Friday night, I touched American soil, not one block from my Aşağı Ayrancı, home. I went to the American Embassy for happy hour. And boy, was it happy. In a long, dark bar gathered dozens of Turks and expats with one thing in common – a dry thirst. Actually, I think they all spoke English too. Regardless, it was the liquor that brought us together.
This happened to be the same day that I posted my Rants about Ankara and Turkey – Vodafon, treatment of the eczane, white lies, and the theory that “Diplomats are King.” At the bar, I spent time with our hosts the marines, met many Americans and Canadians, laughed with some Turks, and had a couple of conversations with said Diplomats, and at least one son of a diplomat. While I don’t wish to retract anything I wrote in my post, I thought I might add to it – just a bit.
It’s not that I don’t like Diplomats, I do. And after Friday night, I certainly like the kids of diplomats. Here’s a brief summary of a conversation:
Young son of diplomat: I’ve been here about a month or two. I started studying Turkish. But I want to learn more quickly.
Me: Really?
Young son of diplomat: Yes, at New Year’s, a group of friends raised their glasses and said, “Mutlu Yillar.” (Happy New Year) I raised mine and said, “Afiyet Olsun!” (Something like, “Enjoy your meal”). Everyone laughed.
Me: (too busy laughing to say anything else.)
Yes, I had a great time Friday night. It made me wonder what I would be like if I were a Dip? Certainly I would enjoy getting through traffic faster if offered the opportunity. But what else?
It made me question who I am? I am the daughter of someone? Well, there’s a rumor of blue blood lines, and definitely gypsy. Am I important? What makes one important? Is it who I know? I have friends in the movie biz. Dolph Lundgren tried to flirt with me once. I was on a tv commercial. I partied with Charles Barkley, spent an evening in a bar with Manut Bol, and have autographs from Dr. J, Mike Schmidt and Tug McGraw. Senator Biden was my professor. Um, Vice President Biden. I knew a man that owned a large law firm, a Napa winery, and a jet. I participated in multi-milion dollar settlements in a suit against the natural gas industry. And Andrew Wyeth wrote me not one, but two letters after I sent him the only fan letters I have ever written. In the second he gave me his phone number and invited me to his home. I went. The rest is history.
Am I somebody? Yes I am. But it has nothing to do with great-great grand-daddy. And it’s definitely not who I know. It’s who I am. It’s what I do. It’s how I make you laugh, and how I laugh with you.
The big guy’s son had me rolling Friday evening. He was a good kid. Perhaps part of that was because of his dad. But what I saw was a great sense of humor mixed with ambition and a will to learn. The fact that he was the son of a Diplomat, well, that was just an aside. That’s how he delivered the line – it wasn’t an opener. I think he will go far in life – and if he becomes a Diplomat as he is determined to do – well that will just be icing on his cake!
Adventures in Ankara 
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