Once the Apailes Congress ended in Istanbul, we left town with a portion of the botanists on an"excursion." These are great opportunities for the botanists to see plants in an new area, and to visit with each other informally. I like them because you cannot separate plants and culture, so we also see the countryside in less touristy areas.
Today we visited a national park in Kazdagi in the Ida Mountain area. This is the area of Troy, so several plants have the specific epithet (sometimes younger students call this the "last name") of trojani, or something like it. A fun example is the Trojan fir (Abies normandiana ssp. trojani) that is reputed to be the wood that the famous horse was made from. Some myths talk about the gods watching the Trojan War from this mountain, while other myths refer to it as the location of the first beauty pageant between Hera, Athena and Aphrodite.
Today's walk was on the south side-- and it is dry and late in the season. We spent the day on a mountain road hopping in and out of vans, letting them do most of the altitude climbing. To visit an area with thirty or so botanists, the first thing you have to remember is to watch where you step. You may easily trip over one of them photographing or observing closely.
The lower altitudes of this park were filled with old olive trees in an area terraced for probably hundreds of years. Mark and I have been amazed to see fig trees growing in the wild-- escaped from cultivation, the figs are beginning to ripen. When I quoted a New York price of about a dollar a fruit to Mark's Turkish botanical colleague, Emine, she was amazed.
The best part of the terrain, with a 3K walk, was at the top of a mountain. Many people have left fabric tied as a way to ask for a wish to come true.The plants at this high of an altitude are always exquisite and interesting, anywhere in the world. You have to be willing to get down on the ground to see them, and they are not always aparent at first-- but once you sight one, more pop into view. The winner of today's beauty pageant was not Aphrodite, but this magenta Dianthus (in the pink or carnation family.)
The trip down was longer than the trip up, Our driver had a rhythmic, doze inducing way of pressing the brake, but the dozing was ended at the smell of burning rubber. The brakes had had enough. (I think the driver needs to discover downshifting if he keeps this job....)
A very wonderful part of Turkish culture is that there are shared wells or fountains everywhere. This carries over to the trail, most definitely. When I was young, and hiking with my family, if my younger sister complained about being thirsty, my father would tell her that there was a drinking fountain just around the next bend. Were we Turkish, this actually would have been true!
The traditions of cleanliness and hospitality, plus just the necessity of water in a warm climate makes these fountains a very common site. They are quite old, but many have recent inscriptions that I understand to be dedications or memorials. This one, at our lunch spot, had a watermelon places in it by a visitor, to cool for his picnic.
We walked and were shuttled and visited small town to have tea. Turks drink tea. Every town and corner has tea shops. Tea is served in tulip shaped, small glasses with two cubes on the side, and it is always brewed quite strong. This afternoon, though, I had Turkish coffee which might be called cowboy coffee in the US: it is boiled in a small pot, and the grind sludge settles to the bottom. The preparer adds sugar for the customer, and even those who drink Americano black, may prefer a bit of sugar in this version. When we finished, Mark's colleague Emine read my fortune in the coffee grinds. I had ten evil eyes followed by a clear future.
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