Alaturca

After I so abruptly left the hotel in a fit of anger, vented in the direction of friends, and suddenly felt unburdened, I was in need of a place to stay. I wasn’t worried, as several people offered to put me up for at least a few days. My main concern was for my rabbits.

Let me back up for a minute. I brought the rabbits with me. Because the airlines allow dog and cats but not rabbits, Cenk, Shuppiluliuma and I took the night bus from Istanbul to Cappadocia. I didn’t want to ask my housemate to be responsible for them for a month, and I miss them when I’m gone. The trip was kind of rough. The bus people were very kind and let me check on them whenever we made a stop. On the way to Cappadocia, they were accompanied by several pigeons in a box stacked on top of their cat carriers. Maybe they were comforted by the cooing that resonated in the luggage compartment. My friends Taner and Nevzat made a huge, divided cage for them. I like to think they were quite happy in it.

Taner, as you may remember from an older post, is the owner of Alaturca Old Collection, a carpet, kilim, and souvenir shop not far from the Uçhisar Castle. (It’s not really a castle. More on that later.) He is partially responsible for my financial ruin; I buy kilims from him. In the evenings, I often went to Alaturca to relax, have dinner, maybe a beer or two. My Italian comprehension improved by listening to his friends who were visiting from Sicily, not to mention absorbing backgammon strategies. I especially like the atmosphere that Taner, his helpers and friends have developed in Alaturca. Of course, it’s a business and the goal of a business is to make a profit, and pay the employees and bills on time. Often, there is a high degree of pressure from carpet and souvenir sellers anywhere in Turkey. A walk through the Grand Bazaar is never without accosts from the leather, carpet, narghile, ceramic sellers. The approach here is quite different. Passersby are invited to drink tea, coffee, maybe a glass of local wine, to sit and chat, to give and receive tips on where to best see the sunset. No pressure. One French family was so pleased by the hospitality – they had arrived by chance while olives, cheese and wine were being passed – that they returned the following evening with wine from their own region.

This room is full of treasures: jewelry,
shawls, embroidered and embellished clothing...

Following my departure from the hotel “employ” (I worked in exchange for lodging and meals) Taner came to my rescue by offering me and the bunnies a place to stay in the pension above the shop. Without exaggeration, I had one of the best weeks of vacation at the pension. Italian coffee and Turkish pastries for breakfast. Freedom to come and go unchained from my computer. Puttering. Making jewelry and playing with decorations from Turkmeni brides’ headgear. I especially loved the kitchen. It’s simple, but big. I cooked. Everyone ate happily.

From across the street

Taner and Ferhat

We drank raki with melon, a happy combination.

We ate many dinners under the awning.

Every morning, Ali and Nevzat set up all the
tables and trays, hang kilims, roll out the felt rugs...

Every night, they put everything inside.

Balloon over Uchisar

Early one morning, I heard an odd noise, like a large welder’s torch, from somewhere above. A handful of balloons were following the wind over Uçhisar.

Before

Before
One fine day, after I had bought an antique nomad milk filter for too much money (I knew it was a little pricey, but it made me really happy) Taner informed me that he had rooms upstairs full of old things. I was welcome to dig. And dig I did. One fine morning, when it wasn’t too hot, I took it upon myself to pull everything out of the storage bin and spread it out on the roof. I found countless treasures: chains for horses, stirrups, balances, wooden tools, farm tools, wooden boxes to hang on the wall for holding spoons, old mouse traps like cages, a beekeeper’s mask, a mess of old embroideries, parts of old spinning wheels, keys and locks… We hooked up the hose and I washed metal plates, bowls, trays and odds and ends, stacking them on the ledge under the nomad tent awning while greeting anyone who passed below. I got really dirty. It took me three days to put everything back. I’m going back over Ramazan Bayram to hang pots and pans from the beams and rusty shearing scissors on the walls. Someone’s got to do it.

After

Peppers

I don’t really like peppers. Bell peppers, stuffed peppers, long skinny ones… Sometimes, I actually hate them. Their smell makes me nauseous, especially when they’re being cooked. I make an exception for the small dried and very hot ones called “birds’ tongues” in French that are used to make pasta arrabiata.

I do, however, like stringing things: beads, popcorn and now peppers. It was too hot one day to do much of anything, but I needed to do something fiddly. The rooftop of Ala Turca is lined with pepper and tomato plants growing in blue plastic bags. Nevzat picks the peppers and puts them in the fridge. I found them. Ali brought me a big needle and some thick thread. As I chatted with a French woman and her daughter, and as Taner spoke with some Italian customers, I threaded many peppers. I hung them on the outside wall, off the tent post, and under the window like a garland. The Italians received one as a parting gift. They’re quite pretty, like Christmas. The peppers, I mean. The Italians were atractive too.

No words needed

The Princess Diaries Part 3: Abdication

I spent a month of my summer vacation in Cappadocia. There are many entries on my list of places to go in Turkey, yet I consistently return to my favorite village, Uçhisar. This was a working vacation; I once again went to work at the fancy cave hotel, this time to edit websites, write letters and help the manager correspond in English. While my experiences there have been extraordinary (Sports Illustrated shot its next Swimsuit Edition at the hotel and other Cappadocian sites this summer. I don’t really care for such exploitation of women, but I did rub elbows with some well-known photographers, make-up and hair people and editors who are quite nice) I will no longer work at the hotel.

For some time now, I have had an inner conflict about the place as a business. Usually, I was treated well, (although my time wasn’t always respected due to some weird power plays) partially because I’m American but also because the work I do, for essentially nothing, would otherwise be very expensive. However, I have problems with the way in which the employees are treated. The working world in Turkey is a very different one than that in the US. Certainly, there are jobs in the US which are notorious for poor owner-management-employee relations. I can cite many examples from my past “career” in retail management as evidence. Yet here there is a different kind of hierarchy that is tolerated in the culture, and work can be very hard to find. Although it is none of my business, I find it very difficult to watch fellow personnel insulted, humiliated and otherwise abused in ways which I think are extreme even for this business and country.

In addition to my discomfort about the disrespect extended to the employees, I also had a moral issue with some of the texts I was editing. Without going into the details, I felt at odds helping sell the business as something it isn’t. Don’t get me wrong: it’s an incredibly beautiful hotel with exquisite antiques and textiles and an incomparable view. I don’t feel comfortable going into the details on this public a forum. Suffice it to say that I am not motivated to make money out of selling fiction (unless of course I write a novel someday…), and I do not care to work for people who routinely lie.

Maybe I’m too much of an idealist, but I had decided that this would be my last working vacation the first week into my month long stay. I left the hotel office a week early due to a conflict with the owner about taking some of the Sports Illustrated people shopping in Uçhisar because they asked me to, despite the fact that I had his “permission” which he later denied, and later denied even giving. It’s not how to do business he says. The goal is not to make the customer happy unless the proceeds go into the owner’s pockets through heavy commissions. I was so angry I cried. I hate that I do that. It’s a horrible cycle. Anger comes out my eyes, I get mad that I’m emotional, and the compounded anger raises eye ward again. When I said that I would be finished the following week, that I could not work here anymore, the owner told me I could leave now. And I shut my computer, told him I would be out of the lodging the next day and left. His last words to me, shouted from the office were, "And I don't want to hear this story from anyone in the village!" He has no idea that there were additional reasons for leaving, nor will he.

I regret that I left so quickly that I couldn’t say goodbye to my friends in reception, the restaurant, the kitchen and in housekeeping.

I still have 98% of my work on my computer, ready to be delivered to the appropriate person in the Istanbul office. I could take the high road and deliver it, but I doubt it would be used.

Luckily, I have friends who welcomed me and the bunnies. More about that in a following post.

Off to work

Off to work

I live in the personnel lodging, the ground floor of an odd house, with 5 others from the hotel. It's odd in that whoever built it didn't finish little things such as putting in the last tile in the bathroom, nailing in random bits of molding along the floor. The space under the front steps serves as a chicken coop. One morning, the landlord opened a little side door to release chickens, roosters, a whole lot of chicks and one big ugly turkey. It's not a castle, but it's not bad either.

The best part of living in the house is the huge dog out front. He's at least part Kangal, the national breed of Turkey. I call him Köpek (Dog). One of the neighbor boys swears his name is Ateş (fire). Since the dog responded the 9th time the boy called him by the name, said boy remains convinced it is the right one. I stick with Köpek.

Every morning, I meet Köpek out front. After a week, he has become accustomed to me and now thumps his tail when he sees me, raising little clouds of dust. After a brief greeting and a good scratching behind the ears, we head off to work at the hotel, towards and through the old part of Uçhisar.

Woman sweeping with a twig broom

We pass houses, say "good morning" to others going to work or about their morning business. It's not unusual to navigate around tractor, horse or donkey-drawn carriages. One morning, a man in a pickup filled with large crystal chunks drove by, announcing from his truck speakers that salt was for sale . Sometimes, we're joined by another dog.

Piles of chick peas

Tea drinkers

The men drinking their early morning tea stare at us as we walk past. (Click on the photo to enlarge it.) At first, I thought they were looking at the woman with the huge body guard dog, but they stare at everybody.

Although kids will often curiously approach Köpek, delivery men and municipal workers seem visibly afraid of him. Köpek remains oblivious. Despite his size and apparent strength, he cowers at motorcycles and is indifferent to cats and most other dogs.

We walk through the small park and past the bakal (convenience store) where I buy Tutku for the waiters and where Kemal lets me borrow Time Magazine with a promise to return it the following day, to reach my favorite Greek-house- lined street. Some of these houses are abandoned, others in various states of decay, and others are currently in reconstruction. I follow the progress of a group of stone cutters who chip away precisely and seemingly effortlessly at stone blocks. They're used to me calling the dog and watching them work.

Stone cutters

If it's not too hot, the women who sell handmade lace and oya trimmed scarves sit on their doorsteps. The woman at the onyx shop and my new friends at the terrace restaurant
yell "Good morning how are you?"

Looking over the valley

About half way down the hill, Köpek stops to stretch on the very low road barrier and looks over the valley as if to appreciate the view before we finally reach the hotel.

This is usually our morning ritual. This morning, Köpek found the lower leg of a recently butchered animal, maybe a goat, next to the dumpster in front of the house. He grabbed the leg in his great jaws (I once fed him lamb chop bones. He chewed them like Pez.) and trotted back to his spot in the dirt. Food trumps me any day.