Turkey

Today we abandoned our studies and went to  Turkey.  To a small town called Avaylik (av-ah-leek).  They have a weekly market on Thursdays.  Petra, the closest port to Molyvos, where I have been staying, used to have a weekly ferry to Turkey, but they have not had one all year.  This was a big day for  the people on this side of the island. 

The boat was sold out.  The atmosphere leaving port reminded me of people waiting at the entrance to Target on Black Friday.  And, when the boat pulled into Avaylik, the passengers did in fact run as fast as they could to be first in line to get through customs.  (My passport now has so many fun stamps; I feel very international)

Avaylik is a beautiful coastal town.  There is one main road packed with cars and buses.  But most of the town is narrow cobblestone streets with old buildings that have a history that I would love to discuss with them.    The shop owners spend most of their time sitting outside their store sipping on strong black tea with sugar and smoking cigarettes while talking to their neighbors.  People still smoke heavily in both Turkey and Greece.  It feels foreign.  Not because I am in another country, but because I rarely see people smoking in public anymore.  At least not in Denver. 

We stopped to have tea (surprise) in beautiful glass cups with tiny spoons and equally tiny sugar cubes.  There is a ritual to it that I love.  A reminder to slow down just a little.  Everyone has a minute for tea and a chat.  Nothing is all that important.  A theme that I have noticed many places on this trip.  A practice I hope to bring home to my life. 

The market was interesting.  Lots of clothes, mostly Nike track suits and GAP anything.  Table after table of bras and underwear. Wires were strung between the buildings with socks that hung down in columns like giant snakes.  I am not sure how you would even pick out what you want. Piles of jeans and tops and dresses.  I get panic attacks walking into a department store that has some organization.   This was total sensory overload. 

Then you turn a corner and find a beautiful alley covered with wisteria and bougainvillea, with giant murals of Charlie Chaplin and Salavdor Dali and sweet little cafes.  You stop for more tea and maybe a baklava. Peaceful and amazing.   Chaos and calm.  Old and new.  And the cats.  Everywhere the cats.  Cats rule. 

My favorite? The endless stalls of fruits and vegetables and nuts and spices and baked goods.  The tomatoes were fresh and ripe.  Not the hard, anemic versions from home. Leeks as long as my arm and exotic melons.  Barrel after barrel of olives in all shapes and sizes and colors.   Cashews the size of my thumb and fava beans a big as a small potato.  Cinnamon and saffron and curry and every other imaginable spice in long rows.  The smells were amazing, even when mixed with tea and cigarettes.  Herb stalls filled with echinacea and chamomile and ashwaganda. Rows of olive oils and honey.   This kind of sensory overload I could bathe in all day.  I wanted to pack up everything and take it home.  

The boat ride home was like Christmas morning.  Everyone exhausted from the long day, but surrounded by piles of gifts.  Displaying their favorite finds to their neighbors.  A flurry of activity that slowed as the sun started to set and the rhythmic hum of the boat began lulling people to sleep.  The exit from the boat in Petra was much slower than our arrival is Avaylik.  People were burdened by their bags, yes.  But there was also the realization that a day, much like Christmas, that they had waited so long for, was now over. Back to the "real" world. 

A feeling I am becoming intimately familiar with as my time here is also coming to an end.  I have talked with anticipation about this month of my life for the entirety of 2023.  And now it is also almost over.  I leave on Tuesday.  I will be left with my bags of goodies, some great photos and amazing memories.  But I want more.  I want some of this lifestyle to come home with me too.  I want to remember that life is way too short to NOT sit and have tea and chat.  Busy does not mean productive.  Time is an amazing and precious thing.  I may not be able to bring home the spices and the atmosphere, but I hope to bring home the charm and the sense of community.  To remember to be where I am.  It's the most important place. No matter where it is. 

Much love to you all….