Hindseeing

Sailing to Farya Two of the brightest of our Project’s initial group of Peace Corps Volunteers, a young couple, John and Susan, had played a trick on the staff. The Turkish village to which they had been assigned, on my search recommendation, didn’t suit them, and they moved out and found another. This could have been seen as an untoward act, even one of disrespect for the staff judgments. But the Project was brand new and we weren’t that confident of our judgments, so we didn’t make a fuss about this. John’s explanation in a letter after the fact was that their original site was a road junction with urban qualities whereas he and Susan wanted to work in a truly rural village where they might make a difference. Although I had never seen the new village, Farya, we uneasily respected the decision to move, largely because this intelligent couple seemed very sincere sand responsible about Peace Corps ideals. Farya was indeed well off the beaten track. John’s description of their new village made it sound like a challenge to visit. That fact only excited Jess, the deputy to Olin the Country Representative, a rugged African-American who had been a football all-American. Of course it also excited me, the roving field staffer for our special Project. We had an informal bet as to who would get to Farya soonest. I won because Jess had too many other things to do. A date in February left time for Ergin, a new Assistant, and I to mount the expedition. Ergin was an intelligent, well-set up city wise and politically concerned young man in his mid 20s. He tended to be quiet unless directly engaged and he appeared to take everything in his stride. There was little snow around headquarters in arid, cold Ankara. A letter from John gave no hint of snow around Farya, on the seaward foothills of the range of mountains paralleling the Black Sea coast. On the way we visited another PCV couple in a more accessible village in Kastamonu Province and spent the night in a Kastamonu hotel. There was snow thereabouts and much fell overnight and the following day. Advisers at the hotel said that we might have trouble getting over the mountains to Catalzeytin, the coastal town nearest Farya; there was no road of any sort to Farya. Our first foray was on the road most directly connected with Catalzeytin. As we were packing into our Chevy Carryall and putting on chains in Kastomonu, we observed a government road grader setting off to clear the road, and we were soon on its track. Even so, we were soon into 4-wheel drive and lugging along not very rapidly in the fast accumulating snow. After about eight kilometers of this, we met the big grader coming back. The driver had given up on getting farther in the overwhelming, accumulating snow. That news, of course, dissuaded us, too. Back at the hotel some local worthies got interested in our expedition and advised on an alternate plan, plan B. There was a more traveled road to Inobolu, a Black Sea copper-ore port about 45 kilometers west of Catalzeytin. The seemingly knowledgeable people at the hotel said that road was more likely to be open and that sometimes a Black Sea steamer stopped at Inobolu, where we might find passage by sea. That was all we needed to hit that trail. The new road had been cleared but snow fell continuously through the mountains and our speed had to be moderated accordingly. We passed several times under a criss-crossing overhead cable with here and there idled buckets that must have carried ore to Inobolu. On the slopes down to the sea the snow turned to sleet and then rain. At Inobolu we were directed to the hotel, the no-frills Seker (sugar) Palas, where we checked in. The manager directed us to the shipping company’s ticket office, where we learned that a “liner” would indeed land there the following morning, take on some cargo and continue on to a brief stop at Catalzeytin. We purchased First Class tickets at a modest fee. The ship’s arrival would be early morning and the departure an hour or two thereafter. Ergin and I were up dull and early in the chilly damp of the coast. The “Tara,” didn’t arrive until late-morning. Meanwhile we were shivering with others in a barely heated waiting room, downing regular doses of warming tea. We finally boarded and ensconced ourselves in the first class lounge of what we learned was the British-built, some 75 years ago, “Tara.” It was near noon by now and a pleasant lunch was served. In the lounge of well-faded elegance we found a few other passengers of the clearly Turkish elite, who were friendly and chatty in spite of our un-elite attire. When they heard that we were headed for Catalzeytin, there followed a collective groan that implied great pity. While boarding, we observed a sizeable horde of traditionally attired folk headed for steerage below. At least the lounge was warmed. Once underway, the Tara cruised along the Black Sea coast where I could hardly tear my attention from the bordering mountains that slowly rolled by in their solemn wonder. In late afternoon we stopped off Abana, a small town picturesquely pinned before the foothills. Hardly before we had clearly stopped, a fleet of small, open, motored boats seemed to be racing to be the first alongside to take off cargo and passengers. As they neared they compressed into a chaos of pushing for access to Tara’s side. Once the winners were clear the others subsided and waited their turn. Village types awkwardly boarded the “mohtors” (sic) while maneuvering all sorts of domestic items, with much shouting and screaming, suggesting a degree of competition and much anxiety. After moving off again, we advanced into increasing darkness until we learned that we were stopping at Calatzeytin in pure blackness except for a single faint light on the shore. Catalzeytin, the “county seat,” had no better, lacking electricity. Only when they were alongside, did I realize that a reprise of the Abana flotilla, all without lights, was occurring. This time some passengers from steerage and Ergin and I clumsily reshipped. I actually got a small cut on my hand from a rusty bedframe that accompanied a fellow passenger. Even then we were all transferred to another mohtor when our first mount was needed for grain off-loading, via a free fall, into our original mohtor. Since there were no lights on our mohtor lighter, only a roving spotlight from the Tara illuminated the chaos. In the pitch dark and the cold, our lighter headed for the single light on shore. Our bow grounded short of the shingled beach. A teenaged boy waded out and fastened a hook onto our prow. This ran to a multi-manpowered winch well up the beach. Once cranked up as far as seemed possible, we were still not entirely clear of the lapping waves. To disembark the able bodied, including Ergin and I, waited until a wave receded and then leaped over the gunwale for some five feet down into the shallow surf and headed the few yards to dry land. Without this preponderantly male weight the winch was able to pull the boat right up onto the shore so the women and children could alight without getting wet. A few other lanterns were now visible and a gathering of townspeople was on hand to watch this apparently significant local event. A few men in well-worn suits and ties selectively greeted Ergin and I with some excitement and surprise. It was the county head (kayakam) and town officials. They seemed to be delighted with such unusual visitors as us to their fair city, and they welcomed us to join them in the nearby terminal building where more lantern light, pastries, hot sugary tea and relative warmth greeted us. After the local great-and-good chatted with Ergin (largely) and I for a time about our mission and news of the larger world, we were taken to the usually unoccupied, and apparently never warmed, local hotel (or what passed for a hotel) for the night.