The Remarkable Surprise and Shock of Arrival!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:  The Remarkable surprise and shock of arrival!

Sometime in 1961, it was, a crowd of young military chaps boarded an aircraft in Brindisi, Italy bound for Yesilkoy (now Ataturk International) Airport outside Istanbul, Turkey. 

The airplane flew noisily, as if it had been  recently refurbished by a plumber. It seemed "rickety" and as un-"air"worthy as something pictured in medieval, pre-aviation drawings. Many of the GI's aboard clung to seat rests, knuckles white with terror.

I'm not particularly brave, but I was fascinated, fear having been supplanted by

excitement, as I scanned each rapidly appearing and then disappearing plot of earth below from a window side perch.

The flight seemed to endure for hours, if not days...  It lasted perhaps six or seven hours, as I recall, the bounce and turbulence and the dips and drops making it seem like a week and a half in an air balloon or a dirigible during a cyclone!    

We landed safely, as many sighs of relief like yellow, deflating balloons wafted through the cabin replacing panic.  We quickly disembarked and were almost immediately greeted by a wormy little Turkish chap who wasted no time in asking our ultimate posting destination.

I stumbled up to him and answered, "We'll be based at Karamursel Air Station, west of Yalova, I think." The base is perched on the shores of the Sea of Marmara, not far from Golchuk!  

"You will love the 'fa-cil-ee-tees,'" the wormy little man announced, a smile revealing all of the yellow teeth he had in his rather large, sort of cavernous mouth. It seemed he had as many teeth as there are keys on a piano!

Several of the lads, stating mainly soto voce, they wanted to slap him silly! Those several

clearly didn't want to be anywhere near the Country of Turkey. 

"Can I go home now?" one of them whined.    

The Turkish man meant "facilities," of course.  I found his pronunciation intriguing and amusing, wondering if every Turk we'd meet would elongate words and syllables comically. Couldn't wait to find out. 

I thanked him for his rosy prediction and his "wild" enthusiasm about our destination.  Many of my military companions complained, wishing they could get back on the aircraft and go home, frightening as the flight had been, as well as the scary prospect of some two years in wildly exotic Turkey.

As a means of easing us into the next two years or so, the length of our upcoming assignment at Karamursel Air Base, we were billeted for an overnight stay at the fabulous Cinar Hotel outside Istanbul, (pronounced si-nar, an accent cedilla placed like a goatee under the "C," creating a soft sound like an "S.")

The U.S. Military probably financed our stay and the delicious feast we were served.  But the servers, all male, kept emptying our ashtrays the moment an ash was dumped from each of the preponderance of cigarettes every GI was smoking as if it were the last awaiting a firing squad. Coming from modest or underprivileged backgrounds, the hovering waiters made all of us a bit uncomfortable.

Cinar's rooms were lavish, a kind of ridiculous (planned... or unplanned?) ploy as if presaging with a kind of evil sneer our accommodations at the air base.

Karamursel's accommodations were anything but lavish.  We discovered that fact the following day. At least the rooms were clean, and we were ordered of course to keep them clean throughout our tour of duty.  A military, disciplinary mandate!  

"A quarter should bounce off of the top blanket of your properly-made beds," a nasty sergeant had announced during basic training.  That bounce never happened in my experience...

Finally arriving at Karamursel, after a bumpy and lumpy bus ride, uh we stared in some dismay at the stark and sterile look of flat-topped

barracks and quonset huts and dull grey buildings that dotted and populated the base.  It also sported huge antennas and a so-called "flight line," but no possibility an aircraft could land there. 

One guessed that every air base in captivity must have a flight line for visible or invisible aircraft. Strange!

Soon we were installed in barracks rooms, each with three added occupants.  Then off to our assignments via a dark blue school-like bus, along the so-called flight line, past rows of towering antennas, to our work places.  

A few of use, including myself, were asked if we'd prefer to be assigned to "Research and Development (R&D)" vs. the utterly tedious and boring duty of monitoring printers and their endless output of correspondence from "the enemy."

It was an excellent choice, R&D, that is. Our duty was to learn known electronic systems by sound, about 90 of them, and then search for new electronic systems, using huge and

expensive radio / monitors.  Finding something, we'd explore, via "space-age" equipment and brain power, decipher the coded, musically-warbling information they were transmitting.  Great fun!

We had success!  Even hear of the Poet, Pushkin?  

I write this sort of ancient memoir given the timing...  I began my military service on June 12th, was discharged honorably on June 11th, four years later.  

Readers are welcome to share their own memories and adventures in military service. Don't hesitate; space is limited!  Thank You!

Humbly Submitted, June 12th...  Joel K.  

  

  

  

 

 

    

     

Turkish Delights! A Brief, Personal Travelog... Adventures, Too!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:        Turkish Delights:   Ne zaman geliyorsun?  Arkaya bak, Genç adam!


Among the proclivities of those of us gazing dreamily through the autumnal mist of GeezerHood, is the beckoning wraith of semi-conscious retrospection.  That is to say, we tend often to stare backward into the fading light of memory, to recall unashamedly the adventures of another time, perhaps a distant incarnation!

Turkey!  Wonderful!!...  No, not the fat bird of a holiday in November, but the country, the adventures and joys of being there!  I spent some 18 months in that marvelous land during my time in military service.  And there are many treasures still buried deep in my psyche, like images on a Viewmaster.  Click...  click...  Oh, I remember that one, and that one, and that place, too..!

Upon our arrival, back in 1961, a lifetime ago, a wormy little man, the gnome who welcomed us as we crawled off the commuter plane (or was it a bus?), arriving in the airport town of Yeşilköy, some 11 kilometers west of Istanbul, announced excitedly, "You will love the 'fah-cil-eee-tees!'"  That's how he pronounced the word, facilities.  He referred to the US Air Force station to which we were assigned, namely,  Karamürsel.  

Both the town in which we first landed, and the site of the AF base were beautifully situated on the Sea of Marmara!  The facilities were spare, but some of us, myself included, loved the place.  We were billeted that first night in the gorgeous and elegant Hotel Cinar.     

Behind the base were colorful hills that wanted to be mountains, almost were in height and width.  Base officials, including officers and civilian workers, warned us not to venture into the hills.  "Too dangerous...  don't you know what's living up there?...  Big wild boars with tusks..."  A companion and I didn't need any further encouragement.  On a day off, we headed for the hills.  We spied one wild boar, but it didn't charge, and appeared to be occupied with foraging and showed no particular interest in us.  The best encounter:  We met a family of quasi-nomads who lived in a combination cave and lean-to.  They welcomed us into their home, offered us food and çay (pronounced Chi)  (traditional Turkish tea) and extraordinary hospitality and friendship.  We stayed with them for some three hours, conversing, learning about their lives.  We conducted our conversation in a combination of Turkish and English, with the help of a Turkish language and phrase book.  


With the same companion, in Istanbul, at the Bosporus, we boarded the Litva -- uninvited, of course -- a Black Sea pleasure liner.  We wandered throughout the ship, eventually entering the bridge where we fiddled with controls including the water-tight doors.  It seemed the ship listed a bit.  Ship's crew members, wide-eyed and seemingly angry, caused us to scamper from the bridge, running to find our way out and off of the vessel.  I was more anxious than my companion.  

"Why should we be concerned?  I mean," he continued, "What danger is there from a bunch of Greek crew members?"  

"Uh," I began, "This is a Russian ship, a Soviet Russian ship.  You must have mis-interpreted the script on both cabin posters and signage on the bridge.  We're American GIs," I continued, "with sensitive information in our heads.  Wouldn't have been a good idea to have them detain us..."  My friend's face lost its color, as he nodded, finally, in tacit agreement.

Being young and perpetually "thirsty," another great friend and frequent companion and I often frequented Istanbul's many "pavions," nightclubs, often combination inns and taverns.  The aforementioned friend and I had access to and stayed in a basement apartment in the heart of Istanbul, waking to the shouts of "Sicak, sicak," meaning hot and pronounced "see-jak."  We'd head outside to purchase delicious street food, including ground lamb seasoned with powdered salt and pepper served on huge portions of Ekmek, traditional Turkish bread. 

Street drugs were plentiful, and seemingly far too available, but that's another story entirely.  The "Black Market" in Istanbul was a lucrative allure.  A carton of American cigarettes could fetch up to $50.00, often much more.  A box of American laundry detergent, the giant size, could net the seller up to $100.00.  And U.S.-made denim jeans?...  a small fortune!  There were Turkish friends whom we came to know well, and who would or could become valued contacts in the Black Market trade.  That too is another story...   um, perhaps for another time!

The Island of Buyulada is truly a "Beautiful Island,"
complete with lavish homes, many occupied by
wealthy Turks.  Friends had a summer "cottage" on
the island with a view of the sea!

Through a contact that my father knew who had relatives living in Turkey, I had the good fortune to meet and spend a good deal of time with a family of Armenian Turks.  The family had an apartment in Istanbul, but more attractively, a holiday home on Büyükada, an island in the Sea of Marmara, the name meaning "Beautiful Island."  We gathered there on several occasions.  The mother was a superb cook and often served us spectacular seafood dishes, including swordfish steaks, Midye (mussels) and Levrek (sea bass). 

Ferry boats ran regularly from the port of Yalova, about 20 kilometers from Karamursel, to Istanbul, stopping at Buyukada and also Heybeli Ada where the Turkish naval academy was

based.  On one occasion, a Turkish submarine raised it periscope accidentally under a ferry, punching a hole in its hull and nearly causing a disaster.  No one died, we were reliably told, but

The Turkish Island of
Heybeli features many
beautiful, traditional homes!

some got a bit wet, probably crew members in the Engine rooms!!

The ferry trips to Istanbul were always enjoyable, even when the sea was less than hospitable... Deniz, c(h)ok fena!  However, frequent consumption of Vodka-Lemones  and pistachio nuts made it all completely bearable!   

Turkey is rich with history...  an understatement.  Izmir, Ephesus and Troy.  Remarkable sites such as the mosque Hagia Sophia, the fabulous Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace and Kapali Carsi (pronounced "Sharshi," owing to the cedilla symbol under the "C"), meaning Istanbul's Grand Bazaar, a labyrinth of 61 covered streets and more than 4000 shops!  There's also the beautiful district of Uskudar on Istanbul's Asian side.   Too much, too many fabulous places and landmarks to enumerate...  

The Galata Bridge in the heart of Istanbul!

One additional aspect of knowing my Armenian-Turkish friends.  An uncle of theirs owned a fleet of taxi cabs that prowled the streets of Istanbul.  People could jump in if the cab were heading in a favorable direction.  On one occasion when I had asked to drive, a man jumped in and ordered me to take him somewhere in that vast city.  My knowledge of Turkish was rudimentary at best.  The angry man exited the cab at his first opportunity, shouting at me and using language best misunderstood!  I received retribution on a few occasions when taxi cabs ran over my feet!  But, inebriation helped measurably to numb the pain!!  Generally, taxi drivers did not stop to apologize, but instead would shout at victims to "get the hell out of the road!..."

We eventually spent a pleasant day picnicking, swimming and generally enjoying the waters of the Bosporus!  What a time it all was for a young man seeking adventure and the kind of education only travel can provide.

Oh, did I mention "Belly Dancing," originally termed Danse du Ventre, or dance of the stomach?  Turkey is famous for its version of the tradition.  Many outstanding practitioners perform the dance in various venues, in pavions and at special events and social gatherings.  Oh yeah, my wife, SweetHeart, and I -- she at the time a new bride -- spent our honeymoon in Athens and other parts of Greece.  An "Athens By Night" event included a "famous Turkish Belly Dancer," but not one I knew from my youth!  (A close call, maybe...!)

(Special Note of Gratitude and Dedication:  The people of Turkey and Armenia whose friendship and hospitality are legendary, particularly to those of us who served in Turkey during our US military terms of duty.  Thank you, and...  Sonra gorusuruz ve volun acik olsum! 

Humbly Submitted, 07-14-19 -- Joel K.