On our way down from the peak of Bozdağ, a 2400-m mountain in southwestern Turkey that we "conquered" on 8 July (that story later), we came upon this guy sitting by himself next to his small motorcycle by the unpaved mountain road. He was clutching a saz, the traditional stringed instrument of the Anatolian bards.
Salih Ceylan, our trusted driver (who is actually a professional geographer), slammed on the brakes and we poured out of our van. After the exchange of greetings, we asked the man for a song. The roadside bard, blind in one eye and who introduced himself as Ahmet, happily complied with our wish.
He also let me take his pictures. But while I was doing so, I missed my chance to note down the words of his song. Such traditional songs are commonly about broken hearts, unfaithful lovers, or lovers who have left and gone to distant places. From what I remember, Ahmet's song wasn't any different.
Ahmet did not expect any payment and we did not offer him any; he played as much for his own entertainment as for ours. After his brief performance, Ahmet gave us an open invitation to visit him in his tent, which he said was down the road. Maybe one day, we will hear him again.