Postcard 2 from Manavgat

‘Didn’t We Have A Lovely Time The Day We Went To Margateanavgat’

I cannot say that I was looking forward to another visit to the scorched earth of Manavgat Yayla. For a start, rising at 0500 is a little out of the normal order of things these days. So why?

I am joining a small group of three from Turkish Search and Rescue organisation AKUT, with the branch leader, local notable Bircan Tolunay, at the helm. Our mission is to deliver the first consignment of 35 or so parcels of groceries and other goods to families in two highland villages in the centre of the 150,000 m^₂ area devastated by a massive firestorm in July of this year.

The distinctive AKUT pick-up 4 x 4 arrived on time and at 06.00 we set out on the three-hour mountain route to Manavgat. Conversation was desultory. I was grateful for that as my Turkish was still dormant. It was early! The only bursts of animation were when one of my fellow passengers checked their phone and said, something like

“Shit! 15!” or

“Shit! 15.2!” or

“Holy Shit! 15.8”

These to be met with

“Bloody hell! 20 by next week!”

“25 more like!”

Yes. You have guessed it. They are referring to the lira’s descent against every major currency. A chute that has been going on for weeks, stoked by (mandated) Central Bank rate cuts and bullish references from the President about taking on the financial markets and the mysterious ‘Interest Lobby’. The national currency, in response, is hurtling like a runaway cable car down Baba Dağ. Turks meanwhile, rabbits trapped in the headlights, stare at television or mobile phone screens as their lira assets vanish and the cost of everyday items disappears out of reach.

Another reason I am slightly apprehensive is late-stage reservations about the Cunning Plan which has emerged from rather fraught discussions between me, AKUT and the Manavgat Governor’s (kaymakam) office. The Governor seems keen to box us in to supporting his schools project, which I believe is marginal to the fire affected families, hanging on in pretty dire conditions in mountain winter weather.

So, against advice we have decided to do a direct distribution of provisions. Metro™ Wholesale Market in Antalya has agreed a 2,400 TL package of groceries and other goods for each target household. They will prepare one package per household and we just have to deliver within each of our two villages.

But we have reason to doubt that things are going to be that tidy.

We met up with the Metro food delivery wagon, which has an artful picture of  delicate appetisers ‘Toasts fins saveurs’ splashed across its side. I make a mental note to keep that out of any photographs as it looks like we are delivering gourmet nibbles to our poor and hard-pressed mountain dwellers. Let them eat cake.

We roll in to Sevinç our first, and the most remote, of our two target villages. The landscape has been burnt bleak for some miles now. The village is a sad cluster of small windowless containers in a dead landscape.

The local headman’s (Muhtar) assistant directs us to a hard standing outside the derelict first school. When the Men from Metro open the rear doors of the truck (which mercifully now obscure the gourmet artwork) our fears are realized. 84,000 TL still buys an awful lot of basic provisions. We are staring at sacks of flour, lentils, sugar, tins of tomato and pepper paste, tea, shampoo, warm quilts… simply MASSES of stuff! But masses of stuff not packed up in 35 different bundles.

If I had been in charge, I would simply have borrowed a firearm and shot myself. The villagers are trickling out of their houses, glad of any kind of distraction and, as the Kaiser Chiefs sang, I predict A Riot.

Disaster! But disaster is food and drink, if you will pardon the pun, to AKUT. Disaster is What They Do. After allowing herself a little raise of the eyes to heaven, Bircan whips out a clasp knife (which I would have thrown myself on) and starts giving instructions, checking lists and getting everybody, including the village cat, working like a well-oiled machine. A series of rusting flatbeds and battered Tofaş estate cars are lining up. Packs are made up, tins and quilts are thrown around to be caught, counted and assembled.

I have nominated myself the Man from the Ministry and wander around checking loads against family names on a list and dispatching carloads. Thinly clothed, hardy looking women (it is 5⁰) search through sacks of clothes and toys that we have brought. Meanwhile the sort of men whose ancestors, one hundred years ago, would have poured bayonets fixed, barefoot and poorly clad out of the trenches of Conk Bayırı and charged down onto the fresh-faced but better equipped  ANZAC troops at Gallipoli.

Today, thank the Lord, Mehmets and Johnnies are on the same side.

Within a couple of hours, the last battered Tofaş is groaning up the slope. We clear up, leave the village cat nervously pecking at a spill of dried lentils and head off to Oymapınar, our second and last stop. On route we stop at the home of a village headman whose family obviously know our team. We receive a warm welcome and the women bring out Turkish coffee for us. They show me their animal shed, home to twenty three survivors of the fire. Three of the goats have damaged ears which had to be cropped due to fire injuries. Seventeen died. Some of the mobile phone pictures were too strong for me. It must have been awful.

Our guide leads us into Oymapınar proper, which is another sad cluster of small, uniform box trailer homes. I cannot believe that 4 people, in some cases, 6 squeeze into these small cans. They have already lived there for four months and face the entire winter until April in them. However, it is not quite so remote as Sevinç and the people seem in better heart.

We are greeted with a lot of smiles. Whilst everybody is given tea, one of the women brings out a Turkish coffee for me in a pretty china cup inscribed on the side ‘Hand Made with Love’. I was touched. Although slighting fizzing from over caffeination, nothing was going to stop me from draining my cup.

After distributing we still have stuff left over and make up some extra parcels. The villagers say they will share big sacks of flour etc. I know they will. We left with smiles and waves. Our team of six, which includes the two man team from Metro who have been brilliant. What a great example for women in Turkey to see Bircan’s manically energetic leadership. In AKUT men and women seem to be equals. We have managed ten hours on one simit and are all ready to fall on pide in Manavgat.

Bircan waves away my offer to pick up the tab. Paying the bill can be an affair of honour in Turkey and when it is, then ‘No’ means ‘No’. I raise a laugh later by declaring that my pensions are paid in sterling so they let me pick up the tab at our coffee stop.

Home by 10 pm

We have more decisions to make but we made a great start. It was an honour to support these sturdy, self-reliant people who are carrying on a centuries-old way of life that flies in the face of our modern comforts and entitlements.

My thanks to my fantastic AKUT friends, my swimmer buddies and all who helped and supported us in this endeavour.