culture

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Adatepe Olive Oil Museum

Heading north from Izmir towards Çanakkale, we came to the Adatepe Olive Oil Museum, in Küçükkuyu. Again, we were the sole visitors at a very interesting site.

The museum is a restored soap factory designed to display artifacts related to olive culture. It’s the only one in Turkey devoted to the history of olive oil production. The museum extracts oil by traditional cold-press methods in its factory and stores the oil for families in the area.

We saw huge granite mills for grinding olives, various tools for pruning and olive picking, baskets for carrying olives, and earthenware jars for olive oil storage.

There are also amphoras from sunken ships of early Mediterranean trade (which never made it to the Bodrum symposium). There are displays of various tools for making olive oil soap, charts of the annual cycle of olive production, maps showing the spread of olives from Syria westward, and writings in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic sacred texts.

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Lizards of Labranda

We had another glorious ancient site to ourselves on Sunday. Labra(u)nda (Λάβρανδα) is just north of Milas in SW Turkey.

Admittedly, there is some competition, with Ephesus, Pergamon, Priene, Bodrum Castle, Troy, and numerous other sites less than a day away. Nevertheless, it felt like a guilty pleasure to be able to explore such a fabulous site alone, to drink from the sacred spring, and imagine both the ancient civilization there and the excitement of the first archaeologists to investigate it

Labranda was held sacred by the Carian and Mysian peoples. Mausolus of Mausoleum fame, was a satrap here (c. 377-352 BCE). The local god was Zeus Labraundos (Ζεὺς Λάβρανδος), with a double-headed axe, the labrys (also as in lanyrinth). The site was occupied continously until the mid-Byzantine period.

I have to admit that we weren’t completely alone. There were wild cats, chickens, honeybees from the nearby honey farms, and many fine lizards.

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Fresh dolma

I’ve been fortunate to have encountered friendly people nearly everywhere I’ve traveled.

This includes people who have legitimate concerns with US foreign policy, see much of American culture as both boorish and hegemonic, and see Americans as naive but arrogant. Where did they get such impressions?! But even those who think that way recognize the difference between a nation and an individual.

This has been especially evident in Turkey. People everywhere have been extraordinarily friendly. For example, we discovered some excellent dolma (stuffed grape leaves) in a supermarket deli section in Yalikavak.

Yesterday, we went back to get some more. The young man behind the counter offered one for a taste. Again, they were delicious, so I asked for a full container of about 20. He prepared those and sent me off with a smile.

A few minutes later, he called me over. A fresh batch had just been prepared. He asked for the container back, and filled a new one with even fresher dolma. It was unnecessary, unrequested, but I very much appreciated both the gesture and the freshest possible selection. All this in spite of our rudimentary Turkish.

There are many other examples. At the moment, we’re using wifi/internet for free in a little café, Leleg Restaurant, in Gümüslük. It wasn’t advertised as an option, but the owner recognized our need and quickly endeavored to help us out.

PS: We ordered some çay (black tea) to drink while we used the internet. When I asked how much we owed the owner refused to take a single lira for çay or internet.

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Herodotus today

Yalikavak, Turkey

Anyone writing a blog post owes a debt to the “Father of History,” Herodotus.

He was the first to show how write narrative history. And despite his additional appellation as the “Father of Lies,” he did show how to collect information systematically and to assess its validity. It’s noteworthy that his ἱστορία (historía, history), also means inquiry. The delivery channels have changed since the 5th century BCE, but we could still learn from his advocacy of careful methods.

Herodotus lived in Halicarnassus, the site of the famous Mausoleum, one of the Seven Wonders of the World, as well as an ancient stadium and castle. It’s now Bodrum, the booming town and resort area of southwestern Turkey.

We’re staying not far from Halicarnassus/Bodrum, near Yalikavak. Of course much has changed. Our stone cottage has a smaller doorway than he would have wanted, or is it possible that people today are taller?

There are still beautiful views of a landscape convoluted by millennia of volcanic activity and earthquakes, and of a limpid Aegean Sea. The vegetation is still of the maquis type, which is found throughout coastal regions in the Mediterranean–dense scrub, with evergreen shrubs, live oak, bay trees, olive trees, lavender, and rosemary. However, the hillsides are now coated with swaths of white block houses, reflecting the rapid development experienced here.

We have photovoltaic cells to heat our water, whereas his solar heating was entirely passive. I imagine a goatskin bag filled with water and hanging in the sun. But I’m not sure we’ve advanced much. A morning shower here leads to abstruse discussions along the lines of “Was the water hot?” “What do you mean by hot?”

We have amphoras in our cottage, just as Herodotus must have had.They’re still made and used locally. However, I’m not aware that the amphoras gather for symposia, as shown here in the Bodrum Kale (castle). That exhibit is part of the underwater archaeology museum, the world’s largest.

At the end of the day yesterday, we stopped to buy some vegetables for dinner. Although Herodotus wouldn’t have used the Turkish lirasi as we do, it’s not hard to envision him or someone in his household selecting beans, carrots, or onions as we did. Even the measuring device would have been similar, a crude balance with old, battered weights.

I’d always imagined Herodotus as an old man with a long white beard, as he’s portrayed in statues. But thinking of his life here, I now wonder: Would a young Herodotus be writing blog posts from his stone cottage? And when he was younger still, how much would he look like the young boy we see today?

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Islamic Science and Technology Historical Museum

Yalikavak, Turkey

Our last stop in Istanbul was at the İstanbul Islâm Bilim ve Teknologi Tarihi Müzesi (Museum for the History of Science and Technology in Islam) in the Eminönü district. It’s a wonderful museum, displaying centuries of achievements in geography, navigation, astronomy, mathematics, music, optics, chemistry, chronometry, historiography, medicine, military, civil engineering, and other disciplines.

I was told in school that the period when most of these discoveries and creations occurred (9th-16th century CE) was called the Dark Ages, a time of fear, superstition, lack of progress, even regression from the Classical era. Then the Classical learning was miraculously rediscovered and expanded during the Renaissance. And of course, like many things I learned in school, it was partly true.

But the fact is that while great scientific and technical accomplishments were happening in the Islamic world, much of Christian Europe languished in these areas, not completely, but to a large extent in comparison. Islamic scholars maintained and extended the Classical learning, and incorporated additional ideas from Greek, Byzantine, Indian, Judaic, and other traditions. They not only advanced learning considerably, but did so by listening to and learning from other cultures.

Long before Roger Bacon, they articulated and promoted experimental science, and they wrote about inductive or scientific methods long before Francis Bacon. They studied the circulation of blood before William Harvey, and made many other medical advances. But the exhibits do not take a “who did it first?” approach; instead, they emphasize the continuity of learning, across time and across cultures.

The Ages were not Dark everywhere, and the Renaissance in Europe was not autonomous; it was dependent upon and grew organically from an Islamic culture that valued learning in all its forms.

The Museum displays fascinating astrolabes, glassware, maps, globes, medical instruments, ships, an elephant clock, and many other artifacts. I’ve never seen such an assemblage anywhere, and these are beautifully presented and explained with multilingual text and video. Scientists, mathematicians and other scholars, such as Muhammad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārizmī, Ibn Sena (Avicenna), Geber, Al-Jazari are featured.

That’s why it was both surprising and a bit depressing to see how few people came to the exhibits. I counted five total visitors during the entire time that we were there, Make that seven if I include Susan and me. There were about fifteen staff and guards. Of course, it’s been open only two years.

İstanbul offers tough competition for any museum. World Heritage sites like the Topkapi Palace nearby, the Sultanahmet Cami (Blue Mosque), and Hagia Sophia are just a few of those within easy walking distance, each offering jaw-dropping sights. But those also offer long lines and crowded viewing. It’s difficult to fully appreciate the Topkapi dagger while being shoved along in a crowd. The Museum for the History of Science and Technology in Islam offers a different and equally important view of Islamic culture, one that I suspect is not well known by many within or outside of Islam,

The Museum is housed in the Has Ahırlar (Imperial Stables) complex now in Gülhane Park. This area was once the outer garden for the Topkapı Palace during the days of the Ottoman Empire.

The working instruments and other objects were constructed by the Institute for the History of Arabic-Islamic Science at the Johann Wolfgang Goethe University, Frankfurt, based on illustrations and descriptions in textual sources, and to some extent, on surviving original artifacts. There is a similar exhibit there under the direction of Fuat Sezgin. The İstanbul museum is a joint project of the Ministry of Culture and Tourism, the Scientific and Technological Research Council of Turkey (TÜBİTAK), the Turkish Academy of Sciences (TÜBA), the İstanbul Metropolitan Municipality, and Goethe University.

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Udderbot

This may be a big mistake, but I’m now learning about udderbots.

This coming Friday at 8 pm there’ll be the “World’s First Udderbot Recital” at the UC Independent Media Center in Urbana. But here and now are some samples: “Queen of the Nite” and “kleismic joy”.

Jacob Barton is a co-inventor of the udderbot, and undoubtedly its greatest virtuoso. He’s now an Americorps worker at the IMC, who earlier studied composition and performed on the udderbot at Rice University, my alma mater. There’s a feature article with photos in the News-Gazette today, and you can also read about it on the udderbot wiki [photo from the wiki].

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Life (and stories) in an Alaskan Eskimo village

In the early 1980’s, the Quill in Alaska project was a great adventure in learning about stories, writing, computers, classrooms, Alaska village life, bush travel, and much more. Although the temperatures were often -20˚F or below, stories from that time are burned deep in my brain. I learned that stories relate our lives, but that they also shape our lives, and create endless stories to follow.

One involved a kind of networking that shows the value of being there, even in our time of electronic communications. As I recall, on a cold, snowy day in March, I had boarded a De Havilland Beaver, similar to the one shown above, to fly from Chevak to Bethel, at the head of Kuskokwim Bay. I may have been the only passenger for that short nonstop flight.

Shortly after takeoff, the pilot announced that we’d be making an unscheduled stop to pick up passengers in Scammon Bay, a village on a point jutting out into the Bering Sea. The propellers had scarcely stopped spinning when a young couple boarded. We started talking. I shared some stories about my travels to small villages around Alaska and they told me why they were flying to Bethel. They had just married, and were on their honeymoon to the big city (pop. 3000).

I asked them whether they knew of Aylette Jenness. She’s a writer of children’s books, photographer, and anthropologist, and more, a good personal friend. In the 1960’s Aylette had lived in Alaska in their very village for a year and a half. Based on her experiences there, she wrote a wonderful book, Dwellers of the Tundra: Life in an Alaskan Eskimo Village, with beautiful photos by Jonathan Jenness.

They were too young to have met Aylette, but they knew of her, and they cherished the book she wrote about their village. The young man asked me whether I remembered a photo of a woman in the book holding a young child. I said yes, it was one of my favorites in the book. He then stunned me by saying: “That woman is my mother, and that baby is me.”

We talked the rest of the flight. When I returned to Cambridge, the first thing I had to do was to tell Aylette that story, about how the characters in her book had a continuing life and were now old enough to get married and fly to Bethel. She was fascinated and immediately said: “I have to go back!”

She soon returned to their village, one generation, and more than 20 years later. Being the writer and photographer she is, wrote a second book: In Two Worlds: A Yu’pik Eskimo Family (1989).

This time, the book was co-authored, with Alice Rivers, a Scammon Bay resident, shown on the left here with Aylette on the right. The change in authorship reflects both changes in the way we write about others and Aylette’s own deepening connection with the people there.

The title reflects changes, too. It uses the name Scammon Bay residents themselves use, Yu’pik, not just a broad category, like Eskimo, and everyone is more conscious of living in multiple worlds. The people and Scammon Bay are now identified by name. The books make vivid for me my time in Alaska, even though my stay in Scammon Bay itself was probably just 15 minutes.

And the photos are now by Aylette. They’re sharper than in the first book, less dreamy and more reflective of the many facets of life in modern, yet still traditional, Alaskan villages—the two worlds.

It’s now been another generation, and time for more stories and another Scammon Bay book. In the Introduction to In Two Worlds, Alice and Aylette ask: “maybe one of Alice’s daughters will write that one. Mattie? Sarah? How about it?”

I don’t think the books are still in print, but you can easily find good quality used copies online.

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Outside lies magic, Part 2

I wrote most of my last post while flying from San Francisco to Chicago. Flipping through the airline magazine, the essay by Gerard J. Arpey, “The world is a book” caught my eye. It’s from St. Augustine: “The World is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page.” That seemed to be the message of Stilgoe’s Outside lies magic.

But on reading the essay, I encountered another quote that seemed hugely at odds with my own experience at the time. It’s from Antoine de Saint-Exupery’s Wind, sand, and stars, writing about airplanes:

The central struggle of men has ever been to understand one another, to join together for the common weal. And it is this very thing that the machine helps them to do! It begins by annihilating time and space.

Yes, the machine, the airplane, was annihilating time and space, but it was doing so by destroying my connection to the world around me. Instead of seeing more deeply as Stilgoe recommends, I found myself seeking ways to ignore the drone of the engines and the constant pressure on my knees from the seat in front of me. Saint-Exupery’s means for promoting our common humanity has become a factory ship processing fish.

See Outside lies magic, Part 1.

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Outside lies magic, Part 1

Gesa Kirsch recently pointed me to John R. Stilgoe’s, Outside lies magic: Regaining history and awareness in everyday places. It’s a refreshing call for becoming more aware of the ordinary world around us. Stilgoe urges us not only to walk or cycle more, but also to use the advantages of those modes of transport to see the world that we usually ignore.

I finished the book, and am writing now, in the antipode of his call to walk and observe. I’m cramped in an airplane seat near the end of a four and a half hour flight. Stilgoe would say that I should still take the opportunity to observe, to learn, and to make sense of my surrounding, but instead I’m counting down the minutes until we land.

The chapters—Beginnings, Lines, Mall, Strips, Interstate, Enclosures, Main Street, Stops, Endings—lie somewhere between prose poems, history lessons, and sermons about the everyday. They remind me of John McDermott’s summary that John Dewey “believed that ordinary experience is seeded with possibilities for surprises and possibilities for enhancement if we but allow it to bathe over us in its own terms” (1973/1981, p. x).

To appreciate the book, you need to follow Stilgoe as he discovers nature, history, urban planning, ethics, social class, and more through cracks in the pavement, vegetation, telephone poles, roadside motels, angle parking, and other seemingly forgettable objects. The real point is not his own findings, but the demonstration that slowing down to look can open up worlds of understanding.

He shows the value of a camera, despite the lament that “ordinary American landscape strikes almost no one as photogenic” (p. 179). He recognizes the dread of causal photography (‘why are you photographing that vacant lot?’), but ties it to “deepening ignorance” (p. 181). This ignorance makes asking directions dangerous: People question us back, ‘Why do you want to know?’

Stilgoe says, “discovering the bits and pieces of peculiar, idiosyncratic importance in ordinary metropolitan landscape scrapes away the deep veneer of programmed learning” (p. 184). Unprogrammed exercise and discovery leads to a unified whole that reorients the mind and the body together. Someone else may own the real estate, but “the explorer owns the landscape” (p. 187).

Stilgoe’s prescription is simple:

Exploration encourages creativity, serendipity, invention.
So read this book, then go.
Go without purpose.
Go for the going.

See Outside lies magic, Part 2.

References

  • McDermott, John J. (1981). The philosophy of John Dewey: Two volumes in one. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. (Originally published 1973)
  • Stilgoe, John R. (1998). Outside lies magic: Regaining history and awareness in everyday places. New York: Walker.
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Don’t Throw It Away!

Our family has recently devoted considerable effort to weed out family memorabilia and to pass on, give away, or throw out once treasured knick-knacks, books, and pictures. There are many more boxes to go, all filled with possible treasures, but more likely, with white elephants that don’t fit into any of our current homes or lifestyles.

Some items would be useful for others who have real needs. Giving those away makes more sense than letting them occupy space in a closet or attic. Many old family photographs and letters could be digitized and discarded. Other items have lost their provenance: Did this vase come from Aunt Fanny or Granny? Does not knowing that diminish any remaining value?

As we strive to discard things, it may seem strange to talk about deliberate saving, but thoughtful preservation can actually help in the downsizing process. An excellent 2006 booklet from the University of Illinois at Chicago, written by Sandra Florand Young and revised by Douglas Bicknese and Julia Hendry talks about exactly that. Although it’s a manual for small organizations, the basic principles apply for families and individuals as well.

Don’t Throw It Away! Documenting and Preserving Organizational History encourages organizations, both large and small, to save and organize their office and project records…It offers practical advice on providing security for records and setting up an in-house archives, as well as factors to consider should the organization want to deposit records in an institution…

Organizational records not only document the work of an organization, they tell the story of the community and its people, their successes and the issues that they believe to be important.