TOUCHING TURKEY
This is the second in a series of articles about a trip to the interesting country of Turkey
TOUCHING TURKEY
By Charles N. Stevens
Soon after breakfast we begin lowering into Zurich, our plane gradually sinking into an icy haze. Although thick snow coats the Alps, the frosty rolling farmland around Zurich is free of snow. At about 9:30 our plane eases onto the runway for a very smooth landing.
Tired from the long journey and the prospect of more fatigue ahead, we wait in soft chairs in the airport lounge. We notice that many women wear furs and that nearly everyone smokes, a marked difference from the habits of Americans. As Zurich is a crossroads, we become aware of people traveling from many different countries. One black man from Africa wears long white silky trousers with a pattern like brocade woven into them. His long shirt hangs loosely outside below the belt line. Women with pink hijabs over their heads sit near us. Gradually we meet other members of the tour and strike up conversations with them.
At 11:30 the passengers for the flight to Izmir (that’s us) are loaded into a bus for a ride to another part of the field where the flight waits on the tarmac. The short walk to the bus lets us know how cold the air really is outside. Even inside the bus our breaths steam. The bus stops near our flight where we again step out into the frigid air, the sun shining weakly through haze. We slowly enter the plane via the tail entrance, the metal handrails aching cold. We sit down in our seat on the DC-9 where we watch the rest of the passengers struggle for theirs. We’re both very tired and our stomachs are tentative, the way they always are after a long flight. Through my heavy-lidded eyes naked trees and white houses appear far across the field, dimmed in smokiness. A flock of crows flies low over the runway. Several babies, venting the discomfort we all feel, fill the cabin with their unhappy screaming.
Because the passenger count and the luggage count do not agree, we must wait another 40 minutes before we even begin to taxi. Attendants walk anxiously through the aisles counting passengers. Finally, they discover that a computer error had been made. As the traffic at the Zurich airport is extremely busy, we must wait another 20 minutes. Finally, a few minutes after one, we zoom off the runway, banking sharply over the leafless trees and the monopoly-like houses, a cold haze choking the valleys.
Soon we look out on the majesty of the Swiss Alps, the jagged peaks so thickly covered with snow that they look like icebergs. The darkness of the forest trees contrast sharply with the whiteness of the snow. Villages and small cities in the valleys lie nearly buried in snow with the distinct black lines of roads and railroads connecting them into a network that looks like a snowy relief map. When the stewardess arrives with a lunch, we can only approach it half-heartedly. We pick at the goulash and mashed potatoes but do not touch the rest of it.
The Balkans rise out of the white haze like islands, the lowering sun turning the rivers winding through the snow into golden fire.
By the time we reach the Mediterranean Sea, the land is free of snow. We descend slowly over the Turkish coast, the waves below breaking against cliffs and circular inlets. A strong wind churns up whitecaps on the water. We circle low over the winter-bare landscape of Turkey, a wash of tans and browns interspersed with leafless poplar trees and small olive groves.
After a smooth landing, we walk up through the chilly jet way at the Izmir airport. We move slowly through passport control and the noisy pounding of rubber stamps. We soon find out, much to our unhappiness, that our luggage has not arrived. Dolores fills out papers that may help us to get our bags later, after they discover their whereabouts. We feel that they are still in Chicago where we barely caught our plane. I change $50 into Turkish lira at the rate of about 8700 lira per dollar.
Outside we walk toward the bus, sans bags, a cruel cold north wind bending the small trees and snapping the Turkish flag. The bus will take us to Kusadasi (KUSH-A-DA-SI), about an hour away. Very little traffic is on the dark road as we speed through the night. We sometimes pass small settlements and brightly lit gas stations. Through the large windows of taverns or coffee houses, Turkish men gather to talk and drink coffee. We speed by houses lit inside with fluorescent lighting, as well as lighted pottery stands and large-windowed restaurants with linen on the tables and no customers. In the darkness stand tall, spikey Italian cypress, winter-dead poplars, and rows of olive trees.
Finally, with our remaining energy nearly drained away, we arrive at Kusadasi and the Otel Grand Ozcelik, a tall, modern hotel illuminated against the waters of a dark bay. After settling in our tiny room, we return to the lounge, our bodies aching for bed, to receive our “welcome drink”, a concoction of orange juice and various liqueurs with a trace of vodka and a tangerine section skewered on a little plastic sword.
We are ushered upstairs to the dining room where we take seats at a long table. Waiters bring us first an excellent tomato soup sprinkled lightly with cheese. Next they bring a plate of appetizers—Turkish cheese, dolmade, yogurt mixed with spinach, yogurt mixed with fresh mint, a spicy blend of peppers and cheese, another mixture similar to Spanish rice, several “luncheon” meats and a dab of Russian salad. We refuse the green salad which next appears but accept the Hungarian goulash and noodles with mixed vegetables. Dolores has a creamy chocolate pudding with a dash of ground pistachio nuts on top.
Up in our room on the 4th floor we slide sensuously into bed, enjoying the simple wonder of being horizontal again.
MONTEREY PARK AUTHOR PUBLISHES 4th BOOK – Seeking More of the Sky: Growing Up in the 1930’s:
Charles “Norm” Stevens, a 49 year resident of Monterey Park has recently published his 4th book: Seeking More of the Sky: Growing Up in the 1930’s. This is the story of a young boy growing up in Inglewood, California in the l930’s. This was a time during the depression when unemployment was affecting many and the banks were closed, while the clouds of war were gathering in Europe. But he was lucky enough to be raised in a loving family, the power of that love reflected throughout his stories.
Stevens is the author of three previous books about his experiences during WWII:
An Innocent at Polebrook: A Memoir of an 8th Air Force Bombardier (Story of his 34 bombing missions from his base at Polebrook, England over Germany and France)
The Innocent Cadet: Becoming A World War II Bombardier (A prequel to the first, telling of his training in the U.S. before going overseas into combat.)
Back from Combat: A WWII Bombardier Faces His Military Future from Combat: (This book details the time from when he returned from combat in England until the end of the war.)
He is known to the readers of The Citizen’s Voice as the author of Travel Log Articles including “Cruising the Rhine and Mosel”,” Best of the West”, “In Search of Snow” , “From Paris to Normandy on the Seine”, and “Exploring New York”. He is retired, having taught for 32 years, primarily in the Montebello Unified School District.
Those interested in purchasing an autographed copy of any of his books, may contact the author at 323-721-8230 or Normstevens24@gmail.com.
