Have you ever been in a Turkish prison?

From Ankara Trip

One of the things that I was looking forward to, by living in southern France, was having a different sphere of travel, with the Mediterranean and the Middle East just a short flight away. Ankara, Turkey was my first trip outside of France since arriving here. I’d have to say the jury is still out, especially with regards to my digestive system. In terms of “cultural experiences” and “seeing the world”, yes, it was a successful trip, despite the case of “tourista” as they say in French, even though we were in Turkey, not as tourists, but attending a conference called EurBee, a forum for honey bee researchers of Europe. Unfortunately, no one told my stomach that we were still in Europe. Turkey, of course, has been making advances towards the Europe Union, who is still not sure if they want to be more than friends. Maybe because Turkey is a little bit European and a little bit Asian--although everyone is talking about Istanbul when they say that.
We were in Ankara, where the people looked much like the people on the streets of France, especially in southern France, but where a working knowledge of English was almost non-existent, once we left the conference center. It was the Germans who found their language to the lingua franca between people encountered on the street. When I delicately asked them where else in the world that happens to them, they unanimously replied, “nowhere!” Some Europeans would say (and were overheard to say in front of our taxi driver) that Turkey is not European, but regardless, I think they should be allowed to join. Of course, when it comes to inviting people, I’m of “the more the merrier” school Also, it’d be another country where we could use the euro.

From Ankara Trip

As I said, I was attending a conference, so I didn’t have a chance to explore the neighborhoods or even visit but one tourist site (Attaturk's heavily guarded Mausoleum). But I didn’t mind, because when I travel, whether I’m playing the tourist or not, I pay attention. I like to absorb the small differences and similarities of a new place. Like the sign in the bathroom at the airport asking people to please not wash their feet in the sink for their ablutions but to use the appropriate facilities. Those are my souvenirs, instead of a keychain, I suppose.

Another souvenir: discovering the real Turkish toilets. That’s what the French call them, but based on their prevalence in France, I was starting to wonder if the name was deserved. Everywhere I went I found normal toilets, until I strayed a bit, and found my first Turkish toilet in Turkey. So what do I mean by a Turkish toilet? The name refers to bathroom with a hole in the ground with raised areas for your feet, to facilitate squatting, I suppose. Sometimes there is even a “flush” but sometimes not. In the ones I used in Turkey, they had a DIY flush, which amounted to a plastic jug placed under a faucet.
In general, perhaps based on these bathroom-related experiences, my impression of Ankara was that they don’t greet a lot of outsiders. The city wasn’t at all done up for us. It was urban in an ugly way, just cement buildings and plastic signs. I’m not sure how to spell “Bail Bonds” in Turkish, but I was reminded of the streets of Patterson, NJ, where signs compete with each other for which one will be the largest and brightest, so that they end up making you look away. The high-rise apartments were so numerous that we wondered what all of these people were doing in Ankara and where were they? As we drove out of town we passed an immense development with rows of apartment buildings, as if they were expecting to annex a small city, replete with golf course and a fake lake. You could see how they had blasted the mountain to level the ground for them. All that remained of the former land was a lone mosque nestled between the construction sites. In a way, the landscape reminded me of an American city, maybe in the West, where the dense urban center abuts the rolling hills without much in-between. The only difference was that poking up out of the hillside were minarets instead of church steeples. As we rode the bus back to the airport, I played a game to find the minarets, since they were literally popping up before my eyes. I thought about Switzerland, and the campaign against minarets, in which the minaret was likened to a missile—very effective propaganda-- but ringing false as I looked out on the urban landscape of Ankara, where the minarets seemed to be the most humanizing and comforting aspect amongst the concrete blocks and bulldozed hilltops. I admit that this feeling was tinged by the excitement I get from new, foreign places, but it wasn’t the feeling of fear that some back in Europe like to play on.

From Ankara Trip

(Picture it) It’s the end of the trip, we were heading home to France after 3 days in Turkey and I am happy to find my first American newspaper since I moved to France 5 months earlier. Unfortunately, it’s USA Today. (Later, I will snag an International Herald Tribune from my colleague.) It is Friday, September 10, the day before 9/11. I am immediately greeted by a story about a preacher in Gainesville, Florida who has taken it upon himself to rile up the entire Muslim world by announcing that he will be burning the Koran, ‘in honor of’ September 11th. Fabulous, I think, what an a$@%H*le. Then I read further, that in response, the U.S. government has cautioned its citizens against traveling in Muslim countries and to avoid anti-American demonstrations. So that’s when I get kind of pissed; this twit in Florida has now endangered me, unbeknownst to both of us, because his delusions of grandeur have convinced him of his own bigoted tendencies. I think—-have you ever met a Muslim? Traveled to a foreign country? Seen how other people live? ((shit in their toilets?)) Because when you do, you see how similar we all are. I’m happy that I have the opportunity to experience other cultures (and complain about them) because in the end, I definitely recognize that no one religion or people is inherently evil and worthy of all of that kind of fear and hate. Nope. Not at all. But what you realize, when you have no common spoken language, is that we share the ability to communicate and express ourselves, because we’re all coming from the same place. But it also means, that when a guy threatens a gesture like that--people get mad,including me, as I sit in the airport, creating excuses in my head for Americans, in case I'm forced to comment on the issue (I wasn't asked).

My final memory of Turkey was also in an airport, before the American newspapers and stories of "commemorations" of 9/11. The Ankara airport was modern and new and just like every other airport I’ve seen, except it seemed to be the quietest major airport ever designed. When you entered the door, you were immediately greeted by…a security checkpoint. Once your carry-on and checked luggage had been screened, you could check in. Of course, before heading to your gate, there was another security checkpoint, after which you entered a vast, bright waiting area that was completely deserted with only a few people shopping in duty free. We ran into one of our colleagues, looking to spend his last Turkish lira at a gift shop, but otherwise, no one. As we neared the gate, we saw two of our colleagues sitting behind a glass panel. When they saw us, they rushed over to the glass, pointing furiously at a box that one of them was holding. It was a box of Turkish delights, presumably that he had bought at the duty free shop. The other one reached in his bag and passed us something through the glass panels. It was a 20 euro bill. He wanted us to buy him a box, but it wasn’t until they pointed behind them that I realized why. They were basically prisoners at their own gate, for there at the entrance stood a third security checkpoint for us to pass. Apparently, our colleague had changed his mind regarding the Turkish delights after sitting there, coveting his boss’ box, confined to this glass-walled prison. We got him his own box, and one for ourselves too. Happy to learn that, like Turkish toilets, Turkish delights really do come from Turkey!