Hello, i am Doga. I am studying to become a teacher of history and English. This story is a slightly fictionalized version of a holiday i have fond memories of.
The Paths of the Past
The sun, magnified by the window I am sitting next to, creates a burning sensation on my skin. I feel a little lost. I hear an engine slowing down. Quickly putting my shades on to protect me from the glistening rays of sun piercing the window, I look at my surroundings. After my eyes adjusted to the brightness and those pesky white spots suffered after being woken up by the sun, I can finally realize what I am looking at. Waves upon waves, crowned with a white foam. Dozens of seagulls surround the vessel I am sitting in. Small bits of something I can’t identify are thrown towards these seagulls, which they manage to catch gracefully and without fail every single time. I look to my left and see my family, father, mother and brother in the seats next to me. I look at the seats opposite of ours and see my godparents. Where the hell am I? “Kalimera my son!” my father says, in his typically loud manner, which borders screaming most of the time. He hands me a bottle of water. Still bamboozled and drowsy, I grab the bottle out of his hand without saying anything and take a big gulp. The water is still ice cold, just what I needed. My father waves at a guy with a portable cooler in his hand and buys another bottle of water. He must have given me the one he bought for himself. I remember, we are on family vacation. We are on a ferry towards the Greek island of Rhodes, the place where the family of my father and godfather were originally from. I just know some stories they both told me about their families and the lives they lived on this island, but they were merely anecdotes. I don’t even know the name of my grandfather or any of his relatives. One thing I know for sure, is that no one in our family has set a foot on this island in decades, at least not since our and my godfathers families fled after the German occupation in World War II. Both families resettled in Izmir, Turkey, moving into the same neighborhood. My father and godfather quickly become friends, and are best friends to this day, bound by their background and family story. “Good morning” I begrudgingly mumble towards everyone, grouchy as always after waking up against my own will. “I’ll just go up on deck”, I quietly usher as I quickly get moving. I look at the island which gets bigger and bigger the nearer we get. I can slowly identify that we are sailing towards a medieval castle. It’s made from beige stones, above the blue sky and beneath the blue sea. The flanks of the castle are lined with huge, green leaved palm trees. I take a deep breath and let the slightly salty air fill my lungs as the warm, yet also crisp wind blows my hair in all different directions. As we approach the pier, I calmy say “So this is it” while heading inside again.
As we step a foot on land, everyone dragging their luggage behind them, my godfather remarks “We must go this way. The hotel I booked is on top of the land my family used to own before they fled. Maps tells me it’s seven more minutes.” I am still awkwardly quiet as we continue our march towards the hotel, even though now I should be awake enough to be as active and talkative as my usual self. I notice my mother and godmother stopping to take some photos of a group of cats bathing in the sun, my brother and father doing something with their newly acquired camera equipment. Everyone seems normal and fine, and I try to fit in. I increase my pace and walk next to my godfather at the front of our little row. I ask him about the hotel and the land it stands on. “ I just know its seaside; I don’t know anything else. Maybe we’ll meet my long-lost cousin and uncle there. I know that they exist, but neither their names, addresses or any other info.” I reply by nodding and stating how exited I am to finally be here and see all this, see the places my grandfather grew up in and had to leave just around my age of 20. I fall behind a bit to talk to my father, asking if he has any relatives here, he knows about. I always knew shockingly little about my father’s side, meeting my grandfather maybe once or twice in my life while quite young. I couldn’t even remember his face to be honest, only from the photo of him and my grandmother in our living room shelf. They were in their late twenties and still married in that picture. “I don’t know” my father says in a downcast tone. “ I just know the area where they used to live.” “We are there!” my brother shouts and the front of the row, next to my godfather. Next to a huge roundabout with an impressive, antique looking statue in the middle of it, I see a huge, towering hotel. Ten, maybe fifteen floors if I had to guess without counting. Between the two towers of hotel, I could see the vast sea. I don’t know what I had in mind when imaging the mystic land my godfather’s family owned when I heard they sold it for peanuts. But it didn’t come near what now stood before my own eyes. “This land must be worth millions today!” I exclaimed, while everyone turned their heads towards me after my first enthusiastic reaction of the day. We went inside for the check in. After hearing my godfathers last name, the receptionist quickly hurried inside. He came back with an elegant woman in a grey pants suit. “Hello Mr. Boyaci, I am Alexandra Costas, the owner of this Hotel. We always heard of your family’s name in the last decades, it is a pleasure to finally meet you in person.” While she told us about the hotel’s history, a group of servers came through the swinging doors next to the reception, with cocktails on their tablets. “ A complimentary drink on the house” the owner said. My godfather seemed overjoyed by the owner’s hospitality towards us. Looking at my father I can sense that his outwardly happiness hides his own sadness, most likely because he longs for the connection to his own past my godfather is experiencing at this moment. After some 15-20 minutes, we decide to bring our luggage into our rooms and meet in the lobby again after half an hour. We still need to find a rental car for our stay here.
We all head out together. The arrangement we agreed on is that my father, godfather and I search for a car rental while my mother, godmother and brother search for the restaurant we will be having our dinner in. The area of our hotel seems to have car rentals en masse. My father points towards one and we decide to enter. My godfather stays outside to have a smoke. Even though I have the best English out of anyone, I decide the give the old folk a chance to practice theirs. While I walk around the shop trying to find something that piques my interest, I overhear my father asking the worker behind the desk if he knows any Turkish. “ Task failed” I think to myself. But to my surprise the man seems to know Turkish. In an instant my father turns from his shy and introvert personality in English to his extrovert and talkative Turkish personality. He tells the man everything about our vacation, our reasoning in coming to Rhodes and his and my godfather’s family. “ Do you know the Boyaci’s?” my father asks. The man’s face turns pale and expressionless. He looks around, as if he is waiting for someone or something to come out. “Ehm, my name is Boyaci. Is this a joke, are you being serious? Is this a hidden camera prank?”. I never saw my father move as quickly as he moved then, he sprinted outside and dragged my godfather inside. “Dogan, Dogan, look, look, this guy’s Turkish and his last name is Boyaci as well!” My godfather and the man behind the counter went dead silent. But pull out their ID’s and hand it to each other without saying a word. Both explode into a lively conversation after checking the ID’s and seeing that none of them is lying. After ten minutes, the situation is clear. The man behind the counter in the first car rental next to our hotel is my godfathers long lost cousin. They exchange phone numbers and decide on a restaurant dinner the next day, together with my godfathers long lost uncle, who got called immediately. The long and eventful day ends in a dinner and an early night.
The next day, we decide to go to the area my grandfather and his family used to live. Faliraki is the name of the place. Once we arrived, my father starts telling me the story of my great grandfather I have heard many times. “My sons, your great grandfather rode onto this square on his horse in the fall of 1944. Because he was being drunk, disorderly and a nuisance to everyone present, the SS put him in their concentration camp. Your great grandmother begged and pleaded for about half an hour without a result. After she showed the SS officer her Turkish passport, he first saluted, then offered her some tea. Your great grandfather was then released, only because Turkey and the Third Reich had signed non-aggression treaties, which ended when Turkey joined the war and the allies’ side in 1945. How lucky he was, compared the thousands of souls who were deported from this island into Auschwitz, Sobibor and many other different camps all over Europe.” I’ve heard this story from my father maybe ten times, but every time I still get goosebumps all over. Is it his emotional way of telling the story with tears in his eyes? Is it seeing my father so passionate about something like he rarely is? Is it the story itself? Is it the rare glimpse into my family’s history? I don’t know for sure, the only thing I know that it resonates with me every time. Following the little story time my father gave us, we walked around Faliraki for ours, trying to find anything in relation to our family. We asked dozens of people if they ever heard our family name or know someone that could know. To no avail. Not a single trace of any relatives, alive or dead.
After this disappointment, I suggested we spend the rest of the day at Lindos beach. A huge sandy shore located in a bay in the northwest of the island. Anything to take my father’s mind off the disappointment he just experienced. It seemed like everything he hoped for in this vacation ended abruptly. After a drive of about 45 minutes, we arrived at the beach. This spot seemed like heaven to me. I immediately went into the water and swam around like a hyperactive second grader after two bottles of cola. After tiring myself out enough of deserving a break, I went out of the water. I saw my dad sitting high upon a hill above the beach. I had to talk to him; I knew I had to. I went up to him and asked him if everything was okay. “You know son, I hoped to find at least a little bit of connection to my roots. You think that I’ve known your grandfather well, but since him and your grandmother broke up when I was quite young, I did not get to know him as much as I liked. Even if just someone behind the dozens of doors we knocked at knew anything, even if it just was the information about where exactly my family lived if would have been satisfied. I just wanted to know where they lived and maybe how they lived. Showing them that I amounted to something and what their choices resulted in. I know that you know that I don’t give a shit about religion or spirituality. I don’t know how to describe it but I actually felt something here. I felt like I walked these paths and these streets, felt like I was connected like a haven’t felt in a long time in Germany. Do I sound crazy to you?”. “No father you don’t!” I told him. I felt a little overwhelmed, since me and my father haven’t talked about our feelings to each other. “Father, you don’t need to show anyone anything, you amounted for so much you don’t even know. And who cares if you didn’t find anything about your roots and family. The fact that you and I stand here, on this island, together, is enough conformation that you amounted to something and a testimony to the choices of our ancestors that led to this exact moment, you know? Your father maybe never told you this, but I am proud beyond measure to be able to call you my father.”. My father was speechless. He didn’t say anything for maybe 20 seconds, before he reached into his pocket to grab his cigarettes. “Do you want one as well, son?” he asked, as we sat upon this hill and looked at the sun that started it’s descend behind the
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