Mark & Jen's 'Around the World' Travel & Photography Blog

Rule #2 of traveling — always say yes to invitations when your first reaction is to say no. The more awkward you feel the situation might turn out, the more imperative it is that you say yes. (Rule #1, of course, is always, always carry extra toilet paper.)

For example, if a local invites you to a Turkish wedding reception, you might think to yourself: “Wait, I don’t know the bride, groom, or, for that matter, anyone. In fact, I just met the person inviting me a few hours ago, and I’m not even sure they were invited.” Under normal circumstances, these would be great reasons to turn down the invitation. Don’t do it.

After you say yes, you may have further doubts. “What will I wear? My nicest zip-off pants, baggy from being washed and beaten over rocks for the past ten months? My one collared shirt? Will they notice the Thai curry stain on the sleeve? The Indian curry stain on the front? The drops of noodle grease from some hole-in-the-wall restaurant in China?” Again, good questions, but try to ignore them as you zip on the legs to your shorts, slip on your flip-flops, and head out the door.

As you arrive, you may further question your companion — “Is my present of a box of Turkish Delight really appropriate? Why is everyone staring?” Ah, don’t worry. The fun hasn’t even begun.

You might try to disappear by taking a table in the far corner. Even then, you may be surprised to find yourself — zip-off pants and all — broadcast on the screen in the center of the room. Yes, the hired cameraman has found you (let’s face it, you stick out), and is wirelessly transmitting your pixelated and choppy (but rather fashionable in a grungy sort of way) image for everyone who couldn’t see into the dark recesses of the room. You will now forever be “that random guy” when the couple (whom you still have not met) watches their wedding video.

But, when the music starts, you may just realize there’s a bit of repressed Turk in you. As the arms rise on the dance floor, the fingers snap to the varied Turkish beat, the hips begin to sway, and the smiles broaden, you may even try to coax your wife out of her seat to join in the festivities. An hour later, the coaxing having finally succeeded, you might find yourself in the middle of the dance floor, hands raised in the air (to your wife’s horror, but convinced you’re best off doing as the locals do), dancing the night away to music you can’t sing along to, rhythms you can’t ever seem to pinpoint, and dance steps that are seemingly created on a whim out of the thin Turkish air.

As you head home, you might find yourself saying, ears still buzzing from the Turkish techno: “This was my kind of party. My kind of dancing. My kind of people.”

(Oh, the bride and groom, along with their entire extended family, welcomed us with open arms. We felt honored to be a bit Turkish for the evening.)