We arrived in Turkey’s regional favourite, the Black Sea Coast. The starting point of our three-week journey from the north-eastern city of Trabzon all the way back to Istanbul. Our first stop was to get settled. We received a WhatsApp message from our host and made our way to the rental. The apartment complex was a mundane, cream-washed building with only the basic necessities. It blended well with the surrounding buildings, all similarly tall and decorated with Arabic typography. Scattered in between were small pieces of land with a combination of subsistence corn and leafy greens, and tarps laid out with drying hazelnuts – a signature of the region. Muhammed, a Yemenite Arab, appeared from inside and welcomed us in fluent Turkish. We smiled politely, and with our hands on our hearts, replied “English, English… Güney Afrika… Janub ‘Afriqia…”, the Turkish and Arabic words for ‘South Africa’ we had just learnt at the airport. Shaking his head in confusion, Muhammed replied, “Salaam, okay” and gestured for us to follow him inside. He gave us a tour of the apartment along with various instructions - this time, in fluent Arabic. It was only through later interactions that we learnt “Okay” was the only English word Muhammed really knew. From early on, it was clear that language would become a formidable guide. One that would take us on a pilgrimage of its own, marking the region’s historical development through the intertwining of tongues and traditions. Each day, with no rush, we embarked with only a summation of daylight hours. We enjoyed some of the well-known valleys and natural parks. The magnetic force of the whitewaters of Rize's Storm Valley to Ünye’s pristine coastline where the local dolphin population surprises swimmers with visits close to the shore. From Amasya's jagged rock formations against which Ottoman houses remain perched, to the old-world charm of Amasra’s golden sun setting against its lush mediterraneanesque cliffs. Along our way, we discovered how to trade life in exchange for the kinds of personal growth society promises us are attained only through experiential travel. Reality, and sometimes truth, was brittle. Our use of the English language became a euphemism for diaspora and only added to the complexity of our many exchanges. So we absolved ourselves of the need to engage in any non-essential chatter, instead switching to a language governed by the heart. We expressed ourselves through our wonderment and appreciation, with only the occasional laugh or sigh at the arrival of any unexpected decision. Abdullah, wielding gracefully choreographed hand gestures, was reminiscent of the folk dances that delight Turkey’s Black Sea region. Replete with a mouthful of braces, and carrying his uniform with the confidence born from a sense of inauguration, motioned for our car to be pulled over. Routine checks were quite common on the national roads and after diligently circling our vehicle, he peered inside and glared at the three women before him. Abdullah’s eyes studied the contours of our faces and then shifted toward the direction of our journey. In the best Farsi he could muster, he began to speak. Regionally, our identities were reshaped through the experiences and perceptions of others. From Pakistan, through Central Asia, and into the heart of the Middle East. Alternate family histories were crafted as locals and travellers alike searched for any familiarity they could assign us to. In a sense, we experienced a reverse of “othering” as we were assumed into the surrounding cultures. And as we travelled further west, so did our identities. The transformation of our identities seemed to mimic the stark variation of the landscapes we passed through, as associations became less Eastern and more Iberian. This, too, taught us of the migratory patterns of inhabitants to the region. The multi-ethnic identities of South Africans are often misunderstood, both locally and abroad. And rudimentary racial categories often conceal the origins of the country's diverse population. Our hidden identities still remain largely a mystery, despite the preservation of oral traditions and familial folklore. The obscurity of our identity was as unexpected by our hosts as a meeting place, a Black Sea oasis, was to us.