Post from Tim:
We hiked the steep 7 km switchback road to the nomadic village of Alepinar in the late morning heat, arriving hot and thankful for the shade provided by a row of tall poplar trees. The old stonewall we sat on enclosed a field of wildflowers and provided a nice vantage point to survey the village - old homes, a mosque in the center of town, and a farmer driving his tractor around.
A group of women in flowery dresses and headscarves busied themselves around washtubs full of water and what looked like wheat. Our curiosity attracted theirs until one of them broke the silence, pointing to one of the large washtubs and exclaiming, "baklava." I wasn't sure how a large tub of vegetable matter could be a philo dough pastry, so I thumbed though a worn vocabulary book and jokingly shouted out food items made with wheat. She nodded and laughed with each one, finally confirming what was in the tubs when I found the Turkish word for wheat. Michelle offered them oatmeal cookies and they responded with homemade stuffed grape leaves.
Further down the road, two older women sat on a wall with a ten-year-old girl. Like with many children in modern Turkey, the girl's modern T-shirt-shirt and jeans posed a striking contrast between her two traditionally dressed elders. She welcomed us with a handful of freshly picked cherries and we pantomimed a conversation with the trio for a half an hour.
The overlook at the end of the road offered an exceptional view of Egirdir from above. A sweet old couple beckoned for us to sit around a few plastic tables and eat from their restaurant, which turned out to be a funky little shack nearby. Michelle entered the shack to watch the woman cook, while I sat outside enjoying the view and freezing my head with the coldest, most satisfying bottle of water that I've ever been served.
A group of women in flowery dresses and headscarves busied themselves around washtubs full of water and what looked like wheat. Our curiosity attracted theirs until one of them broke the silence, pointing to one of the large washtubs and exclaiming, "baklava." I wasn't sure how a large tub of vegetable matter could be a philo dough pastry, so I thumbed though a worn vocabulary book and jokingly shouted out food items made with wheat. She nodded and laughed with each one, finally confirming what was in the tubs when I found the Turkish word for wheat. Michelle offered them oatmeal cookies and they responded with homemade stuffed grape leaves.
Further down the road, two older women sat on a wall with a ten-year-old girl. Like with many children in modern Turkey, the girl's modern T-shirt-shirt and jeans posed a striking contrast between her two traditionally dressed elders. She welcomed us with a handful of freshly picked cherries and we pantomimed a conversation with the trio for a half an hour.
The overlook at the end of the road offered an exceptional view of Egirdir from above. A sweet old couple beckoned for us to sit around a few plastic tables and eat from their restaurant, which turned out to be a funky little shack nearby. Michelle entered the shack to watch the woman cook, while I sat outside enjoying the view and freezing my head with the coldest, most satisfying bottle of water that I've ever been served.