Fires have been at the forefront of my mind, lately. In Kirkuk, they lit the desolate horizon. On the news, they’re covering Russia in smoke. I’ve seen with my own eyes two forest fires in the last two weeks.

The first fire appeared one languid afternoon on the peak of a hill in Datca, a peninsula for priveleged vacationers. Beach goers calmly pointed it out. They took out iphones and snapped photos, returning then to their games of backgammon, their beers and beach chairs. When after about 15 minutes a helicopter whirred into view and dumped a load of ocean water onto the burning hill, everyone clapped. Within perhaps an hour the fire was speedily extinguished by a team of 4 helicopters, several fire trucks, and a brigade of yellow suited firemen climbing up the hill like little ants.

Later that night, ants surfaced as the cause of the fire, indirectly at least. That afternoon a boy and a girl, both eight or nine years old, had climbed the hill with a magnifying glass to focus the sun’s rays into a tiny, ant-killing beam. When this bored them, the tossed the magnifying glass aside and headed down the hill. But the perfect weather– sun and no rain– also made for perfect fire conditions. Before they reached the bottom, the hill erupted in flames like it was a volcano. The children hid.

Later that night, they were found safe and sound, to the delight of their families, I’m sure. But along with their kids, the families received something else: the bill for putting out the fire.

Turkey has incredibly strict laws protecting the environment. Those responsible for starting wildfires are responsible for paying the damages. The word was that the cost in this case came out to about a quarter million dollars.

The child culprits no doubt belonged to one of the wealthy families who owned a home in this private vacation spot filled with Turkey’s old money elite. They’d be able to foot the bill. And the fire was swiftly and efficiently taken care of. Elsewhere in the world, it’s very different.