Rosa damascena – the Rose of Damascus. Surely this has to be one of the most gracious creations of the Earth Goddess – beautiful to behold with a glorious fragrance that has seduced men and the empires of men.
These days it is cultivated and processed on an industrial scale to meet the demand for rose oil and other related products – but it was not always so. Originally a native of Mesopotamia, Persia and India, the essence distilled from this flower was one of the great treasures of the Mogul and Ottoman Empires. In Kazanlak in Bulgaria, the distillation process was refined and perfected; and with the decline and fall of the Ottoman Empire many of the skilled workers made their way to the area around İsparta in Turkey, bringing their craft and tools with them.
Today, the fields around İsparta are a sight and scent to behold at this time of year as the ‘crop’ comes into flower. The rows of flowers drift through shades of pink to red (to reflect market demand) and tradition has it that the rose heads are collected in the hours before sunrise; but I’ve not been around at that time to say one way or the other if that is the case on these ‘factory’ farms.
Anyway, all that is not the point of this post – those interested enough can follow this link to learn more. What this is about is the wild, undomesticated, non-hybridised Rose of Damascus. Various authorities have it that it no longer survives in the wild in its original form. They may be right, with cross-pollination adulterating the genes. But what about in those isolated places where mass production has never taken place – where hybrids are unknown – might such places shelter and nurture some of the original stock? I’d like to think so!
Two years ago, J and I discovered a small, uprooted bush, still showing a few sad, white flowers in what once had been the garden of a now derelict and long-abandoned house at the foot of our local mountains. The area was in the process of being cleared by slash and burn to make way for crops and so we salvaged a couple of bits of root and brought them home. We whispered sweet nothings, planted them up and hoped they would survive.
They did and today I took this photo of what I believe to be an original, unadulterated Rosa damascena – the glorious Rose of Damascus.
Here are a few interesting, related photos about rose oil.
Alan in Okçular
Not shoes as in pairs of shoes – there are never pairs of shoes – just shoes! Wherever we go we find single shoes lying abandoned; often in the most unlikely places. Has anyone else seen this strange manifestation? I mean, it can’t be just us, can it?
So went the ditty when I was a kid growing up in the late 40s, early 50s. Bombs had wreaked havoc on the property market in the UK and ‘prefabs’ abounded – designed as a temporary solution to the housing crisis, they were still around in a few places when I last visited my childhood haunts a couple of years ago. You may well ask why and the answer is simple – people loved them – and still do!
‘Prefabs’ were council owned as well, until Maggie Thatcher sold off social housing in a very successful ploy to convince the working class that they were now ‘home-owners’ and should therefore vote Tory! This is the only reason these little gems survived – those who loved them, now owned them and could not easily be pushed aside for some flash, new shopping mall. Twenty one in original condition on the Excaliber Estate, Catford,South London have been granted Grade 2 Listed Building status. If ‘prefabs’ were people they’d have a huge following on Twitter and Facebook.
As global warming kicks in and average temperatures rise, the prosperous citizens of Ortaca have set about adding their carbon footprint to the whole by purchasing the odd klima (air conditioning) or three. Out in Karaburun Mahallesi Mehmet Bey has ever been one to move with the times. He already has satellite tv and a fine güneş enerji sistem (solar energy hot water), so adding to his creature comforts with a klima was not given a second thought; ‘Every house should have a klima’ he said.
Having a bit of a carp can feel like a very satisfying thing to do – unless one happens to be on the receiving end when trying desperately to maintain a reasonably positive mental attitude, that is. J and I had a bit of a carp recently whilst we were visiting İznik. Actually, it wasn’t a carp, it was a catfish and a big bugger at that – 65kg! But I digress –
Earlier this year she contacted a company in İzmir which produces really nice enamelled buckets in various sizes. She explained her situation and what she did with them – next thing she knew a huge box full of various sizes and colours of buckets arrived at her house together with a note from the proprietor wishing her well and offering the assorted items as a gift. Gülay was stunned and did a bit of crying. She painted up a few buckets and sent them back as a thank you to the ‘stranger’ in İzmir who had ‘not walked by on the other side’. A fellow human being who thanked his own lucky stars and decided to share a little of his own good fortune.
Bof's Blog 