Friday, 21 September
I began my second full day in Çardak using the hotel’s slow internet connection to upload photos to my blog. Toward the middle of the day, I ventured out into the square a few times to pick up supplies. On one of my sorties out into the square, Eren and Özgür invited me to dinner at their büfe that evening. I accepted.
I never saw or met Eren’s mother, but she’d cooked up an assortment of aromatic dishes which Eren brought to the büfe and set out on a table for our dinner. It was some of the best food I’d had in a long time — lentil soup, bread, rice. There was also çoban salata and a huge bowl of a reduced soup with ground beef, green peppers, tomatoes, and some spices.
After dinner five of Eren and Özgür’s buddies (who I’d started calling the five guys), showed up. One of them barreled in on a motorcycle which he revved several times before shutting it off. They often hung out at the büfe, and they had taken it upon themselves to be my mentors and guides. Sure enough, tonight they had come for me.
“Mert (my Turkish nickname)! Sit!” said the motorcycle man, gesturing with his thumb to the back of his motorcycle. “It’s time for you to take a tour of our village.”
I hate riding on the back of a motorcycle. I feel like I’m going to die, and the fact that he was heavily drunk didn’t increase my feeling of safety any.
It was dark, the road full of potholes, and there wasn’t a helmet in sight. I figured God would just have to protect me, or, as the Turks would say, Allah beni korur. I suspected that before I touched that wire fence at the Turkey/Iran border I’d have many other opportunities to utter this phrase, just hoping for the best.
So I muttered, “Allah beni korur,” and hopped on the back of the motorcycle and whizzed around town. The motorcycle man showed me different places including Eren’s and Özgür’s apartments. Then he dropped me off back at the büfe.
I ended the day by going with Özgür and Eren to the village square for a cultural night with Turkish folk music and a light show. Basically, everyone in the village was there, gathered on folding chairs in the center of the village square to see and be seen and to listen to the music and to hear the speakers. I watched for a bit, and then turned in at my hotel, feeling satisfied and at peace.
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In 2012, Matt sold off or gave away almost everything he owned. He strapped whatever was left to his back, flew to Turkey, and walked across it. Every foot, from one end of the country to the other. Along the way he slept in mosque gardens, dined with strangers, and stumbled into refugee camps.
This is the story of that journey. We’ll be publishing one chapter each week from his book. If you would like to read the whole thing at once, you can purchase his book titled Heathen Pilgrim: Walk Across Turkey on Amazon.
