Brown Blood In Cervical Mucus

Continuation and end of our adventures Turkish: from the Lycian way to the Euphrates

After our two weeks of WWOOFing we joined Fethiye resort located on the Lycian way, and thus taken the path of guesthouses and tourist resorts. It was a shock, especially at this time of year (mid-November) the quotas of tourists are mainly composed of European pensioners, it gave us a shot of old! So we quickly escaped for a few days in the valley of butterflies, one of the few corners of the southern Turkish coast, which are preserved: the buildings are banned, so there is no real hotels but camps wooden bungalows on stilts which give an atmosphere neo-hippie to the coast. So we took the opportunity to walk the trails and enjoy some sea bathing in coves accessible only by foot.

Subsequently, we had planned to travel to Cappadocia, but were stung by our sightseeing in Fethiye we decided to go 1200 km farther east to Turkey in Sanliurfa, the city where Abraham was born. Close to Syria and Iraq are our first steps in Mesopotamia: the faces have changed, the dress also, the region is populated by Kurds, Arabs and Turks, and almost no tourists! It's time to start speaking Arabic and enjoy local hospitality. We chain encounters around glasses of tea in the souk we cover a Kurdish family with gifts: grenadine syrup, chili, kebab ... The only Muslim population is very religious and almost all women are veiled. But time passes quickly and we are already starting to Halfeti, city half submerged by the waters of the Euphrates River because of dams built in the last 10 years. Here, tourists are a rare and Ayden, a young Turkish thought, is there to welcome them in his apartment with terrace overlooking the calm waters of the mythical river. We stay there two days and take the opportunity to make a boat trip in search of villages submerged. And then we turn around and ravalons new 800km in reverse to reach Antalya where we take a plane to Beirut on December 1.

Below, the story in pictures.

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Two generations of Turkish peasants

Simge, Princess of Yaziköy

No need makeup to illuminate sunburnt face and eyes hazel Simge when it crosses his nonchalant approach to the olive groves. From the first glance, one is charmed, intimidated by the personality of this young peasant unfathomable 26 years at the natural class. Her eyes get lost in the distance, far beyond that piece of land on behalf of Yaziköy singing.


Located in driving the pick up from the farm, Simge is the first woman in his family to lead the team of collectors across the steep paths that lead to olive trees. "Pick up", "come here", "lunch time" is also the only English speaking among the Turks, so she is the boss, which organizes each day, and nobody would dare challenge him this gentle authority. Shy and reserved, his face suddenly lights up with a furtive smile when you come talk to him.

Simge studied accounting 3 years ago in the city of Mugla, and the one who has the task of counting, counting trees remains to be done, counting the days' work volunteers and staff, counting the pounds of olives harvested and the pounds of oil expected ... At the end of the day, while everyone rest of the team has already gone to rest, Simge will table the day of harvest the olive factory the neighboring village, and provides men with filthy weighing of precious olive oil which is renowned throughout the Peninsula. Slender young woman, tired of the toil of the day, manly face giants in overalls oily, she stands up and his word is respected. How many of them have dreamed of one day overturn the heart of Simge the pretty village girl next door? In the field it sometimes isolated, detached air, and smokes a cigarette, unbeknownst to her mother Noura, or starts a Turkish folk song in the shade of a tree. What dream Simge, Princess of Yaziköy when she smokes her cigarette?

Simge's life seems to be keyed to the rhythm of nature, seasons, flowering and harvesting. At what future can dream it, apart from these olive groves, the main resource of the peninsula?

One night, she chose to sleep in her marriage and move to the nearby village with her fiancé Afghan, to whom she is promised for next summer. We discover a whole new woman. Bartering his old sneakers and jogging to work against a skinny jeans and ballet flats, unwinding her scarf and dropping her brown hair, she wraps herself in her favorite perfume, anoint his eyes and took me to his room to give me makeup . Like every girl in the whole world she is preparing to go out and join her fiance, with lots of brown and a flirtation with impatience. On the dance floor, the girl has blossomed overwhelming joy. Afghanistan has promised him another life, Palamut Bükü, a small seaside town surrounded by olive fields forever, but in a huge brand new apartment with terrace and sea view After marriage she will leave the fields, olives, earth under the nails and oil stains for a more comfortable life. Is this what Simge think when she smokes her cigarette?

Bédouane, lives across the fields

Her body looks like a trunk of olive: Close dry and gnarled. Bédouane is nonetheless a man of surprising strength can carry sacks of olives weighing 50 kg, while it must not weigh more than 60, all muscle. From the top of her little feet 70, he has this glazed look kindly supported by a generous smile his big mustache. Her olive skin and wrinkled, tanned by the sun of the peninsula, bears the scars of that indelible smile.

At 48, he hits the olive groves and almond trees since his childhood and knows all the secrets. Of modest means, he has only a fortnight with olive trees. Bédouane can not read. He is married to a woman of 39 who gave her two son now aged 12 and 17. Human experience is to him that the audience is the slightest doubt on the tree to be harvested or the methodology. We also regret not having taken advantage of his knowledge because of the language barrier: his English has resulted in "Hello" that he uses to greet the camera. In the work, man full of energy when it hits the olive branches with a long pole. His movements are dry and precise trigger of fat Olive rains we are unable to compete with his dexterity. If he never refuses a short break to enjoy a cigarette, he does not hesitate to shake you as you quicken up the pace. He left with a time his noble task of olive hitter to give you a demonstration of effectiveness: a minute ago, he picked all the olives from the perimeter as you are about to meet quietly in a quarter of an hour . The man is a tease: he pretends to yell very seriously Turkish knowing that you understand nothing, and suddenly he went into a loud laugh. He cries, shaking his head, trying to understand and gives up. Malicious, when the work begins to weigh on him, he quietly sent you a few olives in the back, where you tickle her neck with his long pole.

Bédouane is a bon vivant who loves to laugh and booze, enjoy the moment. The day after the marriage around 11:00 in the fields, he tells us he is hungry. In fact, he did not eat this morning because the day before he had drunk too much and his stomach was still numb.

And because our communication can be oral, then it will fit! It climbs trees and smack you once amused glances and looks your laugh is something easy to share. It does not take up, runs, jumps, shakes you, nothing stops it. He fights with Gabriel, the giant Swiss do not scare him. It takes me in his arms and we walk arm in arm. Fascinated by my hat, he snatched me with his long pole and tries to reveal the small diameter of his skull.

His generosity is that of the nature that surrounds it throws stones on the apple to drop the last remaining almonds on the branches. He gets excited, vigorously and fill my pockets with all these kernels. We go down together way back when, suddenly I see him change direction, jump into the bushes and climb a wild olive tree which he cut a dozen branches. We alpague and we just bring him back to help his booty he brings in a bundle on his back and hold. Loaded like a mule, her body completely concealed by the branches, he still finds the strength to sprint. Impossible to follow, the man is too fast for my youth exhausted by too many years the ass on a chair.