On this walk I’ve had the pleasure of attending a handful of dinners at various families’ houses in various villages, and they are unlike any dinners I attended in my six years living in Istanbul. I don’t take photos at these dinners, since they seem to me to be private moments and I don’t want to abuse the hospitality by making a private moment public. At some point maybe I will realize that reticence is mine, not the families’, and I will start taking photos. In the meantime I will briefly describe the dinners hereā€¦

The dinners almost always take place in the living room. The TV is usually on. In attendance are all the men, women, and children of the family — multiple generations, usually three and sometimes four if there are that many in the family. The women are almost all wearing headscarves. I don’t know whether that’s because a guest (me) is in the house, or if they also do that when it’s just family.

We sit cross-legged on the floor around a large tin or aluminum tray that contains all the meal’s dishes. The tray sits on a tablecloth, the edges of which we drape over our laps and wipe our hands on when necessary. Usually there’s a main course (green beans stewed with tomatoes and potatoes, for example), a salad, a few side dishes, some cheese and some yogurt, and a soup. There are utensils, but the main utensil used is a hunk of bread. Rarely is a beverage served at this point — that comes later.

There are no individual plates — we eat communally from the dishes on the tray. The eating is fairly quick and there is little ceremony. Some families are quite talkative. Some others barely say a word and all you can hear is the sounds of eager munching.

When dinner is over the tray and the tablecloth are cleared from the room, and the family members — men, women, and children — push themselves back to rest against cushions leaning against the wall, or lay back on the couches, watch TV, and drink tea or coffee. After a few minutes the younger kids leave the room to do their homework and the teenagers leave the house to socialize with their friends.

These meals are easily my favorite aspect of the trip. It’s fun to share a meal with someone in a restaurant, and it’s touching when someone brings a tray of food for me to eat before bed in the mosque garden, but when someone invites me home to eat with the family, I get a taste of something I miss terribly on the road — closeness to others and cozy “family-ness.” All it takes is one family dinner, and I am theirs.