by Todd Wood
On March 19, 2007, in New York City, I met some Turks for the first time. These people were neat. Why the initial acquaintance? Turkish Air had just given me, an American Christian pastor, a big-time discount on the flight price to visit. It was a rare deal—$777 for 10 days (included the overseas flight, accommodations in five-star resort motels, and food—absent the pork—fit for a king). For Turkey’s administration of tourism, it is an investment, and they hope I won’t disappoint them in the days ahead. Well, I don’t plan to.
In meeting some of the Turkish passengers heading back to their homeland, one of them, a mountaineer, told me he had recently climbed 16,945-foot Mount Ararat with a few buddies. And as a begging Idahoan, I shared, “Next time, take me.” With my fluffy pink pillow and soft, light-blue, fleece blanket, compliments of Turkish Air, I dozed off, dreaming of Noah’s Ark on the trip across the Atlantic Ocean.