360 Degrees Longitude (20 page)

Of course, I didn't have a clue what the
muezzin
, aka Mr. Singy-Person, was saying during the call to prayer. In fact, he doesn't
say
anything. The call to prayer is a
song
, sung in a bluesy, country-western twang. I speculated that it is really a song about how Mr. Singy-Person lost his job, lost his dog, and his mother-in-law is moving in. But I didn't have the nerve to ask the locals if this was the case.

Turkey is a huge country, but with much less transportation infrastructure than Europe. There are few trains that crisscross the country, nor are there villages around every bend. Distances between towns and regions can be vast and the terrain desolate. Our options for getting around were limited to renting a car, taking the bus, or flying. When it was time to move on, we opted for the clean, efficient, and ridiculously inexpensive bus network.

As we made preparations to leave Çesme, I glanced around our hostel room to be sure we hadn't forgotten anything. Katrina had already left the room but her crutches were leaning against the wall near the door. As I went to retrieve them, September shot me a glance; the glance was all I needed to tell me that it was time to leave them behind.

Katrina hadn't used the crutches since setting them aside after first arriving in Çesme, though her stride was slow and deliberate and would be for weeks to come. Jordan wanted to keep the crutches as they were a cool toy, but September and I hoped they would find use by someone who needed them. We quietly slipped away.

Initially the broken leg was a bitter blow, but it changed us,
improved
us, somehow. In the first weeks of our trip we had struggled with the issue of too much time together. When Katrina had her accident, for a brief moment packing up and going home seemed the logical thing to do. I struggled with emotions from rage at the person who had hung the rope to despair that we couldn't engage in the activities we had come for. In the weeks that followed somehow the fact that we couldn't “do” as much seemed less important and our ability to enjoy simply being together gradually increased. Without warning, our original problem of “too much together time” simply evaporated. Now what once threatened to beat us was quietly left behind without fanfare. We would be challenged again before coming home, but we faced these challenges differently from the outset—with the experience of knowing that if we banded together, we could overcome almost anything.

• • •

We boarded a bus to Selçuk, the modern city near ancient Ephesus. September and Katrina plopped down onto a bench seat and Jordan and I took the bench directly behind them. Jordan and I busied ourselves with watching a sitcom I had downloaded onto my e.brain an hour earlier. We spent half an hour glued to the tiny two-by-three-inch screen when I noticed September and Katrina giggling and shooting me the occasional glance, telling me that whatever they were laughing at, I was the butt of the joke.

“What's so funny?” I asked.

“Tell him, Mom!” Katrina begged.

“Yeah, tell him,” I said.

“Your shirt wasn't cheap Commie construction,” September said, trying to keep her composure. “It was
robust
Commie construction.”

I had no idea what September was talking about. Katrina and September looked as though they had just won the lottery. Relying on one of the wittiest retorts in my arsenal I said, “Huh?”

“It was virtually indestructible,” September replied. “Tightly woven poly-blend fabric, triple-stitched seams—the works. It wouldn't have come unraveled without a little sabotage.” I should have suspected such from the woman who once sewed the flies of my underwear together to remind me to either sit or put down the seat.

“I'm sorry,” she continued, “but I just couldn't bear to be seen in public with you wearing that shirt.”

My mouth was moving but nothing came out. Finally, I was able to form the words, “And so you waited to tell me until we were well out of the city so I couldn't retrieve it from the landfill.”

“Something like that.”

Jordan, in particular, was scandalized to learn that his own mother was capable of such seditious behavior. “Well, Jordan,” I explained, “I should have known better. Your mother once donated my California Superbike School T-shirt to a homeless shelter. But she
promised
that she would never throw away any of my shirts again.”

“And I kept my promise.
You
threw it away.”

Katrina, not being able to hold back any longer, burst into giggles. This called for more than just soap squished together. Jordan and I started scheming over how to get even with Team Estrogen.

• • •

We pulled into Selçuk and checked into a hostel near the bustling town center. One of the hostel workers decided to make it his mission to get Jordan to smile. He knelt down so he was at Jordan's eye level and, tousling Jordan's hair, said, “Such blue eyes!”

“Smile, Jordan,” I said.

He ignored me. He was rapidly learning to avoid every adult he saw; our intention of giving the kids an appreciation of other cultures was backfiring in Turkey. Jordan's blond hair and blue eyes were something of a novelty, and he was getting way more attention from well-meaning strangers than he wanted. Initially, we were having some success getting him to smile as strangers rumpled his hair and told him how cute he was. But by the time we hit Selçuk, we were judging these encounters as successful if Jordan didn't grimace and clench his fists.

“You're getting attention only because they love children here,” September explained.

“I don't like being treated like a little kid!”

We didn't want Jordan to have ill feelings for those who were trying to be friendly, but a kid from the United States is used to having strangers keep themselves at arm's length. Katrina, being a middle-sized girl in a Muslim society, was largely immune to the pats, pokes, and prods, and so every time we transitioned through the hostel, she became a human shield to protect her little brother from “Mr. Patty-Head.”

Selçuk is adjacent to Ephesus, one of the greatest cities of the ancient Mediterranean world. Ephesus was first occupied by the Greeks, then the Romans, and was abandoned in the sixth century when the harbor silted up. Ancient Ephesus was best known for the Temple of Artemis, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
When
we
went to see the Temple of Artemis it was just a stone column sticking up out of the ground, pieces of it having been carted off to the British Museum some decades earlier. Of course when we were at the British Museum the previous June, we naïvely assumed that this Wonder of the Ancient World would still be on location and not relocated to downtown London.

Luckily for us, the amphitheater where Paul the Apostle preached had
not
been relocated to downtown London. Interestingly, the audio guide we rented didn't tell the story of Paul the Apostle. It told the story of local artisans, whose livelihoods depended on making figurines of the many-breasted Artemis, Goddess of Fertility.

As the story unfolded, we heard about a new-fangled religion being preached by someone named Paul, claiming to be an apostle. Paul started gaining converts and preached that the worship of Artemis was wrong. The local artisans whose livelihoods depended on the Artemis figurines saw Paul as a threat to their livelihood, as the Temple of Artemis was famous and drew crowds from far away. The artisans incited the crowd at the amphitheater to jeer at Paul by chanting “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!” A riot ensued and Paul was obliged to leave.

If only those artisans could have seen 2,000 years into the future, they would have known they could still make a living crafting crosses and crèches for the hundreds of pilgrims who now file in daily.

 

Jordan's Journal, October 1

Today we went to the ancient city of Ephesus. It has a marble street. It is really slippery when it rains. We played hide-and-seek. I got “gum” flavored ice cream, except I think it was actually like the tree-sap kind of gum. It was really bitter. We hid it in a napkin and threw it away. All of the patting on the head and tickling and poking is getting even worse. I hope the next town we go to isn't as bad. I want a hat with metal spikes on it
.

The following morning September was doing laundry by hand and I was doing homework with Katrina and Jordan in our room. “I'm going to make breakfast,” I announced. “Finish what you're working on and come down in 15 minutes.”

As the kitchen was located adjacent to the lobby, Jordan's eyes narrowed to slits and he clenched his teeth. Omar—Mr. Patty-Head—was usually found busying himself in the lobby.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard Katrina and Jordan talking as they approached me in the kitchen. Then I heard the heavily accented voice of Omar. “What's wrong, don't you like me? I just want to be friends.”

I thought about intervening, but I also knew that if Omar was successful in coercing a smile from Jordan, he would let the kids pass. Then I heard Katrina say, “My brother doesn't like that.” I knew something was up; Katrina wouldn't stand up to an adult, especially a stranger, unless something was wrong.

I hurriedly finished what I was doing only to hear her repeat the same words, louder, “My brother doesn't like that.” I peered around the corner in time to see Jordan on Omar's lap, struggling for freedom. There was nothing nefarious happening. I believe Omar simply wanted to make a friend and took Jordan's reluctance personally; he was reaching out in his way.

As I was about to make my presence known, Katrina took hold of Jordan's hand and said pointedly, “Jordan has to come with me,” and she pulled him free and then walked into the kitchen where I was.

I knew confrontation was difficult for Katrina. “You're a good big sister,” I said.

Katrina turned a chair toward the wall. I heard a sniffle and saw her hand dab at her eyes.

“Jordan,” I said, “Omar wouldn't pester you if you simply gave him a smile.”

Jordan looked up. With ferocity in his eyes, he growled, “Sometimes it's no fun being a kid.”

Later, when September and I talked about this incident, we agreed that Omar's motivation was innocent and he was merely trying to be friendly. We had observed that open gestures such as this were part of the culture. But at home, picking up a child of an acquaintance and placing him on your lap might land you in jail. Nevertheless, the situation had become so uncomfortable for us that we couldn't stay, and we made arrangements to leave earlier than planned.

A few hours later we were on a fourteen-hour overnight bus ride to the interior of the country. We stepped off the bus at four in the morning in the tiny town of Göreme. The gray sandstone towers gave the landscape an alien feel.

“Ramadan starts soon,” I commented.

“Your point being… what?” September replied.

“Back home, the terror alert is being raised to orange because unrest is expected.” I paused. “My mom thinks we're nuts being here during Ramadan.”

“Funny,” September replied.
“My
mom doesn't think that at all.”

“What's Ramadan?” Katrina asked.

“Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. To Muslims, it's a holy month marked by fasting.”

Katrina looked surprised. “Wow. I don't think I could fast a whole month.”

“When the sun goes down at night people can eat all they want, and when the sun comes up in the morning, the fasting starts. This goes on every day for a full lunar cycle.”

Katrina looked confused. “I don't get it. You mean people at home are nervous about a bunch of hungry Muslims?”

“It's human nature to be afraid of things you don't understand,” September said. “Remember Dilara, who we met on that island before we came to Turkey? She was afraid to visit the United States because she saw news clips about gang violence, but we think of the United States as safe. It's the same kind of thing.”

“I still don't get it,” Katrina said.

“Some believe that during Ramadan Muslims become more devout, and therefore, terrorists act more extreme,” I said.

“But not all Muslims are terrorists!” Katrina protested emphatically. “Nor are all terrorists Muslim! Everyone we've met here has been so nice!”

“You're forgetting about all the Mr. Patty-Heads,” Jordan said, scandalized. “They are
not
nice!”

Isn't it interesting, I thought to myself, how we can share the same experiences, and reach such different conclusions.

• • •

Göreme is in the heart of the vast Cappadocia region of Turkey. Large towers of rock adorn the landscape. The canyons are riddled with tunnels, caves, and spires of stone. The stone is actually volcanic ash, solidified into soft sandstone that has eroded over eons leaving behind tall, chimney-shaped rock formations. Many homes and dwellings are dug out of the rock, as was our hostel.