Bursa

Being where I didn’t mean to be and doing what I didn’t mean to do are becoming vital aspects to my traveling. This weekend I set out for Bursa early on Saturday, with a specific set of plans in mind. Everything went awry, and completely for the better. I think this going to become the central theme of my travels from here on out. Inshallah.

I am quickly and happily adopting the inshallah mindset. Once I hand over responsibility for my plans to god, my accountability vanishes. Inshallah (god willing) is a confirmation of intention, but denial of responsibility. I hope it happens, but if it doesn’t, don’t look at me. It was with this mindset that I neglected to reserve my seat on the 8:30 ferry, and with this mindset that I arrived to the port to find it sold out. Oh well! I gain 1.5 hours on a bench to eat simit and read 100 pages of Gone with the Wind (wow! highly recommended!).    My journey to Bursa does not end with the ferry ride, but merely begins. After that I take a bus, then the metro, then walk. Once I get to Bursa I can’t quite seem to find my way. I locate the market (huge, central), but repeatedly can’t get my bearings from either the map or written directions in my guide book, which I increasingly wish I had tossed into the Sea of Marmara when I had the

inside Ulu Camii

chance. Slowly slowly I begin to find the places I had hoped to see – the silk market, Ulu Camii (great mosque), Yeşil Türbe and Camii (Green Tomb and Mosque). Due to my late arrival and constant confusion, the hour increases and I know I have to confirm my place to stay for the night. The firmest option is to move on to the nearby town of İznik (aka Nicea), where an inexpensive pansiyon promises a bed. Leaving for İznik, though, means leaving two thirds of Bursa unseen. I decide to whip through a last destination and then move on.

Ditching my guide book, I make the park I see on a cliff overlooking the city my destination. I have numerous pleasant conversations asking someone every corner or so – how do I get there? (pointing at the destination). I’m told it’s Tophane Park, and I should go, approximately, that way. Eventually I find the stairs that lead up, and begin the climb. I find the entrance of the park, but spot some pleasantly old houses and a sign for a mosque in the other direction, and go that way instead. Best choice! The streets are old, winding, quiet, pretty. The houses in this area (later I learn was the first center of Bursa) are largely still in Ottoman style, interspersed with small beautiful mosques and tombs. I wander behind one such mosque and find myself able to climb onto the old city wall to overlook the mountains and city. The view! Such victories are increased manifold when discovered without guidance. I vow to use my guide more sparingly and plunge back into the labyrinthine

huge! 600 year old tree in İnkaya

neighborhood.

Soon thereafter, and newly pleased with the breadth and depth of my Bursa experience, I begin making my way back toward the center of the city from where I will catch a shuttle to Iznik. On the way though, I spot a hotel I remember mentioned in my guide. I stop in and ask the man at the desk how much a room costs there. He says they are full, and turns to consult a friend visiting on the lobby couch. They recommend a little hotel, very inexpensive, run by a married couple, frequented by travelers. Elaborate drawn maps and verbal directions later, I realize it’s the place I had tried to call in the morning, without success. With the help of directions I find the place, where I’m shown a tiny, sunny room. We agree on a rate and I deposit my things to head back out for an early dinner and continued tour of Bursa.

kahvaltı under the tree

I go into a busy lokanta – inexpensive, unpretentious, home-type food pre-prepared and served from cafeteria trays. (Always) immediately spotted for a foreigner, the owner beckons a young woman drinking tea at a table. She says she can help explain the food in English, if I would like. I end up with lentil (always order lentil – ‘mercimek’, it is always different, and always delicious) soup, a meat-stuffed eggplant, and buttery rice. Too much food, but delicious. Zubeyde invites me to join her, and we continue our humorously broken Turkish-English conversation.

After a few minutes a young guy across from us interjects, I imagine curious about our English-speaking. He is a Turk, but knows English fluently, and happily facilitates our conversation. Soon he and his friend join our table and we all move on to tea. We are all about the same age, and students. Zubeyde and Salih are Turks working on their English, while I’m an American learning Turkish. Hayri, who alone speaks both languages, is amused and pleased that we have all found each other by such chance in a little neighborhood lokanta. We decide we’ll stick together after dinner, the three Bursalı showing me (quickly dubbed Zehra, for ease of pronunciation) around their hometown. We walk to the park, see the tombs and pay our respects to buried Ottomans, walk through the local artists’ area and talk to the artisans about their work. At each place I am introduced as ‘our American friend’, and everyone is excited to show me something about their life in Bursa. We walk to the market, and spend the evening call to prayer inside the Great Mosque. Afterwards, hungry again, we go to a cafe for simit and tea. The evening is unimaginably pleasant, constantly tinged with the unrealness of being the recipient of such great fortune. I’m in a constant struggle to follow the Turkish, smilingly slowed and simplified for my benefit. When a thought or story requires full detail, Hayri enthusiastically retells it in English for me, as Zubeyde interjects with English grammar and usage queries.  Exhausted and buzzing iwth good fortune, we part later in the evening with plans to meet up again the next afternoon. Another day and many pictures and memories later, I find myself accompanied to the bus stop where I will await the last bus home.

I ended up not seeing half the things I had planned, but many more things instead. I get home late late that night, but am awake and ready for Monday morning class’s weekly round of ‘bu haftasonu ne yapıyorsun?’ – ‘What did you do this weekend?’