Ibrahimpasa

Spring is coming to Ibrahimpasa. Compared with when I arrived on March 1, the ground is greener and the sky is bluer. The apricot trees are starting to bud and green shoots are pushing their way out of the soil. Today the air was clear and beautiful, with large white fluffy clouds drifting across the arch of the sky.

Ibrahimpasa, seen from a distance, say from the hill across the valley from BCH, looks like a medieval village. The only sounds I hear are roosters crowing, birds cheeping, the odd dog barking and the tap-tap of stone masons working on the boutique hotel-to-be just down the hill from us. Periodically the silence is broken by the call to prayer from the local mosque. Women with long white head scarves and baggy flowered trousers, called salvar, walk purposefully through the village streets. I always say “Merhaba (Hello)”; sometimes they reply, sometimes not. Once and a while they let me take pictures of them. Bayram, the woman I met when I first walked through the village, graciously allowed me to take video footage of her home and son Serhat; he was quite shy and peeked periodically out from behind a sheet drying on the clothes line at me.

See pictures here.

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