[continues from “Ankara, the capital of Turkey”]
R picks me up after a long delay. Every now and then I wonder if I am really fascinated by the rhythms of the Orient.
After an hour’s drive we arrive in the industrial area of Ankara, the office is on the first floor of a large logistics warehouse, after all, what can you expect from an import-export company. I met company X on the wave of the times, I am writing in November 2022 just a while after the onset of the Russian-Ukrainian war: while the Turkish Sultan is aiming at financial independence, keeping central bank rates low, with Turkish lira devaluing, inflation going crazy at over 70%, the Turks are impoverished. Yet, since the Russian Bear triggered the conflict, the shrewdest Turks have been doing golden business abroad. In Turkey, warehouses have proliferated in Istanbul and Ankara for the past few months, as active players in the game of international trade pirouttes, providing the hub of currency and trade triangulations between the West, Russia, the Caucasus and Iran. Despite the courteous US ‘instruction’ to abolish the existing payment system between Turkey and Russia, the Turks set advantageous exchange rates for transactions from time to time, split bank fees with trading partners, and feed the flow of goods into the oblivion of the parallel market.
‘We would be stupid not to,’ M comments, welcoming me into his office-window with a sunset view over Ankara’s ‘magnificent’ industrial zone. Cheeky grin, face of the kind only seen between Tashkent and Almaty. It is he, R and H who set the mood for our four-hour meeting: Fog. The burning tobacco numbs the colours of my power point presentation, hectolitres of çay arrive non-stop. It seems to be rule number one for sitting and talking in Turkey. It is in this context that I hear the murkiest tales about the coffee shop in the country, after all, they are the founders of the sacred kahve drink. Trying to figure out how to position my cute brand, I come across the ‘success stories’ of some of the major competitors. Some Italian brands have ended up in the wrong hands, prey to underworld syndicates that have counterfeited their logos and compromised product quality. Although the ensuing international lawsuits have stopped their importation, the same coffee brands have continued to flow into Turkey, again in the counterfeit version, from further adventurous Balkan roasters. Let’s all jump on the counterfeit bandwagon!
Therefore, one has to wonder how much more authentic Italian coffee there is in this country. However, my friend M sneers, for the time being he believes he is the winner of the games, and that he is now one of the most reliable players in the market, I just pretend to buy this story while I try to verify some information through my network and put some points together. The conversation is still a long one.
My stomach is rumbling, from the theine, from the hunger, from the level of attention that I force myself to have in order not to disregard the response of even one of the sentences I hear. I am always faced with three gentlemen, self-styled Ottomans, trying to assess whether or how to fool a young non-Muslim woman who thinks she can conduct the conversation as she pleases. I am actually quite amused, it’s been like chatting in a bazaar.
After endless hours we slip away, thankfully. Tonight I am a guest at the Karafaki fish restaurant in Ankara. Apparently it is in the trendy area of the city, Maidan, although I don’t see anything chic about it. Building on the experience of Bodrum, this restaurant has opened a new place in the Ankara steppes, bringing a breath of Mediterranean flair! H is the most goliardic of the three, he immediately leads me in front of the counter of the day’s mezze: “choose what you want, Claudia!”. I sit next to him at dinner, he is very hospitable, as soon as I finish a cigarette he always has one ready at the side of the plate (but I can’t take it any more!), and he always tops up my glass of raki as soon as he sees it empty. I don’t like raki, of course I can’t say that. I try to dilute it with as much water as possible. Fish in Turkey is mostly eaten this way, most say, so I cannot escape it.
As tiring as it is, I always like to attend side dinners at business meetings, when everything becomes more informal, individuals seem weaker and more prone to let sincere thoughts slip through their fingers. I tell about my past holidays in Cappadocia, the visit to Anitkabir, listen to a few stories about how varied the cuisine is, the geography and finally, the Turkish people and blabla.. From there, it’s immediately politics, a subject I always want to avoid, or at best manipulate.
‘Turkey will soon reach 100 million inhabitants, not like you in Europe. I heard a documentary saying that by 2035 Europeans will be ‘extinct’ and will be ‘overwhelmed’ by Africans. Women are no longer having children,’ says M.
‘Well today the cost of living is very high in Italy, so it’s normal that both men and women have to work and manage the family at the same time,’ I reply.
‘But in Turkey women go to work with their children, what’s the problem? Nowadays all the guys think about is posting videos on instagram and they don’t feel like doing anything, neither working nor starting a family!’
‘You know, it’s true M, my generation was born into relative affluence and is less likely to value work. Many of us, however, have invested time and resources in our studies and we only wish that the world of work was more receptive and that the skills we have acquired were valued and rewarded with fair pay. This only happens in a few cases. So many are scrambling to make ends meet, and yes, it is true, sometimes women who have devoted time to study develop a certain ambition, and struggle to focus on family alone.’
‘This is ruining society!’ exclaims M.
And I: ‘Why should I give up becoming CEO? Not that I really care..but just in case.’
‘You’ll see what it’s like to become CEO and then not even have time for your family, to have a Pakistani to take care of your garden but not even have time to enjoy it.’
‘You know M..maybe you’re right……’ Now I start rebutting in absurdity to entertain myself a little.
‘Of course I do! You Europeans will see, our president is getting richer and richer but at least he knows how to do one thing, besides building his treasures, he knows how to make Turkey great in the world! Look now, if he were not there to mediate the conflict in Ukraine, what would become of the transit of grain throughout the Arab and African world. Not to mention gas, Turkey will become the new hub between Russia and the Mediterranean. Our President will take back Armenia, and then through the Azeris he will finally take back our part of Iran, and so will part of Central Asia, the old Turkestan. When he visits those countries, Our President is always greeted with great honours. You will see!’
‘Well, you seem to be right, at least you still like coffee from Europe though, right? You can’t deny that,’ I say.
‘Of course Italians are my friends, even if you talk so fast! Italy is a beautiful country, you just don’t have the right rulers, although it seems the new woman in power is very tough eh? You don’t like migrants do you? Bravo!’
‘You see M, the situation is very complicated in Italy. But surely the President is an example of what a woman can achieve, to be a ‘CEO’ and also a mother,’ I chided.
He did not like the answer very much, and I was starting to get tired. We had talked a lot about coffee and now I was starting to become too provocative. The good R, who was going to quit after a month, immediately understands that I want to change the subject and we start discussing hot air balloons in Cappadocia with H again. We make the last lousy raki toast to the new cooperation, and I ask to take my leave, the next day I have a long train journey to Istanbul ahead of me.
It is three degrees when I get back to the hotel, I am looking forward to warming up with tea.
Like the night before, I turn on the TV: in the small Polish village of Przewodow, a few kilometres from the Ukrainian border, a missile has just hit the grounds of a Polish farm. Two people died. The German Bild was the first to report the news, the assumption being that it was Russian weapons. The G20 is being held in Bali, where all the world leaders except Vladimir Putin have gathered. A few days earlier I had only seen on social media Sergey Lavrov in short trousers on the Indonesian terrace. I am now witnessing a general frenzy on the news channels: an attack on Polish NATO territory would justify collective defence by the other Allies, on the basis of Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty.
Moscow, however, immediately denies responsibility for the incident, meanwhile in Europe the situation seems to be rapidly deteriorating. Latvia condemns the ‘Russian attack’ on Poland, Hungary convenes the Defence Council, the Polish army is going on a state of alert. Ukrainian President Zelensky has no doubts: he claims, of course, that the responsibility lies with Russia. He speaks of ‘a missile attack on collective security’, demands action and calls for a NATO summit. Meanwhile, I read that the Pentagon reaffirms Washington’s commitment to Article 5 of the Alliance Treaty. It immediately clarifies, however: there is no proof that the attack was organised by Moscow, nor is it known where the missile came from. Kiev requests access to the site where the missile fell, but permission is denied. The Kremlin speaks of an attempt by Ukraine to ‘provoke a direct military confrontation between NATO and Russia, with consequences for the entire planet’.
Turkish President Erdogan, dressing as a mediator between the two conflicting countries, calls for caution and speaks of ‘a technical error’. Now even Poland is more cautious than before: there is ‘no unequivocal evidence’ as to who fired the missile. Suddenly there is already talk of an ‘unfortunate accident’. Before going to bed, the Kremlin applauds the ‘measured’ reaction of the US. ‘In this case,’ Peskov stressed, ‘one must take note of the reserved and very professional reaction of the US president’. A reaction, the spokesman added, that contrasts with the ‘absolutely hysterical reaction of the Polish side and a number of other countries’. I guess I can go to sleep now.
Good night Ankara.
