Sally Ann Baynard

On a quiet June morning in 2005, a small group of Americans watched the sun rise over the Bosphorus, waiting to go to the airport, and home. We had come with different levels of knowledge about Turkey and Turkish Islam. One was an American-born professor of Turkish and several of us had studied the Middle East for many years. Some were teachers of law or international relations and had arrived in Turkey knowing very little about the country or the people. With all our different backgrounds, we all left with a profound feeling of connection to the country and the people of Turkey. Starting as a group of people who knew one another hardly at all, we had become (along with our Turkish companions) a group of friends.

We enjoyed participating in a stimulating conference in Istanbul, talking with scholars from around the world and running two round-table sessions ourselves. Pampered by the attention of the conference hotel, we were still unprepared for the experiences that lay ahead of us.

We soaked up sun in the sublime ruins of Epheses, walking on stones worn smooth by millions of footsteps over the centuries. The glorious frescoes of Cappadoccia, the sublime blue light that fills the Sultanahmet Mosque, the dim grandeur of Hagia Sofia – the sights feed our eyes and our spirits. We grumbled cheerfully about the long, bumpy bus rides, and early morning departures. We teased Ali unmercifully and he returned it twofold. We feasted on Turkish cuisine and chatted with hospitable Turkish families.

We walked through a park by moonlight. in Nevshehir and in Konya we absorbed the timeless tranquility of the mosque where Rumi is buried. We met with another charming mayor who sent us off with beautiful inlaid dishes.

We flew to eastern Turkey and stayed in the most enchanting hotel we had ever seen, a modernized karavansarai in Mardin. The starry sky of Mardin tempted us out of our beautiful rooms to chat late into the night on the rooftop.

We wandered around with happy families having picnics in the lush park around the mosque in Sanliurfa and leaned over the pond with laughing children to feed the fed the carp.
Not one member of our groups left Turkey without vowing to return. Turkey is extraordinary, and the Turks themselves even more so. We felt truly welcomed in every place we went. Turkish families invited us for dinner. Turkish teachers welcomed us in their schools, so called “Gulen Schools“. We even met with Turkish physicians in a hospital sponsored by the Fethullah Gulen movement.

Most of us will return to Turkey; some of us already have done so! But all of us will have Turkey, and the Turks, in our hearts forever.