Tea Time In A Yurt

Gather Around

Yurt is a portable, round tent covered with animal skin that is used as a dwelling by nomads in the steppes of Central Asia.

By offering hospitality, one participates in the endless reweaving
of a social fabric on which all can depend - thus the gift of sustenance
for the guest becomes a gift of hope for the host.- Parker Palmer

It is said that here, people drink three cups of tea. The first, you are a stranger. The second, you become a friend; and the third, you join the family. Our host is a yoruk nomadic family in Anatolia, Turkey.

Merhaba, our lady host greets us, her eyes peering from the slit of her face veil. She is dressed in brightly-colored and flower-patterned salvar trousers and a chemise that goes down to the ankle. She offers me my first cup of elma cayi apple tea. 

Seated on a kilim rug in a yurt, I cautiously take sips from the small tulip-shaped glass. It makes the loose tea glow like amber. The herbal drink is sweet, slightly tart, with a mild apple flavor. I survey the surroundings over the rim of my cup. The tent is black and rectangular. Made of woven black goat hair, our guide Mele says knowingly.

It feels cozy. Inside, the walls are lined with sheep's wool which is also used to make coats for the shepherds. It's a windowless all-purpose space for eating, sleeping, working, and other social activities, although an area on the side is used for cooking and food preparation. Weavings in subdued reds, browns, and yellows decorate the interior. Its door is oriented to the warmth and sunlight of the south. 

Our male host leans forward and sips his tea. He converses immediately, Mele readily translating for him. We have just migrated upland for the winter, and will stay here until the warmer months come. 

He nonchalantly muses on their long journey. It takes us two weeks or even a month! I listen attentively, even as I'm drawn to his attire, from the sarik covering on his head to the long robe neatly folded atop loose trousers and the yemeni sandals on his feet.

After slurping his drink, he continues, The clan slowly gets going. Children and the elderly go on horseback, as do the heads of families, but most travel on foot. The beasts of burden follow behind.

The grandmother lights a small fire, after which she brings over a fresh pot of tea. She tests its color and gives it a dissatisfied stir. Then she wobbles the spout against our cup rims and offers a second serving.

Her son tosses her a roguish wink, Cami yıkılmış ama mihrab yerinde. He manages an impish grin when she glances at him sharply. The mosque is a ruin but the mihrap is standing, our guide quips, smiling. She continues to explain, He has just given his mother a compliment, saying that despite being older, she has retained her charm. We nod in approval, giving a breathy chuckle. It’s like saying a church is in ruins but the pulpit is standing.

I inspect the motifs on the kilim with admiration, though my brows are wrinkled in thought. Mele explains before I can ask. A female figure symbolizes motherhood and fertility. Other designs like the wolf's foot is for the protection of flocks from wolves. Pointing to an eye encased in a blue circle, she adds with dramatic flourish, That is for protection against the evil eye.

The woman of the house pours us a third cup of tea. I can smell its strong, sweet aroma. Steam curls up from the hot liquid.

The chatter continues. I surmise that Turks love to converse, often at length, and about nothing in particular. More than that, I sense their innate respect for the rites of hospitality. As Mele explains in her characteristic nasal tone, The traditional nomadic tent is set up in readiness for company for one sole reason - because guests are sent by Allah and usually arrive without warning. 

Where I am, at the moment, seems strangely attractive. It is quiet and restful, yet cheery as well, where folk can stay to sit and drink tea and talk. I wish there were some way to stop the late afternoon light from traveling any further across the living area so we can go on, talking and listening to interpreted banter over an endless cup of apple cha, but we have to go.

We're sent off with a fond Güle güle gidin. May you go laughing. Water is thrown behind our vehicle as it pulls away. It is a wish for a smooth journey, as smooth as water.

I have forgotten my tiredness. At this moment, I don't have to wrestle with the question of how deep time is, or how much I have to understand what time is. Right now, I'm not thinking ahead in years and months but just about this hour, and maybe the next. 

Anything else is speculation.