Monday, June 10, 2013


In the morning the spleen was more on me than on Ilona. Maybe we exchanged it. Maybe I just didn't want to be on the reassuring side anymore.
Anyway we were so depressed, especially me that we didn't leave the tent until noon, even watching a serbian movie. It was similar to the french mindfucks I used to watch with my former girlfriend, except with serbs and it didn't end so badly.
We managed to make it back to Ardesen and without too much hope, started to look for an exchange office. And... we found one! We happily exchanged another 20 euros which makes our spending speed 1.7 euros/day/person. Still under the previsional average so far.
We bought a kebap in a sandwich and it was great.
Then we made our way towards the sea to try to catch some fish. There are plenty of fishermen down there so why not us. Of course we don't have a fishing cane but I have a fishing string. I just have to attach it to a stick.
Ilona's making a fishing cane
We didn't catch anything but a turkish family who was fishing nearby found our feeble tries amusing and started taking pictures. Who would blame them, consider the sight:
Fishing in the black sea
After having their dose of fun, the good turkish family had mercy and gave us some delicious turkish candies. Ilona said it had a lot of calories and since we're underfed that's very good for us. Afterwards, the firshermen gave us all their fish and left.
It's funny how an epic fail suddenly turns into an epic win in a matter of minutes.
So we gathered some firewoord with the firm intention of cooking the fish. We decided that I'll kill the fish because I'm the man and stuff and Ilona will cook the fish since she might actually know what she's doing.
Before we found our camping spot, all the fish died. We didn't catch them, we didn't kill them, at least we'll learn how to cook them. But you shouldn't jump to early conclusions. yet. On our way up the mountain a man spoke french to us. He used to work in a turkish consulate in Marseille for 33 years. He called his neighbour to ask wheather we could pitch a tent in his garden.
The guy invited us in, gave the fish to the cat, asked what the fuck is our firewood for and invited us to a huge dinner. We got another shower, the third in a row.

View from the balcony, the sun sets up

The house belonged to the father, a 55 old man, silent and retired because turks know when to enjoy life. One of his son was getting married to a sweet and reserved girl. She was young and beautiful, you could see she's pretty even trough her hijab. Actually, her hijab seemed more like a beauty accessory than a way to diminish women, at least in her case. She was proud and had character. She didn't flee the sight of other men and she sure as hell wasn't born yesterday.
Us and the bride

You could see her social ease when you saw her dance. It's nothing like the stereotype of muslim submissive women we have in the west. At least not right now.
Let's not get too extreme, turkish women are not as liberated as their european counterparts but if I had to put the bride on a scale of liberated women, I would put her just under the french average and just over the spanish.
So we all danced in some pre-wedding ceremony. The bride was horrified with my dancing steps but Ilona seemed to get the rythm.
Round and round
While the grown ups were dancing, countless children were running around posing for our photos. Here, families had up to 5 children and there were quite a few families.
Children signing: turk

They all used the "turk" sign, two extreme fingers up, the ramaining two central shut against the thumb.
Some of them also showed the juniour scouts salute also known as the peace signed. Our host's look got dark suddenly: "Hide that for god's sake. This is the sign for Kurds! Hide that, hide it! You are not signing for Kurds here!"
I felt a little thrown off balance but the celebration quickly rekindeled.Tonight, we'll sleep in a warm bed again, it's been a while.