A succession of buses took us, over a 24-hour period, to the foothills of the Kaçkar mountains in eastern Turkey. The little village we found ourselves in is called Barhal, and it is situated in a deep valley at the confluence of two rivers. In the summer it is bustling with travelers, chiefly Israelis, who come here to trek in the Kaçkar; we arrived here before the season (as we did everywhere else) and thus we were almost the only ones there.
Mehmet, the owner of our pension, had been running it for the last 25 years, but it seems he never got tired of it, despite the streams of Israeli organized groups that he serves during the summer, which undoubtedly are very tiring. When he showed us his guestbook, we couldn’t believe it: almost all the entries were by Israelis! Some of them praised Mehmet’s hospitality (which in fact deserves much more than just some praise); some listed recommendations for rooms — as if anyone actually checks out the guestbook before checking in! A few — in typical Israeli fashion — found things to complain about.
I find it very amusing how Israelis discover a new place, and then come there in droves — only there, as if it is the only place that is worth visiting. We’ve spent a month now in Turkey, and saw a variety of great places for hiking, but all the Israelis have ever heard of is the Kaçkar. An Israeli tour guide we met here told us that a villager once asked him whether the Kaçkar is a holy place for the Israelis! Isn’t that hilarious?
Alas, we couldn’t complete our pilgrimage to the Holy Mountain of Kaçkar because the snow hadn’t yet melted enough and the weather was capricious. We spent two days walking around Barhal as much as the weather permitted, and the mornings and evenings gorging on Mehmet’s fantastic cooking. He served us the best honey I ever had, produced right here in the valley by his neighbors. He keeps bees as well, guarded by a dog which keeps the bears away. Apparently Winnie the Pooh’s indulgences are not entirely fictional. He even supplied us with a stick when we went away for walks, that was supposed to help us frighten the bears away if we met them, but unfortunately we didn’t get a chance to use it.
After a couple of days we moved to another village further up in the mountains called Yaylalar, which means “summer pastures”. Sitting atop of a green valley wedged between snowy peaks, one could have mistaken it for an Alpine village if it wasn’t for the mosque. The valleys of the Kaçkar are dotted with such small villages, which subsist on growing their own produce, raising livestock which fortunately has no shortage of naturally growing food here, and hosting travelers who come here to enjoy all this. Just like at Mehmet’s, we were alone most of the time and were generously fed three-course meals cooked especially for us. We got some serious pampering, and the people here are really amazing — it was very hard to decide to leave after three days.
Not enough has been said on these pages about the Turkish character; I always end up writing only about us. So here goes: the Turks never cease to amaze me with their openness, welcoming and sincerity. As a traveler, especially outside European and North American countries, one develops a certain amount of skepticism and mistrust in people who approach on the street, or provide services such as accommodation. They will sometimes try to rip you off in some way, lead you to the wrong place, quote the wrong prices; you learn to be suspicious and hold your cards close to your chest. Here, however, people invariably turn out to be who they claimed they were, prices they quote turn out to be the real ones, and advice they give is really just an attempt to help. A driver suggesting us a ride from a long-distance bus station to the city center was not an overly eager taxi driver as we first suspected; it was in fact a free service of the bus company. A man who pulled up by us on his bicycle at the center of Egirdir, and claimed to be the owner of the pension we were looking for, indeed turned out to be Ibrahim, owner of Lale Pension in which we stayed. It happened to us over and over again. It is not easy to shake down the old habits of not trusting anybody, but in the face of such hospitality and willingness to help, you’re left with no other choice.
Turkey is a delightful country to travel in, even for us, Israelis, in the current political climate. Most people are happy to hear we’re from Israel; those who we talk to often explain — “Israil, Turkiye, government problem, people — no problem.” Tomorrow we’re leaving Turkey for Georgia; thanks to the Turks, Turkey feels like home now. It’s sad to be leaving. But we’re looking forward to the adventures ahead.
May 6, 2011