a trip to the dark sea of the world [part IV]

Day 6: Friday July 20, 2007

Time to leave Barhal. Up at 6, breakfast at 6:30, out the door by 7. No surprise, it was a bittersweet feeling to be leaving.

Everyone had said that it only took an our to get to Yusufeli—an experience we had not had in coming—and we planned to catch the only direct bus to Trabzon at 9 o’clock.

As we drove through Barhal, we picked up a number of people, including the three that had caused the 30-45 minute detour around Sarigol 1 the first time! Uh-oh, were we going to have to do that again? Funny how the whole trip turned into a number of big circles.

We were on our way but upon reaching Sarigol 1, surprise surprise, we turned and took the detour into nowhereness. The Rafting Guide was in the van with us, heading to his Lord of the River office in Yusufeli. “This is not our usual road,” he said. Yeah, we know.

The rest of the road was winding and beautiful, though without the rain this time it looked a bit dustier. The driver went fast and there were a few close calls, but we made it to Yusufeli at 8:45, let out a sigh of relief, and plopped onto our next bus. The dolmus driver helped us with that and then asked me:

“were you here two years ago?”

What’s with it?! That’s two times I’d been “recognized.” I must have a spectacular doppelganger if she’d traveled out there.

On the bus, a scraggly, dreaded, dirty, redheaded hippy boy got on and sat in front of me—alert alert, NOT A TURK. We started on our way towards Artvin, and the boy started to fall asleep. He fell this way and that, creeping out all the people around him. Finally, he woke up. The disgusted faces of the people nearby were hilarious. They seemed to actually fear him.

At Artvin he talked to us briefly—a poor lost Israeli kid, I felt bad for him—then he got off because it seemed there was a break. All of a sudden, though, the bus started moving again!
Umm, what should we do? His sweater was still on the bus, he must have been freaking out as he didn’t know a speck of Turkish!

We started laughing—that laugh you get when you panic, unsure of what to do. Then the bus went up a hill and stopped…at an otogar. Then, it turned around…and we went back! What a relief.

Artvin was a gross place, scarred by recent works on the dam project. The evidence of it continued as we moved through the valley—the water was no longer a clear blue but had taken on a murky brown color.

All of a sudden, the landscape changed and it began to feel like rainforest country again. Tiffin pointed out a low growing bushy plant covering the hillsides and we spent a long time considering what it could be—boxwood? a nut? an herb? There was so much of it! Alas, we couldn't figure it out.

All of a sudden Tiffin turned and said “there’s the sea!” Ah, the Black Sea! And, then we spotted a seagull. It was incredible how quickly we moved out of the mountains and hit the sea.

We had arrived...in Hopa. The last town before entering Georgia, Hopa is undeniably a border town with nothing to offer. Passing quickly through, we started to follow the sea road. Some minutes later, we passed our first CAYKUR factory of the trip and stopped at a little town lined with fish merchants.

We stood up to get off the bus and a woman behind me told me to pull down the back of my shirt—oy vey, were we entering a conservative world? I wasn’t ready.

We stepped outside. GROSS! It was hot and muggy, the humidity was out of control, hitting you like a wet sock. We went to the bathroom where the water was running inessently, then it was back to the bus. Waiting around outside, we looked at the little store nearby where I noticed they sold cay scented kolonya!

Then Hippy Boy came to talk to us:

Him: Where were you?
Us: Barhal
Him: So, you’re not Italian?
Me: No, we’re American

He nodded his head and walked away.

Tiffin: Ayla, he asked us if we’d ever been to Ayder. What did you think he said?

I guess he didn’t ask if we were Italian…haha…oops.

Hippy Boy was going to Pazar and from Pazar to Ayder. He was kind of paranoid about it, but I would be too if I were him. The kid had a strange attitude, though, and we decided that we were glad we didn’t go to Ayder after all—it was a popular place for the trekking tourists and there were probably lots of bizarre people there.

And we went on, very…very…very…slowly. All of a sudden, I realized what those bushes were—they were TEA. DUH?! How’d we miss that?!? After all the CAYKUR factories and the knowledge that we were in tea country, how stupid could we be?!

We stopped at little towns on the way, picking up and dropping off. The road was actually a bit desolate. At Pazar, the driver stopped in the middle of the highway, at a most deserted and random intersection, and told Hippy Boy to get off. Poor kid. He could apparently get a dolmus to Ayder from there. I really felt for the guy, I’d be freaking out.

And then, continuing onwards, we came upon a promenade of, at least, 100 cars honking and waving Ak Parti flags. Goodness! Of course I couldn't get my camera out fast enough.

The trip seemed to take forever. In Rize—cay capital of Turkey-slash-the World—we saw the mother of all Caykur factories. Other than that, it was just views of industry on the left and the wide open Black Sea on the right.

From Rize it was another 1.5 hours to Trabzon. We looked in the guidebook and decided to try Hotel Nur for the night. The plan was to go to the Sumela Monestary the next morning and then perhaps head on to Sinop, with a stop in Giresun.

Arriving in Trabzon, we were overwhelmed by bustling people and busy traffic. I was already stressed again—so much for holding on to that mellow Barhal attitude. At the otogar, we asked the driver how to get a dolmus downtown:

“I’m going there, I’ll take you.”

Sweet. We hopped back on the bus, but there was so much traffic, so he quickly stuck us on another servis. The guy put our bags in the trunk and we got on while the bus was moving.

Downtown, we saw a lot of commotion. OH NO! Recep Tayyip Erdogan decided to make July 20th his day to campaign in Trabzon. Why oh why?!

We got off the bus at the city center but it started leaving with our bags still in the trunk. We rushed to jump back on, the closing door almost crushed Tiffin to bits. I asked the guy what he heck was going on and he said

“I forgot about your bags!”

No, really?

We were lost. I asked a woman on the street how to get where we needed to go and she showed us some stairs. We walked down them.

We were lost. We asked a store guard and he said:

“I’m from Trabzon. Tell me where you want to go. I know Trabzon.”

And he did. He gave us directions and we followed them…right into the heart of the rally.

We were lost. We went to ask some policemen for help:

“I’m sorry, you can’t enter the rally with your bags.”

(Yeah, we don’t want to!) “Do you know where Hotel Nur is?”

A policeman got up and directed us:

“You walk through there—where that big crowd is—take a left and you’ll see it.”

Great, thanks.

So, we walked towards the big crowd which, of course, was an area cordoned off by police who weren’t going to let us through with our bags. We managed to maneuver around it but couldn’t figure a way to the hotel without going through the crowd. Then we saw a bunch of skeevie men staring at us and, in an effort to get away, spotted another hotel. There was a slim chance the administrators there would help, but I asked them how to get to Nur anyway. Of course, the only option, they said, was to wade through the throngs of people. Dang it!

I wasn’t keen on paying $100 a night at the Otel Sarioglu, whose logo was the same as the Sheraton...but this was no Sheraton. I was stressed out, so we hastily left. Outside, though, the place was still full of people and Tiffin suggested that may it would be a good idea to see if that hotel had a room available.

So, we did. And yes, they did have a room. And yes, they did have a student price. That was nice enough. It was a place to stay with AC and a hot shower.

We went upstairs. I was pooped. My brain was killing me. After the adrenaline slowed down a bit, I went to take a shower. Two problems occurred:

1. I couldn’t get the water to go from bath to shower
2. There didn’t seem to be any kind of drain

Tiffin solved the first problem, but the drain eluded us. Neither of us could see one and assumed there must be some secondary mechanism working…like magic or something. As it turned out, my soap box was covering the drain. Go figure. Two university educated girls…meh, we were tired.

And there we were, in Trabzon, home of the oh-so famous Trabzon Ekmegi [special sourdough bread made, often as gigantic loaves, in Trabzon]

Post-freshening up, we decided to go explore. I needed to use the internet so we went looking for an internet café. Streets were busy and it took us forever to find one. It was in the basement of a building and the room was so hot and humid that neither of us could handle it for long. Additionally, typing with a Turkish keyboard is beyond annoying and my tolerance for such things is always limited.

We decided to find a place for dinner and finally settled on a basic kebap salonu. I had an Adana Kebap, which was tasty as usual, and Tiffin had a Domatesli Kebap [unexpectedly enormous] that came wrapped in tinfoil.

Afterwards, we walked around some more. We stopped by an old timey helva place where we got ourselves a delicious Dondurmali Kagit Helvasi [dondoormahleu kyat helvaseu; wafer helva with ice cream]. I was surprised at the quality of the ice cream [being from an ice cream snob filled family, I have high standards which Turkish ice cream rarely meets...it's just a bit too chewy]. It was the perfect treat after a long and trying day.

We walked back to the hotel as we ate dessert and hit the sack at the raucous hour of…9:30 pm. Meh, we were tired.

Day 7—Saturday July 21, 2007

We woke up and had a surprisingly decent breakfast at the hotel—it was the first time I’d had coffee instead of tea since the start of the trip! Afterwards, we packed our bags, dropped them at the lobby and checked out. Then, we got tickets for a 10 o’clock bus to the Sumela Monestary and headed to the Old Bazaar to while away the time.

It was a nice morning—not too busy—and we had the streets virtually to ourselves. Passing a bakery, we picked up a Laz Boregi—a regional Black Sea specialty—and headed into the bazaar. No surprise, it wasn’t much different than other bazaars in Turkey, selling cheap knock-off clothes and lots of junk.

There was one shop, though, selling farm supplies. So, I picked up a few sheep bells because Tiffin reminded me how lovely the sound was when the sheep came home in the village. It was a dusty little shop with all sorts of neat things stuffed into every nook and cranny.

Around 10 o’clock we headed back and caught our bus. The weather was nasty—incredibly humid—and we were praying that at the monastery it would be better. The car filled up with some interesting characters: a group of young Turks, a Scandinavian couple, two Arabic speaking men, a married Turkish couple including a man who spoke English, and an Arabic speaking family—the woman was wearing a brown burqa, covering her from head-to-toe. Quite a mix, the number of Arabic speaking tourists came as a bit of a surprise.

The drive to Sumela took ~1 hour and I slept part of the way. Upon arriving we entered a serene forest, not unlike Barhal but with souvenir shops, restaurants, and humidity.

We started the walk up, the walk that constitutes the the hardest hike I’ve taken in ages. It was long and had a seemingly near vertical incline to it—according to the sign, it's a dangerous route! I don’t think I’ve sweated so much since springtime soccer games. It was out of control. It wasn't until much later that we discovered that that route was the "shortcut"...not that anyone could legitimately call that a shortcut!

We somehow managed to make it to the top and with some strange luck I finagled us a student admission price. The Sumela Monestary is quite old, built originally in 395 AD, and has been protected/attacked/destroyed by a number of groups until 1923 when Ataturk declared it a protected site.

Inside was pretty but not particularly interesting at first glance. There were no signs indicating what the different rooms were. There were some interesting features, however:

Ceilings made of stones sticking straight up and down.

Some seriously short doors.

And other doors floating in mid-air.

What this all adds up to: these people must have been pretty magical-slash-short!

And then…we arrived...

at the most epic and remarkable part of the monastery...

the frescoed Church of the Virgin Mary.

The entire church, every inch of every wall, was plastered with paint.

Many of the frescoes had been destroyed over the centuries by cultural or religious groups who disagreed with the Christian theology. Little holes riddled the walls, inside and out.

Other figures of people had the faces completely dug out. Tiffin said they did that because it was easier to get rid of the face than getting rid of everything; since the frescoes were so prolific, the work would have gone faster this way.

But, despite all the battles people of disagreeing ideologies waged on the place, the frescoes remain remarkable.

On the way back down, we stopped and had our lunch of laz boregi, dried mulberries, and mixed nuts. Hit all the food groups, right? Yeah, we were eatin' healthy.

The laz boregi was sweeter than we expected, filled with a delicious custard. Unfortunately, it wasn’t really what I was looking for at the time. It was, however, undeniably delicious and I will go great distances to eat one again before I leave Turkey. Luckily, I discovered today that the pastry shop down the street sells them during Ramazan. Huzzah!

We thought the walk down would be better after a rest, but it wasn’t. It was steep and my knees were really ready to give out. But, we made it to the bottom and refreshed ourselves with some tea, killing time until 2 o’clock when our return bus came.

The ride back was interesting because we went through a long dark tunnel that neither Tiffin nor I remembered going through on the ride in. Befuddled, we were.

Back in Trabzon, we went to the tourist office to see if they had any information on getting to Sinop. The LP had said there was one bus that left at 8 pm, but we didn’t know anything about it. Unfortunately, the office was closed so we sat on the stairs, deciding what to do. All of a sudden the owner of Hotel Nur, located conveniently next door, came out and asked if we needed help. We told him our predicament and he though didn’t know about the bus he said he’d help us find out. So, we went inside, he called the otogar, and we got the connections—one direct at 9 am and one through Samsun at 11:30 pm.

He gave us the address of the ticket vendor down the street and we went. We decided to take the night bus as it would get us to Sinop early and we could avoid paying for another hotel that night. A good plan…?

At that point it was about 3 o’clock. We had a lot of hours to kill. The weather was nasty, gloomy, and uberhumid. Trabzon is a key port town along the Black Sea, so it has a nice walkway along the ocean. We decided to go down there and bumble around.

As we reached the port we noticed a boat with lots of passengers and music luring us in. Tiffin suggested we go check it out and though I was intimidated by all the Turkish families, Tiffin convinced me to go—hey, it was something to kill an hour and it was only 2 ytl!

We got on and sat down. In front of us was a young posh couple—a man wearing a bright turquoise shirt and a headscarved woman with high-heeled open-toed sandals—and a family consisting of two young kids and two women, one scarved, one uncovered.

The trip was an hour cruise down the Black Sea towards Rize, replete with blaring Turkish pop music that stopped when the call to prayer began. It wasn’t exactly a beautiful sight, all the urban sprawl, but it was a relaxing cruise. Plus, we got to see the big TRABZON sign [someone please tell me why Trabzon needs a Hollywood sign].

It was relaxing, save for all the stares we got. The posh headscarved woman kept turning around to look at us in a not-so-sly manner. So did the uncovered woman in the family group. The other headscarved woman, at some point, just blatantly turned around and stared at us. We weren’t talking particularly loudly, but I guess they heard English and were intrigued. Plus, Turks have no qualms about staring, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when you catch someone in action.

The two groups of people actually served to be quite good for people watching and inspired some interesting discussion concerning the subject of headscarf culture in Turkey:

The first time I came to Turkey, four years ago, I was shocked at the number of headscarves I saw. I think my dad was, too—he hadn’t been back for 15 years but, he said, it seemed there were more headscarves than before.

Now, here’s [some of] the deal with headscarves in Turkey:

1. It is illegal to wear them in public governmental and educational institutions. Consequently, you can not wear them in the Presidential Mansion or on any university campus.

To get around this, women will wear wigs and hats.

2. All levels of dress code are followed amongst covered women: headscarf with jeans and long-sleeved shirt; headscarf a long-sleeved shirt, and a long jacket covering pants/a skirt; headscarf with half- or full-length skirts; a full black burqa covering all but face, nose and eyes, or eyes; high heels, open-toed shoes, stockings, socks, flip-flops...

3. Some women seem to care about the fashion—matching styles and patterns of scarf and dress—but many ignore it.

4. Out East and in small villages, some girls start wearing headscarves at an incredibly young age, i.e. <10>

5. There are religious wearers and there are those who just wear a scarf on their heads—the latter tend to be older women, like my aunt Nebahat, or village women working in the fields. Sometimes there is religious reason behind this, sometimes it’s habit.

6. Many covered women in big cities like Ankara and Istanbul do date, hold hands, and kiss in public.

7. It is acceptable for a covered woman to smoke. I've seen many serious chain smokers.

I find it fascinating to watch covered women, to see what they do and what they don't do. To me it seems there is no consistent way in which people observe, which means I'm always seeing something different or unexpected.

In the rural regions, it’s not surprising in any way to see women wearing headscarves. I’m not sure how much of it is an actual reflection of religious conservativism and how much is just traditional. In Barhal and Sahmuratli, I never felt like I was stared at for not wearing one, but then again both places were used to having uncovered women around.

The women on this boat in Trabzon, though, were intriguing…particularly the Posh One in the couple:

About the Posh Woman [and other stuff]

She was kind of obnoxious, very snobby, and smoked like a chimney. Tiffin says that in Egypt, the women don’t smoke as it’s considered a bad thing. And, indeed, it does seem a bit hypocritical to me. Cover yourself but engage in vices like smoking.

She was wearing a nice patterned headscarf and tight clothes with open-toed high-heeled sandals and no stockings. How does that work? Isn’t the point of wearing a headscarf to detract from leering eyes?

She was in public with a man who, while he might be incredibly pious, seemed quite the opposite. But, I admit, that is an unfair assumption. I've never gained a real grasp on religiosity in this country.

I guess my main question is: how religious are these women? What is their motivation for wearing the headscarf? Why would a woman make herself suffer to the nth degree in the sun-heat-humidity if she isn’t a particularly religious person. I am all for freedom, that’s not my problem. I’m not offended by headscarves or those who choose to wear them. I’m just curious because I really don’t understand and I really don’t know. It’s an especially big question for me in Turkey, a nation that prides itself so much on its secularist background.

I also don’t know how they handle it in the summer! Turks love polyester and denim. Covering yourself in head-to-toe polyester or long denim coats and skirts, never ever rolling up your sleeves…How?! Why?! I could never do it.

The question of the heascarf was a key part of the drama over the recent presidential election here. Abudullah Gul is married to a woman who wears a headscarf. As a result, to become the president and move into the presidential mansion would be entirely unacceptable. While the President in Turkey has limited power and influence, it is a symbolically huge position: Ataturk was the first president of the Republic.

Conversing about these issues consumed most of our trip, though photo phones also had their place. In Turkey, people constantly take photographs with their phones, but you rarely see a regular digital camera.

The kids and women in front of us were involved much of the trip in taking photos. The uncovered woman refused to smile but later we discovered why—she had quite a bad rack of teeth. Nonetheless, it seemed her intention was to look entirely nonplussed and too-cool-for-school. Why am I mentioning this? Merely because we spent a lot of time watching these people because they were hilarious.

After the boat ride we walked around the park a bit but we were so tired that it was hard to move. We stopped and watched some break-dance practice before deciding to hunt for presents in the bazaar.

We trekked back up the hill, a difficult task after the morning hike, and stopped by the hotel to pick up our bags. It was nice and air-conditioned in the lobby, so I didn’t’ mind it much when the deskman invited us to sit and talk a few minutes. Eventually, we left, dropped our bags at the bus stop, and headed back to the bazaar.

As we were lazily walking down the streets, a guy started following us quite closely. WE dodged and weaved, but he was hard to lose. Eventually, we did, but it was kinda creepy.

The weather was nasty—not sunny, but incredibly humid. Crowds swarmed the market and we walked in circles, not finding much except a store with nifty copper pots hanging outside. Eventually, a bit discouraged by the poor selection, Tiffin bought her friend a cowbell from our farm supply store man.

Suddenly, I needed water. I was feeling frighteningly dizzy, so we left the bazaar and got some. We people watched for awhile, still unable to understand how in the world Turkish people never seemed to look sweaty and how the covered women managed not to faint.

At that point, we still had a long time before our bus. Planning to have our dinner late, we tried to waste time by walking around even more. We thought about visiting the Aya Sofya Cami but by the time we thought about it it was too late. Shucks.

The election was the next day and we weren’t sure if grocery stores would be open, so when we came upon a produce pazar we strolled through thinking we might get some emergency tomatoes and cucumbers. We didn’t get anything, but it’s always fun to walk the pazars. I’m not sure if this was a daily or weekly one, but it was pretty extensive, with cheese, meat, and chicken shops in addition to produce.

Upon reaching the end of the produce pazar, we turned right and eventually found ourselves wrestling through the regular bazaar again. Ugh. We had walked the same three streets 15 times by that point. So, we passed quickly through and headed to the big plaza in the middle of Ataturk Alani [basically, the center of social Trabzon] to drink an ayran [yogurt drink]. We sipped slowly and relished in the refreshing coolness of the drink. That kind of weather is what ayran was invented for. After an hour, we finally decided it was high time for dinner.

LP doesn’t do justice to the food choices in Trabzon. They stick to the regulars like pide, lahmacun, and kebap places. There is, in fact, a wide assortment of places and many with more than the typical doner and kebap. In my opinion, the best places are the ones that have cafeteria style ana yemek, which offer homemade foods like dolma, fasulye, and fish. They often look a bit shady, typically filled with men, but many have an upper room designated for women and families. We searched for one like that, one with an aile salonu [ayeeley salonoo; family room], and went upstairs.

Now, we were nervous and so we headed straight to the upper room. What we didn’t realize was that we were supposed choose our food first, from the dishes downstairs, and then go sit down—they would bring it too you. So, the waiter came up looking a tad confused and asked us what we wanted. I ordered ezogelin soup and taze fasulye [Ezo the Bride’s soup and fresh green bean dish], Tiffin had biber dolma [stuffed peppers].

It was so so good, especially compared with Turkish fast food—kebap, pide, and the like. We had time, so we savored our food, coming out quite satisfied. There was also a good window to people watch from and after a long day of trolling around, it was nice to just sit down, have a glass of tea, and watch people.

We finished dinner but still had time to waste, so we decided to go somewhere else for dessert. Earlier, I’d seen a pastahane selling cold chocolate pudding, which I had been craing, so we tried going there.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t find it and all the shops were closing. It was odd, 9:30 pm on a Saturday night! We were surprised and as we realized that only men seemed to be out walking, we turned around and went back to the strip of restaurants we’d been at before. Eventually, we found a restaurant with Hamsikoy Sutlac [a special Hamsikoy version of rice pudding].

The sutlac was good and it hit the spot, though I’m not sure why it’s famous because it didn’t seem particularly different from any other sutlac I’d had. The restaurant, though, was a bit strange. At one point, I asked if there was a bathroom:

Me: “Excuse me, is there a bathroom here?”
Waiter: “No, I’m sorry, we don’t have any chocolate desserts.”
Me: “No, no, is there a toilet?”

This went on for a few more minutes before he understood. I had to say it so loudly that everyone around stopped what they were doing and looked at me funny.

Luckily, though, they had one and the guy escorted me to it…all the way down to the basement, past the kitchens. My presence startled the people working in the kitchen and the bathroom left much to be desired. The guy had to turn on some loud machine before I went in and it was anything but clean. Ah, bathroom adventures.

After the sutlac, we couldn’t think of anywhere to go, so we went back to the ticket office and checked the LP for accommodation suggestion in Sinop. We called and made a reservation at one, which brought us to a 45-minute countdown before our service bus to the otogar would leave. Trying to whittle away the time, I talked to the guy at the ticket desk.

At the otogar, we had a little more time to wait. Another woman traveling alone called me over to talk to her for awhile. She was from Adana, taught in Erzurum, and was taking a holiday to Trabzon. She was wonderfully sweet and said that, like all the other wonderful people we had met along the way, she was our yardimci, our helper.

Our bus came, I said goodbye to the woman, and we went to board. I asked if it went to Sinop, to make sure it was ours, and the young attendant had such an attitude:

“This goes to Samsun.”

That’s it, that’s all I got. I was confused as all hell—I knew we weren’t taking a direct bus, but I thought it only stopped in Samsun before going on. It was like pulling teeth to get anything out of him and I was not in the mood to be dealing with his obnoxious condescending attitude.

Eventually, though, we were assured that it was our bus, so we settled in for what would become a most awful night ride.

a trip to the dark sea of the world [part III]

Day 5—Thursday July 19, 2007

Sleep was restless. I kept waking up, think I was late, but it was 5:30, 6:30, 7 am…and what could I be late for?! But, the sun was bright and the river was loud and I was up.

Tiffin eventually joined me and we headed to breakfast, where we had heaps of kaymak and two types of jam—visne [veeshnay; sour cherry] and kayisi [kayeuseu; apricot]. No bee attack on the goodies, but there was a cool green bug on the chair. I ate much too much.

We waited for the rest of the group and, in the meantime, the rafting guide staying at the pension came and talked my ear off. He told me about all the different types of rafting available and all the places around the world where he’d gone rafting. He tried to allay our “fears” about the water being cold and by describing the beauty of the rapids:

“Shakira gibi dans ediyor!”
“The water dances like Shakira!”


Always the businessman, always the Turk, he knew “a guy who could give [us] a great deal in Trabzon.” Too typical. Just a tad annoying.

We left late, circa 10:30. Mehmet Bey brought us first to the bakkal [corner store], where he and Abu Bekir bought food for a picnic. It's also where we saw an incredibly large bag of hazelnuts Beckham's lil punim staring us down from the Pepsi machine [the man is everywhere, even the most remote villages in the mountains...oh oh it's magic, you know].

After our little shopping trip, it was time to really get going. We didn't know where he was taking us, but Mehmet Bey started driving towards the road that Tiffin and I walked up the first day.

T: It would be really funny if we turned down that road. We can look for your earmuff!

And yes, my friends, we turn.
We drive over the bridge.
We. See. My. Earmuff!

“Dur! Bir dakika!” x3
“Stop! One minute!” x3

I jumped out of the car, as everyone else in the stared at me dumbfounded. Harika! Everything I had lost was found!

Shaking his head and chuckling, Mehmet Bey continued up the hill.

Me: It would be quite funny if he also stopped at that promenade where we stopped last time.

Lo and behold, he stopped at the promenade:

“From here you can walk around and have a picnic. I’ll pick you up in 2-3 hours.”

OK! We put our stuff down and started to walk. It was nice because we were able to go further than we had the other day—we were three-quarters of the way up at that point. We followed the road—the butterflies were out in full force—and arrived at a fork in the road.

Problems ensue as no once seems to care [fark etmez]:

Filiz [aka Spunky Girl]: Do we go up or down?
Me: Fark etmez. What do you want to do?
Filiz: Fark etmez.
Me: What do you want Abu Bekir?
Abu Bekir: Up?
Filiz and kids chorus: Nooooo! Up is boring. Down takes us to a village.

I guess fark etti after all…

So, we continued down the hill and were passed by 3-4 dolmus along the way. The other day we had seen no one on that road! We got down to the town and, I must say, I was dreading the trek back up.

Suddenly, a dolmus stopped. The driver was friends with the kids and he offered to drive us up the hill. Huzzah! We drove up and then Abu Bekir said:

“wanna go to a nicer place for our picnic?”

OK! We packed the car and headed off. It was a harrowing ride—he took the curves 30x faster than Mehmet Bey. Back in town, we stopped at the bakkal to call Mehmet Bey, letting him know our plan. Then we moved on.

Again, we went down a road Tiffin and I had taken two days prior—the roadblocked one—but today the roadblock was gone. So, we went much further…20km further. It.was.gorgeous. No surprise.

After what seemed like an eternity we finally stopped at a pine covered area near the river. The driver, who I thought was coming for lunch since he had driven us so far, left without taking a coin!

We set up the picnic in the shade. The watermelon and cola were put in the water to make them cold. Spunky Girl and Tiffin made salad. Abu Bekir and Spunky Girl’s Uncle cooked the chicken and veggies.

It was all delicious, delightful, relaxing. Just great fun. We were so lucky to have the chance to participate. It was obvious the kids were happy too, we gave them an excuse to get out and not be so bored. Ach! It was just so nice and I’m so glad Tiffin made the decision for us to stay that extra day.

We took some group pictures that came out well. Here you can see (l-r): me, Spunky Girl's Uncle, little cousin girl, Tiffin, Abu Bekir, little cousin boy.







And Filiz, being the [not too overwhelming] drama queen that she is, instated my camera for a little photo session near the river.

By 4 o’clock, we were pretty darned stuffed. Picnic plus all that kaymak and jam for breakfast—Tiffin and I needed a walk. There was some confusion as to whether or not Mehmet Bey would even be coming, so Tiffin and I decided to walk back.

Bekir wasn’t pleased. We had a small petrol tank and two heavy carpets to carry. Additionally, he just flat out wasn’t interested in the concept of walking…he’s not one to be particularly enthralled by nature. He assured us his father would be coming and after much argument we convinced him to wait at the picnic site—there was no reason for him to be miserable, especially after everything he’d done for us! I thought we had convinced the kids, as well, but they decided to come along for the walk.

So, we started without Abut Bekir. At some point, however, we turned around and saw Bekir coming up behind us. There had been a few other Carson the road, also having picnics, so he left the heavy stuff with them to drive back to town. In the end it all worked out!

It was a wonderful walk. Along the way, Abu Bekir would point out interesting things, like trees split by lightening, or logs fallen by winter avalanches.

We also saw some remarkably twisted trees—the Paleobotanist claims this results from correction-overcorrection-recorrection in growth habits orrrr sickness.

Meh, I just thought it looked neat.

The coolest sight of the day, however, had to be the large block of ice we passed alongside the road--in essence, the remains of a small glacier, melting in the heat of the day—which, to me, was a remarkable thing.

After having our fill of frozenness—and trying to avoid the snowball fight that was beginning between the kids—we moved on. All of a sudden, Mehmet Bey came driving along the road. Tiffin and I wanted to walk some more but Mehmet Bey insisted us on driving us to a safer walking location—apparently, bears are quite abundant in the forest. He explained that bears were also the reason behind the random high -pitched sirens we were hearing back at the pension. He had a tripwire system around the beehives he tends--when a bear comes near, a siren blares and bright lights go on, scaring the bear away. Ha! Glad we found that out.

We drove a long long way. Secretly, I was glad we didn’t walk it. The day was hot and three days of hiking without reprieve were taking their toll on my body. I was tired. Eventually, he let us off, I had my relief-in-the-woods experience, and we had a nice walk home…not including the last 1.6km struggle uphill.

As we came near the pension, I saw Mehmet Bey's dog across the river. I took a picture of him and he started barking. Mehmet Bey came running towards us from behind his beehives telling us not too take pictures of the dog because it scares him and he'll attack. Yet another good thing to know.

When we got back to the pension, new guests were coming in. We sat down for tea with the kids and watched the new guys—Slovenians—come up. An interesting couple, he was a chubby fellow, pissed off and out of breath with a cigarette lit immediately upon reaching the top, she dressed like Lara Croft. Hell yeah, they were gonna beat the giant Kackar!

After tea I went for a shower—it was burning hot, thanks to all that gunes [goonesh; sun] enerji [there was a lot of gunes that day]. Then, it was off to the terrace to write. However, just as I sat down Abu Bekir came in and we started talking. Same things—comparing the US and Turkey—but he did reveal a strong interest n Ottoman history along the way. Tiffin came in followed soon thereafter by the kids. The TV was turned on and Turkish-English language lessons began between Tiffin and Filiz, with me acting as intermediary translator supreme. A nasty headache ensued and writing was not happening. Luckily, an hour later dinner was called.

Dinner was not manti [mahnteu; Turkish ravioli] as Mehmet Bey had said. Nonetheless, it was good, consisting of soup [homemade by Rafting Guide’s wife], salad, pasta, chicken and potatoes, watermelon…and, also prepared by Rafting Guide’s wife, un helvasi [oon helvaseu; flour helva]! We enjoyed the helva but Abu Bekir’s face when he tried it is impossible to describe—priceless…yeah, his plate went immediately to the trash.

After dinner, we went upstairs for cay. We had had a lot of tea since getting to Barhal, but the Black Sea is tea country, so I indulged. Upstairs, Tiffin played pisde [peeshday; a Turkish card game] with the kids and I played tavla [tahvlah; backgammon] with Filiz. I was doing ok until the usta came over and started guiding me…so I ende up with a mas [mahsh; three game loss in one game]! After that, I gave up and the usta took my place. Thankfully, he lost too.

Abut Bekir came over and he got a kick out of flipping through my journal, seeing all the doodles. Then we started talking about the plan for the res of our trip. The kids left, but Filiz gave me her email address—“make sure to come over when you come to Istanbul!!”

By 11:30, Bekir and the usta had helped us develop an itinerary. I can’t tell you how helpful they’d been the entire time. The Israeli couple were highly intrigued by us, they couldn’t figure out what the deal was with the Turkish and the English. It was hilarious to catch them staring as we laughed and talked with the guys.

The four days that we spent in Barhal and our time at Karahan Pension can be described as nothing less than fantastic. In reality, I don’t think I can begin to do it justice. The environment was refreshing, encouraging, and challenging. The treks we took weren’t easy and I’m proud of how successful we were…and it’s not as if it didn’t get us anywhere—no, it paid off in spades with the absurdly awesome views and a great sense of accomplishment!

The whole experience also made me realize that it really does make a difference to know even just a tiny bit of the language. It was immediately obvious upon our arrival that our experiences with the people at the pension and in the town were going to be a lot different than the other tourists there. Other tourists couldn’t—actually, they didn’t try—to communicate…they didn’t even say “merhaba” and would get fed up with the people at the pension when they couldn’t understand. Even many of the foreign guides, who frequented the place, couldn't speak much Turkish; instead, they just relied on silly hand gestures to get their points across. I just found it disrespectful and condescending.

We, on the other hand, had the experience of a lifetime. Without being able to talk to the people at the pension we never would have seen all the things we saw and learned as much about the area. We went far away and saw things in the backwoods, but it was more than just gazing around at the pretty scenery—we were able to do active viewing, learning all about the water systems and ways of life in the area at a significant level. We also made friends and had a good time with people we barley know, we could let down our guard—something I find hard to do in Turkey.

And, if we couldn't speak Turkish, none of that would have happened. Just a little bit, that’s all you need!

To top it off, we stayed at the pension for four nights, breakfast and dinner included, two unexpected lunches…adding up to 200ytl = $78/person [they gave us a 40ytl discount]. But, I would have paid so much more for that experience and I can’t praise the Karahan Pension and its people enough. They were warm, kind, and helpful beyond belief.

Sum up: Make Barhal a priority in your traveling life! Make the Karahan Pension the place you stay! Learn some Turkish!

a trip to the dark sea of the world [part II]

Day 3: Tuesday July 17, 2007

I slept well that first night in Barhal but couldn’t quite manage to sleep past the usual 6am self-induced wake up call. I dozed until 7, when the French family woke up and started arguing. It was cloudy again, but parts of the sky were finally visible. The weather was chilly, but the cold didn’t permeate deep into my bones like it had the previous day during the rainstorms.

Around 8 o’clock, Tiffin and I made our move to breakfast, where we ran into two enormous groups of Israelis checking out. That’s when we realized that there were many more people staying at the pension than we had originally thought. Somehow, though, the place managed to seem deserted.

Breakfast was incredible, not because of what they served—it was a typical Turkish breakfast in content—but the quality and flavor of the products was outstanding. We had:

1. Fresh bread
2. Hard boiled eggs
3. Tomatoes and cucumbers
4. Olives—delicious, not too salty
5. Beyaz peynir—great consistency, no overpowering sheep’s stomach aroma
6. Kasar peynir—a nice bite, similar to a good sharp cheddar
7. Butter—fresh, fresh, fresh!
8. Honey—delicious, local, great texture that reminded me of the stuff I fell in love with in Cyprus. Honey production is big in the Kackar Mountains, plots of beekeeping boxes can be seen dotting the landscape and cluttering porches
9. Apricot jam—this stuff was out of this world and truly tasted like apricots
10. Kaymak—HEAVENLY. Now, I’ve never been a big fan of kaymak—a form of clotted cream—but my goodness, this was to die for…and it would, in actuality, kill you if you ate it on a regular basis.

Oh my, how I indulged on this breakfast!For once, the Lonely Planet did not lie—the reason we even chose this place was because the LP claimed it’s breakfasts were out of this world. Overall, though, the Karahan Pansiyon was a steal at 30 ytl/person half-board, with declicious homemade local food, a wonderful location, comfortable [and energy efficient] accommodations, and kind proprietors [Mehmet Karahan, the owner, is a doll].

After breakfast, we decided to go for a hike. We stared by crossing the river on a nearby bridge. We followed what we thought was a trail, but it ended up leading us to a little house. We walked a bit further, through mud, found some wild strawberries, and a neat drainpipe we thought must be used for irrigation.

Hitting a dead end, we turned around and made our way towards Barhal "centruum". Along the way, we saw some neat makeshift drainpipes and took a detour into a grove of apple trees.

Once in town we turned down another road. This ended in a roadblock but gave us some beautiful views of the river and the chance to feast our eyes on the delicate wildflowers growing all around. After hitting the roadblock, we turned around and when we got back to the city center a man randomly stopped us to talk:

Guy: What do you think of Barhal?
Us: Oh, it’s beautiful!”
Guy: Your Turkish is outstanding. Where are you from?
Us: We’re American, but I’ve been living in Ankara for six months.
Guy: Ah! I live in Istanbul but I am originally from this village!

He was kind and genuine. He wasn’t trying to con us into anything, get us to stay at his pension or hire him as a guide. He just wanted to talk. Overall, the people in Barhal were all so kind and receptive, particularly because we spoke Turkish. Even on our first day there it was evident that speaking Turkish made a huge difference in how you were treated and regarded by the locals. They could barely hide their excitement when they realized we were Turkish speaking tourists!

After saying good day we continued on through Barhal, following the road towards Yusufeli. Along the way we came upon another road and turned. This we followed for about 2.5-3 hours enjoying absolutely lovely views and a landscape brimming with butterflies, wildflowers, and funny-shaped pines.

Down by the river, the terrain had seemed rainforest-like, humid and filled with ferns and waterfalls. Upon ascending the mountain, we quickly and noticeably moved into a new ecosystem, characterized by a relatively dry soil and loads of conifers. As we realized this, Tiffin and I looked across the valley. The change in terrain was so stark and clear—a near straight line cut the mountains horizontally where the tree types suddenly changed.

The walk was delightful, especially as the sun came out. We could see forever and caught random glimpses of higher peaks covered in snow.

Around 12:30, we decided to stop. From the top, we could see a long winding road on the other side of the valley and a tiny little dot walking along it. It seemed he came from a village high in the mountains. Imagine realizing you need milk and walking all the way down from the top of the mountain then all the way back up...only to remember you forgot to buy toilet paper! Gah!

And then a great hunger splashed over us and so we made our way back to town. By the time we got back to Barhal I was pretty well pooped. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant [only three to choose from] with a most hilarious menu—"fleshy foods" = meat foods, "thawed cheese" = melted cheese—and ordered the regional specialty: kuymak, melted cheese you eat with bread [a bit like fondue].

It was surprisingly cold and windy in the valley and I had lost my earmuff along the walk. So, the warm hearty food hit the spot and we relaxed there, munching, drinking cay, and watching loads of little kids running around chasing dogs as an old woman herding sheep and cattle trundled through their playground.

At one point, the van from our pension showed up and one of the guys hopped out to chat with us. It was nice—again, we were lucky to know some Turkish because the locals interacted with us and at a more significant level than they did with other visitors.

The van left and we finished our lunch. Slowly we started our 1.5km walk back to the pension, first stopping in the corner store to see if they sold that delicious honey or jam. Along the road we were behind two kids who were convinced we were following them and kept turning around to look at us. Finally they freaked out and let us pass.

We made it back, though it was slow goings, and I went to take a hot shower…except I ended up taking the coldest chower of my entire life. It was wretched. To make thing worse, as I came upstairs Abu Bekir was on his way to fill the furnace with wood to heat the water up! Agh! I have never felt so cold as I did in that shower.

Then, to really top it off, I discovered that I had not only lost my earmuff, but also a roll of shot film. I was incredibly upset about it as it contained pictures from Cyprus, Mt. Erciyas, and parts of the day’s hike. I was especially upset about the Erciyas photos as I knew I had some wonderful shots. Losing film upsets me like nothing else and that realization had me feeling pretty low. In response, I ate a bunch of helva…which then proceeded to make me feel oh-so sick.

Around 4 o’clock Abu Bekir came up with some tea. I didn’t go out, stuck under the bedcovers, but Tiffin went out to meet him. He struggled with English and she struggled with Turkish, but I let them go at it. I knew Tiffin wanted to improve her Turkish and having me around didn’t help that—she never got to speak. Eventually, though, I wanted some tea and it sounded like they were in a silent rut, so I went out as well.

Abu Bekir was a nice, if a bit shy and mumbly, guy. As Tiffin noted, it’s hard to hear him and the rumbling of the Coruh River in the background definitely didn’t help the situation. He talked very slowly as, it seems, do most people out there. It was wonderful for me, of course, because I could understand that much more…but boy did I go through most conversations with Abu Bekir completely clueless as to what he was saying!

We talked with him awhile longer and gathered up some facts about him and his family:

1. They are only in Barhal during the summer, though Mehmet Bey was originally from the area. In winter, they go on vacation—Antalya, Istanbul—it seems they do quite well for themselves.

2. The room we were staying in did not actually belong to the pension—it was owned by a Britiish man who lends the building to the Karahans when he is out of town.

Apparently, Abu Bekir forgot we were coming so he only had this room open for us. He assured us, however, that another room would open up for us in the coming day. We were fine with it, but he apologized and insisted on us moving the following night to a room with a solar-heated shower and bathroom en suite.

We also talked about the dam project:

1. Apparently, once they flood Yusufeli there will still be access to Barhal by an upper road. Luckily, the flooding is a ways away yet—the project was proposed and passed some 15 years ago but flooding still has not started. As Abu Bekir said “everything in Turkey goes slowly.” Truer words were never said.

2. Abu Bekir can't wait for the place to be flooded.

After a few awkward silences Bekir excused himself and Tiffin and I stayed on the balcony to chat, bundled in rolls of blankets. We talked about travel a lot and she pulled out her handy Collins Mini-Atlas which, of course, revived my travel bug. I decided early on, however, that while in Turkey my travel focus would be on Turkey. As I came to realize how easy it is to do—even by oneself—I intended to take advantage of that opportunity to the fullest.

At some point, the Spunky Girl and one of the other kids came over to grab the tea. Spunky Girl asked where we had walked and what we were planning to do during our stay in barhal. We, of course, said “we don’t know,” which for some reason had her laughing heartily. She left but came back half-an-hour later to call us for dinner.

Dinner was good, again: Yayla corbasi [yogurt and mint soup], salad, leftover dolma and kofte, zucchini and broad beans [which I’d watched them pick from the garden earlier in the afternoon]. We had a table all to ourselves, but it felt a bit strange because it seemed we were on display. There was one other single couple and another large Israeli tour group. At some point, the tour guide picked up a phone call, came over to where we were sitting, and proceeded to talk quite loudly for 20 minutes. It was, to say the least, annoying.

Later, an old teyze [teyzeh; aunt, used to refer to an older woman] came out and stopped by our table. She started up a conversation and quickly took to us as she discovered we knew some Turkish. Spunky Girl came over and an animated conversation ensued. Teyze seemed to really love me, grabbing me and hugging me to her a number of times. She was also convinced that I had been in Barhal two years prior. It took five minutes of saying “no I haven’t” to convince her that no, I had never been to Barhal before. She was also quite funny when she saw a man walking down the slippery stone steps with a flashlight and a cup of hot water. For the life of her she could not understand what he was doing…so she yelled at him! Luckily, he was British.

At some point, the conversation turned to Tiffin and my plans for the next day. It ended with us making a plan with Spunky Girl to go on a hike. CRAZY! I couldn’t quite understand if we were going to be paying or what we’d really be doing, but it sounded good anyway!

Well fed and well planned, Tiffin and I went to bed.

Day 4: Wednesday July 18, 2007

I woke up early and was delighted to see a bright and sunny sky greeting me. Hurrah for good weather signs!

Breakfast was, again, delicious though the lack of kaymak made me weep on the inside. The bal [honey] and recel [reychel; jam] were up to par and, unexpectedly, became a wicked source of entertainment:

When we first sat down to breakfast there were no bugs in sight. All of a sudden, bees attacked our table, sticking themselves in the honey and jam. The one who chose honey seemed particularly ironic.

The others just lazed and licked. Some kind of strange heaven. You could see their proboscis sticking out and lapping up all the goodness. Tiffin also pointed out the rose petals in the jam—perhaps the secret ingredient, the addicting drug—which attracted one bee in particular.

It was quite a sight to watch them be first drawn to the plate, struggle to get out, then resign themselves to being stuck…in deliciousness. Heck, I can’t really blame them…I would swim in a gooey pool of that honey and jam.

After breakfast we went over to the Barhal Kulesi—an 8^th century Georgian church. We had seen it sticking out amongst the trees when we went walking the day before but what we hadn’t realized was that it was actually located directly next to the pension. You can’t see it from the street and there are no street signs, but had we read the guidebook description of the pension we would have learned that it was part of the property. When we asked Mehmet Bey where it was he was surprised and chuckled as he pointed us down a little path.

The church was quite impressive and it’s amazing how well hidden it is within the forest. It’s not open, but from a hole in the back you can see inside. It seems that it was converted to a mosque for awhile—the floors were all covered with kilims—but has since been deserted.

Next door was an elementary school, but from the windows in back it also seemed abandoned. Inside one room you could see stacked up desks and a little cardboard house with a Turkish flag on top—they start early with nationalism here.

Around 9:30 am a flatbed truck came to take us part of the way up the mountain. We sat in the back, which afforded us some gorgeous views. Barhal is where fairytales are made. It epitomizes that fairytale landscape, filled with a rushing river, wooden houses, trees, wildflowers, wild fruits, and snow-capped mountains. It’s Sound of Music on crack. It’s fantastical.

We stopped at some point, hopped out, and began our hike. There was a large group of us—me, Tiffin, Abu Bekir, Spunky Girl, her two young cousins, and her uncle [who is actually the same age as her, 17]. The ascent was not easy and there seemed to be some significant discrepancy over whether we had taken the right route. The plan was to go to one of the two Karagols [kahrahgeul; Black Lake] in the area, but we didn’t in the end.

The walk ended up becoming quite stressful for me because the group would routinely ask what Tiffin and I wanted to do: go on or stop? Abu Bekir always wanted to stop while Spunky Girl always wanted to press on. Tiffin never had an opinion, nor did I, but I had to play diplomat as I knew Turkish. It marred the hike for me a good bit as I was being asked every five minutes...

But, at the same time, it was hard to ignore the scenery and not be mellow. If nothing else, the nature around us was to die for. The hike was a challenge, the wind was cold and rain threathened, the other kids complained, but it was totally worth it. I am so happy we decided to do it and that the kids organized it all—we never would have made it so far on our own.

Along the way, we walked through a number of little villages--if you can even call them those. In one such place, Abu Bekir opened the door to a small wooden shack, showing us a wheat processing wheel used to make flour for bread.

In the moments of rest, we could hear the wind streaming through the valley creating such haunting sounds. Add to that the dark clouds and graves spotting the landscape and you've got yourself a thoroughly eerie place. Walking through the small mountaintop villages the smell of burning would percolated through the air and it reminded me of home. The cesmes gushed with clear buz gibi [like ice] water straight from the mountains. Really, heaven.

Eventually, we stopped in one of the yaylalar [pastures] and munched on some snacks the kids had picked up that morning. Spunky Girl pointed out her mother’s old summer home [top row, center]. It seemed that both of her parents were from local villages but she was growing up in Istanbul—same with her uncle. This was her first visit to the area in eight years and you could tell that they were pretty bored—“there’s no nightlife, our cell phones don’t work”—and that’s why they hang out and help around the hotel.

Up on the ridge, overlooking the river valley and pastures, I had a moment of complete sensory overload. While it never quite wore off, it did calm down a bit, allowing me to engage myself in the conversation being had by the others. We sat up on that ridge for a good long time, chatting about the typical topics of comparing Turkey and America. I could tell Tiffin was a bit miffed because she couldn’t really participate, but I tried to translate and involve her.

It’s not easy; I couldn’t be a translator for life. I’m both lucky and unlucky to be able to speak Turkish. And really, the experiences like I had at Kerkenes and again up in Barhal were indescribably critical in improving my Turkish. After Kerkenes, I felt ten times more confident about speaking and, more importantly, understanding. That helped in Barhal and even by the second day of our stay there I could tell I was getting even better. Granted, they tended to speak slower and we always talked about the same three things…buuut, details.

We made our way back down around 12:15 and I immediately felt it in my knees. It was a long steep walk down, but yet again the distracting surroundings made up for it. After getting to the bridge where we were originally left off there was still a long way to go. At some point, the kids and I stopped to pick cherries off a tree but Abu Bekir and Tiffin continued onwards. We ended up getting pretty well separated, so Tiffin got some Turkish speaking time and I had a nice walk down with the rest of them. Let me tell you, though, that Spunky Girl was a talker!

Trout fishing, though technically prohibited in the Coruh River, is still done extensively. We passed a fellow who had caught some and he showed us. They were beautiful, speckled with big red dots.

Later we saw a man standing in the river—how?!?!—picking bugs off rocks to use as bait.

Bekir and Tiffin stopped at some point to wait for us. Continuing onward, we came upon some more cherries that we just had to have. It became quite an acrobatic escapade to get them down, but there’s nothing like fresh fruit from the trees, especially when they are cherries that stain your hands. We also picked some tart fresh apples and were informed that the weird balls we saw hanging on some trees were fresh walnuts! Later, Spunky Girl’s uncle pointed out some fresh hazelnuts, too.

At some point, we turned off the road and followed a pathway up in the trees next to a gushing stream. There were a number of little corridors in it that were stopped up with weeds or old rags. Apparently, on certain days different corridors are unstopped and the water is allowed to stream down, soaking the soil.

Each little town is given a specific day when it can release its dams. The weeds and plants are later collected by the women, put in shacks to dry, and use to feed the cows and sheep through the winter.

The path was great—not only was it flat and rock free, but it was hidden. We passed all sorts of little homes hidden in the forest,

saw nifty old wooden doors,

crossed treacherous bridges,

caught some delicious views of the mountainside,

picked all sorts of fresh fruit from trees, met women collecting plants, and tried not to fall down the slope! We followed the path all the way back to the pension—what a wonderful walk, secret amongst the trees. As Tiffin said, it felt like we were the Lost Boys from Peter Pan.

Once we were back at the house, Bekir showed us our new room. It was recently refurbished with a bathroom inside [hooray!]. We had to move our things over and luckily he helped…

And just when I thought the day couldn’t get better…I FOUND MY LOST FILM CANISTER while I was packing up my stuff! Then, to add the cherry on top, I took a wonderfully hot shower. Hurrah! The best day ever!

After the shower I spent some time writing and watching English language Al Jazeera. That was interesting. I’d never seen any Al Jazeera before. At some point, Abut Bekir came up and we talked a little bit. I had read a headline about a bomb outside the Ak Parti office in Ankara and we tried to find the news, but to no avail.

A bit of boredom eventually set in as I waited for dinner. Not so much boredom as being too tired to do anything productive. At some point I went down to hang out and got to talking with another one of the guests. Dinner came-in a good way—with yaprak sarmasi [stuffed grape leaves], tavuk corbasi [chicken soup], salata, patates, pilav, tavuk ve patlican [chicken and eggplant]. Tasty! There were fewer people—a Turkish copule comprised of a rafting guide and his mauve haired [way unnatural] wife, and an American? Canadian? Couple. We had seen an Israeli couple, but they didn’t come to dinner.

After dinner we talked to Mustafa Bey about leaving the next day. He told us we could catch a 6:30 am dolmus to Yusufeli and he’d have breakfast available for us at 6 o’clock. Oy vey! But, we thought, at least htat would give us a full day to do things. So then the problem was deciding exactly where to go…easy, no?

HA! We thought our plan was to go to Trabzon, stopping at Rize for lunch. Then we started talking to Abu Bekir:

“Why don’t you just stay another night?”

And that got us thinking. More people joined the conversation and we moved to the upper balcony. You see, we discovered a flaw in our brilliant plan—Sunday was election day. Apparently, that meant that everything was going to be shut down. As a result, we were going to have to stay in one place a day longer. Of course, neither of us could decide where to go and where to stay. Ayder, on the other side of the Kackars, seemed nice and had hot springs. But, the weather was unpredictable, it was very busy, accommodation could be problematic, and getting there would be difficult. But then trabzon didn’t seem to warrant three days. And then there was the option of staying in Barhal another day, though we thought we’d done most stuff.

At some point in the conversation it came out that we didn’t have to worry about the election. Back in the day, people would have to stay in their homes on election day and everything was closed. Now, things would still be functioning.

Did that information help us? No! After much concsertnation and way too much English-Turkish translating I got to a point where I was just too tired to care. So, Tiffin made the final decision: we’d stay another day in Barhal then go on to Trabzon. We’d go on another trip with the kids the next day, leaving at 8:30 am. Sounded perfect—OK!

And with that I ate a piece of helva and went to sleep.