Falling in love with a place
I never thought one could fall in love with a place.
Before I left the Philippines to begin my month-long Turkey-Israel trip, I had only two contrasting goals in my mind: that I make the most out of my every day because I paid a large sum for this trip, and that I allow myself some room to breathe and slow down during this vacation.
“Who goes on a holiday to sleep?” I can almost hear my new friend Selçuk say. The young Turkish lad is one of the reception staff I had met in a hostel in Cappadocia where I stayed. The thought had always confused him, and it always started a friendly, high-spirited argument between us that’s filled with hearty laughter, rolling eyes, and shoulder shrugs. But laughter, mostly.
To me, however, it makes perfect sense. Of course, I want to do the most that I can with every hour I spend in a new place, but not at the expense of my mindfulness and mental well-being.
Because I had not cramped my week-long stay in Turkey with places to go and activities to do, I noticed the beauty Turkey had to offer that I may have otherwise overlooked:
How their towns and cities brim with history and culture, and they seem proud of that; how the locals are warm and hospitable, I’d dare say at par with Filipinos; and how these intertwine, allowing people of various descent and races to come together and forge friendships.
There’s one day in Turkey I will hold dearly in my heart.
The afternoon before I was set to experience the prime attraction of Cappadocia, tour agencies had to cancel the hot air balloon ride. I was told the wind speed should be no faster than eight kilometers for flights to push through; otherwise, they have to be cancelled — non-negotiable — whether or not guests had paid in full or had booked a reservation.
The safety and security protocol is understandable. The caveat: A guest whose hot air balloon ride gets cancelled does not get an automatic rescheduling because flights on the following mornings are almost always fully booked for weeks and even months in advance.
Because my fellow travelers cum hostel guests cum new friends and I didn’t have to wake up early in the morning, we spent the night together in a nearby restaurant’s terrace, eating pide (Turkish pizza) and drinking Efes beer. We were Raquel, a child care supervisor born in Spain and working in Rhodes Island, Greece; her sister Sara and her sister’s Argentinian boyfriend Armando; and Fabiano, who worked in the environment department of Brazil and is in the green construction industry.
The following morning, I was rushing for my Green Tour that I had to skip breakfast. What I love about breakfast at the Kamelya Cave Hostel is that it is individually prepared per guest. Deniz, the hostel manager, prepared a quick meal for me, made of sliced fruits and yogurt, saying something like: I look after you while you’re here.
During the Green Tour (Derinkuyu Underground City, Selime Monastery, and Ihlara Valley), I met an Indian couple who own a cutlery business, and a Malaysian mother-daughter pair.
In the afternoon, just after the tour, Deniz told me to go to their restaurant and share the table with Selçuk and their Iranian friends.
We took turns playing our local music on YouTube — I played Ben&Ben’s Maybe The Night, a crowd-favorite in the Philippines. Selçuk tried teaching me some Turkish words, starting with ben from Ben&Ben, which apparently means “me” in their language.
While waiting for my night bus to Denizli (Pamukkale), I had an evening drink of raki with Deniz, his business partner Vulcan, and their Iranian friends. I hadn’t understood their conversation but I felt most welcome nonetheless.
^ My new friends, sharing a Persian meal called adas polo,
raki, nuts and raisins, and fruits
Half an hour before my night bus ride, I realized I had the wrong station in mind, and Selçuk helped me find a taksi that will bring me to the correct terminal.
The taksi driver was very helpful: not only did he make sure I reach my destination on time (it took us about 15 minutes to travel a route that normally takes half an hour), he also brought my luggage to the bus inside the station, spoke with staff to clarify my ride details, and actually waited until my luggage was properly tucked in the compartment and I had found my seat.
Those are beyond their call of service and civility. The people I met, all strangers, made me feel at home even when I’m over nine thousand miles away from my country.
I arrived in Turkey hopeful that I’ll enjoy my short stay, that I’d be unbothered by the work I had to leave and de-overwhelmed with all my pending tasks. But I left Turkey with more than those: a calm mind and a grateful heart, with a delik (wish) that I’ll find my way back again, hopefully soon.
Never had I expected to feel this way about a place, let alone somewhere that was only supposed to be a side trip. It’s as if a part of me was left in that landmass, and I take a bit of Turkey with me.
And that’s not any different from how love feels like, right? •
Before I left the Philippines to begin my month-long Turkey-Israel trip, I had only two contrasting goals in my mind: that I make the most out of my every day because I paid a large sum for this trip, and that I allow myself some room to breathe and slow down during this vacation.
“Who goes on a holiday to sleep?” I can almost hear my new friend Selçuk say. The young Turkish lad is one of the reception staff I had met in a hostel in Cappadocia where I stayed. The thought had always confused him, and it always started a friendly, high-spirited argument between us that’s filled with hearty laughter, rolling eyes, and shoulder shrugs. But laughter, mostly.
To me, however, it makes perfect sense. Of course, I want to do the most that I can with every hour I spend in a new place, but not at the expense of my mindfulness and mental well-being.
Because I had not cramped my week-long stay in Turkey with places to go and activities to do, I noticed the beauty Turkey had to offer that I may have otherwise overlooked:
How their towns and cities brim with history and culture, and they seem proud of that; how the locals are warm and hospitable, I’d dare say at par with Filipinos; and how these intertwine, allowing people of various descent and races to come together and forge friendships.
There’s one day in Turkey I will hold dearly in my heart.
The afternoon before I was set to experience the prime attraction of Cappadocia, tour agencies had to cancel the hot air balloon ride. I was told the wind speed should be no faster than eight kilometers for flights to push through; otherwise, they have to be cancelled — non-negotiable — whether or not guests had paid in full or had booked a reservation.
The safety and security protocol is understandable. The caveat: A guest whose hot air balloon ride gets cancelled does not get an automatic rescheduling because flights on the following mornings are almost always fully booked for weeks and even months in advance.
Because my fellow travelers cum hostel guests cum new friends and I didn’t have to wake up early in the morning, we spent the night together in a nearby restaurant’s terrace, eating pide (Turkish pizza) and drinking Efes beer. We were Raquel, a child care supervisor born in Spain and working in Rhodes Island, Greece; her sister Sara and her sister’s Argentinian boyfriend Armando; and Fabiano, who worked in the environment department of Brazil and is in the green construction industry.
The following morning, I was rushing for my Green Tour that I had to skip breakfast. What I love about breakfast at the Kamelya Cave Hostel is that it is individually prepared per guest. Deniz, the hostel manager, prepared a quick meal for me, made of sliced fruits and yogurt, saying something like: I look after you while you’re here.
During the Green Tour (Derinkuyu Underground City, Selime Monastery, and Ihlara Valley), I met an Indian couple who own a cutlery business, and a Malaysian mother-daughter pair.
In the afternoon, just after the tour, Deniz told me to go to their restaurant and share the table with Selçuk and their Iranian friends.
We took turns playing our local music on YouTube — I played Ben&Ben’s Maybe The Night, a crowd-favorite in the Philippines. Selçuk tried teaching me some Turkish words, starting with ben from Ben&Ben, which apparently means “me” in their language.
While waiting for my night bus to Denizli (Pamukkale), I had an evening drink of raki with Deniz, his business partner Vulcan, and their Iranian friends. I hadn’t understood their conversation but I felt most welcome nonetheless.
^ My new friends, sharing a Persian meal called adas polo,
raki, nuts and raisins, and fruits
Half an hour before my night bus ride, I realized I had the wrong station in mind, and Selçuk helped me find a taksi that will bring me to the correct terminal.
The taksi driver was very helpful: not only did he make sure I reach my destination on time (it took us about 15 minutes to travel a route that normally takes half an hour), he also brought my luggage to the bus inside the station, spoke with staff to clarify my ride details, and actually waited until my luggage was properly tucked in the compartment and I had found my seat.
Those are beyond their call of service and civility. The people I met, all strangers, made me feel at home even when I’m over nine thousand miles away from my country.
I arrived in Turkey hopeful that I’ll enjoy my short stay, that I’d be unbothered by the work I had to leave and de-overwhelmed with all my pending tasks. But I left Turkey with more than those: a calm mind and a grateful heart, with a delik (wish) that I’ll find my way back again, hopefully soon.
Never had I expected to feel this way about a place, let alone somewhere that was only supposed to be a side trip. It’s as if a part of me was left in that landmass, and I take a bit of Turkey with me.
And that’s not any different from how love feels like, right? •