Andrew Walker heads off the tourist trail, and fin
"Sir, may we talk to you?"
"What?!"
"Sir, we are learning English. May we talk to you?"
"Uh, sure. I guess."
Turns out these two young men were in the Turkish Air Force and had recently completed a nine-month English course. They wanted to practice; I was an easy mark. Selim was 19, a computer systems technician from Balikesir in Western Turkey. Mustafa was 24, an F-4 mechanic and from Adana, on the Mediterranean coast. Although dubious at first, my intuition was telling me that they were harmless. Before I knew it they were carrying my pack, helping me check into my hotel, and ensuring that I wasn’t overcharged. Selim was concerned about my choice of accommodation and wanted to take me to a better hotel. I told him it was fine.
I spent the entire evening and part of the next day in the company of the Turkish Air Force. We went to dinner at their favorite local Kebapci, where I was introduced to two of Selim and Mustafa’s buddies, Ahmet and Cenk. Cenk’s English was limited to the occasional "cool," but Ahmet was able to keep up for the most of the evening. Making conversation was much easier than I expected.
All of them were from other parts of Western Turkey or the coast, and didn’t think too much of Malataya. We spoke of their families, their different jobs in the Air Force and what they wanted to do after they finished their obligatory tour of duty. Mostly we talked about music and girls. I noticed a picture of an open-shirted rock singer on Ahmet’s Pepsi can. I confessed not knowing much about Turkish pop music and asked whose picture it was.
"Ricky Martin!" Ahmet proclaimed, giving me a thumbs-up.
Selim didn’t let me pay for a single thing the entire time. "Turkish hospitality," he explained. I was their guest. It would be unthinkable to have me pay my own way. Selim and Mustafa carefully explained the cultural traditions of their country. Cenk even offered me a bunk in the their barracks. As tempting as the offer was, I declined. We strolled the streets and visited cafés late into the evening – Malataya is a lively place on a Saturday night.
We arranged to meet at my hotel in the morning and go for breakfast, but only Selim and Ahmet managed to get up early enough to meet me. The previous evening had not exhausted their curiosity or their reserve of English. Selim asked me what was the best way to approach English speakers. It can be intimidating answering for your entire culture, so I deliberated a while before answering. I told him my first impressions of him and Mustafa, and that I was initially skeptical of his intentions. I told him about the scam travelers are warned about in Istanbul, where a group of Turks befriend you, wine and dine you, then slip a bennie in your drink and rob you blind.
Outraged and dismayed Selim exclaimed, "No! We are not like that."
"Yes, I know, but you have to expect people to be cautious."
Selim was an idealistic young man, and hearing that people would not always act honorably was difficult to accept. I told him that he shouldn’t be discouraged if he was brushed off from time to time. I talked to him about the subtle nuances of English conversation and gave him a few pointers, for which he was thankful. After one more trip to the tea garden, we exchanged email addresses, and off I went to catch another bus.
As a traveler, it is a unique feeling you get from an unexpected personal exchange like the one I experienced with these guys from the Turkish Air Force. It makes you believe that good intentions and clear communication really can make a difference, and perhaps your true calling is to work for the United Nations. I left Malataya that day quite pleased with myself. I am an ambassador. I am the White Dove of Peace.