Trabzon to Konya

Neslihan had helped me buy my ticket the previous day, and since I didn't want to risk any chance of missing the bus I made sure to pack early. A couple hours before I was scheduled to leave, I called her up to ask her some silly question or other, and she immediately invited me over to her place. Since her apartment is closer to the bus depot than mine, I agreed and lugged my bags over there. As Turks do, Neslihan and her mother showered me with all kinds of things for the long journey: borek, little sweet rolls, biscuits, tangerines, chocolate, potato salad, water, phone numbers of friends, and even Neslihan's cell phone! With all this I boarded the bus feeling a bit like a donkey, but grateful nonetheless.

As I settled into my aisle seat in the center of the bus, I thought about how I would entertain myself during the next 13 hours. Since this was a night bus, about eight would be filled with sleep. I was thinking I could read some of my book, but I didn't think that for long. Turns out I was a very lucky girl because the woman sitting next to me spoke English. She's a literature teacher at a high school in Trabzon, and must teach in English sometimes. We hit it off really well and exchanged phone numbers with plans to hang out after Bayram. Woo hoo!



At some point we dozed off and were awoken at midnight. The bus was stopping for half an hour so we had time to eat some warm food. The terminal was very fancy, with lovely artwork, waiters dressed in burgundy vests with gold trim, and even a sultan looking character to greet you at the door. An enormous cafeteria served everything: toast, soup, salad, main dishes, and desserts. In the center of the room was a small wooden terrace with luxurious material hanging on all sides. Inside were comfortable seats arranged around several Nargile pipes. Every now and then a man on the PA system would announce which bus was leaving. When ours was called, Canan (Jah-nahn) motioned for us to go. Then we climbed back on the bus, talked for a bit and fell asleep again. Eight hours later, we arrived in Ankara.

When I got off the bus, my atrophied muscles ached in a way I never experienced before. Walking never felt so good!

Neslihan's friend, Tashkin, met me as I disembarked and took me to another terminal just down the street. He made sure I got on the right bus, gave me my ticket, I have him a bag of hazelnuts and off I went.

The ride to Konya was uneventful. I wasn't as lucky as the first bus ride as I sat next to a girl who didn't speak any English and answered all my questions in complicated Turkish. So we didn't talk much. Shortly after noon, I arrived in Konya, hungry, thirsty, and having to desperately use the bathroom. (Since it was still Ramazan, I hardly touched the food and drink Neslihan and her mother gave me. I felt bad eating in front of people.)

Emine Hanim* (Em-me-neh Ha-nim) picked me up and we whizzed over to her beautiful 6 room apartment. She doesn't speak English, so my Turkish comprehension was being tested. She asked me how my trip was, if I had a plan for the rest of my holiday, why I came to Turkey, and about my family. I asked her questions about her as well. She's a dashkent in archeology and art history at Selchuk University, has two children, Selvinur (girl, 16) and Selchuk (boy, 10), and is married to Hashim Bey* (Ha-shim Bay), an archeology professor at the same university. This was the beginning of my 6 day Turkish lesson. After a quick bite to eat, we went over to the Mevlana Museum.



Who is Mevlana? Mevlana Celadleddin Rumi was a Sufi mystic, poet and philosopher prominent in the 1300s. He advocated tolerance, charity, goodness, and positive reasoning through love, and started the Mevlevi sect of Islam. A radio announcer back in the States has called the Mevlevies the "Unitarians of the Muslim world." In fact, I think it's the other way way around; the Unitarians are the Mevlevi's of the Christian world, but I guess it doesn't really matter since the message is the same.



One of the Unitarian hymns is based on one of Mevlana's writings.

Come, come again, whoever you are, come!
Heathen, fire worshipper or idolatrous, come!
Come even if you broke your penitence a hundred times,
Ours is the portal of hope, come as you are.

For the rest of the week, I was singing the adapted version I know:

Come, come, whoever you are
Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come



The tomb itself was amazing. Sufi music was playing softly on the loudspeakers and people were murmuring prayers all around his resting area. Large calligraphy decorated the walls, while various artifacts were on display in the center of the room. I felt a sort of comfort I never felt in churches. This was a holy place where I could appreciate the beauty of everyone and everything around me without feeling like guilty about having human faults.

After I got back to Trabzon, Neslihan and her mother told me that Mevlana's father asked not to buried next to his son because he felt his son to be too great to be buried next to an ordinary man. He was buried next to Mevlana anyway, and apparently his father's body has risen a few degrees on the torso end, in order to get up and lay somewhere else. I'll check this out next time I go there.

Old copies of the Koran were also on display.



The Koran is so beautifully decorated! Even free copies have exquisite artwork inside. Some people sell itty-bitty Korans in an itty-bitty leather pouch so one can keep it near their heart.

There were several domes, but here are just a couple.





Can you imagine how many hours it must have taken to paint those patterns? And all in the name of love.

Well, friends. I have many more photos of Konya, but I'll show them to you in the next couple weeks. I have uploaded my monthly limit for now.

I still have several more photos to show you however. After the weekend I'll show you some of Cappadocia! Ah, I know you're impatient to see that wonderful place, so here's a sneak preview of some fairy chimneys.



I love you all.

*In Turkish, one refers to older individuals as Hanim (Ms) and Bey (Mr) after their names as a sign of respect. Neslihan's mother insists I call her Fadime Teyze, or Aunt Fadime.