which dated 1480 and was in heaven for about an hour. The guy on duty was old and thin. He was bald  and was constantly pouring water over his head to prevent his sweating. He first crouched next to me and scrubbed every inch of my body with soap and a glove. Then, he made me lie on a low pedestal and massaged skilfully my back, arms and legs. I slept like a baby that night.

      The next day we drove to Bergama. There’s not much the Germans didn’t take from here. I remembered a conversation I had with somebody after seeing the Pergamum museum in Berlin and how he claimed that, had it not been for the Germans (Or the Spanish, or the French, or the English…)all these treasures would have got lost forever.

It’s an imagination exercise that you have to do to think of the grandeur of the Acropolis and the Hospital and the Basilica. To me, the most interesting was my lonesome walk through the narrow streets of the souk. I was invited to tea on countless occasions. I spoke to lots of people and they asked me to take their photograph. Neither they spoke English nor did I do Turkish. Everyone was smiling and joking. For an instant I thought I was in the Truman’s show. I ended this walk sitting in a bar with two guys playing backgammon at hair-rising speed, sipping a cold EFES, the local beer and munching some dry fruits. I was offered other attentions on the upstairs floor by some ladies but politely refused. It turned out I had mistaken the place. We were trying to find a restaurant at a very late time when this lady appeared out of the blue and started to speak in French about her youth and her schooldays and so and she introduced us to her friends and even offered to make us dinner in her house. María was her name. We promised we would go another day. We knew not.

      Our next stage was to be Ephesus. We were meant to sleep in a boutique hotel on the hills of Kusadasi. To our annoyance the rooms we had booked were not available, and had hence to look for accommodation at a very unsocial hour. Miraculously we arrived at the centre of the city and found the most incredible Caravanserai-the massive premises made up of a courtyard of arcades around a fountain- where caravans of camels stopped over on their way of the silk route. The patio was filled with small tables and carpets. A few people were smoking or finishing their dinners and there was a dim greenish light. I fell in love with the place automatically. Unfortunately that was the only authentic place in a city which is a stopover now of all Mediterranean cruises and the place itself has been completely ruined. I even thought it was sad and boring that everyone spoke English. It was a salad of neon lights and tacky souvenirs. It was a very bland and tasteless dish. We ended the day in a Turku bar-a bar with live traditional Turkish music- far from the Irish pubs, tattoo parlours and thousands of souvenir shops. We wanted to stay but had to run away.

      Pamukkale is part of the UNESCO world heritage but I can’t say I liked it. It’s a hill next to a dead village which has one side covered in travertine-a white substance like calcium. The pictures we’d seen in brochures belong to the past. The pools that could be used now were definitely man- made and there were so many people and it was so hot that it reminded me of a ski slope in a sunny day. Besides there was a coach or two of stunning Russian girls in bikini posing for a photo from their boyfriends like the girls you see on TV, in contrast with some of the locals wearing a scarf , that made wonder what the right attitude in such a  place was. We had seen a photo of people peacefully swimming in a warm pool surrounded by Roman pillars and basements a bit further up but it turned out to be a bit of a funfair Hollywood style and just left.

       Again willing to hit the road we headed for Izmir. I’ve never seen a city with so few beautiful things in which I felt so at home. First I met Omar; he wanted me to take a picture of him and his friends. He was a bit of a half-wit. And then a lot more people who smiled when I fired one photo after another. We had dinner at this small kebab place and the girl was so excited that we were her customers that she dropped all the plates causing a tremendous roar. I felt so sad for her .I insisted on paying for the food and they accepted. And it’s just full of street vendors shouting their wares, and people who make orange juice for you on the spot for peanuts, and fish markets and craftsmen and girls who sell you colourful scarves and gypsies who will read your palm and tell you how happy you’re going to be and couples walking hand in hand by the seaside, and people who greet you without knowing you, and hammams and cafés. And among all this rubble and traffic lights and chaos I met champion Antic in his little antique shop. And he showed me all the medals and trophies he had won ages ago, when he was younger and the photos of the papers where he had appeared. And he gave me his business card. He sold old radios and instruments but most of all he wasted away his time. I wonder why we take a liking to some people or hate others. Why do we decide to ask something to somebody and not someone else?

The last day was spent in Istanbul walking again the same mosques and bazaars, and going up Istikal Cadessi and seeing all the modern Turkish youngsters and the conker sellers and the ice-cream vendors and the mussel stalls. And of course you’ve got a couple of McDonald and Starbucks and so on but among so many people you can’t even notice it after going out of a club at three o’clock in the morning.

      Still I have the feeling that despite reading a few novelists from Turkey, getting information from Guidebooks, podcasts and audio-guides. Despite perusing endless brochures and leaflets and even doing a course on Turkish wines and cooking, I have barely scratched the surface of a very complex country. It’s amazing we ended up forgetting about going to Cappadocia in the end!