Dore and I don’t like to make plans when we travel. As a result we get stuck sometimes in foreign places without a place to stay. In the fall of 2006 we were on our way to Ayder, a mountain resort, but needed to change bus at Pazar, a seaside town in the Black Sea region of Turkey. The connecting bus never came, and we were stuck standing at the bus stop watching an approaching storm.
A group of men gathered around us but none of them spoke English. A couple of them ran away and came back with someone who did. He explained to us that the nearest hotel was quite far and we needed to find a taxi to go there. As we hesitated a young Kurd stepped forward. The man who spoke English told us this man, Fuat was offering his home to us.
“Yes. Thank you.” I said immediately, and we followed Fuat and his friend up the hill to a big apartment complex. Fuat lived on the 8th floor. There was no elevator.
Bustling activities ensued as soon as we entered Fuat’s apartment. His mother started making rice. His wife showed us their newborn twin babies. His friend went back down to the market to buy milk and cheese and bread. With a mixture of English, Turkish and Arabic and lots of hand gestures we managed to communicate through the evening.
Fuat showed us a little room with two beds. I listened to the babies during the night and the gentle creaking sound of the wood cradles.
“I have to give something in return.” I told Dore in the morning. I had nothing meaningful to give, so I wrote a poem for Fuat.
I read it to Fuat after a hearty breakfast. He took the poem with a big smile. The window panes were wet with rain. The storm had arrived and we were on our way.
