Murat Yazar grazes Anatolia.
He is like a hobo out of Steinbeck: resourceful and discreet. You never know what will spill from his rucksack after walking a long day. Plump little firebombs of peppers gathered in a farmer’s field. Bunches of sticky green grapes, pale with must, plucked from a vineyard. Fresh young zucchinis that snap when bent. Ripe tomatoes. Figs. Rarely have I caught my lanky guide in the act of liberating any of this tasty loot.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, startled. (After all, we have been walking together all day.)
Murat smiles his catlike smile. “Our culture,” he says, “permits travelers like us to take whatever ...