Caught in a coup far from home, this Iowan stumbles on common ground in an airport lounge

Editor's note: John Sorrell first told this story on stage at the Des Moines Storytellers Project's "Travel." The Des Moines Storytellers Project is a series of storytelling events in which community members work with Register journalists to tell true, first-person stories live on stage. An edited version appears below.

It was 2016. I was heading back to Singapore and about to land in Istanbul for a short layover. I loved Istanbul — not only because of the deep historical culture and the people but also because of the Turkish Airlines lounge that was in the airport. It had everything: golf simulators, video games, homemade food, multiple baristas, drinks and the best wine carts scattered around the enormous lounge. I’m pretty sure the lounge itself was the size of Des Moines’ airport. You can understand why I was a little sad that I only had a 45-minute layover.

We landed in Istanbul and de-planed onto a large bus that took us back to the terminal to rush to my connection. On the bus, an interesting thing happened. A local Turkish lady yelled at all of us. “Go! Get out of my country! Just go home. Let us figure this out on our own.” I didn't understand the context. I didn't know why she would yell this. I thought, “That’s not a very welcoming thing to say…” So, I got off the bus, got into the terminal, and made my way to my gate for my extremely short layover.

Walking up to my gate, I was met with one of those dreaded words no one wants to see on the screen. Big red letters: "Delayed." But that meant I had time. I had time to go to the lounge to get food. I had time to get some great drink. Seriously, every bottle of wine on those carts was like a $50 bottle. So I started making my way to the lounge, which down those long corridors was about a 15-minute walk.

Yet, the airport just felt weird. Big groups of people were surrounding TVs. Everyone was watching some kind of news broadcast. It was one of the most fascinating things I'd seen. On the screen, an iPhone was being held up to a news camera. Someone was addressing the camera on FaceTime. Whoever's phone it was getting all of these banner alerts one after another after another.

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I can't read Turkish, so I had no clue what was written on the screen or what was being said. But I knew I could get to the lounge, so I made my way there. Fifteen minutes later, I get to the front doors of the lounge and check-in. I took a few steps in and looked at the screens. I was surprised because every flight on the board — all of them — said “Delayed.” All in red. Except one. One flight blinks in green: “Boarding.” My flight to Singapore. So now, without drink, without food, I started the long walk back to my gate. Along the way, I’m checking the boards, and one flight continues to blink green on every screen I pass. So I walk all the way back to my gate.

I walk up to the gate, and as I arrive at the gate there is nobody around it. The words turn red as I walk up. Only this time every flight now says: “Canceled.” The whole screen is filled with canceled flights. I still don't quite know what's going on. But you know it hits me: I now have time to go back to the lounge. So I started the 15-minute walk back to the lounge.

This is where things got interesting. As I'm walking, a set of gunshots rang out through the airport. There were several loud piercing sounds ringing through the terminal. Panic quickly became the response. Parents grabbed little kids and ran. Carry-ons were just left where people were sitting. They just ran for it. I'd never seen hysteria like that. I'd never seen people wanting to get away from something so bad that they didn't care what was in front of them.

I never understood how someone could get trampled in a crowd. And while I didn't see anybody get trampled that day, I realized how it was possible. People running from the noises that were up ahead. It was scary.

But I needed to get to the lounge. Not only was there survival food like cocktails and wine, but it's where I knew I could get information. I had to get to where I could get some kind of connectivity or find an English news source. So, on that walk back, it felt much longer than 15 minutes. Three times, gunshots rang out, and every single time, hundreds if not thousands of people would rush past me. I was going toward the gunshots, not away from them. And people were finding whatever shelter they could, whatever exit they could. I had never seen an airport under this much panic where people pushed past emergency exits and ran down by the planes on the tarmac. I'd never seen fear at this level.

But I knew where I needed to get, so I just kept making my way back to the lounge.

When I finally reached the main concourse the vast space was eerily silent. The international terminal, which usually teems with hordes of people, was empty. The coffee shop right in the middle, which usually served hundreds of people, was a ghost town. Carry-ons were strewn on the ground. Tables were flipped over. Drinks were spilled everywhere as people just got up and ran.

I made my way into the lounge knowing that this is where I could get food. This is where I can get water, and this is where I could get answers. And so I sat down with a group of guys because they had a phone charger, and I also needed power. As I sat down, I asked them if I could borrow their charger, and while this sounds like the beginning of a terrible joke, I sat down with a Japanese man, an Egyptian guy, a guy from Switzerland and a Turkish man.

We were all in the same boat. We were all looking to get out of there. We all thought we had short layovers, which had turned into a little bit longer than we expected. So we sat and watched news coverage of the attempted coup. While it wasn’t successful, it still caused a vast amount of unrest throughout Istanbul and the capital city.

We had started sharing stories at one point. We all shared stories about how all of us had landed in previous coups before. I never thought that would be a topic of conversation but we had all landed in the middle of a coup before. Mine was the Thailand coup in 2006. I took off out of Beijing and everything was fine. I landed in Bangkok right in the middle of martial law.

Those four guys and I spent the next four to five hours getting to know each other. Sharing stories, talking about what we were missing since we all knew no flights were taking off. Five complete strangers, sharing stories that none of us had expected we’d share with these brand new friends.

We kept asking questions. I learned more about Turkey and those four others in those few hours than I had ever would’ve imagine on what should’ve been a 45-minute layover. I learned about their government, what people thought of the Turkish president. I learned about who had rebelled and attempted this coup. The man I saw talking on FaceTime during the news broadcast was the current president. He had left for a vacation and that’s when a smaller group had attempted their overthrow. The Egyptian guy who sat with us just kept shaking his head and saying, "they don’t know how to throw a coup — my country we can throw a coup."

I learned about who was doing the shooting in the airport. My heart broke because it was Turkish soldiers who were in this small faction firing their weapons on fellow citizens. The president, while he was on FaceTime returning from vacation, called for people to take the streets to stop the overthrow — thus encouraging battles between citizens to gain back control and order in the country.

After I spent time with the four guys sharing our stories and we knew we weren’t in danger anymore, a friend reached out to let me know a close friend of theirs was in the same lounge. Apparently, he had good taste in food and wine as well. So, he and I met up and decided we would conquer this confusing adventure together. And we did. We spent the next 37 hours together talking about our lives and families, all while figuring out each next confusing step. It was like the whole system had been unplugged. Their computer systems were down so they had to revert back to a paper system. For at least 12 hours there were only a few staff at the airport because of the their safety. We had to buy a visa to go into the country and wait in a 12-hour line with me and my 1,000 closest friends with very little order trying to get paper tickets so that I could get back to my home in Singapore.

We both flew out about 45 mins apart two full days after we had landed. Thankful to be returning home. Thankful that we were safe. Thankful for some great bottles of wine. But most of all thankful for the gift of meeting several new friends. I stay in touch with most of those guys still to this day.

I won’t comment who was right or wrong, or which leaders should be supported. What I can do is say that curiosity got me through that situation. Asking lots of questions made it one of the most unexpected educational events for me. Because what started as a 45-minute layover turned into 45 hours.

I flew back to Turkey a couple of months ago. And on the flight over I can't say I wasn't nervous. I was a little clammy when we landed because I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know what it would feel like to be back there. But I reminded myself that new friends got me through before, even newer friends can do it again.

Since I was there in 2016, they built a whole new airport for international travel. So while I didn't have the same lounge experience, the food was still good and the wine was solid. But I didn't get to walk the same hallways. Walking through the new terminal I was reminded of this: No matter what situation I'm in, openness to other people will always move me forward. There's so much to learn about other cultures, other countries, and there are so many more new people to meet. Avoiding people and being judgmental won't get me too far. But engaging others will bring us closer to each other.

Engagement opens doors for us to share our humanity with each other. I had no clue that a 45-minute layover was going to turn into 45 hours. But as I look back, I’m grateful for safety, of course, but I'm even more grateful of an important lesson that day: That often times we search for similarities, but it's in our differences that help us truly understand and appreciate each other. Every single person is a walking story. A story that's worth hearing. Thanks for listening to one of mine.

ABOUT THE STORYTELLER: John Sorrell, a Johnston resident, brings a global perspective honed from 15 years in Asia. Armed with a Ph.D. in hermeneutics, he serves as executive pastor at Northpoint Church, intertwining scholarly insight with spiritual leadership. Passionate about bridging cultures, he fosters unity, understanding, and partnerships within his community.

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