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still served in a square and shiny stainless-steel bowl with a matching spoon,
not much bigger than a gelato sampler.
And I don't let a day go by in Turkey without enjoying a teahouse game of
backgammon with a stranger. Boards have become less characteristic; they're
now cheap and mass-produced, almost disposable. Today's dice—plastic and
perfect—make me miss the tiny handmade “bones” of the 20th century, with
their disobedient dots. But some things never change. To test a fun cultural
quirk, I tossed my dice and paused. As I remembered, a bystander moved for
me. When it comes to backgammon, there's one right way…and everybody
knows it. And in Turkey, as if a result of its ruthless history, when starting a
new game, the winner goes i rst.
With each backgam-
mon game, I think of one
of my most precious pos-
sessions back home: an
old-time, hand-hewn,
inlaid backgammon
board, with rusty little
hinges held in place by
hasty tacks, and soft,
white wood worn deeper
than the harder, dark
wood. Twenty years after
taking that backgammon
board home, I open it and still smell the tobacco, tea, and soul of a traditional
Turkish community. h ere's almost nothing in my world that is worn or has
been enjoyed long enough to absorb the smells of my life and community.
It's a reminder to me of the cost of modernity. And when the feel and smell
of my old backgammon board takes me back to Turkey, I'm reminded how,
in the face of all that modernity, the resilient charm of traditional cultures is
endangered and worth preserving.
Today in Turkey, the people—like those dots on the modern dice—line
up better. h e weave of a mosque carpet provides direction. h ere's a seat
for everyone, as the
dolmus
are no longer so stuf ed. Fez sales to tourists are
way down, but scarf wear by local women (a symbol of traditional Muslim
identity) is way up. Each of my déjà vu moments shows a society confronting
powerful forces of change while also wanting to stay the same.
