Illustration: Orhan Nalın
7 March 2014 /ELLE LOFTIS, İZMİT
"I'll be glad to be out of here," an American friend of mine told me a few months ago, before she returned to America.
From 2000-2003, I made several lengthy trips to Turkey to visit my Turkish boyfriend. Upon returning to the US, I would find myself unintentionally surrounded by things Turkish, in the oddest of places. A flier posted in the elevator of the university library about a Turkish night sponsored by the Turkish students association. The coffee cart outside my dormitory changing owners and a Turkish guy taking his place. Going to dinner at an Italian restaurant where the waiters were all speaking Turkish and our waiter had a name tag with “Mehmet” on it. Going to the post office to send a package to my boyfriend in Turkey, and the girl in line behind me turned out to be Turkish and helped us with the difficult address. I finally gave up. Became friends with the girl from the post office, and the guy from the coffee cart. As anyone knows that has been to Turkey, you meet one Turkish person, then 50. Before I knew it I had a ton of friends at my university. I couldn't speak a word of Turkish, but I was suddenly accepted. Still, I tried to hold out for a while before throwing in the towel and just moving to İstanbul in 2003.
Even then it didn't stop. There are times when I just needed a break, and looked forward to leaving. A few weeks before my wedding, I took a much-needed solo trip to Paris for a long weekend. I didn't say this to my fiancé, but I just wanted to be in a place where I would hear a language besides Turkish, eat some different cuisine and just revel in things not Turkish. The studio flat I rented promised a distant view of the Eiffel Tower. Excited, the first thing I did upon arrival was pull the drapes open to see a… Turkish flag. Big, and over the window in the building directly across from my rented flat. In the distance the Eiffel Tower mocked me. It turned out I had booked lodgings directly across from the Turkish Cultural Center in Paris. Instead of hearing French on the streets, Turkish floated up to my window. Instead of quaint cafes, my street had döner stands. I shook my fist at the sky. Seriously? I mean, come on Turkey. I was only out of the country for a few days, not forever. You could give me a few days respite, right? Nope.
On trips to Germany and Vienna I had virtually no expectations that I would not run into anything Turkish. I actually was happy there were so many Turkish-speaking people around. Since I didn't know German, and not everyone knew English, I actually navigated Austria and Germany better with Turkish than English. Once, at a pharmacy in Dusseldorf I was not able to properly explain what I needed to the German pharmacist. I have German roots and look it, so most people would just speak to me in German. I looked over and saw another pharmacist, this one with dark hair and the name "Özlem" on her jacket. I immediately started speaking to her in Turkish, and she was startled. Here was this German-looking woman that spoke accented Turkish but not a word of German. I loved the effect the shock of this had on people. It was pretty funny.
Over the years my friends that have left report the same things. One came across a tiny Turkish restaurant in a remote town in New Zealand. Random Turkish keypads at a market in South Africa. Encountering a fan at a University of Michigan game with a Fenerbahçe scarf. It seems that everyone who leaves Turkey is reminded of Turkey in the oddest of places and when least expected. And then they recall how much they miss Turkey. Apparently, this phenomenon is not new, as many travelogues from the 19th and 20th centuries recount similar incidences. I can see the motivation in it behind many of the Orientalist paintings and writings from that time.
After so long in a place, it becomes a part of you. I find I have a hard time letting go of people when they leave, and thankfully social media makes it possible to stay in touch. I understand this little talked about part of Turkey. When I travel to another place, although I still find it irritating to see little reminders of Turkey everywhere, it is also hugely comforting. This might seem strange coming from an American. American culture and things can be found easily all over the world. The reminders of Turkey are not as bold, and it is their subtleness that is the most surprising. I say all of this having never lived in a foreign country other than Turkey. Many of my expat friends have lived in several countries all over the world for varying lengths of time. One friend in particular really loved their time in Vietnam. She longed for her husband to get transferred back there. However, when she left, she couldn't believe how much she missed Turkey. Since then, they have made several trips back to Turkey to visit friends and see more of the country. She is not the only one. I spend a lot of time in İstanbul meeting up with old friends that have returned for a visit. It comforts me when saying farewell, as the chance they will return for a visit is quite high.
The Turkish word “kismet” is used in English, and has the same meaning as in Turkish. The name of the dance group I was a part of in college was Kismet, and that was also the time I met my Turkish boyfriend and came to Turkey for my first visit. Everything seemed predestined, like my roads all led to Turkey even before I had even been there. Once I first set foot on Turkish soil my fate was sealed, and the country refuses to let me go. I do love this, but I also wish it would release me for just a few days, particularly when I was in Paris. My husband thinks that he is the one that draws me always back to Turkey, but in the end, I think we both know the truth.
Elle Loftis is an American expat, writer, and mother living in Izmit. Contact her at e.loftis@todayszaman.com for questions or comments
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