April 9, Edirne, Turkey

Aybuke invited me to spend the weekend with her and her family at her parents' home in a small village, a suburb of Edirne, a couple hundred kilometers north of Istanbul. Edirne was for a time the capital of the Ottoman Empire, and it has another mosque built by the same architect who built the Blue Mosque; it also has an old part of town with the narrower, slightly off-angle streets typical of pre-automobile cities, and is quite enjoyable just to wander around in. Our touring was limited on Friday when I arrived, because of my slightly bulky pack, but Aybuke treated me to a local specialty in a small restaurant before we went to her parents' house - fried calves' liver (thin sliced, parboiled, breaded and fried). I found it quite delicious. We spent Saturday morning visiting the Mosque and wandering around the bazars and the streets of the old part of the city, where autos are mostly excluded. I have some pictures of Edirne, a very large Synagogue that was abandoned when all the local Jewish population migrated to Israel, the village itself, and Aybuke's family, mostly in the kitchen, where everyone gathers.

Aybuke's brother was there part of the time; other than the two of them, her father speaks a very little English, and everyone else I met was frustrated that they could not talk directly with me but had to talk through Aybuke's translation. Like most cultures, when you get away from the large city everyone is very friendly, weloming, and to the extent possible talkative. Aybuke was worried that I would be bored, mostly sitting around listening to people talk in a language I do not understand, but I found it quite interesting - when you don't know the words, you hear the rhythm and music of a language more acutely; not understanding the words also makes it easier to focus on the rhythm and valence of the underlying relationships and interactions. One of the things that struck me repeatedly, was how familiar the underlying patterns were to me, underneath the differences in setting - I kept being reminded of Idaho in the 1950s when I was a child. That was even more so on Saturday afternoon when we drove to another town, north of Edirne, about halfway to Gallipoli, to visit Aybuke's uncle. He has a degenerative bone disease, and has had to have at least 10 operations for it, but I was struck by his positive and upbeat outlook and his obvious sense of humor. His wife and daughter also reminded me of one of my father's cousins who we used to visit when I was a child. All were very welcoming toward me, curious about me - fortunately Aybuke was able to answer most of their questions and interpret very well for me. We sat on a small patio area in front of the house, between the house and a pretty little flower garden, and again I enjoyed just listening to the rhythm of the conversation and the interactions; even though I did not understand the joking literally I appreciated and enjoyed the mirth and the sense of mutual enjoyment throughout.

Aybuke's brother was a bit concerned about driving back in the dark, so we began preparing to leave; then her aunt insisted on feeding us dinner, rather impromptu but very good; it included a nice green salad, mostly lettuce and cucumbers with an olive oil and lemon juice dressing, which was set out on two oval plates in the center of the table; everyone ate from the same plates. We had a simple soup of crushed peppers and pureed onions in a light broth - Aybuke's brother told me it is called "poor house" soup. The story behind the name (possibly apocryphal, like many of these stories): One of the sultans went out incognito to see how his people lived; he was invited in to a house and served this soup. He apologized for the meal, saying "this is just a poor house." Poor house or not it was quite good. Then we had plain pasta with no dressing, roasted chicken wings, and oven-roasted potatoes, nicely crisp. The chicken provided all the dressing the pasta needed. Accompanying everything was an excellent local bread with a nice crust, partway between tough and crisp, that reminded me of some of the best Italian breads. It was a very convivial and satisfying meal, although I must say I wish I'd taken a longer walk before we got into the car for the drive home.

Throughout my visit here I have been struck more by the commonalities of culture than by the differences: hospitality is important, feeding one's visitors is important, relationships are important to maintain even if contact is infrequent. Some of the more surface-level differences: Intimates greet each other with the cheek touching version of a kiss; handshakes among intimates include the younger person touching the older person's hand to his/her forehead as a sign of respect. Otherwise the joking is casual and informal, as it would be in my own culture. I am told that in the eastern and more rural parts of Turkey there is more rigid segregation of the sexes, more attention to social hierarchy, and more conservative social customs generally, but I gathered from the conversation that none of the people I met have actually been there or experienced it directly. It did give me some curiosity to visit the more rural areas, but there is not time for that on this trip.