AU Wackerlin Center for Faith and Action

Love Writ Large: Turkey Travels
or
Reasons To Stay In Anatolia

We learned some time ago that the seat of emotion in the human body was not in fact the heart, but resided somewhere in the brain. Still today, though, we rely on the heart to signify love and tenderness. I’ve often wondered why. Surely there is something that forces us to hang on to the outdated notion of the heart as a “feeling” organ. Those with no poetry (in their hearts) wouldn’t understand, but there is something that stirs in the chest during moments of extreme emotional excitement, and it’s not the lungs. Whether the heart I refer to is the physical lump of muscle that pumps blood or the spiritual force behind love is beside the point here. This is not about Aristotelian anatomy. This is not about finding out the meaning of love. This is about what makes my chest stir.

In this case, the thing making me emotional is a landmass slightly smaller than Texas, located just to the east of Greece, which marks the entrance into the Black Sea and arguably, the Middle East and Far East. It’s called Turkey, and I recently spent 10 days exploring not only its great cities and monuments, but also its coastlines, mountains, plains, food and people. A little background is necessary, I believe.

There is a non-profit organization in Chicago called the Niagara Foundation. Their mission is broadening inter-religious and inter-cultural dialogue. For some time now, the Niagara Foundation and the Wackerlin Center for Faith and Action have had a happy relationship. We support their work and they support ours. One of the ways in which they strive to build bridges of understanding is by taking groups of community leaders and college students to Turkey, in an effort to show that it is a modern nation full of good people and beautiful sights. Niagara Foundation offered Aurora University the chance to put together a group for one such excursion, so we did.

I remember looking out the window of the plane as we crossed the Aegean Sea and thinking to myself that the cloud-ocean that rests out of sight in the sky seemed far too well to mirror what the old Church’s description of heaven was. How did they know? Lucky guess, I suppose. Whatever the case, the clouds soon gave way to coastline, then to a view of Istanbul in the afternoon. Yes, I was tense. Months of planning and hoping were paying off. Walking through Ataturk Airport with my compadres, I was just praying that everything went well at passport control, that our other traveling companions had made it safely, that our escorts were meeting us, and that I hadn’t forgotten anything vastly important back in Aurora. But I knew I’d be OK when I shared a laugh with the Turkish official stamping my passport. He had looked at the rapidly-growing line behind me and sighed. We soon met up with our guide and our other two companions who had arrived just before us. Our leader guy was one Hakan Berberoglu, the Assistant Director of Niagara Foundation. He’s a charming young man, and he knows a great deal about his country. He also brought along his parents, Cengizhan and Afet. For reference, and to understand how funny it was, the “C” in “Cengizhan” is pronounced like the “J” in “Jacques”. They were great folks, and figure prominently in my memories.

We took a bus through the city to our hotel. The whole landscape astounded me. Istanbul is the only city in the world situated on two continents. It needs all the space, too, as it is a city of 10,000,000 souls. It is also situated on a number of hills. Driving through it takes you across great swaths of the city on massive bridges and up and down giant hills covered in homes, palaces and mosques. We drove through the city in early twilight. It was a beautiful welcome for us.

By us I mean our Aurora University Turkey Trippers Group ’06. Hakan and his folks aside, we were Dr. Martin Forward, Executive Director of the Center for Faith and Action; Jason Lemberg, Advisement; Timothy Brauhn, 06-07 Wackerlin Fellow; and Alex Degurian, Steven Binns and Erin Kwiatkowski, all three of whom will be seniors this coming year. We were a small group to be sure, but I think we were the perfect size. My dear friends…Late that night, as Steve and I watched the street below the hotel, a mosque across the street turned on its loudspeakers to announce the azaan, or the call to prayer. This happens five times daily, and in Muslim nations, you really can’t avoid hearing it if you’re in a city. But this was the first time I had heard the azaan called out from a loudspeaker on a minaret. I realized at that point that I was seriously far from home, and that I was in fact in one of those Muslim nations. I couldn’t have been happier. The call to prayer had a mystical quality. I think I managed two hours of sleep that first night. I was feisty, and I knew that we had a big day ahead of us. And how.

Breakfast was a treat. I’ve learned to fear hotel breakfasts, but this thing was a buffet fit for a sultan. There were breads and breads and more breads and huge bowls full of fruit. Raw comb honey, too. I must have eaten a pound of it. Rose jelly, cheeses, coffee; it was almost too much. I had wanted to power-breakfast, but I ended up eating what felt like 4 plates’ worth. Yikes. We headed out to see the Hagia Sophia. It was always the first monument I’d mention when telling people about the trip. The Hagia Sophia is a Byzantine cathedral built in 537 CE under the supervision of Emperor Justinian I. It’s a massive building, and is one of the earliest Christian super-churches. After 1453, and the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople, the church was converted into a mosque. After the founding of the Turkish Republic, it was decided that the Hagia Sophia would act as a museum and more accurately reflect the new secular Turkey.

I liked it. It felt good to be inside something that old. Up until that, the only old church I had been in was Westminster Abbey, and the Church of the Holy Wisdom was an ancient building by the time that was built. The Hagia Sophia contains some of the old icons of Orthodox Christianity, fabulous mosaics of Christ as Lord of the cosmos and St. John the Baptist. Seeing the giant medallions with the names of Allah and Muhammad only added to the richness of the site’s history. In a way, it was almost overwhelming. It was hard to keep track of what was strictly Muslim and what was obviously Christian. A strange fusion, if I do say so myself. And the marble in that place seemed alive with color.

The Sultan Ahmed Mosque, or Blue Mosque (it is called so due to the mostly blue décor on the interior), sits across a small park and a fountain from the Hagia Sophia. Standing between the two and switching my gaze back and forth was a real experience. They are both unbelievably large things. The Blue Mosque is a real beauty. It, unlike the Church of the Holy Wisdom, is still used as a worship site, and we arrived just as afternoon prayers were finishing. The roof is supported by four massive pillars, jokingly referred to as “elephant’s legs.” Let me tell you, an elephant with legs like that is no joke. The central dome is surrounded by four half domes, which are surrounded by other smaller domes. The story goes that the Blue Mosque’s architect, the Master Sinan, had designed the building to look like a bride’s dress. Lights hang low, just above head level. The whole thing breathes magnificence.

After a lunch of köfte (Turkish meatballs) we headed through the Basilica Cistern, a massive underground water-retention facility. Then it was off to the Hippodrome to see an Egyptian column, Greek carvings, and a German fountain. Past the Hippodrome was the Grand Bazaar, one of the largest covered markets in the world. It has 4,000 shops! I actually looked into about 6 of them. The Bazaar is a giant labyrinth grouped into merchandise sections. Even with a map (and I’m good with maps) I might have had a problem navigating it; too much to see. Books, jewelry, carpets, spices, baubles, tea; the list goes on. I bought a big pot to make Turkish coffee in. It was nice, and the crazy man who sold it to me was very pleasant. He offered to ship it to my apartment back home. I declined, but it was good to know that he really, really wanted me to make a purchase. This was also the same man who taught me that I was absolutely no good at haggling.

Dinner that night was on the Bosporus. There was a wonderful little place on the water’s edge. Again, we arrived at sunset, and had some time to walk around before dinner. It was beautiful; the water, the rocks, the trees. People were taking slow strolls up and down the pier. It was very relaxing, and a nice way to top off a big day of sight-seeing. Hakan had told us that it would be a perfect place to see the city. I soon discovered that in Istanbul, your geographic location in relation to the city is like the Mona Lisa’s eyes: they follow you wherever you go. Istanbul is the same way in that wherever you are, you have a perfect view of the city. We retired to a small café on a hill for coffee and watched the city lights.

Day three in Istanbul saw us awake at 4 am. We were going to make early-morning prayers at the Eyup Sultan Mosque, a very important site. I remember sitting in the balcony at the mosque and seeing the clock strike 5 and wondering exactly what I was doing. No matter, though. The prayers were nice, and we ended up in a great crowd after the service. One of the Companions of the Prophet Muhammad is buried in the mosque, and as we were admiring the tomb, the worshippers exited and came to where we were to pay their respects. It was obvious that we weren’t Muslims, but they didn’t seem to mind. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder with us and prayed. Afterward, we had breakfast at a wonderful little mansion, then headed to a cemetery to have tea and coffee with a lovely university professor we had met at Eyup Sultan. He was a wonderful man, and he welcomed us into his home, fed us, and even convinced a group of his students to sing a song for us! It was very nice. A quick gondola ride to the top of Pierre Loti Hill afterwards afforded us a rich view of the city. Like I said, any view is a perfect view. The really interesting part is that every time you change position, your perfect view is completely different from the one before. Magic? Maybe…

Then it was off to Miniaturk, which is a small theme park featuring miniature replicas of Turkey’s famous sites. It was surreal, but the elementary school kids on field trips were happy to see us. “Alo!” they’d say. “Where are you from? Alo! Alo!” They were wonderful, and they loved talking to foreigners. Then it was off to the Topkapi Palace and Museum. The sultans used to rule from here, and we saw loads of artifacts and such from various dynasties. A quick run to the Military Museum allowed us to see a performance of Mehter, the oldest military band in the world. They could really kick it. Then we had dinner with a local family. This was the first meal of many like this. We’d drop into someone’s home and they would cook up a storm for us. These weren’t Hakan’s friends or family, they were simply some folks who had heard that there was a group from an American university coming over and that someone should show them a good time. So they did. Turks don’t believe in having “too much” to eat, and when you refuse another helping because your stomach is FULL, they look at you like you’re crazy. So we got stuffed, drank some tea, and then our host, who happens to be a major sock exporter in Turkey, gave us all some pairs of very nice socks, especially suited for warm weather. How cool is that? The Turkish expression is “renting someone’s tooth,” and this family rented our teeth and then gave us presents besides! It was wonderful, and we left their home that night with our heads buzzing. They were wonderful folks.

Now at this point, it should be worth pointing out that we all had different names. Dr. Forward was now Hojam, an honorific which means “old teacher.” I was Timur, named after the great Mongol conqueror. Steven was now Cowboy Steve. Jason, due to his flowing hair and sunglasses, was now Movie Star Jason. Alex had become the Turco-Persian version of his name and was Iskander. Erin had been named Aisha, which in a nation full of Muslims is a very special name indeed. She was the beloved wife of Muhammad, and when Erin was introduced as Aisha, smiles abounded. She was like a celebrity. Another curious byproduct of our trip was the fact that every time we ate with a family, Erin Kwiatkowski got adopted. I think at the end of the trip she had 5 new families. We’d be leaving a home (which always took at least 15 minutes) and the lady of the house would be hugging Erin (Aisha) and saying, “Goodbye my new, beautiful daughter!” I doubt our translator was taking liberties with the language.

That’s another thing. Hakan is a great translator, and his father knows a great deal of English. They translated for us. But I think that even without them, we could have gotten along just fine. There’s something about the language of a face or just a smile in Turkey that means so much. I had entire conversations with people who didn’t have any English at all. Hand motions, expressions and the occasional Turkish word made it easy. Cengizhan became my Turkish teacher, and by the time I got back, I’d say I had basic Turkish down. He was good. The Turks love hearing foreigners try to speak their language. I think it really tickles them. All you have to do is say a few words and their faces would light up. They loved it.

We took a flight down to Izmir (Smyrna) on the Aegean coast. We visited a school. It was introduced to us as the best high school in Turkey, actually. It was called Yamanlar High School, and we toured the whole thing with the principal and some other folks. Yamanlar was only the first of many schools that we visited that are associated with the Gulen Movement. This is a worldwide phenomenon of education built upon the writings and speeches of Fethullah Gulen, the nearest thing to a saint that we have nowadays. Mr. Gulen was one of the people that Pope John Paul II had special meetings with. Niagara Foundation is a staunch supporter of the Gulen Movement, too, and for good reason. Niagara rose out of Niagara Educational Services, which opened the Science Academy of Chicago. Gulen schools push science, math, computers and other tech fields in a large way, while at the same time trying to educate their students into adopting moderate, democratically-relevant expressions of Islam. In Turkey, a secular state, it is sometimes difficult to get the right message across. The Gulen schools have it. Yamanlar was fun, and the kids were good to us. We then drove into Izmir and had lunch at the Crowne Plaza Hotel with the Director of Tourism for the entire Aegean Sea Region in Turkey. He was pleasant, and naturally his wife, who already had a 21 year old daughter, made sure to adopt Aisha as her new child. He took us up to the roof of the hotel, where we could see the entire city and the harbor. It was breathtaking, and not just because we were 230 feet in the air. The countryside itself is unbelievable.

That countryside eventually gave way to ruins as we made our way to Ephesus. This wasn’t any fake Ephesus, either. It was the real Ephesus, and it was very, very old. In 100 CE, the city had between 400,000 and 500,000 people, making it one of the largest cities around at the time. It was fascinating. It just seems like so much rock. Your imagination must take over. The mind’s eye is forced to add roofs to columns and shopkeeper’s stalls to the marketplace. The Celsus Library, only an empty shell, becomes filled with scrolls and parchments as great minds from the past read for knowledge. The Ephesian Amphitheatre, which seats 25,000 people, changes from dull stone to a sea of color as the wealthy attend theatrical performances of Sophocles or Euripides. Carts roll down the dock road to be loaded onto ships headed for Greece or Egypt. Craftsmen carve beautiful caryatid columns out of imported marble. And back on the stage of the amphitheatre, St. Paul addresses the Ephesians and tells them of the Christ. That was a neat part of Ephesus. We stood where St. Paul did his speaking engagements. He was a great talker, and the Pauline letters attest to this. It was a small moment, but it was a moment nonetheless, and one that I won’t soon forget. Soon after that we ended up at the House of the Virgin Mary, and I was due for another brush with my soul. I didn’t put a great deal of stock in the notion that Mary had come all the way to a small home in Western Turkey to live out her last days. The site in Turkish is called Maryamana, which means “dear mother Mary.” The site isn’t just for Christians. Muslims, too, give homage to Mary, and she has a number of mentions in the Qur’an. So it was a long walk along the side of a mountain to the reconstructed home of Mary. As we entered, an elderly monk reminded us to be quiet. I shut up quickly. I was standing in front of a number of pictures of Mary, in a small home the size of my apartment’s living room. I realized that I was standing in some sort of sacred place. I said a prayer at that time. As a Roman Catholic who grew up with John Paul II, I had always had a special place in my heart for Mary. Standing close to where she had been was actually too much for me. As I stepped into the sunlight, my eyes full of water, Afet, Hakan’s mother, made me put on my white Turkey hat. She then said, “Senim hajji, Timur.” It took me a minute to realize that she was referring to me as a hajji because I had just made a pilgrimage to a holy site. The next few minutes are a blur. I remember heading to the bus in a sort of daze. Had I been stronger of spirit, I might have gone back to the shrine to confront myself. But I didn’t. That’s fine, though. It sort of makes me wonder what is going to happen when I finally visit Jerusalem. Needless to say, I was shook for the next few hours.

We finished by driving to Kusadasi, the hometown of Hakan and his family. Kusadasi is a port for cruise ships, as it provides the most direct route to Ephesus, but the beaches of Kusadasi aren’t crowded with tourists. We spent an afternoon on a smooth-stone beach just outside the city. We swam in the Aegean Sea. I collected rocks. It was beautiful. The water was clear as crystal, but it still kept that fanciful blue color that we like to call “turquoise.” Where do you think it got the name? We played proper football, which is known as soccer in the United States. I scored a goal. I also bruised a few muscles and succeeded in tearing my feet to bits. Sandals and soccer don’t mix.

That night, after we cleaned up and got the saltwater out of our hair, we took a stroll downtown and had dinner at this wonderful open-air restaurant. The bread at the beginning of the meal was four and a half feet long! It was good food, and afterwards I wandered over to a barber shop with Hakan for a quick shave and massage. For the equivalent of $1.94, I got a close shave, had the soft hairs burned off the edges of my ears, got my beard and sideburns trimmed, and had a relaxing face, back, neck, arm and hand massage. It was great. We went for a nice walk down the promenades of Kusadasi. Turkey has some kind of weather, too. Sometimes during the day it could get into the high 90’s and wasn’t all that comfortable. But at night…Oh, the nights were beautiful. I would have had no problem sleeping outside anywhere.

We drove to Denizli, a city famous for its fabrics. Denizli is also in Anatolia. We were away from any coasts now, and were heading further into Turkey. Denizli was great. We had lunch at Kuba, a place that served what could best be described as Turkish pizza. It was very good. We had sat down to eat with the owner and his two friends, but by the end of the meal there were eighteen people sitting with us. We had stuck 5 tables together. I don’t know who they were. They were nice, though. They might have known our people, they might not have. It’s ok. We stayed at a spa hotel at Colossae. It was posh. Very posh. One of those places that Europeans go to unwind. The hotel was a short distance away from the ruins of Hierapolis. Like Ephesus, Hierapolis is old as the hills, but whereas Ephesus at least looks like a town, this place was this giant area where I couldn’t get a view without at least some kind of old ruin thing jutting out of the ground. There was another fantastically preserved amphitheatre here as well. It was gigantic. Standing on the top row and looking out over the countryside, I could see other strange shapes. Were they temples? Houses? I don’t know, but it left me feeling very small. It would take a lifetime to see it all.

A few hundred meters away is Pamukkale, or “Cotton Castle” as it is called occasionally. It’s a giant natural calcium waterfall, hundreds of feet long, with beautiful turquoise water at the bottom in huge thermal pools. It’s a fabulous site, and it was full of thousands of people, all holding their shoes at their sides (it is illegal to wear shoes at Pamukkale for fear of damaging the rock) and either enjoying the rushing water at their feet or guiding children too small to be left alone. It was great. And the water was warm. We went back to the hotel to clean up before dinner.

Dinner was back in Denizli on the 5th floor of a huge apartment building. We piled into a modest little place and sat down at two huge tables placed end-to-end. There must have been 14 of us. A few of the people from Kuba earlier in the day had joined us, too. I think it’s high time to explain a little something that is vital to one’s understanding of Turkey and its people. The phrase “Turkish hospitality” is something of an understatement. Hospitality in the States usually means making someone feel comfortable. In Turkey, if you’re not comfortable, the host and hostess actually give you their home as a gift so you can find a nice spot. OK, it doesn’t go that far, but it does go close. The Turks we met would give you the shirt off their back. Shoes, too, if you needed them. Guests and visitors in Turkey are considered gifts from God, and should be treated accordingly. They spare no expense. It goes beyond simply renting a tooth and it becomes a gathering-in of souls. In that apartment, we didn’t really know anyone. We didn’t have to. It was like we had known them forever. Even with a language barrier, some things just always work. Dr. Forward was asked to pray for the meal. Again, acceptance. Martin is a Methodist minister, and we were in a room full of Muslims. I guess a prayer is a prayer is a prayer. He spoke, eloquently as usual, with Hakan translating. When it was done, I looked up to see a great many crying Turks. Our hostess managed a choked, “Thank you.” before leaving the room for more food.

But we quickly slid back into our habit of devouring twice our weight in food. This family had cooked some sort of fabulous potato and yogurt surprise with sun-dried peppers. I can’t describe it in English, but it was tasty, and we were served delicious Turkish soup twice! The meal was a wonder, and afterwards we retreated to the balcony. The weather was perfect again. It was a modest balcony, too, full of cushions and long pillows. There must have been thirteen of us out there. “Us” means men. The ladies had retreated into the kitchen, taking Erin-Aisha with them, to prepare the typical end of a Turkish meal: Türk kahvesi (Turkish coffee). It should be worthwhile to note that Turkish coffee has an actual mythology built around it. It takes a while to prepare successfully, and when you slurp it (which you have to do) it’s as if you’re tasting it for the first time, every time. Deep flavor, dark color, and a smell that seems to warn the brain of impending caffeine. Thick as paint, dark as hell, strong as love and hot as the sun; that is the way of true Turkish coffee. Boy, I love that stuff.

So as it was being cooked up in the kitchen, we chit-chatted about things: how the trip was going, what we had enjoyed so far, and what else we had planned. Everyone was smiling. I was trying to speak what Turkish I could. It brought chuckles from my new friends. The mountains, just past the edge of the city, were shrouded in the mists of early evening. I could have sat on that balcony forever. And I just might have, had Erin-Aisha not appeared at the door with a tray full of little cups of Turkish coffee. She set the tray down and handed out the steaming concoction. The other women were back in the dining room watching her with big smiles. It was a very touching moment, and it showed that she had once again been folded into a family. We slurped our coffee and went back inside to sit and talk more. We had a big discussion about education in Turkey, with special emphasis on the Gulen Movement schools, and how learning about the “other” was essential not only to being a capable individual, but also to being a capable human. Then we went around the room person-by-person to make remarks. So we did.

Cowboy Steve Binns told of how his life as a Baha’i had been spent with the hope of finding other people who shared a vision of loving, charitable goodness, and how he had found a great many of them in Turkey. The nice man who owned the Kuba Restaurant was so overjoyed at making new American friends that he had to go around the room and hug everyone. This provoked giggles all around, but we enjoyed it very much. We all spoke. It was difficult for some. Our gracious host especially, struggled with his speech. Emotion overtook him and he wept at the joy of having all these strangers (angel friends) in his home. His story involved answering his cell phone a few days earlier. It was a call to see if he would be able to host our group. As his phone started ringing, he was apparently having a hard time digging it out of his bag. Just as he thought it would stop ringing, he managed to get it in hand and answer it. He looked upon his answering it at the last moment as a gift from God in itself.

It was very hard not to get caught up in all the sharing (tearing up). And I tried, but hearing these perfect strangers brought to tears from the honor of having us eat their food and bless their home with our presence became for me a point of critical emotional mass. The events from the previous five days just seemed to meld together into those minutes. I realized there, sitting in that dining room in Denizli, that time in Turkey is not measured the same way as we do here in the United States. Time in Turkey is not counted minute to minute, it is counted emotion to emotion. I started tracking my time like this.

It was so damn hot in that apartment! I can’t tell if it was just the temperature of the air, or if we were radiating so much energy that we were heating the place up. It was surreal, and I would have loved to share some deeply poetic insights, but I didn’t trust myself to hold up. Everyone gave their thanks for each other. Our hostess cried as she thanked us for blessing her home. And I swear I saw Cengizhan wipe away something from his face, although I doubt he would admit to it. We came then to Erin. She couldn’t speak. That was hard. Again, this is difficult to explain. It’s one of those “you had to be there” things. I think the welcoming that she had been shown was definitely different from ours, as she had been appropriated by each family we met as a daughter. It was all achingly beautiful and achingly sad, as I knew that within days, I would be thousands of miles away from these wonderful people. I’ll correct this problem later in the story.

We had ice cream and cake to cool down. Kadir, the goofy kid who sat next to me, stole two bites of ice cream from my plate. I didn’t mind, though. He was a nice guy. Parting gifts were lovely embroidered towels. We left the apartment that night with heads buzzing, or I did, at least. I don’t presume to speak for us all, but walking down the stairs to the open air of the streets of Denizli, I couldn’t help but think that something had changed. I couldn’t put my finger on it. As we walked to our minibus, I turned to Erin-Aisha and said, “So we’ll just be ripping up our passports then?” She smiled and agreed.

The crowd from upstairs waved goodbye to us as we drove away; still all smiles. And inshallah (God willing), I will see them all again someday. Looking back and trying to remember their faces, all I can see is a slideshow of tears and smiles. I wouldn’t have it any other way. What did I learn at Denizli? I can’t say for sure, but I know that it had something to do with myself and with those around me. I guess I’ll call it a recharging of my faith in the goodness of man. Someday I’ll figure it out more completely. When we returned to the Spa Hotel, there was an extravagant wedding going on at the poolside. Afet decided we should dance along with the wedding guests, albeit on the other side of the pool. So we did. She tried her best to teach us Turkish traditional wedding dances, but the rhythms were very strange, and we all had to link arms and move in a circle. Keep in mind that we were navigating between both the regular pool and the hot tub. It was dangerous. We had more good times and good laughs because of it, and the actual wedding guests gave us kind smiles as they walked past. Soon it was time for bed. I slept quite well that night, considering the sort of psychic load the day had dumped upon us. But my pillow had a bit too much starch in it. I think it crunched when I rested my head.

The next day was a long, long drive to Konya, the city of Rumi. This was a highlight. We would be seeing his tomb, as well as the home of the Mevlevi order of the Whirling Dervishes, who I had had the pleasure of seeing in Chicago under the auspices of Niagara Foundation (naturally). We stopped at a great many gas stations on the way to Konya. At each one I got out and purchased candy. Some of it was quite strange (my first brush with flavorless chewing gum). At the last stop, we got out and had tea and crackers. Konya was nice. We went to see the Mausoleum of Mevlana Rumi. It is the old chapterhouse of the dervishes, and it holds the tomb of Rumi himself, as well as his father and a number of very famous early followers. The whole complex is a museum now, and it contains old artifacts as well as fascinating samples of Ottoman Qur’ans and other books. Rumi’s own masterpiece, the Masnavi, rests in a number of early editions in the Mausoleum/Museum. Seeing Rumi’s Tomb was special. I’m a great admirer of his work, and will continue to be so for quite some time, I feel. Even though he wrote his stuff 700 years ago, it’s just as valid now as it was then, and just as potently and patently beautiful. Dr. Forward Hojam also is a great admirer of Rumi, and I know that seeing Konya was a special treat for him. The whole thing was very fun. Konya is one of Hakan’s favorite places to visit in Turkey, and Cengizhan, who actually got his degree from Seljuk University in Konya, hadn’t seen the city in a quarter of a century. It was all very nice. We saw some of Rumi’s robes, and a few very exquisite carpets. There was even a miniature Qur’an. And I mean miniature. This thing was an inch on each side. Fascinating little artifact.

On the walk back to the hotel, we stopped in at the tomb of Shams Tabrizi, who was Rumi’s spiritual teacher and great friend. Outside, I tried purchasing a scarf for my mother. It was nice and pink, and it had little flowers on it. The man offered it to me for 9 lira, which I found to be an entirely reasonable price. Afet did not agree. I stood dumbfounded as she haggled with the shopkeeper for a good five minutes. What little I could understand involved her comparing its inferior fabric with a “true” scarf, such as the one that she had around her shoulders. I also heard her say that it was bad to take advantage of visitors. It was to no avail, though, and I purchased the scarf for full price. Afet calmed down after that. I found this all very funny.

Dinner that night was with one Dr. Hussein, one of Konya’s top cardiologists. His home was a nice little number on the edge of town. It was big. Huge furniture pieces on the inside made me feel a little small, but everything was done modestly. It was strange. The home was lovely, but it wasn’t obviously extravagant. You had to look very closely to see its worth. Dr. Hussein and his wife drove their cars to our hotel to pick us up. Valet service; awesome. We sat in his home and spoke with the family. Their 8 year old son Abdullah joined us. He was a funny little kid. He also seemed to love the Miami Heat, and informed us that Shaquille O’Neal and Dwyane Wade were the reason that Detroit had lost. It was good to see that Shaq made the great leap across the ocean to Turkey. The good doctor had studied in Pakistan, and both he and his wife knew Urdu, Pakistan’s national language. Dr. Forward, by dint of his time in South Asia, also knows the language. The three of them had a few moments of chit-chat wherein the rest of us were totally lost. It was nice, though. We retired to the front deck to eat. Dinner was awesome again, and of course the weather couldn’t have been any better. As we were chowing down on some absolutely unbelievable soup, the azaan for late prayers started up. But whereas in Istanbul I could only hear one mosque at a time, Konya’s loudspeakers were all linked together, and the same song came from each minaret in the city. I could hear them overlapping. From our location, we got the sound from a number of really keen angles. At the end of each line of the azaan, the echoes seemed to stretch out into the darkness forever. It went on for a minute or so, during which we stopped eating and talking. It was good to listen. In Konya, my feelings during the call were far different than in Istanbul. By this time, I had gotten used to hearing the song, but not in concert, and not in the city of Rumi. It was magical.

Dinner in the form of what seemed to be a whole sheep followed. I had been having a minor moral crisis ever since we had landed. I’m a vegetarian myself. I’ll eat cheese and drink milk, but I shy away from animal flesh. In Turkey though, I just couldn’t keep my hands off the lamb. Oh, but it was good eating! This sheep was no exception. The meat just fell off the bones. It was a beautiful roast. Dessert, which came to us in the form of baklava, a Turkish specialty, made it to my stomach too late to fit comfortably, and thusly had to hover somewhere around my larynx. Add to that the casserole dish full of fresh fruit that we ate, and I was stuffed to the proverbial gills. Parting gifts were beautiful framed pictures of calligraphy of the name of God. Mine is in my kitchen now. It’s very fancy, and seeing it reminds me of the hospitality that Dr. Hussein and his wife and son showed us. I won’t soon forget them, either.

The next day saw us driving to Cappadocia, in central Turkey. Cappadocia is one of the early Christian centers in Turkey, and the area has been in nearly constant habitation for thousands of years. Early Hittite culture was based in the area, and the underground cities of Kaymakli are a thing to see. They were good for hiding from roving bands of marauders. Early Christians could easily hide in their stone passages. We went down into one such city. It was very cold that far underground, surrounded by nothing but rock on all sides. This was a marked contrast to the surface, where the temperature was in the high 90s. The underground city is not for claustrophobes, that’s for sure. The tunnels at times are so low that one’s knees touch both the chest and shoes at the same time. You really have to hunch to get through. It was fun, though.

Then it was off to see the castle of Uchisar, which is basically a very tall rock with living areas carved into it. All across Cappadocia, we saw this recurring theme. Homes and pigeon aviaries were built into the rocks. It was all very Frank Lloyd Wright-ish, albeit many, many years apart. Beautiful stuff, really. One of the big draws in Cappadocia are the Fairy Chimneys, which are very strange volcanic formations from millions of years ago. They look like sticks with hats, sort of mushroom-esque, but with somehow more regality. After the landforms, we dropped into a local pottery shop, where we were treated to a show by the master potter there. He made a quick pot for us. In the area where we were, the old custom went that a young man would have to prove his worth by spinning a pot and lid on a pottery wheel without aid of measurements. If the lid fit, his worth would be proven to his chosen bride’s father. If he failed…well he’d be one lonely potter. This fellow showed us how to get it done. He made a pot with a lid. It fit perfectly, naturally. He would have gotten the girl. Erin-Aisha and Afet both took a turn on the wheel, so to speak. We had some tea, naturally, and then looked through the shop. It was huge, and there must have been 2,000 separate pieces at the very least. Every available inch of space was crammed with beautifully painted pottery. It was nice, and I bought a mug for my dad.

That night we had a wonderful dinner above a Toyota dealership in nearby Kayseri. The city has its own specialty food, a little piece of meat wrapped in phyllo pastry and served in a soup with yogurt. It is called manti, and it is quite tasty. It was like eating goulash inside-out. The owner of the dealership made us feel very welcome, and he and Hakan even kicked out some people who were smoking in the restaurant. Now I don’t know if he was trying to be “funny,” as Turks usually are, but the owner-guy offered us all brand-new Toyotas. I thought this a wonderful gesture, but we could only accept them on the condition that we drove them back to Chicago. Hah hah hah. I really do need a new car. Nice guys.

We took off for Istanbul the following morning, flying Turkish Airlines again. I like them. Once in Istanbul we dropped into Uskudar Academy, an elementary/middle school associated with the Gulen Movement. It was a great school. It was on the top of one of the hills overlooking the city. Another perfect view, naturally. The principal at Uskudar was very nice to us, and some of the mothers of students at the school took Erin away to get her a nice scarf. Down a massively long and steep alley from the school rested the offices of Fountain Magazine, as well as the publishing company that handles Fethullah Gulen’s writing and a number of other publications. We were invited inside by a good friend of Hakan’s. We sat in a conference room with the editorial team and had some juice and checked out their books. They were very pleasant people. Then it was off to dinner.

The site was some little mansion, on top of a hill, overlooking Istanbul, at dusk, with good friends. I was noting a pattern, here. We ate well that night, and walked a little slower back to the minibus. It was our last night in Istanbul, and it was beautiful. And naturally, the last nine days seemed only minutes as we reconciled ourselves with the goodbyes we would face the following day. We went onto the city streets and bought flowers for Afet and candy for Cengizhan. Then we stayed up late talking about the trip so far. It was a good end. We woke up refreshed for our last day in Turkey and headed to Fatih University, Hakan’s alma mater. Fatih is nice. It has good views of a massive lake, and the campus is comparable in many ways to Aurora University. The student body is roughly the same size, and the on-campus housing holds about the same number of students. Fatih University, like Aurora University, is rapidly expanding, and is trying to provide good opportunities to its students. We had breakfast with a teacher in the English department and one fellow from Political Science. They were great, and they showed us a nice video and answered questions about the school. Fatih University actually offers a degree in American Cultural Studies. Very interesting stuff, indeed. We got nice University mugs as a gift. It would be cheap as all get-out for me to go and get a certificate in Turkish from the school, so I just might. We hopped back on the bus to head to a grocery store to buy luggage, as we needed an extra case to accommodate many of our gifts.

And we did. Erin needed a new luggage piece anyway, so she and Jason and I used it to hold the overflow of gifts. Steve somehow managed to get everything into his backpack and duffel, which I don’t understand. Perhaps he had some sort of shrink-ray or something. And then before I knew it we were at the airport. We went through check-in and all that good stuff. We sat down to wait for out gate to open. Hakan and Cengizhan and Afet had accompanied us that far. We had already said goodbye to Aydin, our chauffeur. He was such a jolly old soul; I’ll miss him greatly. He was a completely crazy man, and his English was atrocious, but he was wonderful nonetheless. His full name in Turkish translates as “bright light,” and he certainly illuminated all of our transport experiences. If you’re ever in what used to be Constantinople, keep an eye out for Aydin. He’ll be the wonderful Turk screaming “Welcome to Istanbul!”

We had to say goodbye then. That wasn’t much fun. Hakan we would see in a few weeks back in Chicago, but we knew it would be some time before we had a chance to see Cengiz and Afet again. They were like a new set of parents for us all, and for me, Cengiz was a new teacher. We said our little goodbyes and gave out our modest gifts. Cengiz got a DVD that he already had at home and some melted candy-bars. Afet had her flowers and some cute little candies. We had hugs, and then they walked away, but not before Cengizhan had a chance to peak back around the corner and blow kisses at us. That’s my last memory of him, I suppose. I do hope to see him and Afet soon.

We waited around a bit, then got our boarding passes. We said goodbye to Martin and Lex, since they would be traveling on British Airways to London for a week’s stay on the island. We (Jason, Erin, Steve and I) would be traveling on Iberia Airlines to Barcelona then Madrid. Normally I would have cut this narrative off at Istanbul Ataturk Airport, but Madrid deserves some mention, since we had a 14-hour layover there, during which we explored the streets of that old city at night. And by night I mean to say that we didn’t get out into the city until midnight. We walked, dehydrated and hungry, through those streets until we found a little café. I have no idea what we ordered, but we ended up with a huge egg and potato omelet and some sort of salad with too many olives. It was alright. We saw the Prado and a few other neat old pieces of Madrid. At four in the morning, it’s a fairly quiet city. The cockroaches seem content. They were everywhere. Yuck.

We stomped around through the city for a long time, passing by the older parts of the city and heading through the Puerto del Sol and down into the west side of Madrid. We managed to find a 24 hour pharmacy that sold water. Sweet, sweet water. It was a welcome hydration experience. We ended up finally on the steps of the Palacio Real, the royal palace of Spain. It was sort of like Buckingham Palace, but we were on the steps of the cathedral that was part of the complex. The actual palace-part was behind a huge fence. So we sat there for a time. I thought it would be terribly romantic of us to wait for the sunrise. It was also somewhat cold that morning. I should have worn shoes. And I should have had a backpack like everyone else, not the rolling luggage that I deemed it necessary to bring. We had a good walk, but sitting on those steps and listening to a city wake up was key to my enjoyment of Madrid. We stumbled into Barajas Airport at 8 in the morning and found some breakfast. Then we waited for the plane. Many, many hours later, we were back in Aurora. It was all over. And my final thoughts are:

A long ways ago, at the beginning of what was supposed to be a short synopsis of an awesome visit to an awesome place, I mentioned that Turkey makes my heart stir. That’s no joke. And now, as I try to wrap up what I’ve placed here, I find it hard to think about what we did and what we saw and who we met and compose it into some sort of coherent thought. I will say this, though: Turkey is a place that takes hold of the breath and refuses to let go. You wake up in the morning and gasp for more, and when you go to bed, usually early in the morning as well, you still gasp for more. With your breath taken away, it might be assumed that life would be difficult; it’s not. The people and the places provide you with all the air you need. And when you finally do arrive home, and when Turkey has finally let go of your breath, you find that you don’t want it back. You would rather be stricken, bereft of the ability to breathe on your own. You’d rather rely on the smiles and tears of strangers in Anatolia, or the laugh of a shopkeeper in the Grand Bazaar, or the call of the azaan from a high minaret in Konya, or the waving fingers of the Pantocrator Christ of Hagia Sophia to fill your lungs with sustenance. You’d rather sit on a balcony in Kusadasi in the early morning and watch the fishing boats head out for the morning haul. You’d rather let Turkey seep into the blood that way.

And remember, too, that the lungs wrap round the heart. They’re very close, and they interconnect in a variety of ways. When you breathe in Turkey, it gets into the heart. And it doesn’t leave. It circulates, but it doesn’t leave. A wise Turk once told me that the shortest distance between two people is a heartbeat. I believe it. I think of the heartbeat of Turkey, and how it seemed to suffuse everything I was doing and seeing in the country. In leaving, I thought that I would lose that heartbeat. I’ve found now that it was my own heart thumping away excitedly in my chest that I was hearing.

And I know that it’s only a beat (thump thump) to my balcony in Denizli, with my weeping friends. I know that it’s only a beat (thump thump) to Dr. Hussein and his family in Konya. I know that it’s only a heartbeat away to everyone that I met in Turkey, all the kind, ultra-generous people for whom loving the stranger is a commandment from God to be dutifully followed. I’d say it’s only a heartbeat from my place here in Aurora to all my friends in Turkey, but I don’t think that the word “friends” does justice to the kind of people we met there. I won’t say I have a lot of friends in Turkey. I will say that I have a lot of lovers there. I can’t wait to go back.

Tim Brauhn