I am not sure I told you that we finally named our camper van 'Daisy'.
She is painted white, has a sunny disposition and a sense of adventure. Like
her flower family, she is flexible in wind and rain, stands tall and proud in
the sunshine and is a team player. I am pretty sure I caught a pleased smile
when we told her her name.
Along the Black Sea, north coast of
Turkey April 21~
We still have the problem of a leaking water pump but have located a
VW dealer who can help us about one hour away. We have been stopping to fill
the engine cooling water about every ½ hour. But the drive is new and
interesting along the edge of the Black Sea. It is a cloudy day. Rocky
shoreline. Cormorants airing out their wings. Small one-person fishing dinghies
are on the calm water. There are waterfront walkways and parks and a boat
harbor at every town.
The rain starts.
Someone told us that this area is not very populated. This is not what
we see. It is quieter but plenty of folks live here, mostly on the waterside as
hills and mountains rise behind. There are many resorts and apartments and
those pretty round bushy fields persist. We ask what they are. “Yes it is tea.
We grow lots of tea here”. And we see that even back yards are planted full of
tea. We watch an elderly couple come from their home to their back yard tea
plants, harvesting and weeding.
Women are working in gardens wherever they can find space between the
road and the sea. These are apartment dwellers no doubt. Others are picking
edible roadside offerings, and still others are foraging in garbage cans.
We find the Volkswagen dealer just east of Rize. Fortune, his
English name, helps us. He speaks very good English. That is a relief. When you
are working with car repair, you want to be able to communicate. He has a water
pump, which he installs, but it takes all day to locate another part; we need a
timing belt to fit our American built van. We will have to take a hotel, as our
van is not available for us. It is expensive and boring!
The next day we spend time with mechanics, then in the waiting area by
the 'kafaterya' where Turkish tea and coffee is made and hustled to any
employee who calls with the request. We are given Turkish coffee and spend time
chatting with the beverage maker. He is Kurdish, as many are from this area. He
has a brother in Alabama, going to school at Auburn College. We enjoy hearing
these connective tidbits from those we meet. At the end of the workday we are
shown a spot in the back garage lot. Here we can spend a comfortable quiet
night in Daisy.
In the morning Fortune comes to see how we fared overnight. 8:00 am.
He tells us that the Turkish form of Islam does not have the tight rules of the
more conservative type. It focuses on being a good person, respecting others.
“The women who wear head scarves do this as a choice.” (Most women are bare-
headed). He personally does not care for the new conservative president. “I
think Turkey will continue to progress to a more western way of life. We have
experienced this freedom and do not wish to go backwards”. It has appeared to
us that Turks have reached a good melding of religion, traditional culture and
western ways, but many are curious and somewhat worried about the new
President's leadership.
We walk the town streets; buy bread, vegetables and water. An old
fabric-weaving establishment, doors open, draws us in. Gorgeous fabrics are made
on antique machinery. A punched pattern directs the shuttle. It's old and dark
and interesting in here and we are allowed to wander at will. Back at the VW
garage, Fortune (Ugur) invites us to lunch. We join the mechanics at tables,
enjoying an hour-long break and a daily hot lunch. The food is good. We had
chicken in a potato and carrot broth, rice and baklava, along with a popular
Turkish milk that is very much like buttermilk.
At lunch we hear some of Fortune's story. He is the service manager
here. An older brother works in the city of Trabzon and is a water transport
administrator. Fortune lives with him, a 50-minute bus ride to and from work.
Their family has another home where the boys grew up. It is eight kilometers
from the city. Each weekend the family is together there. It is the “good life”
he says: goats, chickens, dogs and cats, tea plants and hazel nut trees. A wife
who would like Fortune's life style has not yet arrived on the scene.
We go to the office to pay for the work done on Daisy. She is probably
'raring' to get back on the road in her new condition! Emine, a sales
department employee, helps us with suggestions of local places to go from this
point: Ataturk's home in Trabzon and the Sumela monastery in the hills. Also
Uzungol Lake. She gives us some statistics. This area had snow 23 days ago. It
'boasts' 320 days of rain per year, and is the top hazelnut producer in the
world. The Coruh River is rated in the top 10 white water runs.
Finally, she tells us how to make a good Turkish
coffee: (The best machines are Bausch and Cacilik)
2 tiny cups of water
2 heaped spoonfuls of
coffee
2 sugar lumps.
Boil these together. When done,
spoon the froth off the top. Pour finished coffee into small cups/glasses to
the brim.
THOUGHTS and OBSERVATIONS:
> In our hotel lobby and the VW car showroom the blaring images of sexy
music and dance videos take over: strong and 'in-your-face', more than we want
to see. Much more than we would experience in North America. Fortune tells us
that the reason is probably because the Turkish people were so restricted, so
ruled over for such a long time.
> The north of Turkey seems quite European. Well, I
guess it is partly on the European continent.
> Emine recommends a novel to me. 'Yes, I would Love another Glass
of Tea' by Katharine Branning, and another, 'Theatre' (Sulfis Prompter) by
Donato Carrisi.
> All the trucks have four note melody horns.
> Eleanor is a favored name at this time. I see a different
spelling in Turkey, Elanur.
> Turkish words on signs: balik means fish, yavas means stop.
Logistik, Tekstil, fabrik, oto.
> Traveling softens one. It takes some of the mystery away, the
assumptions, the projections.
> The road construction sites have wood stick fences on the
hillsides. What are those for? They do not look permanent. David says that they
are placed there to hold the earth in place until the plantings take hold.
> Prayer songs from the mosques are words of ways to live your
life, reminders for the day. It works I think.
> In big cities many young girls are dressed Western style. They
can choose to go modern or traditional. Many men would prefer a traditional
village girl for a life partner.
> Aluminum cans are stuck on trees and bush branches in several
places along the road. ?
> We would like to take more side roads that point to villages in
the hills and trees.
> VW Bug. All the exterior panels are different colors. It sits on
top of a pillar in the middle of a road construction area.
> I have less expectations and opinions about where people should
live.
> It is lovely to travel with the season: a long, long springtime
as we head north.
On the Black Sea road again we are heading to the Sumela Monastery of
Meryemana (the Virgin Mary). A rushing creek runs through a green gorge into
the Karadaglar (Black Mountains). It is a sunny clear day with perfect spring
temperatures. We see fishponds and alders: small communities on steep hillsides
of crop fields. We finally spot the 13th Century Meryemana across
the canyon; huddled in a long crooked line, back walls against the steep rock
face. Tall buildings of golden sand color, lots of little windows patterning
rows of dark spots, much like the look of fork-pokes in a pie top. The roofs
are of red tiles. The whole image is quite a sight of would-be fantasy. But, it
is real! We walk the tree root stepped pathway and then climb long upward
stairs. The little cave chapel is the draw. The frescoes are still beautiful if
not faded, and even the graffiti is worth a look.
A class of young girls and boys has targeted us as Americans. They
come to talk and giggle, take pictures with us and practice their English. “How
old are you? Hello. You have beautiful eyes. Where are you from? Do you speak
Turkish?” We stand for 50 photos with adorable 14-year-old girls.
ORDU. Hluk finds us on a main street getting ready for the night. He
asks if he can do anything for us. He shows us to his parking lot. Instead of
the usual call to prayer that is sung, we hear a spoken call to prayer. That
evening we listen to Bob Dylan, his Thirtieth Anniversary Concert. “Things Will
Change Tomorrow when I Paint My Masterpiece”. We sleep soundly.
In the morning a woman speaks out from the minaret! A woman! Things are
changing here. We travel near to the sea on an old highway. There are sandy
beaches, fish farms, rocky shores, and leafy hills beginning at the sea, and an
island or two floating close to the shore. The view is like looking at Japan
from our home coastlines, nothing to see but an empty horizon. Pruned tree
branch poles are left by the roadside for pick-up later, poles for gardens, for
stabilizing sunflowers, for climbing peas and beans, for fences. Lilacs are in
bloom, the scent coming to us sporadically as we drive. Cow parsnip flowers
stand on their sturdy big stocks. A cow is tethered to a tree, which shades a
seated traditionally dressed woman. Air force fighter planes screech overhead.
The small seashore towns are sweet grubby little places full of activity.
Harvested leeks are placed in tall bundles standing vertical, eye catching!
They are for sale along the road. We stop for coffee and watch a pack of dogs
joyfully playing in and out of a stack of big pipes. Tulips are finishing their colorful show, but
still some cities display this beauty at their gateways. SAMSON is a large
modern city with Carrefour and Migros Super grocery stores: cookies and soymilk
and headlamp batteries. Other towns melt into Samson, an extended metropolitan
sprawl, and big river deltas. BAFRA. A woman moves along in the road carrying
something she has harvested, probably for her animals. There is a mixture of
old and new dwellings.
A thick strata line of ready-made bricks piled up for 200 feet, a
great texture of rotting rock. Fog has come in, making the layers of land show
dimension, not the normal flat look, the Black sea below. We are coming to a
long tunnel; it feels a bit like a video game. Closer and closer it comes! Can
we make it through the darkness? A
string of red lights light up the right side, white on the left, seeming to
narrow down to nothing in the distance. On and on until we see faint light at
the end. The day is grey but the beaches dig under the turquoise blue water, serene
in its color even without the sunshine. More towns: BOYABAT, SINOP.
Sinop is where our friends Harry and Hal served time in the military.
It is a peninsula on a peninsula, a very pretty small city alive with neat
places to explore.
April 25
In the city we find Sakary Street, which takes us along the harbor and
to our overnight parking spot next to the two-mile old city walls, built in
2000 BC. Large fishing boats are moored and being worked on. We picture our
friends walking this place, the wall, the market streets and the harbor. The
old town still is a vital part of the community, good shops, and good cafes,
retaining the flavor of its history. In would be a good vacation destination.
There is plenty to do.
We awake on a sparkling Saturday morning. Sailboats are out. To get
our bearings, we drive the sea road. People are out walking and jogging on
sidewalks at the water's edge. There are 'Butik' (boutique) hotels and houses
and apartments with wonderful views from the hillside.
Our goal today is to find the base where Harry and Hal actually spent
their time. We stop for some information at a gas station and grab some chai.
Gypsy gets mixed up on her directions, on which road to take. The base has been
closed for ten years; it is not in her bank of road knowledge. We are pretty sure
we find it: military fencing and buildings high on a hill. It was a radar
listening post in the 1960's, during the Cold War. The base has extended radar surveillance
from Britain. America now uses this facility. Not too long ago, Syrian missiles
were aimed and fired at Turkey. US technology was able to intercept them while
the missiles were in flight, blowing them up. Turkey is such a strategic ally
for the USA.
Leaving here we head west through agricultural fields and pastures.
There are cows of all colors, heads down chomping, mowing; sheep with shepherds
and dogs wandering on land they do not own. Snowy white ground daisies lie in
the grasses, wood lots. Women are in the ditches picking natural greens and
carrying them in buckets. Streams meander to the sea. Rolling hills of green,
topped with mist. Cosmos and roses are
everywhere. Women are tending their garden plots, with rumps in the air, hands
in the earth. Food is grown for family and for sale. Roadside tables display
produce and jars of jam.
Gypsy camp tents, concrete block houses, junk and old cars scattered
about. Dogs asleep in the middle of the road. Others stare at nothing. Too many
dogs, not enough food it seems. Purple rhodies and yellow azaleas brighten the
scene. We drive on a patched and bumpy two-lane road. More messy gypsy camps
but with two good trucks parked in their midst. The villages are
Transylvania-like. Pretty. Homes painted grey, and soft shades of coral and
yellow.
The road now leads out to the sea. Apartments on the beach, decorated
in little sparkly colorful tiles, some placed in motifs, some in patterns.
Between towns we are treated to winding cliff-side roads through trees and
opening to fantastic views. Sagging wood homes next to the beach. They do not
hold up well, not like the concrete block structures. Gypsies on the beach, a
chubby healthy fox crosses the road: Red-brown, black.
As we drive through a town, INEBOLU, a beautiful young woman
walks by. She is dressed in the clothing of Islam, but with a twist. Lovely
wide leg pants, contemporary shoes, fitted and stylish coat to mid thigh, head
scarf neatly and creatively tied, clutch purse, accented in soft peach colors.
She looks amazing! A model. Maybe she has told herself, “If I am going to dress
in the tradition of my religion, I will show that I am proud of it. I am going
to raise the bar.” Wow!
On we go to that area between towns; slate roofs on wood houses, terra
cotta roofs on log sheds. An old boat parked next to a shed dripping in fresh
hay. YUNISKOY. We are in and out of sea-misted hills and landslides. We
pass wooden bus stop shelters, one housing a motorcycle for someone who lives
down the steep hill. KOROGLU. A donkey is wandering in the lush green
grass, plenty of fresh food. Rain hits the windshield. It does not last long. DOGANYURT.
On the next leg of countryside we listen to a Frenchman, Julien Clerc, sing his
wonderful French songs in his melodic raspy voice. We are high above the
turquoise sea watching waves crash against the rocky cliff edge. DENIZBUKU.
TASLIPINAR. More stacked poles. Wild pea. BELYAKA. HEYELAN.
AYDENCIK. The Ottomans brought the local architecture with them. 'Stick'
built (2x4). Service berry, dogwood, bright orange calendula, thistle, yikes, I
need a flower ID book. Ladies mantle, hellebore, bracken, dandelion, buttercup,
broom, poplar! YAGMERLU. CIDE. Pop.74,000. We park by the marina
where all the men in town are watching a soccer match on a short field. It is
6:57 pm. Here we shall stay the night.
We walk along the beachside streets. There were lots of amenities here
for the community, but left to fend for themselves when the economics took a
dive. Some day perhaps it will be back to its former prettiness. Sidewalk flow along
the beach side, apartments above retail stores on the opposite side. It has
hints of being an old mill town. A lumberyard is still stocked and selling. It
is not yet summer. The town probably hums when school is out. Dogs are asleep
and dreaming in the middle of the road. For the time being they rule! The
streets are lined with jacaranda trees. Vinca major, poppies and Queen Ann's
lace grow anywhere they find room. Old Ottoman houses still stand in this town.
April 27
Sunday. We leave town and continue west along the shore to KURUCASILE,
a university town 25 miles away, then one town after another and more rugged
lovely high coast between. A wanderer, a man moving on, with his old donkey on
a lead, packed with everything they need for night and day. Or maybe that is my
story. Perhaps he is coming home from the store! Orchards overgrown and uncared
for. A ladder leans against the fence, the fruit still in demand. A variety of
wild roses. A woman with a woven basket on her back, walks with a walking stick
along the roadside. Another is harvesting roadside greens with a slashing tool
and carries a flat shoulder bag. Her hair is in a ponytail. She wears pants.
Not the norm here. And yet another woman walking hunched, up the hill, a huge
wrapped bundle of yellow flowering food for her goats. More people with woven
baskets, and rubber back-baskets with tools poking out the top. HISAR, CURUNLU,
primitive towns of cliff and beach. Old style haystacks in the fields, hay
swished in circles around a supporting stick. Five donkeys loose on the road,
feeding as they go. KARAMAN, white iris in mass above the town, so
beautiful! More ladies with bundles on their backs. A very young girl dressed
in a long skirt and headscarf. This is such a picturesque place. People are close
to the earth. Please don't let this scene and lifestyle die, my short earnest
prayer. Fog envelopes us as we move along, then we burst into the sunshine. Fog
and sun alternate for half an hour. BARTIN. SAFRANBOLU. We turn
inland, green trees and pastures above a river gorge. Mountain ash,
starflowers, blue bells... and snow measuring poles. Three story Ottoman houses
with Tudor decoration (lXlXl), sort of an 'arts and crafts' look. White plaster
or tan brick backgrounds with black or dark brown decorative boards, lovely
wood around the windows. White lace curtains hang in V's.
Dark, dark clouds full of rain threaten to let go of their burdens.
Fifty minutes to BOLU where we will stay the night. Lightening! Wind! A
big front! Heavy rain! Shepherds go about their business in the rain, soaking
wet. I don't suppose it phases the sheep. Six ladies are walking with umbrellas
and rain parkas. WATCH FOR DEER signs. We stop early. It is hard to see through
the rain.
April 29
Last night the Imam checked on us, the man who sings out the prayers
from the mosque beside us. Then the town mayor comes by. His remark to us, ”I
looked in your van and saw that you were old but acting young!” He gave us
candy, three pieces each. He is curious and asks many questions. “Who drives?
Do you have jobs? Are you of an evangelistic Christian church? Can you meet me
for breakfast in Bolu? You can use our mosque toilets if you like. No problem
to stay here. The 5:00 am call to prayer might wake you. I see you are reading.
Old people do not read here.” What an amazing encounter. We wake to the 5:00 am
call to prayer, so beautifully sung. “God is good, come and worship.” It is
sung in Arabic. Most Turks cannot understand Arabic. This is a gentle Islam.
We continue in the rain, 51ºF this morning, a long ride to the
European part of Turkey, past Istanbul, across the Bosporus Bridge. Our regular
and familiar overnight stop at Selimpasa harbor awaits us. In the morning we
are heading to Bulgaria, leaving behind what we have become accustomed to; road
signs, some language, Turkish culture, at least eight month's worth of exposure
here. I must remember to practice the examples they have set for us: I must
remember to be kind and helpful to everyone. Smile. Wave. Shake hands. Oh, I
will miss the Turkish people. Mustard plants grow wild along the roadsides,
seeds from the fields. Red poppies and green grasses mixed in. We stop to spend
our remaining Lira on petro.
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