There are four words that sum up why I love Turks.

“Are you happy here?”

At Lisinia, this was always the first question I got asked. Not “do you like it here” or “are you okay?”

The truth is, my seventeen days without sight of a traffic light or even a convenience store, at my sixth and favorite Workaway project, were the best of my travels in Turkey.

 

 

Lisinia Nature Farm: Turkey’s largest lavender production and wildlife rehabilitation center.

 

 

Back up four years, to when I opened my Workaway account and thus my doors to the world.

At age 18, I had found a means to travel by myself.

Sessions of scrolling and dreaming about projects in exotic places around the world led to this project somehow infiltrating my radar. Lisinia probably popped up in the margin. I reached out.

They welcomed me. I nearly booked a flight for my two weeks of winter break from university classes.

But I held back, tucking it away in my memory. One day, when I would give Turkey all of my time.

 

 

And I never forgot.

For the next three years, I linked Lisinia’s page to all my travel-inclined friends, probably along with some text like “DOESN’T THIS LOOK LIKE THE DREAM WORKAWAY??”

Because it was.

 

 

I was constantly ambushed by farm cats seeking cuddles or raw chicken. I fed scraps to Miss Piggy.

 

 

Life here was so pure. I reconnected with animals. I breathed. I found stillness.

 

 

 

I ran. I got back in shape.

I opened up endless GoPro clips. I put together four videos.

.

 

I intermittent fasted and gorged on vegetables. I scavenged fruit trees.

I pitchforked lavender and hydrated my body on herbal teas. I caught the sunsets and even a few sunrises.

 

 

Lisinia means the glittering of the surface of water due to sunlight or moonlight. In early autumn, Turkey’s Lake Burdur shimmered with pristine lisinia all day long.

 

Before Lisinia, never had I ever…

• Had a kitten suck my thumb for milk
• Used a cezve pot to make my own cup of kahve
• Thrown chicken cadavers at a female boar
• Had chicken bloody cadavers fly back at me as they bounced off the jaws of jumping wolves
• Plucked a pomegranate from its tree and used my bare hands to crush its juices into my mouth
• Jumped on bales of lavender in an industrial steamer
• Eaten a raw onion dipped in salt
• Shared a toilet seat with a cat
• Made water rounds to nine cages of birds of prey
• Scooped out crates of lavender sludge from the depths of an industrial steamer
• Had homemade, traditional ashure
• Woken up to kitty sneezes
• Used a pitchfork
• Had a hornet sting me mid-swing when trying to hammock off some period cramps
• Put persimmons on my yogurt
• Had cat claws shred my thighs during pigeon pose
• Danced salsa on a farm
• Found a dog licking a dead kitten as a toy on the sofa
• Had two dogs accompany me for four-milers
• Mopped cat diarrhea
• Driven something from the 70’s
• Driven 50 meters in manual

 

 

 

Cats

I wouldn’t believe that they need their own section in this post if I hadn’t seen it.

It was like a sudden explosion of felines every time I was holding something remotely edible. They appeared from nothing.

Time for a little farm history. Before creating Lisinia, Mr. Öztürk was a veterinary surgeon for large animals. He feels the spirituality in all creatures, and doesn’t believe in neutering.

So there’s yogi claw-er kedi, then there’s rosy-nosed kedi. There’s the orange babies with eye infections, the moms, and the huuuuge male.

 

 

Then there’s one-night-stand kedi, who’s hair is always a little stood up and frazzled, and greets me by the window every morning demanding food and looking like he just got up from one hell of a night.

There’s Olive who won’t eat olives, and stoner-lavender kedi. There’s the striped baby that I kept in my bed by the end of my stay.

Murat told me the cats have doubled in number during his five months here. And that he just wants to eat in peace.

I like the ones I know. I’m used to their clinginess onto bone pieces at feeding time, and the smell of raw chicken that lingers on their fur afterwards. I disliked cats and never understood them, until I came here.

I’ve always preferred dogs. It’s worth noting that Lisinia had six huge canines: Lucy, Pan, John, Mischka, Apollo, and Mutlu.

Mutlu means “happy” in Turkish.

 

 

People

I was expecting a socialization and community. When I showed up, I was alone.

There was Murat, the long-term volunteer who would stay for many months. He was the only fluent English-speaker.

There was Mehmet, the kindest man who lived in the nearest village named Karakent, located four kilometers away.

There was Mr. Öztürk, the highly-respected founder and big boss of Lisinia who asked me if I was happy, told me he liked me with a nod of approval, and flew to Taiwan to present Lisinia at an expo. He left Mehmet in charge.

I quickly changed gears and took advantage of me-time.

 

Sleeping

SPACE. I had so much personal space, thanks to low season. My juniper cabin had two beds and ultrafast wifi. The door swung open to an unmatched view of Lake Burdur.

On the mornings where I managed to pull myself out of my warm blankets, I ran up the observation tower to do some yoga.

The showers were solar-heated and extra hot.

 

 

Nourishment

Everyone loves the Mediterranean diet. The volunteers were always provided seasonal vegetables, fresh bread, and even luxuries like olives, cheese, and yogurt. We also got potatoes. Lots of potatoes.

In springtime the orchard is dripping with mulberries and cherries. Blooming lavender fill the fields in the summer. When I arrived, the trees were full of apples, pomegranates, figs, and walnuts. I had unlimited access, which for me is better than open bar.

 

 

Work

Farm

Each day a tractor-full shipment of lavender (and later, juniper) arrived at the warehouse. A giant steamer pot processed the plants into essential oils and waters.

Each batch took 80 minutes, and we steamed from 9 to 7.

My job was to help compress the plants into the steamer pot. Which means I jumped and stomped and ran in circles on lavender as pitchforks of it were thrown at me, all the while trying not to sneeze my brains out.

 

 

Wildlife

I couldn’t watch Murat labor away in the midday heat to feed all the animals with no help. I picked up water duty, and tossing bloody chicken at hungry mouths, every other day.

At the time, the animals were too injured (or in Miss Piggy’s case, domesticated) to be set free. We had a wolf pack, three owls, game birds, storks, a vulture, a falcon, eagles, hawks, and a wild boar.

This is a real farm and there is always work. During lavender harvests volunteers are expected to help for more than the regular hours of Workaway, but if you need a day off, just ask!

 

 

Practical Stuff

I recommend being comfortable with animals. Volunteers don’t interact with any wildlife unless they want to, but the pets will always jump on you for love.

Lisinia farms lavender and other plants that use low water consumption, and implements drip irrigation. As Lake Burdur and other regional lakes shrink, the conservation project aims to educate and demonstrate to the public how to respect the land and its natural resources.

The farm makes a profit from natural products in the shop. Turkish families in their private cars and tourist buses flowed in and out, mainly over weekends.

During high season, Lisinia could easily receive 6,000 visitors in one weekend.

These days the majority of volunteers are Turkish, and helping visitors is important. Since I don’t speak Turkish, my interaction with customers was limited to the occasional escort to the toilets, and serving a cup of tea here and there.

Prices are very generous and volunteers receive a discount. I treated myself to a bar of handmade lavender soap. I got some poppyseed butter and rosewater  as gifts for others.

Lisinia can be contacted through their Workaway page or through a Facebook message. Everyone is welcome.

There is a laundry machine for volunteer use, and a huge stash of work clothes that people have left behind over the years.

 

Getting There & Away

This part is a little tricky. There are two minibuses that leave from Burdur each day, which I never figured out.

To leave, I stood outside the farm and a bit past 8:00am the once-a-day Ilyas Köy dolmusch picked me up and packed me in with villagers, pumpkins, tomatoes, and persimmons. We were in the city center within an hour.

 

 

Diary

Day 227

20 September 2018

From tourist-beach-town Kusadasi, I caught the dolmusch  to Aydin, where I knew buses would leave for Burdur.

But they went less frequently than I expected. I got into Burdur well past sundown—the one thing I try to avoid as a female traveler.

By my parked bus was a small police house. I went up to it, was talking to a woman who spoke no English, until she brought out two policemen who also spoke no English.

They looked me up and down, understood what I wanted from my phone’s google translate, and said something along the lines of “get in the car, we’re going to the center.”

At least that’s what I deducted, because I got in the car and we went to the center, picking up one more popo on the way.

They started asking me questions I couldn’t understand, waving my phone at me with pictures of my guy friends on the screen when I had given it to them with Google Translate on the screen.

I managed to communicate that I wanted a “hotel economic.”

When we pulled up to a three-star place, my heart wanted to sink, but I remained optimistic.

I hobbled in after the three men with my backpack, as they barged into reception.

After some exchanges, the offer for my private room with breakfast made my jaw drop. $15.

I was escorted to the top floor of Atam Otel. I was shown to a huge room with bathroom and the luxurious AC. It took a while for the adrenaline to calm so that I could drift off in between the soft sheets.

 

Day 228

21 September 2018

On a fresh start, I began hunting the dolmusch stop an hour before it was set to leave.

At the pick-up site listed on the Lisinia website, a man told me I should go elsewhere and promptly put me in the car of his friend.

I was let off on a street where I couldn’t understand much of the Turkish being thrown at me. My doubts got the best of me after 15 minutes. I began speed-walking to what I thought was the supermarket where I was told I could also get on the same dolmusch, racing the clock with all my kilos weighing down my shoulders.

Clearly wrong about the supermarket, as I watched the time come and pass and I remained in the city, I decided to return to my hotel and accept defeat.

On the way, I found a kebab house filled with locals and ordered my first Burdur shish.

The hotel staff stared at me as I came back. I checked in at the same price, put down my stuff, and went next door to get ice cream and ceviz ezmezi– the local confectionery. A sugary block of walnut paste that tastes like a walnutty block of sugar paste.

Feeling a bit better and fatter, I Googled Lisinia’s phone number and had the receptionist call it. The person who answered spoke no English, so I had to juggle Google Translate on my cell with the receptionist, while he had to also juggle the landline.

Finally, it was resolved that I could be picked up shortly by Mehmet, who happened to be running errands in town.

 

 

Day 229

22 September 2018

Lisinia is nothing short of precious.

I was given my choice of cabin: stone or wood.

I badly underestimated the temperature drop. Boiling by day, teeth chattering by night.

And, I am lucky.

I am lucky to have the dry season.

I am lucky to have the last figs of the season ripening on the trees.

I am lucky Mehmet was in the center yesterday afternoon and that he could take me here.

I am lucky the staff had a rare lunch of fresh and local foods today.

I am lucky that I get to be exactly where I want to be.

I am lucky that I believe in myself.

 

Day 230

23 September 2018

Correction. Life here is pure, plus cigarettes.

You always gotta have something.

It had been a long time since i had the space to feel connected to my body. Linking my body and mind and breath.

I sat with a cup of Nescafé in the observation deck, wearing my red leggings, experiencing nothing but saudades and

G r a t i t u d e.

 

 

Day 231

24 September 2018

Running towards to rising moon, whose light had begun to set off the evening lisinia across Lake Burdur.

 

Day 232

25 September 2018

I drove stick-shift today. An oldddd Ford tractor. Well, I held my foot on gas in first gear for fifty meters.

I adore Miss Piggy, and the way she perks up. She first checks out her food, giving it all a good sniff, and then goes to work on it.

 

Day 233

26 September 2018

Cats, cats, cats.

Dogs eat walnuts, imagine that.

A membrillo orchard on my running route.

 

Day 234

27 September 2018

The sunset at my stopping point so pink behind the pretty lake.

I decided that olive green is now my favorite color.

The Saudi Arabian consul came with his crew. They purchased $500 of lavender oil.

A woodpecker zipping by me.

 

Day 236

29 September 2018

It’s important to see the land itself and the people themselves for news to stick in my brain.

Mehmet brought us homemade ashure from his village. Today everyone was gathering to share a big, communal meal.

Ashure is the “oldest dessert in the world” because the story goes that Noah made this when he first landed on Mt. Ararat. He wanted to make a dish out of  everything left in his ark. So it’s also called Noah’s pudding.

And what was left in his ark? Figs, apricot, walnuts, chickpeas, white beans, cinnamon, citrus peel, and barley, apparently.

The dessert made in several Anatolian countries but Mt. Ararat is physically located in present-day Turkey. This is the time of year for families to make it.

 

 

 

 

Day 237

30 September 2018

It feels amazing to go on a run with huge dogs behind you, their faces just so happy to be with you and out there, like that.

I reached Karakent despite the hills. I stared at everyone gathered by the mosque in the salonu.

My heart melted for the red and barred rock young chickens sleepily squatted, or standing by the road. The beloved pets of my adolescence. They didn’t flinch when I jogged by.

 

 

Day 238

1 October 2018

Happy October!

I took a day off to hardcore video edit.

Issan arrived from his home in Istanbul; it’s his third time here. He came off the dolmusch just as I got back from my tiny run.

It wasn’t long before he found the fruit trees and was offering me an apple.

I am so much more connected with my mind, body, and nature here. Just as I usually am when I volunteer. To have my own space and kitchen is sacred for a nomad—just like my friend Hanley once said.

The soreness in my muscles has gone away.

I love how many plants I have access to!

 

Day 243

6  October 2018

“Certain types of fig are male and female and so require a special breed of wasp to pollinate the females. The female wasp crawls inside through a hole so narrow that she loses her wings in the process and becomes trapped. If the fig is a male, she lays her eggs inside. These hatch into larvae that burrow out, turn into wasps and fly off, carrying fig pollen with them. If the wasp climbs into a female fig, she pollinates it, but cannot lay her eggs and just dies alone. Luckily for us, the female fig produces an enzyme that digests this wasp completely. The crunchy bits are seeds, not wasp parts.”

—Science Focus, BBC Focus Magazine

 

 

Day 245

8 October 2018

Juniper dust blacked the insides of my nose.

 

Day 246

9  October 2018

I was having yet another public transportation crisis.

Outside the farm entrance with all my bags, just before 8:00am, I waved at a dolmusch that had an ‘Ilyas Köy’ sign. It ignored me as its passengers stared at me.

Trying to make sense of what had just happened, I began to hitchhike everything that came by. I was pretty sure I just watched the one ride back to civilization disappear down the road, and that there wouldn’t be another in the next 24 horus.

But then the actual dolmusch came, whatever the difference was, and I got the last slot to stand in.

How is one able to be sick with love in so many ways at once?

I stood among the villagers and tomatoes and pumpkins, so heart broken but falling so in love at the same time.

I was heartbroken for leaving Lisinia, the sunrises, the reflejos, the so many many furry and fuzzy faces.

If I hadn’t known Fritz and Bob, I would say it felt like home. I was homesick and heartbroken for South America and the guy I left.

The lisinia of Lake Burdur and the shimmery haze cast upon the light green trees softened the intensity of my feelings.

Then I was washed over with guilt as the farmers of Karakent, ready with their beautiful produce to sell at the Tuesday bazaar, were denied a ride into Burdur and I was taking up one of the seats. I realized my crisis was nothing like their’s—one shot a week to try and sell what little they could in the city.

I thought about how international travel is such a rare privilege that if you truly try to feel the immensity of how lucky you are, you can’t even enjoy it. So much of it is made possible by the power of one currency over another, amplified by more developed nations economically raping less developed ones.

Which brought my thoughts again back to Médecins Sans Frontières.

****

Grapes, popcorn, plums, carrots, squashes galore. Pomegranates, persimmons, mandarin oranges.

I couldn’t resist and helped myself to an avocado for my upcoming bus ride. It was more expensive than my tahinli pide, the first bites of which greeted me with warm fluffiness.

I have no chance with numbers in the Turkish language, so I took out my coins and let the bus driver pick out what he needed and place the change in my hand.

I got to the terminal just fine. After going to a bathroom that had the typical, overwhelming waft of cigarettes, I found a dim corner of a closed tea salon and got out my MacBook to write grab these thoughts in the midst of no WiFi.

 

 

For more inspiration on beautiful places to stay a little longer and lend a hand, see my Volunteering archive.