foreigners

6/21/2006, 13.45
Somewhere in Turkey

I'm not sure how I feel. I'm not sure how I should feel.

I am about one & a half to two hours from Istanbul, in Turkey. We passed through customs without incident. I'm back on the bus after a 30 minute stop for lunch in a city on the coast...what city & which coast I do not know. The city is hot & dirty, but then so am I.

The door of the bus as I stepped off was surrounded by men selling expensive-looking pens & perfumes in boxes. I used the café's bathroom, but nothing else. I didn't eat although it smelled wonderful; all I have on me are a few euros & I'm embarrassed to admit that I don't know what currency is used here. That, & I'm anxious about letting on that I am American, though I'm sure I must stick out like nobody's business. I'm fine living on my mini toasted bagel chips & water for the time being.

Rather than eat, I just sat outside in the shade & smoked. One of my bus mates who boarded with me in Thessaloniki asked me where I was from & I politely smiled & quietly said Chicago in the states. He smiled knowingly, said "ah, America," & turned back to the man with whom he had been chatting (in Greek) to tell him. Neither of them approached me again.

While sitting on the curb, in addition to the many perfume/pen vendors coming & going I watched a young boy of maybe seven or eight years walk up to my brief friend's companion & hold out his hand to ask for one of the potato chips he was eating. He said something in Greek & waved him away. Before I even had time to consider his response callous the boy was joined by five or six others, some younger some older, all holding their hands out. I understood, a fact that pained me.

One of the younger boys then confidently walked to where I was sitting & decisively sat down next to me. He held out his hand & began speaking in what I assumed was Turkish. I smiled & shook my head. He kept speaking but now was pointing to his feet, which were bare. I could think of only one thing to say, which I repeated again & again: je suis desolé. "I'm sorry" in French. Each time he responded with a resounding "huh?". It's comforting to know that some expressions cross all languages.

During our confused & at time desperate exchange, an attendant from the café suddenly began yelling across the parking lot at one of the older boys who had set up a mini makeshift shoeshine stand. He looked less than happy. Ok he looked pissed. He stormed over, cigarette in one hand, yelling & waving his arms. Once again, he didn't have to say "scat" for me to understand his meaning immediately. The boy remained firmly planted on his box, seemingly unphased. The attendant got to where he was sitting, yelled at him for a few seconds more, & then emphasized his point by grabbing the nape of the boy’s neck & violently pushing him forward toward the ground repeatedly. Some of the kids scattered, & my brief Greek friend motioned to me that the bus was preparing to leave. I stood up & slowly followed him back to the bus, shadowed every step of the way by my little barefooted friend, saying presumably everything he could think of to receive any kind of help I could give him. All the way back to the bus, all that I knew to say was je suis desolé.

I feel foreign.