the many meats of turkey

One of the greatest things about travelling and living abroad is getting to experience the multitude of cuisines that this fine world has to offer. I will miss the many meats of Turkey. I will long for a spicy Adana kebab and its sumac-sprinkled onion slivers, and I will no doubt crave a pide or döner from time to time.



There are a seemingly infinite number of ways that Turks prepare meat, and though I have been lucky to have travelled pretty extensively within Turkey, the Tatar ciğ börek in Eskişehir had eluded me until our little recent road trip. Had I known these fluffy pillows of meat-filled dough existed, I would have gone to Eskişehir sooner.



Above all, I believe it will be Edirne's crispy and creamy tava ciğer that will keep me salivating for years to come.



Yes. Salivation achieved!

sometimes i have to pinch myself

because it's just so beautiful, it can't be real...

we begin the journey with an old mosque

Our plan was to drive up through Edirne, down to Gallipoli, and cross the Dardanelles by ferry to Anatolia.

and when you're in edirne...

You get some fried liver. Yes! Even if you loathe liver, Edirne's fried liver will make a liver lover out of you. It happened to me, you know. My personal favourite place to crunch down on the sweet, crispy slivers of goodness is Aydın ciğer salonu— when a place has a line that stretches down the street, you know there's something special about it.

By the way, in all the years I have been here, I don't believe I have ever told you just how good lentil soup is in Turkey. It's positively magical on a chilly day, and if I find a decent recipe, I'll be sure to share it with you!

synagogue

Edirne's beautiful Büyük Synagogue has been under restoration since 2010, after it fell to ruin when much of the city's Jewish community emigrated. Built in 1907, the synagogue was brought into the headlines a few months ago by inflammatory and hateful remarks made by the district's governor, insisting that the synagogue would only open as a museum, in response to Israel's actions involving the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem.



Needless to say, his comments resulted in public outcry, and the synagogue will open its doors for worship sometime in the near future. It's a gorgeous building— I can't imagine how lovely it must be inside! I read somewhere that it will be the second largest synagogue in Europe, after the Dohány Street Synagogue in Budapest, which I was lucky to visit some time ago.

remember

"Killed... by bomb... terör... he loved Atatürk." This was the explanation given to me by a gentleman who was handing out small, black-and-white photocopied portraits of the man people had gathered to march for. "We must remember."

A brass band played to a solemn drumbeat, the musicians decked out in brilliant red, the colour of the carnations clutched tightly in the hands of the marchers, the colour of the Turkish flag. Leading the procession was a tiny woman in a leopard print coat, who proudly pulled up her spine when she spied my camera. She gave me a nod and a warm smile, and I snapped away.



I walked along with the group until the statue of Atatürk, where the procession came to a halt. The band played on, and a speech was made. A woman asked me to take a photo of her with her phone. She wanted the statue behind her, and struck a dignified pose.

the pandas of edirne

the barber

Spying on a white-haired barber from the upstairs window of a coffee shop across the street.
A damp, grey afternoon in Edirne.

sketching the eski cami

I loved sketching in Edirne's Eski Cami, and I feel that my sketch did not do this beautiful mosque justice— it's too dull and still, when the mosque is full of light. Still, I thought I'd share it, and maybe I'll get it right next time I visit.

sweat, oil, and leather

Every June or July for 653 years, men from all over Turkey have been gathering in a field on the edge of Edirne to throw each other around while donning leather pants and dripping with olive oil. The Kırkpınar Yağlı Güreşleri Festivali is the oldest continuously held sporting event in history, and legend has it that the festival began when Ottoman soldiers were looking to entertain themselves while on their way to conquer Edirne. The two finalists wrestled each other so intensely through the night, that they were found dead in the morning. They were buried under a fig tree, where a spring erupted from the earth upon the conquest of Edirne. The site was named Kırkpınar, or forty springs.

The wrestlers, or pehlivan, compete in a three-day event for the title of Başpehlivan (Chief Pehlivan) and the coveted golden belt. Pehlivan come in all shapes, sizes, and ages, and are placed in categories according to their height. The Yağcı pour natural olive oil from copper urns onto the bodies of the pehlivan, who then help grease each other up in a very brotherly manner.



The heat was stifling, and the smell of olive oil was heavy in the air. Muscles glistened and twisted as the crowd cheered and booed, and the drums thundered like the combined pulses of each wrestler. Had the referees been dressed in something less modern than a t-shirt and baseball cap, I would have sworn I was sitting in the Ottoman Empire.

Multiple matches occurred simultaneously on the field; each match limited to 40 minutes or until a man fell onto his back— or worse. There were only a couple of incidents this Sunday that sent some devastated pehlivan limping off with a medic, or on a stretcher. I was impressed by the camaraderie and mutual respect that was shown between the pehlivan.

the beauty of the written word

I had once come across a set of photographs in an in-flight magazine, of a beautiful mosque with giant swashes of calligraphic text painted on its walls, and these images rooted in my mind as something I needed to see in person. Over time I had forgotten about those inky loops, knots, and scimitar-tails on white— they had nearly left me until I visited Edirne and remembered that this was precisely the place where the mosque stood. I didn't know the name of the mosque, and so we hopped from one beauty to the next until we found the Eski Cami.

The night was cool and tinted orange from a nearby streetlamp. It was quiet, another world from Istanbul, and from the gate of the Eski Cami, I spied the alifs and laams of the name of God, like black spears pointing to the sky. My heart leapt in my chest, as I knew I had found what I was looking for.



The humble Eski Cami was built in the early 15th century during the Ottoman Empire, and it truly is set apart from other mosques in Turkey by its distinctive calligraphy. I needed to see the Eski Camii in daylight, and I needed to sketch it.