Close Encounters of the Turk Kind

You cannot throw a stick in London without hitting a Turk. Or so it seemed to me. The Special and I own a flat in a low rise block in Teddington. I had scheduled a visit to meet our new tenant. A very amenable guy, it turned out he had already made friends in the block. He was keen for me to meet two of them as they were a Turkish couple.

The unfortunately named Atilla looked like somebody trying to wake from a strange dream when he opened the door to a silver (No! It’s not white and definitely not grey!) haired Englishman who conversed in reasonably fluent Turkish (it always seems to flow better in UK. Weird!).

We had a chat about life in Turkey. I noticed his Bilkent (University) teeshirt. He had studied History under Norman Stone, a controversial one time Oxford professor, whose book on Turkey I had read and enjoyed. On departure he implored me to visit again for a good catch up about Turkey. These encounters always hearten me.

I do really, really like Turks. OK not the one who is driving right up your backside at this moment, tailgating at 100 kph until he reaches a bend he can overtake you on. No, definitely not those ones. And I suppose I do not mean the New Conservative Turks. You know the ones – guy in shorts and shades, woman  fully covered. Anatolian tigers.

I suppose I do not really mean the village Turk or köylü,of whom Atatürk said “köylü milletin efendisidir!” The villager is the Lord of the Nation. I take my şapkı off to the sterling qualities of the villager, but I also know they will be round to torch my house and steal my goldfish come the Nationalist/Islamic revolution. The geniality I suspect is only skin deep and resentment easily stirred

No, the Turks I mean are the ones like Atilla and the many others I have met and befriended in my ten years living in Turkey; they are smart, secular, educated and cultured. They carry the torch for the Republic. They are if you like the secular republic’s best hope.

In the UK I struggle to find a political home I am comfortable with. I find a part of me in Labour, Conservative and Green. But in Turkey it is clear. Cumhuriyetçiyim. I am a Republican. The choice is stark.

Many of the secular and educated have had to get out of Dodge in a hurry (there is a pun there somewhere – Cumhurryout?).  One such is writer and speaker Ece Temelkuran. She was one of the bravest of that very brave breed the Turkish opposition journalist. Until Silivri beckoned and she really had to skip town and relocate abroad.

So if like me, you like living in the Kalkan bubble, floating free, skimming the surface of this extraordinary country do NOT read any of her books. In particular do NOT read How to to Lose a Country. It’s currently down from £8.99 to £0.99 as a Kindle download. Beautifully written and compelling it will be the worst 0.99 you have spent in your life.

Enjoy your life, take things at face value, eat, drink and be merry. Do not read authors like Ece Temelkuran. That would be my advice.

Enough of that. I am spending my last day back in the Ould Sod and en famille. I have had a wonderful time. For the record Londons seems unnaturally quiet. Everybody is masked on transport and in shops. People seem if anything too fearful, jumping back in horror if you happen to come a little near in a shop. I think we may need a little rebalancing. Stay safe but control the fear. A little more leadership in that direction would be good.

I managed to do a few things anyway. I even got a swim in. As with everything else you have to book to swim in Hampstead Heath’s historic ponds. It is said Truth is the first casualty of War so Spontaneity would appear to be an early victim of Pandemics.

The mixed pond was fully booked on my day so I went with the Men Only.

For towelling options the daughter offered me a heavy bath towel or a lightweight sarong. I was shocked to find she is not possessed of the wonderful peştemal or hammam towels in universal use in Turkey. I was glad I had chosen the bulky grey towel rather than the pastel sarong as the Men’s Bathing Pond at Hampstead turns out to be a big gay pick up scene.

If I did not know that prior to entry I got it quite quickly on entering the changing rooms. The rather unattractive guy next to me stripped off and started doing stretches and warm ups in the buff, accompanied by some disconcerting grunts and groans. He also (I could not help noticing) was hung like a chi wua wua. And that was before entering the chilly waters. Could not get where he was coming from.

Nobody else seemed phased so I guess, like the identity politics and gender fluid thing, it’s just another day in the hipster tripster U of K. Get over it.

The weather was horrible. Really hot and humid in week one and continuous rain in week two. But then we have weather in spades in Turkey so I do not really care about weather. It is wonderful to see the family and spend quality time with them. It is always good to be in London too. I caught up with an old university friend whom I have not seen for thirty five years.

“I will be carrying a rolled up copy of Where’s Spot” I quipped, in reference to the full on grandad vibe that is my dominant archetype these days.

“I’ll recognise you Chris. Long black hair wasn’t it?”

How we laughed.

Well now I am back. And happy to be back, in the gentle mountains, reunited with The Princess, the little black cat, the noisy frog and Country Joe and the Fish

How lucky we are. We few. Kutlu olalım! Let us celebrate our freedom and cherish our democracy. And here is to those brave souls, journalists, lawyers, academics and others who lie in gaols or scattered around the globe, exiles from despotic regimes because they dared to speak out.

Şerefe