Cultural Anthropology, Shoestring style

The world is a big place. There is so much to see, so much to do, how do we decide to become a part of the world instead of just looking at it? If we can put ourselves, literally, into someone else’s shoes, what would we find out about this great big world? What would we discover about ourselves? In these bizarre times of globalization and ever-changing political climates, isn’t it the most important thing to discover a little bit about the people and places that could change our lives, or whose lives we are trying to change? I have been thinking a lot about these questions, as I am trying to decide what I want out of my life, and what I want out of the world. If one person could set out to change her perspective, and to hopefully change the perspective of a few others, could that be the start of real change and understanding? As I look back on my time in Turkey, I am shocked at how my perspective has changed. I am even more shocked that it is all changed for the better.

I got myself into some pretty sticky situations in Turkey. A large part of that is due to not understanding who I was dealing with. Turkish tourism professionals are absolutely the best at their jobs. Befriending, offering advice, tea, sometimes dinner or breakfast, earning your trust just so they can swindle some extra money out of a tourist is the name of the game. Are there others out there, in other countries, I mean, who are like that? I am certain they exist. Are the sales people overly aggressive, shouting out “Japan!” or “Korea!!” or “American, right?” and then doing the exact same thing as the tourism professionals, all in an effort to overcharge “rich westerners?” Absolutely. Are their others out there like them in other countries? Having listened to many travelers’ stories of Egypt, Morocco, and India, I am going to answer absolutely to that question.

After getting out of the tourism business, and distancing myself from all the people and places associated with it, I started to see the real Turkey. There are so many lovely people, regular people with regular jobs, they are just not immediately on the surface. The same can be said for nature. All of the tourist places are beautiful, spectacular even, but the prices doubled this year to visit museums (which most archaeological sites are considered), and with Turkey continuing Westernization, other prices are climbing as well, which makes affordability increasingly difficult. Where can one discover the other side then, hidden parts of a world so big, yet so small, where “secret places” are revealed every month in travel books, travel blogs, travel magazines, newspapers, and internet sites? My solution to a question, that, at the time, I wasn’t even asking, turned up at my local bar.

Making friends in a new place is important. I made tons of friends in Turkey, it’s just…well, only one happened to be Turkish. Travelers from all over the world made their way through my life during the summer, and I was fortunate enough to exchange contact information, and even stay in touch, with many of them. One will never see another’s culture if one doesn’t make more of an effort to know the people in it. Thanks to the European Cup, I met my friend Dolun, and together we survived our time in Selcuk. We also met amazing people, which wasn’t surprising for her, being a non-tourism associated Turkish girl, but astounded me and my two close American friends in Turkey.

I discovered that the world really IS as small as it sometimes seems, and that, just like I’d thought for so long, that people are people everywhere, no matter where you are. The same problems, the same social classes, the same stresses at work, in love, in life. I saw natural beauty like I hadn’t seen before, the kind that is so perfect a photo couldn’t capture it. Beauty unparalleled, enhanced by the tranquility of a Sunday drive, and through the imaginings that a quiet world untouched by machinery still exists. Mountains on one side, dense forest on the other, lakes and rivers cutting through, a shepherd crouched by the side of the road, watching his sheep grazing through the dusky twilight. Wild horses, wild grapes, walnut trees dripping with nutty fruit, babbling brooks so clear and fresh one wonders how Turkish water is so unsafe to drink. Of course, all of these things can be found in America, and I’ve been lucky enough to see many of them. I just can’t recall a moment where I have seen them all at the same time.

Looking beyond our own borders is the key to understanding the world that we are now a part of. I’ve read books by Turkish authors (and not just that “city boy, “ as one friend here calls him, Orhan Pamuk, though I have read his books) I would have never discovered without some help. I have discovered musical styles which I probably never would have heard. I met former fascists, capitalists, and communists, not intellectuals, but educated people trying to find their place in the world. My physical appearance suits their idea of America, but my attitude does not. Every horror story I heard here about some horrid person always, always, always was about an American. In some small way, for at least some small group of people, I hope I changed their perspective. I know they have changed mine.