Unforgettable Moments with Turkish Grandparents in Uçhisar

The unspoken language of travel (Part 1)

Seher and Memduh, my adopted Turkish grandparents whom I met at their antique shop in Uçhisar, Turkiye.

July 6, 2023 — A gold-coated figurine of a whirling dervish spun in the palm of my hand. His skirt caught mid-twirl. The entrance to this antique store is cluttered with tables holding hundreds of trinkets. Most of them are gold-plated or rust-colored baking away in the sun.

I’m in the small town of Uçhisar in the Cappadocia region of Türkiye. An otherworldly castle shaped by soft volcanic ash and wind towers over the town in the distance. On my walk toward the castle, I pass a labyrinth of shops selling colorful woven rugs, caramelized nuts and dates, and hot tea with sugar.

This particular shop caught my attention because I was just reading about dervishes in a book called The Forty Rules of Love which talks about Rumi, Sufism, and the neighboring city of Konya. Like a magnet, my eyes spotted the golden statues and immediately knew what they were.

I stood mesmerized playing with the dervish in my hand, when from the corner of my eye I saw the shop owner. She was sitting next to the window wearing a head scarf, smoking a cigarette, and watching the world go by. When we made eye contact, I saw her smile before her face disappeared behind a cloud of smoke.

“Merhaba,” I said with a timid wave as I stepped into the shop. It was a small room, dark like a cave but full of brilliant objects. Everything from copper cezves (Turkish coffee pots which I bought later on), antique clocks, old lamps, and rusted keys.

She didn’t speak English very well but that doesn’t matter. She was the first person in Turkey (the first one perhaps in this whole trip) who showed me there’s a language without words. With eyes and smiles, and some sort of Knowingness. Words aren’t necessary when there’s a bond and understanding that you can feel with your soul. It’s like you’re both dialed into the same radio frequency.

As my eyes scanned the roomful of treasures, she sensed my curiosity and walked to the wall where she flicked a button. Lights turned on like spotlights revealing at least five other rooms full of objects. Each room was a cave made from volcanic ash and was at least 10 degrees colder than outside.

The passerby on the street above would never guess this place was down here. It felt like the scene in National Treasure where they find the Knight’s Templar Room and the lights suddenly turn on, revealing a vast brilliant treasure that seems to expand indefinitely in all directions. A place only revealed to those drawn to curiosity.

I wanted to buy something from her but none of the objects really called to me. With a sincere thank you, “Teşekkür ederim,” (pronounced like tea-sugar-dream), I left the shop and continued my way through town. Before I left, she handed me a brown business card and wrote her name on the back: Seher.

The most spectacular sunset gifted us splendid colors, and once dark arrived, I passed the shop again on the way back to the car. The feeling in my gut said I should enter again.

She was still in her chair with a cigarette in one hand and a coffee in the other. This time a man was sitting next to her. When she sees me approaching, she waves enthusiastically as if greeting an old friend.

She turns to whisper something to her husband, I think she tells him that she and I had met earlier. He reminds me a bit of my grandfather, with an impeccable gray mustache and sharp but kind eyes.

Then he points to the coffee maker and to a third chair that seems to have materialized out of nowhere. Next thing I know they’ve temporarily closed the shop and invited me inside to sit with them by the window and drink coffee. I’m offered a cigarette, which I politely decline, but the two of them are smoking, smiling, sipping coffee, glancing at themselves, and smiling at me.

Suddenly I’m not drinking coffee with strangers. I’m drinking coffee with Seher and Memduh.

We sit mostly in silence at first, but it doesn’t feel awkward. It’s the kind of silence that happens when everyone is just savoring the moment. Where words aren’t needed, as if we are all communicating telepathically. Maybe we are silent because there is nothing to say. We all share the feeling of contentment, of happiness in the present. Something so rare.

The world and its chaos are happening outside spinning uncontrollably like a dervish at double speed, but inside it’s as if time flows differently. Surrounded by relics of another time period, we sit contently enjoying our coffee and each other’s company.

We chat with basic English words and they tell me that this building has been in their family for generations. It is their family’s home from long ago. The storefront is more modern made of stone and wood. But in the back where the other treasure rooms are, those are ancient caves made of soft volcanic ash.

The grandpa, Memduh, shares he has spent years collecting antique objects from all over the world. A Russian camp stove, a French cast iron oven, silver plates from the Ottomans dating back to 1263.

Suddenly Memduh gets up excitedly and signals to me to follow him into the main treasure room. He points a finger to a shelf close to the ceiling where a large black and white picture sits among the collected antiques.

“Photo. My grandfather, her grandfather. Friends. National Geographic.”

I learned that that picture was taken by a photographer in 1957. It is of his and her grandparents, who were friends, sitting around a table sharing a meal. He told me that somehow as if by magic, he randomly saw the photo while flipping through a National Geographic magazine in 1958. I take his word for it because he doesn’t show me the magazine (yet…). He tells me with glowing pride that that picture of his family lies printed in the pages of a Nat Geo Magazine.

When the last drop of coffee is gone, I get up to go. As I do, my eyes suddenly get drawn to a turquoise and red coral necklace hanging on an old nail on the wall. That’s the one.

The three of us share a hug and they teach me how to say bye in Turkish. Güle-Güle.

Back out on the street, I wave goodbye to them. Happy because we met. Sad because I don’t think I’ll ever see them again in this life. The antique turquoise and coral necklace now bounced against my chest with every stride. My one link to them. My piece of the treasure.

How is it possible to have an interaction with people for just a few hours who don’t even speak the same language and feel such a deeply rooted connection?

That’s the magic of off-the-beaten-path traveling. Oftentimes the most meaningful memories of travels aren’t the ones when we are on a tour bus off to see another monument. They are the ones when we are exploring the streets with our own two feet, without any agenda. Where we aren’t in a rush to cram as much as we can in one day.

The magic of travel is going to a place we’ve never been to before and don’t know anyone…and by the time we leave, we leave having made meaningful friendships and memorable interactions.

These are the moments that leave lasting imprints on our lives forever. Each one is like a fingerprint in our life story.

Part two of the Turkish grandparents is here! (hint: I return a few days later)