That Time I Almost Died in Turkey

"Come to the village", they said. "It will be fun", they said.

"They" is my Turkish friend Ozgur and "fun" ended up being the dead last word in the English language that I would used to describe my Valentine's Day 2016.

Our town is settled on top of the Black Sea with small villages up in the mountains behind us. My Turkish Bestie, Ozgur, and his wife, Sibel, often go to the villages to buy their dairy, eggs and other fresh produce and milk products. I have told him all year long that I wanted to accompany them on one of their trips to the village sometime and he promised me we would do so.

A few days before Valentine's Day, Ozgur invited Deividas, myself and one of D's teammate's wives, Brittney, to join him and his wife on a trip to the village. Britt and I had built up images of us in the village all year long, we were truly waiting for this moment. We would take turns milking cows and picking fresh berries while being offered tea and sweets from the local villagers. It was going to be an epic Valentine's Day. 

The night before the trip, Ozgur texted me telling me to be sure to wear snow boots as the village was up in the mountains and would possibly have a little snow. I responded by telling him that I didn't own a pair of snow boots and asked if my rain boots would suffice. "Sure", he said. I should've taken this as my first red flag but figured he was just being overprotective. I then decided I may need a bit more information as to what I was getting into. "So what are we going to be doing there", I asked. "Oh, well we will just take a bus to the mountain, get out and walk around a little and then go somewhere else and so on". Snow boots sounded completely unnecessary for a little walking, I was going to be fine.

A few hours later, the next text from Ozgur arrived. "McCall, pack a few snacks, okay?" Snacks? That's weird. I thought we would be driving around to the villages and eating their local delicacies. Again, must be a bit of an exaggeration. "10-4, Ozgur, see you in the morning".

The next morning, we woke at the unbearable hour of 5 am and headed to meet Ozgur. At his home, we waited for our bus to arrive. When it did, we took a seat in the back and immediately began taking inventory of our fellow passengers. "Why the hell do these people look straight out of the National Geographic Chanel"?, I asked Brittney. Face masks, head scarves, windbreakers, mountain boots, weatherproof boot protectors, holy shit, these people mean business. "I hope this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass, but I really feel like this crew overdid it in the uniform department. Aren't we just going to walk round some villages?" Oh would those words feel like a poison a few hours from now. 

After making about ten stops to pick up random people off the road, including a detour to a tea shop to borrow stools for our passengers to sit in the bus aisle, we finally fit 21 people in a 15 person maximum van and were on our way. First stop, a random cafe for soup.. at 7 am. Our fellow villagers were excited to learn that a Basketball player was on board and after many selfies and sips of soups, we began the voyage to the village. 

First stop, soup!

On the hour and a half ride to the village, Brittney, D and I soaked in the scenery outside and traded thoughts on how the day would go. "Ozgur told me these villages are famous for steaks, so I think we are just going to be going around and eating a bunch of steak", Deividas added. Brittney and I were more interested in doing local village work and argued over who would be first to milk the goat while the other churned butter. We were ready for this adventure. 

When we finally reached the top of the mountain, we stepped out of the bus to what felt like 100 mph wind. How on Earth will be butter churn in this weather. Our first stop was this small tea house for a quick tea to get the day started. The old tea house looked like it had been standing for 300 years and was full of old men playing board games and smoking cigarettes. Because what else do you do at 8 am in the village?

Ozgur was the sole English speaker of the Turkish group that we were with, but context clues were clearly showing me the two head honchos that were running the show here. Ali and Mustafa, two Turkish brothers were our village leaders. One came up to me and asked if I had ever been "trekking" before. "I'm sorry Ozgur, I think somethings getting lost in translation here.. what is trekking"? The group laughed and I soon realized the joke was on me. 

The crew!

Ozgur then decided to tell us that we would be "trekking" around approximately 3 miles that day. Okay, that didn't sound too bad. My husband's a professional athlete and Britt and I spend 6 days a week in the gym, a 3 mile walk would be no sweat.  We took inventory of our fellow trekkers and realized we were clearly in the best shape here, no physical activity would be any issue for us. The gorgeous landscape looked like something from the show "Survivor" and I made a few jokes with D about how fast we would be eliminated on any couples wilderness show, as I'm not quite the outdoorsy type, and also don't take direction well, especially from my spouse. We agreed we'd be the first to get voted off the island and carried on with the beautiful walk.

So stupid and naive at the beginning of the trek.

Twenty minutes in we began to realize the light snow underneath our feet had turned into ice. Five minutes later we were full blown sliding down the mountain on sheets of black ice. Welp.. this escalated quickly. Thank God this was going to be the toughest part of our day. As we continued walking down the mountain, the ice slowly evolved into snow that continued to rise with every step. Before we knew it we were hip deep in snow, walking like a pack of dogs one foot after the other, just trying not to get stuck. This continued. Nonstop. For three hours. When hour three approached, we started questioning what the fuck was actually happening here and why anyone in their right mind would agree to do this. Also, why in God's name was it necessary for us to walk on the dead edge of the cliff? I was holding in sneezes worried that one would set me over the edge. To add insult to injury, our trek leader decided to point out the bear prints next to mine, adding that they were definitely "fresh". Great. Ozgur called out from the trenches ahead that it was lunchtime and I was pretty excited to put all this behind me and try the local cuisine. I was pretty sure this is where the farm animals and churned butter would come into play. 

Like a pack of wolves out there.

Why is no one else alarmed here?

In the distance, we saw what appeared to be an unfinished home, and to our surprise, our trek leader opened the door and we all went inside. "Do we know whose house this is", I asked Ozgur. "No, we just asked if we could come inside for shelter to have lunch". Around the corner came a little old man with a tray full of twenty teas for us all. We told Ozgur that in America, if twenty strangers show up at your house for lunch, you get out your shotgun and call the cops, you don't invite them inside for tea and casual conversation. The home had no windows or walls, and and was an empty building filled with old furniture and no electricity. Britt and I marveled back and forth on how these villagers could possibly survive in this lifestyle, when Ozgur interjected, laughing, telling us this part of the house was under construction and that the families real home was downstairs. Stupid Americans. 

Our Lunch destination

Breaking and Entering

I noticed my fellow trekkers unpacking their elaborate Turkish lunches, and realized this was probably where the snack part came in handy. I looked over at D, unpacking our sole snickers bar and bottle of water and realized I should've taken Ozgur's suggestions a bit more seriously. Luckily, our fellow trekkers felt sorry for our pathetic lack of preparation and brought us over all of their yummy treats for us to try. As lunch wrapped up, we assumed the hike had to be winding down pretty soon. We had easily conquered three miles already and Ozgur had said the entire trip would be five hours max.

Britt utilizing several techniques to make it down.

Yes, it was as miserable as it looks.

As we ventured back out into the hip-deep snowy hell, I realized my husband had reached a state of delirium. "I can't make it anymore, I'm done", were his last words as his 6'4" frame melted face first into the snow.  "Straighten the hell up D, you are a professional fucking athlete", I said, realizing I wanted nothing more than to be unconsciously laying beside him. The next two hours we spent slushing through the snow, only surviving via fun games such as, "would you rather murder your entire family or spend one more hour on this hike", or taking turns calculating mathematical equations on how long it would take for a rescue mission to reach us. Did I mention over half of our fellow trekkers happened to be photographers? As we are gasping for air, just trying to make it from step to step, these people are setting up tripods and staging their perfect photos. They kept asking D and I to pose for photos and finally D responded with a harsh "YOU GUYS ARE ALL HAVING FUN TAKING PHOTOS AND I'M JUST OUT HERE TRYING TO SURVIVE". They stopped asking.

MAN DOWN!

It was almost worth it for this pic.

Hour five came and went, as did the feeling in my limbs and any hope of seeing a farm animal or steak. After cussing out Ozgur for the last three hours, I decided to play nice and ask how much longer we had left. "I think 20 minutes McCall, we're going to stop for a fire now". Knowing that there was no way in hell we would be stopping for a break if we had only 20 minutes left and realizing it would be getting dark within the hour, we forewent the campfire and decided to fend for ourselves and just get the hell out of there. As we plan our escape route, we pass our trek-leader, Ali, praying on his prayer mat and I kindly ask him if he could add me to his prayer list, recognizing that I could use all the Gods I could get at his point. Apparently one of our fellow Trekkers had also had enough, he forfeited the camping idea to get a jumpstart on the track so we immediately followed him, realizing it would be better to die in company anyways. After walking a few hundred meters from the campsite, we came to a fork in the mountain where we were faced with the choice of continuing our normal snowy route, or taking what appeared to be a shortcut down a very steep cliff. Clearly we chose the latter and full sprinted ahead down the side of the mountain. Anything to shorten this absolutely miserable route. To our surprise, the bottom of the cliff housed a massive waterfall with no clear way down except directly through it. At this point, the rest of the clan had clearly feared for our safety and caught up with us to provide direction. Anyone who knows my husband, knows he is immediately an expert at anything he does, in spite of how unfamiliar with it he actually may be, so at hour seven of the hike, he had obviously promoted himself to the new trek leader.

Suddenly, I'm running through the waterfall with the water flowing underneath me strong enough to take me down any second. D's long legs are good enough to effortlessly get him over the rocks, but I realize I have no other choice than to swing from the branches of the trees to stay above the water. As I'm hanging from a branch, pumping air with my feet to get me momentum to jump to the next tree,  I wonder what the hell happened in my life to get me to this place and what I possibly did to deserve this. D turned around as I'm mid air between tree branches, clearly unaware of what an absolute savage I am when push comes to shove. I shook my head at him, tree leaves in hair and dirt on my face, and said "I am outdoorsy as fuck. Don't you ever say I am not outdoorsy again". Some of my fellow trekkers behind me started shouting out "Tarzan and Jane" at us and I felt a whole new sense of badassery that I had never experienced.

At this point in the day, Deividas realizes he has lost feeling in his feet. This was confirmed when his amazement at how warm the water was, turned to shock as he bent down to touch it with his hands and felt that it was actually ice cold.  He now has zero functioning nerves left in either of his feet. When we finally make it to the bottom of the waterfall, it becomes apparent there is absolutely nothing promising about our future. We've now been transformed into the forest of Narnia with mossy trees and rocks covering the entire forest. I am on my hands and knees crawling on the mossy floor, knowing that my rain boots don't stand a chance in hell of holding up on this surface. I turn around to see Britt being escorted down the mountain by our trek-leader Mustafa, and I know shit has officially hit the fan when he has out his rope and is full blown scaling down the side of the mountain.

 It is now hour eight and I find myself straddled over a barbed wire fence, trying to make it as quickly as I can to the other side, while still ensuring I can some day reproduce. I see headlights and a flat surface in this distance, and I'm unsure if this is a fictional oasis I've created in my brain, or if in fact the finish line could be near. Eight hours and 13 miles later, through the most grueling of circumstances, Deividas and I are the first to make it to the van, parked in front of a small local farm. We face dive into the ground, and watch the farm owners stare us down, in their full black burkas, holding their chickens, and again reflect on how our lives have lead us to this exact point. A few moments later, Brittney runs full speed ahead, Rocky-esque into the finish line. 

In retrospect, I don't think Britt would wear the Gucci Bag again.

As we board the bus home, we took about ten minutes to gather our thoughts and then the three of us burst into tears, half out of laughter and half out of gratitude for our survival. The entire bus is staring at us as we are uncontrollably crying in the backseat, recounting this insane day. As the bus reversed our route home, dropping off our fellow trekkers, we advised them all to go to home and hug their families tonight and provided them with each with awards based on their day's performance. Unfortunately the language barrier prevented them from understanding the value of "Mr. Congeniality" and "Best Comeback Performance", but we're pretty sure Ozgur understood loud and clear what "Most Likely To Never Hang Out With Us Again" meant.

Our former friends, Ozgur and Sibel

As it's taken me two months to un-supress the deep dark pain of this day from my cerebral cortex, it's difficult to put into words what an absolutely hilariously terrible experience it was. As I attempt to find the good in it, I realize there was zero except the glimmer of hope that Deividas and I would perhaps not be the first couple eliminated from Survivor.