Turkey's Salt Lake ~ Tuz Gölü

Tuz Gölü

Between the Cilician Gates at Pozanti and the capital city of Ankara, a single highway snakes across the endless fields of Anatolia.

Well, seemingly endless.

Sunflower fields are lovely, but after so many hours, they're just sunflowers.

Then the fields give way to the shimmering salt flats of Tuz Gölü. (Literally: "Salt Lake")

The lake draws the eye like a magnet, even though the bright whiteness makes me squint as I get closer. It's a huge lake,Turkey's second largest.

My father-in-law mentions that there are salt mines, and he keeps driving. (Salt mines there produce 63% of the salt consumed in Turkey.)It takes a while to drive past.

Over the years, I passed the lake several times, never stopping. I should have.

The lake is like a natural spa. The cosmetics industry uses the water, salt, mud, and extracts from the 22 types of minerals found there for various skin softening treatments. Honestly though, the cosmetics angle doesn't interest me all that much.

But - Tuz Gölü is home to the largest Mediterranean flock of the greater flamingo, Phoenicopterus roseus. THAT interests me.

In 2011, the major breeding colony  there hatched over 18,000 chicks. That's a lot of pink!

 

Speaking of: You probably know the flamingo's food source is the reason their feathers turn pink. At Tuz Gölü, the brine shrimp artemia salina is their favorite snack. Artemia salina likes to feed off the red algae, dunaliella salina.

 

Sometimes the red algae gets out of hand. Ever heard of a crimson tide? A blood red algae bloom rolls in along the shores, and against the white salt flats, it's particularly shocking. (link to pic) Never thought I'd see a crimson tide on a lake shore. You?

 

 

A little bit of housekeeping:

 

A) Summer isn't officially over until September 21st, right? I'm keeping to one post per week until then. ;)

 

B) I've rearranged the blogroll on the left sidebar. See how there's a whole widget for Blogs on Turkey? These are all interesting, mostly written by expats, but all about some aspect of Turkish life. Check them out!

 

Also, I'll be evaluating the author/writer/reviewer widget soon.  

 

 

Yedidunya ~ Loquat

Loquat

Once upon a time, my husband's cousin went hunting through an orchard for some ripe "yedidunya". It was her faaaavorite fruit, and the season is short, so we made a detour.

The name yedidunya means "seven worlds" and I've always believed it alluded to the idea of the seven heavens, ie: amazing fruit such as this can only come from the seventh heaven.  I might be wrong, but I think I must be right. My husband's cousin agrees with me.

So:
1) Why am I writing about this today? And
2) Where have I been for the past month? And
3) Where can we get some yedidunya???

*Sighs* I spent most of last month revising, but there was a short stint where I disappeared for a weekend Master Class. Then I unplugged and went to the beach. Something I highly recommend, btw, even when your inner editor balks at the idea because you have so much work (and you have pages and pages of notes on things to fix from class). In fact, especially when your inner editor balks. Put it in it's place because there's nothing more urgent than a creative recharge.

The answer to question number three is a bit trickier, as the only place I know to find yedidunya is on Hilton Head Island. This part requires the slowing down and unplugging to occur.

Grab a bicycle and hit the trails near Harbor Town in Sea Pines, and there's a row of trees in fruit right along the edge of the marina. Everyone else just rides past because they don't know what the tree is, and they're oohing and ahhing at the giant live oak front and center. And you need to be riding at a snail's pace while you wait for the rest of your party to catch up, or you won't see the fruit either.

Then go home and look up "yedidunya" for the first time ever and learn that it's actually a loquat, Eriobotrya japonica, aka Japanese Medlar, Japanese plum, or Chinese plum. Learn that the flavor is accurately described as a mix of peach, citrus and mango, and that the fruit makes great jam. Also realize at this point that the slightly poisonous seeds you've saved are not useful without a greenhouse because you can't fit a ten foot tree in your house.

I'm guessing people in points south have loquats growing someplace near them. Probably California is a good place to look for some too. Otherwise, I've never seen loquats in a store. Have you?

Eyes Like a Snow Leopard

Snow Leopard Trust

I was resistant to describing eyes in the beginning. Then my betas set me straight. Some readers these days insist on knowing the color of a character's eyes.

Fine. BUT I want to get more out of the description than "blue like the depths of the ocean - that you could get lost in, yada, yada...", if you know what I mean. So I started thinking in terms of animals, which somehow people automatically characterize.

Example-

For green, if I say: "sharp as a snow leopard's", you get a picture of stealth and strength. Yes? I hope you do.

Anyway, my internal editor had to think on that detail for a moment.

"Big cats have yellow eyes - don't they?
No. The leopard has green eyes. I'm sure.
Why am I so sure?
Better Google it. -
Yes. Unlike most big cats, Snow Leopards do have green eyes."

This descriptor may sound off to you in a contemporary fiction, but I write fantasy, and it works for me. Snow leopard eyes also bring in another detail of my setting. My main character lives in the mountains, where people respect the animal, and may occassionally see one. The snow leopard is also known as a "ghost cat" because of it's coloring and it's reclusive nature - another detail that I apply directly to my character. He isn't with the "in" crowd, but he is independent and capable.

Here are some interesting myths from the Snow Leopard Conservancy:

In the northerly societies of Nepal many indigenous beliefs and shamanistic practices, reflecting local pre-Buddhist traditions, were incorporated and subsequently reworked into the Buddhist pantheon and ritual system. One such ritual in Manang connected to the snow leopard and its depredation forbids alpine herders to roast meat, for otherwise the mountain god will send its “dog”, (i.e. snow leopard) and one has to suffer livestock losses.

In Dolpo there are stories of great lamas frequently making trips to Tibet in the form of snow leopards, in search of rare medicinal herbs. Other folklore describes the snow leopard as a “fence” for the crops, meaning that in the absence of snow leopards livestock would be free ranging and thus would invade crop fields.

Local inhabitants still believe that snow leopards (and domestic cats) are considered to have taken birth particularly to remove the sins of their past lives, and killing these animals means having their sins transferred to your own life.

In Mustang, killing a snow leopard is considered to be more sinful than its prey species (for instance blue sheep), because all sins it has committed during its lifetime by killing its prey will then be transferred to you.

A ha! This info is appropriate for my main character too, because he IS atoning for something.

Even if I never mention the myths to my readers, all these implied attributes solidify Taner's character in my head.

I went through this process with Haydon in BURNT AMBER too, but he was a Red-Footed Falcon.

Now, if you write contemporary, or historical, or any sort of fiction other than fantasy, I think this fun exercise can also work for you. The trick might be to get as specific (and indigenous) as possible, because the additional facts make a difference. And find something other than a Red-Footed Falcon, or Snow Leopard, because someone's already done that. ;)

Bearded Reedling

hurriyetdailynews.com

Sometimes the usual is unsual.

Take the little guy on the right here, from Lake Mogan in Ankara. All over Europe, folks take him for granted. I, on the other hand, haven't seen one before.

He's a bearded reedling (panurus biarmicus), and part of the reason I've never seen one is his habitat of choice. I spent a lot of time on the Mediterranean coast. This songbird lives in lakeside wetlands, and it's not related to any other species.

I love his markings. Bearded? I don't think. Maybe moustached, or masked, but whatever you call it, it's striking.

Here he is having lunch:

 

Here's how to make a nest for the bearded reedling. I think this clip is really interesting. If I were a little bird, I would appreciate a cozy home like this one. Best of all, the gentleman tells us all the best things about the nest, including what might scare a little bird off. Great information if you're writing about these birds, say in a children's book, or an authentic bit in a longer story.

Anatolian Ground Squirrel

Link to ARKive photo

My little tale:

The bird feeder in my backyard is full of safflower seeds this winter.

The squirrels do not approve.

Sunflower seeds, on the other hand, bring them out in droves. You probably already know this, and no doubt have a squirrel-proof plan of your own. It's not that I don't like squirrels. (My husband believes I am a descendant of Scrat. *ahem*) I just want the birds to get some food too.

Out on the Anatolian plain, the highway (highway being a two lane road at the time) between Ankara and Mersin is covered in sunflowers. Squirrel heaven. Except there are no trees.

So where are the squirrels? Hiding out underground. You don't even know they're there. Unless you're the farmer, twisting your ankle in a burrow hole, swearing at them for eating your precious crops. Farmers took to poisoning the poor critters. The Anatolian Ground Squirrel population dropped somewhere around 25% before they were declared "near threatened" and offered some protection.

My first sight of them was at the side of the road, as I was going xxx kilometers per hour. The farmers had just cut down the sunflower crop and flushed the squirrels out. They were up on their hind legs, all in a row (the squirrels, not the farmers). I imagine they were a group of boy squirrels, daring each other to cross the road. (Why else were they there?)

Anyhow, they were very cute, so I hope they listened to their mommies and did not cross the road. (There's a TUNNEL, silly!) After that, I wondered if the underground cities were the brainchild of some ingenious, squirrel-minded individuals. As for myself, I was looking for a way to use these critters in my writing for a couple years now. I finally found a good spot in my WIP - Mist of Kavala. (Check out my brand-spanking-new query.)

You know what - it's a good thing I was sharing this with you today, because according to my research, ground squirrels don't drink standing water. So my squirrel at the watering hole - needs to find some other reason to be there. (Oops!) I guess it can nibble on some tasty seed plants growing there instead.

Red-footed Falcon

Okan Kocagyit

Some people will know exactly why a slate grey falcon with red boots/feet is important to me...er...to Sybil. Today though, I thought I'd simply highlight the species and give it some extra press time.

The Redfooted falcon (falco vespertinus) hunts at dusk on the plains of eastern Europe and western Asia in summer. I think the slanting, evening sun highlights insect prey perfectly, but perhaps if I were a djinn pretending to be a falcon, I might hover around at NOT twilight.(*ahem*)

The falcons roost in whatever sparce tree cover they find. Since a colony can range from half a dozen to a thousand, these birds need a lot of space.

Of course, man likes to build and farm grassy plains, so the species is now categorized as "near threatened" due to loss of habitat. It would be pretty difficult to house a thousand birds, once the people move in and take out all the trees, kill all the bugs, and pretty much destroy the neighborhood. Occasionally the birds are seen as far west as the UK, and recently some were even sighted on this side of the Atlantic in Martha's Vineyard. Are they looking for new habitat?

In Turkey, the Redfooted Falcon is known as Aladoğan. Each year it migrates through Cyprus on the path to it's winter home in Africa.

(Cyprus is another reason this falcon is important to Sybil. Sorry, Peregrine falcon, but I think your red-footed cousin is a better fit for my story.)

image via www.outdoorconservation.eu

Tale of the Ranunculus

via Jane.siet @ Flickr

It's been a while since I've written about Flora and Fauna, and the spring flower catalogs are getting me in the mood for blooming colorful stuff! So, I thought I'd tell you my Tale of the Ranunculus.

This story is from the days when my Turkish wasn't so great, so you'll have to forgive the fill-ins. I don't remember why we were headed up to the mountains that afternoon either, but my inlaws loaded us into the back of their car. DH and I settled in for a ride. 

The side of the road was scattered with small, stuccoed homes, all faded to a washed out beige by the strong Mediterranean sun and covered in grey dust from passing traffic. The real scenery was further out, in the foothills around us.

I was focused on the silver glimmer of faraway olive groves when the Romork tractor pulled out in front of us. My father-in-law clicked his cheek, as if he was calming his horse, and downshifted to accomodate the farmer. A few cars were winding down the opposite side of the road, so we waited for them to pass. We were about to cross into the other lane when my mother-in-law demanded we stop instead. (We always did what she said.)

A few minutes later, we were reversing to a village house surrounded by a low, concrete block wall. No one had bothered to stucco the wall and along the top, someone had assembled a collection of old olive oil cans. A sight hardly worth stopping for. 

My mother-in-law got out and purposefully went over to one of the cans. A curious face poked through a curtained window and then quickly reappeared to welcome us at the wall.

Here I'll paraphrase:

MIL: What a lovely flower this is!
The ruffled, blood-red bloom barely lifted it's head over the top of the can, but my sharp-eyed MIL had seen it when we passed at 30 mph.
Peasant: Thank you! It's a (I don't remember what she called it!).
MIL: Where did you get it?
Peasant: (I got the gist that it was a wildflower.) You're welcome to take this one!
She flashed a toothless smile at all of us and we were on our way, rusty, yellow can in hand.

I felt sad taking the only spot of color from that woman's world. It was my first lesson in "don't admire it too much, because they'll give it to you." But the peasant woman's smile and generosity have stayed with me long after the flower died, so maybe she had the right idea.

In the language of flowers, ranunculus symbolizes radiant charm. It belongs to the buttercup family and does grow wild. It's also poisonous to livestock, so I wonder if the woman was weeding her fields as she potted them up for herself. I'm sure she never guessed I'd be writing a blog post about her all these years later!

Anyone else have a buttercup story to tell?

Magpies

Image via WikipediaA fellow blogger of mine, OJ Gonzalez-Cazeres, is always writing Magpie tales. They reminded me of the real ones we had in Turkey.  I'm going to tell you a true story now, but don't be upset. It's not my fault.

First, you should know that my husband, like any good Turk, drives either too fast or too slow. Second, magpies aren't necessarily as smart as you thought.

My parents came over to visit us and to celebrate our wedding in April. They came a couple of weeks early, so they could get some sight-seeing into the trip as well. My beloved, of course, was happy to oblige and dutifully drove us all over Anatolia, where my mother remarked that the flocks of sheep were actually walking carpets-in-the-making. So, concentrating on the open fields the sheep live on, I should also tell you magpies like to take advantage of the road kill on the single ribbon of asphalt which winds across the landscape.

They always waited until we were ridiculously close, in a game of chicken, probably because the tractors that usually came by were slow and they finished up whatever was on the menu before it got there. (We took lots of backroads... the "shortcut" story is for another post.)

"Don't worry," said my beloved. "They always get out of the way."

OK. We sped across the narrow two lane "highway" and, as we saw the whites of his eyes, the magpie decided we were NOT a tractor.  He lifted his heavy hiney off the road and started flying away from us, in the same direction that we were traveling. Needless to say, he tail-planted himself on our windshield and was on the menu himself later that evening.

And you would think my beloved would learn from the experience, like maybe honk the horn the next time it was about to happen. How could there be TWO stupid magpies anyway? But no...

Moral of the story...let the stupid magpie get out of the way!

Sunflowers

via MerhabaTurkey.com

...undulating fields of them stretching their necks toward the sky.

The plains of Anatolia are blanketed with sunflowers in the summer. Turkey exports lots of sunflower oil and Turkish people love to snack on roasted, salted sunflower seeds.

I find solidarity with the humble sunflower:

One writer in a field of many, all of us yearning for the same thing.  Our sun is the agent and when one shines down on us, however briefly (partial request), we soak it up. When agents turn away from us (rejectons), our heads droop. But when the next agent comes by, we're just as ready to let them shine on us too.


http://thealliterativeallomorph.blogspot.com/

And least we forget..

Jessica at The Alliterative Allimorph is reminding us to Celebrate the Little Things.  She's hosting a giveaway with awesome prizes (Amazon gift certificates!) to celebrate her blog reaching an amazing 450 followers. Check it out!

 

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• In Praise of the Sunflower Seed (rawlivingfoods.typepad.com)

Slither

I never saw any snakes in Turkey, but that doesn't mean they're not there. Serpents, like the Eastern Sand Viper in the pic, love the hot, dry climate.  I'm sure they're hiding between all those lovely limestone rocks littered everywhere.  Poor things just want to be left alone and I'm happy to oblige. If you're really interested, there's a whole list of the ones found in Turkey on this link.

Snakes are usually a sign of bad things in literature. Just like in the local tragic fairy tale of The Seed, the bad guy is usually a snake, slithery and poisonous. In religion and spirituality though, the snake can have much nicer connotations...

...like the Ouroboros, a snake or dragon, with it's tail in its mouth.  It represents the cycle of life and death.  Snakes are symbolic of renewal because they shed their skin every year. They're even worshipped as gods by many cultures. Egyptians revered the snake and made it part of the Pharaoh's crown.  Shiva and Vishu are depicted with one around the necks. Revered Hindu Ichchhadhari snakes can take the shape of any creature (Great book idea for somebody here!). Greeks believed that creatures and even gods (like Medusa) with snake characteristics were simply bound to the earth, not nececcarily evil. And of course, you still remember my post about Kundalini.

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