Rewind- Rize

I took the bus, a one hour ride into Rize in the late morning, expecting a small town with tea fields surrounding it, the moist leaves glittering in the sun, people playing kemence and tulum while they pick tea berries. Why wasn’t anyone waiting with a cup of tea for me when I stepped off the bus?
Instead I was greeted with reality- more urban sprawl, and the bus dropped us off at a central location, with the lunch crowd coming and going- me lumbering down the sidewalk with my heavy backpack and violin, running into people and things. I was unpleasantly surprised, and started looking for a hotel. Rize wasn’t in my guidebook so I had no map, but I had assumed it was going to be easy to find somewhere to stay. After looking around for 30 minutes with no luck, I decided to take a break, put my things down, and just grab something to eat. This had become a habit of mine when I got into unfamiliar towns. Get something to eat, relax for a second, then ask the people working there for advice, or how to get to my next destination. But it was during that lunch, on a bench in a park, that I decided to bolt. The money was starting to go fast on this trip, and I came to Rize because I thought it was a small town that I could easily find music in. Instead it was more of the same city atmosphere. It would have taken much more concerted planning and money to get into the mountains where the traditional Laz culture and music was, but from a park bench, not possible. Of course, the more time spent somewhere the more you discover, but I was trying to reconcile this idea with a limited amount of money. So after a think, I went to the bus station and got a ticket for that night at 8. I would start heading down into eastern Anatolia overnight into the next day. But that meant I had all day, so I could explore Rize a little…

With all my things, I headed back into town, and with a little luck saw a tourism office. The nice man there gave me a few suggestions. I asked about music shops, and he pointed me towards one around the corner. As I walked in, the karsilama music thumped- two men were listening to a CD they might buy. It was the fast-paced, danceable kemence driven music, frenetic and repetitive. So far, I had noticed two distinct types of horon (the traditional Laz dance) music in the region- the more lyrical, with one person playing and sometimes singing, then the very fast paced kind with a full band or programmed loops laid down for extended 20 or 30 minute songs. This was definitely the former playing. I had also heard a form of music called havalari, with electric baglama carrying the lead in long, almost hyper songs. One young lady jokingly said it made them dance like crazy people, and that they loved it. It might have been like the rock music of those parts. This particular shop had instruments, mostly baglama and a few kemence. As with most other stores, the kemence were cheaply made, but playable. I took a look-see, but I had made my mind up to get one online later. So I hung out for a while, checking out CDs and enjoying the music overhead. Eventually, I asked the owner for his recommendation, and ended up with two great traditional tulum and kemence Cds.

I decided to take tourism man’s suggestion next and head out of town a little to the organic tea gardens. After waiting for the bus for a few minutes, I figured why not try and walk it up the hill, I needed some exercise. On my way up, I saw a small place with “Turku Keyfi” spelled out in lights. It also said baglama e guitar, so I figured it was a music venue. Looking inside, it was dark; must open later I thought, so on up the hill I went. It was a workout to say the least, but I was rewarded with great views of the surrounding hills around Rize. Every possible piece of land was covered with tea plants- around trees, houses, up the steepest incline, entire hills were terraced and cultivated. I got a real sense of the importance of tea in this region. Apparently, the tea is grown in the mountains and Rize serves as a center of processing and selling the finished product. Or it was that way, however now it seems Rize has also taken on a life of it’s own.
While I was in the gardens it quickly became overcast and it started to rain heavily- it seemed to fit the place perfectly. I looked out onto the Karadeniz (the Black Sea), and the gray clouds, dark blue water, trees and tea plants all made sense. I grabbed some tea and enjoyed the rain under cover of the café there during the storm. I noticed the tea kettle they used was like Basak had used in Canakkale. It had the steeped tea on a top section, with extra water in the bottom that you could reheat and combine with the tea in someone’s glass when serving. Brilliant, I was loving the different ways of serving caffeine in this country.

After a while, there was a break in the clouds, so I decided to head out. As I made my way down the hill, it started to rain again suddenly, and hard. I went from awning to tree to awning, and on my way down I passed the music place again. I saw a light on, so I went nearer to look- I saw people, but no one playing. As I turned to leave, a guy popped out to use his cell phone. He saw my violin and said “You play?”
“Yes, but I was just looking.”
“Come in, come in.”
Why not I thought, maybe the music would start in a second. What happened in the next hour or so was great. All the conversations were limited, but we got basic ideas across. The guy outside was Caglar, and his friend was Murat. They were the musicians that played there, Caglar on guitar and Murat on baglama. There was also Caglar’s dad, a woman in her 30‘s, and a couple younger guys working there. They asked if I was hungry, and ordered me a pizza from next door and got me a water. They explained that the music didn’t start until 7, but they said we should play something in the mean time- so I broke out my violin. They asked if I knew any Turkish songs, so I tried to play the few that I knew. And after I asked about the kemence and tulum music, they asked me to play some of my country’s dancing songs, so I played some up tempo bluegrass, foot stomps and all. They liked it.

The woman working there was very charismatic and had a great smile. She seemed very funny, and she was trying to tell me something, but the language barrier was too big. She was interacting with us all, telling jokes it seemed, while keeping busy with her work preparing the bar, but when we all starting playing music, she came over and started to sing Turkish songs. When she sang, she looked directly at me, not averting her glance from my eyes. I was drawn into the song, to her eyes. I had to peel away my glance a couple times out of habit. But unlike home, there was no fear there, or any consequences to looking someone in the eyes. She was just whole heartedly singing a song to me. It was enchanting, I’ll never forget it. How much this attitude of hers has to do with the Laz culture, I don’t know. While the ethnic makeup of this region is very diverse, the Laz are a majority. I was told the Laz were less strict in their observance of customs like veils for women, etc.. Whether this more relaxed attitude played into interactions between men and women, I don’t know, maybe. But I do know that the Laz culture is where most of the musical traditions come from in this area. It’s another pocket of culture, truly different than any other part of the country. And that variety, in turn, is what makes this country so interesting.

The guys wanted to play one of their songs. I think it was Caglar’s, he carried it on classical guitar. It had a driving, almost flamenco rhythm, but his singing had a soulful, Turkish feel. Murat interjected with baglama runs in the singing breaks. I filled in whenever it seemed appropriate. They wanted to shoot a quick video to put on their facebook page, and I took the chance to shoot one myself. I posted it on a previous post, check it out. Then, that quickly, it was time for me to go in order to catch my bus. I thought about staying and sticking with the experience, but they had a show to play, and I stuck with my original plan. They insisted on driving me to the station, delaying their show a little. How f’n nice those guys, a great experience. And I think back now- if I hadn’t been on my way out of town, with all my crap, violin included, this experience wouldn’t have happened. I took it as a sign that I was supposed to leave, and that it was supposed to happen that way. So like that, I left Rize and the Black Sea Coast, on my way into the completely different worlds of eastern and southern Anatolia.