Visiting Asmali – Hunting for Greek Houses
Marmara Adasi has four villages – Çınarlı, Topağaç, Asmalı, and Gündoğdu. Also in the north east of the island is the town of Saraylar, which is the centre of the marble production industry of the island. The bus service will get us to all of these villages so we plucked one out of the hat and decided on Asmali.
Before that, however, we had what could only be described as a magnificent feast laid on by our hosts at the Adasu Hotel. Under the pretty, shaded pergola, a large table was spread out with all sorts of goodies galore. As well as the salad items such as cucumber and tomato, there were two types of olives from their olive grove, at least 6 different types of cheese, a selection of breads and preserves made from fruit from their orchard. Also, there were different types of freshly baked biscuits, very similar to Greek kourabiedes and melomakarona and homemade cake. There was a selection of juices, including their homemade lemon and cherry juice and of course, endless glasses of tea. That in itself would satisfy the most hungry of appetites, but it didn’t end there. Leila brought to our table an egg dish, a kind of omelette filled with cheese, peppers and tomatoes. Then came the plate of bişi, a savoury doughnut often served at breakfast in Turkey. This, eaten with the homemade sour cherry jam, had me in raptures! I don’t think I’d ever had such a sumptuous breakfast!
After this very indulgent breakfast served to us by Leila and the lovely lady in the kitchen, we headed to the small bus station along the harbour’s edge. Each bus had a destination sign in its window, making the right one easy to identify. Us and a couple of locals boarded, and off we set to Asmali.
The bus climbed up out of Marmara town along a narrow tarmac road. From here, we were given views over Marmara town and the rest of the archipelago, which seemed almost within touching distance. (excuse the grainy photos taken through the window of a speeding bus!)
The landscape was rich and fertile with large swathes of olive trees. There was a bit of curiosity about us on the bus. An animated conversation was struck up with an elderly gentleman whose face lit up when Peter said he was from Egypt. Peter had already discovered that the word for Egypt in Arabic was the same in Turkish. As the bus passed through the rural landscape of Topagac, the old man indicated that this was his village, and he was clearly proud of it.
The agricultural land stretched for miles, dotted with industrial-sized greenhouses. The only traffic on the road seemed to be tractors. I read later that Topagac is known as the island’s “fruit and vegetable warehouse.”
Most of our fellow travellers departed at Topagac, all giving us a friendly wave as they left. Soon, the bus rolled slowly down the mountain into the small fishing village of Asmali.
After confirming the bus’s return time with the driver, we set off to explore. This small fishing village is nestled below low rolling hills covered with olive trees. We started walking west of the bus stop. I’d already spotted by first Greek house here, and this one was a beauty. It had all the hallmarks of a Greek house – wooden structure, sahnisi-style balcony, sash windows, a little bit wonky through age. The ceiling on the top floor was beautifully ornate. From the outside, it looked as though it had been frozen in time – I’d love to have been able to go in and have a rummage.
There was a beach of sorts, now post-season, looking a little forlorn. There wasn’t much else to see on this side of the village, so we walked to the centre, past modern houses and the town mosque with an ornate fountain. Pomegranate trees seemed abundant here. Along the way, we noticed a group of children in uniform engaged in some kind of creative event. A crackly speaker played classical music whilst the children either sat in groups or painted pictures at an easel. Next door, a handful of locals were gathered at a café, sipping tea and watching the world pass by. It didn’t feel like a place shaped for tourists, but more like a working community where life moves at its own pace.
We made our way along an elaborate paved promenade – no expense spared for this little village. So far, I’ve been very impressed with the infrastructure that I’ve seen in Turkey. We ended up at a small marina and then continued to walk along the harbour arm, giving us a panoramic view back towards the village. The old Greek house really stood out amongst the concrete builds surrounding it.
Bundles of neatly stacked fishing nets lined the way, and we noticed the eclectic collection of sea-faring vessels moored up to the quayside. One called Black Rose had clearly once been some kind of tour boat.
Something caught my eye in one of the blocks of flats along the front. It looked as though each flat had its own outdoor barbecue on each terrace – I hadn’t seen anything like it. Each flat had its own, neatly stacked one above the other, and they all fed into the same chimney that rose to the roof. When I looked closer, I could see each had a metal door on the front, which made it look more like a bread oven. Google told me that this kind of built-in fireplace or stove is known locally as an ocak. Interesting.
Walking back towards the centre, we passed a cemetery full of glistening white marble Islamic headstones, contrasting with the verdant landscape rising behind it. A path led us along the edge of the village, where there were several smallholdings, small plots of land with neat rows of chilli peppers and tomatoes growing. We then headed into the centre of the village, where the houses became more traditional. When I say traditional, they are mainly iron and concrete, but they have more character than the blocks of flats along the front. Set amongst them are a couple of other old Greek houses – according to the theory of Stephanie that is.
One is in a fairly good state of repair, considering its age and sports a sign that I translated as saying. ‘This house was purchased by ME. (no name, just me). Contact me on xxxxxx in a possible situation.’ The other house, a short distance away, is completely dilapidated. The roof and the facade have almost disappeared completely. The lack of frontage makes it function like a doll’s house, where you can remove a piece to see the interior. The scene is one which has been frozen in time. There are even tins of food still in the open kitchen cupboard. Just in this little snapshot, peering through the frontage gives an idea of the house’s construction and a possible peek into the lives of whoever lived there last. I wonder why it has been left like this. Is it tied up in legal ownership battles or has it been bequeathed to a family who don’t want it? Maybe it’s financially prohibitive to renovate, or maybe even the local community want to preserve this little bit of Greek heritage? Who knows.
Back on the front, I walked over to a statue of Ataturk overlooking the harbour to take some photographs. As I began to make my way back, I noticed Peter in deep conversation with a man at the bus stop. So animated and fluent was their conversation that I thought they might be speaking a common language. Actually, they weren’t, but Peter has a great way of communicating with people, and he was able to discover all kinds of things from Mr Hasan. The children we’d seen earlier were taking part in a community program organised by the local Culture & Solidarity Association. There isn’t a school in Asmali any longer but in the past it used to be housed in an old Orthodox church. What we weren’t able to ascertain was whether this stopped because of population decline or the something happened to the church. I’d read that Marmara had been subject to a couple of earthquakes but for now that one will have to remain a mystery.
By now, several other people had arrived at the bus stop and also joined in the conversation, all keen to share a bit of information. One of them, a young man, spoke English and was able to translate for us. Mr Hasan also told us that there is still a monastery a couple of miles north of Asmali, but it was very difficult to get to without a car. He also told us that there were four old Greek houses in Asmali, and he lived in the fourth just beyond the village.
This lively and interesting interaction went on for about twenty minutes, and we were touched by the generosity of time of the lovely people we met this day. I never was very good at selfies – how did I miss my own head!
