I am often asked to name "my favorite place" I visited in my nearly 14 months of travel. Unable to choose one, I usually recount the first memorable moment that comes to mind. Of course there are a few particular favorites... BIG experiences. But the small things, those are the ones that best reflect "a day in the life" of my travels. And exemplify why a "favorite place" is impossible to determine... because so often it is the people or the experience that make it a favorite memory. So yesterday, when asked this question, and here was my answer...
Mustafapasa, otherwise known as Sinasos, is a formerly Greek village in Turkey. Ages ago, the Greek villagers were kicked out of their homes, replaced by Turks who were living in a Turkish village in Greece. Oh, these invisible borders...
When I arrived, just about noon, I couldn't find the Greek church I intended to visit. I drove around, asking for help. No one spoke English... I found an architect who spoke Spanish (!), and he directed me to the Tourist Police office. You must be escorted by the Tourist Police if you want to visit the oldest Greek church of the village. It is permanently locked because of vandalism. The Tourist Police office was closed for lunch, so I found a cafe and enjoyed lunch as I waited for them to open. When they did, I picked up a Tourist Policeman and we drove to the church, where the faces of many icons were scratched out (it was not nice to see and I did not take photos of it. He said some kids/hoodlums did it). While driving the Tourist Policeman to/from the church, we shared stories about our families, and it wasn't surprising that his family's village sounded a lot like my yia-yia's (grandma in greek) village. It seems that their Muslim faith was the main difference. But if religion isn't the focus of your daily life, because you're too busy plowing fields, raising cattle, taking care of your neighbors... that difference seems far less important.
So... after our visit to the church, I was invited to his family's home to meet his mother, aunt and others. They have a large stone patio in front of their house, where their FRESH BREAD is for sale almost every day of the week. It was about 3pm when we arrived and there was no bread for sale (it had already sold). They were busy making tomorrow's dough, and I was invited to help!
My Policeman friend's English was not great, but we communicated well. His family speaks no English, so through him they were asking me many questions - How old am I? Am I married? Would I like to stay for dinner? Would I like to date her son? He was quite shy about the whole thing, but the women and I were laughing together, communicating without words. He posed below for a picture with his mother in the front, his aunt in the very back.
After this experience, I went back to the cafe where I ate lunch earlier... it ends up that my Tourist Policeman's cousin runs the cafe. There was a man playing guitar there... we must've talked for an hour. Here is a picture of him, taken as I was leaving the cafe. There is so much more to this memorable story... but I 'll have to save it for another day.
