T.R.H

[ Photos of Avsa are at:
http://www.geocities.com/yarard/resimler.html
]

x0x Island of granite and vineyards

By Muge Iplikci

My grandfather passionately loved the island of Avsa in the southeast
Marmara Sea. It is one of the three large islands in this group, the
other two being Marmara and Pasalimani. He used to say that he had
tried the other two, but Avsa had won his heart. When he retired and
started going there in the early 1970s it was a quiet backwater, a
world of its own which the busy goings-on of the mainland had passed
by, and without any regrets on the part of the islanders. Times have
changed since then, but fortunately my grandfather did not live to see
them. The blustering chill winds of March that held the cities in
their grip hardly touched the island of retired accounting clerk Mr
Mahir Crusoe. Here the sound of gulls filled the air and a gentle
breeze blew. It was in this season, when spring was struggling to put
in an appearance, that my grandfather would set out, drawn by dreams
of wakening to the scent of marguerites, poppies, broom and white sand
lilies.

In the cool evening hours he would drink wine of the previous yea's
vintage, savouring the astringent flavour which harmonised so well
with those hours. In the mornings he would sip his black coffee as he
gazed at the purple hills scattered with olive trees in silent
tranquillity.

Why did he choose this island in the Marmara Sea, instead one of the
towns on the south coast? I often asked him this question. Then he
would point at the Philips radio in his island cottage and say, 'You
should not escape from life completely.' Around noon he always turned
on the radio to listen to the indistinct and scratchy womn'sy voice
presenting the news. He felt as at home here as the local people, but
with the habits of a city-dweller wanted to keep in touch with the
world outside. Avsa, known variously in the past as Ophioussa, Afousia
and Panaya, is 75 nautical miles from Istanbul, a distance both near
and far at the same time, as my grandfather once told me.

Far out to sea was the tiny island of Hayirsiz, meaning Inauspicious.

My grandfather told me not to be deceived by the name. 'You would be
wrong,' he said. 'That island serves a useful purpose. How can an
island with a lighthouse upon it be inauspicious?' From these words I
understood that he wanted to see himself as an auspicious pensioner.

In this land of granite and vineyards, where wine making, fishing and
quarrying were the main activities, he saw himself simultaneously as
an exile and as a man of the city. In the late afternoons, returning
from visiting friends in nearby country houses, he would drop by the
village coffee house for a game of backgammon, looking up to gaze out
to sea from time to time. Then it would be time for wine again,
another of those occasions when, like weddings and funerals, everyone
shares what they have. The conversation would mingle with the sunset
and those wine-red evenings. 'It will be an abundant grape harvest in
September.

If only we had a vineyard. We could have produced our own wine. How
agreeable wine made in jars tastes on summer and autumn evenings.' And
so the dusk would advance into night. The fresh water on the island
went well with the wine, and the sea water was perfect for swimming.

My grandfather once said that in such water he could swim as far as
the island of Ekinlik to the north, where the dolphins were. I have to
confess that the wine played as great a part as the sea water in this
claim. Ekinlik was close to Avsa on the map, but looking at it gave a
sense of depth and distance. The dolphins were undoubtedly the cause
of this. These smiling creatures would come right into the islnd's
shores, making distance seemed close and depth shallow, as they
flirted with the islanders.

The fish were not so fortunate of course. Their fate was settled by
the fishermen, who caught sea bass in May, young bonito in August,
blue fish and chub mackerel in September, and mackerel, large bonito,
anchovies and whiting in October. Sometimes shoals of sardines from
the Aegean heading eastwards across the Marmara would find their way
into the fishing nets. Crustaceans were also abundant: lobsters,
hermit crabs, shrimps, oysters, and cockles. The latter in particular
were plentiful all around Avsa's shores.

In time all roads in the Marmara region began to lead to Avsa, and
more and more holidaymakers found their way there. Spring merged into
summer, and summer into autumn. It was just before this that my
grandfather slipped away, never to return. But he left the finest
wines in the Marmara region and his dreams in Avsa.

* Muge Iplikci is a short story writer.