The Caravan Moves On PDF
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The Caravan •.•+ Moves On Three Weeks among Turkish Nomads IRFAN ORGA .,. I I I I ' The Caravan Moves On IRFAN ORGA Dogs bark but the caravan moves on. OLD TURKISH PROVERB ElAND London 2002 First published by Martin Secker & Warburg in 1958 This edition published by Eland Publishing Limited 61 Exmouth Market, London ECIR 4QL in 2002 This abridged edition copyright © Ate~ D'A rcy-Orga 2002 Afterword copyright© Ate~D'Arcy-Orga 2002 ISBN O 907871 97 6 All rights reserved. This publication may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without permission in writing from the publishers. Cover designed by Robert Dalrymple Cover image © Getty Images Map drawn by Ate~ D'Arcy-Orga Text set in Great Britain by Antony Gray and printed in Spain by GraphyCems, Navarra For Ma1lJarete and Ate;) with love I. 0.) 1958 For Isabelle and Guillaume) with love A. 0.) 2002 Contents Izmir- Family Reunion - The Tame Communist - The 1 Youth of Smyrna u The 'Fish Porters' - Ottoman Manisa - Travelling 2 Companions -Afyon - Konya - The Dumb Hotelier - The First Yii.rii.k - Dervishes - Hikmet Bey-Meram 21 3 'Dogs bark ... ' - Peasant Problems - Snakes -A Model Farm - Village Institutes - Catching our Dinner - Erotic Dancing 37 4 A Model Village - Islamic Customs - Camels - More about the Yii.rii.k - Talking Politics 53 5 Hikmet Bey arranges an Expedition - Karaman - My Adventurous Ancestor -Amateur Mountaineers - Alevi v. Sunni - Phantoms oft he Night 6 Semi-Nomads- The Thousand and One Churches -Lords of the Mountains - Fingers before Forks - 'For Guzel!' 84 7 The Man of the Mountains - Yii.rii.k Wedding-Riding Bareback - The Mad Shepherd - Folk Tale - The Sword Dance 103 8 Womens Work - Herb Medicines and Superstitions - Childbirth - Black and White Magic - Jinn 121 9 Yii.rii.k Dress Customs - Mainly about Women - Marriage - Symbolic Language - the Karadag Bear 137 The Temperamental Autobii.s - Lake Beyfehir -Antalya - 10 Mersin -Adana - The Professor -Au Revoir 151 I I I I I I I I °,l'KA IIYA , I I I I I I r--- 1 I , I •A fro•:I L.Tux. i }( E I I: I I ~Xo.n.o.Jo.1 ~ n • QJ\<Un o. • M~in r-• C • (, /".) r-· ."'. I .SYRIAJ 1 Izmir - Family Reunion - The Tame Communist - The Youth of Smyrna T HE AEGEAN SEA sparkled and, from the shore, windows winked in the sun. Izmir came closer, a toy city of white houses and new concrete wharves. The boat heaved gently, creaking. The glare from the noonday sun was intense, burning my eyes even behind dark glasses. There was a smell of salt in the air, and something tangyer, lemon trees perhaps. The seagulls swooped, cruel-beaked, low over the water. A gannet cruised on long wings, dazzlingly white where the sun caught the downy underbelly. It fell suddenly, like an arrowhead, sending up a tall shower of spray as it plunged into the sea after fish. In the foreground the peak of Kadife Kale rose mistily, heat hazed, the shifting shadows violet coloured and tenuous as spun sugar. Farther back, the undulating curves of Manisa Dagi were like pale watered silk, their peaks growing less and less substantial as they climbed to the brazen sky. Passengers began to crowd the rails, their suitcases, wicker baskets and other belongings dumped beside them, so that to step back was to be in danger of breaking onfs leg. It was hot. We all complained of the heat, resenting its invisible presence. We mopped our steaming faces, loosened our too civilised ties, discarded our jackets and commiserated with each other's discomfort. We sailed close inshore, the wake widening out behind us like quicksilver 11 The Caravan Moves On broken into little drops by the eddying waves. Sickened by the smell of sweat mixed with stale perfume, I took my small case and went under the captain's bridge where it was shadier but just as hot. With the aid of binoculars I watched the city coming closer. On Inciralt1 Plage a few people lay about in swimming suits. There was a casino with a bright striped awning. Shifting my gaze I saw the hangars of the old sea-planes, and felt a surge of nostalgia for my youth that was gone. I had once spent two feverish years there. I looked at Giizelyal1, where the villas and summer residences of the rich stood in large gardens and the sea washed their lower windows, so close were they built to the shore. On the opposite side was Kar~1yaka, my destination. In Kar~1yaka the houses stood well away from the sea, yet in summer the spray flung itself against the windows and in winter metal fastenings became brown with salt. The boat was nearly in and I put away my binoculars, leaning over the rail as we turned before docking, the water foaming madly under the propellers. The harbour was full of fishing boats. Greek, American, Swedish and British flags hung limply in the heat, and on shore lorries were unloaded by sweating men in their vests. A group of people had assembled to watch us dock. Greetings were called, handkerchiefs waved and I searched for my brother, Mehmet, catching sight of him at last seated on a crate of dried fruit. His eyes caught mine and we waved laconically. His first words after I had dis embarked were: 'My God, haven't you got fat!' to which I agreed sadly, noting his own slender elegance. His young son, Kaya, was waiting for us in the car which was parked in the main street. In the back of the car lolled an enormous Afghan hound who bared his teeth when he saw me but fawned over Mehmet. I said very firmly that I would sit in the front and pushed Kaya into the back with the dog, who made a great fuss of the boy but growled every time he caught my eye. Driving out to Kar~1yaka my first impression of changed Izmir was of light and too much open space. The main boulevard was too wide for the numerous small shops. There were public gardens everywhere, 12 The Caravan Moves On the bright flowers drooping wretchedly and only the lush palms revelling in the almost tropical heat. We passed a statue of Kemal Atatiirk - something that was to become an inevitable part of one's wanderings across the country, as familiar as a landmark. His memorial in Izmir showed him stern of face, implacable, his hands pointing seawards. Certainly the new wide white Izmir would have been after his own heart. A vast building, nearing completion, was, so Mehmet told me, a hotel which would house two hundred and fifty people. It was to be all chrome and plush, luscious introduction to the Aegean for rich Americans. The heat was intense. The glare burned the eyes and the sea glittered like a gigantic sunburst of diamonds. The leaves of the city trees hung like green rags, weighed down by the intolerable burden of the heat. Mehmet opened all the windows, remarking: 'In about an hour's time it will be a little better. At one o'clock inbat will come' - looking at me anxiously to see if after ten years I still remembered inbat, that westerly sea wind which is the breath oflife to the people oflzmir. We ran along the kordon and the sea seemed to shine like a vast mirror, reflecting light whitely, bleaching the pastel-tinted houses. I think, that first morning, I was struck by the brightness of every thing, by the cleanliness, the elegant little villas and the purple bougain villaea that flung itself luxuriantly across garden walls, about public gardens and over the fac;ades of old houses. The scene was un-Turkish. It had wit and gaiety. It was hot and Mediterranean. Furthermore, there was an absence of mosques. There was an air of sun-washed expectancy, and a flaunting lewdness that was enchanting and wholly Levantine. Reconstruction and demolition seemed to be going on in about equal proportions. Marble-faced blocks of flats stood eyeless, facing the sea. A new port was under construction, which would benefit the export trade. Here and there, villas stoo..d raw and new in weedy gardens. In one street a whole row of old houses was being pulled down. Used to living in the restricted space of a London flat, I found Mehmet's house too large for me. It was all doors and windows, and immense balconies fretted the front of the house in fussy ornamentation. 13 The Caravan Moves On Crossing what appeared to be an illimitable ocean of polished floor, I was met at about halfway point by my sister-in-law, Bedia, and meeting her again was like coming face to face with a ghost, for the girl I remembered was only palely discernible in her large blue eyes. I was horrified to see the streaks of grey in her hair, although I had long grown used to my own. I dare say I was as much of a shock to her, although she was far too cool to make a personal remark. My seventeen-year-old niece, Oya, greeted me with a formality I found charming. Kissing my outstretched hand she seemed a stranger; offering me bon-bons and orange liqueur she stood before me with downcast eyes, betraying only by an upward flicker of her eyelids that my scrutiny was embarrassing her. Lunch was served on a balcony filled with flowering plants. As the meal proceeded, and small talk petered out, I discovered I had nothing in common with them. This made me feel superior and self-conscious. They talked for the most part about times past, believing, I think, that this would please me. They resurrected the dead, or spoke of people I had never known. Despite their smattering of culture they knew nothing of life outside Turkey, except what the flaring banners of their newspapers told them. They were as superbly indifferent to world events, to world conferences, as any mountain tribe. The might of the hydrogen bomb passed them by. Time, save in such instances as getting the children off to school or Mehmet to the Nav~ Hospital, where he was a surgeon-commander, did not govern them. I was continually embarrassed in trying to find some subject of mutual interest. They were indifferent readers, and the books I saw in the house were either medical, printed in French and German, or earthy Turkish novels, products of newly literate Anatolian authors. I tried to talk about these, but it was obvious that they thought I was being rather precious and chi-chi. Bedia remarked distantly that she read for pleasure. It would bore her, she said, to dissect what she was reading while she was reading it and afterwards it usually wasn't worth while. There were so many other things. My brother's strict Muslim habits forbade him to drink wines or 14
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