Ankara Scribbler: archives (posts from July and August, 2012)
Ağustos 2012
08/14/2012
Ladies' thighs for lunch
Ahmet Bayar has been serving us meals since we began excavating at Kinet Höyük in 1992. He and his family have long owned or managed cafeterias in the Dörtyol area. In our early years, Delta Petroleum Products, a company with LPG storage tanks alongside our site, offered us the use of their cafeteria. At the beginning, meals were served on metal trays divided into compartments, with lunch and dinner exactly the same. We also ate mid-morning breakfast there, 8:30-9:00 am, together with the workmen from the excavation, all of us downing lots of bread, white cheese, black olives, and jam, with large glasses of tea (with as much sugar as we wanted).
Ever since Delta remodeled its facilities, which included demolishing its cafeteria, we’ve been using the cafeteria at BP across the way, again managed by Ahmet Bey and his family’s company, Amanos Yemekçilik (‘Amanos Food Service,’ named after the region’s imposing mountain range that runs north-south parallel to the seacoast, south to Syria). We eat lunch there Monday-Friday. The BP cafeteria is air-conditioned – which the old Delta cafeteria was decidedly not – with a system labeled Alaska. Amanos delivers dinner to us at the excavation house, a menu that differs from lunch.
Ahmet Bey serves Fran her lunch at the BP cafeteria
Ahmet Bey’s parents were from Crete, Greek-speaking Muslims settled in this Dörtyol region after the Exchange of Greek and Turkish Populations (Mübadele) that took place in early 1923. The many years of war between Greece and Turkey (and others) – the Balkans Wars of 1912-1913, World War I, and the Greco-Turkish War of 1919-1922 – had resulted in thousands of refugees, Muslims and Christians. During the negotiations at Lausanne for the treaty that would end the state of war between the Turks and their World War I opponents, it was decided to make official the separation of peoples, already de facto from the refugees, as one way of reducing the chances of future conflict. According to the convention signed on January 30, 1923, the remaining Orthodox population of Turkey would be sent to Greece, the Muslim population of Greece to Turkey. Exempted were the Orthodox in Istanbul, a mainstay of the Turkish economy, and those living on two small northeast Aegean islands (Gökçeada and Bozcaada, called in Greek Imbros and Tenedos), and the Muslims of western Thrace, farming people for the most part.
Religion, not home language, was the deciding factor. So, Turkish-speaking Orthodox (such as the Karamanlides of Cappadocia) were among those uprooted, as were Ahmet Bey’s Greek-speaking family. In all, some 1 ½ million Orthodox and 500,000 Muslims were involved, the final transfers occurring more-or-less peaceably (unlike the non-mandatory exchanges that occurred between Muslims and Hindus during the creation of India and Pakistan), but of course for everyone involved, whether refugee from war or expelled from regions outside the war zones, the uprooting was emotionally and financially difficult.
The Dortyol region had had a substantial Armenian population until the turmoil of World War I, so there was space for the new arrivals. Ahmet Bey’s family was one of many Cretan families resettled here. He himself speaks Greek, learned from his parents. His children do not, although they maintain their identity as people whose homeland (memleket) is Crete.
A few years ago Ahmet Bey decided to visit Crete, to see the land of his parents. He procured a visa, bought a plane ticket, and off he went.
“Where are you going to stay?” I asked when he told me about his trip.
“I don’t have any plans,” he said. He intended simply to show up in the local coffeehouse and talk with the men sitting around and take it from there.
It all worked out really well. People welcomed him warmly—after all, he spoke Greek with the same accent they did—showed him his parents’ village, received him with great hospitality. He had a great ten days. One can imagine that such returns are rare. The old men in the kapheneion must have been thrilled. Ahmet Bey took lots of photos and videos to show his family here.
Lunch at BP
The food served by Ahmet Bey is standard Turkish dished out in hearty portions. This picture shows a recent lunch: kadın budu (lit. ‘ladies’ thighs’), patties of ground beef, onion, and rice dipped in an egg batter, then fried. The results are succulent, as one might guess from the dish’s name. We’re also enjoying fried potatoes and pasta with tomato sauce. Note the bread, too. It’s very typical to have a medley of starches in these meals. The lunch includes as well slightly spicy ezogelin soup, made from tiny red lentils, bulgur or rice, onions, tomato paste, red pepper, and mint, tastier here than anywhere else in Turkey; plain yogurt; and a serving of melon, a summer favorite. To liven up the kadın budu I’ve added on my plate a few hot green peppers, which Ahmet Bey grows in the garden behind the BP cafeteria. People in this region delight in spicy food, and that suits me just fine.
After a big lunch like this, at 2:00 pm on a hot summer day after one has gotten up at 5:30am, the only thing to do is take a nap.
Amanos Food Service delivers a meal
Such hearty meals are in contrast with what I eat the rest of the year. Breakfasts, though, are more or less the same, a straightforward Turkish breakfast. Here I have Nescafe with milk, bread (standard white), white cheese, olives green as well as black, some freshly sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, a bit of red pepper paste, and jam. At home in Ankara I might have toasted whole wheat bread and coffee made in an Italian espresso pot, and in the winter tomatoes aren’t recommended, but otherwise it’s the same.
The breakfast table at the Kinet Höyük excavation house
For lunch I try to eat simply: a sandwich, or if I do eat out, a cooked vegetable dish with a bit of meat, perhaps some rice or bulgur, and a salad. Dinner is quite different, with a green salad and cooked vegetables – and as we change seasons, we’re reacquainting ourselves with vegetables that enjoy the cooler months: broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, spinach, leeks, and cabbage, and following the parade of fruits: apples in the fall, of course, with the occasional pomegranate to liven up a salad, then tangerines (from mid November), oranges, and in late spring, sour green plums (an acquired taste), strawberries, cherries, and apricots. Chicken is frequent, because it’s easy to cook and these days is much cheaper than beef or lamb. Beef, lamb, or fish appear from time to time. Pork products are now virtually impossible to find (in contrast with 1976-78, when our local supermarket in Ankara sold pork chops and sausages), and when findable, extremely expensive, a luxury.
Cooking for ourselves, we can make American, French, Italian, and Chinese dishes. Stir fry with soy sauce, stews with wine, spaghetti with tuna and tomato sauce, and tamale pie (if we have renewed our stock of chili powder from the US) are all possible. Ahmet Bey might not turn up his nose at these curiosities, for he is broad-minded and open to adventure, but probably like most in this country, he would prefer the traditional standards. And why not? It’s a tasty, varied food tradition, valuing seasonal fruits and vegetables, enjoyed and well prepared by people of all social classes. It’s a pleasure for all.
Temmuz 2012
07/31/2012
At the Kinet Höyük excavations: a broken pump and a great party!
An ‘alaturka’ day – a day in the Turkish manner – is, in my personal parlance, a day when things do not go as anticipated. Whatever might happen, pleasant or nasty, major or minor, when I’m having my breakfast coffee it’s not on the horizon. Of course, anywhere in the world you might live, surprises happen. But alaturka days seem more frequent here than in the US. That’s not to everyone’s taste, and a certain number of Turks have happily settled in the US to benefit from a more predictable daily life. But alaturka days give life texture. Life in Turkey definitely has texture.
Let me illustrate with two recent examples.
The broken pump
Last Thursday, after waking up at 5:30am, after my usual 30-minute sunrise walk to the seashore & back with a few other exercisers, our group breakfast at 6:30am, and two hours spent at the site drawing architectural plans, mid-morning I settled down at my work table in the excavation house to examine a group of small ceramic oil lamps from the Hellenistic period (late 4th-1st c. BC).
The well pump had broken down, though – no running water until that was fixed. Someone else would certainly take care of it. I took the first lamp out of its plastic bag and placed it in front of me.
Marie-Henriette found me at my table. “Would you drive Bestami to the sanayi to get the spare parts?”
Mustafa, our site guard and problem fixer, was in Antakya attempting to file his retirement application. The equally practical Bestami, the caretaker of the neighboring experimental farm that belongs to the agricultural faculty of Mustafa Kemal University, was called in to help, but he needed a ride.
“It would be better if you went,” Marie-Henriette said.
Sanayi (`industry`) designates the district that contains the auto repair shops, machine shops, and the like. In this world of oil, grease, and car carcasses, women are rare. As a man, my appearance in the sanayi would raise no eyebrows, even though my own repair skills are nil.
When we reached the Dörtyol sanayi, 15 minutes away, I parked the car and Bestami set off in search of the spare parts. I perched on a broken curb under a small tree, sharing the shady space with a caravan of ants. I took out my book, brought in case of such a wait – J. M. Roberts, The New Penguin History of the World, a very fat paperback, which I am gleaning for insights useful for my course on the History of Western Civilization. Five pages into “Jewry and the Coming of Christianity,” Bestami returned to say he couldn’t find the parts; we should drive to Payas, the next town down the coast.
No luck in the sanayi in Payas, either. It was midday and intensely hot and humid.
“Are you fasting?” I asked.
“Not today.”
We bought bottles of cold water at the next gas station with a mini-market. With temperatures in the high 30s C (high 90s F) and humidity levels to match, keeping the dawn-to-dusk Ramazan fast in the summer months requires superhuman force, especially for anyone who works outdoors. Some will aim to fast on the first day, giving it their best try, and that will be respected.
Next stop: Iskenderun, the large coastal city 20 minutes further south. Although founded by Alexander the Great and indeed named for him, Iskenderun has almost nothing to show from its long history, from ancient, medieval, or even early modern times. It sprawls from its big harbor – industrial, commercial, military – across the small plain up into the foothills of the Amanos Mountains.
We drove into the city center and I found a patch of shade while Bestami went off on foot. While waiting, I had a simple, tasty lunch, a flat, oval-shaped bun garnished with melted kaşar cheese (like cheddar) and three slices of sausage, lined up in a row like buttons, and a glass of ayran, the slightly salty yogurt-and-water drink that is perfect for hot weather.
Mustafa recommended that Bestami try the store where the well pump had been bought. Success! The two replacement gaskets cost a mere 14 liras ($8), but we had them and now we drove back. Bestami didn’t want to eat, but we picked up more cold water on the way.
By 3:00 pm we were back at the excavation house. Nap time for me, but Bestami headed for the pump, which 1 ½ hours later he had in working order. The Hellenistic lamps were patiently waiting for me when I returned to my work table in the late afternoon.
A great party
Two Saturdays ago Marie-Henriette and I drove to Antakya to meet our daughters, Caroline and Irene, and their friend, Camille, who were coming for a short visit. Saturday is our free day, so a trip to Antakya, 1 ½ hours away, was convenient to make. We found them at noon in their attractive, bougainvillea-draped hotel, then went to the archaeological museum. In antiquity, Antakya was Antioch, one of the greatest cities of the eastern Roman Empire. The museum is famous for its collection of Roman floor mosaics (3rd-6th c. AD), mostly discovered in wealthy suburban villas during excavations conducted by Princeton University in the 1930s.
The museum also has four display cases devoted to finds from our site, Kinet Höyük. An outdoor courtyard contains fascinating objects, informally placed and almost all without labels – stone sarcophagi; Greek and Arabic inscriptions carved on stone blocks; random mosaics (faded after years in the outdoor light); a roaring lion, a stone sculpture of ca. 700 BC from Tell Tayinat, near Antakya; and large ceramic storage jars (pithoi), including a huge example from the Early Bronze Age town at Kinet Hoyük, some 4,200 years old.
Hatay (Antakya) Archaeology Museum: pithoi with A.S. and Irene [pithos on the left: from EBA Kinet Höyük] (Photo: Camille Killian)
After the museum, lunch at Abdo, a small place famous for its dürüm (wraps) of meat or chicken, with hot sauce (if wanted, and most Antakyans would) and onions (also optional). As usual in Antakya, a plate of fresh mint and parsley and lemon halves was put on the table.
One can’t leave Antakya without a stroll in the traditional bazaar area. The streets are covered, protection from sun and rain, which can both be intense. I bought 2 kg (3 lbs) of handcrafted soap made from olive oil and laurel leaf oil, a local specialty.
Antakya: inside the Uzun Çarşı (the Long Market)
Until the Syrian crisis erupted last year, business in Antakya was thriving. Not long before, after many years of mutual suspicion, Syria and Turkey had both lifted visa requirements. Syrians enjoyed shopping in Turkish cities near the border, and Turks, especially Arabic speakers of these regions, travelled to Aleppo and other Syrian cities to shop and to see the sights. Now, sadly, this has all stopped. Many businesses here have suffered.
In the later afternoon we found our car and headed back to the excavation house – north from Antakya across the edge of the Antioch Plain, up to the 720 m (2100 ft) pass over the Amanos Mountains, then down to the Mediterranean coast. Dinner would be at 7:15 pm. We should make it on time. When we reached the house, Marie-Henriette got out of the car and pulled open the heavy sliding gate, and then . . .
(Photo: Camille Killian)
Surprise! On the balcony, a crowd of people jumped up and burst into cheers.
A huge banner hung down: “20 Years” Two long tables were set up in the court, instead of the usual short dining table, and decorated with candles.
It was a suprise party! To celebrate the many years of this excavation project in this, our final season. Among those present were former students who had taken part in the project in past years, including one from the first year, 1992; friends from excavations at Tell Tayinat and Tell Atchana (Alalakh) near Antakya and Kilise Tepe (far to the west, between Silifke and Mut), and from Ankara, Mardin, and other places. The food was excellent, the drink abundant, the celebratory cake elegant and delicious.
Marie-Henriette cuts the cake as Salima and Yağmur watch (Photo: Camille Killian)
Planning, we learned, had begun last year. And even while we were driving back from Antakya, Irene, in on the secret as were Caroline and Camille, was sending text messages from the back seat to the dig house to report when we were likely to arrive.
Marie-Henriette and I were completely, totally surprised. It was a glorious party, joyful and very moving.
An alaturka day at its finest.
07/24/2012
Half a Roman bridge is better than none
Not far from our excavation house, perhaps 1 km (less than a mile) to the south, is a Roman bridge. Actually, only half is preserved. What happened to the other half is uncertain. The bridge dates to the late Roman period, 4th c. AD, and would have allowed travellers to cross a small river, no longer flowing in this particular bed, and continue on the north-south road that parallels the sea coast. We have found a portion of that road east of Kinet Höyük in a sounding dug in an orange grove, nicely paved as Roman roads usually were.
Roman bridge, near the Mediterranean shore at Yeşilköy (near Dörtyol)
I went the other day to have a look. Ben Claasz Coockson of our excavation project explored the bridge in 2004, clearing its stones of vegetation and later constructions, digging down around the pylons to see how they were designed, and drawing, planning, and photographing the cleaned remains. It looked really nice, and, as the only standing ancient monument in our village of Yeşilköy, it was worthy of restoration. But this takes money.
Two arches of the bridge, protected by "No smoking" on the İpragaz fence
The immediate neighbors of the bridge are İpragaz and Aygaz, large companies that deal in butane gas widely used for cooking. Both facilities feature clusters of enormous round storage tanks for the gas, giant white-painted balls. Although restoring the bridge would be small change for these companies, they have remained completely indifferent to our appeals.
Roman bridge (out of sight to the left), İpragaz balls behind the fence, and our 1984 Mercedes station wagon
Today the half-bridge is obscured behind the barbed wire fences of İpragaz. Vines and thorns are taking over. Our sign, that this was a project of Bilkent University approved by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, miraculously survives behind aggressive brambles.
If you push aside the thorns, you can see this
I took pictures as best I could, and then an İpragaz guard approached and waved his arms, shooing me away. Perhaps I should have asked him what he felt about this architectural Sleeping Beauty. But it was midday, the sun intense, the humidity high. Another time.
07/17/2012
Sadettin Bey's taxi
We’ve seen several team members coming and going over the past few weeks. Many have been transported by Sadettin Bey. Sadettin Bey is a taxi driver from Adana, Turkey’s fourth largest city located 1 hour 15 minutes to the northwest of Kinet Höyük, in the middle of the fertile and, in the summer, extremely hot and humid Çukurova plain. He must be in his mid to late 60s and speaks some English, thanks to the big American air force base on the outskirts of Adana, at İncirlik (pronounced “in-jeer-lick,” meaning “place of the figs”). At hours early, middle, and late, he meets our colleagues at the Adana airport and cheerfully drives them in air conditioned comfort to our excavation house – or, in reverse, he picks them up here and takes them to the airport. Before setting out from here he has an ample nescafé with milk and sugar, and a few cookies.
Sadettin Bey and his taxi
Christine returned recently from a short trip to Bilkent University’s excavations at Hacımusalar, near Elmalı, in the ancient Lycian highlands west of Antalya. She shared with us a precious gift she had received, two bottles of local red wine. Wine we rarely drink here, because it is summer, it is hot, and locals, if they drink at all, vastly prefer beer or rakı (the anisette-flavored alcoholic drink).
The wine was labelled “Kızılbel,” after a spectacular painted tomb from the 6th c. BC, the bottles attractively decorated with a detail from the ancient paintings.
At the same dinner, Yağmur brought out her last bottle of red wine made by Syrian Orthodox (Suryani) monks near Mardin, in southeast Turkey, and that wine was delicious, too.
I supply beer for the team now, ever since Scott Redford finished his excavations of the medieval fort at Kinet Höyük several years ago. Now that temperatures have climbed to the high 30s C (= upper 90s F), I buy two cases at a time. I buy Efes Pilsen (= Ephesus), the country’s leading brand, from a hole-in-the-wall distributor. The first time I went, the friendly young man who runs the store asked for news of Scott Bey – a mark of Scott’s lasting impact. He puts into the case as many cold bottles as I would like, carefully wipes the dust from the others, and loads the cases into the back of the station wagon.
Salima Ikram (right) arrives, greeted by Asa and Marie-Henriette
For most other errands I drive to Dörtyol, ten minutes beyond, our county seat, a city of 70,000 inhabitants ever-expanding on the narrow coastal strip between the Amanos Mountains and the Mediterranean. Saturday morning, our free day, is my usual time for shopping. I’m happy to see the same faces year after year. At the Akkoyunlu gas station, the long-time manager greets me as I load up on diesel, at approx. 3.75 TL per liter (= just under $8 per gallon, cheaper than regular gasoline). I get the car washed in their machine with its big bushy multicolored brushes, cleaning the car of accumulated sea salt, bird droppings, and dust.
Cookies and savory biscuits (both sweet and salty are essential for tea-time) I buy at the Buhara Bakery, which features what we call the “awesome macaroon” – bright green, made of ground pistachios. It’s exceptionally hot inside this bakery, with not even an electric fan at work, but I’m there only a few minutes. On I go to the Soylu Market – one of several so-named markets, belonging to unrelated families that happen to have this same surname. Emine, the young woman at the cash register, greets me in English, which she avers is fading from lack of practice. I buy black olives, white cheese (feta-like), hand soap, red pepper flakes, deodorizers for the toilets, and, for myself, non-fat milk, walnuts, and dried plums or currants.
For fresh fruit, I have many possibilities in the market area. Since our cafeteria routinely serves us watermelon, I aim to buy big purple cherries, perhaps some apricots – both will become scarce in later July, to be replaced by peaches, grapes, and figs.
In a tiny shop wedged in between poultry and fish sellers a man offers high-quality thick, vinegar-like pomegranate syrup (nar ekşisi) in recycled plastic Pepsi bottles, excellent for salads. My last stop might well be the Migros, a national supermarket chain that opened a store in Dörtyol a few years ago. It’s air conditioned and offers convenient parking. Here I can buy anything – but I like especially its green olives, and I look for mineral water in large bottles, rakı, cat food and kitty litter, and items for the kitchen and bathroom. I don’t know the staff, for I haven’t come often, but perhaps in time I will.
We bought a new printer for the excavation house, to replace one that was slow and temperamental. It has been working so well, with attractive copy coming out at a speedy tempo, that I returned to the store, Simge Bilgisayar, just behind the Akkoyunlu gas station, to express my thanks. The owner, a serious sort, didn’t beam with pleasure, but he did offer me a glass of a cold brown-colored drink made from licorice root (meyan kökü) -- immediately recognizable to me as the basic taste of American root beer. It’s unsweetened, though, which makes it . . . well, different. “It’s excellent for digestion,” he told me. “During Ramazan, people eat too much at iftar [the sunset meal]. A glass of this afterwards really helps.”
Ramazan (Turkish for Ramadan), the Muslim month of fasting, begins this Saturday, July 20th. In our region, fasting will be undertaken by a certain number of people, but by no means everyone. And it is summer, hot and humid and with long hours of sunlight – a difficult time of the year to fast. Some restaurants will close for the month, tea gardens wıll stop serving tea during the daytime, and bakeries may shift their hours, but offices and shops will remain open for business as usual.
Outdoors at the Yakamoz
Yakamoz, our favorite local restaurant, will close for Ramazan. Yakamoz means “phosphorescence (in the sea)” and is a popular name for fish restaurants. We have been eating here for years on our free night, for it’s close to our excavation house, it’s on the seashore, and the food is good, even if the menu is limited. The meze (appetizers) are always the same: two salads, one of tomato, onion, and parsley, the other of roka (rocket, or arugula) with a bit of tomato and garlic; hummus (a regional favorite); yogurt with greens; marinated sweet red peppers; eggplant salad; and white cheese. The main course: grilled fish, either levrek or çipora, both in the sea bass category. Meat is possible: a beef stew with tomatoes and hot peppers (hot red pepper is much liked here in the southeast). And then comes the fresh fruit plate, a standard end to a meal throughout the country. Triangular slices of watermelon form the backbone of the artistic arrangement, with apricots, plums, cherries, and honeydew melon along the sides.
Gökhan Bey (right), midday at the Yakamoz
. We ate at Yakamoz last Friday. I realized only afterwards that this would be our last dinner there, for we plan to finish our season and leave for Ankara before the end of Ramazan. So the next day I stopped to say good-bye and take some pictures. Gökhan Görüş, the manager who has greeted us and served us aimiably and energetically for years, came out to see why I was there at midday. He offered me something to drink – a beer, a soda. I explained why I had come, but didn’t have the heart to say it might be good-bye for good. Who knows, perhaps in some future year I will return here for one more fish dinner with the sun setting on this northeast shore of the Mediterranean Sea. I would like to think it possible.----------------------------------------------------
On Lycian wines, such as Kızılbel: www.likyawine.com
07/09/2012
Kinet Höyük excavations: the last season begins!
Farah, a dedicated TV watcher, faithfully follows two or three of the many soap operas that dominate Turkish evening programming. A favorite was Aşk-ı Memnu (“Forbidden Love”), a contemporary version, set in upper crust Istanbul, of a late Ottoman (1899) romantic novel by Halit Ziya Uşaklıgil. This series ran for two years, 2008-2010, on Wednesday evenings, which happened to be when I play bridge with Barbara, Margarita, and Paul, Farah’s husband. Farah, who doesn’t play, would settle herself in front of the TV with a large cup of tea (with sugar, no milk, in the Turkish fashion) and with a stack of newspapers to read when the ads came on. I couldn’t help taking a peek from time to time, and then I’d ask Farah to fill me in.
Thanks to Uşaklıgil’s novel, everyone knew the story: a rich widower wıth teenage children marries a younger woman, who then falls in love with her husband’s young nephew. And everyone knew the ending: the young wife kills herself from despair. But no one knew how this particular version would dramatize the ending, or how the compelling leading actors – Beren Saat, Kıvanç Tatlıtuğ, Nebahat Çehre, and Selçuk Yöntem – would put their stamp on the story. When the 79th and final episode was aired, there was no question: I would be there. Bridge having been rescheduled for another evening, I planted myself in front of our TV and, caught up in the excitement, Marie-Henriette joined me. Like millions of viewers throughout the country, we watched spellbound.
Kinet Höyük (near Dörtyol, Hatay province): the excavation house
Two weeks ago, the 22nd annual summer season of the Kinet Höyük excavations got underway. This will be our last season. Like Aşk-ı Memnu, the ending is known: all remaining finds from our many years of exploration will be transferred from the excavation house to the regional archaeological museum (in Antakya) and other approved storage facilities. But we don’t know how we are going to get from today’s situation – with crates and crates of potsherds, animal bones, stone mortars, and fragments of miscellaneous objects all still very much here – to that final moment of emptiness and quiet.
The season began in the usual way. After receiving the official permit from the Ministry of Culture and Tourism for the summer work, Marie-Henriette, the project director, drove down to the site, 9 hours across the Anatolian plateau and down through the Cilician Gates, the pass through the Taurus Mountains that leads to the coastal plain and the Mediterranean. The other passengers in our blue & white ’84 Mercedes station wagon were Christine Eslick, a specialist in the Early Bronze Age just arrived from Sydney, and our Persian cat, Momtaz, just given her summer haircut. Christine is allergic to cats, but with the windows open, she survived the trip.
Marie-Henriette Gates in her Kinet Höyük office
I followed four days later on the day bus. I took Jet Turizm, a long-established company that serves the route to Iskenderun and Antakya; I have been a faithful customer since 1993. Bus travel has always been comfortable in Turkey, where private companies aim to outdo each other in services offered. Conditions continue to change for the better. Complimentary tea, coffee, juice, and soft drinks are served from a little trolley. Smoking was banned in the 1990s – a godsend – and movies can now be watched on individual screens and listened to with earphones. The rare reader, such as myself, can read in peace. Thanks to Wilful Behaviour, a mystery by Donna Leon, my trip passed quickly.
The lunch stop, on the outskirts of Aksaray with the volcano Hasan Dağı in the distance, was allotted 30 minutes. From experience, I knew to rush first to the WC, then go straight to the self-service cafeteria. Twelve minutes later, I sat down to a nice lunch of green beans with tomato sauce and a bit of beef, a plate of bulgur, and some plain yogurt. Ten minutes later I heard on the loud speaker, “The Jet Turizm bus is about to depart!” I had to triple my tempo – torture, for a slow eater like me, but what choice did I have?
The excavation house is a purpose-designed building opened in 1998. It has two stories placed at the rear of a large courtyard. Below: workrooms for study, conservation (with a very large sink), and storage, as well as a kitchen and, at the opposite end, a WC. Above: eight rooms for three people each, toilets and showers at each end (women on the north, men on the south), and a balcony that runs the whole length. The whole is painted a pleasant light yellow. The construction quality left something to be desired, for the builder, a young man with a father well-placed in the Bilkent world, was more interested in gambling, women, drinking, fast cars, and late nights. But an extra solid foundation was poured, essential in this earthquake zone, and despite cracks in the plaster, broken windowpanes, and ripped screens; the regular calls to plumbers and electricians; and co-habiting wildlife (nesting sparrows, lizards, gekkos, toads, mice, rats, the occasional snake, centipedes, and lots of ants of various sizes), we live here comfortably.
Ali Atmaca (red shirt) and colleagues wrestle with a medieval olive press
A few days after I arrived, Ali Atmaca joined us, the representative from the General Directorate of Cultural Property and Museums, the office in the Ministry of Culture and Tourism that regulates archaeological excavations and surveys. Ali Bey will stay with us all season, checking that regulations are followed, but also offering help, much appreciated, with bureaucratic matters and with any difficulties that might arise with local institutions, government or private, or with local individuals, and will be indispensable in the closing weeks of the season. Together, he and Marie-Henriette officially opened the summer season by registering at the Antakya Museum and the provincial police headquarters, unsealing the storerooms closed since last summer, and paying courtesy calls to the kaymakam (the head of the county government) and the local gendarmerie.
Most people this summer are studying ceramics or animal bones, from the long sequence of occupation at the site, Early Bronze Age (ca. 2200 BC) to the late Hellenstic period (1st c. BC) and then in the Middle Ages, so in the courtyard Mustafa Kaya, the site guard and factotum for all practical matters of building and grounds, has prepared a large area covered with shade cloth for the trestle tables on which potsherds and bones can be examined. I myself am indoors, at two desks placed in an L-shape, for my book- and notebook-based projects. Strategically settled underneath a ceiling fan, with a pitcher of water at hand, both necessary in this hot, humid climate, I am ready to forge ahead.
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