Backpacking with Mom through Turkey, a memoir.

Why sometimes the best travel companion is one’s mom.

Cappadocia

Mother

The water of her womb, your first home.

The body she pulled apart to welcome you to the world.

The spirit in you she helped grow with all she knew.

The heart she gave you when yours fell apart.

You are her soft miracle.

So she gave you her eyes to see the best in the worst.

You carry your mother in your eyes.

Make her proud of all she watches you do.

Nikita Gill

Mom, I need to get out of London, can I get us tickets to Istanbul?

Why Istanbul? I think we should just stay in London. We can decide a trip close by, once I get there.

Mom, I need the sun, I need the sea, I need to get out of here, I’m suffocating. There are cheap tickets and trust me, this will be the trip of our lives…

I needed my mom, I needed the sea and the sun and some time alone with her to heal. My five year relationship ended. My job, my degree and my life were erupting in anxious, itchy eczema plaques covering my arms in bloody sleeves. I was a mess. So mom came to London and we left two days later to Istanbul to backpack across Turkey.

Perhaps you both will get back together…

Mom, I don’t want us to get back together.

But it’s so sad.

Mom, it’s actually not so sad. Our relationship was sad.

Mom sighed.

We got to Istanbul and then to our hotel. Stripping away our London layers we headed out to explore the city and ourselves. Inside the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia, we prayed, cause Mom says that all gods, all temples are all different narratives of the same thing. By recommendation we went off to the best hamam where the locals went, not the tourists like us. With our brand new ethically made, exfoliating gloves from Jennifer a famous American in Istanbul known for her eco textiles, we were bathed with soapy, laurel water by this topless mother figure that sloughed my reptilian skin to something that almost resembled my skin long ago.

Next day we headed to the grand bazar, where mom got me a Turkish eye locket necklace to keep me protected. She bought me beautiful things cause she wanted to remind her apathetic daughter that chopped off her “beautiful long hair” and all her desire to “dress up” and “look nice” that she was still beautiful. But beauty was sleeping and had no pulse. For at that time all I saw were the “flaws” that needed fixing and correcting by the man who I had spent those last five years with. He never loved the real me… I later discovered that real love doesn’t need to be constantly fixed, but respected. Being myself was not a flaw. Being myself was beautiful.

​That night we fell into silence as Sufi whirling dervishes moved through music, moving the audience into stillness. My mom, the person who saw my first steps was now helping me find my steps in life, to start again, as only a mom can do.

We headed to Ephesus, to the house of mother Mary. My mom the “spiritual but not religious” sympathiser of mother Mary, who appeared to her once during a hallucinogenic, high fever, lit candles and collected holy water. We walked around the ruins of Ephesus and talked about the ruins of our lives, that we rebuild over and over again.

Next Pamukkale. Words don’t do justice to Pamukkale. So this is why I decided to share these pictures below. Hot Turquoise medicinal water, bathing the snowy, white mountains can bring the dead back to life. Each passing day I was healing and becoming stronger. I was hungry again, for food, for life and baklavas with ice coffee my mom kept feeding me to put meat back into those bones that had lost their appetite.

We took the longest bus ride to Fethiye. Out from the bus and straight to the beach we sunbathed endlessly for hours on end. The sun and the sea were the silent therapists I needed. Salt and warmth nurtures life.

In Olympus I told my mom all I never told her, about my relationship that ended. All the unedited bits I kept inside that hurt. That night my mom had problems with her knee that she had hit on a rock swimming in “Cleopatra’s pool” In Pamukkale, perhaps my pain became her’s and paralysed her. As a mom, she felt helpless for not been able to help me when I was going through so much pain. She couldn’t take any steps to guide me. I took a tour on my own and hiked mount Olympus during the night, offering my pain to the fire that burns from the insides of the mountain. No matter how much my mom wanted to help me, I had to do my healing alone, she could kiss my wounds and hug me, but I had to be strong and take the pain on my own. I had to call my inner mother to nurture me. We both knew I would get past this. The day after we took a boat and swam and cleaned our thoughts with sea water and sun.

Next Antalya where we found our hidden spot a quiet sea grove to continue our therapy sessions combined with lots of siestas, reading and lullabied sleep.

We took a night bus to Cappadocia. We arrived at Emily’s cave hotel with a warm welcome and breakfast on the terrace. We entered our cave room and went into a deep dreamless sleep. We got up and walked around Cappadocia absorbed in a sci-fi, dream like state of timeless cave houses, and dry land covered in bright rugs. We took it all in while sipping ice-coffee with baklava, our indulgence diet of adding sweet and spice to life. That night we had another hamam we had also learned to be accustomed to. And it was the most scenic hamam of all, underground inside the womb of mother Earth herself. Carrying mother and daughter into her depths of oneness.

Sunrise in Cappadocia was celebrated on a balloon ride. We were ecstatic children reaching for the heights, squealing and pointing out at the balloon covered sky we were immersed in. We were taking in beauty with every breath and with hearts filled with gratitude we promised to make our mother daughter trip a tradition. However next time my sister would have to come. Like when we used to travel just us three during our teenage years to our beach house for beach therapy and frozen margaritas by the water. I felt blessed for being my mother’s daughter. She was always the fun, non-judgemental mom that spent quality time with us and made us feel loved and special. I never had to hide anything from her cause she loved even the darkest parts of me.

Trabzon was the end of our trip. We saw the beautiful Sümela Monastery in the mountains. Inside the monastery in my prayer, I thanked the universe for all that I had and all that I had to learn no matter how painful it had to be to get me to where I was. I was walking in this sacred place surrounded by nature, forests and waterfalls with my heart filled with love and joy. There were no regrets for the past, no anxiety towards the future, no eczema, but only a feeling of wholeness and acceptance. I was healed. I felt ready and excited to take on this new chapter in my life. I was my mother’s daughter. The daughter of the strongest, most resilient person I had ever met. I carried my mother in my eyes.

Mom chilling in Pamukkale.
Pamukkale
Somewhere our bus stopped near Fethiye
Topkapi Palace, Istanbul.

Unapologetic Poetry

Written by

Dani Hunter -Published Author, poet, art therapist, artist, traveller and DJ hosting ecstatic dancing soirées. Instagram: @unapologeticpoetry

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