[An expat in Adıyaman -- 8] Final thoughts

Several weeks ago I got one such message from an İstanbul backpacker. He had arrived in Adıyaman to visit Nemrut on his trip across the Southeast, and -- seeing as I was the only member in the Adıyaman area -- we decided to meet for coffee.

My new friend filled me in on his dilemma. He had come from Nemrut that morning -- having watched the sunrise and toured the monuments.

“My plan,” he told me, “was to spend the night here and explore Adıyaman before traveling on.”

But he wasn’t so sure now. Adıyaman, to his İstanbul eyes, seemed pretty boring and he wondered if he might as well just catch the next bus to Şanlıurfa. He looked at me. Was there any reason he shouldn’t leave Adıyaman behind?

We Americans working in Adıyaman joke about how much we dislike Adıyaman all the time. There isn’t any nightlife. Everything shuts down after 11 pm. There isn’t a single bar, and only two cafes are even willing to serve nargile. During Ramadan, it appears that every single Adıyaman resident we know is fasting. Adıyaman doesn’t have a movie theater and a crazy evening ends with a ride on the last dolmuş (11:15 pm) back to our pansiyon. Crazy stuff.

So, when this İstanbul backpacker asked me what there was to see in Adıyaman itself, I told him this. I told him that the Adıyaman museum is only two rooms, poorly lit and even more poorly labeled. I told him I had never seen a couple sitting in the park -- only male friends or women surrounded by children. Perhaps most importantly, I told this İstanbul party veteran that there were no nightclubs, bars, or evening entertainment other than tea and fruit soda in Adıyaman.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m going to the bus station,” he said. “Want to come along?”

I accompanied him, listening to him go on about how boring he’s found the Southeast -- interesting and thought-provoking, yes, but also just very dull. And then, as he got on his bus and I waved goodbye, I felt a pang in my heart.

Why? Because I do like Adıyaman and I felt sad that I could not explain my affection for the place to this backpacker. The negatives to the city are obvious, and the positives less so. Still, I want to visit again.

At our camp’s closing ceremony this week, I gave a speech to the parents, on behalf of the foreign English teachers. In heavily practiced Turkish, I implored them to keep their students excited about learning English, and to give them unwavering support.

Then I turned to the students. “One day I will return to Adıyaman,” I said. “And I will speak to you not with my bad Turkish, but with your perfect English.”

It was a good way to end the speech. Still, after the ceremony, the students kept calling me “yalancı” -- liar.

“You’re not going to come back to Adıyaman,” one told me. “Why would you leave America to come back to Adıyaman?” No matter how much I tried to convince them, they refused to believe me.

But I was being genuine. My time in Turkey is coming to an end. But I plan on returning -- long-term or short-term, I can’t say, but I will definitely return. And when I return to Turkey, I will return to Adıyaman.

I won’t come back to visit Nemrut, “wondrous” as it is, or to eat içli köfte, as delicious as it might be. Instead, I will visit because of the people I have met in Adıyaman.

Adıyaman may be the warmest, friendliest city I have lived in. Largely due to its small size -- it’s rare to walk down the street without running into a friend or student and stopping to say hello. Just by entering a cafe, you make friends with the people resting there. Someone will always offer you a ride while you walk along the road. People don’t eat iftar alone.

After my backpacking friend left on his bus, I finished waving goodbye and turned back towards the dolmuş stop. As I walked, a voice yelled out my name.

It was a teacher from the camp. She asked me what I was doing out. I explained, and then she grabbed my arm.

“Forget the dolmuş,” she said. “We’ll find you a ride later. Now come on -- my friends and I are drinking Fanta.”