The train ride back to my hotel seemed much shorter than the ride to Kadakoy. We talked a lot. He told me that he had his Niksah <a party for an engagement> recently, but he seemed so sad: as he explained, the relationship was "fore-sid" <forced, as in an arranged marriage>. He wanted me to stay in Turkey; I wanted him to come to the US. He hadn't done his 2 yrs of mandatory military service; so if he tried to leave, they would immediately snatch him up. The fear was being stationed where the PKK was active, and he was putting off military service as long as possible by taking classes. I didn't want him to take the chance, either. However, I couldn't afford another trip to Turkey.
On the walk back to the hotel, I needed to spend my Turkish money as I was flying out the next morning; so we found a shop with Turkish Delights that was still open. Apparently, the shop keeper was trying to rip me off, and A would not let me buy anything. Okay, so maybe not the ideal way to treat a liberated Western woman and defeating the purpose of using up my money, but it was so endearing. I felt so safe and protected with him, and he, thankfully, didn't play games. Then, we trudged on to the hotel. I have a photo of us in the lobby of the hotel, and you've rarely seen two more tragic people. Hearing my sad tale, my Spanish professora commented, "Es como dos barcos que pasan en la noche," even though the expression doesn't have a Spanish equivalent.
We wrote to each other for a while, but it was hard for him to write in English. My Turkish was virtually non-existent. Fast forward to the present, I was hoping that I would be able to find him on my trip to Turkey this fall during a conference. But my boss was not supportive of the conference even though I had a poster, and the midwife thought it too late in my pregnancy to travel that far.
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