Loneliness and Turkish Cleanliness

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Being alone doesn’t bother me. In fact, I often crave solitude and, when it comes to traveling, I definitely prefer to go it solo. Without any sort of comfort zone to seek solace in, I have even more motivation to meet new people and try new things. In an environment where everything is unknown and begging to be explored, I hardly have the opportunity to feel lonely. But, every once in a while, I’m struck with a sudden loneliness and I want nothing more than to be surrounded by those who love me. Today was such a day. I blame the Turkish train for being so slow, and the Turkish language for being so unintelligible.

I decided to take the train from Amasya to Sivas because it was cheap. For being so inexpensive, it’s surprising comfortable and spacious, but you get what you pay for in its painfully slow progress. It’s so slow that I was tempted to get out and run alongside of it. Instead, I looked out of my window at scenery that reminded me too much of central California and thought about how much I missed everyone – and how much I missed talking.

I didn’t realize how much I love talking until the simple pleasure of conversation was no longer available to me. Sure, I talk to myself everyday but, without anyone to appreciate my quick wit and smart-ass remarks, it’s just not the same. More than talking though, I miss understanding what I hear. There's no lack of people eager to converse with me, I just can’t comprehend anything they say. It makes me feel alone, even when I’m surrounded by people.

When the train pulled into the Sivas station, a young man knocked on the window. I was in no mood to deal with weirdos and I gave him a look that said so. Then another man knocked on the window, smiling and waving frantically. I realized then that they had to be CSers. Because it was such short notice, and because I’m still getting used to the Turkish knack for hospitality, I’d written more than one person that morning looking for a place to stay. I’d said nothing about where I was coming from, or when I would be arriving, but there they were, waiting. Four people eagerly anticipating my arrival were more than enough to banish my loneliness.

I ended up leaving with the youngest one. He looked so hurt that I had even thought to contact another person and I didn’t want to discourage him from further CSing experiences. He shares a large flat with four other students in their last year of university. You’d expect the place to be infested with empty beer cans and reeking of urine, but, just like everywhere else in Turkey, it was immaculate. One pillow was slightly askew and he offered profuse apologies for the untidiness. In all my travels, I’ve never met a more hospitable or a more cleanly culture.

Turkish cleanliness borders on obsession. Shoes must be taken off in exchange for house slippers, which must be taken off in exchange for bathroom slippers. Before you’ve even finished eating, crumbs are swept away from your table. Buses are thoroughly hosed down during rest stops. The man at the tourist bureau in Safranbolu apologetically mopped the floor before he would help me. Istanbul, with 20 million inhabitants, is so clean you could eat off the streets (although it’s not recommended). I’ve stopped mentioning that I sometimes go a few days between showers for fear that I might cause cardiac arrest. I could go on…

Unlike Americans, who compulsively clean because of a mortal fear of germs, the Turks don’t seem to be all that concerned about coodies. Utensils are double-, triple- and quadruple-dipped into communal pots. Bread is laid directly on the table and half-eaten scraps are re-served. They clean, not for health reasons, but for religious ones. The Qu’ran teaches that all strangers must be treated with compassion. Check. The Islamic holy book also outlines a strict set of rules for ritualistic cleaning. Double check. Even the Turks who aren’t practicing Muslims have adopted these principles, and it appears to be working. The world would not be at a loss if more countries followed suit.

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