We are leaving now. It's been a couple of days since we arrived for the Bayram*, at my grandmother's house which is in a town, Gölhisar, only two hours from the city, Antalya. While we are in our car in front of the house, preparing to leave, my grandmother picks up a bucket next to the fountain that is in the small yard in front of the house, and fills it with water. As we slowly move away from her, she, standing in the middle of the soil road behind us, throws the bucket of water along the street. In the tradition, this is a way of wishing the traveler to move like the water and arrive at your destination easily.
(I once told this to a friend in the office in Switzerland, and to demonstrate, I threw a glass of water behind him as he was getting out of the door. It was weird.)
This home that my grandmother lives in had been a regular grandma house to me over the years. How special it was, I realize now. My father, together with my uncle had built it when they were teenagers. They literally put together some cement, bricks and wooden columns together and build a two floor house. The ground floor is for storing wood, and some equipments, and the second floor, which could be accessed by the stairs from outside of the house is the main area for living. When you walk around inside, the floor makes this creaking noise, and the whole house shakes a little, which never seem to bother anyone. Although it has gone through some modifications, for the last 50 years almost, this is where my grandmother has been living in; and we - as everyone else who visits - got used to its quirkiness.
The house wasn't the only thing that was quirky. My grandmother, a very dominant woman, who always stays up late at night, who never spares anyone her words and loves to fight, but who also has a great sense of humor, is indeed a unique one. Despite living in an old shaky house, she is the first and only elder in our big family to have a cell phone back at the first half of 2000s; which is probably due to the fact that she loves people and is quite inclusive herself. Ayse, who lived nearby, would come, climb the stairs (the sound of which we always hear and know that someone is visiting) and pull the metal string on the main door that is connected to the to the lock on the inner part of the door via a tiny little hole, and let herself in. Just like anybody else. She would then come in to the room we are in, we would nod our heads and smile. She would sit there as much as she wants, make strange sounds and hand gestures; my grandmother would respond similarly with her hands, and say a few words loudly, and this conversation would continue for a little while. Then my grandmother would turn to us and explain what Ayse is up to, and why she is troubled. Then Ayse would just stand up and leave, to come back again maybe in a couple of weeks. I never really knew how my grandmother could communicate with this deaf-mute woman, but it was easy for her.
A lot of other things also happened inside this house. In the living room, next to the entrance, there was the chair specifically for...
Well, this maybe should be told in another post :)
* Religious festival
