Despite going to bed past midnight, we wake up relatively early around 6:30. We decide, we either get up and explore the island or go back to sleep to waste several hours until 9-10 am. We come to consensus that we would like to explore the land. I would like to go to Hristo monastery, which is at the highest point of the island, at some point. We encounter a middle aged woman, who is taking her morning hike in the same direction as we do. She stops and waits for us.
Lovely, we are now four women walking together. I chat her up and she tells us that her husband and his brothers do textile business and they have been on Burgaz for 40 years. They are originally from Sivas a central Anatolian province, she came to Istanbul as a child along with her parents. Now she is a proud Adali, an Alevi member at that. I will learn later that there are five ethnic/religious groups on the islands: Greek Orthodox, Armenians, Jewish, Alevi muslims and sunni muslims. An Armenian woman, who will show me to her church will tell me that these ethnic groups are very friendly with each other to the extent that they all go to each other's houses of worship! Just like it used to be on all of Anatolia, before World War I.
We climb up the slopes of the hills, sampling from the wild strawberry bushes as part of our breakfast. Higher slopes are covered with very young pine trees, our new friend tells us "They burned our forests in 2003 to develop the island". Who is that "they"? She tells us they are current government supporters so that open land can be developed as they choose. Didn’t the same government plan to develop Gezi Park in the middle of Istanbul that led to month-long confrontations between the police and environmentalists with unforgiveable violence from the government forces against young unarmed yogis, musicians, doctors, workers among others? As we head down, we see a sign that reports the Administration of Forestry had planted several thousands of trees after the fire. I want to believe at least in this instance there might be no conspiracy between the government and their supporting neuvea rich. However, later on a Greek resident will tell me that the trees were planted just because the Greek community forced the Administration and paid for most of the trees through the Greek Orthodox community. Talk about "what you say and how you act should be the same" in Islamic faith...
By the time, we are done with our big loop covering the eastern slopes of the island, we arrive at the waterfront. A few young people ask whether they can take pictures with us individually. They are high school students, camping over the weekend on the island. We don't quite understand what their goal is, but we are in. Finally, when we get back to the guest house, our friends are all up and awake, ready to enjoy the wild strawberries we saved for them to sample. Guler is both enjoying her breakfast and working on another painting. Her impressions of the ambiance and sections of the island are beautifully depicted on her paintings. I take at least pictures of her painting not daring to ask to keep or purchase one of them.
Time to head to the waterfront since our friends will head back to their lives in the city before noon. Before departure, though, we will gather at Ergun's cafe to try their specialty dessert. It is indeed delicious, which is baked daily, one must try it. Just as we are wrapping up, the group of youngsters come around again. This time, they would like us all in a picture. These are lovely, warm, sweet young men and women of the land, attending private or public-high quality high schools, clearly obtaining secular education, since they are very comfortable with each other in a positive, friendly, and trusting manner.
The distance of distrust between the fundamentalist men and women that, to me, definitely disrupts the depth of communication between individuals is not there with this natural and “normal” kids. We all join in. Just as we gather for a selfie to be taken by one of the kids, an island dog walks into our midst. As we chuckle, he turns around and poses with her bottom to the camera. What level of trust engrained even in the dogs of this island even toward strangers...
After my friends leave, I am left with me, myself and I and the archipelago… I start with exploring the downtown of the island a bit. There isn't much, but there is no need for much, either. It is mostly about restaurants and cafes. There is a manav, from which I purchase a pomegranate, which will be my lunch after the hefty post-breakfast dessert as I start exploring the rest of the island. To my disappointment both churches and monasteries are closed. Apparently, the youth of the immigrants are not always friendly to these structures, although the islanders believe it may not necessarily be out of maliciousness, just out of ignorance and boiling blood of the youth.
I decide to go to Hristo Monastery, located at the highest point of the island. That is also locked up and the ranger, who is supposed to monitor the premises is not there. The gate is secured with a thin cable wrapped around the metal gate. A metal plate through the slats of the gate reads "Monastery is closed". I unwrap the cable, enter the yard, knock on the door of the ranger's house, no response, start wandering around. Everything is falling apart. How unfortunate, this structure could be renovated and the entire premise could be opened to visitation that would establish such wonderful cultural exchange. Current Turkish government unfortunately is all too busy, building bridges and roads through virgin lands, and buildings at the service of hefty wallets.
As I walk around, I discover that there is a cemetery next to the yard of the monastery. Ancestors of today's Greek people, who lived in Istanbul as late as the beginning of the century are buried here. Some are buried in clusters in their family lot. No flowers, no trees, most graves, although ornate with headstones are covered with weeds and wild flowers. Low standing olive trees provide minimal shade. Cemeteries in Turkey for the muslims are traditionally very lush. The belief is that, the dead enjoys shade. As a result, as soon as somebody is buried, a tree or two is planted around the grave, which leads to all cemeteries become the most wooded areas in any town.
As I leave the yard of the monastery, I notice that the metal plate with "closed" scribbling in fact is the sign with full name of this monastery that was apparently hung on the wall of the entrance once upon a time until somehow one of the nail holes broke. What kind of education are these rangers provided if at all regarding the preservation of historical sites, I wonder. This sign tells me "None". I wonder if this family simply happened to be the relative or villager of some high-status bureaucrat that qualified them to get to this post, most likely they were.
I find a spot that has full view of Heybeliada to the east of Burgaz. In the middle of the island, is a big concrete building. I will learn later on that it was the Naval Academy once upon a time, now left to the Naval Lyceum, which now has two campuses on Heybeliada. The other prominent structure is on the northern highest point of the island, which is the Greek theological school. This school periodically comes into political discourse in Turkey when Greek citizens one more time request it to open, which Turkish Ministry of Education has not allowed for decades now. I can't wait to go to Heybeliada to see it and hopefully learn more about its history.
When I finally come down after my late lunch with a delicious pomegranate, I recall where we had seen the man, who was followed with 30-40 cats two days ago and our morning hiker telling us that he was a fisherman: The cats were after him because of the fish smell on his clothes! I see a sign for Cemevi to the left, which is a gathering place for muslims of the Bektasi and/or Alevi sects. These sects follow a teaching very similar to sufism, open to all religions, genders, ethnicities without any discrimination. I walk along the path and see men and women sitting around tables at a cafe, some chatting, some playing cards. I have many Alevi friends that I treasure since their muslim identity is a cultural one rather than religious. Thus, they are all very secular, and most importantly, men and women are considered equal and treated as such in this sect. It is clear that these people are the same, no wonder they readily intermingle with their Greek, Armenian, and Jewish neighbors.
In order to complete my tour of Burgaz, one last place to visit is the Sait Faik Museum: Sait Faik Abasiyanik is a landmark in Turkish literature in that he started story writing form in Turkey. He was born to a well-to-do family, who supported him in his education and explorations in Europe. After his father died, he spent his winters in Istanbul and summers at Burgaz living with his mother exploring his love life in the minorities of Istanbul and Adalar. In his writing he narrated the sea, the nature, the poor working people including fishermen with a humanistic approach. When he died, he donated his home at Burgaz to the High School for orphans (Darussafaka), which is one of the top high schools in Turkey on condition that it would be turned into a museum, maintained and kept open to public at no cost.
Darussafaka indeed did a very good job with Sait Faik's instructions. The home is beautifully maintained inside and out with lots of paraphernalia from Sait Faik's life. The sweetest was that he had Turkish translations of "Old Man and the Sea", "For Whom Are the Bells Tolling?" from Ernest Hemingway and Metapmorphosis from Franz Kafka. I purchase several of his books that I had not read. I will devour his poetry book "Now is the time to make love" in one breath.
I choose a table right by the water at Yasemin restaurant. There is a young fisherman tying up his boat for the day. we start chatting and he tells me all about the Spoon island right across Burgaz, which is a "no public access" zone for the people of Turkey, since it is being rented by an entrepreneur for his personal use, guarded by bodyguards all around the island! Talk about Turkey becoming "Little America"... Yes indeed... Ending the day with a light dinner is so soothing. The ripples on the water generate a soft melody as they touch the stone wall of the promenade that I am on. Seagulls are still active at dusk adding to this mild symphony. The clouds are fading from pink to gray as the sun disappears behind the Hristo Monastery. My day was very well spent filling me with lots of good things, some disappointment but still with lots of hope...
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| Wilderness at a glance around Burgaz... |
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