Luckily we had sent Joel some birthday wishes yesterday because the Internet café did not open before we had to head off to the bus station. Much as we have enjoyed most of our bus travels, this day was long, tiring and uneventful. For the first time I found myself drifting off and shaking awake, and Keith was completely out to it for much of the way.
We travelled on three different buses before we got off at Safranbolu Centrum. The only problem was that Safranbolu is the name of a district with three distinct areas in it and the one we wanted, Charshi (English spelling), was three kilometres away, although we didn’t know it. I guarded the luggage while Keith went off to ask for help. With amazing luck, a group of people he approached turned out to be students at the
The pension, like many others in Safranbolu, is in a restored Ottoman house, which is still used as the family home. The grandmother was holding the fort. She looked to be about 40 and took us up to a beautiful room with a long window seat overlooking the gardens.
Safranbolu is a World Heritage listed town and the whole place, still lived in, is an open air museum. The part we visited is remarkable in that nearly all the houses are from the town’s peak era of prosperity between the 17th and 19th centuries. They are in classic Ottoman style with the upper storeys extending further over the street than the ground floor. I read that such a style facilitates interactions with the neighbours opposite, while allowing for traffic and pedestrians on the road below. The streets are cobbled in stones that may have been lying flat once but which now incline in any direction and could easily turn an ankle. Few streets are wide enough for cars and some are so narrow that only two or three people can walk side by side between the rows of bazaar stalls. Some streets have grape vines overhead, shading the stalls and teahouses.
In 1976 the Governor’s house burnt. Suddenly the spotlight was on Safranbolu and it was realised that this little place was really special as a living link to the Ottoman life style. Since then the Governor’s house has been restored and set up as a museum, over 1000 houses and other historic buildings and fountains have been restored and some houses have been opened to the public as museums. I would also add that maybe 300 souvenir and tourist stalls have opened, which I guess is inevitable. If you want historic places preserved there has to be some way to make a living to keep people there to give the place life. It was very pleasing every time we came to a hardware shop, copper utensil workshop, or tailor squeezed in amongst the melee, producing goods that are useful on a daily basis. Actually, some of the tourist stalls had items that must have been produced for the Turkish tourists, since they were not items to appeal to backpackers.
We strolled about and soon realised that every street seemed to have its own Turkish Delight shop. We were offered a tray to taste various kinds and they were all so delicious that we bought a mixed box. The Turkish delight we bought bore no resemblance to the Turkish delight we have had in
While we were tasting (as well as seeing) Safranbolu, we decided to have tea out and we tried two of the district’s specialities. Keith had peruhi, which is like ravioli with a cheese filling and melted butter on top and I had home made noodles with grated yoghurt curd and walnuts on top. We also had the flat pancake with potato filling and a salad. We enjoyed our conscientious waiter who we were sure had features in common with Manuel, a famous waiter from
Like all places in
Language and lack of language brings out different responses in different people. Some speak more slowly or loudly to aid understanding, but repeat the same words. Others go into a long alternative explanation, which uses even more vocabulary. There are those who happily use gestures and acting out and there are people who reduce all sentences to nouns and essential verbs. Some people appear to understand but have no idea. Some say when they don’t understand or need repetitions. Others say that they don’t speak a particular language. We are picking up some Turkish very slowly but still have no idea of grammar. I often think that I have understood when I couldn’t possibly, but sometimes I have. Equally sometimes I haven’t. Keith is more careful and likes to actually hear words he recognises before he thinks he understands what is being said.
When we returned to the house, the young couple who run it appeared. They placed their sleeping baby boy in the cradle that hung from hooks on the ceiling and rocked him vigorously. We took our shoes off, as is the custom in Turkish houses, and went upstairs to our beautiful room. The walls had panelled cupboards built into them and some decorative cut-out sections for displaying special items. In one corner an antique embroidered gown was hung. The curtains had crocheted lace along them, the windows opened in, the shutters opened out and there were turned wooden bars across the openings. Everything was green outside in the garden, with a small crop of broad beans growing immediately below the tree that shaded our room. We appreciated and noted all the details because the next day we would be moving to the family’s other hotel, which was not set up in quite the same way.
A huge saffron flower sculpture is the highlight of this roundabout in downtown Safranbolu, which got its name and fame in the past from producing saffron in various forms.
The restaurant in which we had tea had model Ottoman houses on the table for when you drink needs sweetening. In this restaurant we watched the owner's mother cooking our food at the window just three metres from our table.
If we have half an hour to kill at a bus station, Christine usually chips away at writing this blog. Yes, it is time consuming, but we are sure that in the future we'll be happy we did it.
The extremes of traditional and modern Turkey sitting one behind the other on a bus
No comments:
Post a Comment