To wake up to a steaming cup in the morning, to enjoy with cake and friends, or to be offered in times of crisis when nothing else can be done. It’s so much more than a hot drink.

In Turkiye, tea çay (pronounced Chai) is a profound symbol of hospitality and connection. And it’s found in the strangest of places.

Tea is a central part of the street market experience. When I visited the markets as a travel sales rep in my early twenties, tea runners glided through the crowds, hanging metal trays of teacups swinging in their hands, appearing as if out of nowhere. Every vendor seemed to have a network, and tea was offered at every stall we lingered at.

Initially, I was a bit wary. Was this just a sales tactic? (Also, what was in that glass, and when was it last washed?) But the hospitality was genuine. The vendors offering us the drink wanted us to sit, chat, and haggle. It wasn’t about obligation but connection.

By accepting that burning hot, tulip-shaped glass (why a thin, handleless glass for a boiling drink?) I was accepting their hospitality. By taking a sip of strong, red tea, I was tasting a part of Turkish life and transforming my experience of Turkiye.

For me, that cup was one of my keys—the keys to setting aside my ideas of how things should be and engaging in how things were.

After that first cup, I sipped many, many more steaming hot teas in bustling markets while happily haggling with vendors. Is it how I’d normally have chosen to grocery shop? Of course not! But in accepting and connecting with how things were done in my temporary home, I got to connect with the people, the humour, the culture and the history.

If I’d been like the Gulet customers from my last post, if I’d held on to my own ideas and expectations, I’d never have taken that first cup. But I took it, I took part, because I was there. And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t truly have been there at all.