Kindness of Strangers

Monday, September 1, 2008

We were supposed to fly to Rome on Saturday. However, we have recently made some dramatic changes to our itinerary - for better or worse - and have decided to leave directly to Jordan from Istanbul. The earliest available flight to Jordan is September 2, three days after our scheduled flight to Rome.

Our first order of business upon returning to Istanbul from Cirali was to have our tickets reissued. Although we have reservations for our next flight segments, we have no actual tickets; further, because we have paper tickets, some poor sap has to physically pen our new ones. In order to do so, we had to pay a visit to American Airlines’ sole, inconveniently-located office in Istanbul - the only such office in the whole country.

We took a one-hour metro ride to Kabatas, a part of the city I had never been to. We trudged up the hill, holding a crumpled piece of paper in our hands with the office’s address. Passing number 33 once, we hiked back down the hill. A small brass sign, barely detectable, read, “American Airlines, first floor,” and pointed upward. We squinted at the poky staircase that disappeared into the dark. “This is it?” I asked, incredulously.

Once inside, the agency assured us that our tickets could be easily reissued within a few hours. Meanwhile, we spent a leisurely afternoon exploring Taksim, the city already emptying of tourists in late August We ducked in and out of bookstores, buying Lonely Planet guides for our next legs, and spent a long time chatting with the director of the Sufi museum, who was eager to practice his English.

When we returned to the office later that afternoon, we learned that, not only had the tickets not been reissued, but there were “problems.” However, because the office was only an agent of American Airlines, they couldn’t place a call to the airlines in London without charging us 30 Euros (about $45) per person. “Come back Monday and we’ll get it sorted out,” she said, confidently. Our flight is scheduled to leave Tuesday.

I was beside myself. I’ve never faced the unknown very well, and this trip has only confirmed that. I spent a sleepless night wondering how and if we were ever going to get out of Istanbul. If I have learned anything thus far, it’s that I place my expectations in all the wrong places: I expect situations to work out perfectly most times, and when they don’t (and they rarely do), I panic. But I expect very little from people, tending to be leery and untrusting.

The next morning we called Dunya and Diler, a couple about our age who we met at our hotel in Cirali. They both live in Istanbul and lived in New York City for three years, where they attended graduate school. They were eager to show us Istanbul, and encouraged us to contact them when we got back to the city. We decided now would be the perfect time: we needed to have some fun and distract ourselves from the situation at hand.

We met them back in Kabatas (was there a vortex in this neighborhood?), where we boarded a boat for a tour of the Bosphorous. As the ticket collector came around, we were once again surprised when they offered to pay. “You are our guests,” they insisted. We spent a lovely hour taking in the scenery and chatting. It was Victory Day, celebrating the Turk’s triumph over their many invaders throughout the course of history, and every building was draped with gigantic Turkish flags. Huge swaths of the cherry fabric, festooned with the iconic white crescent moon and star, flapped in the breeze. Some flags bore an image of Ataturk, their beloved national hero, who I think is quite dashing.

I shared with Dunya (whose name, interestingly, means “world”) and Diler our ticket woes. Having lived in both American and Turkish cultures, they were able to offer a helpful perspective. “In America there is a system, and the people are bound to it. When something goes wrong, there is always a responsible party,” said Dunya. While none of our lives are ultimately in our control, I think there is a pervasive sense in the US that most things can be manipulated to our satisfaction if we just try hard enough. In most of the world, this isn’t the case; and while I know this on an intellectual level, I am finding it nearly impossible to surrender that sense of control. I am fighting a losing battle with myself.

After the boat cruise, they drove us around the more modern parts of Istanbul, which we had never seen. We zoomed past the towering skyscrapers that they both work in, and lunched in a chic area of town, which, again, was their treat. As a thoroughly modern Turkish couple, it was interesting to hear their perspective on politics, world affairs, social mores, and cultural norms. We walked around Nisantasi, the Beverly Hills of Turkey, and found the streets to be blessedly tourist-free, nothing like the buzzing chaos of Sultanahmet. We popped into a store that I can only describe as the Crate and Barrel of Turkey, where, instead of a plethora of pillows and plates, one can choose from a dizzying array of raki glasses and tea cups.

We said our goodbyes, wishing that we could repay the favor someday if they ever travel to New Mexico. But tit for tat wasn’t the point. I shared with Diler that I was amazed that, in traveling throughout Turkey, no one seems particularly concerned with “keeping tabs.” There was one day in Goreme where we owed four people money. It wasn’t much - a couple of lira here and there - but each vendor always said, “Next time.” When we returned less than an hour later with the money, people looked surprised. “You didn’t have to make a special trip back here!” they seemed to say. Diler translated. “The attitude is that if you have something to give, you give it. They trust that if you are a good person, you will be back. If not, then you’ll get that money back in your life in some other way. The important thing is to do it if you can.” This was the embodiment of karma and trust in your fellow man, an example of placing your expectations in all the right places. It was as nice of a philosophy as I had ever heard.