Çok cay, yemek, ve Türkiye (So much tea, eating, and Turkey)

Groups of old men congregate in markets all over Turkey to play backgammon. I have started to sit down and ask if I can play--it usually takes a little miming and a few words in Turkish to get my point across, but people are always happy to let me play.

That may be because I am not exactly a challenging opponent. I have been playing tavla (Turkish for backgammon) on and off for years, but I've never been very good. In my month here, I've played about two dozen games, and I have yet to win one fair and square. (I beat my friend Meltem last night, but she helped me a lot. The next time we played, she held her tongue and demolished me.) I'm getting better, and I think I'm good enough to beat my friend Isra when I return to Ankara tomorrow.

I am in Bursa, the first capital of the Ottoman Empire. This is where Osman had his dream about an empire that would eventually cover all of Anatolia, much of the Arabian peninsula, North Africa, and half of Europe. That empire is long gone, but its architecture remains. I sipped tea and wrote in the garden square of a middle-ages silk market this afternoon, and walked by the oldest mosque built by the Ottomans on my way to this cyber cafe. I have only been here for a few hours, but it feels very different than the unpleasant hustle of Istanbul.

I was in Istanbul until this morning. I went back for a couple reasons: I had an interview with Amnesty International yesterday about human rights in Turkey, and I also needed some more books. Istanbul has a remarkable variety of bookstores, many with good English sections. I just pretended that the prices were written in Mexican pesos, not Turkish Lira--it made it feel less expensive.

To be completely honest, my motivation for returning to Istanbul was not entirely academic. I also managed to procure a press pass to the REM concert here on Saturday night. Needless to say, I was not press--I just rocked out. (Sing-alongs and audience shout-outs are strange when there's a language gap between the audience and the performers. Michael Stripe says, "You all doing good tonight?" The crowd roars. Apparently that's not good enough. "Are you ecstatic tonight?" Confused murmurs. "Good" is in their vocabulary, "ecstatic'' not so much.)

But Istanbul is behind me. So is much of Turkey's Mediterranean coast, a bit of the Agean, and one strange city in central Anatolia. Since I last wrote, I traveled south from Ankara to Antalya, a booming city on the Mediterranean, and then west along the sea through a series of small towns to Fethiye, a pleasant port town with a growing tourism industry. From there, I left the sea and made my way to Eşkisehir, a rather strange city between Istanbul and Ankara. You know the story from there--Eşkisehir to Istanbul, Istanbul to Bursa. I'll tell the story as it unfolded.

Most tourists are drawn to Antalya by two remarkable attractions--a seven-kilometer-long beach just to the west, and Hadrian's gate, which was build in 130 c.e. to commemorate said emperor. I enjoyed both, but if I go back to Antalya, it will be for an unusual store named Owl Books.

Run by a heavyset Turk named Mustafa, Owl Books is a used bookstore devoted to English works. Its hand-built shelves are somewhat organized by author, but the the joy of the place comes from wandering around looking at every book. (There aren't all that many.) I found it on my second afternoon in Antalya, and was greeted with a gruff ''Do you speak French?'' Kind of, I said. Mustafa had encountered an unknown French word in his book, and wanted me to translate it. Luckily, I knew the word so I could help.

I spent hours in that little shop, talking about literature and politics with Mustafa and his friends as they came in. He was curious about my project, and when I finished explaining, he insisted that he would introduce me to a man who was writing a history of modern Turkey, so we set off to a nice pension where I met his friend. It was a fortuitous encounter, as I walked off with advance copies of several chapters of the unpublished book.

After leaving Antalya, I spent one night in the backpacker hangout of Olympos, where I started playing tavla regularly. Olympos is kind of a soulless place. The mystique of the ruins--mostly Greek--have been diminished by the a strip of self-consciously earthy lodges, catering to the unkept dreads and tattered hemp pants crowd. It has become ''far out'' and ''like, really spiritual.'' The cheap beer and nice beach don't hurt either.

Maybe I am being too hard on backpacker culture. After all, I kind of am just that, but maybe a little more curious. However, signs that tout ''Great British Food!'' and ''Your Third Drink Is Free!'' have little to do with Turkish culture. I'm not sure why people would travel halfway around the world for something that can be found just about anywhere.

One day of sun, surf, and (admittedly spectacular) ruins was enough for me, so I moved onto the quiet seaside town of Uçağiz. The tourist season was ending, so I found a nice place to stay for half the going rate. All I really did there was eat fruit, read, and write. I did go on one misguided hike along the sea shore--I missed the trail on the way out of town and ended up scrambling over boulders and pushing my way through prickly plants. I was in full view of a German-flagged sailboat with a deck full of sunbathers. Some of them surely wondered exactly what I was doing. So did I.

That hike was supposed to be 3 kilometers long--a distance I ran in less than 10 minutes once. It took three hours. I found the trail on the way back, and it took 30 minutes.

From there, I went to Fethiye, a nice town with excellent soup. I stayed with Ümit, a great guy who lived in Brooklyn for 15 years. I would have taken him for a New Yorker had we not been in Turkey.

He and I had wildly different ideas about Turkish (and global) politics. I told him I wouldn't write about him, and I don't intend to break that promise, but it was good for me to talk with (and occasionally debate) someone with such a radically different understanding of Turkish society and history. All we could really agree on was that we would be friends.

Ümit showed me much of his city on bicycle. I admire anyone who will pedal daily in this country--drivers are not exactly to those of us who wish to share the road.

I had intended to make my way to Istanbul traveling along the Agean coast, but to be honest, I was quickly tiring of all that sun. (What can I say? I'm an Oregonian.) Via couchsurfing, I had been invited to spend Bayram, the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan, with a family in Eskişehir. Of course I said yes. So I abandoned the blue sky and warm breeze of the Mediterranean and headed inland to the much colder and grayer center of Anatolia.

Eskişehir is one of the stranger cities I have visited. It is not a common stop for travelers, but it appears that the city's mayor is determined to change that. He has redone all the pedestrian bridges in a cartoony style that would fit in at Disney Land, copied statues from many major European capitals, built an artificial lake to hold a newly-built 17th century frigate, and created an entire park full of plaster animals (and dinosaurs!). I do not think the strategy will attract all that many new visitors, but it certainly makes the mayor popular with little kids.

My focus in Eskişehir was less on the town and more on the wonderful family that hosted me. The Özels welcomed me into their home for four days and shared all of Bayram with me. It was an absolute honor to stay with them. Bayram is kind of like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and Halloween all rolled into one. In other words, it is a non-stop exercise in eating, during which one occasionally mentions the holy significance of the end of Ramadan.

At least that's how it was at the Özels'. Friends stopped by occasionally to visit, all dressed up--one of the many Bayram traditions in Turkey (and all through the Muslim world, I think) it to visit old friends. Turks view it as a somewhat burdensome obligation, but I enjoyed it, even though conversation often left me confused. I was content with an introduction and a few questions about what I was doing in Eskişehir. After that I drank tea and ate pastries while everyone else chatted in Turkish.

Food! I often said ''Çok yemek'' during my stay in Eskişehir. The holiday is colloquially known as ''Şeker Bayram,'' or ''Sugar Holiday.'' I sampled countless types of Turkish cuisine, including one strange (but delicious!) sweet pudding with chicken in it. I contributed by making an apple pie on my last night there, which was well-received. They had never seen anything like it.

I stayed with Zeynep (my couchsurfing contact) and her sister for four days in Istanbul after we left Eskişehir. Duygu, Zeynep's sister, is a reporter covering arts and entertainment, so she had a pass to the REM concert. When I mentioned that REM was one of my all-time favorite bands (after being prompted by a song on the radio) she said, ''would you like to go to the concert? I can get you in as a helper.''

And that brings the story of the last three weeks full-circle. Much has happened, and I enjoy every second of it. I am spending tonight in a hotel--this is only the fourth night in 35 that I haven't couchsurfed. If you're not familiar with the program, learn about it! It has made my trip more successful than I expected. I've met real friends in Turkey, and learned more about the country than I ever could have if I had decided to just stay in hotels and hostels. It's a great way to travel.

Until next time--hope all is well wherever you are. As usual, there's an essay about Turkish politics and history below. This one is about the headscarf in Turkey... read it if you like.