Accidentally Learning Turkish
By Aisha Roxanna Marie
Turkish is a rich and magical, and somewhat difficult language. You may be wondering how it is possible to accidentally learn a language which takes time and determination, and you would be forgiven your lack of faith. I, myself, do not believe in accidents at all. Rather, I believe that life is filled with seemingly arbitrary and chance-full circumstances, and if we choose to live with a heart open to any possibility, any manner of doors might be opened. Life and experience are limited only by our unwillingness to walk through.
Bir varmış, bir yokmuş...
I was sitting in the kitchen of Kurt and Margot’s new house. Kurt had made raisin scones…
Artists Kurt and Margot had recently sold their beloved country home, with its gardens and wooded trails and airy spaces for studios, and relocated to a modest little house on the South Hill. I had come for brunch, and to see how they were adjusting to life within the confines of the city as well as those of a much smaller home.
As I was buttering my third scone (or was it my fourth? In my defence, they were very small), Margot, whose eyes are always smiling, said, “After we finish our brunch, I will take you up to the attic to show you my studio. But first tell us more about this trip you have planned!”
She was referring to my upcoming trip to Paris. I was set to leave the following month and spend 6 weeks in the city of lights and love. My daughter Ella would accompany me for the first three weeks, but the second half of the trip was all mine. I began telling them of my idea to use the time alone to write and collect my thoughts, as a type of retreat. I also admitted to them that I was feeling equal parts excitement and fear.
Kurt interrupted my train of thought with “Paris is a wonderful city to visit… Margot and I enjoyed it very much when we were there. But the place you really need to see is Istanbul! There is no other city like it in the entire world, with its mix of east and west, its beauty, its architecture, and its history. Take my word for it… Istanbul is the place you are meant to see.”
Maybe someday, I thought.
We finished up our meal, and as promised Margot took me to see the studio and a glimpse of the work that she was preparing for her upcoming show. Afterwards we returned downstairs and as I was gathering up my things to leave, Margot walked over to the kitchen sink and got herself a glass of water, then insisted on walking me out to the car. We said our final farewells and hugged, and as I pulled away from the curb I saw Margot throw the water behind the car. It looked as though she was saying something, but I was already on my way. She and Kurt just smiled and waved.
Paris was lovely. I ate lemon crepes from vendors and delighted in small scoops of hazelnut and pistachio ice cream while sitting in Les Jardins Tuileries. I ate couscous in the Latin Quarter and confit de canard on Rue de Bac. I got caught peeking through a doorway into a studio and the artist invited me in to see his work. And many days I entered Notre Dame to sit in silent meditation. Before I knew it, November 5th had arrived and I was forced to say goodbye to the beautiful little apartment on the left bank which had been my home and my sanctuary for six weeks.
As I sat in Charles de Gaulle airport waiting to board my flight home, I had no way of knowing that on December 23rd, a mere seven weeks later, I would be sitting at a sidewalk cafe sipping pomegranate juice in Istanbul!
It was cold yet despite the winter weather, or perhaps even because of it, my visit to Istanbul was wonderful. The trip had been unexpected, and I had gone ill prepared with a few changes of clothes and only one light jacket which did little to keep out the cold. Thus, sitting outside under a heat lamp with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and sipping hot tea became all the more satisfying. Cups of sahlep did double duty, both sweetening my mood and protecting my hands from the biting temperatures.
Hemingway famously stated that Paris is a movable feast. I found Istanbul to be a feast for the eyes. Overcast skies only served to heighten the intensity of color all around me. Displays of multi-hued scarves next to strings of copper cezveler, vibrant handmade hanging lanterns and chandeliers, and vivid pottery bowls, more than a few of which made their way into my luggage going home. There were evil eye pendants to ward off every ill omen, and an array of herbs and spices to make any cook worth her salt swoon in delight, ranging from verdant dried mint and golden turmeric to creamy pale ginger and deepest blush rose petals, as well.
Even the food had an elevated degree of flavor. Rich, tomatoey Iskender Kebap, freshly chopped salads with mint, sweet-tart pomegranate juice and salty ayran. And the sweetest of desserts, syrupy baklava, caramelized kazandibi, and the surprisingly luscious tavuk gogsu aka chicken breast pudding, all served with small bitter cups of tea.
Each day was a sensory experience in Istanbul and I enjoyed every moment. Sadly my ten day trip was over in what felt like two blinks of my eye, and I was once again saying goodbye and heading to the airport.
In March of 2019, I moved to Washington DC. Washington is a stimulatingly diverse city. While walking downtown it is not unusual to hear half a dozen languages within the distance of two city blocks. Owing to the patchwork of influences that make up the population of Washington and its surrounding areas, I am able to enjoy an authentic meal from nearly any corner of the globe. Afghani, Persian, Jordanian, Saudi, and other Middle Eastern restaurants sit beside those serving French, Spanish, Vietnamese, Chinese, and Japanese fare. Even Uyghur cuisine has made itself known in the area. Yet try as I might, I have not been able to find a Turkish restaurant that satisfies my hunger for a Turkish meal. Not to say that I can’t find a good kebap or glass of ayran, but mostly what I have come across are small shops selling mostly take out kabap and pizza or larger, or those larger ones selling small plates at large prices.
By the end of summer 2019, despairing of finding an authentic, reasonably priced restaurant, I took to the internet hoping to find Turkish food or cultural events, perhaps through the Turkish embassy. What I found listed were two street festivals and a Turkish coffee event, where a limited number of guests could come free of charge to learn how to make traditional Turkish coffee.
The first of the street festivals was scheduled for the following weekend. Unfortunately it was canceled. I had been looking forward to live music, great food, and maybe even some small stalls selling sweets or Turkish soaps and bath towels. I left disappointed.
When I arrived home I signed up for the coffee event and got the last available spot. If nothing else, I could at least enjoy a cup of good Turkish coffee. Two weeks later my daughter Summer agreed to accompany me to the venue, and while I went into the event she said that she would look around the area or stop by a coffee shop to wait for me. It would only take an hour.
I entered just minutes before the coffee making was set to begin, and I, along with nine other interested parties were given a quick history of kahve. Then we were led into the kitchen where there was enough equipment for each of us to try our hand at making the aromatic brew. The lovely instructor then assisted us through the procedure, and as we were ready to take our first sips, a plate of lokum was placed in the center of the table for us to enjoy along with our kahve.
At this point, my attention was aroused as I heard someone talking about Turkish classes. I turned to see who was speaking, and quite shamelessly joined the conversation.
“Oh, did I hear you mentioning Turkish classes? Will they also be held at this venue?”
Casey, the organizer of the event, responded, “Yes, we have beginner classes starting tonight, in about 15 minutes. Would you like to attend? You are welcome to go join the class. If you don’t enjoy it, then feel free to leave after 15-20 minutes.”
Part of me was saying that my daughter had already been waiting an hour for me during this coffee event, and we were supposed to meet up right after. The other part of me was saying to step through this door! It might be fun to learn a few words and phrases. This was a free class, after all. I called Summer to explain that I would be about 20 minutes late. She said that she didn’t mind waiting a bit longer. I should stay and enjoy my time.
I entered the class to find a room full of students who seemed to be intimidatingly prepared. I often carry a notebook and pens in my handbag, so I pulled them out with full false confidence, in order to look as though I, too, had come prepared. The Turkish instructor dove directly into speaking Turkish and coaxing us to introduce ourselves, and by 20 minutes in was well into a grammar lesson. There was no way that I could just get up and walk out. Besides, it was really interesting so I decided to sit it out.At the end of one hour, the teacher said for us to all take a ten minute break and get some tea. Wait… what? Class isn’t over? I called Summer again, apologizing, and said that class was going to last longer than I had anticipated. Would she mind waiting just a little longer? She assured me that it was no problem.
The next hour went much as the first, and the teacher again signalled that we should take a break. My head was spinning as I called Summer to delay yet again… but this was the most fun that I had had in months! I felt so alive!
In fact, Summer waited four hours for me that evening. The class lasted a full three hours, and was to convene again two nights later. I had accidentally stumbled into an intense and accelerated Turkish class, designed to bring students up to full fluency given the time and the desire. I have now completed two courses covering A1.1 and A1.2, the later half of the second course being taught online due to quarantine restrictions. I am waiting with four eyes for classes to begin again in September, when I can begin level A2.1.
Life opens doors, and if we are brave we walk through. I walked through a door and into a class that has not only given me a strong basis in Turkish language, but has also opened my eyes to a country whose culture, history, and incredible beauty I had only caught a glimpse of during my short visit. Turkey is calling me to return … what can I do but answer that call… and perhaps even stay for a while as Mary Lee Settle did when she arrived to Bodrum by ferry in 1972 and wound up staying for three years, calling it “One of the happiest homes I have ever had.”
Let yourself be silently drawn by the strange pull of what you really love. It will not lead you astray. ~Rumi
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Aisha Roxanna Marie is a native Idahoan turned world traveler who has journeyed through Asia, the Middle East, North Africa, Europe, and Australia. Having spent twenty plus years in Saudi Arabia and five years in Malaysia, she now divides her time between Riyadh and Washington DC, with a keen eye turned towards her next big adventure. You can find more of her work here http://aishabecoming.blogspot.com/search/label/Istanbul and flow her on Instagram @travelgrazer
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