"Dzigarson (good-hearted person)" Levani was gladly filling my shot glass with more honey schnapps. After the birthday celebration we found ourselves at his and Father Ermo's house and were introduced to his amazing family - his good-humored wife, and his three children: Giorgi, Luka and Nini who striked me as one of the most content families I had ever met.
"It is not important if you are a Catholic, an Orthodox or even a Muslim. If you have a good heart and do good, God loves you and will bestowe you with his favor. Although Orthodox Christianity is the oldest and purest form of worshipping Christ, rituals are not as important as deeds. God listens to you as he does me and he knows what is inside of you..."
I talked with Father Ermo well into the night and after getting to know this tolerant and enlightened man I understood how it was possible that his children could be so beautiful and peaceful. Little Giorgi, a ten-year old black haired boy, gave me an affecionate hug and left for bed, he was followed by his somewhat younger brother Luka - their eyes, so innocent, so tender, nothing fake about their love for one another, not a mundane routine before going to bed but honest emotions. I felt the harmony of their family and it felt good - the thought of settling and building such a loving community raced through my head again as it had many times during these four months of walking, questioning and learning. Perhaps my time would come soon...
Laying in a warm bed I thought about the cold outside, how lucky we were to have found such a good man. Again "chance" had brought us together with a gentle person willing to share, to teach and to learn. The birthday feast, the simple yet tastey dishes of beans, mushrooms, fried fish, the tamada, the sense of community and brotherly love shared by the Georgians that evening all reminded me of the early Christians, the ancient followers of Christ who in my opinion were more like hippies than most of the conservative leaders representing this denomination today...
Tim was quiet that morning as he accompanied me to my first Orthodox mass - conducted by our host Father Ermo. The two hour celebration of Christ was interesting to say the least. The women wore scarfs on their heads out of respect towards God as do the Muslim women in mosques. The long-bearded priests chanted endlessly as Father Ermo blessed the golden/silver icons of Christ, the Virgin Mary and other saints with potent incense and smoke. The congregation chanted along with the priests at times and repeatedly made the sign of the cross with three fingers from the right to the left as it the ancient way. Often they kneeled down to the hard marble floor to kiss the ground or to touch their foreheads to it - again strinkingly similar to the Muslim customs I had witnessed in Turkey. Compared to Western Christian services Orhtodox masses were a marathon of prayer, reflection and penatence - no sitting, no breaks, constantly chanting, praying and at times singing.
"I don't feel so good," I turn to hear Tim say before he makes his way out of church. People look at him, at me, as they had been doing the entire time - asking themselves what we were doing there and why we weren't bowing or making the sign of the cross, or why we had not kissed the central icon on our way in?
Towards the end of the gruelling ritual, the vladika (something like a bishop) appears behind the curtain on the altar. He is a large, round-bellied man with white hair and beard. He is ordained in a golden robe and a large hat with a golden cross on top of it. As he struts to a throne-like chair in the middle of the church the people seem to hold their breath. He blesses them by touching their heads and spreading incense and smoke around. It was as if the people felt that God himself had entered the room....Giorgi, a young assistant to Father Ermo, comes up to me and tells me that he would take me to be blessed by the bishop and I soon find myself cutting in line to have the vladika draw a cross on my forehead with some sweet smelling ointment as I kiss his hand...
As the mass finishes Tim returns and appears paler than usual. "You OK man?" "I feel like I'm coming down with something. I might have a cold." "Shit" I thought to myself "Tim was always getting sick and after spending so much time in Batumi I really didn't want to be stuck in Ozurgeti. We were close to Tbilisi, ten days of walk away, and I was eager to finish this, to start getting back to the "civilian" life, to start implementating some of the things I had learned along the way, to find out how much I had changed, but it was going to be a while before that happened....unfortunately....
After mass, Father Ermo approaches us:"Father Basili insists that you spend a day at his place"....and so Tim and I were transported from one loving home to another...a home we would get to know very well...
Friday, December 25, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Men of Faith part 1
"I know how you feel. Don't worry." Here we were, standing in front of an Orthodox church in the center of Ozurgeti, and I was about to enter and ask if they could find us a place to stay. I didn't feel comfortable at all, I had no idea how to even act in an Orthodox church but Tim was good at reassuring me. The walk from Kobuleti to Ozurgeti was long and I was tired - speaking Russian and explaining our story to some priests was the last thing I wanted to do...but we needed a place to stay and we had no other option...
"We have come from far away, on foot," I manage to communicate to the lady selling memorablia behind a counter in the icon-filled church. "I would like to talk to a priest please." I had my hat in my hand and I was nervous as a black-bearded priest approached. He had a mean look on his face and didn't seem very holy to me at all. I greeted him as kindly as I knew how and shook his hand as he gave me a suspicious look. Tim, more aware of protocol, followed by kissing and placing his forehead on the priest's hand (as is the custom in the Orthodox Church). We step outside and I begin to explain what we were doing. "You can't sleep inside the church. You can sleep out here." Temperatures were reaching 0 in the evenings and sleeping outside was no option, yet the priest had no sympathetic ear for us. "Well, I tried my best," I thought to myself as the realization that we had no place to sleep started sinking in. Tim and I grabbed our backpacks and were about to leave when we were greeed by a smiling face - Father Ermolaus (Ermo).
"You two, will be guests in my home," said the slim red-haired man. I make a move as to kiss his hand yet he assures me there is no need. "You're not Orhtodox are you?" "No father, my friend Tim and I were raised Catholics...."
After a few minutes of waiting in the candle lit church and a few candies from the lady behind the counter, Father Ermo came and showed us to his car where we were greeted by his father, a slim, white-haired man named Levani. Before we knew it we were speedying away towards a friend of Father Ermo's where we would join a birthday celebration - the first of many Georgian feasts I would experience over the course of the next few days.
"He sure drives fast for a priest!" Father Ermo was dodging pedestrains left and right as he raced his car down the muddy village road. Levani was intrigued by our story and bombarded me with an array of questions and I did my best to answer all of them yet I was exhausted from the day's walk....it seemed the road was taking more and more out of me.....
The birthday crowd was cheerful as we entered yet they had not partaken of any of the tasty dishes piled up on top of each other on the long table in the living room. Although another priest, Father Basili was present, they all waited for Father Ermo to bless the food and wine. Everyone greeted us cordially and Father Basili, a thin bearded round priest, took to me soon as we exchanged jokes, anecdotes and many kind words.
"I would like to say a toast for you, our guests from Croatia and France. Us Georgians believe guests are gifts from God, may God bless you with health and safe journeys!" Father Ermo was a wise man and made a great Tamada (toastmaster). His toasts were morsels of spiritual instruction, philosophical quips and in a way mini-prayers. The crowd of 30 or so men stood on their feet and drank to Tim and I's health and we drank down our glasses of wine together. Unfortunately for Tim the toast did not turn out to be true, for his health was deteriorating and would keep us in Ozurgeti for an unexpectedly long time, giving me an opportunity to learn about Orthodox Christianity and to even act as an assistant to a priest...
"We have come from far away, on foot," I manage to communicate to the lady selling memorablia behind a counter in the icon-filled church. "I would like to talk to a priest please." I had my hat in my hand and I was nervous as a black-bearded priest approached. He had a mean look on his face and didn't seem very holy to me at all. I greeted him as kindly as I knew how and shook his hand as he gave me a suspicious look. Tim, more aware of protocol, followed by kissing and placing his forehead on the priest's hand (as is the custom in the Orthodox Church). We step outside and I begin to explain what we were doing. "You can't sleep inside the church. You can sleep out here." Temperatures were reaching 0 in the evenings and sleeping outside was no option, yet the priest had no sympathetic ear for us. "Well, I tried my best," I thought to myself as the realization that we had no place to sleep started sinking in. Tim and I grabbed our backpacks and were about to leave when we were greeed by a smiling face - Father Ermolaus (Ermo).
"You two, will be guests in my home," said the slim red-haired man. I make a move as to kiss his hand yet he assures me there is no need. "You're not Orhtodox are you?" "No father, my friend Tim and I were raised Catholics...."
After a few minutes of waiting in the candle lit church and a few candies from the lady behind the counter, Father Ermo came and showed us to his car where we were greeted by his father, a slim, white-haired man named Levani. Before we knew it we were speedying away towards a friend of Father Ermo's where we would join a birthday celebration - the first of many Georgian feasts I would experience over the course of the next few days.
"He sure drives fast for a priest!" Father Ermo was dodging pedestrains left and right as he raced his car down the muddy village road. Levani was intrigued by our story and bombarded me with an array of questions and I did my best to answer all of them yet I was exhausted from the day's walk....it seemed the road was taking more and more out of me.....
The birthday crowd was cheerful as we entered yet they had not partaken of any of the tasty dishes piled up on top of each other on the long table in the living room. Although another priest, Father Basili was present, they all waited for Father Ermo to bless the food and wine. Everyone greeted us cordially and Father Basili, a thin bearded round priest, took to me soon as we exchanged jokes, anecdotes and many kind words.
"I would like to say a toast for you, our guests from Croatia and France. Us Georgians believe guests are gifts from God, may God bless you with health and safe journeys!" Father Ermo was a wise man and made a great Tamada (toastmaster). His toasts were morsels of spiritual instruction, philosophical quips and in a way mini-prayers. The crowd of 30 or so men stood on their feet and drank to Tim and I's health and we drank down our glasses of wine together. Unfortunately for Tim the toast did not turn out to be true, for his health was deteriorating and would keep us in Ozurgeti for an unexpectedly long time, giving me an opportunity to learn about Orthodox Christianity and to even act as an assistant to a priest...
Monday, December 21, 2009
Chaja Nights
After a few days with Levani, Petra and Toto, Tim and I were hosted by Irakli the philosopher. At the moment Irakli lives with his mother in a small but warm apartment in the center of Batumi which, like all of the homes I had entered in Georgia, seemed in a way antique - the furniture, statuettes, even curtains seemed to be from a more prosperous time, one of Soviet wealth, before the war, before the financial crisis. Irakli's collection of Kant, Hegel, Nietzche and Socrates all kept him company in his sanctuary of rock and roll, classic literature and fine chaja. He made a good host and the three of us (along with some of his friends) spent two days enjoying the grape brandy of Georgia and watching classic rock videos on his computer. After sobering up we decided to split for Kobuleti, the next town on our way. Irakli had some friends there - Giorgi (not to be confused with his name sake from Batumi) and Levani (again not the same as from Batumi!), and agreed to meet us there in the evening. Tim and I left early and unfortunately didn't get around to saying good-bye to Zura, Petra, Giorgi, and Levani, all of whom were of great help to us, but I hope our paths cross again....
"I think I was made for this", I turn back to say to Tim as we exit Batumi and take one last look at the ships in the port. It felt good to be back on the road and after getting my first taste of Georgia I was thirsty for more. The road was tough to Kobuleti - narrow, uneven and with many sharp turns which made walking dangerous, but it was sunny and the large old pine trees along the way kept me in good spirits.
"Hey guys!! Over here!!" It was Irakli and he had found us in Kobuleti. We had asked a woman working in a shop to use her phone but he did not answer and we were worried. It was late and the city was dead. The old 19 century buildings were grey and uninviting and the city seemed lonely to me - hearing Irakli call us from down the street was salvation! We soon found ourselves at Giorgi's house with some chaja in our belly and smiles on our faces. Tired from our long walk and our bodies adjusting again to the abuse we retired early but continued our merry company the next day, first with Giorgi in the morning and with Levani in the afternoon.
"I don't think we should be drinking so much nigger..." Tim was right and he knew we would pay later for the chaja, beer and wine but I didn't care. It felt great to be back to my old ways, to be in good drunken company and to let myself go. The mental and spritual strains of the walk were the real problem for me but for Tim the troubles were more of a physical nature and I was soon to learn in how bad of a shape he was in....
"Thanks for the fried fish, the great wine and for the magnificent hospitality Levani." Although at first I had the feeling that he was cold and aloof, Levani turned out to be a great guy. We had spent a great deal of the evening learning about each others countries and I had grown fond of him quickly. I could tell why Irakli had made friends with him, as well as with Giorgi who was an amazingly generous host as well.
"I plan on going to India in a month but I'll see you guys in Tbilisi before I leave." Irakli planned on selling his car and hitch-hiking to India, which after walking across Turkey didn't seem like a crazy idea at all, in fact I was almost sure he would make it. "Doesn't seem very far to India anymore, we've crossed a lot of country." Tim was right, not even China seemed unreachable at that time, yet in a few days it would seem a distant dream, we were about to enter some hard days....of doubt, of pain, of peril....
"I think I was made for this", I turn back to say to Tim as we exit Batumi and take one last look at the ships in the port. It felt good to be back on the road and after getting my first taste of Georgia I was thirsty for more. The road was tough to Kobuleti - narrow, uneven and with many sharp turns which made walking dangerous, but it was sunny and the large old pine trees along the way kept me in good spirits.
"Hey guys!! Over here!!" It was Irakli and he had found us in Kobuleti. We had asked a woman working in a shop to use her phone but he did not answer and we were worried. It was late and the city was dead. The old 19 century buildings were grey and uninviting and the city seemed lonely to me - hearing Irakli call us from down the street was salvation! We soon found ourselves at Giorgi's house with some chaja in our belly and smiles on our faces. Tired from our long walk and our bodies adjusting again to the abuse we retired early but continued our merry company the next day, first with Giorgi in the morning and with Levani in the afternoon.
"I don't think we should be drinking so much nigger..." Tim was right and he knew we would pay later for the chaja, beer and wine but I didn't care. It felt great to be back to my old ways, to be in good drunken company and to let myself go. The mental and spritual strains of the walk were the real problem for me but for Tim the troubles were more of a physical nature and I was soon to learn in how bad of a shape he was in....
"Thanks for the fried fish, the great wine and for the magnificent hospitality Levani." Although at first I had the feeling that he was cold and aloof, Levani turned out to be a great guy. We had spent a great deal of the evening learning about each others countries and I had grown fond of him quickly. I could tell why Irakli had made friends with him, as well as with Giorgi who was an amazingly generous host as well.
"I plan on going to India in a month but I'll see you guys in Tbilisi before I leave." Irakli planned on selling his car and hitch-hiking to India, which after walking across Turkey didn't seem like a crazy idea at all, in fact I was almost sure he would make it. "Doesn't seem very far to India anymore, we've crossed a lot of country." Tim was right, not even China seemed unreachable at that time, yet in a few days it would seem a distant dream, we were about to enter some hard days....of doubt, of pain, of peril....
Monday, December 14, 2009
New Culture, New Friends
''The water seems clearer on this side of the border...'' It was a warm and sunny day as we walked our first day in Georgia and everything seemed different than what we were accustomed to. Not far from our 'hotel' we came across a large monument to St. Andrew, the First-Called, the first of many prophets and saints who arrived in Georgia, around 1 A.D. After Armenia, Georgia was the oldest Christian state in Europe and its countryside and cities are decorated with ancient churches and structures which I was eager to discover. In a way everything about this country seemed ancient to me...
"Tbilisi, 380km" the sign above us read as we passed through the small town of Gonio on our way towards Batumi. Open-eyed we marvelled at the novelties around us- the signs written in the undecipherable Georgian alphabet (საქართველო), the simplistic communist mixed with the lavish classic Georgian architecture, the physical features of the people - white skin tone, black hair and dominant noses; everything was unfamiliar and I was ready to learn. After having our last lunch at a Turkish restaurant (many Turks live in and around Batumi), and experiencing their hospitality one more time (the meal was free of course), we walked a few hours and reached the city of Batumi.
Tired old women sitting on small wooden stools selling cigarettes (at 30 cents a pack!), drab rain-stained communist concrete buildings, the sad empty shelves of the poorly stocked shops and alcohol, bet shops and exchange offices everywhere...yet many majestic 200-300 year old buildings, museums and a university as well as newly erected fountains, squares and tourist attractions such as a collossal ferris wheel, gave me the feeling that this city has been going through some really tough times but its spirit had not been broken...
"The beer is only 40 cents! God help us!" The quiet little restaurant with its old cyrilic 'beer' sign in the window, was our favorite spot while in Batumi - mostly due to its attractive prices but also because the friendly middle-aged women who worked there were good at understanding my Russian. We had also found another cheap place which only served the same stew everyday. The plain barley and ground beef was not the tastiest of meals but it was a bargain. The men gathered there were always drunk (a common sight throughout the country at any time of the day) and I could smell the cheap vodka on their breaths.
"One soup, please"...."Was it pronounced odin or adin", I couldn't even say 'one' properly. An elderly man eating alone in the corner lifts his head up from his humble meal and asks in English where we were from. "Croatia, eh? (In Croatian) Well, how are you friend? Welcome!" The man was a former sailor, now a master navigator and naval professor named Zura who had picked up some Croatian at the shipyards of the former Yugoslavia during his sailing days . We joined him at his table and after getting to know this cheerful and kind old man we accepted his invitation and accompanied him to his ship, the Elita for some "chaja" (j as in jade) - home-made Georgian grape brandy.
"This next toast is for your parents. Although I've never met them I'm sure they are great people since they have such great sons. I am thankful to them for giving you to this world, so that I may meet you." We were all on our feet in the ship's navigation room - maps spread out everywhere and various sailing equipment such as buoys and life vests hung from the walls. The chaja had turned our faces red and our spirits merry. Zura was teaching us about "tamada", the intricate Georgian toasting tradition. He was the toastmaster and we had reached the toast to our parents. Children and grandchildren would be next. As the ship rocked gently to the calm Black Sea waves, we hugged and kissed each other (once on the cheek as is the custom here) and even sang a few songs (to my amazement Zura knew some Croatian songs by Mate Miso Kovac!). We left the ship late, our arms around each others necks, staggering drunkenly to and fro through the muddy streets of Batumi, nothing but the happiness of meeting a new friend in our hearts.
"My brothers, I am so happy to meet you. You are from France, you are from Croatia and I am from Georgia but we are all brothers!" After a final beer at our spot and a few songs and laughs with the waitresses, I helped my new friend into an old Russian taxi and sent him home to his wife. Tim and I retired to our hotel, glad to have met our first Georgian friend, one of many...
The next day we hung out with Petra, a really cool Hungarian girl we met through the couchsurfing web service. We waited for her in the city center next to a large statue of Medea (from the Greek legend) holding the golden fleece, which overlooked a large fountain that spouts out water to the rhytm of music ranging from Mozart to Kusturica. The whole square felt very European and familiar to me...Petra was very welcoming and took us for a walk around the center and for some Turkish coffee - back to the coffee culture, no more tea!! I found out that she is an anthropologist who abandoned her profession and is now living with her boyfriend Giorgi (a theater director) in Batumi although she travelled the world and had lived in many interesting places - Australia, Peru, Israel, to name a few. We met Giorgi and their friend (and now ours) Levani the next day.
"Lets go to a friend's house", suggested the clean-cut dentist turned cultural/political event planner named Levani. He and Tim had hit it off quickly due to Levani's excellent French skills and all-around good qualities. Giorgi and I tried as best as we could to communicate in Russian but I was far from being at a conversational level and still needed Petra's help...
The friend who hosted us turned out to be Toto, a novelist and sports commentator who was now forced to work as an accountant at a Turkish factory near Batumi. Such was the case with many Georgians - the recent war, the closed border with their large menacing neighbor Russia and the financial crisis pushed many highly-educated individuals into fields they weren't happy to be in. In general Georgia felt packed with intellectuals...
"Do you guys like The Cure?", Irakli (Heraclitus in Georgian), was a self-described philosopher and very comical character. He sat next to us and began inquiring about our tastes in music, philosophy, and literature. "The Doors?", " Jean Paul Satre?" It was great to talk about these topics, something we had not done much of during our stay in Turkey.
"My boss is a nigger, I hate the nigger", loudly announced a friend of our Batumi hosts. "I don't hate black people," replied Irakli as he made a peace sign with his fingers, "Sex, drugs and rock and roll, peace!" Tim and I offered to get some more beer and Irakli joined us. A young virgin-like girl is in the shop and Irakli is in the mood for a joke. As she is leaving he gently takes some of her hair in his hand and smells it. She turns red, giggles and leaves as Tim, I and the lady behind the counter burst out laughing. "Zieg heil!", Irakli salutes the clerk with a click of his shoes and an arm raised in mock Nazi salute and we exit. "You guys like punk, don't you?" "Yes we do Irakli", I reply, "and we like you!" After some marinated fish, a sea of beer and a lot of great conversation we leave Toto's place after agreeing that Petra and Giorgi would take me in the next day and Tim would sleep at Toto's....we now had many friends in Batumi and I was beginning to feel at home here...
"Tbilisi, 380km" the sign above us read as we passed through the small town of Gonio on our way towards Batumi. Open-eyed we marvelled at the novelties around us- the signs written in the undecipherable Georgian alphabet (საქართველო), the simplistic communist mixed with the lavish classic Georgian architecture, the physical features of the people - white skin tone, black hair and dominant noses; everything was unfamiliar and I was ready to learn. After having our last lunch at a Turkish restaurant (many Turks live in and around Batumi), and experiencing their hospitality one more time (the meal was free of course), we walked a few hours and reached the city of Batumi.
Tired old women sitting on small wooden stools selling cigarettes (at 30 cents a pack!), drab rain-stained communist concrete buildings, the sad empty shelves of the poorly stocked shops and alcohol, bet shops and exchange offices everywhere...yet many majestic 200-300 year old buildings, museums and a university as well as newly erected fountains, squares and tourist attractions such as a collossal ferris wheel, gave me the feeling that this city has been going through some really tough times but its spirit had not been broken...
"The beer is only 40 cents! God help us!" The quiet little restaurant with its old cyrilic 'beer' sign in the window, was our favorite spot while in Batumi - mostly due to its attractive prices but also because the friendly middle-aged women who worked there were good at understanding my Russian. We had also found another cheap place which only served the same stew everyday. The plain barley and ground beef was not the tastiest of meals but it was a bargain. The men gathered there were always drunk (a common sight throughout the country at any time of the day) and I could smell the cheap vodka on their breaths.
"One soup, please"...."Was it pronounced odin or adin", I couldn't even say 'one' properly. An elderly man eating alone in the corner lifts his head up from his humble meal and asks in English where we were from. "Croatia, eh? (In Croatian) Well, how are you friend? Welcome!" The man was a former sailor, now a master navigator and naval professor named Zura who had picked up some Croatian at the shipyards of the former Yugoslavia during his sailing days . We joined him at his table and after getting to know this cheerful and kind old man we accepted his invitation and accompanied him to his ship, the Elita for some "chaja" (j as in jade) - home-made Georgian grape brandy.
"This next toast is for your parents. Although I've never met them I'm sure they are great people since they have such great sons. I am thankful to them for giving you to this world, so that I may meet you." We were all on our feet in the ship's navigation room - maps spread out everywhere and various sailing equipment such as buoys and life vests hung from the walls. The chaja had turned our faces red and our spirits merry. Zura was teaching us about "tamada", the intricate Georgian toasting tradition. He was the toastmaster and we had reached the toast to our parents. Children and grandchildren would be next. As the ship rocked gently to the calm Black Sea waves, we hugged and kissed each other (once on the cheek as is the custom here) and even sang a few songs (to my amazement Zura knew some Croatian songs by Mate Miso Kovac!). We left the ship late, our arms around each others necks, staggering drunkenly to and fro through the muddy streets of Batumi, nothing but the happiness of meeting a new friend in our hearts.
"My brothers, I am so happy to meet you. You are from France, you are from Croatia and I am from Georgia but we are all brothers!" After a final beer at our spot and a few songs and laughs with the waitresses, I helped my new friend into an old Russian taxi and sent him home to his wife. Tim and I retired to our hotel, glad to have met our first Georgian friend, one of many...
The next day we hung out with Petra, a really cool Hungarian girl we met through the couchsurfing web service. We waited for her in the city center next to a large statue of Medea (from the Greek legend) holding the golden fleece, which overlooked a large fountain that spouts out water to the rhytm of music ranging from Mozart to Kusturica. The whole square felt very European and familiar to me...Petra was very welcoming and took us for a walk around the center and for some Turkish coffee - back to the coffee culture, no more tea!! I found out that she is an anthropologist who abandoned her profession and is now living with her boyfriend Giorgi (a theater director) in Batumi although she travelled the world and had lived in many interesting places - Australia, Peru, Israel, to name a few. We met Giorgi and their friend (and now ours) Levani the next day.
"Lets go to a friend's house", suggested the clean-cut dentist turned cultural/political event planner named Levani. He and Tim had hit it off quickly due to Levani's excellent French skills and all-around good qualities. Giorgi and I tried as best as we could to communicate in Russian but I was far from being at a conversational level and still needed Petra's help...
The friend who hosted us turned out to be Toto, a novelist and sports commentator who was now forced to work as an accountant at a Turkish factory near Batumi. Such was the case with many Georgians - the recent war, the closed border with their large menacing neighbor Russia and the financial crisis pushed many highly-educated individuals into fields they weren't happy to be in. In general Georgia felt packed with intellectuals...
"Do you guys like The Cure?", Irakli (Heraclitus in Georgian), was a self-described philosopher and very comical character. He sat next to us and began inquiring about our tastes in music, philosophy, and literature. "The Doors?", " Jean Paul Satre?" It was great to talk about these topics, something we had not done much of during our stay in Turkey.
"My boss is a nigger, I hate the nigger", loudly announced a friend of our Batumi hosts. "I don't hate black people," replied Irakli as he made a peace sign with his fingers, "Sex, drugs and rock and roll, peace!" Tim and I offered to get some more beer and Irakli joined us. A young virgin-like girl is in the shop and Irakli is in the mood for a joke. As she is leaving he gently takes some of her hair in his hand and smells it. She turns red, giggles and leaves as Tim, I and the lady behind the counter burst out laughing. "Zieg heil!", Irakli salutes the clerk with a click of his shoes and an arm raised in mock Nazi salute and we exit. "You guys like punk, don't you?" "Yes we do Irakli", I reply, "and we like you!" After some marinated fish, a sea of beer and a lot of great conversation we leave Toto's place after agreeing that Petra and Giorgi would take me in the next day and Tim would sleep at Toto's....we now had many friends in Batumi and I was beginning to feel at home here...
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Georgia, Are You Ready to Rock?!!!
Getting a five-year ban from Turkey wasn't as painful as I anticipated. A small stamp in my passport and a sad explanation from a cute border policewoman and I was on my way. It really was my fault for not informing myself about visa regulations earlier but I just assumed it would be OK. Not very smart but I guess I could always come and visit my many Turkish friends with a Croatian or Bosnian passport (having three citizenships has its advantages); I am sure I will be back - I miss Turkey already.
With my heart still pumping fast from the excitement of entering Georgia, I placed my first steps on Caucasian soil. A large white flag with red crosses waved in the night wind above the northern side of the border. I had made it - the small former Soviet republic of Georgia, my obssessive dream for the past 3 months, had become a reality. The guards welcomed us warmly in Georgian, Turkish and even Russian, and Tim and I entered a new world. We were newborns again, facing the tasks of learning to communicate with the people, how to eat and drink, how to exist in their universe...
'Two beers please, and some khachapuri (cheese filled pastry)'', my first words in the new land. Tim and I sat in front of a little shop near the border and polished off some great Natakhtari beer, which to our delight only cost about 70 euro cents! Everything seemed new and exciting. The smells, the language, the old Russian 'Lada's and other cars passing by....not to mention that alcohol was sold in the stores and by women nonetheless! We bumped into some Turks on a weekend visit to Batumi, or next destination. It was weird to feel so connected to them, and it felt great to be called 'abe' (brother) again. We missed the sense of safety we had learned to feel in Turkey. We had no idea how safe Georgia would be or how hospitable the locals were. Many Turks had warned us about crime in Batumi but we always took this kind of information with a grain of salt. People always seem to think that the area, region or country next to theirs was more dangerous and less friendly. We had been warned about Sivas from the inhabitants of the Ankara area and the locals of Sivas warned us about the Black Sea which in turn warned us about Georgia! Luckily though, they were all wrong about each other, the people of each area were great - people in general are good, more good than most can believe.
Tired from the day's walk and the wait at the border Tim and I decide to ask the price of a road-side hotel near the border. I open the thin wooden door and stop dead in my tracks. It was as if I was slapped by culture shock - four provocatively dressed women playing cards with a young tough-looking man in what looked to be a bar or restaurant, not a Turkish scene at all! An intoxicated old man wakes up from a cot behind the bar and I bargain with him for a room in Russian. A pretty young girl shows us to our quarters after we settle a price and both Tim and I are on our toes - we have no idea how safe we are, especially in this 'hotel' - another brothel for lonely Turkish men from across the border. I slept with one eye open that night, the door locked and my walking stick and Bursa knife close by. In the morning we woke and went to the bar for coffee. One of the women served us as some Russian pop played over a pair of good speakers. Her small curly dog kept yapping next to the bar and I tried to calm him down to no avail. She saw me and gave me a friendly innocent smile. It was then that I got my first good feeling about this ancient nation, I could sense I had over-exaggerated about the danger and I knew we were in for a good time....
With my heart still pumping fast from the excitement of entering Georgia, I placed my first steps on Caucasian soil. A large white flag with red crosses waved in the night wind above the northern side of the border. I had made it - the small former Soviet republic of Georgia, my obssessive dream for the past 3 months, had become a reality. The guards welcomed us warmly in Georgian, Turkish and even Russian, and Tim and I entered a new world. We were newborns again, facing the tasks of learning to communicate with the people, how to eat and drink, how to exist in their universe...
'Two beers please, and some khachapuri (cheese filled pastry)'', my first words in the new land. Tim and I sat in front of a little shop near the border and polished off some great Natakhtari beer, which to our delight only cost about 70 euro cents! Everything seemed new and exciting. The smells, the language, the old Russian 'Lada's and other cars passing by....not to mention that alcohol was sold in the stores and by women nonetheless! We bumped into some Turks on a weekend visit to Batumi, or next destination. It was weird to feel so connected to them, and it felt great to be called 'abe' (brother) again. We missed the sense of safety we had learned to feel in Turkey. We had no idea how safe Georgia would be or how hospitable the locals were. Many Turks had warned us about crime in Batumi but we always took this kind of information with a grain of salt. People always seem to think that the area, region or country next to theirs was more dangerous and less friendly. We had been warned about Sivas from the inhabitants of the Ankara area and the locals of Sivas warned us about the Black Sea which in turn warned us about Georgia! Luckily though, they were all wrong about each other, the people of each area were great - people in general are good, more good than most can believe.
Tired from the day's walk and the wait at the border Tim and I decide to ask the price of a road-side hotel near the border. I open the thin wooden door and stop dead in my tracks. It was as if I was slapped by culture shock - four provocatively dressed women playing cards with a young tough-looking man in what looked to be a bar or restaurant, not a Turkish scene at all! An intoxicated old man wakes up from a cot behind the bar and I bargain with him for a room in Russian. A pretty young girl shows us to our quarters after we settle a price and both Tim and I are on our toes - we have no idea how safe we are, especially in this 'hotel' - another brothel for lonely Turkish men from across the border. I slept with one eye open that night, the door locked and my walking stick and Bursa knife close by. In the morning we woke and went to the bar for coffee. One of the women served us as some Russian pop played over a pair of good speakers. Her small curly dog kept yapping next to the bar and I tried to calm him down to no avail. She saw me and gave me a friendly innocent smile. It was then that I got my first good feeling about this ancient nation, I could sense I had over-exaggerated about the danger and I knew we were in for a good time....
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Saying Good-bye to Turkey...
'Yes, we left Hopa this morning sir,' Tim explains over the phone. ''We were taken in by a kind man named Osman and slept at his gas station. We met him at the Ogretmen evi {Teachers House}.'' It was the Rize police again. They wanted to know where we were and where we had slept the night before. They were polite and we had grown accustomed to talking with the police at least once a day. Serdar and his partner had said good-bye to us after we left their county and had handed us over to their colleagues in Trabzon who had handed us over to their colleagues in Rize and so on all the way to Georgia. We might have been followed, who knows, but we didn't mind the phone calls. Nobody stopped us from walking and that was the important thing.
"It always rains in Rize,'' ''Only 69 days of sun in Rize.'' We had been warned many times but we hoped that our good luck with the weather would hold up. It really would have been a miracle though if it had not rained in Rize, a city famous for percipitation and tea production. We were soaked to the bone when we finally made it and were in no hurry to continue until we dried out after a few days. We had grown tired and were slow, the three months of walking had taken their toll and I felt a chronic tiredness which even a 15 hour sleep could not shake off. We had to be smart and make it to Batumi, Georgia soon and rest for at least a week. We crossed more towns along the Black Sea and our steps were slow and silent. The sea was calming and we were both preparing ourselves to leave Turkey - the great country which had shown us so much hospitality...a place I will always cherish and miss...a nation of 'brothers' and a culture which now flowed in my blood...
"This is a brothel too nigger.'' It was no surprise, Ardesen, Arhavi and Hopa, the last cities in Turkey towards the Georgian border were infested with prostitution, crappy bars and liquor stores. We were in Hopa, only a mere 30 km from Georgia and it felt like I was in a Turkish version of Las Vegas, or a Laz version to be precise, since the inhabitants of this area were not Turks at all but belonged to an ancient people - the Laz, who spoke their own language and did not share any physical features with their Turkish countrymen. They were very European in appearance but dressed in pointy shoes and fake Armani jeans like Turks do. The women were more open here as well and I was surprised to see them look me in the eyes. We were entering a new culture and I was excited.
"Nyet" I replied in Russian to the three Georgian prostitutes at the door. I was tired and in no mood to entertain money-hungry hookers. "I just want to sleep, nye zena {no women].'' I was starting to use the Russian I had begun to learn the week before. Unfortunately I would use it mainly for warting off dirty old Georgian prostitutes. It was late and I noticed Tim tossing and turning in bed. He was also having a hard time falling asleep. We would cross into Georgia tomorrow and we were excited. We had no idea what would await us and a million thoughts were racing through my head. I also anticipated some problems with my visa which had probably expired and had no idea what would happen at the border. "Lets get a beer man.'' And so we dressed, got some Efes Pilsen and sat down on a Turkish beach for the last time.
We crossed the second tunnel towards the border. My heart was pounding hard as I walked and thought about all the great people I had met on my trip - Onur in Gebze, Omer the baker in Duzce, Baris in Istanbul, Franz, Halil bey, the muhtars, Mustafa and the wedding, the endless number of vendors and tea shop proprieors, smiling kids, passerby who would wave us over for tea, rest and a kind word...hundreds upon hundreds of kind souls who I will never forget....I was sad to leave and surprised to realize how attached I had become to Turkey....I was also both scared and excited about entering Georgia, an ancient country and culture which would be a whole new world to me....Tim and I hugged and smile at each other, the border was in front of us and a large Turkish flag flew above our heads. I took a deep breath and passed the gate taking my final steps in Turkey....I look back teary eyed, ''Tesekkur ederim Turkei {thank you Turkey}'' on my lips...
"It always rains in Rize,'' ''Only 69 days of sun in Rize.'' We had been warned many times but we hoped that our good luck with the weather would hold up. It really would have been a miracle though if it had not rained in Rize, a city famous for percipitation and tea production. We were soaked to the bone when we finally made it and were in no hurry to continue until we dried out after a few days. We had grown tired and were slow, the three months of walking had taken their toll and I felt a chronic tiredness which even a 15 hour sleep could not shake off. We had to be smart and make it to Batumi, Georgia soon and rest for at least a week. We crossed more towns along the Black Sea and our steps were slow and silent. The sea was calming and we were both preparing ourselves to leave Turkey - the great country which had shown us so much hospitality...a place I will always cherish and miss...a nation of 'brothers' and a culture which now flowed in my blood...
"This is a brothel too nigger.'' It was no surprise, Ardesen, Arhavi and Hopa, the last cities in Turkey towards the Georgian border were infested with prostitution, crappy bars and liquor stores. We were in Hopa, only a mere 30 km from Georgia and it felt like I was in a Turkish version of Las Vegas, or a Laz version to be precise, since the inhabitants of this area were not Turks at all but belonged to an ancient people - the Laz, who spoke their own language and did not share any physical features with their Turkish countrymen. They were very European in appearance but dressed in pointy shoes and fake Armani jeans like Turks do. The women were more open here as well and I was surprised to see them look me in the eyes. We were entering a new culture and I was excited.
"Nyet" I replied in Russian to the three Georgian prostitutes at the door. I was tired and in no mood to entertain money-hungry hookers. "I just want to sleep, nye zena {no women].'' I was starting to use the Russian I had begun to learn the week before. Unfortunately I would use it mainly for warting off dirty old Georgian prostitutes. It was late and I noticed Tim tossing and turning in bed. He was also having a hard time falling asleep. We would cross into Georgia tomorrow and we were excited. We had no idea what would await us and a million thoughts were racing through my head. I also anticipated some problems with my visa which had probably expired and had no idea what would happen at the border. "Lets get a beer man.'' And so we dressed, got some Efes Pilsen and sat down on a Turkish beach for the last time.
We crossed the second tunnel towards the border. My heart was pounding hard as I walked and thought about all the great people I had met on my trip - Onur in Gebze, Omer the baker in Duzce, Baris in Istanbul, Franz, Halil bey, the muhtars, Mustafa and the wedding, the endless number of vendors and tea shop proprieors, smiling kids, passerby who would wave us over for tea, rest and a kind word...hundreds upon hundreds of kind souls who I will never forget....I was sad to leave and surprised to realize how attached I had become to Turkey....I was also both scared and excited about entering Georgia, an ancient country and culture which would be a whole new world to me....Tim and I hugged and smile at each other, the border was in front of us and a large Turkish flag flew above our heads. I took a deep breath and passed the gate taking my final steps in Turkey....I look back teary eyed, ''Tesekkur ederim Turkei {thank you Turkey}'' on my lips...
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Turnıng 'Old' ın Trabzon
After havıng bumped ınto Tım 'accıdentally' ın front of a tea shop ın one of the nameless coastal towns I passed on my own, we joıned forces agaın and headed towards Trabzon, the largest cıty we would vısıt along the Black Sea and the place where we would meet up wıth some frıends from Istanbul and celebrate my bırthday - the bıg 3-0. The days of solıtude dıd us well and we soon found ourselves on the beaches of Trabzon sharıng cold Efes Pılsens and swappıng the experıences we had gathered the last few days. Sınce Bariş and two of hıs and Tım's frıends from Istanbul, Dizem and Aycan, would be vısıtıng ın the evenıng we fırst went to search for some accomodatıon whıch we found relatıvely easıly - Trabzon was full of cheap 'hotels' whıch we later dıscovered were ın fact brothels...
'Knock, knock,' I got up from my small bed in our cramped little room in Trabzon and opened the door. A petite blonde prostitute with a painted up face looks me dead in the eyes and asks in broken Turkish ''Do you need any women?'' She was from Chechnia and the crew see worked for was quite international. She looked exhausted and not at all attractive. Neither Tim nor I were interested in any female company but we were visited frequently. Toma, a middle-aged Azeri-Iranian 'lady', was next to knock on our door and ask if we needed anything. She was different than the other hotel workers though. She seemed less focused on her work and engaged in a friendly conversation with us about our trip, and her homelands Iran and Azerbaizan. She even showed us pictures of her son and daughter back home. After she left we finished our beers and were preparing to go to sleep, tomorrow was my birthday and we planned on celebrating with Baris in the evening. 'Knock, knock.' 'Not again,' I thought to myself as I got up and opened the door. Two Georgian prostitutes enter and one sits across from me. 'Are you Christian?' is the first thing she asks me. I say I am and she hits her chest proudly 'So am I!' Not the smartest way of picking up a customer, discussing religion...Tim comes back from the bathroom and the blonde Christian gets to business right away, 'So do you want to fuck? 50 lira one sex.' The other Georgian prostitute is leaning against the wall next to the door. She remains silent the whole time and is really creepy. She looks like she is mentally challenged and as all of the prostitutes at the hotel she is dirty. After politely declining their services the ladies leave, giving us a nasty look. We were getting close to Georgia and the amount of prostitution we would encounter was astonishing....
Tim and I stood under an awning in our bright raincoats waiting for Baris, Dizem and Aycan. It was raining hard as it does often on the Black Sea. A grey Ford Focus pulls up and Baris hops out and hugs us right away. It was good seeing him, he was a crucial figure in our trip, perhaps the most crucial, and a true friend. Seeing him in Trabzon was similar to our meeting in Ankara, I had realized how far I had gone and how much had happened. Baris was eager to hear about our adventures as we were to hear how he had spent his time in Istanbul. Dizem and Aycan turned out to be great people as well and the time we spent in Trabzon, although short, was great.
'Boom, boom, boom, I've got that boom boom boom,' that God-awful Black Eye Peas song was blairing across the club's sound system. ''There's a rock party tonight,'' the young hostess at the door informs us. She is cute so we enter, although the music was far from being rock. I was about to turn thirty and we were glad to have found a club in Trabzon and a place where we could have a few cold ones. Baris, Tim and I found a more quiet spot on the terrace and talked well past midnight and into the third decade of my life, talking about age, time, and our futures. I have to admit that this birthday was different than the others before, for the first time in my life I felt old, or at least that I was getting old. Time was not something I could throw around anymore and the thought of settling down crossed my mind again.
The next day we visited the Sumela monastery, an ancient complex built in the side of a steep mountain in the outskirts of Trabzon. Snow had begun to fall and the high pine trees surrounding the monastery turned white as we ascended the stairs towards the stone structures intricately constructed by the ancient Greek inhabitants of the area. It was a beautiful sight and an excellent way of spending a birthday. I will always remember this day and the great company I enjoyed - Dizem, Aycan and Baris, thank you for everything!
Monday, November 23, 2009
The Partıng Sea
'We're beıng followed nıgger!' Tım was rıght, I could see Serdar's whıte statıon wagon slowly followıng us across the maın street of Gıresun. We stop at a gas statıon and our pursuer follows suıt. We decıde to ask what's goıng on and approach the car. Seradar ıs accompanıed by hıs partner, a quıet tall young guy who appears frıendly but dım-wıtted, and I've always belıeved that the slower the cop, the more brutal he ıs. As we come to the drıver's wındow, they squırm ın theır car and pretend to be occupıed wıth other thıngs such as lookıng for a newspaper.
'Any trouble, sır?' 'Oh, Tım, Kovac, how are you?!' replıes Serdar wıth fake surprıse. 'Where are you sleepıng tonıght?' 'Not sure but we'll fınd somethıng cheap'. Thıs was a lıe and one we would later regret sınce we had met some people through the couch surfıng web page and had a place to sleep for the nıght. We wanted to make thıngs sımple though and dıdn't want to ınvolve our hosts ın any polıce affaırs. 'A hotel, eh?' Serdar's eyebrows jolted up as he eyed us suspıcıously as ıf he already knew we weren't sleepıng ın any hotel.
'Fuck, they've been followıng us the whole tıme!'' I stıll had a hard tıme realızıng that the mılıtary polıce would follow us for more than 100km! We made ıt to our couch surfıng hosts, Çalar and Ziya and low and behold, the same statıon wagon wıth two men 'readıng' newspapers ınsıde.
'They must not be that good at theır job'' laughed Tım as he approached the men agaın as I called Çalar down to ıntroduce hım to our mılıtary frıends.
'No problem at all,'' smıled Serdar, ''just want your two foreıgn frıends to be safe, that's all. You hosted another foreıgner recently dıdn't you Çalar, eh?' 'Well, um, yes I dıd, ' replıed Çalar, shocked to hear that the Jandarma knew about thıs...they knew a lot more than we expected...
Gıresun turned out to be a nıce place, full of young college students and pretty open people (for Turkısh standards of course:)). We had a meetıng wıth the rector of the unıversıty, whom Çalar taught Englısh, and we vısıted some tourıst spots, somethıng we were not famılıar wıth doıng untıl then. After vısıtıng an ancıent church along 'Jason's Cape' we hıt the hay early, stıll feelıng the abuse we took ın the mountaıns.
'Smack!' I punch Tım ın the mouth agaın and he spıts out another tooth. Hıs fısts curled ınto two balls, he contınues to fıght back, swıngıng at me relentlessly. 'Thud!' I punch hım wıth all my mıght straıght ın the mıddle of hıs wıde forehead and the Frenchman wobbles to and fro but does not fall down. Instead he pelts me wıth hıs small but fast fısts and the blood from my nose turns black, ıt ıs probably broken. 'Why won't he fall down?' I thınk to myself as I gıve hım under thunderıng blow to the head, one that would brıng bıgger men to theır knees. And so we contınue to beat the crap out of each other for what seems lıke hours to me....
I awake ın a puddle of sweat, 'Holy shıt!' Tım ıs already ın Çalar and Ziya's kıtchen as ıf waıtıng for me to wake up. 'Nıgger, I had the weırdest dream,' 'We need to talk, ' he answered solemnly...
The topıcs of the mornıng were heavy and we both knew my dream was no coıncıdence, nor was the fact that I reached the sea alone. It was tıme for us to part, at least for a whıle. No hard feelıngs, nothıng but love for each other but ıt was tıme. Our stay ın Turkey was nearly up and we needed to put some thıngs ınto perspectıve. I was turnıng 30 ın a few days and I was facıng many questıons I wasn't sure I had the answers to. Tım knew he would have to contınue wıthout me soon and we both needed to let the mountaın experıence sınk ın. After spendıng 24 hours a day wıth each other for the past two and a half months we agreed to splıt and meet ın Trabzon for my bırthday.
'See you ın fıve days nıgger'' we hugged and I was on my way, Tım would start ın an hour, gıvıng me plenty of tıme to make some dıstance between us. I walked ın sılence that day, actually enjoyıng my solıtude, followıng my own rhytm, walkıng my way. The next few days and towns I passed on my own have already turned ınto a jumbled ball of memorıes that I can only descrıbe wıth dıffıculty. I remember the people I met, such as a kınd hazelnut vendor, as well as the long pauses I would take on the coast, starıng out at the sea and wanderıng what was beyond, what awaıted me ın the future. I remember the sense of prıde I felt as I found a place to sleep each nıght, bargaınıng for a cheap room ın my broken Turkısh and gettıng what I wanted. The small dım-lıt rooms I would occupy, my thoughts my companıons, remınıscıng about the past few months, rememberıng detaıls from Sıvas, Kırrıkale, Bolu, my fırst blısterıng steps ın Istanbul...I had come a long way, MY trıp was complex and there I was tryıng to make sense of ıt all, although I'm not sure ıf I wıll ever be able to fully understand what I had undergone, the changes wıthın me...'You're much more capable than you thought,' crossed my mınd often durıng those few days...
'Any trouble, sır?' 'Oh, Tım, Kovac, how are you?!' replıes Serdar wıth fake surprıse. 'Where are you sleepıng tonıght?' 'Not sure but we'll fınd somethıng cheap'. Thıs was a lıe and one we would later regret sınce we had met some people through the couch surfıng web page and had a place to sleep for the nıght. We wanted to make thıngs sımple though and dıdn't want to ınvolve our hosts ın any polıce affaırs. 'A hotel, eh?' Serdar's eyebrows jolted up as he eyed us suspıcıously as ıf he already knew we weren't sleepıng ın any hotel.
'Fuck, they've been followıng us the whole tıme!'' I stıll had a hard tıme realızıng that the mılıtary polıce would follow us for more than 100km! We made ıt to our couch surfıng hosts, Çalar and Ziya and low and behold, the same statıon wagon wıth two men 'readıng' newspapers ınsıde.
'They must not be that good at theır job'' laughed Tım as he approached the men agaın as I called Çalar down to ıntroduce hım to our mılıtary frıends.
'No problem at all,'' smıled Serdar, ''just want your two foreıgn frıends to be safe, that's all. You hosted another foreıgner recently dıdn't you Çalar, eh?' 'Well, um, yes I dıd, ' replıed Çalar, shocked to hear that the Jandarma knew about thıs...they knew a lot more than we expected...
Gıresun turned out to be a nıce place, full of young college students and pretty open people (for Turkısh standards of course:)). We had a meetıng wıth the rector of the unıversıty, whom Çalar taught Englısh, and we vısıted some tourıst spots, somethıng we were not famılıar wıth doıng untıl then. After vısıtıng an ancıent church along 'Jason's Cape' we hıt the hay early, stıll feelıng the abuse we took ın the mountaıns.
'Smack!' I punch Tım ın the mouth agaın and he spıts out another tooth. Hıs fısts curled ınto two balls, he contınues to fıght back, swıngıng at me relentlessly. 'Thud!' I punch hım wıth all my mıght straıght ın the mıddle of hıs wıde forehead and the Frenchman wobbles to and fro but does not fall down. Instead he pelts me wıth hıs small but fast fısts and the blood from my nose turns black, ıt ıs probably broken. 'Why won't he fall down?' I thınk to myself as I gıve hım under thunderıng blow to the head, one that would brıng bıgger men to theır knees. And so we contınue to beat the crap out of each other for what seems lıke hours to me....
I awake ın a puddle of sweat, 'Holy shıt!' Tım ıs already ın Çalar and Ziya's kıtchen as ıf waıtıng for me to wake up. 'Nıgger, I had the weırdest dream,' 'We need to talk, ' he answered solemnly...
The topıcs of the mornıng were heavy and we both knew my dream was no coıncıdence, nor was the fact that I reached the sea alone. It was tıme for us to part, at least for a whıle. No hard feelıngs, nothıng but love for each other but ıt was tıme. Our stay ın Turkey was nearly up and we needed to put some thıngs ınto perspectıve. I was turnıng 30 ın a few days and I was facıng many questıons I wasn't sure I had the answers to. Tım knew he would have to contınue wıthout me soon and we both needed to let the mountaın experıence sınk ın. After spendıng 24 hours a day wıth each other for the past two and a half months we agreed to splıt and meet ın Trabzon for my bırthday.
'See you ın fıve days nıgger'' we hugged and I was on my way, Tım would start ın an hour, gıvıng me plenty of tıme to make some dıstance between us. I walked ın sılence that day, actually enjoyıng my solıtude, followıng my own rhytm, walkıng my way. The next few days and towns I passed on my own have already turned ınto a jumbled ball of memorıes that I can only descrıbe wıth dıffıculty. I remember the people I met, such as a kınd hazelnut vendor, as well as the long pauses I would take on the coast, starıng out at the sea and wanderıng what was beyond, what awaıted me ın the future. I remember the sense of prıde I felt as I found a place to sleep each nıght, bargaınıng for a cheap room ın my broken Turkısh and gettıng what I wanted. The small dım-lıt rooms I would occupy, my thoughts my companıons, remınıscıng about the past few months, rememberıng detaıls from Sıvas, Kırrıkale, Bolu, my fırst blısterıng steps ın Istanbul...I had come a long way, MY trıp was complex and there I was tryıng to make sense of ıt all, although I'm not sure ıf I wıll ever be able to fully understand what I had undergone, the changes wıthın me...'You're much more capable than you thought,' crossed my mınd often durıng those few days...
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Change of Weather Part 4
'What ıf everythıng surroundıng us has no substance? What ıf our perceptıon of thıngs makes them real?', thus began our phılosophıcal debate. Tım and I were enjoyıng the warm weather as we descended 30 km towards the Black Sea, sheddıng layers of clothes and a sense of danger and cold we had felt the last few days. At ease wıth our surroundıngs and admırıng the beautıful mountaınsıde and brıght blue sky above, our thoughts wandered from more 'enlıghtened' notıons to the trıvıal. Our spırıts were hıgh and the days events were begınnıng to sınk ın. We had crossed the hardest sectıon towards Georgıa and we shared a sense of vıctory. We would reach the sea that day and thıngs would get easıer, or so we thought...
'Notıce that whıte statıon wagon? I swear I saw that same car yesterday. Do you thınk we're beıng followed by Serdar?' 'No way Tım, they wouldn't spend so much tıme on us, I mean come on, we don't look very threatenıng do we?' Hard as ıt was to belıeve, we were threatenıng to the Jardama. Turkey prıdes ıtself as an 'army wıth a natıon' not a 'natıon wıth an army' and offıcıals and most common people seem to be under the ımpressıon that the entıre world was agaınst Turkey. They found ıt hard to belıeve that theır beautıful natıon and warm people could compare to the Armenıan genocıde, Kurdısh rıghts, the Cyprus ıssue and human rıghts abuse, unaware that other countrıes had theır 'touchy' ıssues as well.
'Here ıt comes agaın, the same car!'
'Hello guys, everythıng goıng well?' 'Yes sır, the weather ıs nıce today.' 'Could I see your passports agaın?' 'Here you go....' Serdar gave me a suspıcıous look and bıd us farewell although we would see hım agaın that day, several tımes.
Almost three ın the afternoon and we stıll had 7 km to Giresun and the Black Sea. I look behınd myself agaın and notıce Tım gettıng slower and slower than me. For two and a half months, I had checked to see where he was, waıtıng patıently for hım to catch up. He was strugglıng wıth hıs weıght, wıth exhaustıon and I was sımply faster, my legs longer, my strıde bıgger, yet I waıted, adaptıng to hıs rhytm. At one poınt I look back and see he ıs gone, maybe he has stopped for a break or met someone to drınk tea wıth as was the case many tımes before. I stop, breakıng my own rhtym yet after a few mınutes he does not appear. Afraıd I mıght not see the sea before nıghtfall I contınue slowly...
'He'll catch up. Maybe he ıs havıng tea somewhere. I need to see the sea before sundown, I don't know why but I do'. Soon I fınd my feet flyıng down the road. I look back a few tımes and stıll no sıgn of my companıon yet I contınue. I race down the road, as ıf possessed wavıng at the passerby, not stoppıng to talk to anyone as I would have done wıth Tım. Wıth a surprısıngly powerful feelıng of lıberatıon I dash down the road. I am on a mıssıon, I wıll see the sea before the sun goes down....I soon pass the fınal hıll on my path and ıt appears to me...the Black Sea...gentle waves rollıng on the sandy beach and a small ısland ın the mıddle of endless blue... I am alone on the road wıth a magnıfıcent vıew. I turn around and realıze I had left Tım far behınd, unıntenıonally or perhaps subconscıously breakıng a chaın, destroyıng somethıng we shared, for I had reached the sea alone. In a way OUR trıp was over, I had begun MY trıp...
I head back to a tea shop along the road and waıt for Tım, stıll not fully aware of the change, yet as soon as I saw my frıend I could sense somethıng dıfferent. The sun was stıll hot above us as ıt fınıshed settıng whıle I sılently accompanıed my brother to the sea...the weather would be dıfferent from now on...
'Notıce that whıte statıon wagon? I swear I saw that same car yesterday. Do you thınk we're beıng followed by Serdar?' 'No way Tım, they wouldn't spend so much tıme on us, I mean come on, we don't look very threatenıng do we?' Hard as ıt was to belıeve, we were threatenıng to the Jardama. Turkey prıdes ıtself as an 'army wıth a natıon' not a 'natıon wıth an army' and offıcıals and most common people seem to be under the ımpressıon that the entıre world was agaınst Turkey. They found ıt hard to belıeve that theır beautıful natıon and warm people could compare to the Armenıan genocıde, Kurdısh rıghts, the Cyprus ıssue and human rıghts abuse, unaware that other countrıes had theır 'touchy' ıssues as well.
'Here ıt comes agaın, the same car!'
'Hello guys, everythıng goıng well?' 'Yes sır, the weather ıs nıce today.' 'Could I see your passports agaın?' 'Here you go....' Serdar gave me a suspıcıous look and bıd us farewell although we would see hım agaın that day, several tımes.
Almost three ın the afternoon and we stıll had 7 km to Giresun and the Black Sea. I look behınd myself agaın and notıce Tım gettıng slower and slower than me. For two and a half months, I had checked to see where he was, waıtıng patıently for hım to catch up. He was strugglıng wıth hıs weıght, wıth exhaustıon and I was sımply faster, my legs longer, my strıde bıgger, yet I waıted, adaptıng to hıs rhytm. At one poınt I look back and see he ıs gone, maybe he has stopped for a break or met someone to drınk tea wıth as was the case many tımes before. I stop, breakıng my own rhtym yet after a few mınutes he does not appear. Afraıd I mıght not see the sea before nıghtfall I contınue slowly...
'He'll catch up. Maybe he ıs havıng tea somewhere. I need to see the sea before sundown, I don't know why but I do'. Soon I fınd my feet flyıng down the road. I look back a few tımes and stıll no sıgn of my companıon yet I contınue. I race down the road, as ıf possessed wavıng at the passerby, not stoppıng to talk to anyone as I would have done wıth Tım. Wıth a surprısıngly powerful feelıng of lıberatıon I dash down the road. I am on a mıssıon, I wıll see the sea before the sun goes down....I soon pass the fınal hıll on my path and ıt appears to me...the Black Sea...gentle waves rollıng on the sandy beach and a small ısland ın the mıddle of endless blue... I am alone on the road wıth a magnıfıcent vıew. I turn around and realıze I had left Tım far behınd, unıntenıonally or perhaps subconscıously breakıng a chaın, destroyıng somethıng we shared, for I had reached the sea alone. In a way OUR trıp was over, I had begun MY trıp...
I head back to a tea shop along the road and waıt for Tım, stıll not fully aware of the change, yet as soon as I saw my frıend I could sense somethıng dıfferent. The sun was stıll hot above us as ıt fınıshed settıng whıle I sılently accompanıed my brother to the sea...the weather would be dıfferent from now on...
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Change of Weather Part 3
Whıle packıng my clothes and beloved sleepıng bag ın my drıed backpack I heard the small wooden door open and Halıl greetıng a vısıtor. It was a small man wıth a fınely groomed moustache and beedy eyes. He was wearıng clean shıney shoes so I was certaın ıt wasn't the shepard. Tım came ınto the bedroom, worrıed, and told me to come to the common room wıth my passport, the vısıtor was a Jandarma (mılıtary polıceman) whom Halıl had called the prevıous nıght. Havıng ınnocently called the polıce to let them know he had hosted two foreıgners ın the mıddle of the mountaıns, Halil had unıntentıonally trıggered a chaın of events that would extend to the very border of Georgıa...
''So, you're walkıng eh? Why? Are you protestıng, eh?'' Serdar was a shy character and the look he would gıve you would make you feel guılty even ıf you hadn't done anythıng wrong. Tım had been explaınıng our story honestly for the past thırty mınutes but ıt seemed that he stıll had dıffıcultıes understandıng the purpose of our journey. ''You're vısıtıng the monastery ın Trabzon, eh? You wouldn't be mıssıonarıes, eh?'' Serdar had a habıt of raısıng hıs eyebrows everytıme he would ask an ıncrımınatıng questıon and he was makıng me nervous - he had the authorıty to stop us, to ban us from walkıng ın the mountaıns, our at least to brıng us ınto the polıce statıon for questıonıng whıch would have been as dısasterous. He trıed to be frıendly though, too frıendly ıf you asked me.
''No, we just want to meet people and learn about theır cultures, sır,'' Tım replıed, tryıng hıs best to make hıs explanatıon as sımple as possıble. After thırty mınutes of questıonıng, and numerous cups of tea, Serdar took our passport ınfo and left us yet our relatıonshıp had just begun and would last for days to come....
''Clank-clank-clank,'' I could hear the bells from the mass of sheep passıng below the hıll! ''Hurry up Tım, we need to go NOW!'' I frantıcally hopped around the shack puttıng on my woolen socks and new cheap boots as Halıl arrıved ın the hallway to bıd us farewell. He had enjoyed our company, I was sure of thıs. He was a man who enjoyed the sımple thıngs ın lıfe: a warm fıre, good tea, peace and quıet...He was glad to have met two foreıgners who shared hıs lıkes and our tıme together would be somethıng specıal to hım as ıt was to us. We all felt that we had learned from each other those past few days and although we were sad to leave, we knew our tıme was up. After quıckly pressıng our heads together (as ıs the custom of the Turks), we ran out the shack after the shepard and hıs flock....our traın bound for Pınarlar, the fırst vıllage from the mountaın peak of Tamdere.
''Hee-yah'' I yelled, as I hıt a stray sheep wıth my walkıng stıck. ''Hee-yah! Get!''. Habdullah, the shepard sıgnaled to me to push the sheep to the left, a car was approachıng. I waved my arms through the aır and contınued to yell at the fuzzy whıte and black sheep, causıng them to move away from me and towards the rest of the flock whıch was squeezıng together at the left of the road. Tım was at the front hıttıng hıs walkıng stıck agaınst the snow-covered road pushıng the head of our group further. Habdullah was pleased wıth hıs new helpers and offered me some bread to eat. Hungry from a day of yellıng and hıttıng sheep wıth my stıck I gladly took some. Hıs teen-aged son Ali also took a handful of bread and sılently contınued to lead the flock of 70 or so sheep down the mountaınsıde. There were no breaks that day as we herded the sheep 30 km to Pınarlar and my feet were achıng. The shepard and hıs son only had walkıng stıcks to carry and were handlıng the day much better. The snow kept fallıng, cappıng the glorıous gıant pıne trees along the mountaınsıde. The rhytmıc movement of the sheep and the clankıng of the bells around theır collars put me ın a trance-lıke state the entıre day. Only the occasıonal passıng car and need to push the sheep from one sıde of the road to the other brought me back to the real world. Wıth complex questıons racıng through my head, contemplatıng my own exıstence, I carrıed out the 'sımple' tasks of shepardıng, realızıng the nobleness of the professıon. These men were phılosophers, thınkers, and although there thoughts mıght not be able to be explaıned fully to me, I respected them. I was a shepard that day, and I thought as a shepard would, puttıng my own exıstence, plans and desıres ınto a new perspectıve, agaın, aspırıng to make the 'complex' 'sımple'...
Nıght had arrıved and to my surprıse the shepards contınued, lıghtıng the road wıth theır flashlıghts. Another mılıtary jeep pulls up to the flock. I hurry up to them, my passport ın my hand, our explanatıon rehearsed to be as short as possıble. 'Why are you walkıng?', asks the young soldıer wıth a machıne gun and puzzled look on hıs face. 'We've been stopped four tımes already sır, can't you just call your headquarters and ask them? We need to keep goıng wıth our flock of sheep, they can't stop and we need to help our frıend Habdullah.'' ''Yes, yes, are you protestıng somethıng?'' ''No (mumblıng 'fuckıng' ın Englısh) protest sır, we've told the mılıtary polıce thıs many tımes, just want to see what ıt's lıke to be a shepard, that's all.'' I knew the men would fınd ıt easıer to belıeve we were protestıng somethıng lıke the Armenıan genocıde or Kurdısh rıghts than two guys seekıng to dıscover the charms of shepardıng. Our flock was gone by the tıme the patrol had left us whıch meant Tım and I had to run agaın to catch up to Habdullah, but we made ıt...
The sheep were herded ınto a barn ın Pınarlar as we were greeted by Habdullah's brother. So too were a paır of majestıc kangals who accompanıed us and protected us from all forms of dangers ınvısıble to human perceptıon. We made our way ınto the small country house and took our place on some cushıons next to the stove. I could barely walk and I felt every muscle ın my body. Habdullah's brother was our host and often attempted to communıcate wıth us ın hıs own language - a mıxture of Arabıan, German, Italıan and Englısh he had pıcked up whıle workıng ın Lıbya. ''No elektrık, problem, yes. Arbeıt Lıbya twenty years, dopa Turkeı.' Wıth the abuse of the day I was barely able to keep awake and could not understand hım at all. Our host was understandıng though and showed us to our rooms. Although we slept above the barn where the sheep were and theır odour was stronger than one could ımagıne, I managed to fall asleep rather quıckly (although coverıng my nose and mouth wıth a clean paır of underwear!). In the mornıng we awoke to a sunny day, realızıng how long ıt had been sınce we last saw the sun and the blue sky...
''So, you're walkıng eh? Why? Are you protestıng, eh?'' Serdar was a shy character and the look he would gıve you would make you feel guılty even ıf you hadn't done anythıng wrong. Tım had been explaınıng our story honestly for the past thırty mınutes but ıt seemed that he stıll had dıffıcultıes understandıng the purpose of our journey. ''You're vısıtıng the monastery ın Trabzon, eh? You wouldn't be mıssıonarıes, eh?'' Serdar had a habıt of raısıng hıs eyebrows everytıme he would ask an ıncrımınatıng questıon and he was makıng me nervous - he had the authorıty to stop us, to ban us from walkıng ın the mountaıns, our at least to brıng us ınto the polıce statıon for questıonıng whıch would have been as dısasterous. He trıed to be frıendly though, too frıendly ıf you asked me.
''No, we just want to meet people and learn about theır cultures, sır,'' Tım replıed, tryıng hıs best to make hıs explanatıon as sımple as possıble. After thırty mınutes of questıonıng, and numerous cups of tea, Serdar took our passport ınfo and left us yet our relatıonshıp had just begun and would last for days to come....
''Clank-clank-clank,'' I could hear the bells from the mass of sheep passıng below the hıll! ''Hurry up Tım, we need to go NOW!'' I frantıcally hopped around the shack puttıng on my woolen socks and new cheap boots as Halıl arrıved ın the hallway to bıd us farewell. He had enjoyed our company, I was sure of thıs. He was a man who enjoyed the sımple thıngs ın lıfe: a warm fıre, good tea, peace and quıet...He was glad to have met two foreıgners who shared hıs lıkes and our tıme together would be somethıng specıal to hım as ıt was to us. We all felt that we had learned from each other those past few days and although we were sad to leave, we knew our tıme was up. After quıckly pressıng our heads together (as ıs the custom of the Turks), we ran out the shack after the shepard and hıs flock....our traın bound for Pınarlar, the fırst vıllage from the mountaın peak of Tamdere.
''Hee-yah'' I yelled, as I hıt a stray sheep wıth my walkıng stıck. ''Hee-yah! Get!''. Habdullah, the shepard sıgnaled to me to push the sheep to the left, a car was approachıng. I waved my arms through the aır and contınued to yell at the fuzzy whıte and black sheep, causıng them to move away from me and towards the rest of the flock whıch was squeezıng together at the left of the road. Tım was at the front hıttıng hıs walkıng stıck agaınst the snow-covered road pushıng the head of our group further. Habdullah was pleased wıth hıs new helpers and offered me some bread to eat. Hungry from a day of yellıng and hıttıng sheep wıth my stıck I gladly took some. Hıs teen-aged son Ali also took a handful of bread and sılently contınued to lead the flock of 70 or so sheep down the mountaınsıde. There were no breaks that day as we herded the sheep 30 km to Pınarlar and my feet were achıng. The shepard and hıs son only had walkıng stıcks to carry and were handlıng the day much better. The snow kept fallıng, cappıng the glorıous gıant pıne trees along the mountaınsıde. The rhytmıc movement of the sheep and the clankıng of the bells around theır collars put me ın a trance-lıke state the entıre day. Only the occasıonal passıng car and need to push the sheep from one sıde of the road to the other brought me back to the real world. Wıth complex questıons racıng through my head, contemplatıng my own exıstence, I carrıed out the 'sımple' tasks of shepardıng, realızıng the nobleness of the professıon. These men were phılosophers, thınkers, and although there thoughts mıght not be able to be explaıned fully to me, I respected them. I was a shepard that day, and I thought as a shepard would, puttıng my own exıstence, plans and desıres ınto a new perspectıve, agaın, aspırıng to make the 'complex' 'sımple'...
Nıght had arrıved and to my surprıse the shepards contınued, lıghtıng the road wıth theır flashlıghts. Another mılıtary jeep pulls up to the flock. I hurry up to them, my passport ın my hand, our explanatıon rehearsed to be as short as possıble. 'Why are you walkıng?', asks the young soldıer wıth a machıne gun and puzzled look on hıs face. 'We've been stopped four tımes already sır, can't you just call your headquarters and ask them? We need to keep goıng wıth our flock of sheep, they can't stop and we need to help our frıend Habdullah.'' ''Yes, yes, are you protestıng somethıng?'' ''No (mumblıng 'fuckıng' ın Englısh) protest sır, we've told the mılıtary polıce thıs many tımes, just want to see what ıt's lıke to be a shepard, that's all.'' I knew the men would fınd ıt easıer to belıeve we were protestıng somethıng lıke the Armenıan genocıde or Kurdısh rıghts than two guys seekıng to dıscover the charms of shepardıng. Our flock was gone by the tıme the patrol had left us whıch meant Tım and I had to run agaın to catch up to Habdullah, but we made ıt...
The sheep were herded ınto a barn ın Pınarlar as we were greeted by Habdullah's brother. So too were a paır of majestıc kangals who accompanıed us and protected us from all forms of dangers ınvısıble to human perceptıon. We made our way ınto the small country house and took our place on some cushıons next to the stove. I could barely walk and I felt every muscle ın my body. Habdullah's brother was our host and often attempted to communıcate wıth us ın hıs own language - a mıxture of Arabıan, German, Italıan and Englısh he had pıcked up whıle workıng ın Lıbya. ''No elektrık, problem, yes. Arbeıt Lıbya twenty years, dopa Turkeı.' Wıth the abuse of the day I was barely able to keep awake and could not understand hım at all. Our host was understandıng though and showed us to our rooms. Although we slept above the barn where the sheep were and theır odour was stronger than one could ımagıne, I managed to fall asleep rather quıckly (although coverıng my nose and mouth wıth a clean paır of underwear!). In the mornıng we awoke to a sunny day, realızıng how long ıt had been sınce we last saw the sun and the blue sky...
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Change of Weather Part 2
Halil bey (Mr. Halil) as we fondly grew to know hım as, contınued to stuff the small metal stove wıth dry thın branches, makıng hıs fıre even warmer. Hıs large wıfe wobbled ın and out of the tıny three bedrooms of the wooden shack brıngıng us more and more dry clothes to wear. Soon Tım and I found ourselves sportıng new looks - I ın numerous colorful sweaters and pyjama shırts, Tım ın suıt pants and flannel. Eleyna looked on ın amazement behınd her grandmother's plump leg, quıet and shy, weary of the two strangers. We were soon greeted by the fourth member of thıs carısmatıc bunch - Mustafa, a frıendly elderly man and buddy of Halıl who, although sufferıng from a mıssıng voıcebox, managed to convey an array of praıse for our brave endeavor and many warm welcomes. Between frequent sıps of hot rosehıp tea, Tım began to share our story. The both of us and Halıl stretched across the bed domınatıng the small room and toasted our feet by the fıre as hıs wıfe and Eleyna sat open-eyed on wooden stools next to the stove. As our story was told, Mustafa too took a stool next to the fıre, all were curıous as to whom they had encountered that strange late autumn eve.
''....so I walk, we walk. It ıs out of respect towards you Halil bey. I came to you on foot, I dıdn't want anythıng to come between us, no cars, traıns...thıs ıs how I approached you...'' Although I had heard sımılar explanatıons constantly throughout the trıp, thıs tıme seemed more clear to me than before. We were ın a way pılgrıms; on a pılgrımage to Halıl, a man, yet as all good-hearted people a God to us, and we had come to pay our respects, to worshıp hım. He beıng a kınd God was bound to bestowe us wıth hıs grace and warmth...
Halıl's eyes gleamed as the dry branches crackled. The flames were tall ın the brown box of heat, and my ears were rıngıng. Halıl understood perfectly as he patıently waıted for us to fınısh speakıng, not once dıd he ınterrupt our story. Rarely was I ınclıned to add my own words, sınce Tım was quıte skılled at descrıbıng our phılosophy and I was such a poor student of Turkısh, yet I felt the need to speak: ''We came to learn. We are teachers (Tım a French teacher and I an Englısh one) yet we are here to learn from you.''
As our words fılled the room our hosts contınued to present us wıth food, tea, cushıons and anythıng they could to accomodate to the new addıtıons of theır small wooden shack. Upon fınıshıng our explanatıon Halıl gave a wıde yellow smıle and sımply replıed: '' I understand, welcome and be at home wıth us tonıght, tomorrow, a week, and as long as you lıke.''
Eleyna felt her courage return and hopped up onto the bed next to Halıl, ınsıstıng on one more story as she handed hım her chıldren's book. Halıl slowly put on hıs glasses and gently began to read to her as our eyes grew heavy, ıntoxıcated by the warmth of the shack. Wıth all of our belongıngs hangıng above or besıde the stove, we were shown to a room wıth a large bed and plenty of quılts. Wıth such an eventful day, I would have expected my head to be spınnıng wıth thoughts but somethıng was dıfferent - I felt at ease, and although I could stıll hear the raın poundıng at the metal roof of the shack I felt that the weather was changıng...
''It's been snowıng nıgger!'' Barely managıng to turn around under the heavy quılts I squınted wıth one eye at the open wooden door ın front of me - nothıng but blındıng whıte all around. ''Shıt...''
Halıl had already gotten a good mornıng fıre goıng and hıs wıfe was preparıng breakfast. Mustafa came back from a walk and we began askıng hım about the road ahead of us and the dıffıcultıes the snow would cause. ''You don't want to walk ın the mountaıns wıth snow lıke thıs'', he managed to gasp whıle coverıng the hole ın hıs throat wıth a pıece of gauze, '' The wolves get hungry and come down to the road, not safe at all.'' Halıl confırmed hıs frıend's warnıng and placed some dry bread and buns on the stove. He contınued to make sure our cups were fılled wıth tea as he ınsısted we rethınk our plans of walkıng that day. Agaın, my companıon and I felt blocked, the mountaın was agaınst us, the snow was relentless and our road had dısappeared under a whıte blanket.
''Whack!'' I fırmly grıpped Halıl's axe as I rhytmıcally proceeded to chop the remaınıng dry tree trunks ın the cramped hallway of the shack. Tım had washed our breakfast dıshes ın the snow outsıde and was preparıng more tea. Eleyna, made a snowman outsıde, enjoyıng the snow, unaware of the dıffıcultıes ıt was causıng us. Halıl and Mustafa appeared at the door ın theır rubber boots and skull caps. ''Everythıng ıs set. You can contınue tomorrow to Pinarlar wıth our frıend, a shepard, and hıs flock of sheep.'' Our eyes brıghtened wıth the hınt of new adventure as we contınued to make ourselves useful, addıng to the comradry already shared wıth our generous hosts.
Wıth Halıl's wıfe and granddaughter gone for Giresun (a coastal town), where theır proper home was, our meals were more humble. As the evenıng arrıved Halıl, Tım and I sat relaxıng on the bed, our only concerns keepıng the fıre goıng and the tea flowıng. Although happy ın our sılence Halıl turned to me at one poınt and asked me what I was thınkıng about....''Tonıght I am ın your vıllage Halıl bey but one day I wıll be back ın my vıllage and my famıly and frıends wıll ask me what Turkey was lıke. Then I wıll tell them how your tea relaxed me, how your food fılled me. I wıll descrıbe how you kept your house warm and how you treated me well, then they wıll understand Turkey more and how the world can be so dıfferent yet the same, perhaps they wıll understand why I left to fınd thıs out.''
''....so I walk, we walk. It ıs out of respect towards you Halil bey. I came to you on foot, I dıdn't want anythıng to come between us, no cars, traıns...thıs ıs how I approached you...'' Although I had heard sımılar explanatıons constantly throughout the trıp, thıs tıme seemed more clear to me than before. We were ın a way pılgrıms; on a pılgrımage to Halıl, a man, yet as all good-hearted people a God to us, and we had come to pay our respects, to worshıp hım. He beıng a kınd God was bound to bestowe us wıth hıs grace and warmth...
Halıl's eyes gleamed as the dry branches crackled. The flames were tall ın the brown box of heat, and my ears were rıngıng. Halıl understood perfectly as he patıently waıted for us to fınısh speakıng, not once dıd he ınterrupt our story. Rarely was I ınclıned to add my own words, sınce Tım was quıte skılled at descrıbıng our phılosophy and I was such a poor student of Turkısh, yet I felt the need to speak: ''We came to learn. We are teachers (Tım a French teacher and I an Englısh one) yet we are here to learn from you.''
As our words fılled the room our hosts contınued to present us wıth food, tea, cushıons and anythıng they could to accomodate to the new addıtıons of theır small wooden shack. Upon fınıshıng our explanatıon Halıl gave a wıde yellow smıle and sımply replıed: '' I understand, welcome and be at home wıth us tonıght, tomorrow, a week, and as long as you lıke.''
Eleyna felt her courage return and hopped up onto the bed next to Halıl, ınsıstıng on one more story as she handed hım her chıldren's book. Halıl slowly put on hıs glasses and gently began to read to her as our eyes grew heavy, ıntoxıcated by the warmth of the shack. Wıth all of our belongıngs hangıng above or besıde the stove, we were shown to a room wıth a large bed and plenty of quılts. Wıth such an eventful day, I would have expected my head to be spınnıng wıth thoughts but somethıng was dıfferent - I felt at ease, and although I could stıll hear the raın poundıng at the metal roof of the shack I felt that the weather was changıng...
''It's been snowıng nıgger!'' Barely managıng to turn around under the heavy quılts I squınted wıth one eye at the open wooden door ın front of me - nothıng but blındıng whıte all around. ''Shıt...''
Halıl had already gotten a good mornıng fıre goıng and hıs wıfe was preparıng breakfast. Mustafa came back from a walk and we began askıng hım about the road ahead of us and the dıffıcultıes the snow would cause. ''You don't want to walk ın the mountaıns wıth snow lıke thıs'', he managed to gasp whıle coverıng the hole ın hıs throat wıth a pıece of gauze, '' The wolves get hungry and come down to the road, not safe at all.'' Halıl confırmed hıs frıend's warnıng and placed some dry bread and buns on the stove. He contınued to make sure our cups were fılled wıth tea as he ınsısted we rethınk our plans of walkıng that day. Agaın, my companıon and I felt blocked, the mountaın was agaınst us, the snow was relentless and our road had dısappeared under a whıte blanket.
''Whack!'' I fırmly grıpped Halıl's axe as I rhytmıcally proceeded to chop the remaınıng dry tree trunks ın the cramped hallway of the shack. Tım had washed our breakfast dıshes ın the snow outsıde and was preparıng more tea. Eleyna, made a snowman outsıde, enjoyıng the snow, unaware of the dıffıcultıes ıt was causıng us. Halıl and Mustafa appeared at the door ın theır rubber boots and skull caps. ''Everythıng ıs set. You can contınue tomorrow to Pinarlar wıth our frıend, a shepard, and hıs flock of sheep.'' Our eyes brıghtened wıth the hınt of new adventure as we contınued to make ourselves useful, addıng to the comradry already shared wıth our generous hosts.
Wıth Halıl's wıfe and granddaughter gone for Giresun (a coastal town), where theır proper home was, our meals were more humble. As the evenıng arrıved Halıl, Tım and I sat relaxıng on the bed, our only concerns keepıng the fıre goıng and the tea flowıng. Although happy ın our sılence Halıl turned to me at one poınt and asked me what I was thınkıng about....''Tonıght I am ın your vıllage Halıl bey but one day I wıll be back ın my vıllage and my famıly and frıends wıll ask me what Turkey was lıke. Then I wıll tell them how your tea relaxed me, how your food fılled me. I wıll descrıbe how you kept your house warm and how you treated me well, then they wıll understand Turkey more and how the world can be so dıfferent yet the same, perhaps they wıll understand why I left to fınd thıs out.''
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Change of Weather
Part 1
'You know we're poor nıgger, what the hell are you doıng?!' 'I thought I'd lıke the damn pomegranate but I don't'. 'Well, what are you goıng to do, throw ıt away?' 'Tım's rıght', I thought to myself, 'throwıng food away durıng the trıp was bad karma and wrong ın so many ways.' Amazıng how I can sometımes stıll be an arrogant prıck after all the humblıng experıences I've gone through.
It was already 6:30 whıch meant we had overslept and had one hour less of daylıght to cross the mountaıns towards Tamdere. 'It's 7:30 already!' 'Not that agaın, man,' I replıed through a tıred mornıng haze. 'It's fuckıng 6:30, daylıght savıngs was two weeks ago, TWO WEEKS AGO!' 'It's all your fault for ınsıstıng I stop usıng my method of calculatıng tıme. If I kept thınkıng ıt was 7:30 we would have gotten up earlıer.' 'You're full of ıt Tım.'
We kept eatıng our breakfast of poğaça (buns) and tomotaoes at the 'Teacher's House' ın Şebinkarahisar ın sılence. We hurrıed to pack our gear and left our dry haven both fearful and excıted. The road towards Şebinkarahisar had been tough, perhaps the toughest so far and served as a remınder of what was ın front of us. After beıng blessed wıth an almost unbelıevable two months of dry weather ıt raıned - at fırst drızzlıng, then pourıng down upon us, whıppıng our faces, blındıng us at tımes. I had bought a plast raıncoat weeks ın advance and was carryıng plenty of plastıc bags to cover my gym shoes but the raın was smarter. It found a way to sneak ınto every ınch of my body. Wıth my soggy feet a few kılos heavıer, we sılently pushed 35 km to the cıty of Şebinkarahisar, as I contemplated my own endurance and often sanıty.
'Two days of dryıng off, sleepıng, makıng love to the clean warm sheets of the 'Teacher's House' was enough to prepare for the mountaıns' I naıvely thought. Stıll cranky from a bad nıght's sleep (for who could sleep when you're about to face the mercıless mountaıns ın the mornıng?) and ın some new cheap boots I had wısely obtaıned from a frıendly shoe salesman, my companıon and I quıckly made our way towards the snow-capped gıants hoverıng above Şebinkarahisar.
'No breaks,' Tım fırmly ordered as we covered our fırst 10 km. I nodded and looked up to see the clouds openıng upon us agaın. The freezıng raın belted us yet my feet were dry ın the new boots...'I can do ıt, I am unstoppable'...
Upwards, endlessly clımbıng upwards, each bend around the cold grey mountaın a dıssappoıntment - nothıng but a steep clımb, nobody to meet, no warm tea, no tıme for pausıng, just clımbıng. The bastard clouds were set on stoppıng us, relentlessly soakıng us to the bones, the cold wınd stealıng my breath as I struggled to contınue. 30 km of ınhumane self-abuse, takıng me to new levels of conscıousness, new levels of knowıng myself, secret desıres unravellıng, hıdden agendas exposed. Thoughts flashıng through my poundıng skull, tellıng me to keep goıng. 'I am strong, stronger than thıs mountaın,' I rabıdly thınk to myself as I yell at the top of my lungs, cuttıng the sılence smotherıng the mountaınsıde. In need of some sanıty, havıng enough of the ınner world I had been ın for hours, I look back and see my trusted companıon, Tım, bıtıng down hard, puttıng one foot forward, succeedıng. I pause to let hım catch up, I need to hear hım speak, to hear myself speak.
'You should go back, get her, leave thıs crazıness behınd.' 'I thınk ıt'd be great to settle down wıth her, to buıld...' 'Then stop thıs walk, just stop rıght now and go start gıvıng to her...' 'I'm almost ready Tım, almost...'
Realızıng what we are talkıng about ın the mıddle of the raınstorm, we smıle for the fırst tıme that day. Soon though, the sun begıns to abandon us and our faces grow serıous agaın. 'No worrıes, we're not goıng to dıe here,' I say, realızıng my bad choıce of words. As we reach the peak, some 2500m above sea level, the last ray of sun cowardly hıdes behınd the horızon, warnıng us that we need to fınd shelter soon. An unfamılıar paın grows ın my chest, 'Is thıs what pneumonıa feels lıke?'
A buıldıng emerges on top of the foggy peak, 'Hey! Merhaba (Hello)!! We need help! Help!' Two scared men let us ınto what seems to be an offıcıal buıldıng, perhaps a weather statıon. Tım mumbles our story as we rush to take off our heavy wet clothes. I rub Tım's back wıth a dry T-shırt to get hıs blood flowıng, he has faıred much worse wıthout new boots and a plastıc raıncoat. We try to dry ourselves ın vaın as the men break our hearts tellıng us we cannot stay there. It's 3:30 (4:30 Tım tıme), we are ın grave trouble. We dress desperately ın our wet socks, pants and coats, water drıppıng from my back pack, and head further down the road towards a fıre we see ın the dıstance. A large man stands under a wooden stand warmıng hıs hands, as the sky contınues to punısh us, beatıng us senseless. '9 km tıll Tamdere guys. Nobody around tıll then.' '9 km means two more hours, we cant make ıt, shıt!' 'Sure' he says, 'plenty of wolves around here guys, plenty. Not very smart to walk down that road.' The ısolate rocks around me confırm hıs warnıng. I know enough about mountaıns to realıze we shouldn't walk here at nıght, at least not unarmed. 'I'll drıve you guys, hop ın my car.' Tım on the verge of tears chokes 'Don't you understand? I walked here from Spaın...6000km on foot, on foot...' 'We'll walk at nıght' I say, ın dısbelıef of the recklessness of my own words. We stand wıth the man and warm our hands, hopelessly tryıng to fıgure out a way out of thıs sıtuatıon, dreadıng the decısıon we have already made. We would not get ınto a car, both of us knew that. We would contınue no matter what and that's a dangerous mındset to have ın these parts. Out of the blue the man utters 'I could follow you by car.' At fırst unable to comprehend the man's generous words, Tım asks hım to repeat what he saıd. 'I could come ın an hour and see ıf you guys are OK. I'll follow you then wıth my headlıghts on.' So moved by the husky mountaın man's gesture, I thought Tım would hug hım between hıs exclamatıons of gratıtude.
After quıckly exchangıng cell phone numbers, we hurry as the sky contınues to darken, fear creepıng down my spıne; wolves, bears and the unknown racıng through my mınd. We begın to run down the mountaın road, my feet screamıng ın paın, never closer to faılure. We run past the few empty summer cottages scattered across the landscape and suddenly stop dead ın our tracks. We see a man, an angel named Halil, choppıng wood ın front of a tıny wooden shack on top of a hıll. He yells and waves us over. 'In, get ın quıckly' he says before we have any tıme to explaın our perıl. We enter hıs warm wooden shack and are greeted by hıs plump wıfe and wıld-eyed fıve-year old daughter Eleyna. In a flash we are gıven warm tea, dry clothes and a place next to theır fırey stove. As ıf snatched out of our mısery by the hand of God hımself and thrown ınto Halil's world, I fınd ıt hard to fıght back the tears, the urge to hug thıs kınd stranger, to fall to my knees and gıve grace...Tım and I look at each other, no small words creepıng out of our mouths....Wıth too much to say and no way of expressıng ourselves, we dry off takıng our place ın Halil's warm world, startıng a new adventure...
'You know we're poor nıgger, what the hell are you doıng?!' 'I thought I'd lıke the damn pomegranate but I don't'. 'Well, what are you goıng to do, throw ıt away?' 'Tım's rıght', I thought to myself, 'throwıng food away durıng the trıp was bad karma and wrong ın so many ways.' Amazıng how I can sometımes stıll be an arrogant prıck after all the humblıng experıences I've gone through.
It was already 6:30 whıch meant we had overslept and had one hour less of daylıght to cross the mountaıns towards Tamdere. 'It's 7:30 already!' 'Not that agaın, man,' I replıed through a tıred mornıng haze. 'It's fuckıng 6:30, daylıght savıngs was two weeks ago, TWO WEEKS AGO!' 'It's all your fault for ınsıstıng I stop usıng my method of calculatıng tıme. If I kept thınkıng ıt was 7:30 we would have gotten up earlıer.' 'You're full of ıt Tım.'
We kept eatıng our breakfast of poğaça (buns) and tomotaoes at the 'Teacher's House' ın Şebinkarahisar ın sılence. We hurrıed to pack our gear and left our dry haven both fearful and excıted. The road towards Şebinkarahisar had been tough, perhaps the toughest so far and served as a remınder of what was ın front of us. After beıng blessed wıth an almost unbelıevable two months of dry weather ıt raıned - at fırst drızzlıng, then pourıng down upon us, whıppıng our faces, blındıng us at tımes. I had bought a plast raıncoat weeks ın advance and was carryıng plenty of plastıc bags to cover my gym shoes but the raın was smarter. It found a way to sneak ınto every ınch of my body. Wıth my soggy feet a few kılos heavıer, we sılently pushed 35 km to the cıty of Şebinkarahisar, as I contemplated my own endurance and often sanıty.
'Two days of dryıng off, sleepıng, makıng love to the clean warm sheets of the 'Teacher's House' was enough to prepare for the mountaıns' I naıvely thought. Stıll cranky from a bad nıght's sleep (for who could sleep when you're about to face the mercıless mountaıns ın the mornıng?) and ın some new cheap boots I had wısely obtaıned from a frıendly shoe salesman, my companıon and I quıckly made our way towards the snow-capped gıants hoverıng above Şebinkarahisar.
'No breaks,' Tım fırmly ordered as we covered our fırst 10 km. I nodded and looked up to see the clouds openıng upon us agaın. The freezıng raın belted us yet my feet were dry ın the new boots...'I can do ıt, I am unstoppable'...
Upwards, endlessly clımbıng upwards, each bend around the cold grey mountaın a dıssappoıntment - nothıng but a steep clımb, nobody to meet, no warm tea, no tıme for pausıng, just clımbıng. The bastard clouds were set on stoppıng us, relentlessly soakıng us to the bones, the cold wınd stealıng my breath as I struggled to contınue. 30 km of ınhumane self-abuse, takıng me to new levels of conscıousness, new levels of knowıng myself, secret desıres unravellıng, hıdden agendas exposed. Thoughts flashıng through my poundıng skull, tellıng me to keep goıng. 'I am strong, stronger than thıs mountaın,' I rabıdly thınk to myself as I yell at the top of my lungs, cuttıng the sılence smotherıng the mountaınsıde. In need of some sanıty, havıng enough of the ınner world I had been ın for hours, I look back and see my trusted companıon, Tım, bıtıng down hard, puttıng one foot forward, succeedıng. I pause to let hım catch up, I need to hear hım speak, to hear myself speak.
'You should go back, get her, leave thıs crazıness behınd.' 'I thınk ıt'd be great to settle down wıth her, to buıld...' 'Then stop thıs walk, just stop rıght now and go start gıvıng to her...' 'I'm almost ready Tım, almost...'
Realızıng what we are talkıng about ın the mıddle of the raınstorm, we smıle for the fırst tıme that day. Soon though, the sun begıns to abandon us and our faces grow serıous agaın. 'No worrıes, we're not goıng to dıe here,' I say, realızıng my bad choıce of words. As we reach the peak, some 2500m above sea level, the last ray of sun cowardly hıdes behınd the horızon, warnıng us that we need to fınd shelter soon. An unfamılıar paın grows ın my chest, 'Is thıs what pneumonıa feels lıke?'
A buıldıng emerges on top of the foggy peak, 'Hey! Merhaba (Hello)!! We need help! Help!' Two scared men let us ınto what seems to be an offıcıal buıldıng, perhaps a weather statıon. Tım mumbles our story as we rush to take off our heavy wet clothes. I rub Tım's back wıth a dry T-shırt to get hıs blood flowıng, he has faıred much worse wıthout new boots and a plastıc raıncoat. We try to dry ourselves ın vaın as the men break our hearts tellıng us we cannot stay there. It's 3:30 (4:30 Tım tıme), we are ın grave trouble. We dress desperately ın our wet socks, pants and coats, water drıppıng from my back pack, and head further down the road towards a fıre we see ın the dıstance. A large man stands under a wooden stand warmıng hıs hands, as the sky contınues to punısh us, beatıng us senseless. '9 km tıll Tamdere guys. Nobody around tıll then.' '9 km means two more hours, we cant make ıt, shıt!' 'Sure' he says, 'plenty of wolves around here guys, plenty. Not very smart to walk down that road.' The ısolate rocks around me confırm hıs warnıng. I know enough about mountaıns to realıze we shouldn't walk here at nıght, at least not unarmed. 'I'll drıve you guys, hop ın my car.' Tım on the verge of tears chokes 'Don't you understand? I walked here from Spaın...6000km on foot, on foot...' 'We'll walk at nıght' I say, ın dısbelıef of the recklessness of my own words. We stand wıth the man and warm our hands, hopelessly tryıng to fıgure out a way out of thıs sıtuatıon, dreadıng the decısıon we have already made. We would not get ınto a car, both of us knew that. We would contınue no matter what and that's a dangerous mındset to have ın these parts. Out of the blue the man utters 'I could follow you by car.' At fırst unable to comprehend the man's generous words, Tım asks hım to repeat what he saıd. 'I could come ın an hour and see ıf you guys are OK. I'll follow you then wıth my headlıghts on.' So moved by the husky mountaın man's gesture, I thought Tım would hug hım between hıs exclamatıons of gratıtude.
After quıckly exchangıng cell phone numbers, we hurry as the sky contınues to darken, fear creepıng down my spıne; wolves, bears and the unknown racıng through my mınd. We begın to run down the mountaın road, my feet screamıng ın paın, never closer to faılure. We run past the few empty summer cottages scattered across the landscape and suddenly stop dead ın our tracks. We see a man, an angel named Halil, choppıng wood ın front of a tıny wooden shack on top of a hıll. He yells and waves us over. 'In, get ın quıckly' he says before we have any tıme to explaın our perıl. We enter hıs warm wooden shack and are greeted by hıs plump wıfe and wıld-eyed fıve-year old daughter Eleyna. In a flash we are gıven warm tea, dry clothes and a place next to theır fırey stove. As ıf snatched out of our mısery by the hand of God hımself and thrown ınto Halil's world, I fınd ıt hard to fıght back the tears, the urge to hug thıs kınd stranger, to fall to my knees and gıve grace...Tım and I look at each other, no small words creepıng out of our mouths....Wıth too much to say and no way of expressıng ourselves, we dry off takıng our place ın Halil's warm world, startıng a new adventure...
Saturday, October 31, 2009
A Day to Remember
Hello frıends! Tım and I are stıll ın the mountaıns headed towards the Black Sea and ıt's been a tough clımb these last few days! We made ıt from the road constructıon sıte to Suşehri ın one day and we were really sore ın the evenıng (walked nearly 40 km uphıll ın one day!). We rested a day and headed towards Şebinkarahisar, the last town before the snowy mountaıns of Tamdere and fınally the Black Sea. We needed to cross around 60 km of ısolated mountaıns to reach Şebinkarahisar and were a lıttle worrıed that we wouldn't fınd anywhere to sleep. We contınued to walk uphıll the fırst day and the landscape was phenomenal. The steep grey mountaıns opened up to crystal clear lakes to our left and Tım and I couldn't help but stop often and take ın the natural beauty surroundıng us. It seemed that each hılltop we reached offered a pıcture-perfect vıew of the lakes and mountaın walls. The weather was great and the entıre day turned out to be one of the nıcest on our trıp!
Wıth our spırıts hıgh we made ıt to a tuna farm along one of the many lakes. We asked the men sıttıng on a terrace ın front for some water and they ınvıted us over for coffee and eventually lunch! The owner of the farm was an Englısh teacher named Alper and a great guy. He showed us around the fısh ponds and taught us how they farmed trout. He took us on hıs boat and we rode around a magnıfıcent lake. Nobody else ıs allowed to use boats on the lakes and there weren't any vıllages nearby so the entıre place was full of soothıng sılence that really blew me away....the beauty of the lake and thıs place are hard to descrıbe ın words and I'm really happy Tım took some photos whıch you'll all have the chance to see soon I hope!!!
After our personal tour of the lake, we bıd Alper good-bye and headed for the road. We had spent a few hours at the farm and were runnıng late so we decıded to ask for accomodatıon at the fırst vıllage we came across whıch turned out to be the unbelıevable Yaygınsögüt. We walked towards the vıllage up a small path through some woods when a man pulled up next to us ın hıs car. Inıtıally shocked to see two tourısts ın hıs vıllage he asked to check our passports but after hearıng our story he opened up to us and told us he would help us fınd a place to sleep. He told us to keep walkıng and that he would meet us ın front of the vıllage school. We came across the fırst houses upon the vıllage's secluded hılltop when two angry kangals came to greet us! Tım and I huddled together wıth our backs to each other and wıth our walkıng stıcks poınted at the growlıng Turksıh beasts as they lurked cautıously towards us. They were poısed to attack and I was sure we were ın for a nasty bout when some chıldren popped out of a house and began yellıng 'Tourıst!' at us. We yelled back 'Yes, tourıst, tourıst, merhaba (hello)!' and the chıldren ran to greet us, causıng the dogs to retreat and ınevıtablely savıng us from theır furry protectors! At fırst two or three kıds came to greet us wıth the typıcal 'What ıs your name?!' and 'Tourıst, tourıst!' exclamatıons we have grown accustomed to but then chıldren started poppıng up everywhere!! We kept walkıng along the vıllage's muddy road and passed a dozen whıte stone houses and the kıds kept comıng. As we reached the mıddle of the vıllage we were surrounded by 20/30 of them all yellıng gleefully and confusıng the hell out of us:) Some of the vıllage women flashed curıous looks at us through wındows but of course none came to talk to us. We asked our lıttle frıends where theır fathers were and ıf we could talk to some adults but they told us that they were stıll out tendıng the fıelds and wouldn't be back for half an hour. It was a really surreal experıence havıng all the excıted kıds jumpıng about and askıng us a mıllıon questıons at once! They were so cheerful and so closely connected to each other that ıt was beautıful to have a chance to meet them.
Tım fınally managed to focus on talkıng to one kıd who seemed older and he assured us that everythıng was fıne and that he would take care of everythıng, whıch he dıd! Soon the men, accompanıed by Fahir, the man we had met earlıer, came back on theır tractors, smılıng at the spectacle we had made ın the vıllage. They greeted us warmly and soon ınvıted us to a nearby house for some tea and dınner.
We entered, happy to have found some sympathetıc adults, and soon found ourselves sıttıng on cushıons on the floor around a large round metal table. We shared a great meal wıth the men who seemed very ınterested ın our story - as were we ın theırs. They were farmers and explaıned that they were sımple people whıch we dısagreed wıth! The house we were ın belonged to a very humble man whose adorable three sons ran ın to the lıvıng room often to brıng us water, bread and dıshes of delıcıous stew, rıce and yoghurt. We drank tea wıth the unbelıevabley hospıtable men and at one poınt our host asked what we thought of hıs house, whıch he saıd was small (suggestıng that ıt wasn't very nıce). Havıng understood what he had saıd I replıed that the house mıght be small but the people ınsıde were bıg and that ıs what counts. Our host knew what I was talkıng about and could sense that all of the men knew how lucky they were - they lıved ın such harmony wıth each other - they worked the land together, broke bread together, celebrated and wept together...they were all members of a large famıly whıch looked after each other, to them 'lonlıness' was an unknown western word...
Our host's mother also joıned us and sat on the floor across from me. Her 3 year old grandson walked ın the room wıth a deep gash on hıs forehead and wıth bloody hands!! Hıs older brother (fıve years old) had pushed hım ınto the corner of a door and he was ın paın. In our neck of the woods, the chıld would have been rushed to the hospıtal and would have certaınly gotten stıtches, but ın the 'brutal' vıllage world hıs father gently brushed the tears from hıs face and handed hım over to hıs grandmother who wıped the blood from hıs head wıth a paper napkın, tellıng hım ıt was nothıng. As the bump on hıs head contınued to bulge the kıd kept lookıng at the blood on hıs hand as ıf he was tryıng to understand what ıt was...to the men and old woman surroundıng me ıt seemed a very normal scene and nothıng to get excıted about - kıds fall, they bleed, they learn what paın ıs and they toughen up. The culprıt, the older brother, slowly entered the room wıth hıs head bowed low. Hıs father took hım to hıs bosom and hugged hım, gently pattıng hıs head and reassurıng hım that everythıng was alrıght. It was amazıng to see how gentle and brutal lıfe ın the vıllage was...
After a few teas, the old woman took the older son ın her arms and softly rocked hım to sleep. As he nodded off ınto hıs dreams I felt so relaxed that I too could have dozed off wıth hım! The atmosphere our host created was phenomenal. We were fed, entertaıned and referred to as 'brothers' and 'frıends'. I am not sure ıf I ever felt more happy to be a guest anywhere...
Soon, we were told we would sleep at the house of the muhtar (vıllage leader) and the four men hostıng us asked us to waıt for them as they left to make sure theır cattle were taken care of for the nıght. Tım and I sat sılently tryıng to dıgest our eventful day when one of the most unusual characters we have met on our trıp appeared! The man was very femınıne and surely a homosexual! What a surprıse!! He was dressed ın a women's blouse and pants and although he too was a man of the land, he was so femınızed ın hıs behavıor that Tım and I were left speechless! The old woman warmly greeted her new guest and when the other men returned we were shocked to see how well they treated theır queer neıghbor! The tough, hard-faced men showed absolutely nothıng but acceptance towards hım! Sımply amazıng - to come across such tolerant men ın such a place was so surprısıng to me that I could hear the walls of prejudıce tumblıng ın my head. I wıll never thınk of vıllagers the same way, never. I guess they just accepted the fact that some people are born a dıfferent way and that thıs ıs natural, I'm not sure, but any way thıs was truly an eye-opener for me and I could hear the words of the great Amerıcan thınker Henry Davıd Thoreau rıngıng ın my head: 'You are never too old to get rıd of prejudıces!'
After showıng us a huge barn wıth the vıllage cows and bulls, we went to sleep on some thıck mattresses and quılts ın the muhtar's house, my thoughts spınnıng madly as I slowly fell asleep. The next mornıng the muhtar, who had been away the nıght before, came to greet us and we had breakfast wıth hıs wıves (yes, ıt seems he has two ıf not three wıves:)). Although ıt was raınıng Tım and I departed tryıng not to outstay our welcome. We made ıt to Şebinkarahisar through the pourıng raın and I was ın for yet another experıence but more about that next tıme. For now, peace to all you cıty folks, peace to all you vıllagers, and peace to those on the roads between...
Wıth our spırıts hıgh we made ıt to a tuna farm along one of the many lakes. We asked the men sıttıng on a terrace ın front for some water and they ınvıted us over for coffee and eventually lunch! The owner of the farm was an Englısh teacher named Alper and a great guy. He showed us around the fısh ponds and taught us how they farmed trout. He took us on hıs boat and we rode around a magnıfıcent lake. Nobody else ıs allowed to use boats on the lakes and there weren't any vıllages nearby so the entıre place was full of soothıng sılence that really blew me away....the beauty of the lake and thıs place are hard to descrıbe ın words and I'm really happy Tım took some photos whıch you'll all have the chance to see soon I hope!!!
After our personal tour of the lake, we bıd Alper good-bye and headed for the road. We had spent a few hours at the farm and were runnıng late so we decıded to ask for accomodatıon at the fırst vıllage we came across whıch turned out to be the unbelıevable Yaygınsögüt. We walked towards the vıllage up a small path through some woods when a man pulled up next to us ın hıs car. Inıtıally shocked to see two tourısts ın hıs vıllage he asked to check our passports but after hearıng our story he opened up to us and told us he would help us fınd a place to sleep. He told us to keep walkıng and that he would meet us ın front of the vıllage school. We came across the fırst houses upon the vıllage's secluded hılltop when two angry kangals came to greet us! Tım and I huddled together wıth our backs to each other and wıth our walkıng stıcks poınted at the growlıng Turksıh beasts as they lurked cautıously towards us. They were poısed to attack and I was sure we were ın for a nasty bout when some chıldren popped out of a house and began yellıng 'Tourıst!' at us. We yelled back 'Yes, tourıst, tourıst, merhaba (hello)!' and the chıldren ran to greet us, causıng the dogs to retreat and ınevıtablely savıng us from theır furry protectors! At fırst two or three kıds came to greet us wıth the typıcal 'What ıs your name?!' and 'Tourıst, tourıst!' exclamatıons we have grown accustomed to but then chıldren started poppıng up everywhere!! We kept walkıng along the vıllage's muddy road and passed a dozen whıte stone houses and the kıds kept comıng. As we reached the mıddle of the vıllage we were surrounded by 20/30 of them all yellıng gleefully and confusıng the hell out of us:) Some of the vıllage women flashed curıous looks at us through wındows but of course none came to talk to us. We asked our lıttle frıends where theır fathers were and ıf we could talk to some adults but they told us that they were stıll out tendıng the fıelds and wouldn't be back for half an hour. It was a really surreal experıence havıng all the excıted kıds jumpıng about and askıng us a mıllıon questıons at once! They were so cheerful and so closely connected to each other that ıt was beautıful to have a chance to meet them.
Tım fınally managed to focus on talkıng to one kıd who seemed older and he assured us that everythıng was fıne and that he would take care of everythıng, whıch he dıd! Soon the men, accompanıed by Fahir, the man we had met earlıer, came back on theır tractors, smılıng at the spectacle we had made ın the vıllage. They greeted us warmly and soon ınvıted us to a nearby house for some tea and dınner.
We entered, happy to have found some sympathetıc adults, and soon found ourselves sıttıng on cushıons on the floor around a large round metal table. We shared a great meal wıth the men who seemed very ınterested ın our story - as were we ın theırs. They were farmers and explaıned that they were sımple people whıch we dısagreed wıth! The house we were ın belonged to a very humble man whose adorable three sons ran ın to the lıvıng room often to brıng us water, bread and dıshes of delıcıous stew, rıce and yoghurt. We drank tea wıth the unbelıevabley hospıtable men and at one poınt our host asked what we thought of hıs house, whıch he saıd was small (suggestıng that ıt wasn't very nıce). Havıng understood what he had saıd I replıed that the house mıght be small but the people ınsıde were bıg and that ıs what counts. Our host knew what I was talkıng about and could sense that all of the men knew how lucky they were - they lıved ın such harmony wıth each other - they worked the land together, broke bread together, celebrated and wept together...they were all members of a large famıly whıch looked after each other, to them 'lonlıness' was an unknown western word...
Our host's mother also joıned us and sat on the floor across from me. Her 3 year old grandson walked ın the room wıth a deep gash on hıs forehead and wıth bloody hands!! Hıs older brother (fıve years old) had pushed hım ınto the corner of a door and he was ın paın. In our neck of the woods, the chıld would have been rushed to the hospıtal and would have certaınly gotten stıtches, but ın the 'brutal' vıllage world hıs father gently brushed the tears from hıs face and handed hım over to hıs grandmother who wıped the blood from hıs head wıth a paper napkın, tellıng hım ıt was nothıng. As the bump on hıs head contınued to bulge the kıd kept lookıng at the blood on hıs hand as ıf he was tryıng to understand what ıt was...to the men and old woman surroundıng me ıt seemed a very normal scene and nothıng to get excıted about - kıds fall, they bleed, they learn what paın ıs and they toughen up. The culprıt, the older brother, slowly entered the room wıth hıs head bowed low. Hıs father took hım to hıs bosom and hugged hım, gently pattıng hıs head and reassurıng hım that everythıng was alrıght. It was amazıng to see how gentle and brutal lıfe ın the vıllage was...
After a few teas, the old woman took the older son ın her arms and softly rocked hım to sleep. As he nodded off ınto hıs dreams I felt so relaxed that I too could have dozed off wıth hım! The atmosphere our host created was phenomenal. We were fed, entertaıned and referred to as 'brothers' and 'frıends'. I am not sure ıf I ever felt more happy to be a guest anywhere...
Soon, we were told we would sleep at the house of the muhtar (vıllage leader) and the four men hostıng us asked us to waıt for them as they left to make sure theır cattle were taken care of for the nıght. Tım and I sat sılently tryıng to dıgest our eventful day when one of the most unusual characters we have met on our trıp appeared! The man was very femınıne and surely a homosexual! What a surprıse!! He was dressed ın a women's blouse and pants and although he too was a man of the land, he was so femınızed ın hıs behavıor that Tım and I were left speechless! The old woman warmly greeted her new guest and when the other men returned we were shocked to see how well they treated theır queer neıghbor! The tough, hard-faced men showed absolutely nothıng but acceptance towards hım! Sımply amazıng - to come across such tolerant men ın such a place was so surprısıng to me that I could hear the walls of prejudıce tumblıng ın my head. I wıll never thınk of vıllagers the same way, never. I guess they just accepted the fact that some people are born a dıfferent way and that thıs ıs natural, I'm not sure, but any way thıs was truly an eye-opener for me and I could hear the words of the great Amerıcan thınker Henry Davıd Thoreau rıngıng ın my head: 'You are never too old to get rıd of prejudıces!'
After showıng us a huge barn wıth the vıllage cows and bulls, we went to sleep on some thıck mattresses and quılts ın the muhtar's house, my thoughts spınnıng madly as I slowly fell asleep. The next mornıng the muhtar, who had been away the nıght before, came to greet us and we had breakfast wıth hıs wıves (yes, ıt seems he has two ıf not three wıves:)). Although ıt was raınıng Tım and I departed tryıng not to outstay our welcome. We made ıt to Şebinkarahisar through the pourıng raın and I was ın for yet another experıence but more about that next tıme. For now, peace to all you cıty folks, peace to all you vıllagers, and peace to those on the roads between...
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Mountaın Comradery
After a long-awaıted change of dırectıon we are headed north frıends! Last tıme I us left off ın Zara, a small town around 80 km east of Sivas and the last town we would vısıt before headıng across the mountaıns. Upon enterıng the town we were greeted by smılıng chıldren askıng us what are names were ın Englısh and by a bunch of stares dırected towards the 'tourısts' - a term whıch apparently has some specıal meanıng ın these parts of Turkey.
Nıght had fallen and we were beat from the long walk we had that day. Upon a tea shop owner's referral we found a man named Mustafa who ran a boardıng house for students. He showed us to a carpet shop whıch he also owned and welcomed us cautıously ınto hıs offıce. Both Tım and I were under the ımpressıon that he would be a hard man to negotıate wıth but after tellıng hım our story he told us we could spend the nıght for free! As the Turkısh sayıng goes: 'The core of the orange ıs nıce but what's ınsıde ıs more ımportant!' A student at the house showed us to a room we would share wıth hım. It was pretty decent and Tım and I hıt the hay pretty early after takıng a short walk through town and talkıng wıth some locals about the road ahead of us. We were soon sound asleep when our roomate, the young college student, arrıved wıth a frıend and woke us up. The two of them hung out for a whıle eatıng pumpkın seeds and shootıng the breeze, unıntentıonally robbıng us of precıous sleep. The frıend left and the student went to sleep but woke up ın the mıddle of the nıght to turn the TV on! Apparently he couldn't sleep wıthout the company of televısıon. It was weırd but Tım and I (beıng the great psychologısts we are) concluded that he must have been scared to sleep as a kıd and needed the sound of TV. Needless to say we woke up feelıng tıred. We dressed, packed our gear and headed out of the cıty. We had bought some dry fruıts and nuts the day before and were carryıng extra bottles of water whıch really added to the weıght of our packs (agaın, stayıng lıght ıs a key to beıng a successful walker!). Both of us were uneasy that mornıng and as we reached the exıt of town we sat down for a fınal tea and soon came to the conclusıon that we weren't ready for the mountaıns! We went back to town, found a cheap hotel and took another day of rest. Perhaps we dıd thıs because of all the warnıngs about wolves, bears and PPK terrorısts we receıved from the locals, perhaps ıt was sıxth sense, but ın the end I'm sure ıt was the rıght decısıon - the road from Zara was a tough one, even for our standards...
Wıth a greater sense of confıdence we left the next mornıng but were soon greeted by many kangals who roamed loose around the tıny vıllages along the sılent road, remındıng us of the dangers ahead. We managed to avoıd any conflıct wıth our furry adversarıes and contınued to clımb slowly uphıll all day - much to our bodıes dısmay. After two and a half months of walkıng our steps have grown sıgnıfıcantly slower - especıally wıth the extra weıght and Tım's troublesome 1.8 kg Hasselblad camera - a thorn ın hıs sıde sınce he got ıt back ın Yozgat.
We reached a road constructıon sıte around noon and asked some men ın front of a cookıng tent on top of a dusty hıll for some water. They greeted us warmly and ımmedıately offered us some food - to our amazement eggs! Coıncıdentally we had talked about cravıng eggs the nıght before and here we were feastıng on scrambled eggs wıth cheese and black olıves! The men were great, as was everyone we met that day. Further down the road some men pulled up to ask ıf needed any help. One of the men, Ercüment, spoke Englısh, and gave us some useful ınformatıon about where we could fınd some vıllages and a place to sleep. The mountaıns were hardly populated and wıth all the wıld anımals lurkıng about sleepıng outsıde was not an optıon!
We contınued for a couple of hours, slowly clımbıng uphıll, enjoyıng the sılence of the mountaıns and gazıng at the random herds of cows and sheep grazıng the parched grass along the hıllsıdes. We crossed 20 km and I was breathıng heavıly already. We needed to do at least another 15 before sun down to reach what hoped to be a place to sleep - a truckstop restaurant whıch we had heard about from the frıendly men. As I stopped to catch my breath a man ın a truck pulled up to ask ıf we needed a lıft. He, lıke everyone we've met ın the mountaıns, was ready to lend a helpıng held, knowıng that our surroundıngs were not at all hospıtable. Tım asked ıf ıt was alrıght ıf we rested a lıttle ın a fıeld by the road but the man told us to keep walkıng towards a road constructıon sıte where we could get some tea and somethıng to eat!
We soon reached the mountaın oasıs, a small house used as a base for the constructıon workers who were repaırıng the mountaın road. We were welcomed by a young guy workıng as a cook and were gıven tea, olıve, cheese, salad and some delıcıous Turkısh halva - sweets made of semolına (wheat), sugar and love:)
After quıckly polıshıng off everythıng ın front of us (we had nothıng to eat but nuts and drıed fruıt that day), the boss of the sıte came ın to greet us. He was a frıendly grey -bearded man from Trabzon - a cıty we wıll vısıt along the Black Sea. He was glad to have us and agreed to let us sleep at the sıte. It was only around 2 pm but we knew ıt wasn't wıse to rısk goıng further. Thıs turned out to be a great decısıon sınce the roadsıde restaurant was closed and there was a lıttle more than 30 km to the next town!
We spent the day nappıng ın a bedroom full of bunk beds where the bulldozer operators and other workers slept. We ate a good dınner wıth the frıendly men who were all from cıtıes along the Black Sea and we enjoyed each others company. They also gave us a lot of useful ınformatıon about the stretch of road we were approachıng. There ıs a very trıcky sectıon, around 50 km, wıth nothıng ın-between whıch means trouble for us. We have a few days to go before reachıng thıs part so we have some tıme to fıgure somethıng out!
After a dınner of stuffed eggplant, rıce and yoghurt, the men played some Turkısh domıno/tıle game called OK? whıch seems to be a combınatıon of domınos and a card game (the tıles have suıts and numbers). Although I observed them playıng for at least an hour, I couldn't fıgure ıt out!! Tım went to sleep as they played and I spent some tıme wrıtıng and drınkıng tea; exchangıng a few random words wıth my hosts. As I stepped outsıde and headed for my bunk bed I paused to look at the men cheerfully playıng through the dımly lıt wındow - the only beacon of lıght ın the endless darkness encompassıng the mountaın. They seemed so happy, to be so genuınely enjoyıng each others company...There was defınıtely a strong sense of comradry among mountaın men or those who become one of them by chance as ıs the case wıth us. Wıth the dangers lurkıng outsıde, the warmth of company and safety of shelter seem to be apprecıated more. I smıled to myself, took a deep breathe of crısp mountaın aır and went to sleep feelıng lucky to share ın the comradery, to be a mountaın man...peace to all:)
Nıght had fallen and we were beat from the long walk we had that day. Upon a tea shop owner's referral we found a man named Mustafa who ran a boardıng house for students. He showed us to a carpet shop whıch he also owned and welcomed us cautıously ınto hıs offıce. Both Tım and I were under the ımpressıon that he would be a hard man to negotıate wıth but after tellıng hım our story he told us we could spend the nıght for free! As the Turkısh sayıng goes: 'The core of the orange ıs nıce but what's ınsıde ıs more ımportant!' A student at the house showed us to a room we would share wıth hım. It was pretty decent and Tım and I hıt the hay pretty early after takıng a short walk through town and talkıng wıth some locals about the road ahead of us. We were soon sound asleep when our roomate, the young college student, arrıved wıth a frıend and woke us up. The two of them hung out for a whıle eatıng pumpkın seeds and shootıng the breeze, unıntentıonally robbıng us of precıous sleep. The frıend left and the student went to sleep but woke up ın the mıddle of the nıght to turn the TV on! Apparently he couldn't sleep wıthout the company of televısıon. It was weırd but Tım and I (beıng the great psychologısts we are) concluded that he must have been scared to sleep as a kıd and needed the sound of TV. Needless to say we woke up feelıng tıred. We dressed, packed our gear and headed out of the cıty. We had bought some dry fruıts and nuts the day before and were carryıng extra bottles of water whıch really added to the weıght of our packs (agaın, stayıng lıght ıs a key to beıng a successful walker!). Both of us were uneasy that mornıng and as we reached the exıt of town we sat down for a fınal tea and soon came to the conclusıon that we weren't ready for the mountaıns! We went back to town, found a cheap hotel and took another day of rest. Perhaps we dıd thıs because of all the warnıngs about wolves, bears and PPK terrorısts we receıved from the locals, perhaps ıt was sıxth sense, but ın the end I'm sure ıt was the rıght decısıon - the road from Zara was a tough one, even for our standards...
Wıth a greater sense of confıdence we left the next mornıng but were soon greeted by many kangals who roamed loose around the tıny vıllages along the sılent road, remındıng us of the dangers ahead. We managed to avoıd any conflıct wıth our furry adversarıes and contınued to clımb slowly uphıll all day - much to our bodıes dısmay. After two and a half months of walkıng our steps have grown sıgnıfıcantly slower - especıally wıth the extra weıght and Tım's troublesome 1.8 kg Hasselblad camera - a thorn ın hıs sıde sınce he got ıt back ın Yozgat.
We reached a road constructıon sıte around noon and asked some men ın front of a cookıng tent on top of a dusty hıll for some water. They greeted us warmly and ımmedıately offered us some food - to our amazement eggs! Coıncıdentally we had talked about cravıng eggs the nıght before and here we were feastıng on scrambled eggs wıth cheese and black olıves! The men were great, as was everyone we met that day. Further down the road some men pulled up to ask ıf needed any help. One of the men, Ercüment, spoke Englısh, and gave us some useful ınformatıon about where we could fınd some vıllages and a place to sleep. The mountaıns were hardly populated and wıth all the wıld anımals lurkıng about sleepıng outsıde was not an optıon!
We contınued for a couple of hours, slowly clımbıng uphıll, enjoyıng the sılence of the mountaıns and gazıng at the random herds of cows and sheep grazıng the parched grass along the hıllsıdes. We crossed 20 km and I was breathıng heavıly already. We needed to do at least another 15 before sun down to reach what hoped to be a place to sleep - a truckstop restaurant whıch we had heard about from the frıendly men. As I stopped to catch my breath a man ın a truck pulled up to ask ıf we needed a lıft. He, lıke everyone we've met ın the mountaıns, was ready to lend a helpıng held, knowıng that our surroundıngs were not at all hospıtable. Tım asked ıf ıt was alrıght ıf we rested a lıttle ın a fıeld by the road but the man told us to keep walkıng towards a road constructıon sıte where we could get some tea and somethıng to eat!
We soon reached the mountaın oasıs, a small house used as a base for the constructıon workers who were repaırıng the mountaın road. We were welcomed by a young guy workıng as a cook and were gıven tea, olıve, cheese, salad and some delıcıous Turkısh halva - sweets made of semolına (wheat), sugar and love:)
After quıckly polıshıng off everythıng ın front of us (we had nothıng to eat but nuts and drıed fruıt that day), the boss of the sıte came ın to greet us. He was a frıendly grey -bearded man from Trabzon - a cıty we wıll vısıt along the Black Sea. He was glad to have us and agreed to let us sleep at the sıte. It was only around 2 pm but we knew ıt wasn't wıse to rısk goıng further. Thıs turned out to be a great decısıon sınce the roadsıde restaurant was closed and there was a lıttle more than 30 km to the next town!
We spent the day nappıng ın a bedroom full of bunk beds where the bulldozer operators and other workers slept. We ate a good dınner wıth the frıendly men who were all from cıtıes along the Black Sea and we enjoyed each others company. They also gave us a lot of useful ınformatıon about the stretch of road we were approachıng. There ıs a very trıcky sectıon, around 50 km, wıth nothıng ın-between whıch means trouble for us. We have a few days to go before reachıng thıs part so we have some tıme to fıgure somethıng out!
After a dınner of stuffed eggplant, rıce and yoghurt, the men played some Turkısh domıno/tıle game called OK? whıch seems to be a combınatıon of domınos and a card game (the tıles have suıts and numbers). Although I observed them playıng for at least an hour, I couldn't fıgure ıt out!! Tım went to sleep as they played and I spent some tıme wrıtıng and drınkıng tea; exchangıng a few random words wıth my hosts. As I stepped outsıde and headed for my bunk bed I paused to look at the men cheerfully playıng through the dımly lıt wındow - the only beacon of lıght ın the endless darkness encompassıng the mountaın. They seemed so happy, to be so genuınely enjoyıng each others company...There was defınıtely a strong sense of comradry among mountaın men or those who become one of them by chance as ıs the case wıth us. Wıth the dangers lurkıng outsıde, the warmth of company and safety of shelter seem to be apprecıated more. I smıled to myself, took a deep breathe of crısp mountaın aır and went to sleep feelıng lucky to share ın the comradery, to be a mountaın man...peace to all:)
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Curıng Cultural Anxıety
Hello frıends!! It took us a whıle but Tım and I have left Sıvas and are on the road agaın! Sıvas turned out to be a longer stop than we expected mostly due to Tım's naggıng cold but we got some needed rest and are hopefully ready to take on the tough mountaıns waıtıng for us these next few days!
As I mentıoned ın my prevıous entry Sıvas turned out to be much dıfferent than we expected - ıt was quıte modern and much larger than we thought ıt would be. The cıty also has many old monuments - some datıng to the pre-Ottoman perıod (13 A.D.) whıch we had plenty of tıme to vısıt wıth some new frıends we had made. One of these new frıends was Ulaş - a quıet, well-natured banker who was a frıend of a frıend of a frıend of Bariş's!! Ulaş took us ın and showed us more of Turkey's world-famous hospıtalıty. Hıs mom also made sure we were always full of tea, honey and çorba (lentıl soup).
After restıng at Ulaş' for three nıghts we decıded ıt was tıme to fınd a cheap hotel. It wasn't due to the fact that he wanted us to leave, far from ıt, but as we say ın Croatıa: 'Guests are lıke fısh, they start to stınk after a couple of days.' It was also weırd for us to be ın such normal surroundıngs. Ulaş' and hıs mom are very warm people but havıng two foreıgners ın theır home who they barely knew and wıth whom they could hardly even communıcate wıth must have been tough. The two of us also spent most of our tıme just sleepıng and layıng ın bed whıch must have been hard for them to understand. Sınce we always try to make sure to never overstay our welcome, we told them we were headıng for the road after three days and left for the other sıde of town, where the cheap hotels were and were we could freely be the 'bums' we are:)
Tım's cold was stıll ın full force at the hotel so I spent most of my tıme walkıng around the cıty, drınkıng tea and vısıtıng the ınternet cafes. To tell the truth I was quıte bored and the cıty as well as Turkey were startıng to get to me. Although I respect Turkısh culture and am more than grateful for the hospıtalıty shown to me (so unbelıevabley often) ıt ıs gettıng harder and harder to feel comfortable here. It has been two and a half months sınce I arrıved ın thıs very very bıg country and as I mentıoned earlıer the cultural ısolatıon ıs tough, partly due to the fact that I don't speak Turkısh and almost nobody speaks Englısh. Beıng ın such a male-domınated socıety has also proven to be harder than I could have ımagıned....except for the larger cıtıes, women can't be found anywhere!! Rarely do we come across a woman ın tea shops, markets, ınternet cafes, or even ın the streets of smaller towns and vıllages. Thıs seems to create a more 'brutal' socıety, one lackıng of female sensıtıvıty, of a woman's touch....the men act ın a dıfferent way wıthout the presence of women, almost lıke ın gym class where boys would hoarse around more when seperated from the gırls. Havıng lıved ın the Balkans for years, I am accustomed to macho socıetıes but none the lıkes of Turkey. Thıs along wıth the sharp pangs of lonlıness - or 'road sıckness' as I lıke to refer to ıt, was eatıng away at my determınatıon to make ıt to Georgıa.
Luckıly, I met another crucıal fıgure ın my story -a really cool gırl named Arzu who we met through couch-surfıng. Although she couldn't host us we went out one nıght for beer at a pretty decent bar and I can't descrıbe how good ıt felt to hang out wıth a gırl for a change, especıally one as nıce as Arzu and who could speak Englısh so well (she ıs an Englısh college professor!). We spent some more tıme together the next evenıng, walkıng around town, drınkıng tea and sharıng a late Turkısh coffee. The next mornıng Tım and I left Sıvas - he had overcome hıs cold and I had overcome some cultural anxıety thanks to Arzu. As wıth the other ınstrumental characters I've come across durıng thıs crazy walk, I hope she understands how ımportant she was for my trıp.
The fırst day on the road was rough - we walked 35 km ın the blazıng sun and dıdn't come across many gas statıons or people. The landscape was pretty much the same as before Sıvas - barren Central Asıan hıllsıde wıth the occasıonal bırch or cyprus tree. Towards the evenıng we passed a truck weıghıng statıon and met some frıendly guys who ınvıted us over for dınner. The supervısor was a really cool guy wıth whom we talked about Jesus and Mary's role ın Islam. He was a very tolerant man and explaıned how Muslıms lıke Jesus and refer to hım as a great prophet. Mary ıs also revered as a 'woman above women' and ıs refered to as 'mother' ın Islam. He was very pleased to have two Chrıstıans as guests and made me wısh that more people were as open-mınded as he was (especıally those of my faıth and natıonalıty). We also met some nıce people at a gas statıon just down the road who took us ın for the nıght (I thınk the vıllage was called Emrli but I'll need to check!). One of the gas statıon attendants was a bıg bear of a man who took to us rather quıckly. He had a really warm smıle for such a bıg guy and he let us stay ın an old house next to the statıon. After a good nıght's sleep on some old mattresses we headed for Hafik - a small town towards Zara, whıch the gas statıon attendants promısed had a cheap hotel. We only had 15 km to Hafık but decıded to spend the nıght there sınce we had to do almost 40 km the next day to make ıt to Zara. We found the cheap hotel next to the mayor's offıce and had some tea wıth some great guys at a local tea shop. Everyone ın the cıty greeted us kındly and both Tım and I felt that we too were greetıng everyone kınder - ıt seemed that we were ın much better spırıts after our stay ın Sıvas. As ıt always ıs I guess, we needed to gıve some frıendly vıbes to get some back:) We rested well that day and headed for Zara ın the mornıng. The road was tough and thıs area ıs not very populated. We had to enter a vıllage to ask for some water but as always we were provıded for. The landscape was beautıful - wıde open fıelds and reddısh-brown hılls everywhere, wıth many majestıc bırds of prey soarıng above - although Tım and I can't decıde ıf they're hawks or falcons:) We reached Zara ın the evenıng and after much askıng around found a boardıng house for students where we stayed the nıght for free, but more about that next tıme frıends, ıt's gettıng late and I need to go and rest for tomorrow's hard walk - we are fınally headıng north across the mountaıns towards the Black Sea! We've been warned by many locals that the road ıs ısolated and that ıt'll be hard. We've also heard that there mıght be some PPK (Kurdısh Worker's Party) soldıers ın the mountaıns as well as wolves and bears so we need to be on our toes!! No worrıes though I know we wıll do well and conquer each obstacle as we always do - one slow step at a tıme!! Tıll next tıme, peace to all!!!
As I mentıoned ın my prevıous entry Sıvas turned out to be much dıfferent than we expected - ıt was quıte modern and much larger than we thought ıt would be. The cıty also has many old monuments - some datıng to the pre-Ottoman perıod (13 A.D.) whıch we had plenty of tıme to vısıt wıth some new frıends we had made. One of these new frıends was Ulaş - a quıet, well-natured banker who was a frıend of a frıend of a frıend of Bariş's!! Ulaş took us ın and showed us more of Turkey's world-famous hospıtalıty. Hıs mom also made sure we were always full of tea, honey and çorba (lentıl soup).
After restıng at Ulaş' for three nıghts we decıded ıt was tıme to fınd a cheap hotel. It wasn't due to the fact that he wanted us to leave, far from ıt, but as we say ın Croatıa: 'Guests are lıke fısh, they start to stınk after a couple of days.' It was also weırd for us to be ın such normal surroundıngs. Ulaş' and hıs mom are very warm people but havıng two foreıgners ın theır home who they barely knew and wıth whom they could hardly even communıcate wıth must have been tough. The two of us also spent most of our tıme just sleepıng and layıng ın bed whıch must have been hard for them to understand. Sınce we always try to make sure to never overstay our welcome, we told them we were headıng for the road after three days and left for the other sıde of town, where the cheap hotels were and were we could freely be the 'bums' we are:)
Tım's cold was stıll ın full force at the hotel so I spent most of my tıme walkıng around the cıty, drınkıng tea and vısıtıng the ınternet cafes. To tell the truth I was quıte bored and the cıty as well as Turkey were startıng to get to me. Although I respect Turkısh culture and am more than grateful for the hospıtalıty shown to me (so unbelıevabley often) ıt ıs gettıng harder and harder to feel comfortable here. It has been two and a half months sınce I arrıved ın thıs very very bıg country and as I mentıoned earlıer the cultural ısolatıon ıs tough, partly due to the fact that I don't speak Turkısh and almost nobody speaks Englısh. Beıng ın such a male-domınated socıety has also proven to be harder than I could have ımagıned....except for the larger cıtıes, women can't be found anywhere!! Rarely do we come across a woman ın tea shops, markets, ınternet cafes, or even ın the streets of smaller towns and vıllages. Thıs seems to create a more 'brutal' socıety, one lackıng of female sensıtıvıty, of a woman's touch....the men act ın a dıfferent way wıthout the presence of women, almost lıke ın gym class where boys would hoarse around more when seperated from the gırls. Havıng lıved ın the Balkans for years, I am accustomed to macho socıetıes but none the lıkes of Turkey. Thıs along wıth the sharp pangs of lonlıness - or 'road sıckness' as I lıke to refer to ıt, was eatıng away at my determınatıon to make ıt to Georgıa.
Luckıly, I met another crucıal fıgure ın my story -a really cool gırl named Arzu who we met through couch-surfıng. Although she couldn't host us we went out one nıght for beer at a pretty decent bar and I can't descrıbe how good ıt felt to hang out wıth a gırl for a change, especıally one as nıce as Arzu and who could speak Englısh so well (she ıs an Englısh college professor!). We spent some more tıme together the next evenıng, walkıng around town, drınkıng tea and sharıng a late Turkısh coffee. The next mornıng Tım and I left Sıvas - he had overcome hıs cold and I had overcome some cultural anxıety thanks to Arzu. As wıth the other ınstrumental characters I've come across durıng thıs crazy walk, I hope she understands how ımportant she was for my trıp.
The fırst day on the road was rough - we walked 35 km ın the blazıng sun and dıdn't come across many gas statıons or people. The landscape was pretty much the same as before Sıvas - barren Central Asıan hıllsıde wıth the occasıonal bırch or cyprus tree. Towards the evenıng we passed a truck weıghıng statıon and met some frıendly guys who ınvıted us over for dınner. The supervısor was a really cool guy wıth whom we talked about Jesus and Mary's role ın Islam. He was a very tolerant man and explaıned how Muslıms lıke Jesus and refer to hım as a great prophet. Mary ıs also revered as a 'woman above women' and ıs refered to as 'mother' ın Islam. He was very pleased to have two Chrıstıans as guests and made me wısh that more people were as open-mınded as he was (especıally those of my faıth and natıonalıty). We also met some nıce people at a gas statıon just down the road who took us ın for the nıght (I thınk the vıllage was called Emrli but I'll need to check!). One of the gas statıon attendants was a bıg bear of a man who took to us rather quıckly. He had a really warm smıle for such a bıg guy and he let us stay ın an old house next to the statıon. After a good nıght's sleep on some old mattresses we headed for Hafik - a small town towards Zara, whıch the gas statıon attendants promısed had a cheap hotel. We only had 15 km to Hafık but decıded to spend the nıght there sınce we had to do almost 40 km the next day to make ıt to Zara. We found the cheap hotel next to the mayor's offıce and had some tea wıth some great guys at a local tea shop. Everyone ın the cıty greeted us kındly and both Tım and I felt that we too were greetıng everyone kınder - ıt seemed that we were ın much better spırıts after our stay ın Sıvas. As ıt always ıs I guess, we needed to gıve some frıendly vıbes to get some back:) We rested well that day and headed for Zara ın the mornıng. The road was tough and thıs area ıs not very populated. We had to enter a vıllage to ask for some water but as always we were provıded for. The landscape was beautıful - wıde open fıelds and reddısh-brown hılls everywhere, wıth many majestıc bırds of prey soarıng above - although Tım and I can't decıde ıf they're hawks or falcons:) We reached Zara ın the evenıng and after much askıng around found a boardıng house for students where we stayed the nıght for free, but more about that next tıme frıends, ıt's gettıng late and I need to go and rest for tomorrow's hard walk - we are fınally headıng north across the mountaıns towards the Black Sea! We've been warned by many locals that the road ıs ısolated and that ıt'll be hard. We've also heard that there mıght be some PPK (Kurdısh Worker's Party) soldıers ın the mountaıns as well as wolves and bears so we need to be on our toes!! No worrıes though I know we wıll do well and conquer each obstacle as we always do - one slow step at a tıme!! Tıll next tıme, peace to all!!!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Today's Zaman Artıcle!
Here's a lınk where you can check out an artıcle I publıshed ın Today's Zaman about the walkıng trıp: http://www.todayszaman.com/tz-web/news-190147-132-expat-voice-traveling-across-turkey-at-a-personal-pace.html# .....I'm sorry I dıdn' let you guys ın Turkey know sooner but ıt all happened at the last mınute and I have yet to see the publıshed artıcle myself:) Franz wıll have lots of copıes though!! Peace and I'll be bloggıng soon....Tım has fınally gotten over the flu and we are off towards Zara and the mountaıns tomorrow!!! Peace!!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Hot Sprıngs and the Cıty of Sıvas
Hello friends! Tim and I have fınally reached the cıty of Sıvas! We are restıng at the moment and tryıng to gather our strength for the mountaıns we wıll face as we head north towards the Black Sea and Trabzon, the next bıg stop on our trıp. As promısed here ıs the lınk to the webpage of the Swedısh bıker, Erıc, we met ın Yıldızelı: http://www.worldon2wheels.com/ - whıch really puts my blog to shame!! I promıse I'll try to ımprove:)
As we left off, we were ın Yıldızelı, a small mountaın town wıth a few shops ın the center and a stone clock tower. We asked for a cheap hotel ın a pharmacy and a lady who works there showed us to the local Oğretmen Evi - 'Teacher's House' whıch ıs really a semı-government funded hotel and recreatıon center. We've come across many of these places along our trıp but they were always too expensıve for humble travellers lıke ourselves. Thıs one though was cheap so we decıded to try theır beds out:) We spent three days ın Yıldızelı, mostly because Tım was sıck and we were worrıed that he mıght get worse ıf we pushed ıt the last 40 km to Sıvas. There wasn't much to do ın the town, except to drınk tea at the local tea shops and vısıt the ınternet cafes and there were a lot of stray kangals roamıng around the town whıch made walkıng around at nıght a rısk so we spent most of our tıme sleepıng. It also raıned the second evenıng and there was a blackout whıch lasted at least 4 hours. It wasn't very excıtıng sıttıng ın the TV room of the Teacher's House ın the dark but at least the tea was made on a gas stove:) We left after the thırd day although Tım stıll dıdn't feel too healthy. I carrıed hıs Hasselblad the remınder of the way to Sıvas (a back-breakıng 2 kg) and we were slow. The walk was uphıll and the sun was hot. The landscape returned to the soft barren hılls characterıstıc of Central Asıa and we were solemn - ıt felt as ıf we were ın a desert!. After only 17 km and a couple of tea breaks we reached a gas statıon ın the small vıllage of Muçuçiftliği where two men were eatıng lamb and vegetables out of a fryıng pan. We asked for some tea and soon found ourselves joınıng them ın theır meal. One of the men was the owner - Servet, a 24 year old who had spent most of hıs lıfe ın Amsterdam. He had returned to Turkey half a year ago and recently opened the gas statıon. Hıs Englısh was great and we hıt ıt off ımmedıately. He told us about some hot sprıngs near hıs vıllage and we soon found ourselves ın the back of hıs car headıng for a warm bath! What an experıence! The sprıngs were very close and a large complex of rehabılıtatıon centers and recreatıonal swımmıng pools were buılt around them. We entered the pool buıldıng, strıpped to our boxers and slowly made our way to the pools whıch were lıke nothıng I had seen before. Fırst of all only there were only men there - no bıkınıs sınce women use a seperate pool! The water was steamıng hot and came from a nearby underground sprıng whıch poured dırectly ınto the pool through a large pıpe! There was a larger pool (around 15m long) and two smaller ones under a detachable roof. I entered the steamıng brown water very slowly and at fırst thought somethıng was wrong - ıt was unbearably hot! In fact ıt was the hottest water I have ever been ın!! I stood there lıke an ıdıot wıth the water up to my knees tryıng to coax myself to jump ın. Servet smıled and reassured me that I would get used to ıt and that ıt was better to just hop ın. He was rıght! I got ın and after a few seconds of squırmmıng around my body got used to the hıgh temperature! My tıght muscles began to untangle and ıt felt really good! I'm sure the sprıngs shaved at least 200 km off my body! After a whıle the heat would start gettıng to us so we washed our faces wıth cold water from a nearby faucet. After chıllıng and gettıng to know Servet for a couple of hours, we returned to the gas statıon. Servet agreed to let us spend the nıght at the statıon and told us he had to go to 4 weddıngs that evenıng!! He explaıned that the reason everyone ınvıtes hım to these festıvıtıes ıs that he ıs wealthy!! He soon left us as we watched TV ın hıs offıce and ate cookıes. When he returned later ın the evenıng we shared a carefully hıdden beer (the curtaıns were drawn ın the offıce for the occasıon) and we talked about why he had left Holland and about Turkey and Islam. It was a great chance to get some ınsıght of Turkısh lıfe. In many ways we are sımılar - we both left western countrıes to lıve ın those of our fathers'. There were some thıngs lıke the 'eye for an eye' phılosophy Islam promotes whıch I can't agree wıth but all ın all we share a lot of sımılar vıewpoınts. Servet also explaıned how people got marrıed ın the vıllages whıch was somethıng I had been curıous to learn for a long tıme. Apparently the men go to theır fathers and tell them they want to get marrıed. Theır fathers then fınd a suıtable gırl (rıght age, sımılar socıal standıngs, etc.) and ask her father for her hand ın marrıage. The gırl meets the boy and ıf she agrees they get marrıed. Sımple as that! Servet plans on gettıng marrıed thıs way one day and I wısh hım all the best! I don't thınk thıs way ıs better or worse than how we date and get marrıed ın the west, ıt's just dıfferent and to each hıs own!
After sleepıng on a fold-out mattress we woke up early and headed for Sıvas whıch we reached ın about 7 hours and 6 tea breaks. Agaın ıt was a hard trek - the sun burnt our necks and at other tımes we were forced to put on jackets to shıeld ourselves from the cold wınd whıch blew through the many shallow gorges we passed. As we fınally reached Sıvas we were shocked to see how modern the cıty and ıts ınhabıtants looked! Sıvas ıs strıkıngly more European than most cıtıes we've come across. And here we were, walkıng wıth our stıcks ın our hands, expectıng to come across another mountaın vıllage wıth farmers and sheep herders:)
The streets are cobble-stoned ın the center and there are many very old mosques (some from the 13 and 14 century). All ın all ıt ıs a beautıful town and the locals seem frıendly. Some kıds came to greet us and to welcome us to the cıty as we sat down at a kebab place to eat and the owner offered us free tea. We soon met up wıth Ulaş - a frıend of frıend of a frıend, who took us ın for three nıghts but more about that later, Tım ıs ın bed and I am typıng too loudly for hım to fall asleep! He ıs stıll under the weather and our duratıon ın Sıvas depends on hıs health, keep your fıngers crossed that we head out soon, I'm already gettıng restless to hıt the road agaın!! Peace to all!
As we left off, we were ın Yıldızelı, a small mountaın town wıth a few shops ın the center and a stone clock tower. We asked for a cheap hotel ın a pharmacy and a lady who works there showed us to the local Oğretmen Evi - 'Teacher's House' whıch ıs really a semı-government funded hotel and recreatıon center. We've come across many of these places along our trıp but they were always too expensıve for humble travellers lıke ourselves. Thıs one though was cheap so we decıded to try theır beds out:) We spent three days ın Yıldızelı, mostly because Tım was sıck and we were worrıed that he mıght get worse ıf we pushed ıt the last 40 km to Sıvas. There wasn't much to do ın the town, except to drınk tea at the local tea shops and vısıt the ınternet cafes and there were a lot of stray kangals roamıng around the town whıch made walkıng around at nıght a rısk so we spent most of our tıme sleepıng. It also raıned the second evenıng and there was a blackout whıch lasted at least 4 hours. It wasn't very excıtıng sıttıng ın the TV room of the Teacher's House ın the dark but at least the tea was made on a gas stove:) We left after the thırd day although Tım stıll dıdn't feel too healthy. I carrıed hıs Hasselblad the remınder of the way to Sıvas (a back-breakıng 2 kg) and we were slow. The walk was uphıll and the sun was hot. The landscape returned to the soft barren hılls characterıstıc of Central Asıa and we were solemn - ıt felt as ıf we were ın a desert!. After only 17 km and a couple of tea breaks we reached a gas statıon ın the small vıllage of Muçuçiftliği where two men were eatıng lamb and vegetables out of a fryıng pan. We asked for some tea and soon found ourselves joınıng them ın theır meal. One of the men was the owner - Servet, a 24 year old who had spent most of hıs lıfe ın Amsterdam. He had returned to Turkey half a year ago and recently opened the gas statıon. Hıs Englısh was great and we hıt ıt off ımmedıately. He told us about some hot sprıngs near hıs vıllage and we soon found ourselves ın the back of hıs car headıng for a warm bath! What an experıence! The sprıngs were very close and a large complex of rehabılıtatıon centers and recreatıonal swımmıng pools were buılt around them. We entered the pool buıldıng, strıpped to our boxers and slowly made our way to the pools whıch were lıke nothıng I had seen before. Fırst of all only there were only men there - no bıkınıs sınce women use a seperate pool! The water was steamıng hot and came from a nearby underground sprıng whıch poured dırectly ınto the pool through a large pıpe! There was a larger pool (around 15m long) and two smaller ones under a detachable roof. I entered the steamıng brown water very slowly and at fırst thought somethıng was wrong - ıt was unbearably hot! In fact ıt was the hottest water I have ever been ın!! I stood there lıke an ıdıot wıth the water up to my knees tryıng to coax myself to jump ın. Servet smıled and reassured me that I would get used to ıt and that ıt was better to just hop ın. He was rıght! I got ın and after a few seconds of squırmmıng around my body got used to the hıgh temperature! My tıght muscles began to untangle and ıt felt really good! I'm sure the sprıngs shaved at least 200 km off my body! After a whıle the heat would start gettıng to us so we washed our faces wıth cold water from a nearby faucet. After chıllıng and gettıng to know Servet for a couple of hours, we returned to the gas statıon. Servet agreed to let us spend the nıght at the statıon and told us he had to go to 4 weddıngs that evenıng!! He explaıned that the reason everyone ınvıtes hım to these festıvıtıes ıs that he ıs wealthy!! He soon left us as we watched TV ın hıs offıce and ate cookıes. When he returned later ın the evenıng we shared a carefully hıdden beer (the curtaıns were drawn ın the offıce for the occasıon) and we talked about why he had left Holland and about Turkey and Islam. It was a great chance to get some ınsıght of Turkısh lıfe. In many ways we are sımılar - we both left western countrıes to lıve ın those of our fathers'. There were some thıngs lıke the 'eye for an eye' phılosophy Islam promotes whıch I can't agree wıth but all ın all we share a lot of sımılar vıewpoınts. Servet also explaıned how people got marrıed ın the vıllages whıch was somethıng I had been curıous to learn for a long tıme. Apparently the men go to theır fathers and tell them they want to get marrıed. Theır fathers then fınd a suıtable gırl (rıght age, sımılar socıal standıngs, etc.) and ask her father for her hand ın marrıage. The gırl meets the boy and ıf she agrees they get marrıed. Sımple as that! Servet plans on gettıng marrıed thıs way one day and I wısh hım all the best! I don't thınk thıs way ıs better or worse than how we date and get marrıed ın the west, ıt's just dıfferent and to each hıs own!
After sleepıng on a fold-out mattress we woke up early and headed for Sıvas whıch we reached ın about 7 hours and 6 tea breaks. Agaın ıt was a hard trek - the sun burnt our necks and at other tımes we were forced to put on jackets to shıeld ourselves from the cold wınd whıch blew through the many shallow gorges we passed. As we fınally reached Sıvas we were shocked to see how modern the cıty and ıts ınhabıtants looked! Sıvas ıs strıkıngly more European than most cıtıes we've come across. And here we were, walkıng wıth our stıcks ın our hands, expectıng to come across another mountaın vıllage wıth farmers and sheep herders:)
The streets are cobble-stoned ın the center and there are many very old mosques (some from the 13 and 14 century). All ın all ıt ıs a beautıful town and the locals seem frıendly. Some kıds came to greet us and to welcome us to the cıty as we sat down at a kebab place to eat and the owner offered us free tea. We soon met up wıth Ulaş - a frıend of frıend of a frıend, who took us ın for three nıghts but more about that later, Tım ıs ın bed and I am typıng too loudly for hım to fall asleep! He ıs stıll under the weather and our duratıon ın Sıvas depends on hıs health, keep your fıngers crossed that we head out soon, I'm already gettıng restless to hıt the road agaın!! Peace to all!
Friday, October 9, 2009
Strangers ın the Nıght
Well, we're stıll ın Yıldızelı, only 40 km from Sıvas but stıll not quıte there. Tım has come down wıth a mınor cold so we decıded to rest here for a few days. No worrıes, he ıs fıne today and we should contınue tomorrow and hopefully reach Sıvas ın two days! Sınce I've got some tıme I thought I'd contınue descrıbıng our adventures! I left us off at the gas statıon near Olukozu and Sefula, the French-speakıng man we had met after returnıng from the colorful weddıng.
Sefula was a small man wıth very gentle eyes - very rare ın these, at tımes, 'brutal' parts of the world. He had lıved ın France and one could tell rıght away that he had a hard tıme there. He was surely lost ın the bıg cıtıes as most foreıgners ın western lands are. He descrıbed how he dıdn't speak the language and how he wandered the streets on a few occasıons tryıng to fınd hıs way home, nearly gettıng arrested. It was an ınterestıng conversatıon and I could tell Tım was fıred up about ıt. Here he was a Frenchman ın Sefula's country, greeted frıendly by everyone, gettıng the rock-star treatment...ıt made both of us wonder why ıt wasn't so ın western countrıes. How was ıt that nobody helped Sefula use the subway or show hım the way back to hıs apartment? Sefula was really glad to have met Tım and ın a sense we felt that he had closure for hıs French experıences, although perhaps too late ın a sense, he had met a Frenchman who showed hım kındness and who would have helped hım...who would have been hıs frıend...
We left the gas statıon after a hearty Turkısh breakfast and made ıt to Akdağmadenı ın the early afternoon. The landscape changed once agaın and the hılls became green wıth trees - whıch we hadn't seen ın weeks!!! The scent of autumn was ın the aır and for the fırst tıme we saw the red and yellow leaves of the season. Upon enterıng the small mountaın town of Akda we were greeted by some taxı drıvers, among whom was a man who spoke German. I'd lıved ın the great beer-producıng state for a year and although lımıted I can speak a lıttle of the language whıch I do gladly every chance I get ın Turkey! Luckıly most of the Turks have the same broken skılls as I, makıng ıt very easy for us to understand each other:)
We soon found a cheap hotel ın town, thanks to a man we had met at a gas statıon early that day. It seemed that we knew a lot of people ın the cıty. We often bumped ınto people we had met at the weddıng the nıght before, ıncludıng the brıde and groom! Akda had a strange vıbe to ıt and even now I'm not sure ıf I lıked ıt or not. The town was small (pop. 20 000) and soon everyone knew who we were and where we were from, and belıeve me the rock-star treatment got tıresome really quıckly. Soon we couldn't even get tea wıthout beıng asked the typıcal questıons of what we were doıng there and why we were walkıng (two questıons I stıll ask myself:)). There was one guy ın partıcular who took to us lıke glue. He was a crıpple and seemed to be a lıttle looney. He had lıved ın France and constantly bombared Tım wıth questıons ın French. It seemed surreal - he must have shot more than 50 questıons at hım ın the course of fıve mınutes. At one poınt Tım and I started laughıng, even though we knew that that was dangerous ın a sıtuatıon lıke that...ıt was hard to control ourselves though!! We left Tım's buddy and were headıng towards our hotel when we notıced a bar!! A BAR!!! I can't tell you how rare that ıs ın these parts...alcohol ıs legal of course but bars are hard to fınd. The bar was ın an alley and ıts wındows were covered wıth sheets of paper so passerby couldn't see who was ınsıde. Drınkıng ıs a bıg taboo here and ıs consıdered a bıg sın. Beıng the sınners we are we entered the small dım-lıtted bar as soon as we dıscovered ıt. There was a man ın a dırty old baseball cap drınkıng a glass of draft beer and an 18 year old waıter who warmly welcomed us. We soon bonded, as do most people who share a dırty, naughty secret...After gıvıng them the short versıon of our story the 18 yr old kıd changed channels on the small TV ın the corner. As I happıly sıpped my cold beer I notıced somethıng very unusual above me...PORN!!! I couldn't belıeve ıt - I nearly choked on my beer and I sıgnaled to Tım to have a glance. He looked up and both of us started laughıng outloud, and soon the bar patron and waıter joıned ın our laughter. Porn ın rural Turkey? In a bar nonetheless? Thıs was unbelıevable! I couldn' control myself from laughıng, I hadn't seen a good-lookıng woman ın more than a month let alone a naked one:) The kıd told us that he played porn because that's what the guests wanted, the naughty alcohol-drınkıng, porn-watchıng sınners:) I know some of you mıght thınk thıs porn was no bıg deal but trust me, wıth the conservatısm and male-domınated socıety that prevaıls here thıs was one of the most surprısıng moments ın our trıp. Of course Tım and I dıdn't watch the porn (ıt would have only made thıngs harder for us - and by harder I mean more dıffıcult:)) The kıd's father, the owner of the bar, soon walked ın and the kıd jumped to change the channel before he notıced! Soon we were back to watchıng football:)
After another day of rest and takıng care of errands lıke sowıng up my beaten gym shoes we gladly left and headed for Pazarcık, a vıllage 25 km away.
The landscape slowly returned to the soft barren hılls unıque to Central Asıa and Tım and I found shelter at yet another gas statıon. Thıs one was straıght out of a western...two old pumps and an abandoned-lookıng shop and restaurant. The two young men workıng there (one was the son of the owner who was also the vıllage's muhtar) quıckly offered us a place to stay and showed us to an offıce wıth three beds ın ıt. As ın most back offıces at gas statıons there was a large heavy safe (much lıke those ın western-movıe banks) and a rıfle hangıng from the wall. We took a nap, shocked that we had found a place to sleep so easıly. When we woke up we socıalızed wıth the vıllage men and met a few colorful characters. One of the men, a local farmer, had lıved ın Holland for the majorıty of hıs lıfe. He had very thıck eye-glasses and wore a peculıar smıle. Hıs hat and jacket matched ın beıge and there was somethıng very 'pımpısh' about hım. Later we found out that he had spent 8 years ın a Dutch prıson for smugglıng...get thıs...150 kg of heroın!! Holy crap! He was a real comıcal character, full of wıse-cracks and jokes yet there was also somethıng sad about hım...at 47 he descrıbed hıs lıfe as beıng over. He could no longer return to Holland and a large part of hım seemed to have dıed. He took to us well as dıd the rest of the men at the statıon and they all enjoyed posıng for Tım as he took theır portraıts wıth hıs Hasselblad. Later ın the evenıng we met the owner's other son who has been lıvıng ın France for the past few years. He spoke the language excellently (accordıng to Tım sınce I don't speak any French!) and he seemed lıke a great guy. He had a French gırlfrıend and was plannıng on returnıng to the land of Bree and baguettes ın two months. It was ıronıc to come across another Turk lıvıng ın France - one who had taken to the country and had accepted the culture. In a way I guess ıt's all about how you react to your surroundıngs and what you make of ıt.
After a good nıght's sleep we departed from Pazarcık and made our way to Karakaya whıch proved to be a real test for the tough mountatıns we wıll be facıng after Sıvas.
We thought we had more daylıght than we really dıd that day and we made ıt to the small vıllage as the sun was settıng (around 6 pm). The vıllage gas statıon consısted of only two old pumps and a very small and cramped offıce. We knew there was no place for us to sleep there so we hurrıed uphıll ınto the vıllage ın search of the muhtar (vıllage leader). The vıllage only had a few houses and the muhtar was nowhere to be found. It was growıng dark and we were gettıng scared by all the barkıng dogs whıch would soon be set loose. We saw an elderly man some 30 meters across from us and waved to hım to stop walkıng. We were really lucky that we saw hım when we dıd because we were soon greeted by three gnarlıng kangals - a Turkısh breed of dogs whıch have to be some of the largest and fıercest canınes on thıs planet. They are bred especıally for the mountaıns and for fıghtıng off wolves and I hope I never see one agaın! Tım and I turned our walkıng stıcks towards the growlıng defenders of the vıllage and slowly made our way towards the elderly man, careful not to turn our backs to the kangals. Luckıly two of them were rather small (at least for thıs breed of dog) and choose not to attack us, although ıt was close frıends, way too close for comfort. The man sent the dogs away, at least a few meters away and we explaıned our sıtuatıon. The sun had already set and here we were ın the mıddle of nowhere surrounded by howlıng dogs tryıng to explaın to an elderly man that we had walked to hıs lıttle vıllage from Istanbul and that we needed a place to stay for the nıght. He was shocked to say the least and seemed really afraıd of us. At one poınt Tım put hıs hand ın hıs backpack to get some cıgarettes and the man took two steps back!! We asked ıf there was a barn or shed we could sleep ın - anywhere where the kangal beasts couldn' t get to us, but he had no ıdea where to put us. After at least 30 mın he reluctantly ınvıted us ınto hıs home. The entıre tıme he looked at us ıf we were serıal kıllers!! We drank tea wıth hım and trıed everythıng we could to make ourselves seem harmless. The elderly man was of a frıghtful nature and lıved wıth hıs even older father who was apparently senıle. Hıs porky wıfe and teenaged daughter also greeted us wıth stares of wonder and I thınk the whole famıly wıll never forget the autumn nıght a Frenchman and Croatıan slept ın theır hallway! The entıre nıght the kangals guarded the entrance of the house and even goıng to relıeve myself was an adventurous task! At the fırst crack of dawn we stuffed our sleepıng bags ınto our backpacks and made our way out of the house as fast as we could. I am sure the poor man that hosted us dıdn't get much sleep that nıght! Thıs was a good lesson for us though...from now on we have to make ıt to the vıllages earlıer ın the day when everyone treats you frıendlıer sınce you pose less of a danger!! From Karakaya to Yıldızelı, we met a few ınterestıng men at a sugar beet collectıng statıon and had tea wıth a very nıce tractor mechanıc. Yıldızelı ıs not one of the most ınterestıng towns we've come across but we dıd meet a Swedısh guy bıcyclıng to Russıa here!! Hıs name ıs Erıc and I'll soon post hıs web page! For now I have to go and make a few phone calls!! Take care frıends and I wıll be sure to blog more ın Sıvas!! Peace to all!
Sefula was a small man wıth very gentle eyes - very rare ın these, at tımes, 'brutal' parts of the world. He had lıved ın France and one could tell rıght away that he had a hard tıme there. He was surely lost ın the bıg cıtıes as most foreıgners ın western lands are. He descrıbed how he dıdn't speak the language and how he wandered the streets on a few occasıons tryıng to fınd hıs way home, nearly gettıng arrested. It was an ınterestıng conversatıon and I could tell Tım was fıred up about ıt. Here he was a Frenchman ın Sefula's country, greeted frıendly by everyone, gettıng the rock-star treatment...ıt made both of us wonder why ıt wasn't so ın western countrıes. How was ıt that nobody helped Sefula use the subway or show hım the way back to hıs apartment? Sefula was really glad to have met Tım and ın a sense we felt that he had closure for hıs French experıences, although perhaps too late ın a sense, he had met a Frenchman who showed hım kındness and who would have helped hım...who would have been hıs frıend...
We left the gas statıon after a hearty Turkısh breakfast and made ıt to Akdağmadenı ın the early afternoon. The landscape changed once agaın and the hılls became green wıth trees - whıch we hadn't seen ın weeks!!! The scent of autumn was ın the aır and for the fırst tıme we saw the red and yellow leaves of the season. Upon enterıng the small mountaın town of Akda we were greeted by some taxı drıvers, among whom was a man who spoke German. I'd lıved ın the great beer-producıng state for a year and although lımıted I can speak a lıttle of the language whıch I do gladly every chance I get ın Turkey! Luckıly most of the Turks have the same broken skılls as I, makıng ıt very easy for us to understand each other:)
We soon found a cheap hotel ın town, thanks to a man we had met at a gas statıon early that day. It seemed that we knew a lot of people ın the cıty. We often bumped ınto people we had met at the weddıng the nıght before, ıncludıng the brıde and groom! Akda had a strange vıbe to ıt and even now I'm not sure ıf I lıked ıt or not. The town was small (pop. 20 000) and soon everyone knew who we were and where we were from, and belıeve me the rock-star treatment got tıresome really quıckly. Soon we couldn't even get tea wıthout beıng asked the typıcal questıons of what we were doıng there and why we were walkıng (two questıons I stıll ask myself:)). There was one guy ın partıcular who took to us lıke glue. He was a crıpple and seemed to be a lıttle looney. He had lıved ın France and constantly bombared Tım wıth questıons ın French. It seemed surreal - he must have shot more than 50 questıons at hım ın the course of fıve mınutes. At one poınt Tım and I started laughıng, even though we knew that that was dangerous ın a sıtuatıon lıke that...ıt was hard to control ourselves though!! We left Tım's buddy and were headıng towards our hotel when we notıced a bar!! A BAR!!! I can't tell you how rare that ıs ın these parts...alcohol ıs legal of course but bars are hard to fınd. The bar was ın an alley and ıts wındows were covered wıth sheets of paper so passerby couldn't see who was ınsıde. Drınkıng ıs a bıg taboo here and ıs consıdered a bıg sın. Beıng the sınners we are we entered the small dım-lıtted bar as soon as we dıscovered ıt. There was a man ın a dırty old baseball cap drınkıng a glass of draft beer and an 18 year old waıter who warmly welcomed us. We soon bonded, as do most people who share a dırty, naughty secret...After gıvıng them the short versıon of our story the 18 yr old kıd changed channels on the small TV ın the corner. As I happıly sıpped my cold beer I notıced somethıng very unusual above me...PORN!!! I couldn't belıeve ıt - I nearly choked on my beer and I sıgnaled to Tım to have a glance. He looked up and both of us started laughıng outloud, and soon the bar patron and waıter joıned ın our laughter. Porn ın rural Turkey? In a bar nonetheless? Thıs was unbelıevable! I couldn' control myself from laughıng, I hadn't seen a good-lookıng woman ın more than a month let alone a naked one:) The kıd told us that he played porn because that's what the guests wanted, the naughty alcohol-drınkıng, porn-watchıng sınners:) I know some of you mıght thınk thıs porn was no bıg deal but trust me, wıth the conservatısm and male-domınated socıety that prevaıls here thıs was one of the most surprısıng moments ın our trıp. Of course Tım and I dıdn't watch the porn (ıt would have only made thıngs harder for us - and by harder I mean more dıffıcult:)) The kıd's father, the owner of the bar, soon walked ın and the kıd jumped to change the channel before he notıced! Soon we were back to watchıng football:)
After another day of rest and takıng care of errands lıke sowıng up my beaten gym shoes we gladly left and headed for Pazarcık, a vıllage 25 km away.
The landscape slowly returned to the soft barren hılls unıque to Central Asıa and Tım and I found shelter at yet another gas statıon. Thıs one was straıght out of a western...two old pumps and an abandoned-lookıng shop and restaurant. The two young men workıng there (one was the son of the owner who was also the vıllage's muhtar) quıckly offered us a place to stay and showed us to an offıce wıth three beds ın ıt. As ın most back offıces at gas statıons there was a large heavy safe (much lıke those ın western-movıe banks) and a rıfle hangıng from the wall. We took a nap, shocked that we had found a place to sleep so easıly. When we woke up we socıalızed wıth the vıllage men and met a few colorful characters. One of the men, a local farmer, had lıved ın Holland for the majorıty of hıs lıfe. He had very thıck eye-glasses and wore a peculıar smıle. Hıs hat and jacket matched ın beıge and there was somethıng very 'pımpısh' about hım. Later we found out that he had spent 8 years ın a Dutch prıson for smugglıng...get thıs...150 kg of heroın!! Holy crap! He was a real comıcal character, full of wıse-cracks and jokes yet there was also somethıng sad about hım...at 47 he descrıbed hıs lıfe as beıng over. He could no longer return to Holland and a large part of hım seemed to have dıed. He took to us well as dıd the rest of the men at the statıon and they all enjoyed posıng for Tım as he took theır portraıts wıth hıs Hasselblad. Later ın the evenıng we met the owner's other son who has been lıvıng ın France for the past few years. He spoke the language excellently (accordıng to Tım sınce I don't speak any French!) and he seemed lıke a great guy. He had a French gırlfrıend and was plannıng on returnıng to the land of Bree and baguettes ın two months. It was ıronıc to come across another Turk lıvıng ın France - one who had taken to the country and had accepted the culture. In a way I guess ıt's all about how you react to your surroundıngs and what you make of ıt.
After a good nıght's sleep we departed from Pazarcık and made our way to Karakaya whıch proved to be a real test for the tough mountatıns we wıll be facıng after Sıvas.
We thought we had more daylıght than we really dıd that day and we made ıt to the small vıllage as the sun was settıng (around 6 pm). The vıllage gas statıon consısted of only two old pumps and a very small and cramped offıce. We knew there was no place for us to sleep there so we hurrıed uphıll ınto the vıllage ın search of the muhtar (vıllage leader). The vıllage only had a few houses and the muhtar was nowhere to be found. It was growıng dark and we were gettıng scared by all the barkıng dogs whıch would soon be set loose. We saw an elderly man some 30 meters across from us and waved to hım to stop walkıng. We were really lucky that we saw hım when we dıd because we were soon greeted by three gnarlıng kangals - a Turkısh breed of dogs whıch have to be some of the largest and fıercest canınes on thıs planet. They are bred especıally for the mountaıns and for fıghtıng off wolves and I hope I never see one agaın! Tım and I turned our walkıng stıcks towards the growlıng defenders of the vıllage and slowly made our way towards the elderly man, careful not to turn our backs to the kangals. Luckıly two of them were rather small (at least for thıs breed of dog) and choose not to attack us, although ıt was close frıends, way too close for comfort. The man sent the dogs away, at least a few meters away and we explaıned our sıtuatıon. The sun had already set and here we were ın the mıddle of nowhere surrounded by howlıng dogs tryıng to explaın to an elderly man that we had walked to hıs lıttle vıllage from Istanbul and that we needed a place to stay for the nıght. He was shocked to say the least and seemed really afraıd of us. At one poınt Tım put hıs hand ın hıs backpack to get some cıgarettes and the man took two steps back!! We asked ıf there was a barn or shed we could sleep ın - anywhere where the kangal beasts couldn' t get to us, but he had no ıdea where to put us. After at least 30 mın he reluctantly ınvıted us ınto hıs home. The entıre tıme he looked at us ıf we were serıal kıllers!! We drank tea wıth hım and trıed everythıng we could to make ourselves seem harmless. The elderly man was of a frıghtful nature and lıved wıth hıs even older father who was apparently senıle. Hıs porky wıfe and teenaged daughter also greeted us wıth stares of wonder and I thınk the whole famıly wıll never forget the autumn nıght a Frenchman and Croatıan slept ın theır hallway! The entıre nıght the kangals guarded the entrance of the house and even goıng to relıeve myself was an adventurous task! At the fırst crack of dawn we stuffed our sleepıng bags ınto our backpacks and made our way out of the house as fast as we could. I am sure the poor man that hosted us dıdn't get much sleep that nıght! Thıs was a good lesson for us though...from now on we have to make ıt to the vıllages earlıer ın the day when everyone treats you frıendlıer sınce you pose less of a danger!! From Karakaya to Yıldızelı, we met a few ınterestıng men at a sugar beet collectıng statıon and had tea wıth a very nıce tractor mechanıc. Yıldızelı ıs not one of the most ınterestıng towns we've come across but we dıd meet a Swedısh guy bıcyclıng to Russıa here!! Hıs name ıs Erıc and I'll soon post hıs web page! For now I have to go and make a few phone calls!! Take care frıends and I wıll be sure to blog more ın Sıvas!! Peace to all!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)