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Turkish Delights True stories of travellers to Turkey To Pay the Bill The personal Turkish experiences of visitors to the Learning Practical Turkish web site... To pay the bill... My job required that I speak Turkish when I was stationed there. It also provided me with the opportunity for some nice European side-trips. And on one such side-trip, I bought a little Austin A-27 new in Dusseldorf, and started driving it back to Ankara. It was the summer of 1956. Through Germany and Austria I'd had plenty of company on the roadways, but in Yugoslavia I'd been pretty much on my own. Just to be on the safe side, I decided to spend a night in Belgrade -- where I visited the US embassy and got clear directions to the exit border-post on the Greek frontier. The next morning, driving a southbound road out of Belgrade, I was attracted by the sight of a colorful group of local folks in a passing haywagon -- and I stopped to take their picture. No sooner had I snapped the picture than a cop appeared on a bicycle , and he began to raise hell with me for taking the photo -- with an electricity power station in background. A detail I had not even noticed. I didn't speak any Serb, but I knew enough Russian to realize that he aimed to run me in and to confiscate my camera -- I had been warned of this possibility by the Army attache at the embassy in Belgrade . This was not part of my plan. I only had a three-day visa to get through the country. I'd already used half of it -- and the longest part of trip was still to come. I had to think fast… So I looked at the cop on his bike, said da da to him, and hit the gas -- foot to the floor . A half mile ahead, I ran into a village -- in the midst of 'market day'…Looking behind, I saw the cop pedalling his bike furiously and ringing his little bicycle bell! I guessed (hoped) that nobody would pay any attention to him (or, for that matter, to me) . And, mercifully, I was still well in the lead. So, by continuously honking my horn, I made it through the crowd, through the village, and out the other end into the open countryside -- with my throttle open all the way, I was outtathere... It soon began to get dark. And rain set in and got heavier by the hour (for which I thanked God, since it made it all the more difficult for authorities to spot me) . Finally, at about 1 or 2 in the AM, I arrived in Skopiye, the capital of the (then) Yugoslav province of Macedonia. It was still raining like crazy. I entered the only hotel with an outside light, noting at the time that it was same hotel recommended to me by my US gang in Belgrade. I registered, went straight to my room, and crashed. Well, I slept in the next day. And when I finally got up about 10:30 AM, I staggered downstairs for breakfast. I found the dining room and got a menu from a waiter -- a menu in Serb, which didn't help much. So on a whim, I closed my eyes and muttered "Ham and eggs..." To my surprise, the waiter seemed to understand -- at least he wrote something down, and headed for the kitchen… I cast a look around, and spotted a number of small empty glasses on neighboring tables -- and in my (then) innocence assumed that they had once contained fruit juice. I got another waiter's attention and grunted and pointed to my lips. He quickly provided a decanter and glass, filled the glass and I tasted. It was Slivovitz -- otherwise known as a "blast from hell" among visiting Westerners, as I later discovered. The natives were already boozing at 10:30 in the AM! I decided to join in the fun. And ten minutes later, believe it or not, the waiter delivered real Ham and eggs, and I dived in with relish. When I had savoured the last bite (and sip), I started getting ready to leave. But, no matter how I tried, I couldn't get the waiter to understand that I had finished my meal and wanted to pay the bill. I tried French, Italian, German and, of course, English. But I got nothing but a blank look. So in utter desperation, I closed my eyes, again, and roared out "HESAP!" -- in Turkish. Whereupon the waiter smiled broadly and said, in perfect Turkish: "Why didn't you say 'Hesap' in the first place?!" Stunned to find a Turkish-speaking waiter in such a remote and out-of-the-way locale, I could only utter: "How was I to know you speak Turkish?" He instantly replied: "Everybody here speaks Turkish! It is the only medium of common communication around these parts!!!" The rest of my trip was uneventful, and the Yugoslav police never managed to trace me. But when I got back to Ankara, I checked the Austin's odometer... I had travelled 2,000 'interesting' miles from Dusseldorf -- and it was good to be home. RFZ (August '97)

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