In Istanbul, I started reading "Portrait of a Turkish Family" by Irfan Orga. It's a riches to rags story about a family in Istanbul during the first world war. I'm enjoying it and encourage any of you to check it out for some good stories of Istanbul as the Ottoman Empire was crumbling. One hundred years later, I got a very different look at a Turkish family. This family lives in Serik, just outside of Antalya on the southern coast. Bryn and I stayed with them for four days and just left them this morning. Allow me to introduce them.
Our official host was Ummit, a 23 year old computer teacher who just finished two years of university. He lives with his parents, as most single, young men do, in the same bedroom where he grew up. He speaks limited English but had a tremendous amount of patience with us. He was bashful around Bryn and seemed a very innocent, protected only child. We were his first couch surfers and he was eager to please. Ummit was our favorite member of the family.
His mother, Sabriye, had the looks of a one-time beautiful woman, but years of cigarette smoke, black tea and non-existent dental hygiene had knocked her down a notch. Her smile made my teeth hurt for her and gave me a great urge to floss. She smiled often, and it was often accompanied by a laugh that had been corrupted by cigarette smoke and sounded more like a hoarse cackle. Her family was from nearby Antalya. We had the pleasure of eating dinner at her mother's apartment about a five minute walk away. A photo of Sabriye's grandmother hung over the living-room door. A fat, severe looking woman wearing a frown and a white headscarf on a bright red background.
Mehmet was the father. He was Kurdish and had come to Serik to be with Sabriye. He has worked dozens of jobs over his life, mostly as bartenders in nightclubs and hotels all along the Turkish Mediterranean coast. He had most recently bought a 1985 Peugeot van, loaded it up full of cheap plastic stuff made in China and drove around to various bazaars in the region selling it. At the end of our stay, he insisted (with much force) that Bryn and I take something from his shop. Bryn took a pack of tissues, I took some purple earrings for Bryn. Mehmet was the kind of dad who would come up from behind you during a game of backgammon and tell you what moves you should make before you had time to count up the numbers on the dice. He had good intentions, but he smothered you with hospitality. We had to fight him on several occasions to go out on our own. He was a very protective dad with an out-going, playful personality that one needs to make money at the bazaar. His English was about as good as Ummit's, but he spoke with more confidence, so the family was under the impression that Mehmet should be the ambassador of the family.
Like I said, Ummit was our official host, but Mehmet pretty much set the agenda. He insisted that we go to the "beachpark" nearby and that Ummit accompany us, even though Ummit didn't want to swim. Bryn and I had a great time in the Mediterranean, but felt bad looking back at Ummit sitting on the beach, fully clothed and bone dry. Despite the fact that Bryn and I wanted so badly to repay their hospitality and kindness by making them dinner Thursday night, Mehmet disrupted our plans and took us on a picnic instead. Then, afterwards, he dispatched Ummit and his cousin, Hussein, to accompany us to an opera (Carmen) in an old, Roman amphitheater in Aspendos. Bryn had bought these tickets months in advance and this was the real reason why we were in Serik in the first place. (Aspendos is a Roman town and only exists as a tourist destination now. Serik is the nearest modern day settlement about 5 miles away.)
Ummit, despite his sympathetic and sensitive nature, is definitely not the opera going type. But he acquiesced his father without the slightest protest. He got in for free through a family friend connection; the friend appeared to be some sort of custodian, as he locked up the old, open-air amphitheater just before he drove us all home.
Then, on Friday, as Bryn and I were leaving Serik, Mehmet asked us why we were going so early and if there was some sort of problem, even though we had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that we would leave Friday. He was almost aggressive in his incistence that we stay. Then, when we finally won that battle, we had to fight another one to convince him not to drive us to the bus stop - that we were perfectly capable of finding the bus station on our own. Ummit, of course, was sent with us to make sure we didn't get lost in tiny Serik.
As Bryn and I collapsed on the bus to Alanya after an hour of confusion, I wondered what was it that made Mehmet so tyrannically hospitable. I could never imagine contradicting a guest in my home and insisting that he or she see my town only as I would have them see it. We made it very obvious on several occasions that we appreciated their offers, but that we'd rather take care of this or that on our own, in our own way. I am fiercely independent when it comes to how I travel and I find that locals are often terrible sources for information on what to do in a place. Usually it's better to just set out on your own and many times I'll come back with something to teach my host.
Mehmet insisted that we do things his way. I never got the feeling that there was any mean-spirited intentions behind it, just a very deep-seeded, despotic approach to hospitality. I think Mehmet wanted to show that his family could provide for us. They were not poor, but obviously not rich. Providing for guests would show that they had excess. I can see how he wanted us to take things from his shop and value them since they were his livelihood. He wanted us to share in his pride of things. I think he also got a little excited and carried away at times. Serik does not receive many strangers as guests. I tell myself that his eagerness to share his life with us came out more aggressively than maybe he had intended.
All these experiences are teaching me how to be a guest. I've learned to have faith in my hosts and just go with the flow. Things usually work out and I'm staying with locals precisely because I want to see their lives and how they present it to me. I have to allow them to do that, even when their way of doing things are convoluted and unnecessary in my eyes.
On a parting note, Bryn and I have seen two musical performances in the past 24 hours. The first one was a production of the opera, Carmen, in a Roman amphitheater in Aspendos. The second was an impromptu practice session in Jam's apartment - Jam is our host in Alanya. He had just dropped Bryn and me off at his apartment when there was a knock at his door and seven musicians filed in and started playing. Both were magical and surreal in their own, distinctive ways.
Our official host was Ummit, a 23 year old computer teacher who just finished two years of university. He lives with his parents, as most single, young men do, in the same bedroom where he grew up. He speaks limited English but had a tremendous amount of patience with us. He was bashful around Bryn and seemed a very innocent, protected only child. We were his first couch surfers and he was eager to please. Ummit was our favorite member of the family.
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| Ummit and I waiting for dinner |
His mother, Sabriye, had the looks of a one-time beautiful woman, but years of cigarette smoke, black tea and non-existent dental hygiene had knocked her down a notch. Her smile made my teeth hurt for her and gave me a great urge to floss. She smiled often, and it was often accompanied by a laugh that had been corrupted by cigarette smoke and sounded more like a hoarse cackle. Her family was from nearby Antalya. We had the pleasure of eating dinner at her mother's apartment about a five minute walk away. A photo of Sabriye's grandmother hung over the living-room door. A fat, severe looking woman wearing a frown and a white headscarf on a bright red background.
 |
| Sabriye and Mehmet washing veggies in the river. We aren't sick yet! |
Mehmet was the father. He was Kurdish and had come to Serik to be with Sabriye. He has worked dozens of jobs over his life, mostly as bartenders in nightclubs and hotels all along the Turkish Mediterranean coast. He had most recently bought a 1985 Peugeot van, loaded it up full of cheap plastic stuff made in China and drove around to various bazaars in the region selling it. At the end of our stay, he insisted (with much force) that Bryn and I take something from his shop. Bryn took a pack of tissues, I took some purple earrings for Bryn. Mehmet was the kind of dad who would come up from behind you during a game of backgammon and tell you what moves you should make before you had time to count up the numbers on the dice. He had good intentions, but he smothered you with hospitality. We had to fight him on several occasions to go out on our own. He was a very protective dad with an out-going, playful personality that one needs to make money at the bazaar. His English was about as good as Ummit's, but he spoke with more confidence, so the family was under the impression that Mehmet should be the ambassador of the family.
Like I said, Ummit was our official host, but Mehmet pretty much set the agenda. He insisted that we go to the "beachpark" nearby and that Ummit accompany us, even though Ummit didn't want to swim. Bryn and I had a great time in the Mediterranean, but felt bad looking back at Ummit sitting on the beach, fully clothed and bone dry. Despite the fact that Bryn and I wanted so badly to repay their hospitality and kindness by making them dinner Thursday night, Mehmet disrupted our plans and took us on a picnic instead. Then, afterwards, he dispatched Ummit and his cousin, Hussein, to accompany us to an opera (Carmen) in an old, Roman amphitheater in Aspendos. Bryn had bought these tickets months in advance and this was the real reason why we were in Serik in the first place. (Aspendos is a Roman town and only exists as a tourist destination now. Serik is the nearest modern day settlement about 5 miles away.)
Ummit, despite his sympathetic and sensitive nature, is definitely not the opera going type. But he acquiesced his father without the slightest protest. He got in for free through a family friend connection; the friend appeared to be some sort of custodian, as he locked up the old, open-air amphitheater just before he drove us all home.
Then, on Friday, as Bryn and I were leaving Serik, Mehmet asked us why we were going so early and if there was some sort of problem, even though we had made it perfectly clear from the beginning that we would leave Friday. He was almost aggressive in his incistence that we stay. Then, when we finally won that battle, we had to fight another one to convince him not to drive us to the bus stop - that we were perfectly capable of finding the bus station on our own. Ummit, of course, was sent with us to make sure we didn't get lost in tiny Serik.
As Bryn and I collapsed on the bus to Alanya after an hour of confusion, I wondered what was it that made Mehmet so tyrannically hospitable. I could never imagine contradicting a guest in my home and insisting that he or she see my town only as I would have them see it. We made it very obvious on several occasions that we appreciated their offers, but that we'd rather take care of this or that on our own, in our own way. I am fiercely independent when it comes to how I travel and I find that locals are often terrible sources for information on what to do in a place. Usually it's better to just set out on your own and many times I'll come back with something to teach my host.
Mehmet insisted that we do things his way. I never got the feeling that there was any mean-spirited intentions behind it, just a very deep-seeded, despotic approach to hospitality. I think Mehmet wanted to show that his family could provide for us. They were not poor, but obviously not rich. Providing for guests would show that they had excess. I can see how he wanted us to take things from his shop and value them since they were his livelihood. He wanted us to share in his pride of things. I think he also got a little excited and carried away at times. Serik does not receive many strangers as guests. I tell myself that his eagerness to share his life with us came out more aggressively than maybe he had intended.
All these experiences are teaching me how to be a guest. I've learned to have faith in my hosts and just go with the flow. Things usually work out and I'm staying with locals precisely because I want to see their lives and how they present it to me. I have to allow them to do that, even when their way of doing things are convoluted and unnecessary in my eyes.
On a parting note, Bryn and I have seen two musical performances in the past 24 hours. The first one was a production of the opera, Carmen, in a Roman amphitheater in Aspendos. The second was an impromptu practice session in Jam's apartment - Jam is our host in Alanya. He had just dropped Bryn and me off at his apartment when there was a knock at his door and seven musicians filed in and started playing. Both were magical and surreal in their own, distinctive ways.
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| Amphitheater at Aspendos |
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| Jam Session in Alanya Apartment |
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