Chapter 4: Kakay da Kharak – Turkiye

Prior to this instance, I had already visited Turkiye thrice. The first time was a duty call, the second, due to our ‘guest’ Abhinandan, I got stuck in transit. The third time was for my infamous friend F, who called me for a stopover to show him around while I was travelling to the United States. Despite the numerous visits, though, I persistently felt as though I had not yet seen enough of Turkiye. 

I started planning my trip, only to run into an obstacle: five people who wanted to accompany me and refused to let me go solo. It was, of course, my family: my wife, three daughters and my son (A, aged 6). I agreed, especially because my wife took over the responsibility of planning. Unfortunately though, her itinerary calls for at least 20,000 steps in walking everyday; she tries to utilise our time abroad to its maximum without any provision to rest. Usually, I require another vacation after such a vacation, to recuperate from the ordeal.

To save airfare, so that she could spend money on shopping, my wife forced me to buy the cheapest and longest flights on the planet from FlyDubai. After a journey which felt like eternity, we arrived at the familiar Istanbul airport around four in the morning. From there, we took a taxi to the hotel we had booked, which, conveniently, was behind the Blue Mosque. 

Being an expert guide of Istanbul, I told them that I could show them all of Istanbul in one day, only if we started right now. Worn and weary from the long flight and taxi journey, I sensed reluctance amongst my family. They wanted to rest. I gave in, and we entered our bedrooms. 

It seemed we had arrived earlier than the check in time. Only one bedroom was open for us, which had two, single sized beds. Mind you, there were six of us – the situation was dire. Eventually, torn between sleep and discomfort, we chose the former and somehow managed to fit into the beds with our limbs dangling off. Turns out we didn’t need to choose; discomfort was imminent after such a sleep. Its quality was enough motivation for us to wake up and not waste the day away.

We started by praying in the Blue Mosque, followed by a visit to Hagia Sophia. After that, we spent some time in Topkapi palace, and then went underground for the Basilica Cistern. Street food like sweet corn, simit and ice creams were our fuel for walking. By this time, it was almost noon, so we decided to go to Grand bazaar, to do what my daughters had come for: shopping. 

Two hours later, with our wallets empty and hands full, we decided to have a late lunch near Suleymaniye Mosque. The place was at a fair distance from the bazaar, but we opted to take the walk. The streets were extremely crowded, and ill designed. In that crowd, I got separated from my family members, but we regrouped on the road junction immediately in a couple of minutes. Something was missing, though, and our hearts sank as we realised what it was. 

It was my son, A.

Our frantic search began. The intricate network of interconnected streets did not help. Faces blended into one another and every six year old child looked like it was mine. I could hear a blur of voices and foreign faces and yet no sign of a familiar one. Panic rose, and what made it worse was that only I, and one of my daughters, had a Turkish SIM. Other than us no one in our family could contact each other. Sending each other in different directions was not a safe move, but it was our only one. Hesitantly, we decided on a rendezvous point in the middle of the bazaar, and then searched for at least half an hour in all directions. There was, however, no sign of him.

What now? A six year old child, lost in foreign land, in a crowded and fairly shady place, where English was not a common language. Every person we intercepted and asked around could only reply with hand gestures and broken English words. To make matters worse, I had forgotten to perform the SOP of putting the number in A’s pockets as it was only recently that I got the SIM. My phone was low on battery as well.

Suddenly, I got a ring from a Turkish number on my roaming Pakistani number. Someone on the other end was inquiringly speaking in Turkish. For a few seconds I felt hopeless; the next second rationality took control and I ran to the nearest store and shoved the phone to a cashier. He, too, was not skilled in English, but managed to get one word across; ‘Son’. 

I frantically nodded. The cashier listened to the person on the phone for a while and then wrote an address on a piece of paper and handed it to me. Holding on to the paper and my only hope, I followed the directions as well as I could decipher, with the help of a few passersby. After nearly a mile’s walk, I reached a dim plaza. Some young men were standing outside it. They directed me to the inside of the Plaza, where Mister A was leisurely enjoying a cold drink, and then I noticed the irony of the three words on his shirt; The Lost World.

I thanked Allah and I thanked all of them, and then I took A back to our rendezvous. While recalling the incident, A told me his version. He had, apparently, been lost for a while, and so started walking in a random direction. He passed a couple of narrow streets with stairs and after ten or so minutes, he felt like a man was looking at him. That was the plaza owner. A approached him and informed him that he was lost and wanted help to find his parents. The owner took him to someone who could understand English and A gave him my cell number, which, by some miracle he remembered. Since that was my Pakistani number, the call did not go through. It took a while to connect and give my phone a direct call, which I picked up and led to finding our nemo in the oceanic Bazaar. (That roaming never worked after that day.) 

Now that the adrenaline was over, hunger returned with a pang. We took to our original purpose; food near Suleymaniye Mosque. The walk to the restaurant was cautious with frequent over-the-shoulder glances to make sure that all six of us were together. The food was delicious; lunch had never tasted better. We tried, and failed, to share our food with the seagulls. We went to the pier and took the Bosphorus cruise

Just after the incident, at Suleymaniye Mosque – Petting a stray cat

Fooooood – Turkish meat platter 

Turkish tea 

Rainbow stairs

Later we took a cab to Istiklal street, where we had Kunafa from ‘Asli’ Hafiz Mustafa. Doner and Midye were also street foods we tried, with each of us rating it differently. We walked down Istiklal street till we reached Galata Tower, from where we bought some expensive salt from Nusr-Et. With sour feet and every inch of my body chanting ‘rest’, we took another taxi back to our hotel to end the long, eventful day. 

Asli walay 

The next day we searched for a place that wouldn’t require much of a walk, and found Dolmabahce palace. Contrary to our expectations, the palace was magnificent and huge, and it took around 3 hours of walking to comb it though. We came back exhausted, spent our evening in the Sultanahmet Park. 

Dolmabahce palace

Caught in the act

A long road trip started the next morning, when the driver we had booked arrived in a black, turkish drama-like van, ones in which they usually kidnap people. Driver Ö was short tempered and straight forward; a trait which was not uncommon in the locals. His obnoxious music playlist, which was playing at 90% of our journey, rings in my ears even today. We started the journey, and reached Bursa at Usman Ghazi Tomb, where a beautiful band was playing, drawing all of our attention. After that we visited Inkaya Tarihi Cinar, the oldest tree in Turkey. Mister A was swinging on the branches while I watched in trepidation, afraid that by breaking a branch we will make history with this historical landmark.

Bursa – Inkaya Tarihi Cinar

Then we drove to Izmir and went up Asansör, the famous elevator, followed by Konak Square. Midye became my children’s favourite street food; we devoured them like nobody’s business. A salesman was attracting potential customers with the idea of cheap clothes; they were, in fact, anything but. However, innocent women, including those of my own bloodline, took the bait, and stashed up on clothes.

Then we reached the infamous city, Alaçatı.We reached the precinct, only to come to a standstill. The city, it turns out, is barricaded in the evening to avoid vehicles entering, to facilitate pedestrians. Having previously been unaware of the fact, we had to drag our bags on foot to an expensive guest house. We dictated breakfast for the next day, and then went to sleep. We weren’t very fortunate in that regard, though; the whole city was blasting with loud music and an endless buzz of people, resulting in a restless night. 

We woke up late the next day, and went downstairs for breakfast, only to find an empty table and sleeping hosts. We rang their phones and woke them up, and had to wait a further two hours to fill our stomachs. After that, we toured the area. With Greek-style stone houses to old windmills and boutique restaurants, each shop was a piece of art oozing with vibrant colours. 

Then we drove to see the next ancient wonder of the world in my list: the temple of Artemis, at Ephesus. The sun was blinding, making every step feel like my last. By some miracle we managed to complete the tour, albeit sweaty and dehydrated. Then we moved to the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, which was completely in ruins, with only some stones as markers left.  We also toured the impressive Bodrum Amphitheater and castle.

Once the tour was complete and we stepped outside, A demanded compensation for putting up with the heat and the long tour. We rewarded ourselves with Turkish ice cream. The salesman did the traditional trick of not giving the ice cream on the first try, much to the displeasure of A, who, after a few minutes of being teased, scolded the poor man and snatched it out of his hands. 

Dinosaur of Emphasis 

We checked into our hotel at Bodrum. Hungry from the exertion of the day, we decided on a lavish restaurant for dinner. The french fries they served were out of this world, bursting with flavour. My family was very impressed; we called the chef to our table and asked him to reveal his secret. Complete with tattoos and piercings, he looked more like an actor than a cook. He seemed reluctant at first, but after some convincing he hushedly told us about a special type of Knorr Masala which he put in the fries. On our walk back to the hotel we visited every grocery store in the vicinity, but we never found the magical seasoning. 

Next morning, we arrived at Pamukkale. The view consisted of cotton candy like structures, with terraces resembling snow, and water ponds which were blue like the sea. A, being a fish of water, took bath in each and every pond he could access. He ultimately developed rashes, and we had to stock up on medicine to apply all the way to Oludeniz. 

Fish of Pamukkale

Adana kabab, lamb shanks and chicken

We reached our hotel there just after the sun had set in a streak of gold. I went to the check in counter, while the driver and children were bringing the bags out of our van.

It was then that I was approached by a Turkish man, accompanied by a soaking child, and it took me a minute to recognise the soaking child as none other than our own; it was A.  

Dumbfounded, we took A from the man and my wife started to change his clothes for fear of catching a cold. The man, meanwhile, told us what had happened. As the owner of the hotel, he was here on vacation from his home in Greece. He had been walking near the pool when he sighted a boy drowning and splashing in the deep end of the pool. The man recounted that he grabbed the boy from his hair and pulled him out. A later told me that as it was dark, he thought it was a puddle, and he wanted to splash in it.

Once more, we found ourselves thanking Allah and the man for saving our son’s life, and gave some sadaqah to the waiters. To lighten the mood, the owner told us about an exclusive family beach away from tourists, around 30 mins from the hotel, where the waters were safe to swim; pretty ironic, I’d say, considering our traumatising encounter just ten minutes ago. Next morning, we decided to go there. It was the first time my children had swam in open waters; the day was spent shrieking and splashing around.

Oludeniz 

The next destination was Saklikent Canyon. The canyon had primarily a fast river, flowing between two mountains with a width of a couple of metres to a couple of feet. Path was divided into three stages; the first could be done using a rope by a 10 year old or above easily; the second required the help of a person to cross; and the final stage required the help of a professional. Soon, Sir A was ahead of us all. After the first stage, he was nowhere to be seen. Despite this now being a common occurrence in my life, I was worried sick and had to move as fast as I could in order to not lose sight of him. I twisted my ankle, but I kept going, determined not to let him out of my visual perception again, especially in so dangerous a place. At least half an hour later, I reached the end of the second stage, to find A standing at the start of the third leg trying to think of a way to advance further. Fortunately, starting that stage required climbing a rope which needed extreme fitness or help from a professional. Finally all the people in our family caught up with us, and we took a selfie of our accomplishment, which also included A’s disappointed face of not reaching the end. 

Saklikent Canyon

The journey continued, and we ate a 4 feet long pide (Turkish pizza), and lahmacun, and then continued along the winding and scenic coastal highway to reach Antalya.

As soon as we entered the check-in area of our booked hotel, I felt that I had made a grave mistake. Even though it was called Antique house, we didn’t expect it to look the part. The walls were dingy and moulded, and a disabled man in an 6XL tiger shirt was sitting on a chair. A young girl arrived and led us to our rooms. 

Our selection of this hotel was owing to its prime location in the city centre. What we didn’t know was that it was in the worst part of the centre.The house was constructed over 150 years ago and I felt that nothing had changed, or been maintained since then. 

Being too late to find a new hotel, I convinced my family that we were only going to spend the nights here; the days would be spent exploring the city anyway. In the following days, we walked to Hadrian’s Gate and Kaleiçi, and ate Testi Kebab after our walk at Umbrella street. We also experienced a Cable car as well as Duden Waterfalls. 

He is thankful to the Cable Car that took him to his ice cream

The Pide never ends

Made a Turkish friend, just to get his fish rod.

Tasty Kabab

Umbrella Street

We returned to our hotel in the evening. A told me that his junk food packet had something missing. We ignored him, because we had made sure to lock the room, and nothing else was missing. Next morning, we woke up and saw that my wife’s sealed box of Turkish delight, was open and someone had eaten from it. Had the Tiger shirt owner decided to venture for a midnight snack? The possibility left as fast as it came; our doors were all locked from the inside. Who then was the thief?

The morning was spent preparing for our next destination, the Land of Legends. I was downstairs waiting for the van, when all of a sudden A came racing down the stairs, screaming, “CHOOHAAAA!!”. I understood immediately who the food thief was. The rats resided under the wooden floors, and stole our gifts without consequences. I rushed to the room, pulled all my bags out and checked into a new hotel before my family fainted. 

This night was calm and cosy, but despite a wonderful time in Land of Legends, the trauma of Rat Hotel stuck to us. We stopped in Konya the next day. Here, we visited Molana Rumi’s shrine, after which we continued our journey to Cappadocia’s Guven cave hotel. 

Early next morning, we woke at four, and boarded our ride for the day; to the hot air balloons. A enjoyed the whole ride by sleeping on the balloon basket floor. The sunrise was beautiful, and the weather was pleasant. It was something none of us had ever experienced before. 

Balloon landed perfectly on the moving landing pad

Finally the balloon ride is over and I got my certificate 

After the balloon ride, we climbed the 275 steps to the top of Uchisar Castle. We did the red  tour, visiting the Zelve Open Air Museum, fairy chimneys, and some horses at a malodorous stable. 

Enjoying the fairy chimneys from the height 

We also did the green tour; we descended the dim, cramped subterranean staircase of the catacombs, where A made friends with an ice cream stall owner, and then he got a free ice cream, which all the kids fought over. We then lost ourselves in the serpentine trails of Ihlara valley. The word lost must be read in the literal sense, as we started our trail enthusiastically but could not find out where it ended. The area had no signals either, so I could not contact anyone. We walked around aimlessly, but the feeling of being lost was romanticised by the valley’s greenery and scenic views. We even found a fisherman, who offered to teach us to catch fish. Finally, we reached a scarcely populated area with faint signals, and I immediately contacted Ö who soon came to pick us up.

Deep in the catacombs

Some Korean food for a change 

Next morning we travelled to Ankara while stopping at Lake Tuz (Pink lake). My family loved Ankara, and I don’t blame them; the city had authentic Turkish culture, less touristy, calm vibes with multiple shopping malls. A got a chance to try his favourite fast foods, and got lots of toys as a gift for making it through the trip in one piece. I also found a shop called Armoghan in a mall. We then visited Anıtkabir- Ataturk Mausoleum along the way home.

After a race near Lake Tuz

Anıtkabir

On our last day, when we were to travel back to Istanbul, I wanted to visit Ertuğrul Gazi Tomb in Söğüt, considering that his drama serial had played some role in taking my family to Turkiye. However, I also didn’t want to miss our flight, so we sent imaginary greetings to Ertuğrul and directly stopped at the airport. We parted ways with driver Ö, our companion for the trip, and then, after a long journey we returned to beloved Pakistan. It was there that we opened our luggage and found, alongside the rat-eaten Turkish delight, a 6XL, orange, tiger shirt. 

Alhamdulliah, all is well that ends well.