Wednesday, 12 December 2012

Cakes in Kusadasi

This ancient coastal city facing westwards towards the isles of Greece is gradually becoming like home. If possible, we go for a walk every day (sneaking a patch of dryness in between the many downpours). On market days, that is, Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays, we set out with empty rucksacks on our backs, honing in towards the radiant piles of vegetables, shiny scaled fish, coloured spices and gleaming fruit. We are always amazed at how low the cost for such superb quality. Close to Kusadasi is the meandering river Meander (hence our word!) flowing through a fertile plain. But not only the fresh fruit and veg is of magnificent quality: so too is the bread, which comes in all shapes and sorts, including our beloved wholemeal with sesame seeds spinkled atop; and of course, the cakes, pastries, and Turkish Delight. There should be a picture here, of our joyous expressions as we munch yet another succulent pastry filled with a mixture of chopped nuts and honey and apple.
Oh yes: and the tea (Turkish: chay!) served in small glasses placed on a ceramic saucer. It is Indian black tea, and I have succumbed to a lump of sugar in this otherwise too-bitter hot drink. It is very good. We are offered it in almost every shop we enter. Otherwise pay one Turkish lire (about 50 eurocents) for a glass, sugar included!
Below a picture of the market held on Wednesdays, offering clothes, textiles and household articles, a vast colourful entertainment.
Street after street, this market continues, selling everything from babies booties to steel eggbeaters...
We try to time our outings so that we can enjoy the radiant sunsets, seen across the bay of Kusadasi, looking towatds Samos, the nearest Greek island. The sun goes down close to the end of the Bird Island whence the Turkish name Kus Adasi, a bird being kus in Turkish. Recently there have been huge exciting cloud formations, racing along through the glowing golds and pinks.


"My darling Hossein"
While meandering (somewhat like the river, yes) through the market today, I asked some bright young Turkish ladies if they could tell me where I could "post" a letter -- and held up the stamped, enveloped letter. Unfortunately, their English and my Turksih didn't get us too far, when lo! a beautiful young lady with spectacular black curls tapped on my shoulder and said, "Post Office? Follow me... " and she set off at a spanking pace, with David and me striding after her slim figure... On the way she explained that her "darling" Hossein worked at the Post Office.  It was shut now, she explained, but she would give the letter to one of Hossein's mates. And there they were, four handsome young men, lounging in the entrance hall of the PTT building. Our helpful young lady gave them the letter. She said if we had any problem to ask for Hossein at the PTT. I am just slightly dubious about that letter's reaching its destination in the UK ... we shall see. Afterwards, we sat in a pleasantly unpretentios street-corner cafe and had a cup of chay accompanied by a scrumptious cakish something...

Here David walks along the evening beach...
And here, darkness falls from the wings of the night (Longfellow).

Another glorious sunset. Different every day. Life certainly isn't boring in Kusadasi.

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