Carpetblogger

Bursa's Women

Carpetblogger and Red State Sibling spent last weekend in Bursa, one of Turkey's largest cities, situated south of Istanbul and 30 kms inland from the Sea of Marmara. The historic (as opposed to the sprawling concrete) part of the city climbs up the side of Mount Uludağ and is home to lots of hot spring hammams. As (one of many) terminals of the Silk Road and the center of Ottoman silk production, it has wonderful hans and bazaars, even though the silk production industry has long since moved on to other places.

Now, it's a center of cotton production and is famous for its towels. Had I known how awesome and absorbent Bursa's cotton towels are, I would have bought a million kilos (the guy I bought from sold them for 10 YTL a kilo).

Even though Bursa's full of cotton and silk, this is not really a post about textiles. We discovered something about Bursa that's even more interesting than textiles, though still tangentially related.

In addition to the typical produce, silk and clothing bazaars, there's a "women's handicraft bazaar" in the center of the city. The stuff on sale isn't all that appealing -- a lot of polyester embroideries and laces in colors that don't appear in nature-- and targeted at locals, not foreigners. I passed through the stalls -- almost all of which were run by women -- taking photos because I thought it was pretty cool that there were so many women working outside the home in one of Turkey's most conservative cities.

Bursa was once the center of silk production and nearly every single woman on the street wears the ever-so-controversial turban (the Turkish headscarf that indicates the wearer is observant, rather than simply culturally conservative and/or from an Anatolian village. It's been in the news a bit lately). So it's not terribly surprising there are a lot of scarf sellers in the covered bazaar.

What was really surprising is how many of these scarf stalls were run by women. It's not that uncommon to see women working produce stalls, but to see women unfurling scarves like flags, while female customers gather around is really unusual. 

Then it occurred to me that the immaculate and friendly hotel we chose (the Çeşmelı) is run entirely by women (the reception staff cheered when we returned from the bazaar laden with shopping bags).

Someone needs to look into this. Is there a correlation between that women's handicraft bazaar and the number of women working in the mainstream bazaar? Do they start out in the women's bazaar and develop the skills they need to work with the big kids? Do daughters see their mothers working in the bazaar and decide that there's no reason they can't do the same or even manage a hotel?

I am fully aware that the turban is a powerful symbol of encroaching Islamization and a threat to the secular heritage of Ataturk, but it can also be a stylish accessory!  Bursa women -- to an even greater degree than their more cosmopolitan sisters in Istanbul -- really rock the look. The attention paid to coordinating scarf/jacket/shoes is impressive.

Of course,  if you keep your eyes open, there's always a devushka somewhere. The one in this photo must have just hopped off the Ukrferry from Odessa, except the length of her skirt and the absence of sequins, brass and rhinestones on her outfit make me suspect she might be an impostor.

I hate Artichokes

And this town is lousy with them this time of year. The guys slice out the hearts and leave them floating like yellow sponges in buckets of water. Yuck.

                                                

Chickenheads at Bessarabska Rynok

chickenheads, originally uploaded by Carpetblogger.

Please enjoy these certified bird flu-free chicken heads. They are more attractive than this blog right now.

Egg Ladies

Thanks again to Gadling for selecting another one of my photos as photo of the day. I took a series of photos in the bazaar in Sheki -- one of my favorite bazaars in country -- when we were there in November. Sheki lies at the foot of the Caucasus and is made up of old stone buildings with characteristic red slate roofs. It is, without question, the loveliest town in Azerbaijan.

Gadling's commentary suggests that these ladies don't look all that thrilled to have their photo taken. Actually, the opposite was true. It's very atypical for people in some parts of the former Soviet Union to smile when they have their photos taken. They tend to put on their stoniest faces when the camera comes out. Even at happy events, like weddings, subjects tend to look positively funereal when they're asked to pose. In fact, most of the vendors in the Sheki Bazaar were eager to pose with their goods. They'd stand proud and stoic next to their cabbage or pomegranate until the shutter clicked, then went back to smiles. The digital camera added to the excitement by providing instant gratification.

Now, if someone were to suggest that some of those ladies seem not to be all that ladylike, I might have to agree. I've wondered that myself.

Wool Ladies

Nuts and Berries

Cabbage Volga

Meat Market Twins: goat meat maybe? Calf? Hard to say.

Istanbul Basket of Fish

I was going to wait to post this photo until I had written a post about how Istanbul is a rockin' town and how no one has annoyed me for 6 days -- which is some sort of record -- but Gadling beat me to it.

Thanks, guys, for selecting these silvery, slimy fish as photo of the day

The Root of All Evil (Eyes)

Despite having all his new clothes stolen off our balcony Saturday morning while he was out playing Frisbee, the Producer managed to join me for a trip to the bazaar Sunday morning.

I hadn't been to the bazaar since before I left for the States. In the meantime, it's clear that the bounty of the earth has been released, in the form of cherries.

Having spent a bit of my youth in Yakima, Washington, I thought I knew from cherries -- bings, Raniers, maybe another "heirloom" strain here or there. I also thought that cherries were generally sold from wood-slat boxes lined with old newspapers.

The cherry growers of Washington could learn a little something about cherries from the Azeris. Every vendor in our bazaar offers at least 6 or 7 different kinds, ranging from incredibly sour to sugar-sweet, in every size and color. Some cost about 30 cents a kilo (two pounds). The more expensive ones reach a dollar a kilo.

Trying all the different kinds is even more fun than salsa tasting day at New Seasons on a Saturday morning, mostly because there's no double dipping to worry about.

Not only that, the Azeris are way ahead in the marketing department. Their cherries are meticulously pyramided in clear plastic bowls. Since the average Azeri makes even less than then average newly arrived Oaxacan, this gravity-defying marketing gimmick is pretty cost effective.

Unfotunately, all this sweet agricultural goodness could not salve the sour attitude of someone who had recently been mugged while participating in a wholesome, family-oriented sport, then had all his laundry stolen from his very own balcony while out participating in the same wholesome, family-oriented sport.

Quack! Quack! Whack!

We enjoyed the traditional duck for Easter dinner. It was extremely fresh.

I didn't think through the logistics very well. I went to visit the poultry guy at our local bazaar on Saturday morning to inquire about his duck supply. I told him I wanted a big, fat duck. Ducks aren't in big demand here so he didn't have any on hand, but he told me that I should come back Sunday morning. I was pleased with the outcome of this negotiation, particularly since it was conducted all in Azeri.

I don't know why I thought that when I came back Sunday morning the duck would be all nicely wrapped and ready for me to take home.

Really, after this long, I should know better.

There was a duck waiting for me alright -- a nice khaki colored one, sitting in a cage on top of the hens.

QUACK, QUACK, WHACK!

This is a one-stop butchery, so the owner's wife, in a headscarf, had the water boiling, ready for quick defeathering. Within five minutes, she handed my duck over to me, neck and innards stuffed inside, with a big gold smile. The owner told me to come back for anything else I needed.

I told him I needed a chicken, too, since that duck was pretty small and not at all fat. Lucky for me, there were some hens available that were not as fresh as my duck but didn't require my involvement in their execution.

Memo to self: Ducks in Azerbaijan run around and swim and behave like normal ducks, so they are tough and sinewy, with no actual meat on their bones. Despite The Producer's skill in the kitchen and it being Easter, he is not the messiah and could not feed a small crowd with one skinny duck and a small roasted hen.

We stuffed them, Azeri style, with walnuts, onions and raisins and served them on couscous. While the duck was nearly meatless, the hen was absolutely delicious.
Despite (or, perhaps, because of) plenty of wine, the coarser elements at the table could not resist gnawing on the carcasses.

Our Azeri friend brought a wonderful apple pie, with a homemade crust and Granny Smith apples from Washington.

Her biggest logistical problem was finding shortening.