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.