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Tuesday, 19 May 2009 14:59 |
I first discovered this hidden hamlet near our Bodrum home about six years ago. Taking a walk off the beach I was trying to find an old friend’s house that we used to visit some 25 years ago. I turned into a sunken lane shadowed by tall trees, which reminded me of the old way to the place I was seeking. I did not find the house, but I stumbled on something remarkable!
I walked for about an hour in a lost world. The lane was the connection between some fifteen to twenty old Bodrum stone houses, now uninhabited. Each dwelling set in the fields and orchards that used to support the folk who lived there up to twenty years ago. The houses, once whitewashed are now the gray of the original stones which made them seem as if they were not built, but had always been there as the stones of the of the fields. The greenness surrounding the dwellings represents the very life of the people who lived there, and I felt I had gone back into a time 30 years ago when we first started to come to this area. Except there were no people. Or so I thought...
One or two fields were tended and here and there evidence of hoeing between citrus trees, the earth open and rich beneath them. I saw a man in one of the gardens, who looked at me in surprise, no doubt not expecting to see anyone from the outside world! I did indeed feel like an intruder from another time. Before he could question me, I asked him if this were his house and garden. It was indeed he said, the house in which he had been born, but now the family came here only to look after the orchard and tend a few vegetables. They had a new house in an upper and more modern village nearby. I said that I loved the old stone houses, and would he ever think of selling his. His face softened as he said he would never entertain the idea. He liked to come here to work in the orchards on weekends with his family, and stay in the crumbling old stone house. It was home.
I walked for about an hour following the lane that was just wide enough for a cart, or as I discovered by seeing wheel marks, a car. The tall trees and hedges on each side were put there many years ago to protect the citrus from the wind. Usually poplars were used for this, and then tall reeds to fill in the gaps. It was difficult to realize that this wonderful place was some few hundred yards from the sea one way, and another few hundred from the main road. By each house were trees that were part of the daily life of the folk. Here were no oleander and bourganvillia of modern Bodrum. Mulberry, for the eating, and also as I remembered having been told, for silk worms, and for fabric dye. There is always a walnut tree, a great favorite, the nuts collected and kept for the winter, and again used to produce dye. The shade of this tree must also have been welcome in the summer. Everywhere tall reeds. I think that this must have been the first planting. So many uses from the very earth roof support, to its many garden applications, and the indispensable wind break and yellow broom, for drying and making brooms. I remember watching a village friend make such a broom as we sat talking one summer night. Also bay trees, which were a source of pocket money for children. Collected into sacks the leaves were sold to send out to the world’s kitchens. Our children used to help with this and make a few welcome kuruş.
There were the flowers for decoration also. But these were hardly ever grown in the ground, but in pots, or more likely in old tins, and spread around the house, on windowsills and the veranda. These were never bought, but cuttings were taken from neighbours, as were patterns for lace, and knitting. There were flowers too, on the embroidery that the women worked as they sat together in the evenings.
These people wasted nothing. The seeds of the melon were dried for the next year planting, and rinds were saved for the cattle and sheep. Anything that could be dried for winter use was spread on the flat roof to dry. There was always a use for everything. Grasses growing near the sea were twisted into rope and string. I have seen an old knife used as a bracket to keep up a shelf.
Each house had a stone oven. The place chosen so that the smoke did not blow into the house. Here in this place were ovens of all sorts, built to serve the needs of the particular house. Homegrown wheat was used for the bread, and a piece of dough kept from each baking to be used to as a rising agent for the next batch, in the age old sour dough process. There was no buying of yeast.
Another feature of these houses is the water system. A well served each house, and the water pumped up was set to run in a wall with a channel at the top that carried it to the orchard and kitchen garden. I saw houses where this went also to the washing place, which was always out side the house. A woman who had this made for her must have been very happy that she did not have to carry water herself.
On my first visit I noticed a man’s jacket hanging on a hook outside one front door. I do not know how long it had been there, but I do know that it is still there! It seemed to me that the owner on leaving the place had put it there so that part of him remained. That it is still undisturbed is a testimony to the sheltered nature of the place. So near to the winter sea storms, but so well protected for the well being of the citrus flowers.
But this way of life is all in the past. New modern roads and the coming of tourists changed all this in a few years. Affluence bringing concrete, to build houses that are not designed for a daily way of living, but only for a few weeks of the summer. So I was delighted to find this natural open-air museum still in existence.
However, there is another way of life continuing there that is even older than the one I have just related. That is the life of nature. Entirely undisturbed by modern life, and the evils of synthetic sprays, insects abound. I have walked in spring through clouds of emerging butterflies. The sounds of the crickets and cicadas are only equal to the song of the birds in the thick trees. I have never been there without hearing nightingales. It is sheer bliss to be there.
Every guest that I have is introduced to this treat. Many have demanded a second visit.
I will continue to go there as often as possible before the bulldozers come. As they surely will. A road is planned I believe. A matter of time before the massive oaks are felled, and the houses are obliterated forever, taking with them the birds and the butterflies and the tortoise, the wild flowers, everything replaced by the mediocre paraphernalia of modern tourism. This place should be left in peace as a museum to a past way of life. But even as I write I know that it will not happen!
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