A World at Home

by Raneem Taleb-Agha (United States of America)

Making a local connection Turkey

As a worker laid out plate after plate of small dishes for breakfast — cucumbers, cheese, olives, honey, boiled eggs —I stared in awe. Despite the plentiful attractions in Selçuk, like the ruins at Ephesus, the last remaining column of Temple of Artemis, and the Instagram-worthy Pamukkale just three hours away, I was the only guest at the hostel. “You alright?” A worn, mellow man emerged from the kitchen, holding a cup of tea. He was tan and petite, yet strong; the crows feet hugging his eyes indicated a life well spent. He spoke in a distinctly Australian accent. Yeah, I said, but it was way too much food for one person. He sat down with me to share. Born and raised in Selçuk, Cüneyt was the owner of the hostel and had been working there for 20 years. He had seen all sorts of people pass through his doors, yet he was perplexed that I, an Arab-American woman, was traveling around Turkey on my own. “We don’t get a lot of Arabs around here,” he said, taking a sip of his tea. “They are rich, they want luxury travel. Not hostels. I’m surprised your parents sent you out here by yourself.” They hadn’t—in fact, my parents were very much against my travels. I had come to Turkey not only out of an interest in its history and culture, but out of a deep-seated need to spread my wings after a conservative upbringing. Cüneyt nodded in understanding as I explained. I turned the conversation to him. “So, did you study abroad in Australia?” I asked, referring to his accent. “Nope.” And so he told me his story. As a young man, Cüneyt liked to have fun. He spent his days working and his nights drinking — but slowly spent more and more time doing the latter. He would party every night, and started drinking for days on end. He lost his job. “You know,” he said, taking a sip of tea, “There are 21 days of my life that I don’t remember because I was drunk the whole way through.” He woke up on a nearby beach, not knowing how he got there. That day, staring, hungover, at the Mediterranean sea, he resolved to travel the world. So he quit drinking. Got a new job. He worked hard and sober, dutifully saving money for the day he could finally leave Selçuk. Finally, after two years, he had saved enough money for an $11,000 round-the-world flight — he would be leaving for South Africa in two weeks. Days before he was set to leave, an old friend approached him. “Cüneyt,” he said, “what are you doing with your life?” “I’m going to travel. I want to see the world.” His friend would hear none of it. “I just bought a house. You’re gonna stay here, and we’re starting a hotel.” As Cüneyt recounted this, I was in shock. What kind of friend would do such a thing? “You said no, right?” I asked. Cüneyt looked at me for a long moment. “I’ve never left Turkey.” “Never?” “Never.” So what about his English, which was impeccable and so clearly Australian? Cüneyt learned English from working at the hostel, via osmosis from the hundreds of Australian and Kiwi travelers that passed through every year. He got married to a girl in town, had a child, divorced, and now his ex-wife and son lived in France. And his friend, the business partner? He moved to Texas to run a gas station. The tourism business had its ups and downs, he explained to me, but he had a good life. But recently, with the nearby Syrian crisis, recent terrorist attacks in the country, and the media’s exaggeration of the problem, business was excruciatingly slow. I could tell—since I had arrived, I had only seen one other guest at the hostel, and he left after a day. “So why don’t you leave now?” I asked. “Take a vacation and see your son or visit your friend?” He took another sip of tea. “Why should I see the world, when the world can come see me?”