July 14th, 2012 was a hot day in the Çankaya district of Ankara, Turkey. I had only been in the country for three days and had spent the majority of those hours learning how to use new video teleconferencing software. So now that I had an off day to relax, I was eager to do some exploring in my new home for the next six months. I went downstairs to ask the hotel concierge where I should begin my journey for the day and he provided a map and pointed me towards Tunali Caddesi. This was a street that carved its way through the heart of Ankara and was lined with many shops specializing in anything you could possibly imagine. I had found my plans for the day.

After loading up my backpack with a Turkish phrase book, four bottles of water, and an extra shirt, I ventured outside of the hotel and made a right turn down the steep hill. As I walked, I noticed I was getting a lot of attention. This was because I chose to wear a white t-shirt and khaki shorts in an attempt to help offset the heat, but in doing so I exposed all the the tattoos covering my arms, legs, hands, and neck. Although I later came to find out there is a vibrant tattoo culture in Turkey, it is nowhere near as common as it is in the western portion of the world. I threw some sunglasses on to avoid the prying eyes; crisis solved.

About five minutes into my walk I had a sudden realization: nearly all of the women passing by were dressed in western style clothing such as tank tops, mini skirts, and high heels. This came as quite a shock to me because after a few lengthy trips to Iraq, which borders Turkey, I was expecting to see women wearing naqaabs and abayas. Not the case at all here. Turkey is a secular republic and although there is a large devout Muslim population, it is very western influenced. So you can imagine my initial surprise and subsequent happiness because it goes without saying; women in this region are absolutely beautiful, with dark almond eyes and flowing black hair, topped off with a naturally bronzed complexion. On the evening I left Turkey in December 2012, I actually told my friend Bünyamin that the only beauty in Turkey that could rival its beaches were its women.

I continued walking down Tunali, taking my time and enjoying the opportunity to converse with friendly Turks who were eager to “make me a deal” on a Turkish rug or a handmade hookah. I declined all, figuring it would be best to wait a bit before I stated buying everything I laid my eyes on. After making a left turn I saw four golden minarets silhouetted against the bright blue sky. I took a look at my map and after a moment of terrain association determined that it was the Kocatepe mosque. For some reason unknown to me I felt compelled to visit it. Now that I had a solid destination in mind, my feet began to move faster and I weaved my way through the crowd instead of just flowing through it like water that leaks through your fingers when you cup your hands under a faucet.

The street vendors peddling cheap wares to tourists finally began to thin out as I drew nearer to the mosque. It was a magnificent sight to behold, though not quite as large as the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. The Kocatepe mosque is also a relatively new mosque, with construction beginning in the late 1960s.

I finally made it to the entrance and after washing my hands in the abulation area and removing my shoes, I entered the mosque. My first reaction was of absolute wonder when I looked around at all the stained glass windows and gold ornaments hanging all over. My second reaction was of embarrassment because I heard American English being spoken to my left and when I looked to see who was talking, a group of Americans were being loud and still had their shoes on in the middle of the of room. The reason this bothered me is because wherever I go, I am always careful to do my research and find out what is accepted in a culture and what is blatantly disrespectful. I always want to show the people of whichever country I’m visiting that yes, Americans actually can be considerate and tolerant of other cultures.

As I stood under the large golden ball hanging from the ceiling, I thought about the stigma that many Muslims face today. After seeing the extremist side of the faith in Iraq, I have met many Muslims who are some of the kindest, most welcoming people I have had to pleasure to call friends. So many people now days are quick to stereotype an entire faith and anyone who wears a burqa or dishdasha but it’s not that easy. Every faith has a radical sector, even Christianity has the Westboro Baptist Church, and let’s not forget about what happened during the Crusades.

I stood by and observed people of all ages on their hands and knees, praying to Allah to bless their families and loved ones. Upon witnessing that, I will tell you one thing: I felt safer and more at home in a mosque where I knew no one and only a rough understanding of the language than I did walking down the streets of any small town in the Bible Belt of America because these people did not judge me for my tattoos nor did they feel the need to try and prove themselves by acting tough like is common in the US…they were all praying for a better world, peace, and understanding. So at that moment I closed my eyes and joined them.