This is the 15th in a series of articles about a trip to the interesting country of Turkey.

WINTER IN THE MIDDLE OF TURKEY

By Charles N. Stevens

Back in the bus, I watch the mechanic nearly slip on the ice as he tries to jump up through the bus door. He peers down at the bare engine, then thrusts his arms and tools down into it to go to work. We are in “mechanics row”, a series of mechanics’ shops all located along one street of nearly every town in Turkey. When a person wants his car repaired, he takes it to his favorite shop, all of them small and individually owned.

In the shop the mechanics feed the heater old crankcase oil and even throw in a used oil filter to utilize every speck of energy available to them. By using heat, the mechanics free up the throttle wire in the frozen cable, and now replace it. The engine works, and the driver can accelerate to any speed he desires.

Back on the road again, we turn toward Isparta. We pass a brick-making plant, its stacks oozing out thick smoke. Out of the smoke now, the road rises, curves and twists into higher mountains where the trees cast blue shadows on the snow and hunters’ tracks in the snow crisscross like senseless diagrams.

Now fifty miles from Isparta, we descend the spine of a mountain range into another snow-filled valley. Again, a dirty plume from a brick plant smudges part of the valley. We pass through Aglasun, a town of snow-roofed houses and winter-dead trees. A shepherd guides black goats just off the highway, their jet-black bodies contrasting sharply with the snow. The shepherd’s wife carries evergreen branches on her bent back. Another goat tender farther down the road herds even more black goats. Seeing his goats beginning to wander on to the highway, he throws a snowball at them, the clot of snow shattering into powder as it hits the pavement.

We climb higher again, passing by steep slopes covered with tall pine trees bearing small cones. Their branches twist in a stiff wind. Almost as suddenly as we had ascended, we drop down into a low valley where snow lies only in patches in the shade.

At Isparta, famous for its roses and rose oil as well as being the birthplace of the

present prime minister, we do not pause at all. Just outside of town past many apple orchards and more black goats trotting alongside the road, we finally stop for a “potty break”. In the “restroom” icicles hang down from the faucets. Bearing off now on the road to Konya, we pass a large military base where soldiers train in the snow. Beyond a broad valley up ahead of us rise sharp mountain peaks. Apple orchards, many months away until blossom time, abound on all sides of us.

Soon we descend the hills to Lake Egirdir now totally frozen over and firmly held in the grip of winter. It is difficult for us to reason why a military base should be located here and even more difficult to imagine the rather sad-looking town as a bustling summer resort. High school students walk home from school wrapped in thick coats, caps and scarves.

We continue by the side of the frozen lake admiring its special beauty. In a few places, currents have melted the ice. The snow-mantled peaks that enclose the lake also lend their beauty to it. Black goats scrounge in the snow by the lake’s edge, and cows waddle along the road snorting steam. We pass dozens of apple orchards, their naked reddish-brown limbs contrasting with the gray green of the feather-shaped poplars. A frozen stream lies tumbled but still, appearing much like an instant photograph. Ducks and geese slip and slide on the frozen lake.

We speed through the town of Gelendost where kids play outside in the schoolyard with hoods pulled up over their heads and ears. Although less snow covers the ground here, the puddles at the side of the road remain frozen. We enter a long valley of brown agricultural fields with conifers on the ridges and hills at the side. At Bahtiyar snow drapes over a gravel yard and over the scalloped tombstones in the graveyard. One of the stones, painted brightly with a blooming red tulip is a spring like picture in the middle of winter. Nearby stand two-story farmhouses made of stone and mud brick.

Before long the snow again lies thick on the fields, the crystals twinkling in the

sunlight as we pass. In middle Anatolia we see more and more Muslim women totally covered and more horse-drawn carts. Thick white snow burdens the shrubs before we enter a vast white plain broken only with the bare branches of occasional oaks and poplars. We often see primitive wells by the side of the road. A long pole with a weight on one end and a bag on the other rests on a fulcrum formed by a forked support. We understand that these have been used for hundreds of years and may have been used by the camel caravans along the Silk Route.

In Kireli, chickens and turkeys stand on the front porch of a farmhouse where they can be out of the snow and in the slanting sunlight. The land then opens like a snow desert without trees or even shrubs.

Skirting the large town of Beysehir, the road begins to bend, the gendarmes warning all the traffic at an especially icy curve. A reddish hawk glides over the snow, hunting. Past Sarikoy and Ushdinar we pull in at the Restaurant Ali Biber for a late lunch. It is a typical roadside establishment with gas pumps, restrooms, and a restaurant. As usual the place is filled with acres of empty tables and a counter where stainless steel containers of ready-to-go food is lined up. The few waiters, who seem delighted to have something to do, bring us bread, chicken soup and a salad of red cabbage, carrots and greens in three swaths of color. At the steam table a worker serves me rice, beans, cubes of meat and two small, boiled potatoes.

MONTEREY PARK AUTHOR PUBLISHES 4th BOOK – Seeking More of the Sky: Growing Up in the 1930’s:

Charles “Norm” Stevens, a 49 year resident of Monterey Park has recently published his 4th book: Seeking More of the Sky: Growing Up in the 1930’s. This is the story of a young boy growing up in Inglewood, California in the l930’s. This was a time during the depression when unemployment was affecting many and the banks were closed, while the clouds of war were gathering in Europe. But he was lucky enough to be raised in a loving family, the power of that love reflected throughout his stories.

Stevens is the author of three previous books about his experiences during WWII:

An Innocent at Polebrook: A Memoir of an 8th Air Force Bombardier (Story of his 34 bombing missions from his base at Polebrook, England over Germany and France)

The Innocent Cadet: Becoming A World War II Bombardier (A prequel to the first, telling of his training in the U.S. before going overseas into combat.)

Back from Combat: A WWII Bombardier Faces His Military Future from Combat: (This book details the time from when he returned from combat in England until the end of the war.)

He is known to the readers of The Citizen’s Voice as the author of Travel Log Articles including “Cruising the Rhine and Mosel”,” Best of the West”, “In Search of Snow” ,  “From Paris to Normandy on the Seine”, and “Exploring New York”.  He is retired, having taught for 32 years, primarily in the Montebello Unified School District.

Those interested in purchasing an autographed copy of any of his books, may contact the author at 323-721-8230 or  Normstevens24@gmail.com.