I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are sons of one religion, and it is the spirit. – Khalil Gibran

Ayvalik, Turkey

Bulgaria had been home for nearly a month. Leaving her behind was a shot in the dark, a great unknown. Thankfully, the call of minarets guided us towards the border as the light to a lighthouse. The unmistakable call to prayer; a wake-up call to our exit not only out of Europe, but out of what we knew.

Crossing into Turkey with a vehicle, you need a Green Paper attesting to your proof of insurance. Luckily we had it in our stack of Bulgarian papers, but what we lacked was an authorization to drive a company vehicle for tourism purposes.

Border Guard: “Authorization please”

Me: “I am the company owner. I authorize myself”

Border Guard: “…” “ok. you have 90 days”

Is this what power feels like?

And so we could go anywhere. Deciding on avoiding Istanbul, we took a ferry across the Dardanelles river. A guesthouse a few hours away seemed promising, with quirky owners, cheap prices and rooms in a newly-renovated ancient greek structure. And so we drove to Ayvalik, a seaside town we would soon discover was for Turks, by Turks. Dessert shops and sea food restaurants, olive oil boutiques and clothing stores. A large open-air bazar full of local fruits, veg and meat. Families ambling by on the boardwalk, only a few kms across from one of the world’s most crowded refugee camps: Moria Camp. Both sides mirrored in opposing yet connected circumstances.

Not being able to cross over to the nearby Greek island, we explored our surroundings.

Friendly cats, turkish coffee, simit bagels, and motorcycles all greeted us on our daily walks. These clues helped Chance and I digest our change of scenery, and change of culture. Five times daily, the call to prayer re-oriented us. And slowly we encountered locals. A jewelry maker hidden in a crumbling nook showed me his artist space and adorned me with earrings, and a barber took care of Chance’s beard and skin. We practiced our few words of Turkish, and they of English. We made sushi with our guesthouse host, and listened to her stories of activism and love.

In between, I loaded up my phone with data ($15 for 15G) and began calling organizations. Voice seemed to be the key, as my door finally opened! A placement with Refugee Support Europe, located in CYPRUS. Being in western Turkey, this meant only a few day’s drive away. However, RSE could only have me start in two weeks. So what was there to do while we wait?

DRIVE