Meet Me in Sweden

Based on a True Story

Istanbul, Turkey. 2009.

Elle yawned as she stirred a cup of instant Nescafé in the kitchenette of her outdated but nonetheless furnished apartment. She had spent less than a week in this exotic city, and the teacher company that had recruited her had just moved her into yet another apartment. It was closer to where she would be working and also in the heart of the city, so she didn’t complain about the sudden move. Jet-lagged and hungry, the doe-eyed 22 year old decided it was time to go explore Istanbul, a city where the days blur into nights with endless movement.

Straight out of small-town East Texas, Elle took in the bustling sounds of the city around her—honking taxis, shouting vendors, stray cats darting between crowds—as she made her way through her new neighborhood. Her senses were on overload, but she suppressed the culture shock, focused on the excitement of being in a new place. She stopped dead in her tracks and was beyond thrilled when she discovered a large, round “A’s Pizza Café” sign protruding from a building only two blocks from her apartment. She ran to it.

She felt a little defeated when she realized it was closed, but Elle—being Elle—pressed her face against the glass and peered in. It was dark and empty, but that only fueled her resolve. She’d be back tomorrow. The Pollyanna in her thought it wasn’t a big deal that it was closed today. After all, she lived here now—she could go ANY time! She continued to explore her new neighborhood.

The next day Elle tried the pizza café again and to her delight, they were open. The bells jingled as she opened the door and skipped down the three steps a little too enthusiastically. She barely caught her balance, nearly tripping over her feet. She realized everyone was staring, not all that different from her first day of junior high school, ten years earlier. But this time was different. She mustered up some courage as she marched inside.

A busy man was working the counter, barking orders behind him and wiping down the glass. “Hello, do you speak English?” Elle started. His tone changed when he saw her and he offered a half smile as he replied, “Of course I do. How can I help you?” She was taken aback. He actually spoke English, and he didn’t even have an accent! She was relieved and excited - pizza in close proximity and a new friend (hopefully) who could speak English? The day couldn’t get any better.

*

Ten years and two restaurants later, Ata found himself in Turkey again. What he wanted all along, what he yearned for, for years. Yet it wasn’t how he remembered it; the city had changed. It had grown. Yes, it was good to be back among family and friends, despite their perpetual toxicity, yes it was good to indulge in delicious Turkish street food. But the thing Ata felt was missing in his life earlier on, the hole he thought Turkey would hopefully fill by moving back here, hadn’t. Yet.

Their first encounter was simply business; she was a customer ordering a pizza. Ata didn’t think too much of it, because it was a busy day. There was always a large lunch crowd filling his café and spilling out to the street; a good problem to have. He did want to speak more with this yabanci, a foreigner girl, practice his English, and ask why she was there in the first place. He assumed she’d return because she was particularly enthusiastic when ordering her pizza. She even made it clear she would be back since she lived close. In Istanbul, “close” was relative, so he didn’t know for sure, but something told him he’d see this bright and happy girl again.

Sure enough, Elle the American teacher he learned, came back to the café. Not once, but time and time again. Each time she sat a little closer to the counter, and each time she opened up more. Ata soon found himself opening up, too. Their conversations soon turned from polite small talk to friendly banter.

“So are Texans mad that Obama is President now?” Ata mischievously grinned. Elle rolled her eyes.

“Some are.”

“Some?!”

 “I think they’re more glad about Obama becoming president than having a female Vice President.”

“When will THAT happen?”

 “Probably never.”

The café was empty that evening, except for the two of them. He tossed pizza dough in the air and Elle changed the subject, asking him, “What’s your sign?”

 “‘A’s Pizza Café’?”

“Very funny, I mean your astrological sign. I’m Aries.”

“I’m Cancer I think. I don’t know, I think it’s a load of bull.”

“You mean a crab, not a bull,” Elle was proud of her joke but this time Ata playfully rolled his eyes. Then she asked, “But doesn’t your sister read Turkish coffee? Isn’t it often accurate?”

 “Eh, that’s my sister, not me. Who knows what the hell she’s even talking about or what she ‘sees’ in the cup.”

“Can she read mine some time?” Elle asked.

“No!” Ata was quick to say. “Don’t let her!” They both laughed and he almost dropped the dough. He secretly didn’t want his supposedly psychic sister to learn more about Elle - before he did.

A couple of weeks later when Elle came into the café, she seemed frustrated, which was something Ata hadn’t seen before. Her warmth had grown on him, and he found himself concerned that something could cause her to not be her normal, cheerful self. “What’s up?” he inquired.

“The internet café is closed,” she sighed. “I was going to Skype with my sister later, and I need to check some emails, too.”

“Why don’t you just do that here?”

Elle’s jaw dropped. “You. Have. WiFi?!”

Ata laughed. “Isn’t that why you come here? For the free internet and good pizza?”

 “I come here for the good pizza and the good company.”

Ata scoffed. She went on, “Nowhere around here has internet, except the hotel, and their prices are crazy. The cheapest thing on the menu is soup. So I always get the soup, and now they think I’m a crazy soup lady.” Ata smiled. He noticed Elle often rambled when she was excited. Giddy, she clapped her hands and said, “Besides, have you ever even seen me with my laptop in here?”

“Good point. Bring it next time. Hell, go get it now. Better yet, use mine!” Her positive energy had rubbed off on him. He reached for his laptop and sat next to her, opening it and logging in.

“Thank you, Ata. Tesekkurler,” she said in her broken Turkish.

“No problem, my friend. But if we’re not going to speak English, speak Swedish with me instead of Turkish.”

She smiled. “How do I say thank you in Swedish then?”

“Tack.”

*

Elle kept finding good reasons to go to Ata’s café. Since discovering he had internet, she spent even more time there, alternating between writing lesson plans and showing him quintessential American Facebook posts. They became fast friends. Then they started meeting outside of the café. They’d go out and grab a burger, catch a football game, drink Turkish chai or beer and discuss books and pop culture. There were bowling games and movie matinees at the grand Cevahir mall, or dinner, drinks and dancing in Taksim, as a pair or with each other’s respective friend groups. Times together went too fast, and even if they weren’t at a party, it often felt like one when they were together, even if it was just the two of them. Their texts and IMs to each other often started with “Meet me in the café” or “Meet me at the metro.” They were always planning to meet somewhere.

Ata wasn’t just fun to be around, it was more than that. Elle looked up to him. More than once she found herself in a tricky situation (most of the time fine, but once or twice unsafe) where he immediately dropped what he was doing to go and help her. He even went with her to the phone company to help her get WiFi set up at her apartment, a selfless move considering it could potentially mean she came in less. (She didn’t.) She thought of him as a big brother, calling him that in Turkish, but he didn’t like it when she did that.

Their playful conversations started to take on a new level and she had to stop and ask herself, Wait, is this flirting? She was hesitant to question if they were “more than friends” because she didn’t want to risk the close friendship they had. But she couldn’t deny the excitement she felt when he waited hours to pick her up from the airport once when she went back to the states for a month-long visit.

As she walked through the arrivals gate, there he stood with a grin crinkling the corners of his eyes. When he enveloped her in a warm hug, she felt butterflies, and wondered what could possibly happen next.

*

Ata couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, he got this excited about seeing a girl. In the mornings he would time going to the corner shop around the same time she was leaving for work so they could conveniently run into each other; they’d smile, give each other the standard double kiss greeting, say good morning in Turkish, and start their days a little better than five minutes before. (She later confessed she was walking slowly and doing the exact same thing.) No matter how innocently the friendship had begun, Ata couldn’t deny how he felt. The ten year age gap slightly concerned him initially but their personalities and maturity levels just clicked that he often forgot. If you are the age you feel, there’s no way I’m even 30, he thought.

But the timing. It was as if life was playing a cruel joke. Right before he and Elle started dating, he had put his café on the market, making plans to relocate to Sweden. He had done what he wanted for so long - he’d gone back to his homeland Turkey, and he learned that it wasn't the fantasy he had built in his mind. Short visits over the years clearly weren’t enough to see how rough the city could ultimately treat you. He realized that over the years he must’ve romanticized his childhood memories; what he could see now as an adult was that the city could be harsh and relentless. His friends and family were all aging faster than him, and he could see why. Istanbul would always hold a special place in his heart, but he knew he couldn’t stay, not forever.

As luck would have it, Ata not only had a buyer, but even a job opportunity waiting for him back in Sweden. For the first time in a long time, things were looking up for him, except for what to do about Elle. He knew he needed to tell her about his plans, see what would happen and hope for the best.

“Elle,” he said over drinks one evening. She cocked her head to the side; he never called her Elle. He usually called her canim, yavrum, or kanka - typical Turkish terms of endearment, so she knew something was up.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened," he winced. "Not yet. But I think..I may have to...” he couldn’t get the words out. That was strange. Ata had always been a straight shooter, never struggling to say what was on his mind. Elle felt her cheeks flush, not from her Efes beer, but from a jolt of fear that they were about to break up. Her heart began to beat out of her chest.

 “What is it? Please just spit it out,” Elle said as calmly as she could.

“I’m going back to Sweden.” His head dropped, and she found she could breathe again; confused, but not heartbroken.

“When?”

“Soon.”

“To visit?”

“No.”

It was rare that they spoke so short with one another; their conversations were always endless as they rambled on about anything and everything, including him. “OK, I’m a little confused, so please enlighten me,” she said slowly, as she took a sip of her Efes, her green eyes big and waiting. Ata explained that he was in the process of selling his café and wanted to move back to Sweden. When she asked why, he had a simple reply. “It’s better there.”

Then he did something he wasn’t expecting: he poured out his heart. “The only thing that is frustrating about this situation is you,” he admitted. “I want to go back to Sweden. I’ve known that for some time now. I love Istanbul, but it’s not the same and I can’t live here forever. I’m glad I came back to see that, and I’m glad that I…met you.” His eyes softened. “Look, things have been shit my whole life and they're...well, things are finally going my way, except for now in this moment. With you, and with what’s coming if I sell the place. But I don’t want to break up, I want…I want…” he couldn’t get the last words out.

“You want what?” she interrupted, on edge.

“Us. You. I don’t know, would you...come with me?” he mumbled at the end, fighting back a slight sting in his eyes.

Elle was still processing his words but overall relieved. Despite her heart racing, she managed to keep her anxiety at bay. She knew in her heart she would follow this man anywhere and truly felt he was worth pursuing, at any cost, at any distance, be it move to Sweden. She cocked her head to the side and raised her eyebrows. Her playful smile almost answered his question. He leaned forward and continued, his confidence back again. “I know it’s only been a few months, but would you? Would you come to Sweden? What do you think?”

Elle took a deep breath and carefully said, “Even if you didn’t ask me, I’d come anyway and find you, and remind you how amazing I am and that we are destined to be together.” At this he threw his head back and laughed. He knew he had nothing to worry about with her.

Suddenly Prince’s hit song Kiss came on. He downed his drink and took her by the hand to the dance floor. At first they made choppy movements with their shoulders and hands, and funny faces until the chorus. Then he twirled her and locked his hands around her waist, holding her close and swaying to the beat, their foreheads touching. A slow dance they’d both remember, followed by Ata’s iconic, “This is the start of something really good.”

Epilogue:

Today, Elle and Ata are still inseparable, now married with three kids and a life built in Sweden—far from the pizza café where they first met. They’ve learned that love can start in the most unexpected places, and sometimes, the best adventures are the ones you never planned.