Turkish Village Life–A Glimpse

The expert who’s teaching me to make pides, the pita-like Turkish bread, is too polite to laugh at my  effort to wrap dough around a long wooden roller and flatten it into a big circle. How hard can it be? Harder than it looks. The thin dough tears, and she clucks and repairs the rips. Clumsy tourist, can’t even make a pide. She slides the circle onto a long-handled wooden paddle and the woman next to her, Ganja,  pushes it into the stone oven. It puffs and crisps as it bakes, and everyone watching gets a taste. Then we go to lunch.

This is part of our little group’s experience of life in rural Turkey. Overseas Adventure Travel makes it a point to give travelers a close glimpse of the reality of Turkey, not just the monuments, ruins and tourist spots.  So here we are in Ilicek, a village of blocky houses scattered along dirt roads. All have gardens. Our hosts’ garden is bounded by stone walls, and they have a fig tree, chickens and a turkey (the first one I’ve seen in Turkey). Upstairs, in the small living room, a table spread with a yellow cloth is set for eight. It’s a squeeze, but nobody cares. Ganja, our hostess, serves lentil soup with yogurt, barley and rice. Then a second course, a ravioli-type dish with meat, tomato sauce and yogurt. Fresh pide, of course, and sweet pastries.  These people – Ganja, her beautiful niece Ebru, and the grandmother Babaneh – are incredibly hospitable. They smile a lot and tell us (via our interpreter) that they’re honored  to have us. And we are honored to be here.  We offer gifts of food we’ve purchased in an outdoor market and say tessekur (thank you) and hashtakal (goodbye).

Further south is Akburun, a village on the shore of Lake Beysehir, the largest fresh-water lake in Turkey. Reeds from its marshy edges are stacked  by sheds and barns, waiting to be dried and, with poplar tree logs and thick layers of earth, used to make snug, well-insulated ceilings. Cows graze on grassy fields by the lake, and storks nest in high poles.  Akburun has one main road, a small mosque, a store, and a garden beside almost every home. We’re warmly welcomed by our hosts, a 4-generation family sharing two connected houses, each with simple, comfortable sleeping rooms with mattresses on the floor. And lots of blankets, because it gets cold at night. Dinner is a series of Turkish specialties: fabulous yogurt, chopped tomatoes, fresh bread, meat kebabs, glasses of tea. The yogurt and cheese come from the cows on the other side of the fence.

Huseyin, the family elder, is 76 years old and wears the cap that indicates he is a Hajji—one who has been on a pilgrimage to Mecca. Some members of this family are strongly religious, others less so, like most of Turkey, which is 98% Muslim, but not entirely devout. One of the pleasures of this aspect of the trip is the chance to talk frankly with ordinary people and ask and answer questions. Their English is limited and our Turkish non-existent, but Rana Erol, our guide, interprets and we get along beautifully. We present our gifts from home, they graciously accept and tell us how honored they are, and we all smile a lot.

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