Ersen takes me from Giresun to Dereli. He has his own business, delivering sweetmeats to shops in the area with his van. Before we part in Dereli, he opens the back of the van and pulls out more than half a kilogram of chocolate as a goodbye present. I imagine the state of my body if I were to use this as my diet for the next couple of days.
I continue south from Giresun to the Kuembet Yayla. In Turkey the Yayla is a name for highland plateaues to which the people from the country-side and the nearby cities migrate in order to escape the excessive heat of the summer months and carry out agriculture in the humid climates. The people come together on the Yaylas to celebrate, play music and dance. Established settlements are usually found there, but many people dwell in temporary camps over the summer.
The way to Kuembet is steep and it seems to be located in a very remote area. On arriving to the town I see the main street completely filled with people, so that any cars have to make their way through in walking speed. The air is absolutely crystal clear, invirgorating and fresh. Fog covers a landscape, which otherwise provides astonishing views over the mountains. I attempt to trade some chocolate for bread. The baker does not want chocolate, but gives me the bread for free, warm and fresh.
I meet a family living and working Germany that is here on vacation. The family father assures me that once the sun is out Kuembet and the surrounding area is paradise. I continue south and make my own picture of the environment. Not only the name of Kuembet is somewhat related to Tibet. The atmosphere is charged, electric and pure. Simply taking deep breaths here is a spectacle by itself, it makes you laugh and smile, you feel the energy circulate inside and involuntary joy and vigor arises.
I feel that I could travel through this area for ages; there is no real motivation to hitchhike. Once again I am reminded that the fantastic environments of Lord of the Rings or Avatar are simply poor imitations of that which is actual fact in this, our world.
I pass Shebinkarahisar, south of Kuembet with a Ottoman fortress overlooking a vast undulating plain. A feeling for the vast expanses of land arises in areas like these, which is in no way comparable to what can be sensed in Europe. Not even the views from the Alps provide views over such vast and variegated landscape. From this highland I experience a storm like in a gallery, like watching a slide show; Somehow I take part, but I am in no way physically affected by it. Dark and mennacing clouds, lightning and thunder come so close that I prepare myself for rain. Dark myst fills the air in the distance, signifiying heavy downfall, but only a few drops reach the highway I walk along and barely a wind is felt.
I reach Refahiye in the evening and set up my tent next to the river not too far from the road. I continue south the following day towards Kemaliye. The road is wide and empty, passing cars are rare. I walk a long distance among arid mountains and get only short lifts. In the late afternoon a small truck picks me up bringing sheeps wool to Ilic. The drivers cabin is full, but I drop myself in the back of the truck. I have never felt greater physical relaxation than in this emperor-sized bed made of pure sheeps wool.
From Ilic I take a Dolmush to Kemaliye. At one point the environment changes from an arid mountainous landscape to a steep, lush green valley with a lake at its bottom. We pass beautifully restored houses with traditional wooden facades on the road at the valley side. I just want to ask through what magical place we are passing when the Dolmush stops; we have arrived in Kemaliye.
I call Latif Yalciner, the owner of the mulberry farm I have planned to work on for the next week or so. He picks me up with a full-sized empty bus. I learn that in addition to his farming work he has started to lead tours around the valley and the surrounding country and that he manages a small tourist office in town. On the farm I meet Robert, from Germany who has arrived the day before.
I continue south from Giresun to the Kuembet Yayla. In Turkey the Yayla is a name for highland plateaues to which the people from the country-side and the nearby cities migrate in order to escape the excessive heat of the summer months and carry out agriculture in the humid climates. The people come together on the Yaylas to celebrate, play music and dance. Established settlements are usually found there, but many people dwell in temporary camps over the summer.
The way to Kuembet is steep and it seems to be located in a very remote area. On arriving to the town I see the main street completely filled with people, so that any cars have to make their way through in walking speed. The air is absolutely crystal clear, invirgorating and fresh. Fog covers a landscape, which otherwise provides astonishing views over the mountains. I attempt to trade some chocolate for bread. The baker does not want chocolate, but gives me the bread for free, warm and fresh.
I meet a family living and working Germany that is here on vacation. The family father assures me that once the sun is out Kuembet and the surrounding area is paradise. I continue south and make my own picture of the environment. Not only the name of Kuembet is somewhat related to Tibet. The atmosphere is charged, electric and pure. Simply taking deep breaths here is a spectacle by itself, it makes you laugh and smile, you feel the energy circulate inside and involuntary joy and vigor arises.
I feel that I could travel through this area for ages; there is no real motivation to hitchhike. Once again I am reminded that the fantastic environments of Lord of the Rings or Avatar are simply poor imitations of that which is actual fact in this, our world.
I pass Shebinkarahisar, south of Kuembet with a Ottoman fortress overlooking a vast undulating plain. A feeling for the vast expanses of land arises in areas like these, which is in no way comparable to what can be sensed in Europe. Not even the views from the Alps provide views over such vast and variegated landscape. From this highland I experience a storm like in a gallery, like watching a slide show; Somehow I take part, but I am in no way physically affected by it. Dark and mennacing clouds, lightning and thunder come so close that I prepare myself for rain. Dark myst fills the air in the distance, signifiying heavy downfall, but only a few drops reach the highway I walk along and barely a wind is felt.
I reach Refahiye in the evening and set up my tent next to the river not too far from the road. I continue south the following day towards Kemaliye. The road is wide and empty, passing cars are rare. I walk a long distance among arid mountains and get only short lifts. In the late afternoon a small truck picks me up bringing sheeps wool to Ilic. The drivers cabin is full, but I drop myself in the back of the truck. I have never felt greater physical relaxation than in this emperor-sized bed made of pure sheeps wool.
From Ilic I take a Dolmush to Kemaliye. At one point the environment changes from an arid mountainous landscape to a steep, lush green valley with a lake at its bottom. We pass beautifully restored houses with traditional wooden facades on the road at the valley side. I just want to ask through what magical place we are passing when the Dolmush stops; we have arrived in Kemaliye.
I call Latif Yalciner, the owner of the mulberry farm I have planned to work on for the next week or so. He picks me up with a full-sized empty bus. I learn that in addition to his farming work he has started to lead tours around the valley and the surrounding country and that he manages a small tourist office in town. On the farm I meet Robert, from Germany who has arrived the day before.
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