The teacher and the poet: Nasrettin Hoca and Yunus Emre on the road to Ankara

With more time on your hands, you could divert south through Sakarya (Adapazarı) and then drive through Taraklı, Göynük and Beypazarı, all of them small towns with lovely Ottoman centers that are gradually picking up more fans. Those of a more adventurous disposition could even drive as far south as Eskişehir and then head east through lovely old Sivrihisar (see last week’s Sunday’s Zaman). For those with children, this may be the best choice of all since the road then continues east and skirts a village with the telltale name of Nasrettin Hoca.

Those new to Turkey may have no idea who Nasrettin Hoca is. Everyone else, though, will be well aware of this medieval comedian-cross-philosopher, a kind of Central Asian take on Aesop usually depicted as a bearded middle-aged man of jovial demeanor wearing an outsize turban and sitting back-to-front on his donkey. The story has it that Nasrettin Hoca was born in this village (then Hortu) some time around 1208, a fact that the locals have no intention of letting you forget. As you near it, you will spot a giant statue of the hoca in the forecourt of the nearest petrol station. Another stands sentinel at the junction with the road to the village.

As you turn off the highway, you’ll find yourself in a very pretty piece of rural Turkey where poplars and willows hedge the fields and the rest of the world suddenly seems to drop away. Then you turn a corner and land in a sort of Never Never Land where Peter Pan has given way to the hoca. Every wall, every street corner, every house, it seems, is festooned with tidbits of Nasrettin Hoca wisdom, interspersed here and there with snatches of poetry from Yunus Emre and pithy sayings of Atatürk. They are not the only peculiarity of this particular village. Not so long ago, the mayor decided that it would be a good idea to repaint all the houses with thick bands of contrasting color so that for one wild moment you think you’ve fetched up somewhere where all the inhabitants are ardent fans of obscure football teams. It may sound outlandish, but in fact it works rather well, giving the village a quirky, colorful originality.

Nasrettin Hoca is too small to boast many specific sites. There’s a large main square whose centerpiece is the predictable teahouse where elderly men idle the day away. Inevitably there’s a third statue of the hoca and his donkey. Then the narrow streets wind downhill toward what advertises itself as his birthplace but is in fact a faux-Ottoman house, half-complete and in the process of being turned into a restaurant according to the entourage of small boys who will dog your every footstep.

Given the fame of Nasrettin Hoca, it’s surprising that so little that is certain is actually known about him. Even the first known manuscript of his stories dates back only to 1571, and it’s obvious that many stories that carry his name long post-date his lifetime. But, like Aesop’s fables, their staying power has to do with the clever way in which they combine a pretty story that would appeal to a child with more complex layers of meaning capable of intriguing an adult. Perhaps the most famous of them tells of a cooking pot, lent by a neighbor to the hoca. When the time came to return it, the hoca popped a smaller pot inside as a thank you. As the neighbor exclaimed with delight, he was told that his cauldron had given birth. Later, the hoca wanted to borrow the pot again, but this time he failed to return it. Eventually the neighbor called to ask for it back. “I’m afraid your pot has died,” the hoca replied, going on to add when the neighbor challenged him: “You believed it when I said that your pot had given birth, so why don’t you believe me now when I say that it has died?”

So famous is this story that the cauldron has become a virtual icon of Nasrettin Hoca. But after studying in Sivrihisar, he is believed to have become the imam of Hortu, so another popular story unsurprisingly relates how on his first day in office he stood up in front of the congregation with no sermon prepared and asked if they knew what he was going to talk about. When they said no, he announced that in that case he had nothing to tell them. The next day when he asked the same question the villagers wisely replied that they did know. In which case there was no point in his talking to them, he said. On the third day, half the congregation cunningly said they did know what he would say while the other denied it. “Then let those who already know tell those who don’t,” said the hoca.

There’s not much to do in Nasrettin Hoca apart from admire the assorted images of its famous son and ponder what his witty stories tell us not just about life in medieval Anatolia but also about human nature (for more examples, go to www.readliterature.com/Hocastories.htm). You may wonder why they are interspersed with lines from Yunus Emre, the great mystical poet and a near contemporary of the hoca who is believed to have lived from around 1240 to around 1321. Rarely can two men have appeared to have less in common than these two, but in fact Yunus Emre’s poems are also well known for the way in which they can be read on several different levels. Perhaps more importantly for the passing traveler the village of Yunus Emre lies not far away from that of Nasrettin Hoca and is one of seven different places competing for the accolade of hosting his last resting place.

The road to Yunus Emre branches off from the Eskişehir to Ankara road on the northern side just before the turnoff to Nasrettin Hoca. It winds past several of the marble quarries that provide much of the employment hereabouts before climbing into pretty hill country around the village of Yayla and then zigzagging down to a small complex incorporating an uninspiring mosque, a small museum and a cultural center. The one thing of real beauty here is the lovely marble cenotaph built in the poet’s honor which looks across to the supposed site of his interment adorned only with his name, his dates and the words “Sevelim Sevilelim” (Let’s love and be loved), the title of perhaps the most beautiful and famous of his poems.

WHERE TO STAY

The best of the accommodation along this road is in either Eskişehir or Ankara although you could spend the night at the Şoförler Federasyonu (Tel.: 0 [222] 711 48 93) beside the road at Sivrihisar on the Ankara side.

HOW TO GET THERE

Buses from Eskişehir to Ankara pass the junctions for Nasrettin Hoca and Yunus Emre. Without your own transport you are best advised to get out at the petrol station marked by the statue of the hoca and ask someone to call a taxi for you.