I have seen the
Black Sea at several places – in Russia (Taman peninsula), Georgia (Batumi),
and the Turkish coast from Kilyos (near Istanbul) east to Trabzon, Rize, and
Hopa – and it has always seemed uninviting, even menacing. True, I have never
enjoyed a sandy beach in mid-summer, when the Black Sea must be a friendly,
refreshing resource.
In
mid-October I went on a day trip to Amasra (ancient Amastris) with a group. I
had been once before, with relatives, but that was 20 years ago and my memories
were vague, although very positive: two little harbors separated by a peninsula
with the ruins of medieval Genoese fortifications, a simple but clean hotel, a
top-rate fish dinner, and a stop at a sandy beach not far away. I looked forward to visiting the town
again. Although the sky was overcast,
which gives the sea a dark, threatening air, I was in no way disappointed. The
trip took longer than anticipated – it’s 300 km from Ankara, and after you turn
off the Ankara-Istanbul highway, the drive slows down as you wend your way
through the Pontic mountains. Vegetation increased, since the mountains catch
the rain, with traces of autumn in the leaves, even if evergreens predominated,
and the accumulations of cut logs indicating the importance of the timber
business. Eventually Bartin is reached, today’s principal city in the region;
from there, Amasra and the Black Sea are not far.
Our
first stop was Roman: Bird’s Rock (Kuşkaya), a large eagle carved on the cliff
just above a narrow path the Romans had hewn out of the rock in order to
descend down to the seacoast. An inscription gives the date and the
circumstances: built by the regional governor, an on this fairly mild, not
rainy Saturday in mid-October, so we had to wait a bit for the best photo
opportunities.
After
the sharp descent to Amasra, our bus parked in a lot by the western harbor and
we walked by various cafés where people were drinking tea to our lunch stop,
the Amasra Balık Evi, in the town center. The place settings in the restaurant were
color photos of Amasra at sunset. The lunch was delicious: fish of various
sorts (hamsi, mezgit, etc.) lightly fried in a corn meal batter (corn meal is a
Black Sea staple), an “Amasra salad” (a copious mound of lettuce, other greens,
tomatoes, pickles, etc., decorated with slices of large radishes with a small
carrot roundel in the center – to look like daisies), and for dessert, yogurt
from water buffalo milk with honey, and a paste of semolina and walnuts
(cevizli helva), all served with great attentiveness, in the best Turkish
manner. Tea, of course, before we got up to see the sights.
That
day was the anniversary of the Ottoman conquest of the city in 1460, so by the
old city gates at the bridge lead to the island just across from the city
center, young men dressed up in red or green Janissary costumes stood as
sentries.
We also saw a wedding party, with bride and groom,
and a group of
women enveloped in black, all part of the crowds enjoying this Saturday
afternoon. A huge banner of Atatürk was hung from the walls, along with Turkish
flags.
Atatürk says "Korkma!" ("Do not be afraid!")
Fahri, our
guide, an expert on Ottoman archaeology, took us to see the remains of the Genoese
fort. The Genoese, prosperous late
medieval merchants, had established business centers in Constantinople (the
Galata Tower is theirs), here, and in the Crimea (13th-15th centuries). One can
still see imposing bits of walls with Genoese crests in and around modern
houses.
This historic district looks pretty modest. Turkish people today prefer modern
construction – the idea of fixing up an 18th century house, for example, is
very odd – which is a great pity for those of us who value historic preservation
– so I imagine well-to-do Amasrans have long ago left the old city for the
recently constructed suburbs. Who is left in the old sections? Old people have
lived there their entire lives and and people of low income who can’t afford
other options. And some eccentrics.
For tourists,
this neighborhood is fascinating. In
addition to the fortress, we admired two mosques, originally Byzantine
churches, at least one of which was Catholic during the Genoese period. One we
could enter – the Fatih Mosque. In this
mosque each Friday the imam still brandishes a sword while he gives his sermon,
a tradition going back to the Ottoman conquest. Surely this couldn’t be
possible! But indeed, the caretaker
unsheathed the sword, a real scimitar, and held it aloft for us to admire. Near
the second church/mosque, a film crew was at work: lights being set up, setting
outside a house being prepared, lots of people purposefully milling about. Down
below, we could see the eastern harbor, with a long breakwater. Outside, the waves
were huge, crashing onto the breakwater, and even breaking over it. An
announcement on a loud speaker warned people from walking there, for a man had
been swept away to his death earlier that very day.
On the return to
the bus, we had time for shopping. I bought some locally made jams at a big,
open market and a loaf of local bread, a dark bread I haven’t seen in Ankara. I
also bought a nutcracker, because our cleaning lady, herself from the Black Sea
region (near Ordu), had given us a generous sack of unshelled hazelnuts (a
Black Sea specialty). The shop where I bought it was devoted mostly to wood
items – spoons, bowls, etc. – and an older man was in the back with his
woodworking equipment, working away, sawdust, well, wood dust, flying
everywhere. His daughter had studied
abroad, he told us, I forget now what, but he was clearly proud of her. I was
mostly impressed by the contrast between their lives, and no matter how proud
he felt, I’m sure he regretted the speed of change in our world that encouraged
her to leave this beautiful little town in order to fulfill her potential.
Back in the bus,
we went to inspect the remains of a Roman theater. The theater is filled with
earth eroded from the hillsides and now contains the local cemetery. At the
rear, embedded in the hillside, partly hidden behind heavy vegetation
(“overgrown” is the operative word in Turkey’s Black Sea region), we saw
massive arches and vaults, built of huge blocks beautifully cut and artfully
laid, an indication of this city’s prosperity during the Roman Empire. In the
modern cemetery, the largest grave monument belongs to Barış Akarsu, a pop
singer from Amasra who died in a traffic accident in 2007, age 28. He is
honored in the city center with a statue. I had never heard of him, but have
now watched, with pleasure and with a certain sadness, YouTube clips of him singing “Islak, ıslak” (“Wet,
wet”) and “Ruzgar” (“Wind”).
Our last stop
was on the edge of town at a huge building, clearly Roman, a “covered market” that
looks like a multi-storeyed warehouse. Its overall plan and appearance are hard
to figure out, but the masonry, including sections of opus reticulatum, a
favorite Roman wall facing of square stones set on their point, in a diamond
pattern, is impressive.
At this point it
began to rain – another Black Sea staple – an appropriate time to get into our
bus and head back to Ankara.
After our dinner
stop, the bus began to have problems.
Going up a hill, even a slight grade, was agony. The bus managed 20 km
per hour, maximum. Eventually we reached
Ankara, but just after passing through the Şaşmaz auto repair district on our
way to the Eskişehir road, the bus died.
Anticipating this, the driver had already called for help, so we didn’t
have to wait long for a fresh bus. We
were lucky. If a breakdown had to
happen, it happened at the best possible place and time.
