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View from Abroad

Taking a ride in Turkey

Laureb McFarlin '07

Ankara, Turkey

In Ankara, the best way to get around the city is not by car or bus, but by dolmus. A dolmus, a large blue and white box on wheels, looks like a cross between a van and a bus. Every dolmus has an established route advertised in the window and costs the same 1.2 YTL (approx. $.90) to go anywhere from three blocks to 10 miles.

Drivers wait at the beginning of their route until the seats are packed as tightly as possible and then the vehicle takes off on a rollercoaster ride complete with swift weaving through traffic, multiple near-accidents and sudden stops.

Aside from supplying an adrenaline rush and a convenient way to reach my language courses in the city, the dolmus is my favorite place to observe Turkish culture. On my first ride, I was stunned by the seemingly haphazard payment process.

Every passenger simply passes money forward through other people until it reaches a driver somehow capable of simultaneously maneuvering through traffic, talking and counting change. In the last five weeks, I have yet to witness somebody neglect to pay the driver or fail to receive the proper change back from the front of the dolmus. It is a simple and antiquated system based on a trust that I am ashamed to say that just doesn't exist in the United States anymore.

After paying my fare I can relax in my seat and take a few moments to both observe the people sharing the short journey with me and survey the world quickly passing by out the window.

Within the dolmus I am typically surrounded by a mix of Westernized young professionals, scarved and unscarved women, old men with tespih (Muslim prayer beads) in hand, teen boys with greased mullets and pointed boots and migrants recently arrived from villages.

I am perplexed at the way the secular Turks, Sunnis, Shiites, Alevis, Kurds and obvious foreigners like me come together in such a peaceful manner for a few glorious city blocks. Sometimes people talk, but mostly we all sit quietly looking at each other until somebody cries, "Inecek var!" and the vehicle veers to the side of the road to let them off.

The microcosm of ethnicity in the dolmus shrinks in comparison to the macrocosm of diversity flying by outside the window. Every other block here in Ankara has a unique personality, and we fly from modern urban areas to shanty homes in a few minutes.

The skyline in the distance is littered with buildings painted in bright blues, pinks and purples, and in between apartment complexes mosque minarets pierce the clouds. Finally, the city is dotted with statues of Atat?rk, the mustached hero of this young, secular Republic. These tributes are a constant reminder of the fervent nationalism and fierce dedication to democracy (or some form of it) that has characterized much of the country, particularly the military, since the founding of the Republic in the 1920s.

Upon arriving back at the Middle Eastern Technical University after language classes in the city, the Jandarma (military police) who guard campus board the dolmus for mandatory ID checks.

By this time, any scarved women have replaced their beautiful silks with wool hats because scarves are banned in public buildings, including state universities. While I've gotten used to the armed guard at the gate, I sometimes wonder if the same smiling, middle-aged man checking IDs will turn out in riot gear when the Communist student group decides to protest a visit from Ross Wilson, U.S. ambassador to Turkey.

With a nod from the guard, the dolmus driver makes his way through the immense campus to the mall-like food court and eventually the stop outside my dormitory.

If it is the right time of day, I may very well exit my dolmus and head toward my room listening to the Call to Prayer from a mosque in the distance and might get handed some political activism leaflet along the way.

To a newcomer, society here is seemingly nonsensical and chaotic. The people here exist in a multitude of different worlds, many of which appear incompatible. Turkey is an Islamic country that bans headscarves, a secular nation with a state-controlled Directorate of Religion, an EU candidate where much of the domestic commerce exists in local pazars, and the only place where you will find devout Muslims hanging portraits of the Greek-born Atat?rk who secularized Turkey and ended the caliphate.

In my sixth week here, I am finally starting to recognize the beautiful ways in which all of these peculiar aspects of Turkish life blend to create a bewildering but exquisite civilization that still has not quite found its place in the world.

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