TURKEY AUGUST 2013 -3- GOKOVA A PLACE IN TURKEY EVERY MAN MUST VISIT

TURKEY AUGUST 2013 -3- GOKOVA A PLACE IN TURKEY EVERY MAN MUST VISIT

7.31.2013

Last day in Mugla for the training activities. Mugla is a vibrant place with many brilliant thinkers, who feel for their community and its problems. My dear colleague and friend Betul and I have tried our best to understand the strengths and weaknesses of this lovely place to be able to guide them to the best of our ability toward the most effective model of intervention on managing sexual crimes in Mugla. We both trust, with the dedication of the team, they will find their way to what is good for Mugla and its victims.

                                       Azmak at Gokova Bay

In the evening, Betul and I want to visit "Azmak" a fresh waterway opening to the Gokova Bay, full speed, which I've heard of for couple of decades now, but have never had the chance to visit before into its depths. What we discover is so consistent with what we see from up above, the Sakar Overlook Terrace: Gokova is an expansive plain through which rushes multiple small creeks and brooks some of which materialize only to handle flood waters. Azmak on the other hand gives Gokova a feel of a delta right where it reaches the Aegean. We know that it is lined with cafes and small, cozy fish restaurants, hence hope we may make it our evening destination. One of the conference attendees is kind enough to give us a ride from Mugla to Akyaka, which is the authentic village through which Azmak runs before joining the Aegean.

One of the boats carrying visitors into Azmak

Apparently the "in" thing to do in Akyaka is to take a boat ride from the beach into the depths of Azmak to visit the Aquarium, as the depths of the water remind everybody of with its purity and crystal clarity.  As we are marveling at this phenomenon, even at the very beginning of Azmak, I also start watching our "captain". He seems to be a man of experience through some harsh seasons in his life. His face is full of wrinkles and his skin is as dark as can be before he would qualify for being of African decent: There are quite a few of them around Mugla, whose ancestors were brought to Anatolia during Ottoman time to build a railroad and a train station in Dalaman. The historic train station still stands, and the descendants of the African slaves melted into the community, some still carrying their sweet chocolate color It is great that there has never been any discrimination against them at least during the last century.  

Deliyurek, the captain of our boat on Azmak

I approach the captain to chat him up a bit. His name is Deliyurek: "Crazyheart". He's been living in Akyaka for the last 15 years (since I moved to the USA, apparently). He is originally from Yatagan, Bozoyuk village, an hour or so up north. I wonder if it is the village where one of my cousins worked as an elementary school teacher years ago. He doesn't know her. I ask him when he gained this nickname, it is becoming to an adolescent, but who knows he might be a surviving adult with severe ADHD! He declares people started calling him Deliyurek 10 years ago. It is clear some drastic event must have led to this. He seems to be eager to talk and I go one step further and ask him "What was it that rewarded you with this name?" with an empathetic smile. He isn't ready to go much further than that. His answer is "Well, I was crazy you know, fighting and things like that..." I get the message, this is where I need to stop. He probably is embarrassed with what happened.

Bushes swaying gently with the wind of Azmak

He must have been one of the "delikanli"s. Delikanli is a term used for youth that act impulsively and get into trouble from time to time, the literal translation being "whose blood boils". Deliyurek looks like he is at least in his forties, making me quietly curious about what kind of fighting he might have gotten into that got him his nickname. I will never learn the answer to this question, at least not this time. I then, recall my dear friend Don's comment on "Turkish men never grow up beyond adolescence", certainly doesn't apply to all of them but at least to a lot, it does. I tell him about my blog and he delightedly gives me permission to use one of his photographs that I take as he subtly poses to my camera, to post it on my blog. He also tells me about a Turkish author, Canan Tan, who had written a book on Akyaka and used his story in her book. Perhaps he wants me to learn about his story via Canan. I will try. He is delighted  that his story will become part of another writing, he doesn’t know mine doesn't have any literary value like Tan's work.

Underwater vegetation seen from up above through crystal clear water of Azmak

We finally arrive at a point, he tells us the depth of the water is 7 m, around 22 ft or so. This is the Aquarium. There are underwater lilies, weeds reaching toward the sea with the current, other vegetations with enormous leaves along with coins thrown into the water, most likely by visitors, hoping these clear waters would do some good to them. Betul is very excited about the photographs she has been taking, so am I, although I certainly know that her photographs will have much more art value than mine. Deliyurek informs us that the water of Azmak is drinkable and draws water with his bucket to pour over our feet and legs. I don't feel comfortable drinking it, but as everybody else does, i also wash my arms with Azmak water, which indeed is refreshing... Azmak is a generic name used in reference to fresh water pouring into salt water, I learn. But Deliyurek reports, this waterway is also called "Kadin Azmagi", the Azmak of the woman. We debate over what that might mean. Could it refer to feminine reproduction, breast milk, or what?

                                               Sunset on Azmak

The answer will come later on from our bus driver, Berat (we will take a bus from Akyaka to Mugla at the end of the evening) when I ask his opinion on how Azmak became known as the Azmak of the woman. He tells us he grew up in Akyaka and when he was a child his grandparents called it Azmak, period. There came a time and a British woman moved to Azmak and lived along this water for some time. The locals then, started referring to the section of Azmak where she lived as the Azmak of the woman. Where there are no streets and numbers that works in the countryside! However, through the years people started using Azmak and the Azmak of the woman interchangeably to refer to the entire length of Azmak. I warmly think about how welcoming the people of Akyaka must have been to this woman that they didn't mind dedicating a section of their precious Azmak to her, however, nonspecific the reference might be. Berat complains about how he dislikes the fact that too many people have become aware of the beauty and serenity of Akyaka and Azmak nowadays, which leads to overcrowding of his beloved village. We agree. About 15 years ago, when I last visited Akyaka, it was nothing like what it looks like today. He blames internet for this. I don't doubt it. He asks me to come back in the winter to appreciate Akyaka in its best. I promise I will.

Orfoz restaurant almost in the water on Azmak

  At the end of our tour with Deliyurek on Azmak, we identify a restaurant called "Orfoz" named after an enormous fish at risk of extinction in these waters. We decide to come back to it to have our dinner. Once we say our goodbyes to Deliyurek, we start walking along the water to go back to Orfoz for our dinner. When we arrive after half an hour of savoring the waterfront, we are extremely happy with our choice. The personable staff offers us a small table right by the fence on the terrace. We are situated across from a boat over which a willow tree is hanging like an umbrella. Between the boat and us is an enclosed little pool carved out of Azmak, full of watermelons, honeydews, and melons to cool for the customers. Environmentalism of Turkish peasants! Ducks are visiting the fruit pool often. There are two tables right in the water, and their "residents" have rolled up their pants to above their knees, dangling their feet into the water as they are enjoying their raki and delicious food. This is how much at peace people of this land are with water, fresh or salt.  

Ducks are as curious about the watermelons and melons dropped into water to chill for customers of Orfoz Restaurant

  We order an eggplant salad, fried vegetables with yogurt, sea beans, and a green salad loaded with arugula before a two pounder "sinarit" fish to share. Everything is so fresh, vegetables are prepared so well with the right amount of oil, lemon, garlic, and everything else, our gustatory buds are satisfied to the fullest. The fish comes fried, our waiter Burak offers to remove the fish bones and prepare the fish for us. I try to be as pleasant as possible with my instantaneous "Nope", I can't allow that, that is why I crave for having fish in Turkey: to be able to explore the most intricate parts of the fish, where I will not be criticized for using my hands while devouring it. He smiles, it is clear,  looking at our attire (we came down here right after the conference), he thought we were Istanbulite elites, who wouldn't get their fingers "dirty". He understands, we are his kind of people. We thoroughly reduce the fish down to its bones as the night moves on, our anatomy skills back through 30 years since all three of us are physicians. Just as we declare, we are full, Burak insists we should try the helva dessert, their specialty. He doesn't sound at all like he wants to add more to our ticket, he simply wants us to learn about their special dessert. Now I go along with my friends, who'd like to try it. My goodness, I can’t say I regret having ordered it. It is indeed out of this world. They have filled pastry dough with tahini helva and baked it, the dough is crisp and molten helva is pouring out of the pastry as we cut into it. He is very happy that we are delighted with his choices, both the fish and the dessert.

These are the skylines I take back home when I leave Turkey to meditate with the eye of my mind

All in all, another very productive day that tied into a meditative evening. I will think of Mugla and Gokova very fondly when I return home. Past midnight, I am ready to collapse to bed to wake up in time to meet my brother the next day, who will be coming down from Kusadasi to pick me up for our three-day vacation in Dalyan, another wonder of Turkey.

Three pretty happy women reluctant to leave Azmak