In answer to your question, Nina, I had two letters from Niyazi after we left, which I replied to, but I never found anyone willing to be a penpal with his son. I've never been back to Turkey. My daughter loved the cross.

That evening there was no bridge. The whole group was going off to the Turkish evening, except for us. We told them we had made an arrangement with our friend and wanted to spend our last night there with him. I think the group felt a bit like we were snubbing them, but truth to tell, we didn't feel very tempted towards their outing anyway and were pleased to have a somewhat legititimate excuse for not going. So when evryone else got ready and went out, we stayed in our room. When they left we came down and had dinner at the hotel. It was very quiet with only about 10 people there.

The meal was soup, salad, rice and sausages with a milky sweet pudding which we couldn't finish. We had huge portions of meat too - they obviously had cooked for the whole group not realizing they were going out, and we benefitted by having very large portions. Then we put on our coats and slipped down to the village to see Niyazi for the last time and to meet his wife.

I had told Pat about how intense and personal my last converstion with Niyazi had been and she was disappointed in him for his apparent lack of loyalty at least in his mind, to his wife. He had said to me, "If my wife is good to me," which I translated as continues to meet my sexual needs, “I will continue to have her as my wife. If she is no longer good to me, I will say to her, it is over.” It did seem a hard life for a woman who had to compete with all the attractive women whom Niyazi came into contact with. We were both nervous about this meeting with her.

I got dressed up in my best dress for this last evening in Turkey, a brightly coloured flowery print. We put the geranium flowers that the cleaning lady had given us  in our buttonholes and made our way to Niyazi’s shop.   

Niyazi introduced us to  his wife who was a short plump lady, dressed in heavy paid woolen suit and with her hair completely covered by a white scarf. She had no makeup on and could in no way have said to be attractive by Western standards. But she didn’t really look old to me - her round face had no wrinkles and was very sweet and pleasant. I could imagine her as a very attract 20 year old. When she was introduced to me, she put her arms around me and gave me a big hug. “She is so pleased to meet you,” Niyazi said.  I wondered if he had told her that my daughter was considering marrying their son. When we were seated, Niyazi whispered in my ear, “You look very beautiful tonight.” (First and  only time anyone has said that to me.)

Pat took to Betje immediately. She instinctively knew that this woman was for the moment coming second best to me in Niyazi’s eyes, and she bubbled over with questions and comments for his wife. She asked about the grandchildren, she talked about their son who had designed the ring she was wearing. Niyazi also showed us his ring. It looked a a greenish agate - nothing very startling about it. But he showed us that the stone protruded through to the back of the ring so the rock was actually touching his finger. He said it was a very special ring which he got at Mecca.

Pat talked about cooking. Betje was very disappointed that she couldn't cook us a meal and offer us proper hospitality at their home in Izmir. Betje asked lots about our children and our husbands. She was disappointed that we didn't have photos.

She was interested to know that my husband didn't mind me coming away on holiday on my own, taking full charge of the children in my absence. She was very upset to hear that Pat was a widow, but Pat told about her sons and grandchildren.

We all had apple tea and stayed for about an hour. Mustapha was there too and we asked him about his jewellery-making work. He didn't attempt any English and Niyazi felt that was because he was embarrassed that it wasn't very good. I think Niyazi must have been an overwhelming sort of parent to have - so good and so confident and so demanding of high standards. His son was afraid of not coming up to expectations so he was unwilling to risk speaking to us in English.

Niyazi produced Pat's reading glasses case - she had forgotten it when we had been in in the afternoon. She was very grateful because she had been looking for it all over, and was worried that it was lost. We left, thinking it was the last time we would see Niyazi. His wife kissed us on both cheeks, and he did too. He whispered to me, “You are very special to me."
 
“You are special to me too, I whispered back. We walked back to the hotel satisfied that our week had been properly rounded off and Pat was much happier because she could see that Niyazi was nice to his wife. We went back to the hotel and to bed before the others got back from their night out, but they were so noisy when they did return that I didn’t get much sleep.
 

Monday the 8th of May. Our day to fly home. We had our usual breakfast and then packed. Pat couldn't find her reading glasses again. She looked everywhere. They must be still back at Niyazi's shop.So I went back. He was so pleased to see me again and said, "I knew you would come one more time."

Her glasses were there; they had slipped down between a pile of rugs. So I had one cup of tea, and again said goodbye. Mustapha was there too, making any further intimate conversations impossible which I was very grateful for. Mustapha seemed much more relaxed and called me Jean. Again we had one last double kiss goodbye and I left Cesme town behind.

Packing was quite an ordeal. Our cases weighed a ton. When it was all in, we brought them down to the front area to await the bus. Some people had lunch at the hotel. We had a few biscuits and cheese bits left from what Pat had brought from home so we finished those off. The bus was late but finally came and we all were packed on. Someone hadn't paid a small bill, somebody else hadn't left their key.  Finally all was straight and we started for the airport in Izmir. The journey took just over an hour and a half, and when we got there, we checked in with no difficulties. 

Pat bought some cigarettes for a friend at home from the duty free and then we got on the plane and went home. The flight was straight foward with good food and drink - the first cup of coffee I had had for a week and it tasted wonderful.

I was nervous about going through customs, but Pat told me I must go through the “Nothing to Declare” section but my instinct said that this was the wrong thing to do.
Lots of the people in the party had bought leather coats and bits of jewelry, though none had spent as much as I had with my cross and rug and handbag. Pat lent me her necklace and I hooked the cross onto it and slipped it under my blouse. I threw away the jewellery box it had come in. When we got into the airport and went through customs, I was separated from the others due to my American passsport. But it didn’t really cause any big problem. We collected our luggage and made our choice going firmly and confidently through the green area.

Not quite confidently, that was an exaggeration. I was a nervous wreck and no doubt looked as guilty as hell. The couple just in front of me were stopped and their luggage was searched. But we moved on without being stopped. I was still shaking as we got out and I saw my husband Philip there waiting for me. Pat was being met by some of her friends. So we said goodbye, and thanked each other for the trip. It had certainly been an experience we would never forget and being together had made it even more special.

Now it is nearly a week later. The photos are back - I’ve lent them to Pat to take to show her son Danny when she presents him with his jacket this weekend. The ones of the food shop and the leather good shop didn’t turn out. The one of Niyazi is good of him, but I certainly don't look beautiful on it.

The carpet I bought is in place in front of the fireplace. (Still is today.) It looks fine. Everyone admired the cross - Stephanie who it is for hadn’t seen it but her birthday is next month. Philip thinks I did the right thing in sneaking through customs. He said the value of my purchases was very relative. They might well both be less than £30 worth but as they were never priced officially it was merely a private negotiation between me and my friend. (I had the cross valued in Stockport and was told it was worth more than twice what I paid for it.)

I called Pauline the organizer to say thank you for the trip. She told me that Audrey. the noisy rude one who should have been my roommate,  was stopped at the airport, strip-searched and thoroughly messed about. She never went shopping at all in Cesme. She had bought an extra bottle of Martini and rather than taking the time to go through the red light area of customs she dumped it in a bin. They immediately took her in charge. She didn’t deserve the treatment she got, but I am very sure she gave them the rough edge of her tongue.

It's all a memory now. But I wanted to write it down now, while its fresh, and while I can still remember the smile in Niyazi’s eyes and the taste of Apple Tea.