I separated from my travel companions in Turkey a few days ago and became what I am most used to being- a solo female traveler. This is the 27th country I've been to and the 13th that I've experienced on my own. The loneliness set in as I checked myself into a hotel and I thought, "Is this my destiny in life? To always travel alone?" Never have I traveled with a significant other.
I have not seen another woman traveling alone in Turkey. I am the odd number in groups, three couples and I'm the 7th person. I sat by myself at breakfast and was relieved when a family of three joined me so it looked liked I belonged. At 31, I feel too old for this level of travel independence that I embraced when I was 20.
Turkish people have questioned me too:
-"Are you traveling by yourself?"
-"Yes."
-So you don't have anyone with you?"
-"Yes."
-"Really?"
-"Yes!"
The above conversation happened at a coffee shop where I stopped in for rice pudding. The (male) owner was intrigued and summoned his friends to join the conversation. In broken English supplemented by hand gestures, we talked about American rap music and stereotypes of foreigners in addition to basic things, like our jobs. After thirty minutes the owner uncorked a bottle of wine and in another thirty minutes, a second bottle. They exchanged some words in Turkish and then translated that they would like me to come to a "pigeon house" with them to drink more and have a bonfire. By now it was 11 pm. "Don't worry," one of them said, again in faltering English. "I call my friends- girls- so you won't be alone."
Regular readers know that I would have gone with them even without the other women. They seemed like nice men around my age, and I didn't sense an alterior motive. I would have missed out on so many of my past experiences if I traveled with the caution that my parents and guidebooks suggest in situations like these. Still, the offer to invite women along was appreciated.
I drove the man's car because I was the sober one. I may be dumb enough to go with random foreign men on unknown adventures, but I'm not dumb enough to do it wasted. We left the city and the road twisted into the foothills of central Turkey. "Slow, slow, slow, now left," he said, and I turned onto a dirt road on a plateau over the city. There were no street lamps, not even the moon to light the way, only stars.
We climbed down a ladder onto a ledge and one of the men broke out a flashlight. He shined it into the rock face behind us, illuminating an arched doorway cut into the cliff. We walked into the "pigeon house," which was in fact a cave home that had been formerly occupied by hundreds of birds and their droppings. It had been impeccably cleaned since then and comfortably decorated with sofa cushions and tapestries. The old pigeon nests in the walls had been turned into bookshelves for political theories. The home belonged to a friend of a friend, they explained. Why he wasn't there, I don't know.
That night I sat at a bonfire on the cliff ledge with these two men, their female friends, and later a Russian and a Polish backpacker. One of the men- the one who barely spoke English- kept smiling at me. He was cute and I had no problem smiling back. At one point, as I stood at the edge of the cliff in awe of the brilliance of the stars, he came behind me and grabbed my shoulders to playfully scare me. I jumped and my arms flew into the air. When I turned around, my hand fell into his. It stayed there for a few seconds longer than it should have until he interlaced our fingers and brought his arm, with my hand in it, around his waist.
It was the first time a man had held my hand since that night in New York, five months ago. I had flashbacks and had to catch my breath.
Nothing happened between me and the Turkish man that night. I became tired and so they drove me back- or rather I drove us back- in the cafe owner's car. At some point I remember two horses standing in the road blocking our way. The men got out and led them out of the car's path. It was at that moment when the absurd greatness of the evening hit me:
I met new friends in a foreign country and in the span of four hours had an unforgettable experience stargazing next to a bonfire on a cliff overlooking a thousand year old city, an evening which culminated in me being designated driver of someone else's car on a Turkish country road that was blocked, at 1 am, by loose horses.
And how did this incredible night all start? The same reason that I was wrought by loneliness earlier in the day:
I am a single woman.
I have not seen another woman traveling alone in Turkey. I am the odd number in groups, three couples and I'm the 7th person. I sat by myself at breakfast and was relieved when a family of three joined me so it looked liked I belonged. At 31, I feel too old for this level of travel independence that I embraced when I was 20.
Turkish people have questioned me too:
-"Are you traveling by yourself?"
-"Yes."
-So you don't have anyone with you?"
-"Yes."
-"Really?"
-"Yes!"
The above conversation happened at a coffee shop where I stopped in for rice pudding. The (male) owner was intrigued and summoned his friends to join the conversation. In broken English supplemented by hand gestures, we talked about American rap music and stereotypes of foreigners in addition to basic things, like our jobs. After thirty minutes the owner uncorked a bottle of wine and in another thirty minutes, a second bottle. They exchanged some words in Turkish and then translated that they would like me to come to a "pigeon house" with them to drink more and have a bonfire. By now it was 11 pm. "Don't worry," one of them said, again in faltering English. "I call my friends- girls- so you won't be alone."
Regular readers know that I would have gone with them even without the other women. They seemed like nice men around my age, and I didn't sense an alterior motive. I would have missed out on so many of my past experiences if I traveled with the caution that my parents and guidebooks suggest in situations like these. Still, the offer to invite women along was appreciated.
I drove the man's car because I was the sober one. I may be dumb enough to go with random foreign men on unknown adventures, but I'm not dumb enough to do it wasted. We left the city and the road twisted into the foothills of central Turkey. "Slow, slow, slow, now left," he said, and I turned onto a dirt road on a plateau over the city. There were no street lamps, not even the moon to light the way, only stars.
We climbed down a ladder onto a ledge and one of the men broke out a flashlight. He shined it into the rock face behind us, illuminating an arched doorway cut into the cliff. We walked into the "pigeon house," which was in fact a cave home that had been formerly occupied by hundreds of birds and their droppings. It had been impeccably cleaned since then and comfortably decorated with sofa cushions and tapestries. The old pigeon nests in the walls had been turned into bookshelves for political theories. The home belonged to a friend of a friend, they explained. Why he wasn't there, I don't know.
That night I sat at a bonfire on the cliff ledge with these two men, their female friends, and later a Russian and a Polish backpacker. One of the men- the one who barely spoke English- kept smiling at me. He was cute and I had no problem smiling back. At one point, as I stood at the edge of the cliff in awe of the brilliance of the stars, he came behind me and grabbed my shoulders to playfully scare me. I jumped and my arms flew into the air. When I turned around, my hand fell into his. It stayed there for a few seconds longer than it should have until he interlaced our fingers and brought his arm, with my hand in it, around his waist.
It was the first time a man had held my hand since that night in New York, five months ago. I had flashbacks and had to catch my breath.
Nothing happened between me and the Turkish man that night. I became tired and so they drove me back- or rather I drove us back- in the cafe owner's car. At some point I remember two horses standing in the road blocking our way. The men got out and led them out of the car's path. It was at that moment when the absurd greatness of the evening hit me:
I met new friends in a foreign country and in the span of four hours had an unforgettable experience stargazing next to a bonfire on a cliff overlooking a thousand year old city, an evening which culminated in me being designated driver of someone else's car on a Turkish country road that was blocked, at 1 am, by loose horses.
And how did this incredible night all start? The same reason that I was wrought by loneliness earlier in the day:
I am a single woman.
