Turkey is a country where east meets west, the bridge between the Occident and the Orient. Known by the ancients as Asia Minor, the land mass that extends from Mount Ararat in the east to the site of ancient Troy on the Aegean Sea in the west, and from the sun-drenched beaches of the Mediterranean in the south to the rain-soaked forests of the Black Sea in the north, Turkey is the original land of stunning contrasts and baffling contradictions.

Kara Ural outside the concert hall, in front of the banner advertising the concert.

Last January, I had the opportunity to perform the Stravinsky Violin Concerto with the Adana Symphony Orchestra in Adana, Turkey. This was very exciting for a number of reasons. Any opportunity to perform with an orchestra would be welcome, but I was especially thrilled to be able to play the Stravinsky. This was my fifth trip to Turkey; previously, I had flown there with my family to visit my grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. So this trip brought together my desire to return to Turkey, see my family, and perform the Stravinsky Concerto with orchestra.

In the beginning of January, my parents and I flew to Istanbul and stayed a few days, recovering from jet lag. We planned to fly to Adana on Wednesday afternoon, as I had a Thursday morning rehearsal. The concerts were Friday evening and Saturday morning.

However, our trip was not to play out so neatly! When we arrived at the Istanbul airport on Wednesday, we were told that the Adana airport was closed. Instead, the airline would fly us to Gaziantep, a city to the east of Adana, and four hours away by car.

I was curious as to how it is possible to close an airport in a city of two million people. Further inquiries revealed that it was because of President Bush's impending war on Iraq. Because Adana is close to Iraq and other Middle Eastern countries, the United States military base Incirlik is located there. The base has an airfield, and the flights in and out of Incirlik enforce the no-flight zone in northern Iraq. The runways cannot handle the increased air traffic a war with Iraq would bring, so the U.S. government had shut down the Adana airport to improve the runways in preparation for war against Iraq.

Our flight, scheduled to leave at three, left at five. Once we landed, we rode the four hours to Adana. The orchestra management was kind enough to send a car and driver. It was at least 11 p.m. when we got to our hotel.

Nearly asleep on my feet by then, I was jolted awake when the conductor of the orchestra, Mehpare Karamenderes, joined us in the lobby. Immediately, challenges arose: the conductor and I didn't speak a common language. I only know English and a little Turkish; she knew Russian, Turkish, and a little English. "No problem," she proclaimed, and launched into the fourth movement, singing various tempos. "Is this your tempo ?" she asked. Um, no! I shook my head. I had no choice--I had to sing. Finally, the conductor felt satisfied and we parted. "See you at 10, tomorrow morning," she called out brightly.

After meeting with the conductor, all my energy was zapped. My parents and I hobbled up to our hotel rooms. What could happen next?, I thought, in dread. Maybe the first violinist will pop out of the wall! But we could not have guessed what would happen next. As soon as we got in our rooms, the phone rang. It was my dad's sister. My father spoke quickly and then turned on the TV.

Ten minutes after our flight to Gaziantep had taken off from the Istanbul airport, a plane to Diyarbakir, north and east of Adana, took off. We were late in reaching Adana, but at least we got there; the people on the Diyarbakir flight never reached their destination. Their plane crashed on landing. Stunned and saddened, we watched the TV reports. Then I fell asleep. Rehearsal would still be at 10 tomorrow.

The next morning I went to rehearsal in the concert hall. I had never played with orchestra before, but I knew what to expect from Pre-College rehearsals. However, I never realized how it would feel to stand up and play in front of this large group of professional musicians. They're all 10 years older than me, I thought, and at least five inches taller--not to mention the cute assistant concertmaster! I was intimidated at first, and rehearsal did not begin well. The orchestra was lost and I wasn't playing confidently. I realized that I would have to be calm, confident, and clear in my playing.

Things were finally going well when many orchestra members started whispering frantically among themselves. Oh no, I thought. What idiotic mistake did I make this time? Suddenly, the conductor put her baton down and shut the score. What was going on? Finally, the oboist explained to me that the orchestra had to stop rehearsal. What? We had only been in rehearsal an hour. But the local government needed the auditorium for a meeting. The orchestra leases the building from the local government and is at their mercy. Rehearsal would continue in an hour; the orchestra would take a break. Hmm, I thought--maybe we should institute government meetings at Juilliard!

I grew more excited about the concerts when I learned that I was giving the Turkish premiere of the Stravinsky Concerto! The first concert, on Friday night, was sold out. There were a few rough spots, but it was very well received. I went confidently back to the hotel, certain things would only get better from here. I felt ready to wake up the next day and play again. Also, it felt good to know I had a second chance to perform.

But first ... a concert is not complete without some kind of celebration afterwards. Since I did have to play at 11 the next morning, I decided to call my friend at home in the States--what I thought would be a tame sort of entertainment.

On the hotel phone, there is a choice of two types of payment: credit card or phone card. From the pictures on the machine, I thought both cards went in the slot. Well, I was mistaken. I put the credit card into the phone-card slot--and got it stuck. After the hotel maintenance men tried to pull it out with tweezers, the management finally called the machine company. They arrived at 2 a.m., disassembled the machine, and retrieved my credit card.

The concert on Saturday went much better and was a lot more fun. Because I had already done this before, I was able to relax and enjoy the performance. After the concert, we had a quick lunch and then drove back to Istanbul, a 600-mile, two-day journey. Turkey is a beautiful and very diverse country, and it was a unique experience to be able to see such a large part of it. As we were leaving Adana, we passed citrus groves and cotton fields. Driving north, we soon reached the peak of the Taurus Mountains in an hour. The snow-capped mountains were a direct contrast to the tropical orange groves of Adana. As we reached Ankara and central Anatolia, the landscape became dry and barren. Ankara was a small, provincial town of only 60,000 people in 1923 when it was made the capital of Turkey; now it is a sophisticated city of about 3 million. Outside of Istanbul, we passed the areas devastated by the 1999 earthquake. One mountain tunnel was still under repair, requiring us to take an alternate route. On to Istanbul--the city that strides two continents, the bridge between East and West.

My trip to Turkey was a fantastic experience--one I would repeat in a heartbeat. It was challenging putting the concerto together with the orchestra, but the piece is much stronger now. It was an eventful trip, without a dull movement, but the unexpected is what makes travel exciting.

Some things never change. Among these are the traditional, quiet civility and hospitality of the ordinary Turks, their artistic sensitivity, and the excellence of their cuisine. All these things make Turkey, for all its political tensions and problems, a rewarding and exhilarating destination.

Pre-College violinist Kara Unal is a student of Ann Setzer.