MARG AT HER LOOM
ROMEO MEETS JULIETTE
THE LOCAL MOSQUE
RENA TAKES THE VEIL!SAY NO TO RUGS
Ahmed drives us to a rug shop, probably owned by a relative. The establishment is run by a large Turkish family. Today marks the end of Ramadan, a big Muslim holiday. For kids it means no school and lots of candy and chocolates. The men of the family greet each other with kisses on both cheeks. Everyone is dressed in their Holiday best and a big family feast is in preparation in the back.
“Looks like we have to stay for the timeshare sales pitch,” I murmur to Rena.
“It doesn’t cost anything to look,” Rena whispers back.
“Famous last words,” I think to myself.
Actually it turns out to be much more fascinating than your average timeshare hard-sell.
The family business is selling Turkish carpets to tourists. In the entryway, a woman sits weaving a woolen carpet. Margaret asks if she can help and the scarf-covered young lady graciously makes room at the loom. She shows Margaret how to tie a rug knot. If Margaret ties one knot every 7 seconds, 8 hours a day for 7 days a week, in just 8 weeks she will have a respectable 3’ by 5’ carpet to sell!
Each tribe has its own colors of wool and traditional patterns for making rugs. Out back in the showroom, we are treated to hot apple tea as carpet after beautiful carpet is unfurled on the floor in front of the four of us. It’s a private showing of marvelous textile artwork in silk as well as wool.
In the front room is a big basket of what looks like oval white Styrofoam balls. Ahmed’s cousin gives one to each of us.
“Shake it next to your ear,” he says.
We dutifully shake the ovoids and hear a soft rattling noise.
“That’s the larva of the silk moth,” says our host. “ This cocoon is made of one single strand of silk over a mile in length. It was spun in just one day by the silk worm that you hear rattling around inside.”
He proceeds to open the lid of a vat of water with silkworm cocoons floating on the surface.
“Here we boil the cocoons, which loosens the fiber and allows us to unravel the cocoons.”
He uses a small whisk to gather up three dozen loose ends of silk, each with a silkworm cocoon attached. These strands are twisted together and fixed to a small spinning wheel, like the one that Ghandi used to spin the homespun cloth he made famous during his campaign to free India from the British.
“Once this single thread is spun,” says our guide, “we gather 30 threads together and spin them again to make a yarn suitable for rug making.”
I do the math. “That’s 1000 silkworms to make just one skein of rug yarn,” I think to myself. The final step is to get the lady of the house to tie 600 tiny knots in a very intricate pattern and “voila!”– one square inch of fine silk carpet.
For a thousand years, the knowledge of how to make silk thread was a trade secret of the Emperor of China. The silk road ran 4000 miles from Cathay to Venice – just to provide silk fiber and fabric to the royalty of Europe. The end product is exquisite and virtually indestructible.
After the tour and the private display of fine carpets comes the inevitable hard sell. Somehow we manage to say NO to rugs. I’m ready to buy but Rena holds firm while I give the merchant a knowing eye and my trademark apologetic shrug. We wish the merchant a Happy Eid ul-Fitr (End of the Fast.) and depart the premises.
From our private glimpse behind the silk curtain, we descend by backroad to the bazaar at Kusadasi. John and Margaret begin endless negotiations to buy a pair of leather jackets while I wander off to find stamps and a letterbox to mail some postcards. When I return, Rena has been picked up by a nice young Turkish boy named ‘Romeo’. I’m not sure if Romeo wants his new ‘Juiliette’ to buy a pocketbook or to take him to America in her steamer trunk!
After taking a photo of Rena and her Romeo, we walk to the mosque and hear the muezzin’s call to prayer. We stop for baklava, crepes and coffee at a sidewalk cafe. Well- dressed men continue to kiss their brethren while kids collect candy from all the shopowners. Rena tries on an “I dream of Jeannie” veil – suitable for the serraglio. She’s quite fetching. “Eat your heart out, Romeo,” I whisper smugly to myself.
What a great day in Turkey! We limp back to the boat with our collection of tired feet, achy backs and lame legs to the Splendour of the Seas. I’m cheered by the prospect of a Motown floorshow in the ship’s theater followed by Latin dance night in the Top Hat lounge. It’s formal night again and I get to wear my tuxedo! I hope I find a fellow dancer to partner with me. That would be heaven indeed.
Happy Eid ul-Fitr, y’all.
DAKTARI
Ahmed drives us to a rug shop, probably owned by a relative. The establishment is run by a large Turkish family. Today marks the end of Ramadan, a big Muslim holiday. For kids it means no school and lots of candy and chocolates. The men of the family greet each other with kisses on both cheeks. Everyone is dressed in their Holiday best and a big family feast is in preparation in the back.
“Looks like we have to stay for the timeshare sales pitch,” I murmur to Rena.
“It doesn’t cost anything to look,” Rena whispers back.
“Famous last words,” I think to myself.
Actually it turns out to be much more fascinating than your average timeshare hard-sell.
The family business is selling Turkish carpets to tourists. In the entryway, a woman sits weaving a woolen carpet. Margaret asks if she can help and the scarf-covered young lady graciously makes room at the loom. She shows Margaret how to tie a rug knot. If Margaret ties one knot every 7 seconds, 8 hours a day for 7 days a week, in just 8 weeks she will have a respectable 3’ by 5’ carpet to sell!
Each tribe has its own colors of wool and traditional patterns for making rugs. Out back in the showroom, we are treated to hot apple tea as carpet after beautiful carpet is unfurled on the floor in front of the four of us. It’s a private showing of marvelous textile artwork in silk as well as wool.
In the front room is a big basket of what looks like oval white Styrofoam balls. Ahmed’s cousin gives one to each of us.
“Shake it next to your ear,” he says.
We dutifully shake the ovoids and hear a soft rattling noise.
“That’s the larva of the silk moth,” says our host. “ This cocoon is made of one single strand of silk over a mile in length. It was spun in just one day by the silk worm that you hear rattling around inside.”
He proceeds to open the lid of a vat of water with silkworm cocoons floating on the surface.
“Here we boil the cocoons, which loosens the fiber and allows us to unravel the cocoons.”
He uses a small whisk to gather up three dozen loose ends of silk, each with a silkworm cocoon attached. These strands are twisted together and fixed to a small spinning wheel, like the one that Ghandi used to spin the homespun cloth he made famous during his campaign to free India from the British.
“Once this single thread is spun,” says our guide, “we gather 30 threads together and spin them again to make a yarn suitable for rug making.”
I do the math. “That’s 1000 silkworms to make just one skein of rug yarn,” I think to myself. The final step is to get the lady of the house to tie 600 tiny knots in a very intricate pattern and “voila!”– one square inch of fine silk carpet.
For a thousand years, the knowledge of how to make silk thread was a trade secret of the Emperor of China. The silk road ran 4000 miles from Cathay to Venice – just to provide silk fiber and fabric to the royalty of Europe. The end product is exquisite and virtually indestructible.
After the tour and the private display of fine carpets comes the inevitable hard sell. Somehow we manage to say NO to rugs. I’m ready to buy but Rena holds firm while I give the merchant a knowing eye and my trademark apologetic shrug. We wish the merchant a Happy Eid ul-Fitr (End of the Fast.) and depart the premises.
From our private glimpse behind the silk curtain, we descend by backroad to the bazaar at Kusadasi. John and Margaret begin endless negotiations to buy a pair of leather jackets while I wander off to find stamps and a letterbox to mail some postcards. When I return, Rena has been picked up by a nice young Turkish boy named ‘Romeo’. I’m not sure if Romeo wants his new ‘Juiliette’ to buy a pocketbook or to take him to America in her steamer trunk!
After taking a photo of Rena and her Romeo, we walk to the mosque and hear the muezzin’s call to prayer. We stop for baklava, crepes and coffee at a sidewalk cafe. Well- dressed men continue to kiss their brethren while kids collect candy from all the shopowners. Rena tries on an “I dream of Jeannie” veil – suitable for the serraglio. She’s quite fetching. “Eat your heart out, Romeo,” I whisper smugly to myself.
What a great day in Turkey! We limp back to the boat with our collection of tired feet, achy backs and lame legs to the Splendour of the Seas. I’m cheered by the prospect of a Motown floorshow in the ship’s theater followed by Latin dance night in the Top Hat lounge. It’s formal night again and I get to wear my tuxedo! I hope I find a fellow dancer to partner with me. That would be heaven indeed.
Happy Eid ul-Fitr, y’all.
DAKTARI
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