Sketches of Lake Çıldır, Turkey
It was the day of a planned border crossing from Turkey to Georgia. Border crossing can be a nervous activity; it often takes much longer than expected without reasons clearly given, or there can be challenges that I could not prepare for, such as a non-functioning data connection on the other side or the unavailability of mandatory car insurance.
I read that the Georgian side of the road is in pretty rough condition for the first hours of driving, so I started driving early in the morning towards the Turkish border. But what I was not entirely prepared for were the breathtaking views of the snow-capped mountain peaks with the sunny sky reflected on the water. After being distracted by them all along the lakeside roads, I finally succumbed to the view and found an off-road entrance leading closer to the water.
I was enjoying the views while looking for small excuses to stay there longer, such as eating up leftover food items stored in the van – a process often helpful for the vehicle inspections by border officers. I noticed two men sitting by the water about a hundred meters ahead of me, and I saw that they were noticing me too. Finally, one guy started to wave and gestured to come over. As usual, I did not hesitate to follow along with a smile. I saw that they were having a small picnic with Turkish tea and the walnut snack, Cevizli Sucuk.
With the water boiling constantly next to us, I was served endless rounds of Turkish tea. During the past month in Turkey, I often thought that Turkish tea was a central communication tool – it is enjoyable by itself, but offering and receiving tea seemed to be a daily and repetitive declaration of attention to one another. Often, non-verbal communication seems to go further when it comes to communicating our energy.
The atmosphere grew lively when we accidentally found out that we were all born in the same year. I took a brief moment to imagine what their lives would have been like – growing up in the mountainous region of Northeastern Turkey and having been fathers for more than a decade. Their insistence on giving me their extra food was not unexpected, but it still gave me a lingering feeling of warmth.
The trust among strangers, the views, and the occasional sighting of passing cows all felt like a final gift and a gesture of goodbye from the country. So I chose to indulge in the moment without planning too much about the remaining agenda of the day: finishing the border crossing before dark. And as is often the case in life, ups and downs get linked, and it turns out that this serene experience got associated with a big difficulty I had to overcome later that night.
April 30, 2026, Lake Çıldır, Turkey
With Tarkan and Metin
