Oy Asiye

Travel diaries are a mainstay of English literature; Robinson Crusoe, The Cay, and Star Trek all share a common origin in a ritual established the first time some pre-human walked out of his hut and got lost in the woods.The difference between traveling and exploring is only having an objective, or as Lao Tzu says.

A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving. ~Lao Tzu

Israel appears near the bottom of the list of polite countries, above Russia and below the French… So I wasn’t surprised to see an entire family of Israelis verbally sparring with a outnumbered but equally pugilistically talented ticket agent who called upon her talents of “exasperated sigh”, “rolling eyes” and “ain ma l’asot!” Eventually the bout was called in a decision for the Israeli family who got nearly everything that they wanted (seats together and all in one row) and the punch-drunk check-in lady called me up. I was born in America to parents from a former British colony, so when the woman said, “Eh, you can do check-in in Turkey” and waved me off I didn’t argue, I didn’t complain, I just picked up my bag and walked to my gate.

Big mistake.

The greater the difficulty; the more glory in surmounting it. Skillful pilots gain their reputation from storms and tempests. ~Epicurious

“I don’t eat heter mechira,” I say this as a stare at the seal on my kosher meal. “I don’t eat heter mechira,” I repeat this as I sigh and open up the B’Datz apple sauce and crackers and whisper a silent prayer that the orange juice is also supervised under a good hechsher. Remembering to chew slowly and savor the mixed fruit and saltine bounty before me I noticed that the plane had started shaking in a motion not unlike the phwump-phwump-phwump vibration one feels from a blown tire. The stewardesses began to collect our leftovers and trash (moment of halachic crisis #1) and prod the mixed Turkish and Israeli rabble to take their seats amid an increasing amount of shaking and shuddering from the plane. Nothing struck me as bizarre about the scene until the stewardesses strapped themselves into their seats…

Something I’d never seen before…

Then all hell broke loose. The engines changed pitch from a deep lazy thrum to an urgent and shrill wheee and the flaps on the wings began waving like crazy. The plane was climbing with a hurry that I didn’t understand until I caught a glimpse of a huge thunder cloud ahead of us. Higher and high we went, flaps a twisting and engines screaming until something changed and we leveled out… And started falling! The engines went from 5 year old screaming to full grown, B- horror movie starlet, “The Shining” level “Ima gonna die” death throws. Inside the cabin things were strangely calm. When confronted with the horror of an oncoming car a squirrel will often stare defiantly into the headlights instead of heading to the safety of a roadside hedge; we humans with our thousands of years of evolution don’t color much outside of the lines set down by our long lost genetic ancestors. While the plane was falling utter silence prevailed, a stoic still peace reigned, and quiet whispered prayers were the order of the day; kippahs came out, muslim prayer beads were unfurled and tzitzis were played with. When the plane leveled out bedlam took over and the flip side of the slow prayers was uncovered; each time we thought it was all over the man behind me yelled “Allah hu Akbar!” But The King, The Sovereign, The True and Ultimate King wasn’t done with us yet. The plane fell, plummeting through all the height we’d climbed and racing towards the Mediterranean. But after one final heart stopping plunge the plane leveled out and I found myself clutching two things: In my right, a pocket siddur turned to tefillas haderech, I’d forgotten to say it and on the way down I thought, “better late than never” and began reading. And in my left, the hand of an 8 year old Turk named Asíye. Asíye’s family went to Israel to visit an uncle who was working in Tel Aviv and until she grabbed my hand (her father’s was inaccessible across the aisle) I doubt she’d ever been so scared that the hand of a stranger was a comfort. The PA squawked with the pilot’s explanation for the ruckus and that she was sorry for the inconvenience, but I barely paid attention to her because I was marveling at the fact that our plane had become a mosque/shul/and chapel and not a singal person had died. After three years in Jerusalem I’d forgotten that it was possible for different faiths to mingle without fights breaking out.

Asíye’s parents reached through the Vaseline smeared lens that is the language barrier to thank me for taking “care” of their daughter and after my awkward acceptance they welcomed me to turkey. Their disappointment about the fact that I wasn’t going to see any more of their country than the interior of Ataturk airport didn’t prevent them from trying to teach me Turkish and my comical renditions of common Turkish words entertained their children so we bantered off and on for the 40 minutes left until the plane landed.

The rest of the flight was uneventful; coffee and tea were dispensed, children were calmed, and I buckled my seat belt before landing. It was only when I joined the line of expats waiting to be let into the transfer terminal and it’s bounty of duty free that I realized that something might be amiss. The bright American couple that had been behind me in line at Ben Gurion Airport was turned away with looks of shock on their faces; and another group and another, all suspiciously people who had been in the same queue with the angry Israeli family. So when I too was turned away from the aeronautical Valhalla with a terse, “you must buy hotel”. I was left wondering if the economy of turkey was so low that westerners were commanded to buy real estate before leaving or if there had been some mistake with my tickets. I was the latter. The rule at Ataturk is “no ticky no laundry” without a ticket I couldn’t get into the transfer terminal and couldn’t get a ticket because they weren’t handing them out that late at night. “You back at five!” snapped the airport official and gestured to the assembled army of taxi drivers in the arrival hall. So I picked the friendliest looking one and said, “I need a hostel or a hotel; where is place with many of them?”

And scene! Be back next time for “Nigel gets eaten by muslim extremists” or “Who do Turks hate more: America or Israel”

The lyrics to the above song, it’s a love song but my Turkish is a bit sub-par.

Kazım Koyuncu - Asiye

Ağasarın balını gel salını salını
Ağasarın balını gel salını salını

Adam çebinde, taşır senin gibi gelini
Adam çebinde, taşır senin gibi gelini oy Asiye oy
Adam çebinde, taşır senin gibi gelini
Adam çebinde, taşır senin gibi gelini oy Asiye oy

Oy Asiye Asiye, tütün koydum kesiye
Oy Asiye Asiye, tütün koydum kesiye

Baban seni veriyi da bir bağa pırasiye oy Asiye oy
Baban seni veriyi da bir bağa pırasiye oy Asiye oy

Sis dağının başında yel püfür püfür esiyor
Sis dağının başında yel püfür püfür esiyor

Baban bu yıl kurbanı çifter çifter kesiyor
Baban bu yıl kurbanı çifter çifter kesiyor oy Asiye oy
Baban bu yıl kurbanı çifter çifter kesiyor
Baban bu yıl kurbanı çifter çifter kesiyor oy Asiye oy

Oy Asiye Asiye, tütün koydum kesiye
Oy Asiye Asiye, tütün koydum kesiye

Baban seni veriyi da bir bağa pırasiye oy Asiye oy
Baban seni veriyi da bir bağa pırasiye oy Asiye oy
Baban seni veriyi da bir bağa pırasiye oy Asiye oy
Baban seni veriyi da bir bağa pırasiye oy Asiye oy

Labels: airplanes, trip to england, Turkey