‘The sexual life of the camel, Is stranger than anyone thinks.
One night in a moment of passion, He tried to deflower the Sphinx!
Now, the Sphinx’s posterior anatomy Is covered with sand from the Nile.
Which accounts for the ‘ump on the camel, And the Sphinx’s inscrutable smile!’
Anon
(a photo extravaganza first posted on Archers of Okçular 26.3.2012)
J and I have had much to ‘get the ‘ump’ about of late. Those who follow these rambling wanderings through time, space and reality will know of the quarry that has been opened next door to our home. Anyway, to escape the noise, dust and mud that kicks off our days at 6.30 every single morning, we decided to have a few days away at a spa and take in some Camel Wrestling as well.
For those of you worried about blood sport or cruelty, let me reassure you that I’ve attended many a bout in my years in Turkey and I’ve never seen a camel hurt or in any way disturbed by the presence of the noisy audience. The animals are focussed on just one thing – being top-dog in the hierarchical world of bull camels at a time of year when the ladies are feeling receptive.
To set the scene, you need to know that camel wrestling is not a touristy thing; it takes place over the winter months when the females are in season. With the steady expansion of winter tourism and with many more foreign residents around these days, venues near these centres now see a lot more ‘yabancı’ (foreigners) than used to be the case. For this reason, J and I prefer to frequent those places that are less ‘polished’ and less concerned about the image they are projecting. Rejecting the concrete safety fences of Selçuk for the chicken wire of Yatağan or Nazilli or Buldan suits us fine. Some of these venues are just a cleared area of forestry land, or an open space in the middle of a derelict works area, or, as was the case at Buldan where this post is set, a space in the middle of a quarry that was accessed through the town rubbish tip!
As we drove through the mounds of rubbish and dust we did wonder if the sign pointing us this way might not have been turned around as a prank. Our doubts soon evaporated as we joined the back of a queue to get our tickets from the Zabita (municipal police) – it was mayhem as drivers behind tried to pass on both sides on a track wide enough for one. We handed over 15 lira and got our ticket to admit one car and as many people as could jam themselves inside; pretty good value for a family day out. We drove forward just a couple of metres where we were again stopped by the Zabita who demanded our ticket, tore it into bits, chucked it with the rest of the rubbish and waved us through! Burası Türkiye! This isTurkey!
Being obvious foreigners, we drew a lot of polite interest and we were soon adopted by the members of an Ottoman Marching Band; photos were taken, cards exchanged and we now find that we are to be their honoured guests whenever we are in Denizli.
For those who have never experienced an event like this, it can best be described as a total assault on the senses. There are the sounds and sights and smells that emanate from thousands of people talking, drinking and cooking; there are tea vendors, candy-floss and balloon sellers; sausage makers, video sellers and those cooking meatballs and sausages on huge ‘barbies’; there are wandering bands of traditional folk musicians and the over-loud public address system. In the case of Buldan, there were the colourful uniforms of the Denizli Fatih Mehteri (Ottoman Marching Band), and then, of course, there are the stars of the show, the bull camels, decked out in all their finery; foaming and slobbering at the mouth and pumping out bucket loads of testosterone induced pheromones! The overall effect on the sensibilities of the new visitor is incredible – J and I have been attending these things for a while now and we still get a huge buzz. If you love spectacle and you love people-watching, you won’t find a better combination anywhere.
It is worth remembering that the bulls are behaving as they would ‘in the wild’ where the instinct to gather as many females together as they can by seeing-off any likely competitor is so powerful that everything else pales into insignificance. To avoid any possible injury to these valuable beasts as they compete, they have a cord tied around their jaws to prevent biting.
The contests between bulls amounts to a great deal of pushing and shoving with attempts to topple the opponent by wrapping a head and neck around his front legs. Some bouts are over quickly, others are called out of time by the judges – sometimes one of the beasts will take off for the hills and, chicken wire fences being no impediment, they end up scattering chairs, picnics and people! For me, some of the funniest moments come when two bulls, locked together and oblivious to anything around, end up by the fences – off come the spectators’ hats, up come the plastic chairs and there follows a totally ineffectual pantomime performance as the crowd tries to shoo the animals away. The wise would simply leave their place by the fence, but then they’d be giving up a prime spot and you know what Turks are like in a queue!
In the end there will usually be a winner with one animal being ‘pinned down’; a judge blows a whistle and two teams of ten to a dozen men move in, get a rope around each bull and then proceed to pull them apart – no easy task. In the end the beasts are separated and immediately begin to act like perfectly behaved gentlemen, showing no interest in any more brawling.
Buldan proved to be one of the very best venues we’ve been to – once through the rubbish tip, the atmosphere was brilliant – from here on the photos can do the talking. Back at our spa hotel we were able to have a nice long soak in the hot mineral waters and replace the smell of meatballs and rutting camels with the whiff of sulphur from the bowels of the earth – Sheer Bliss!
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.
Another tale from the log book of the ‘Tardis’; for those who don’t know this amazing machine its name stands for TimeAndRelativeDimensionInSpace. Tardis is a time and dimension machine that appears (literally) for all intents and purpose to be a British Police Call Box circa 1950 – appearances, however, can be very deceptive – but that’s another story.
J had got some info on a pansion that was a restored Armenian merchant’s house, and this is where we are. It is beautiful! My dream home. The bathroom is through one of the wonderfully carved cupboard doors. Honestly! And it is totally modern and functional. We will be exploring the sites tomorrow; meanwhile we both felt a desperate need for a cold beer. That took some finding, I can tell you. Nowhere but nowhere to sit down with a frosted glass of the amber nectar could we find. Began to think the population was made up of Seventh Day Adventists or Wesleyans! Then we discovered a discreet little place where the owner slipped us a pack of five under the counter wrapped in two black plastic bags. Whew! Saved.
As we were making our way back to the pansion, we were stopped by what sounded like the Keystone Cops’ sirens. Loads of them! Along came the motorcycle police escorting a convoy led by one of those Disney type trains you see at Margate or Southend. It was full to the brim with little Turks off to become big Turks following some genital mutilation courtesy of Blue Gillette! There must have been at least a hundred or more. All dressed up as little soldiers in blue or white uniforms trimmed with white fur. I expect the fur was to wrap around their . . . Don’t go there, Alan! They were followed by busses crammed full of the proud family members . . . proud family members? Sorry, no pun intended. I bet the young girls were glad they were girls, even if they will have to work all day whilst their old fellows, (Oh dear!) . . are down the coffee house playing cards.
We didn’t wake up until eight this morning after our first night in this lovely house. It felt like emerging into a different world – a sort of time warp thing. The room was just catching the sun, which was filtered through the muslin curtains (original copies). It was cool in the room; as is the whole house, no doubt due to the high ceilings and non-concrete construction. That’s something I love about these old houses, the proportions are so . . civilised.
We’d almost finished when the cashier came rushing up, pointing at her watch and saying ‘Time, time!’ In Turkish, you understand. We felt inclined to hang it out, but then if I was a poorly paid civil servant, wanting to go to lunch, I’d want the bloody punters to go too! You can still go into the museum gardens, we were told, and as these contain a mausoleum with five desiccated mummies of Mongol big-wigs, we thought we were doing good – getting real value out of our 70p admission fee! We hadn’t reckoned with the other member of the museum staff who wanted his lunch too. Selfish bastard!
We had a tasty lunch at a locanta in an old Han which has fallen into disrepair. The Han is now occupied by dozens of metal-bashers turning out all sorts of stuff, from scythes to samovars. Then a stroll to an old medrese or religious seminary with a splendid entrance way that is now used as a conservatoire for the town and province. We were invited to sit and rest and enjoy an impromptu music performance. There was also a marbling artist (ebru) working and displaying her stuff. As we were leaving we were grabbed and taken to a locked room to see their collection of old musical instruments. Being obvious foreigners has its advantages!
A quick drive along the processional way from Hattuşuş and we were at the sacred site of Yazilikaya where two small ravines contain the pantheon or temple site that has relief carvings of all (it is claimed) of the Hittite gods and goddesses. Here we were accosted by the inevitable ‘student of history who just happens to be staying with his brother who carves stone replicas, but didn’t want any money’ chap. He seemed pretty disappointed when his job description was proved correct!
Then we were off to the place described as the most important Hittite site – Alacahöyük. Amazing finds were made here back in the 1930s when a bunch of royal burial chambers were excavated.You’d have to go to Ankara to see real things, but we were told that the site museum contained loads of other stuff as well as very convincing replicas of the original finds. The site is a bit of a detour to get to along pretty duff roads, so you can imagine our delight to find that the place had been closed since 2001 for ‘restoration’. Restoration my arse! I was pretty miffed to be charged TL4 million (2004, remember those days?) to view some supposed Winged Lions etc that turned out to be made of crumbling concrete!! The highlight of the site was a rusty old miner’s tilting trolly on six feet of rusting track! Burası Türkiye! This is Turkey!
With the fall of Constantinople in 1453, the town lost a great degree of its importance, but later became a major centre with the creation of a local faïence pottery-making industry in the 17th century (known as the 
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