Talking Turkey -- and Greece

Georgia I. Hesse
As published in the San Francisco Chronicle

Scene One: A jewelry shop on a narrow street in Bodrum, Turkey (ancient Helicarnassus), shady beneath a tangled ceiling of grape vines.

Two Americans enter, and the bidding for a gold bracelet begins. A deal soon is struck. Conversation turns to New York's late Twin Towers. The Turkish salesman trembles his lip with sorrow. The Americans depart.

“I had to get out of there,” said my companion, Larry, “before I lost it.”

Scene Two: A sidewalk table at Cafe Olay in the port of Fethiye, Turkey, where the Lycians struggled against the Trojans in Homer's “Iliad.” The names of the bar drinks are obstinately obscene.

Bartender Suleiman speaks. “You are American? You are welcome here. Are you afraid?” It is the beginning of a philosophical discourse that rambles to its end after several drinks and an agreement that religious wars lie at the root of all evil.

Such scenes played out day after day as we ambled the ancient streets of eastern Mediterranean towns and cities. For every 25-year-old Brit twit who wrote (in the London Express) of Americans' “profound ignorance of the world” and remarked, “Everybody has a dumb Yank joke,” there appeared a Frenchman from Normandy to counter (in the International Herald-Tribune), “Without America, I would now be speaking German.”

Back in the States, I watched TV screens full of travel agents and tour operators fulminating against wandering around much of the globe, fueling our fears of anti-American terrorism as they suggested putting Canadian flags on baggage and stressed that displaying Nikes or Nikons could be dangerous to your health.

Larry and I, on a trip to Greece and Turkey (whose population is approximately 99 percent Muslim), did not find it so.

Our journey began soon after the Sept. 11 atrocities in New York and Washington D.C. We wondered: How would we be treated? As old friends or as new foes? Who knew?

-- Larry's shoulders were patted and squeezed by men; I was clasped to the ample bosoms of women. Our scariest encounter came in Istanbul, when we were pursued down the street (having said we were San Franciscans) by a carpet salesman who shouted “Half Moon Bay! Petaluma! San Anselmo!”

-- At the ticket counter of the acropolis-crowning St. John's monastery on Patmos, the line of visitors slowed to a stop as a young guard shook our hands: “It's so nice to see Americans!”

-- In Nauplion, first capital of modern Greece and a charm of a village, I jumped up from the sidewalk Cafe Dionysius to photograph the owner's little daughter (a budding Merlina Mercouri) in the doorway. An extra bottle of wine appeared mysteriously on our table.

Americans sometimes seem almost pathetically eager to be popular. On a tour bus bound for Mystra, Greece, last stronghold (near Sparta) of the Byzantine empire, a well-intentioned American woman with a Southern accent introduced the subject of anti-Americanism.

“Look!” our guide responded. “We are not anti-American. We have stood by the United States in every war. But when we feel any government is mistaken, we say so. We were against the Gulf War. We were not against your people. After all, there may be as many Greeks in the United States as in Greece. But we are Mediterranean; we wear our passions on our sleeves.”

The woman, a bit abashed, said, “Where did you learn your English?”

The guide shrugged and said, “Wellesley.”

Economics, as always and everywhere, is playing a leading role in today's drama. Super-spending Americans are notable for their absence. Larry found himself the lone American aboard his Munich-Athens-Istanbul flight, wearing in his buttonhole a small Stars and Stripes fashioned by a woman at Lufthansa's check-in counter. Waiting in the lounge of the Turkish capital's sparkling, efficient new airport, he bathed in the tearful condolences of the barmen.

In the supper club of Istanbul's sumptuous Ciragan Palace Hotel, a raft of musicians, actors amd dancers (many of the belly persuasion) entertained only three tables of guests. We appeared to be the sole Americans. Afterwards, on the open-air veranda above the moonlight-streaked Bosporus, there were three American presences: Larry and I and the band from Las Vegas.

Hotels difficult to book before Sept. 11 found themselves with empty rooms. Seabourn Spirit, America's stylish small ship that cruises from Istanbul to Athens and back in summer, boasted a full passenger list of 210 prior to the terrorists' attacks. It set sail on Sept. 20 with only 84 saddened souls aboard.

The bulk of Iran separates Turkey from Afghanistan, about the distance between San Francisco and Amarillo. Turkey is bordered on the south by both Syria and Iraq. So why did we feel so secure there?

Well, poverty plays into Osama bin Laden's blood-stained hands, but wealth does not, and by her neighbors' standards, Turkey is rather rich. When first I walked in Istanbul's back streets in the 1960s, I found cracked and broken doorways, an occasional stooped old lady scuffing along wrapped in black with her head covered and eyes cast downward, dust and scum and litter, and skinny, skittish cats. In rural areas, the situation was worse.

Today's travelers no longer need fear the infamous Turkish toilets. Restaurants and bars are clean. Manicured parks line the waterfronts. Seductive sidewalk cafes bloom in Riviera-like profusion. Markets display fruits and vegetables in bewildering variety. Shop windows offer well-tailored clothing, international cosmetics, Italian shoes and French perfumes.

So where would I suggest not vacationing right now? Where riots hold liberty hostage, I guess: Pakistan, Indonesia and -- to my sadness, for they are two of my favorite countries -- Malaysia and the Philippines.

We must stop, look and listen as we go about our lives here and abroad, of course. But if we cloister ourselves, if we huddle in helplessness, the enemy will have won. The miserable people in Afghanistan, Pakistan and elsewhere should someday live as we do, not vice versa. Let freedom sing.

Georgia I. Hesse, now a freelance writer, was travel editor of the Sunday Examiner and Chronicle for 19 years.

Taha'a Pearl Beach Resort

“It's a very special place. The Taha'a Pearl Beach Resort is a real gem. It's the closest to a five-star facility we visited and head and shoulders above the other Pearl Beach resorts we visited and heard about. It's very secluded, so there's not a lot to do outside of the resort, but Bora Bora is only 20 miles away. Taha'a would be a great first stop for honeymooners before moving on to Bora Bora, which was my favorite island.”

M.W., Jacksonville, FL