Other states, other lives, other souls

This year I read a terrific travel book by Tim Cope about his long trek on horseback following the route of Genghis Khan from Mongolia to Hungary (On the Trail of Genghis Khan: An Epic Journey Through the Land of the Nomads).  As much as possible Cope stayed out of cities and encountered what little is left of nomadic life on the steppes and beyond.  I was struck by his descriptions of the hospitality among nomads, no matter how rich or poor—sharing meals, resources, horses, lodging and conversation along his journey of eighteen months.

It reminded me of the hospitality I encountered when traveling in Turkey in October 2000, although Turkish people have been settled for centuries. We had volunteered for two assignments in Turkey with my new employer, the Center for Victims of Torture in Minneapolis. The first was to represent the Center showing international support for two staff members of the Izmir branch of a torture treatment/human rights organization who were on trial on trumped up charges. The second job was to help with a practice training session on “New Tactics in Human Rights” one week later in Istanbul.  In between we were free to travel the coast as tourists.

After landing in Istanbul, my husband and I met up at the airport with a young man working for the Istanbul branch of the same human rights organization.  We delivered to him a large box of human rights manuals we had brought from the US for the training session.  We were a little nervous carrying “contraband”, being unfamiliar with political conditions at the time, but there was no problem.  Next we boarded a domestic flight to Izmir on the coast of the Aegean Sea.  There we met the human rights staff, including the two on trial, a psychiatrist and an office coordinator.  (left to right: office coordinator, Turkish physician, author, Danish Torture Journal editor) 

We were immediately touched by how welcoming and personable the staff was to us and to the other international supporters from France, Denmark, Germany, and Spain. This, despite the stressful situation and the government’s current use of torture of prisoners jailed for political protests.

After the next day’s session of the trial and the press conference highlighting the international support, we said our good-byes and headed down the Aegean coast by bus.  Our second stop was the town of Pamukkale. It translates to Cotton Castle, due to the travertine pools formed by warm calcinated water dripping down the slopes overmillennia.  We had read in our Lonely Planet guidebook that the Greeks and Romans built the city Hieropolis above Pamukkale to enjoy the health benefits of the hot springs over 2000 years ago.  Legend has it that Mark Antony built a pool and nearby buildings for Cleopatra, but in the 7^thcentury an earthquake destroyed the adjoining building and toppled the columns into the pool. By the 1300s, after multiple quakes, the city was abandoned.  At some point the original thermal baths were replaced with artificial pools, but the toppled columns remained. To our dismay, the pools were closed to the public while we were visiting.

Here begins our story of the benefits of getting to know the locals and Turkish hospitality.  We stayed at a small typical owner-run pensione: one room, two twin beds, with breakfast included– $10 per night. In the morning we marveled to the owner-host at the perfectly balanced healthy breakfast—hardboiled egg, slab of feta on a cracker, tomato slice, olives, juice and lovely rich coffee. The owner was very friendly, English-speaking, and we chatted for a while.   After breakfast we walked barefooted up the travertine slope path, stopping to wade in the warm shallow pools. We walked around the ruins of Hieropolis and walked back down.

In the late afternoon we went to one of the larger rug shops near the pensione to haggle.   Rule number one in Turkey: Don’t buy anything unless you are prepared to bargain. My husband Phil was a hard bargainer, prepared to sip tea endlessly and walk away on any deal.  I was embarrassed and wanted the whole charade to stop.  Finally, after the owner appeared peeved but resigned, we settled on two rugs, one large and one small.  We got a good deal. Since we couldn’t carry them away, we gave the owner money to ship them home and went back to the pensione for dinner.  When we told our host whom we had bought rugs from, he looked sad and told us that he did not like that rug seller.  He shared that the seller had also started a disco in the summer which was very loud and bothered his guests. He promised to stop the disco by fall, but had reneged on the promise.  We shared in turn that we were disappointed not to be able to swim in Cleopatra’s Pool, since it was closed.  He brightened up and said he had a friend who was a guard up there who could probably get us in. He wanted to go himself, since he had not been there in many years.

We taxied up to the pool, met the friend, and changed into our suits.  It was dark but there was just enough light to see the old columns on the bottom of the large sinuous pools. We were the only ones there!  It was magical. As we soaked our host told us about his daughter, who he was worried about, having joined the military.  We told him about our family and why we were in Turkey.  It seemed surprisingly intimate.  Another example, of several, of the eagerness of Turkish shop and innkeepers to genuinely engage in a personal way with us tourists. We thanked him profusely for the special gift and the next day we were on our way to Rhodes via hydrofoil.

Two months later, back in Minneapolis near Christmas time, we had not received our rugs.  How stupid we had been to trust the rug dealer to take our money and send the rugs!  We should have taken the rugs to the shipper ourselves.  What to do?  While the name of the rug shop was forgotten, the pensione and kind host were not.  I composed a letter to him explaining our situation, reminding him of our wonderful experience at the Cleopatra Pool and his kindness to us.  We faxed the letter to his telephone number and crossed our fingers. Too our surprise, he faxed us back a quick response saying he would be happy to help us because he then would have some leverage with the rug seller to stop the disco madness on fear of bad publicity.  In less than two weeks we had our rugs.  The smaller one was not what we bought, but we liked it even better.