I have
decided that crossing things off my bucket list is my new favorite hobby. One
of the perks about living in Germany is the ability to travel, which we as
Soldiers are able to do since we are given one four day weekend a month. Since
everything in Europe is relatively close, it is easy to hop in your car, catch
a train, or book a flight in order to explore a new country. I will also note
that it is remarkable that I have now not only crossed of four items off my
bucket list, but I have done so twice with my dear friend Sidney.
I believe
one of the greatest things about traveling is going outside your comfort zone.
As much as I love Europe and everything it has to offer since I am a European
history nerd, there is nothing like stepping into a world that is completely
unfamiliar to you. Asia was like this, with beetles and dog meat served at
street vendors, the difference in customs and way of life of the people- from
poverty in Cambodia to business men in Japan- traveling through Asia was like
traveling on another planet. And so was Turkey.
I have seen
Muslim countries before- Afghanistan, Kuwait- but it is different when you are
cooped up on a compound rather than walking the streets. My first real
experience was in 2010 when I travelled alone to Marrakech, Morocco. First I will start by saying that I would NOT
recommend going there alone if you are a single woman. As in Turkey, the men
were overly aggressive to the point that I decided to refrain from going out at
night alone after a group of five men surrounded me in the Grand Bazaar.
Luckily, I met a group of American women and 2 British women that were staying
at my hotel and ended up traveling around with them. But aside from that,
Morocco was wonderful. I decided that one day would be allotted to exploring
the Atlas Mountains, and I signed up for a private tour. My guide, a young man
by the name of Muhammad, was amazing. He was from a Berber family, and as we
approached the end of my scheduled three hour tour, he asked if I would like to
go home with him and meet his family.
Before you
say anything, I will admit that this is not necessarily the wisest decision I
have ever made. Going off with a total stranger to a secluded local two hours
outside of the city with no phone, and no one knowing where I was could have turned
into a disaster, but luckily I am alive and well and here to tell the story.
So, of course I said yes and we began our drive into the Moroccan countryside.
When we arrived at his home, a rather large home for a Berber family, his
mother was working hard in the kitchen cooking the chicken she had caught and
slaughtered for my visit. Her hennaed hands were working swiftly, baking bread,
making a stew, and boiling water for the typical sweet mint tea that would be
served with our lunch. I was given a tour of the grounds, including the barn
where the chicken and goats were kept.
Muhammad's home
From there
we moved into the living room where I sat on pillows thrown over the
earth-built benches that lined the walls, while a small TV broadcasted a soccer
game. Muhammad’s little brother sat next to me with his old Nokia phone,
showing me kung-fu videos and explaining that he would one day travel to China
to learn the art. When the food was ready, Muhammad’s father came and joined us
in the living room. I was given the heart of the chicken which is considered an
honor in Berber tradition, and popped it into my mouth with gusto. However I
was not prepared for the actual taste and it took all my energy to not only NOT
spit it out, but to not throw up by its foul flavor. I smiled, thanked them and
shoved a huge piece of flat bread into my mouth to hide the taste of heart. We
spent the next hour talking (Muhammad was the translator), eating, and
discussing that if I was to marry Muhammad I would have to move in with the
family.
As the sun
was setting, we drove back into Marrakech to the noise of a man reciting the
call to prayer from the speakers atop the Koutoubia Mosque.
It is
strange, being Jewish, that I am so moved by the call to prayer. As Sydney,
Jess (my other friend who was traveling with us) and I arrived at our hotel in
Sultanahmet, the afternoon call to prayer was blaring through the speakers atop
the minarets of the Blue Mosque which was visible from our hotel terrace. As our
taxi pulled up and the mosque became visible, I had the same feeling as I had
the first time I saw the Duomo in Florence; Jaw-dropping awe and at a loss for
words. It was incredible, magnificent, and life changing. Although the Ayasofya
is the main attraction (a former Greek Orthodox Church that began construction
in 537 A.D and later turned into an Imperial Mosque in 1453 by Sultan Mehmed II
after Constantinople was conquered by the Ottoman Turks) with a far more grand
and beautiful interior, the Blue Mosque is what had the largest effect on me. I
felt small and powerless standing in its shadow as the afternoon sun bounced
off the blue dome. When we actually stepped inside the mosque after putting on
long skirts to cover our bare legs and beautiful silk scarves to cover our hair,
I felt like I had travelled through time to a world of G-d and prayer. My
senses were woken to the smell of must, the feeling of the thick carpets under
my bare feet, the sound of people buzzing around like me like bees on
honeycomb, and the eye catching mosaics that decorated the ceiling.
Blue Mosque
The minute
you step back outside onto the streets of Istanbul, you are brought immediately
back to the present. Men selling boats tours, city tours, roasted chestnuts,
corn on the cob and sticky Turkish ice cream. Everywhere you turn you see the
clash of civilization- women in full Burkes standing next to girls in tank tops
and hot pants.
As I
mentioned before, the men were overly aggressive in Turkey. Between my tattoos,
and the fact the Jess is built like an ox from constant CrossFit and football (she
played professional football in the US), we couldn’t walk two feet without
someone making a comment. Whether it be “can I see your tattoo?” to “Oh, Rambo!
You strong woman,” we were constantly accosted by the sound of jeering men.
However, this did not stop us from accepting some hospitality from a few chosen.
From sheesha and dancing, to Turkish ice cream or coffee, we found ourselves being
shown the beauty of Istanbul by some of the locals.
Our first
evening was spent with our waiter and his friends, after an amazing dinner of
salted lamb with cinnamon rice. We followed them to a little sheesha bar where
we smoked rose tobacco, drank raki (Sydney’s new favorite liquor) and danced to
“Baby got back,” a song that I frequently request while intoxicated.
Our next
encounter was outside the Blue Mosque where a friendly Turkish man calmly
explained how I would need to cover my legs before entering one of the more
holy sites of the city. He waited for us outside the Blue Mosque until our tour
was finished, then took us to a small restaurant where we sat on cushions in
the bright sunlight, eating ice cream and learning about Turkish history from
his friend Mohammed.
Most of the
time, when a man treated us to something, there was always something wanted in
return. Although the requests were always an innocent invitation to take us
clubbing that evening (which we never accepted), it was only on one occasion
that a man gave us something without ever asking anything in return.
While
shopping at a little market near our hotel, we were invited into a pottery shop
run by a man in his mid to late twenties. For no reason he decided that he
would let each of us pick out something from his shop. When asked what he
wanted in return, he smiled and said “Nothing. Only that you remember me.”
I find that
in life, when you least expect it, people will surprise you. When my faith in
humanity is high, someone will do something that will make me so angry that I
curse mankind. On the other hand, when my faith is low, someone will do
something to lift my spirits back up and remind me of the good in people. This
was one of those days. I had received an email earlier that morning that made
me so angry, I wanted to kick a wall. So when this young man allowed me to take
a hot plate away with nothing but a promise of remembrance, I came close to
tears by this act of kindness.
And so my
trip to Istanbul was a memorable one; full of beauty, good food, friendship,
and a renewed belief in the goodness of people.
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