[EXPAT VOICE] Traveling across Turkey at a personal pace

After walking all day under the blazing sun of the golden Anatolian plateau, my buddy Tim and I decided to stop for a nap at the very entrance of Ankara. We were so close to our goal, but we needed the rest. We found a yellow patch of scorched grass not too far from the gas station and laid out our sleeping bags silently. “We are close,” I thought to myself as I looked at the sun setting across the carefully tended fields in front of me. For a short moment, I was sure I could hear the city's 5 million citizens celebrating my arrival. I propped my head against my backpack and took a minute to reflect on where I was and what I had experienced this last month or so.

Although I was born and raised in Chicago, life seems to have taken me to many various destinations. Maybe I had read too many Mark Twain novels as a child or perhaps something was simply wrong with me, but I have always had what I like to refer to as the “traveling bug.” One autumn evening fate brought me together with a crucial figure in my story, Tim Desgraupes, a wiry French photographer who also shared my lust for wandering and who would become one of my closest friends. We met during an exhibit in Zagreb, Croatia, where I had been teaching English as a second language, and I soon found out about his rather unbelievable journey. He had walked to Zagreb from the western coast of Spain as part of his photography project titled “Veines” (www.timdesgraupes.com), which he hoped would lead him to Shanghai, China. Tim was on a quest to learn about and honestly document other cultures while experiencing life as freely as he could. This idea of long-distance walking fascinated me instantly. We hit it off, and he soon moved into the apartment I had been sharing in the city center. Our friendship grew during the six months we spent together, and the day came when Tim decided to continue his walk. He had gained a fair knowledge of Croatian, and he was ready. He left Zagreb two years ago and made his way towards Turkey, his next stop along the way towards China. We kept in touch, and I visited my friend as he slowly but surely made his way to Belgrade, Sofia and finally İstanbul. He had crossed the European continent solely on foot, and I realized that such feats were really possible. Since our initial meeting Tim had invited me to join him in his walk several times -- feeling that I would enjoy it and wishing to share this unique experience with me. I had often asked myself if I had what it took to do something like that, and as Tim prepared to depart from İstanbul after having lived there for two years and learning Turkish, I decided I'd find out. I have never been, nor am I now, very athletic, and I had never walked more than a few kilometers in a single day, but motivated by my insatiable curiosity and the desire to explore what lies beyond, this past August I found myself on a train headed for Sirkeci Station.

Tim gladly welcomed me to the colossal city of İstanbul, one of the most vibrant places in this world, and we soon set off together across the mighty Bosporus that divides Europe and Asia. He was set on crossing Turkey and making it to Shanghai, but I had little expectations for myself. I was along for the ride in a way, honored to have the chance to share his experience. Having always been interested in learning about Turkish culture, I would try and test my own limitations and see how far I would get. Although I had little faith in how long I would endure, Tim seemed to know better. He had learned that there is a special trait required for conquering long distances -- for accomplishing amazing feats -- which I had yet to discover.

Walking across İstanbul

After a few days of averaging around 25-30 kilometers, my feet were covered in blisters, and my body was sore. Yet I felt happy to experience İstanbul so intimately. At a turtle's pace of four kilometers per hour, I savored the people and the sites of the city in a way I had never imagined possible. I relished in the smells of exotic Turkish delicacies, the lively music heard on every corner and the friendly conversations we had with the patient fishermen along the Marmara Sea. It seemed that the serenity of walking and the joy of experiencing another country were soothing all of my physical ailments. We spent the first four days walking across İstanbul's impressive 100 kilometers, sleeping outside and at some friends' Tim had made during his stay in the city, and we were both beat by the time we reached the next town -- Gebze. By this time, the mental aspects of the walk and what it required started to unravel to me. At times I felt that my entire body was screaming for me to stop, but much to my surprise, I found the internal strength to overcome the hardships -- I was learning how to discipline my mind. Tim listened quietly as we sat down during our frequent breaks in roadside tea houses and grassy fields as I shared with him what I had begun to go through. I will always remember how he slyly smiled at me when we approached Gebze -- he knew what was happening to me, and he could sense what lay ahead.

Continuing through İzmit, a beautiful city of white houses and concrete skyscrapers strung across spacious hillside along the sea, the idea that it might be possible for me to make it longer than the week or two I originally planned began to take shape. We crossed the city relatively quickly considering the physical obstacles I was facing, and we soon found ourselves in the Turkish countryside. Two backpacking foreigners don't turn many heads in cities, but things changed drastically as we entered little towns and villages. With Tim's walking stick and the straw cowboy hat I had picked up along the way, we made quite a spectacle. The townspeople all stopped what they were doing to stare at us as we looked for places to get water and to eat, and children would always run up to greet us. Foreigners were rare in these parts, but everyone was happy to spend some time with us and to offer free meals, water, fruit and almost always a place to stay. Walking made us utterly vulnerable yet also offered people the opportunity to approach us easier. We posed absolutely no threat to anyone, and everyone felt relaxed socializing with us. Often it took the occasional passerby waving to us or inviting us over for tea (the Turkish equivalent to the Western coffee culture) for us to recharge our batteries and muster up the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other. We felt that the generous people we met along the way were pushing us forward, or as Tim so eloquently put it, “It is as if we had jumped off a stage into an audience, and they were carrying us on their hands.” By the time we had made it to the city of Adapazarı (Island market), 200 kilometers east of İstanbul, we had met a countless number of good-hearted people who had taken us into their homes and had shared not only their food and a roof with us but also their lives. I had begun to realize another advantage of this form of travel -- this was the purest way of experiencing a culture, of sharing and as the Frenchman put it, “The people who share with us do the hard part; walking is easy.”  

It was in the quiet city of Adapazarı that I decided I would continue toward Ankara. Ramadan, the holy month, had just begun, and we quickly made our way towards Düzce and Bolu -- where we were to cross a magnificent range of mountains. I soon discovered that Ramadan is not only a month during which Muslims fast during the daylight hours, but it is also a time for reflecting, of charity and prayer. Many towns we passed seemed deserted since no one was eating or drinking during the day, yet we always came across someone who was willing to lend a hand. And we found ourselves full most of the time. To my delight I learned that hospitality toward foreigners is an essential part of Islam and the Turkish culture, and I truly couldn't have chosen a better place to walk. Other values regarded highly in Turkey would be family, religion, tradition and above all soccer! It was also astonishing to discover how tolerant the Turks were. People treat foreigners and Christians with great respect, and often I wondered how it would be for a Turk or other Muslim crossing my country the same way I'm crossing theirs. As we covered the scarcely populated mountains between Bolu and Ankara we often had to turn to the village imams for assistance and often slept in prayer rooms and mosques. Such was the case with a village named Bulak some 70 kilometers west of Ankara. As the sun was still setting we approached the picturesque village and hobbled toward a small mosque where some men had begun to gather. We asked if we could buy some bread and explained what we were doing. The imam waved us in immediately and sat us down on a thick green carpet in a room adjacent to the mosque where the village men gather to drink tea, socialize and share Ramadan dinners. We crossed our tired legs and sat with the men at a large silver table full of Ramadan delicacies such as a stew made with yogurt, beef and pasta, and other dishes such as stuffed onions, dolma sarma (stuffed peppers) and baklava. When the sun set, a cannon went off in the distance, signaling that it was now all right to eat, and the men said a short prayer. Everyone had been given a spoon, and we all ate out of the same bowls and plates. The men were really friendly, and after some tea they left, allowing us to sleep on the carpeted platforms in the room I like to call the “chill out area.” It was exactly what we needed after the mountains -- good food, a roof over our heads and most importantly warm company.

The mountains were tough, but I focused on the great things surrounding me -- the lavish landscapes and the smiles that seemed to great us at every stop. I enjoyed my meals more than some do in the most expensive restaurants, and I slept like a baby in grassy fields, on haystacks and in my cozy sleeping bag. I had learned a great deal about Turkish culture and more importantly about myself and what I was made of.

As we covered the last leg of our trip to Ankara, the landscape changed again. I viewed the bright yellow hillside, and for the first time, I realized I was in Asia. As we stopped for water and food at a small gas station the fact that I had walked more than 500 kilometers started sinking in. After asking for directions, we headed for a nap, and as we were leaving, the attendant asked us where we planned on going next. “I'm not sure,” I replied. “But China doesn't seem so far anymore.”