Türkçke bilmiyorum

Judy. In the past few days, we’ve gotten word that three of our dearest friends have passed. Hearing about their deaths has been difficult enough, but being on the other side of the world and unable to hug their family members, or attend their memorial services has left a huge hole in our lives. 

Even leaving behind the friends we’ve made in Spain has tugged at our heartstrings, and while we hope to see them in something over a year, the loss of our dear ones in Georgia has reminded us that we are promised nothing. Fr. Louis, Gloria, Naz, John, Will, Rosella, Anthony, and others at St. George’s Málaga have kindly pulled us into their circle and allowed us to take part in the day to day works of the church. Colin and Harvey, who pop into St. George’s every few months have taught us and delighted us and asked us to visit them in England before we head back to Málaga. (They’ve got a deal!) 

 

Fr. Louis at St. George's Málaga

Gloria will welcome you with open arms

Colin and Harvey fill you with joy!

So, what to do? 

There’s not really a church here in Antalya for us to join, and we don’t speak Turkish. However, these people are so darned friendly that we feel we’ve settled in, despite the fact that Tükçe bilmiyorum—“I don’t speak Turkish.” Ted and I have worked on learning a few words—hello, how are you, please, thank you—you know, the ones that let people know you’re interested in them. And boy, does that make a difference! A günyadin (good morning) to our downstairs neighbor meant we got a paragraph we can’t understand and a smile we can. Merhaba to a coffee vendor and then ordering in Turkish ended with a phone conversation with her son who is fluent in English, used to live in the US, and has offered to help in any way we need it (It also means a photo op with his mom, Handan plus two cups of water and tea that she insisted on giving us). The owner of the bakery lets us struggle, and speaks in English when we wind up totally lost.

Handan (L) and fellow coffee vendor

 

On our flight to Izmir (more later) we sat next to a SunExpress pilot, Captain Ertan, who had done some military training years ago in—wait for it—Alabama! We

had a delightful conversation.

Izmir airport with Ertan

 

Our tour guides, Omer here in Antalya, and Kerem in Izmir and Ephesus, have filled us in on more than history and shopping, offering to send us recipes, or giving us their numbers should we have questions. 

Omer expands on the ruins of Perga

With Kerem at the Theatre of Ephesus

Even the guys at the rug workshop in Ephesus, once they got over the fact that we have no house and couldn’t buy a rug, just enjoyed chatting, and bought us lunch. (By the way, the rugs are stunning—if you’re ever interested, let me know.) 

Feridun at Nakkus carpets and his stunning wares

Feridun, Kerem, and the guys who bought us lunch

We’ve had Servas visits with a family on the other side of town. Françoise was a Belgian filmmaker, Ali, a Turkish photographer; they met in New York, took off to photograph Antarctica, traveled all over the world with their son, then settled down here and built a lovely home in an orange grove. What a great place to spend an afternoon and have coffee and homemade chocolate cake topped with homemade orange marmalade. A few days later we were invited for a delicious dinner and more conversation.

Ali, Françoise, and their son Alpako, who is leaving for adventures in Chile

And there are more opportunities. 

These folks will never take the place of the dear friends we left in Spain, and certainly not lifelong friends, but the warmth of the Turkish people we’ve met have certainly made us feel welcome.