On Thursday afternoon, 11 October, I walked into the village of Bahtiyar. The first thing I came to was a middle school, so within moments I was surrounded by boys about 10 years old. On this trip I have found I am prejudiced against pre-teen and early teen boys. I don’t like it when they eye my pockets and my pack. However, I was very thirsty and hungry — I hadn’t eaten or drank anything all day, except for a few cups of tea earlier that morning.
I asked the boys if there was a bakkal (a corner market) in the village. The boys said yes, but it was up the hill a bit in the center of the village, so they escorted me towards it. As we walked they eyed my pockets and my pack, but in a curious little-boy sort of way, not in a greedy, covetous sort of way like those kids back in Germencik (a village I had passed through earlier in the walk). I reminded myself how the school principal I had met that morning had judged me so quickly, and that I didn’t want to repeat his mistake here, so I told myself to give these boys the benefit of the doubt, to let them surround me and eye my pockets and pack, and see what happens.
The boys led me up the hill to the village center where there was a bakkal and a kahvehanesi (coffee house). Before I could make it to the bakkal the village elders waved me into the kahvehanesi. My afternoon and evening of socializing was about to begin.
I sat on the porch of the kahvehanesi with the village elders. One of them was the father of the muhtar (the village mayor), so I knew I had come to the right place. The men asked me where I was from, where I was going, why I was walking, etc — the basic “get to know you” questions people ask me. I asked them a bit about the village. They told me its population was about 1,000. That’s about what I had figured — I am learning that a population of about 500 can support one bakkal, and this village had two.
The men asked where I stayed on my trip, and I told them — gas stations, mosque gardens, public parks, wherever I can find a spot. They volunteered that I should stay there in the village that night. I was happy to have an important order of business (finding a place to sleep) already taken care of, and it was barely 4pm!
After a bit more small talk I asked if I could rest a bit. They said of course, and showed me to a table inside the kahvehanesi. I thanked them and sat down, but what I really wanted was a quiet place where I could lie down for a bit and close my eyes.
A few minutes later I got my wish when a young man in his late 20s named Mehmet came over to my table. Mehmet and I had met a few minutes earlier when I was sitting out on the porch. Mehmet told me to come with him, I could rest at his house and then have dinner before coming back to the village. Mehmet and I left the kahvehanesi, the two of us walking down the road towards the edge of the village. I had only met Mehmet a few minutes before, but here in Turkey I often follow strangers into unfamiliar situations I barely understand. When I get nervous I remind myself of two things: one is that the best experiences I’ve had here in Turkey have come from situations I don’t understand, and two, that beggars can’t be choosers.
On our walk Mehmet told me he was recently married, a mere month ago. I asked him how he met his wife. He told me they met on Facebook. He told me she is from Turkey, but goes to school in France. Mehmet plans to move to France soon too. He currently works as a sous chef in Antalya, and plans to continue that line of work initially in France, but then wants to study at a university there.
We arrived at Mehmet’s house. In the front yard there were two cows, a cat, and a very shy dog. We entered the house. Mehmet’s father passed away, so now it’s just Mehmet, his wife, and his mom in the house. Mehmet slipped his shoes off quickly, and while I unlaced my boots he said a few words to a woman in one of the other rooms. She turned out to be his wife. I had assumed she would be in France, but she was home from school on break.
Mehmet showed me to a room upstairs with a bed and a couch. He said I could rest there a bit while they prepared dinner. I happily laid down on the bed, but kept my feet on the floor because I didn’t want to mess things up too much. I was cold in my walking shorts and still-sweaty undershirt, and there were extra cushions and blankets piled high to the ceiling in the corner, but I didn’t touch any of them, again because I didn’t want to make a mess. I was just happy to be half-lying on a bed in a quiet room.
After a half hour or so Mehmet came back upstairs to get me for dinner. I changed into some warmer clothes and we went downstairs to the living room. Mehmet’s wife brought in dinner, a big round tray filled with dishes piled high with french fries, slices of cheese, diced tomatoes, yogurt, olives, and bread. She set the tray down on the tablecloth, which we eagerly draped over our laps so we could get started eating. The three of us ate together, saying barely a word, but piling into the food as if there was no tomorrow. I don’t know about Mehmet and his wife, actually — I felt like I was piling into the food as if there was no tomorrow, since I hadn’t eaten since breakfast the previous morning and was quite hungry. I tried to show restraint though, watching my hosts closely so I could match their pace and not eat all the food myself.
Dinner finished, Mehmet’s wife cleared the tray and tablecloth and Mehmet and I moved back up onto the couches to drink tea and watch some TV. After a few minutes Mehmet told me we would head back into the village. I was confused, not sure where I would be sleeping that night and not understanding whether to take my pack with me back to the village or not. We established that I would indeed be sleeping in the village, and that I should take my pack with me.
Mehmet and I walked back into the village to the same kahvehanesi we had left earlier. We sat down for a while to chat with the other villagers. A younger crowd began to show up, teenagers who had been in school or doing chores when I had been there earlier that afternoon.
Almost every time I’ve been in a kahvehanesi 100% of the patrons are male. Come to think of it, I don’t think I have ever seen a woman in a kahvehanesi. Mehmet and I watched a few backgammon games and he and the others introduced me around to the new arrivals. Mehmet mentioned to me that the US was trying to push Turkey into war with Syria, but something in my face must have said I didn’t want to talk politics, because he immediately dropped the subject without saying another word.
At 8:00 pm the patrons gathered around the TV to watch two back-to-back episodes of Kurtlar Vadisi Pusu (Valley of the Wolves – Ambush), one of the most popular shows on Turkish TV. Kurtlar Vadisi has been running for 10 years and was already a popular show when I was in Turkey the first time. It is your basic Chuck Norris-style shoot-em-up, where the tough-guy star chases after the bad guys and periodically knocks his less-disciplined underlings into line.
About 9:30 pm, midway through the second episode, the muhtar, having made sure my passport and visa were all in order, escorted me to a spare room near his office. I was free to stay there for the night. Happy to finally be “home” for the night I set up my tent and laid down to sleep.
In the morning I packed up, wrote a thank you note, stopped by the kahvehanesi to have a tea and say my thank yous and goodbyes in person, and then hit the road for another day of walking.