The people milling around outside the Izmir, Turkey, railway station may seem like they’re having a picnic. Groups of young guys gathered on the grassy medians to enjoy the warm August evening. In the yellow light of the streetlamps, children ran from parent to parent.
However there was nothing even somewhat like a party vibe there. The street was as busy and tense as an airline terminal. Others were making frantic phone calls, while others rummaged hastily through their bags. The dad stared out the window as he bounced his daughter on his knee.
During a summer vacation with my husband and father, Izmir was our second visit. We were going to meet my mother-in-law for our biannual beach holiday, and the following day we were going to take a boat to the Greek island of Chios, known for its drift hunters castle cities, and then another ferry to neighboring Mytilene. Each time we go to Mytilene, we take a different route in order to explore more of Greece and Turkey before settling down for some swimming, reading, and tzatziki. Nevertheless, this year, hundreds of thousands of migrants leaving Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan took the same way we had chosen to rest. Original work by Pierre Crom; all rights reserved. Frenchman Pierre Crom
Izmir is a medium-sized port city on the southwestern coast of Turkey, and it is a popular tourist destination due to its multicultural heritage and the presence of a pier constructed by Gustave Eiffel and a world-famous baroque clock tower. Thousands of individuals are moved during the night by smugglers using the convenient bus, rail, and aircraft service.
Even as I boarded my flight out of New York, coverage of the incident was only getting started in the American media. Izmir, one of the crisis’s epicenters, and the commercialism it spawned were not mentioned. A lot of people flocked to the gold-for-cash establishment. Retailers in one city have given their mannequins life vests. Undercover nighttime crossings of the Aegean Sea in overcrowded rubber dinghies have given rise to an illicit market for secondhand clothing and household goods. the year 2015 Anadolu Agency Anadolu Agency.
To go to Chios, my family and I used a boat that leaves every hour and a half throughout the day. We arrived to see a larger number of refugees clustered around the port. Benches were used for both sleeping and looking out to sea. After leaving Syria and crossing Turkey, the journey ended at Chios, marking the beginning of the European continent. There was a lot of unemployment and the economy was in freefall on this little island. A second, lengthier voyage began there as well, one that would take travelers to the mainland and then farther north, to nations like Germany and Sweden that were more economically developed.
Between 1999 and 2009, I made three trips to Syria. The familiar and practical nature of the nation captivated me more than its exotic touches (like fresh mulberry juice and luxurious hammams). A cosmopolitan middle class that commuted to work, went to the movies, and drank good coffee existed in Aleppo and Damascus, in sharp contrast to the political discourse emanating from the United States towards Syria. I mean, honestly, this group is called the axis of evil? Original work by Pierre Crom; all rights reserved. Frenchman Pierre Crom
Everyone I interacted with was kind, friendly, and curious about the rest of the globe. The locals graciously ate with me, posed for silly selfies, and quizzed me on US foreign policy despite my rudimentary Arabic. As I thanked a youngster selling cold beverages at the conclusion of my first journey, he not only grinned and offered me a free can of Pepsi, but also gave me his mother’s phone number so that I may perhaps have a wonderful dinner when I returned.
It was with him in mind that I left a bag of supper scraps with a group of guys waiting outside before rushing to catch the next boat out of Chios. This was 16 years after we had last spoken. During the course of this year, more than one hundred thousand sea travelers have docked at Mytilene, the biggest island in the Aegean and, at some points, barely six miles from Turkey. We saw hundreds of people sleeping on cardboard and just lounging in the port’s parking lot, rather than the typical handful of taxi drivers and trucks. Original work by Pierre Crom; all rights reserved. Frenchman Pierre Crom
Our last stop was located on the island’s western coast, opposite Turkey. This area is called old Lesbos. There were no stranded refugee boats there. It was a typical summer evening with grilled octopus, an outdoor movie, and a leisurely dip in the crystal blue bay water. The Greeks used a phrase, “as smooth as oil,” to describe how smoothly something went.
What I saw, though, was too disturbing to dismiss. Having waited for a few days, I went back to the eastern shore of Mytilene to see if I could be of any assistance to the Syrians and Iraqis who were waiting for exit visas at the Kara Tepe center. They are automatically allowed entry to Athens because of the conflict in their own countries. Yet, due to the economic crisis, the bureaucracy involved may take many days, or perhaps a week, to complete. A large parking area that was formerly used for driving instruction and the dusty olive grove next door became a temporary camp for the stranded.
Locals who cared enough to assist joined an understaffed and unorganized group. There was no government official or other leader to delegate or guide the volunteers, and only a small trailer operated by Médécins sans Frontières provided official relief. But before long, I was preparing lunch for the campers in an outside kitchen with a small group of Greeks. Three young Syrian males in tank shirts and reversed baseball hats strolled in as we were stirring a huge pot of spaghetti sauce. When asked gently, “Do you need any help?” one person replied positively.
