Even before coming here, I read about Turkish driving. “Crazy!” one source said. “Dangerous!” said another. From everything I’ve seen, Yes and Yes. Even the legendary traveller and investor Jim Rogers, in his excellent book Adventure Capitalist, makes mention of this phenomenon.

Most charitably put, Turkish driving is an art form. There are some rules, but mostly you are left to your imagination, guile, and courage in driving a vehicle. With those parameters in mind, Lindbergh crossing the Atlantic was only slightly less treacherous than the four of us taking a taxi to Ayvalik. The roads are, at best, two lanes, but the Turks treat them as six. Cars, mopeds and motorcycles were weaving in and out at high speeds amongst each other. Speeding in close quarters. Near misses. No look passing. Passing on the right. Motorcycles passing between cars. Passing so close you can touch their mirrors. And door handles. Traffic that makes Hall Road at home seem relaxing. Parking? Wherever you can fit your car, and even then not all the way.

The same goes with the many motor scooters and motorcycles used here. They are not used for pleasure riding as in the U.S., but (with gas at $15 per gallon) a cheaper, practical way of transportation. I saw one guy with his entire family – wife, one toddler and one infant- and himself on a scooter. In the above described traffic, mind you. I have not seen, nor heard of, any type of traffic enforcement here. If there were traffic cops here, they would be severely underpaid for the task before them.

Tanya, Tamer’s sister and an expatriate living here, said that the reckless style of driving is the result of an attitude the Turks have: If it’s your time to go, so be it. That’s God’s will and that’s the last of it. Me? I will take my chances using a little prudence on the road. Tamer also opined that driving is the most stressful part of any trip here, and he tries to avoid it, and with good reason: Last year, his parents were in a bad crash, caused by a reckless driver.

As I am the fifth wheel on this trip, I am most often in the front seat when a relative picks us up. Thus, I have a front row seat to this chaos. Once, when putting on my seatbelt (and wishing for another), one relative said to me that I didn’t need a seatbelt.  I replied with a polite “bullshit” under my breath and a smile. He later passed a car on the left in a blind curve with another barreling down on us from the opposite way. Thankfully, we made it.

Turks seems to accept this survival of the fittest as a fact of life. For me, it’s an excellent moment of perspective. While I do take my chances every now and then on the road (I do ride motorcycles, after all) unlike the Turks, I will be happy to stave off my eventual demise as much as possible. 

If you ask ten Americans what the national drink of our country is, you will likely get ten different answers. Do you go non-alcoholic, like Coke or iced tea? Alcoholic beverages? Perhaps. But beer is too varied for any one group to agree on.  Microbrew? Wheat? Guinness? Or even (ew) Bud Light? Hard booze would have its factions, but certainly not everyone drinks vodka, gin or scotch. Wine? There’s only 59 different kinds.

In Turkey, there is no such debate. Without question, the national drink that Turks go for is an alcoholic beverage called raki. Prounonced ROCK-UH, it is the go-to drink for everything from family gatherings, informal meals, weddings or watching the big game. Every self respecting Turk who is not a friend of Bill W. has a bottle in their fridge.

Raki has a recipe for preparation, but it is so simple that even the most inebriated can stumble through it. First, you need a proper raki vessel, normally being a straight glass holding about 5 ounces. Fill halfway with the good stuff, and then add another half glass of water, preferably ice cold. The raki then turns cloudy and opaque. Add an ice cube or two (again, merely preferred, but not required). No fruit flavoring or garnish. Serve with a separate glass of water to sip on. This is always followed by a clinking of glasses with all of your drinking partners, and you are then ready to imbibe.

The taste is that of anise, i.e. black licorice. Served cold enough, it can be refreshing, like a gin and tonic. Served often enough, it will knock you on your ass. The saying is that so long as you drink raki while sitting down you are fine, but once you stand up, it’s all over. There is a tradition of eating fish with raki, and another saying goes that if you eat the fish without raki, the fish will cry in your stomach. I also found it goes well with cigars.

It comes distilled from fermented grapes, an easy crop to grow here, and is firmly entrenched in every Turk’s DNA. Ataturk himself loved raki and would often end his day with a few good slugs of it while discussing policy and issues with his staff. I drank a good bit of it at the wedding we attended, and the resulting bonding experience with my new friends was priceless, for all they needed to know was my name with a questioning “Raki?” as in “does Ereek want more?” My answer was always yes, and a nod of my head brought the bottle over and away we went. It was a bit of a rough morning.

When you visit a foreign country, you should drink what they drink and eat what they eat. For every unappetizing fried sardine, there are five wondrous foods that, chances are, you will not be able to readily get at home. So eat up while you are there. The potential rewards of epicurean perspective, fellowship and, well, good fun are too great to ignore. Following my own advice, I can report that a bottle of raki will be residing in my Smoking Room, so stop by for a sample before Tamer and I drink it all. Just be careful before you stand up.

Turkey is, from a historical perspective, a young country. Founded by a group of revolutionary reformers in 1923, this is a country coming into its adolescence, and is not without the drama that all teenagers go through. This is nothing new to the history of the world. Indeed, when it was a teenager, four score and seven years after the Declaration of Independence, the United States was in the midst of it’s own rather serious coming of age. Yet, even in an identity crisis making worldwide headlines, Turkey is an amazing anomaly. It is a modern Islamic country, which is almost an oxymoron in the world today. It is the ying to the notoriously conservative Islam yang of Saudi Arabia.

But yet, here is Turkey, where the people hear the wailing call to prayer in its many mosques as they walk past racy ads of woman in bikinis at the bus stops. The woman dress here as any western woman would, legs and arms uncovered. There is a whiff of misongyny, but scarcely anything more that what we see in the U.S. today. There are Burger Kings, Oreos, and, thank god, Diet Coke. Tradition is important here, but to the Turks, their tradition is a modern one, not one of the ornate robes, fezzes, and flying carpets of the Ottoman Empire.

The man most responsible for this miracle of Islamic modernism is Kemal Mustafa Ataturk. Ataturk, whose surname was given to him by the Turkish parliament, meaning, “Father of The Turks” was, in every sense of the term, a badass. A warrior, a visionary, and evidently astute politician, he was an Ottoman Empire army officer on the losing side of World War One when Allied forces (the side the U.S. fought on) tried to occupy Turkish land. Ataturk and his men fought them and drove them out of Turkey in what is now called The Turkish War of Independence. With a victorious army and no government, Ataturk looked around and said “let’s do this our way. We live in a modern world, we need a modern country.” He and his allies then set about implementing radical ideas in government the overturned centuries of Islamic tradition and dogma. Imagine if George Washington not only fought off the British but also said we are going to free all the slaves, mandate gender equality, re-do the education system, institute a new alphabet, establish a banking system, enact a radically new modern penal and civil code, legislate what you could wear, and so on. In short, Ataturk did for Turkey what the Tea Party claims Obama is trying to do to the United States. If there was a Fox News in Turkey in Ataturk’s time, I’m sure at some point the various talking heads would’ve eventually committed suicide on the air.

Ataturk’s reforms had a central component: We are not mixing government and religion, he said. Turkey has a secular (i.e. non-religious) government in a country whose religion can be, shall we say, a bit syrupy. The ancient systems of autonomous government fiefdoms tinged with religious based policy became a thing of the past under Ataturk. “There will be one government, and you shall have your religion, but not together, doing the same thing” is my paraphrased interpretation. Things like this get my attention.

And for this vision and political leadership in its implementation, Ataturk remains a much-loved icon amongst the Turkish people. Icon is perhaps too weak a word. He’s everywhere. There are pictures of him in barber shops, restaurants, and there are even bumper stickers depicting his signature. Stately statues of him are in every town I have visited. Souvenir shops sell Ataturk clocks and cigarette lighters (the latter of which will end up in a certain Smoking Room). We went to a concert in an open amphitheater and behind the performers were two flags: The Turkish flag, and an equally big, almost creepy depiction of Ataturk staring right back at us, as if saying, “I am here, and I approve of this concert”. The conductor of the orchestra gave an open salute to the Ataturk banner before commencing the concert. On the date of his death, at the exact moment of his passing, everything (traffic, markets, government, etc) stops for a one moment of silence in his honor. The Admans, my generous hosts here, themselves have a picture of Ataturk in their china cabinet. In it, he is impeccably dressed, seated in white slacks, morning coat, cigarette in hand, the absolute picture of genteelity.  It is an obviously staged press photo, but to achieve an iconic political image such as the one Ataturk established, the visual must equal the theoretical.

These days, many Turkish people feel, Ataturk’s legacy of secularism is under attack from the present Turkish Prime Minister, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. He is a conservative ruler, who is trying to implement many policies and laws rooted in Islamic tradition, like no alcohol after midnight, nor can women cannot wear certain forms of nail polish. Because Turkey is experiencing favorable economic growth, he continues to hold power and he sees it as a mandate to go against some of the most core of Ataturk’s beliefs. He rules with an arrogance and heavy hand that reads right out of the Islamic playbook. Although the recent riots started as a protest against the development of a park, it really escalated once the police were ordered in, a bit like burning down the house to get the flies out. The resentment against his non-secular social policies began to hemmorage out, and then the protests made worldwide news. People are seething here at the Prime Minister, who is angling to become president of the republic once his term ends in a year or so from now. Considering Vladimir Putin did the same thing, this should be troubling for the Turkish people.

Is this a coming of age for the Turkish people? Time will tell. In the meantime, the power does rest with the people, and democracy, though not perfect, works more often than it doesn’t.

Ataturk Statue.

Bust of Ataturk in Cunda. 

Ataturk watching Tamer getting a shave. 

The immense Ataturk banner at the concert. 

Nurten and Ahmet Get Married 

Some 20 years ago, Tamer showed me a home video from his recent trip to Turkey. The video was of an elaborate ceremony called a Sunete in which a young boy, complete with a sceptor and hat worthy of a pope, was circumcised. A turkish briss, if you will. I remember the video vividly for the intricate ceremony and pure cringe worthiness that any male watching it would feel. Not long after we arrived here, with memories of all things Turkish enveloping me, I asked whatever became of that kid. 

"We're going to his wedding in two days," Tamer replied, with a laugh. 

Due to my long friendship with the Adman family, I had something of a taste of Turkish weddings. I had been to two, including Tamer's. I knew about the horah, a Turkish dance in which the revelers join hands in a big circle and then, in unison, skip to their right, then to the left, move their feet in tap dance like move, and then repeated. I got in the middle of it, joined hands with Tamer's dad, and held on for dear life. I was exhausted when it was over. The music was very, well, turkish, with arabic sounding strings and wind instruments. It was a blast. I wondered how much things would be the same here in Turkey. 

The night before the wedding, I was told that the women were having a party and the men would just be hanging out. I took my cue and grabbed cigars. This women's party has no real equivalent in the US. It was part wedding shower, part reception, and part bachorlorette party. The women, unlike the men, were dressed formally with elaborate dresses and all spent the day getting their hair done. There was a DJ who sang live over recorded music. No western songs, except for Gangum Style. The men all sat around and drank tea. I had my requisite cigar. Eventually, all the men moved up to the party and watched, as the bride, dressed in something I can only describe as a turkish kimono, sat and all her friends pinned money on her. I sat with Tamer at a remote table and watched as everyone started dancing. Not long after, word filtered back to us that they wanted the American to come up and dance. 

Not being one to refuse such a generous invitation, I went up to the floor. Not only was I dancing, but the ladies started to form a circle around me. So, what the hell, I went with it. Tamer took pictures and a video, but if either sees the light of day I will sue him the moment we get back to the U.S.

On the wedding day, the family gathered at the bride’s house, so that the bride, in full wedding regalia, could be symbolically given away by her family into the groom’s family, and the religious ceremony would take place there, in the living room. As the sizeable crowd gathered outside and was fed a lunch of chickpeas over rice (delicious, by the way) I angled my way into the crowded living room. Tamer was sitting there. Virtually nobody was in formal dress, with tshirts, polos and jeans being the most common wardrobe choice. There, the bride and groom got married. The bride cried, her uncle gave a sermon of sorts (at least that’s what Tamer said, he could’ve been giving directions on how to bake a cake for all I understood) and the everyone cupped their hands upward in the Muslim tradition and prayed. People took pictures with their cell phones. I did too, and got a perfect shot of Tamer inadvertently photo bombing the happy couple. The whole thing had a very nice element of understatedness that was appreciated, at least by me. Most people waited outside in the sweltering heat.

From there, the reception. Overlooking the coastline, on a campground resort, and under the very full moon shining on the Aegean Sea, the bride and groom arrived by boat. As with weddings everywhere, everyone sat at large tables while the band, with a very attractive woman as the lead singer took the stage. It was more or less a scene of wedding activity that we all know. Uncle so and so sat over there, while the friends from work were over here, and so on. There was no head table, and the bride and groom sat by themselves in a corner on large white chairs.

Turkish tradition holds a number of things with weddings that are worth noting: Bits of gold are pinned to the bride and groom, often in lieu of cards with money. A large fake cake was brought out and the bride and groom, as tradition dictated, pretended that they had a hard time cutting it. They would fake until enough people came up and pinned money on them. A different take on wedding capitalism.

Then the dancing started. The Turks have something of a national drink, raki (separate blog post coming later on that) that was being consumed in mass quantities by everyone, including me. While the dancing went on, people started talking to me. Tamer’s uncle knows one sentence in English (“THIS is a pencil!”) and took great delight repeating it to me. Others shook my hand and smiled. "EREEK!" followed by a clanking of small (but numerous) glasses of raki was often their greeting to me. They were glad to have me there, and I repaid their kindness by drinking lots of raki and dancing. Nobody puts this baby in a corner. There was more picture taking and kids running around, just like any other wedding you’ve ever been to. They then did the hora, which I, remembering my exhaustion at Tamer’s wedding, begged off. When he was finished with it, Tamer stumbled back to the table, panting as if he ran a 5k.

The campers adjoining the reception area started complaining of the noise, so things began to wind down around midnight. People took more picture with the bride and groom, including me. “Thank you for everything!” the bride told me in broken English. 

It was a fabulous time with great people. One doesn't need to speak the language to make friends. When you show them how much you enjoy being there, with them, it crosses all boundaries of culture and language. 

The next morning was my first Turkish hangover.