4/5/98: Travel day, heading from Istanbul to the Cappadokia region of central Turkey. We checked out of Istanbul Hostel and hung out in the gardens between Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque for a while, until our bus would depart later in the afternoon. We wandered down to Eminönü in search of an ATM which led to our first real anxious moment on the trip: the ATM machine ate our card!
4/5/23: One of the things that makes international travel possible, even easy, in a way, is the system of international banking that has existed for decades. Traveler’s Cheques had been a common tool for a long time, but when we took our trip in 1998 the use of ATMs had become a ubiquity in major cities around the world. This made it possible to skip on carrying around a stash of Traveler’s Cheques and wrestle with the volatility of exchange rates at currency exchanges. By using an ATM in whatever city we were visiting, we could withdraw funds directly from our account in Chicago in local currency at the current exchange value without haggling or dealing with fees at an Exchange.
We had used an ATM in Athens without any problem. We were heading to central Turkey, and didn’t know if ATMs would be common place in smaller towns, so we decided to withdraw some travel cash while still in the major city of Istanbul. But on this day things didn’t go so smoothly as they had in Athens.
We tried five different ATMs, but none would give us cash. Then the last ATM actually ate our card! In hind sight, it makes sense. Perhaps the computers were triggered by the use of the card at so many machines to flag the card as possibly stolen. But in the moment, we were simply shocked and panicked about what to do next. How would we get our card? How would we continue to travel without access to cash? What if we left and the ATM spit our card out to someone else who then might use it to withdraw our funds for themselves? In our panic, we decided to split up, Ruth heading off to look for the police, and I staying at the ATM machine to prevent anyone else using it until we could get things straightened out. It was not long until I began to worry about Ruth’s safety, wandering around alone, so I left the ATM to rush after her. And, of course, I could not find her, until I returned to the ATM where she was waiting for me, not having found any police. We went off together, found the police, who couldn’t really do anything, but were very compassionate.
In the end we called our bank back home, canceled the card, and ordered a new one to be shipped to us. A big emotional crisis for us, but still an amazing fact that conveniences like ATMs, and shipping new cards was even possible.
We boarded our overnight bus to Göreme at 9pm. It was a cramped little machine, but we were thankful to be safe and on our way to the next stop on our tour of Christian history.
While we were waiting, I struck up a long conversation with Turkish man named Merhad. I asked if the name had a specific meaning, and he said it means “Vicious.” He gave both Ruth and I Turkish names: Osman and Hetijeh. I don’t recall if he indicated the meanings behind them though. He asked me to give him an American name, a famous American. So I gave him the nick name “Al Capone,” which befitted his actual Turkish name, but he did not know the reference and thought it was all one word: “Alcapone.”
