Ayvalik

Background:

Ayvalik is a summer town. In the winter it has a population of nearly 40,000 but in the summer season it spikes up to maybe 200,00 people. My grandmother stays in this coastal town year round.

My ancestors came to this area of Anatolia from the Greek island Mytilini (aka Lesbos... Yes, Lesbos. Lesbians. The ancient Greek poet Sappho was born on the island and famously remembered for her themes of passion for both genders.) Mytilini used to be inhabited by Turks and Ayvalik was inhabited by Greeks, but in 1923 there was a population exchange. Makes sense right? Turks live in Turkey (The Turkish Republic was founded in 1923 at the Treaty of Laussane as a successor to the fallen Ottoman Empire) and the Greeks live in Greece. Here in Ayvalik, you can still see many remnants of its ex-inhabitants like broken down monasteries or beautiful old Greek styled homes (like the one my mother grew up in). Even today there are people in this town that know the old language that belonged to this area and there are ferry boats from Greece that come to town on market days.

The reason why I explain all this is because the history of the exchange is prevalent in Ayvalik's society today. My family is considered "Ayvalikli" meaning belonging to the town. From this town. My grandfather's ancestors came from Mytilini and obtained acres of olive trees. A rich man with an olive oil manufacturing business, he left his company to his four sons, the youngest being my Dede (Grandpa). Unfortuanately, they couldn't keep the business running and it closed around 76'/77'ish.

The society here is divided. The declining bourgeoisie and the nouvelle ... not necessarily riche but the nouvelle. The noobs. The ones that dont belong in this town. Their ancestors didnt come from Crete or Mytilini. Instead, they moved here from other parts of Turkey like Ankara. The Ayvalikli are small society who hold onto family's reputations. Over the past years I have learned it is not necessarily important to know my new friend's name but instead to know his/her father/grandfather's name because that will be the first thing my family asks me.

The small town feel can be a double edged sword. On the positive side, I feel safe here. Every few steps I can see a familiar face, but that same face can turn to the phone just as I pass by and give my grandmother a report of what I childish mischeively I've been up to (its happened).

It is nice to belong to a small circle but the gossip is absurd. The rumors that rome these cobbled stones streets are nearly pathetic. Perhaps they may be true, but I dont think I need to go into detail about the downside of gossip.

"Did you know that there are only 5,000 genuine Ayvalikli people left here?" my grandmother brought up over lemonade at my great-aunt's last night. I bit my tongue in frustration. "What does it matter?!" I wanted to scream. The more I learn about this close-closed circle of people with familiar last names labeled all throughout town, the more upset I get about the pretentions of my family. I asked my grandmother trying to mask my disgust, "Then what am I?" She replied, "You're more Ayvalikli than these other people coming here." But how is that possible? I am just a visitor. I question whether I am Turkish or American on the daily but now I have been stamped with Ayvalikli, a town I spend only my summers in. This pompous group is slowly dying one by one and they grip onto something they feel lets them own this beautiful scenic slice of the country... but there is something about it that just irks me. Irks me very much. And though my grandfather's name will only greet me with kind regards in here, I wonder if I even have an identity. It doesnt matter though, I am Yener's granddaughter.

Whatever, I'm going to the beach.