Wine DJ crashes a Turkish wedding
When I opened my eyes and got dressed in the morning I thought it would be a normal day, whatever that means. My plans were to explore the ancient ruins of Patara, hike over to the beach and relax for a while, then follow the Lycian Way across the mountains, where I would meet up with some friends at an ancient aqueduct. I was about half way to Patara when things started getting interesting.
I had borrowed an early 80‘s Toyota pick up truck for the day. I’m still not sure how the thing was still running. In the US it certainly wouldn’t be road legal, it would probably be considered a farm vehicle. Its handling and brakes were similar to bumper cars at the State Fair and it had the dents to match. Halfway to my destination it started to give me some trouble. While changing gears going up and down the mountain I noticed the gear shifter was twisting slightly. Considering the vehicles condition I wasn’t surprised, I simply crossed my finger and hoped that it wouldn’t be an issue.
I attempted downshifting while crawling up a hill and felt the shifter rotate another 90 degrees, and then disconnect from the gear box with a metallic ping. Fumbling to re-attach it, I steered the truck to the side of the road and it came to a stop. After several attempts to fix the shifter I had only managed to work up a sweat and cover myself with black grease while countless cars sped past beeping at me. Why do they just beep and not stop? Having the mechanical skills of a blindfolded chimp, I decided it was best to call the owner of the truck and work out a plan. Of course my cell had no signal, so I walked up the road a little and finally placed a call at a scenic overlook of the clear blue Mediterranean. There was just enough battery left for me to tell my friend his truck had broken down somewhere between Kalkan and Patara an that was it.
There only thing I could do now was sit on the side of the road and pray for help. Within the hour, my saviors had arrived. A rickety tow truck arrived with two Turkish mechanics. Neither of them spoke English and my Turkish is limited to hellos, good byes, and thank yous for the most part, but through a complicated series of hand gestures I somehow made out that my friend had sent for the truck, they would tow me back to their shop, hopefully fix the problem and I would be on my way.
We arrived at the shop and I found a seat inside. I believe it was the mechanics son who offered me chai (tea) and some cookies, it looked like I was going to be here a while so I pulled out my book and got comfortable. I soon heard drum beats coming form somewhere and thought it was a recording. After several abnormal starts and stops I figured out that the music was live so I stepped outside to investigate. I could see several small groups of people heading down a driveway between two houses. My friendly mechanics saw me looking across the street, I shrugged my shoulders and outstretched open palms, the universal signal for “what the heck is going on?” Both mechanics replied something in Turkish, pointed across the street and waved me on.
As I crossed the street I saw small groups of nicely dressed people were greeting each other as they passed. A guy walked over and said hello. I asked him if he spoke English, he smiled and said “a little bit” He then proceeded to tell me that it was his cousins wedding and I was welcome to join. I suddenly became a bit self conscious as I realized I was entering a wedding party wearing hiking boots, a filthy t-shirt, US Army combat uniform pants rolled up at the bottom, and a straw cowboy hat. I still had grease on my hands from my pathetic attempts at fixing the truck! Mustafa noticed my discomfort and said “don’t worry about your clothes my friend, stick with me I’ll introduce you to some people…would you like a glass of our wine?” “Yes please! What do you mean by your wine?” My gracious host poured me a cup and explained. In his village, many people grow grapes, but not in large quantities. Usually just enough for personal consumption and to make some jellies or jams. However, it has become a tradition that anyone who wants to make wine with their grapes would put them all together and send them to get processed at a local winery. When the wine was finished it is then divided proportionately amongst the contributors. Most of the wine seems to end up at community event like weddings and barbecues.
Although the wine was young it was very good. It had a slightly fruity taste and a very smooth finish. I am not sure what the alcohol content was but after two servings I was feeling a slight buzz, maybe because I was slightly dehydrated, or possibly because I hadn’t had a drop for about 2 weeks…who knows? By the looks of it, I was enjoying the festivities just as much as Mustafa was enjoying showing off his slightly out of place American friend. When I was offered third cup, I recognized my mechanic working his way through the crowd. I gathered from hand signals that the truck was finished and I was free to go on my way. I thanked my host for the hospitality and made my rounds saying good bye. I wasn’t expecting a wine adventure on this particular day, but it sure turned out to be one!
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