Like a Donkey in the Night

I spent last night on a mountain, in the dark, with several Turks and just as many flashlights. We were walking up to see the Chimaera, or Eternal Flames. Basically, there are spots on the top of this moutain where flames come out of cracks in the rock at all times. They have been there, burning, since ancient times-- like Nature's Perpetual Barbeque. Plus, it was a great place to see more stars than I've seen in a while.

But it wasn't the flames or the stars that entertained me most.

I was walking up the path to the flames with two Turkish women in their fifties, and one Turkish guy about my age. The guy served as a kind of translator, since he spoke some English. He was also, apparently, a commando in the army. But that was awhile ago ("See, look at my belly. You can not drink the bira and be a commando." Duly noted.)

The two women were sisters, and I walked with one of them up the path. We spent the time noticing things along the path, and then cross-translating them into Turkish and English for each other. Toilet. Step. Flat. It was a great way to pass the time, if not a particularly practical language lesson.

After a certain point, the woman was breathing heavily. The words she wished to translate were changing. Tired. Sweat. Long. I tried to remember any of the CPR I may or may not have learned sometime in my life, as my new Turkish friend was not built for mountain climbing. She was built more for smoking cigarettes and sitting.

We continued to translate, and now moved to more common words and phrases. She taught me how to say "How are you?". I then, in turn, asked her how she was.

She mumbled something. I asked the guy for a translation. "Like a Donkey. She says she is like a donkey."

Donkey? I asked.

Donkey, she answered. Donkey-Donkey.

My new friend was like a donkey. I nodded, and we walked now, silent, just listening to the crickets and the clack of our sandals against the stones, two donkeys in the night.