Leave the Path
Archive for the 'Black Sea Region' Category
05 21st, 2006
This weekend we went on the trip to the north, including the Black Sea town of Amasra. I am a little late in writing about it for a couple of reasons: 1) no internet access in the places we visited and 2) I’ve been having traveler-type stomach issues, which is inconvenient. And, as a result, I’ve also stopped drinking tea and coffee, which has made me grumpy and unproductive. But I’ll give it a try now.
We left Saturday morning, and drove out of Ankara by the same “Otoban” that we took in the bus from Istanbul. Once again I watched as shiny new buildings gave way to residences. City gave way to dry, torn plateau. Dry scrub gradually became pine forests. The pines were replaced with leafy green trees, and patchy farmland. Eventually, the lush tree-covered hills dropped off suddenly, into a wide dark sea.
Half way, however, we stopped at a mountain lake. It was a pretty little lake, with trees and ducks and noisy frogs. It wasn’t particularly impressive, however, in comparison with Lake Lure and the innumerable little lakes and ponds in the mountains of NC. And, because of the holiday, it was unbelievably crowded. Hundreds of Turks with picnic baskets filled the banks and the road. We were a little late for lunch, though, so we had no trouble finding space at a chic little dock-side restaurant. This region is famous for (Surprise!) a type of meat, and so that’s what we had.
I enjoyed watching the painted wagons (a Turkish specialty) being paraded around by tourist-pleasers and very bored looking little horses. All the horses I’ve seen are little, in fact. Most of them were no taller at the shoulder than 4.5 feet. I think that they have both Mongol horse (a very old strain of little strong mountain ponies) and Arabian (also small, but leaner and faster) blood. They’re funny, placid little creatures.
After the lake, we drove strait through the mountains. We saw hundreds of cows (some of them in the road), and stands of birch trees in all of the valleys. Some of the older people still dress in a very old way, with many colorful layers, with head scarves or huge mustaches. Eventually, the hills became too steep to farm, and too dense with vegetation to see far. And then suddenly a cliff and the glassy dark sea appeared, stretching off to Russia.
We drove down to the beach by a winding little road with no guard rails (Emre drove very carefully, not to worry.) At the bottom is an old Ottoman port, called Amasra, built on the ruins of pervious civilizations and flanked to one side by an enormous coal mine. The natural beauty of the place is overwhelming, with the clear dark water and rocky protrusions, mysterious against the backdrop of the green mountain. It also has vestiges of many eras of history. The ancient Greeks of Corinth colonized the Black Sea, and, though I have no proof, I’d like to think that they once stumbled upon this spot as well. The Romans left a monument on the hillside. The Ottomans built a big castle here (now in ruins, with modern apartment buildings stuck in it.) And the Republic made the industrial coal mine. It could be a perfect holiday getaway. The sea is certainly very photogenic.
Unfortunately, however, it isn’t being well taken care of. The beach was disgusting, covered with trash and even bits of broken bottles as well as jelly fish. (We did not swim). The houses were all very Sovietic in style, and cobbled together among and on top of ancient buildings in a way that was neither pretty nor safe. And the predominate attitude of the shopkeepers was “I don’t care.” We had dinner at a restaurant where we were largely ignored, though the food was good. (The others ate plates of little finger-sized fish, cleaned and fried whole. My stomach was sore, and I’m not much for fish anyway, so I stuck with the salad.) We had teas afterwards, somewhere else, watching the sea and the boats go in and out.
That night, we stayed at the “Belvu Palas” and a palace it was not. Hanzade had warned me that they had had trouble finding places because of the holiday, and that this wasn’t a great hotel. Honestly, it had potential. The view was good, and the building was an old one, filled with cute little rooms with balconies. It, like everything else in the town, though, seemed neglected. It wasn’t terribly clean, the bathroom was a walled-in corner of the small room, with a shower handle within reach of the toilet and no working light, and the mattress was set on the floor. The only light was a single bulb suspended from its cord, hanging in the middle of the room. I took it on faith that the rough sheets were clean. The best part was that the cute pub across the street set their speakers outside and played very loud music until at least 3:00 in the morning, so I had lots of time to lie awake and be annoyed by all of these things.
In the morning, we checked out and meandered towards a café the hotel staff recommended for a quick breakfast. We really should have thought better. The café was cute, as well, with rustic charm on the inside and a nice dock-side garden at the back. The waitress was surly, though, and we got absolutely horrible service, despite the fact that the place was almost empty. We sat and we ordered. A while later, Hanzade’s omlet and tea arrived. A half hour after that, the food arrived for all of the guys. And then, more than an hour after the first dish was brought out, Nurten and I finally got our food. Everyone else had finished and we were on the verge of cancelling the order and walking out when it finally arrived.
The day got better from there, though. We went for a walk on the dock, and enjoyed the sea breeze.
We walked out on a jetty, jutting a half-mile into the sea. The path was a few feet wide, with sharp drops on either side onto the concrete dock below. The wind was blowing hard. Emre had the camera and Hakan was pretending to be a superhero.
Near the end, we saw dolphins playing, probably 4 or 5 of them, splashing and diving. It looked like fun. We stood and watched until they swam away. That alone made it worth the trip.
Afterwards, we debated walking around in the castle, or seeing if the museum was open on Sunday. The consensus was that we weren’t so impressed with Amasra, and we had an ice cream and left town. On the way back up the hills, we stopped at the old Roman monument. Only Emre, Hakan and I went to the top. My camera died before we reached the actual monument, but I got a shot of the path. We were climbing the steep side of a rocky mountain with slippery loose soil and herbs on it. The old wooden steps rocked a little and some of them were missing. It was very Indiana Jones and I kept a hand-hold every step of the way. The monument wasn’t so impressive, but the view was great.
We gingerly climbed down, got in the car, and were off again. I think I had a nap. I thought we’d go strait back to Ankara, but I was wrong. Our third destination for the trip was a little town called “Safranbolu” which literally means “full of saffron.” Saffron, for me, has a special connotation. It’s the most expensive spice in the world, with an exciting history. The pure spice is only a tiny part (the stigma) of a species of crocus flower. It takes 75,000 blooms to make one pound of the spice. The color and flavor are so intense, however, that it’s usually used only sparingly and bought by the gram. The town probably produced Safran in the past, and might now, but that wasn’t actually its most interesting feature. Safranbolu is the first and only town I have seen, in all of Turkey, with a true historic district. And, in fact, the entire town IS a historic district. Kind of like Williamsburg in Virginia, everything in the town is from the same historical period. In this case, it’s 18th century Ottoman, and it’s really very neat.
The hamam (public baths) and cami (mosque) and many of the cobblestone streets are all preserved and even refurbished authentically. Outside the mosque is a sun dial, in a quiet tree-shaded courtyard.
One of my favorite parts was the “han,” which is an old Ottoman style hotel, with a courtyard that is reminiscent of medieval castles. It has been restored and is being used as a posh hotel and restaurant again today. I’d really like to see a movie set here, kind of like Zorro, with intrigue and big costumes and lots of swinging from things.
Interestingly, the doors for the rooms (which all branch off of the courtyard and face the outside) are very short, only about 5 foot in some cases. I don’t think Ottomans were quite so short. Maybe it’s stronger or easier to make or something.
We also visited the house of a governor from that era, which had been restored and had manikins in all of the rooms to display period costumes. Once again, we got little shoe-cover booties.
This house was huge, and was probably used for entertaining and state functions. The second floor was split in two, with the men’s part on one side, and the identical women’s part on the other. (Apparently “harem” is the word for the women’s part of the house, and doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with polygamy.) It was really very cool, and also comfortable. I would love to have a room with low couches all the way around and big windows!
There were also balconies, with lattices for modesty, overlooking the shops and tea gardens nearby. I was a little nervous at first, as they were made of very old wood and very far above the ground, but they were really quite charming.
Afterwards we did a little shopping. In Amasra, all of the giftshops pilfered the same plastic stuff that you see at any shop at the beach. Little boxes made of shells, combs with the name of the town, little plastic toys, clothes made in a factory in India, etc. Not interesting or special. At Safranbolu, by contrast, there were artisans doing traditional crafts in the old way. We bought fire-roasted simit (without sesame seeds, they are exactly the same as pretzels) and fresh lokum (Turkish delight) that was still warm and absolutely dreamy.
I also bought a pair of hand-made leather slippers, from the guy who made them, and Hakan and Emre bought rough cotton shirts from a nice young guy whose father ran an old-style fabric shop.
By the time we pulled ourselves away (we missed the castle and several other refurbished houses) we were all tired, but happy in a pleasant, nostalgic sort of way. I’d never heard of this town before, but I’d recommend it to any traveler who would like to see the more exotic, oriental side of Turkey.
Then we got back on the road. The driving occasionally scared me. Some Turks don’t seem to really think about the dangers of some things they do. They’ll pass in no-passing zones, on the side of mountains, on narrow roads with limited visibility and no guardrails. They’ll drive 100 mph on rough, potholed roads. Or, in some cases, they’ll massively over-pack trucks and then drive recklessly in traffic, suddenly cutting in front of other cars. The basic traffic rule is this: Watch out for yourself. Everyone is expected to do this, and people don’t worry about the other cars on the road. Unsurprisingly, there are frequent accidents.
Not everyone’s so careless, though, and the roads were pretty empty, so it wasn’t too hard to avoid incidents. It took us almost 3 hours to get back to Ankara, driving conservatively. Armed with fresh batteries, I shot almost a hundred pictures out the window. Most of them were bad, but a few turned out okay.
By the time we approached Ankara, the sun was setting, and I tired and very glad to be home. I called my parents briefly, and went to bed early.
