A Turkish Welcome Mat
One highlight of this trip has been visiting with sponsor families along the way. These are people who, through their affiliation with the Gülen movement, have contributed money to pay for the multiple flights and bus rides, hotel stays and savory spreads of Turkish food for my traveling companions. Now they've welcomed us into their homes, as well, and they serve us with a hospitality that surpasses anything I've seen.
Since there are 10 of us, we divide into two groups and go our separate ways. I'm with Veysel, Norman Kutschenreuter, Judy Lackritz and Bill Long.
Our driver leaves us at a modern, balconied high-rise in what seems to be a suburb of Urfa, where the buildings are decorated with mosaic tiles in tasteful, traditional geometric designs, in the style of which we saw many in Ankara. The first thing I notice upon entering the complex is the scent of flowers - jasmine, perhaps, or orange blossom. The elevator looks small so we take the stairs to the seventh floor. Uncertain which door to knock on, we debate among ourselves for a moment until a door opens.
"Welcome," booms a stocky, smiling, dark-haired man, his arms open, and I half expect him to embrace each of us in a bear hug. He tells us it's an honor to have us in his home, and his wife, a blue-eyed beauty in a flowered headscarf, agrees. Children appear like little elves with a pair of clean slippers to replace the shoes that one must always leave at the door, we are shown to the washroom to clean up for dinner, and we meet in the living room, tastefully furnished with modern, comfortable sofas, photos of the children and a large, colorful television. Like all of the rooms in the house, this one is immaculate, and it is filled with light from the large windows that look out on a wrap-around patio.
We begin the introductions: We are in the home of the Gerginci family. Ahmet is the owner of a small business, a gift shop, and his wife, Elif, is a homemaker whose keeps her four well-behaved children in line. Sulenur, the daughter, shakes a few fresh drops of lemon-scented water on each of our hands, according to Turkish tradition.
We've come to expect that dinner will be an elaborate affair, but this one outdoes all the rest. We begin with a light yellow soup, sprinkled with herbs and fresh lemon, with a taste so delicate I hardly recognize it as lentil.
Some of the items on the appetizer plates are items I've come to recognize: fresh tomato and cucumber salad; ichli kofte, a flavor-packed pouch of golden-brown breading filled with ground meat and herbs; and borek, a flaky, golden bread with feta cheese inside; and pilav, a fragrant, mounded mixture of white and brown rice. On each of our plates we receive a terra cotta bowl filled with a mouth-watering dish called guvech, which as Elif explained to us was made of eggplant and tender lambs' meat in an herbed tomato sauce, slow-cooked for hours over a smoky wood fire. Today's modern housewives don't really have time for all of that, so they prepare their guvech mixture and take it down the street to a business that has the proper equipment to smoke it. For dessert, plates laden with fresh cherries, apricots and green plums, followed by small, flaky pastries like miniature baklavas. This is the opposite of fast food, and the time taken in its preparation makes all the difference.
Speaking of modern kitchens, Elif invited us into hers and we watched as her daughter and eldest son helped prepare the meal. Everything was placed on trays to be carried into the living room. The thoroughly modern kitchen, with its dishwasher, breadmaker, food processor and washer-dryer, was spotless. The only evidence of the recent proliferation of dishes that had emanated from this spot was the heaping and carefully ordered plates on the table.
As we dined, and Elif ran back to the kitchen for yet another delicacy to share, we asked Ahmet about his connection with the Gülen movement. Ahmet's face brightened, typically.
"We love Fetullah Gülen," he said. "He teaches us that when other people are happy, we can be happy. It doesn't matter if you are Turkish, Chinese, American or anybody else, if you are one of God's children, we are brothers."
Then the pair utterly amazed me with their lesson in nutrition. Elif brought tiny dishes of pomegranate juice that she had evaporated in the sun and distilled into a tangy brown sauce for dipping - bread, meat, veggies, or whatever else one might want. "This sauce comes from pomegranate, which helps prevent cancer and heart problems," Ahmet informed us. "It helps the blood to circulate and it's good for the heart." Then she produced another delicacy: smoked, dried and crushed red peppers, flavored with olive oil and salt. Spicy, but not too spicy. There's a place up on the roof where the women take their foods to be dried, they explain. "This is an antioxidant, too," says Elif. The whole family seems to know all about antioxidants, anti-aging nutrients that have only become the rage in the States about a year ago.
After dinner, we moved to the living room and drank Turkish tea from the ubiquitous little hourglass-shaped tea glasses accompanied with tiny spoons and sugar cubes. I admired the beautiful tray, a wooden one with silk flowers under glass.
Then, to our amazement, the young couple brought us each a gift: an engraved silver set with a tray, a sugar bowl and a traditional Turkish water shaker. And then, despite my protests, Elif presented me with the tray.
Ahmet said something to Veysel in Turkish and Veysel laughed. He thought for a moment to figure out how best to translate.
"He wants me to tell you that there is an old Turkish saying when someone comes to dinner; we say we've rented your teeth," said Veysel. "This is their way of paying their rent - and of saying they hope that you will remember them always, as they will remember you."
Tracy Barnett is Travel Editor for the San Antonio Express-News.
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