we climb from a "refreshing" bathe in the icy chill of waters feeding
the Köprülü canyon that sets the shrinkage factor to maximum. then
climb some more. and keep climbing through thick Juniper forests on
the stiffest section of the trail thus far and onward to its most
remote offerings. darkness is descending and our promised water source
finally rears its putrid head. we camp in a Sleepy Hollow, fetch
water, filter it, treat it, then boil the bejesus out of it. we
survive.
for the next 2 days we meander through summer pastures, Yaylas that
have us on our knees (didn't Clapton write a song about that?). Like
Homer Simpson ogling donuts, a Labrador eyeing off a sirloin, Paris
Hilton contemplating a boob job, the saliva struggles to stay in its
rightful place as scene after scene continues to steal whatever breath
we have to give. Nibbling on fresh Juniper berries, making tea with
wild mint, spicing up the pasta with fresh oregano, the very same
oregano that will be picked and sold onto fine İtalian restaurants in
the coming seasonal harvest, we wonder how it could possibly be any
better.
then it gets better. we move into and onto thriving fields of wild
Sage, Peppermint and Strawberry bushes. we are gifted with views of
distant snow-caps, but not so distant that we can't touch them. walnut
trees dot the landscape, and the Junipers reach gargantuan
proportions. The seasonal villages in these Yaylas are still empty,
and irradiate a spookiness that is at once enticing and uncomfortable.
we pass a lone shepherd, binoculars in hand, trying to find an even
lonelier lost goat. we pull water from wells, and camp in fields with
semi-wild horses as company. we perfect the Stone Oven (patent
pending) and wonder just why we would want to live anywhere else.
