September 6, 1996

To travel in Turkey you have to like tea or to be very good at spilling it out when no one is looking. We can't begin to count the number of glasses we've had at gas stations, at campgrounds, at carpet shops, parking lots and markets. We were even offered tea while sitting in our van waiting for someone to return who had double parked behind us.

Tea is tradition here. We dieseled-up at a gas station and before we could pull away, glasses had been filled. "Where are you from? What do you think of Turkey? What have you seen?" Tea is always accompanied by conversation. Speaking English isn't always a requirement either. We've had many chats in sign language, broken German and written symbols (the Pictionary approach).

If we are given a choice we usually ask for the Turkish apple tea, a weak version of hot apple juice. To make them palatable, some of the stronger teas can easily use all three of the sugar cubes placed on the small saucers. Refusing tea really isn't an option. We did this once and the look on the man's face was true pain. We haven't refused since. Today we've shared tea with the campground owner and at a shop in a small town. We were instant curiosities when we stopped there. These towns don't see many foreigners; my bare legs were like magnets. First stop was a clothing shop to get a skirt.

The ultimate tea party though was in Kahraman Maras. We pulled into a gas station and asked if we could park the vans for the night. "Of course." We were given a walking escort to the parking spots. The gas station attendant picked out the best two and we pulled the two vans so that their sliding doors opened facing each other. Then began the questions. "Where are you from?"

"We're from America," I said. The attendant scrunched up his face and shook his head. "America?" I repeated. "Bill Clinton?" That did the trick. "Ah, Bill Clinton," he nodded, "America." Our New Zealand friends didn't fair quite as well. "New Zealand? Australia? Pacific Ocean?" Oh well, it didn't matter, any traveler is an instant friend and to prove it a tray came flying from around the front of our van. On it were tiny tea glasses, each with a tiny spoon and a tiny saucer. When these were drained, four more appeared. This was truly door to door service.

By the end of the second round everyone had joined the party: the truck driver who had stopped to fill up with gas, the restaurant chef, the waiter, the owner. They all asked the same questions. After dinner, John sat with them and continued the talk. It looked very Turkish, five men sitting around a small table under the gas station awning engrossed in conversation. Most of it was in Turkish so John just pointing to our world map and drew pictures on a piece of paper to show them our route and tell them about our trip. Later the Turkish men came back to the vans. They took a look in each of them to see how we live and wished us a goodnight. "One more glass of tea?" "Sure why not."