Oasis

Fruit sellers on a parking lot

'Bread? You want some bread?' 'Well, sure,' I stammer. But before I get the chance to repeat I really only need directions to the nearest bakery, the stout man I'm talking to has disappeared. I've stopped at a small parking lot next to the main road. It's a parking lot like any other, save for one special feature: a tap connected to a nearby mountain spring. The cool water, which never stops running, attracts scores of people. Thirsty travelers like me, of course, but also elderly couples from neighbouring villages who come here to fill up all the empty bottles their cars can hold. A concentration of people always means business, and it's no different here. Fruit sellers have set up stalls overflowing with local produce. A sullen teenager is roasting mısır (cornstalks) on a bed of embers. An improvised restaurant serves pide and köfte.

'Here, take as many slices as you like.' Fresh wholemeal bread. Just what I was looking for. 'Eh, thank you,' I stammer again, still not wholly accustomed to these small acts of kindness, which seem to come natural to people in Turkey. 'Are you sure you don't need this yourself?' 'Don't worry,' he says, 'we can always get some more on the way home.'

He tells me he's just spent a week in his summerhouse on the Sea of Marmara, together with his mum and a friend. We all shake hands. 'You know what? Why don't you drop by when you cross our town? Just give us a ring and we'll come and pick you up.' He hands me his phone number. 'We'd love to have lunch with you.' I nod and smile, not sure what to say. I think of Holland, where no one drops by unannounced. Where it's virtually impossible to meet up with someone if you haven't made arrangements at least four weeks in advance. Where visitors are supposed to bugger off as dinnertime approaches.

Before we say goodbye, my benefactor walks to his car and returns with a bulging bag. 'Here, take this. See you soon.' The three of them get into the car and drive off. I peek into the bag. Prunes, peaches, grapes, a tomato. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see someone gesturing. It's one of the fruit sellers, waving at me to come over. He's holding a knife in one hand, a small melon in the other.