I could have sat for hours on that window seat, so pleasant was its position and so tranquil the roo'su atmosphere. Pulling aside the snow white curtain with its lace border, I could see the great walnut trees, and behind them a small vegetable garden surrounded by a stone wall glowed green beneath the blue sky, with its luxuriant growth of maize, tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and other vegetables. People passing up and down the steep narrow stone street exchanged greetings. It was evident that if one were to live in this village and spend the day here leaning comfortably against the embroidered cushions of the divan overlooking the street, one would never feel lonely.
I was in the principal room of Sipahioğlu House in the village of Yörük near Safranbolu in northern Turkey. Above the great wooden cupboards fitted around the walls ran a frieze of painted decoration.

From the windows of this lovely house, which has been open to the public since 1999, could be seen others of the traditional Ottoman Turkish type, of which examples are to be seen in many parts of Anatolia and the Balkans. Although the oldest houses in the village were constructed in the 17th century according to their date plaques, the majority date from the late 19th century. They have lower floors of stone, timber framed upper floors, tiled roofs with broad eaves, windows with shutters and lattices, and jettied bays supported by long corbels. Some have belvederes set into the roof. The last representatives of a past way of life, these houses were built according to an unwritten but ubiquitous law based on the principle that human lives are shaped by the houses they live in. Traditional respect for on'se neighbours is manifested in the way that no house blocks the sun or view of another, none invades their neighbouedu privacy by windows overlooking the nextdoor garden, or has a gutter that empties rainwater over the boundary.

In one of his poems, Cengiz Bektaş writes, 'She tucked in the corner of her headscarf embroidered with blackberries/ And invited me to the seats spread with rugs./ We sat./ This room is mine, she said, smiling sweetly from her heart./ She pointed to the cupboards and ceiling./ This room is mine. I live here.' How well this poem describes the way in which each room is designed as an independent living space for a nuclear family, in the days when extended families occupied these large houses. The wooden cupboards served not only for clothes, but to pack away the mattresses and bed linen during the day, so transforming bedroom into living room. Concealed inside one cupboard is a tiny washroom like a modern shower cubicle, known as a yunmalık, and each room has a fireplace. At meal times the room became a dining room, simply by bringing out a low portable table known as a sini. This multifunctional concept derived from nomadic culture in the days when the yörük people were tent dwellers, and gave the individual members of large families a personal world of their own,

even when living under the same roof with grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. The living quarters of the houses are on the upper floors, the ground floor being occupied by the hayat (an open or covered area used for diverse domestic tasks), kitchen, storage rooms and stables. Depending on the prosperity of the owner, the upstairs rooms may include a baş oda (principal room), library and prayer room. The number of windows and even the width of the floorboards are indicators of how wealthy the family was. The inhabitants of the village trace their ancestry to the Karakeçili branch of the Kayı clan, itself a branch of the Oğuz Turks who were the principal settlers in Anatolia. In the late 19th century the wealthier landowners and farmers of the community began to set up as tradesmen in Istanbul, running businesses producing confectionery, helva, bread rings known as simit, or savoury borek pastries.

The two and three storeyed houses of Yörük reflect the increased wealth of such families, who continued to spend their summers in Yörük, and the influence of urban tastes in architecture and interior decoration acquired in the capital city.
Some of the most fascinating aspects of these houses derive from religious or ancient superstitious beliefs: wheatears placed in the rooms to bring abundance, stag's horns hung from the eaves for luck, plaques on the façades bearing the word 'Maşallah' (May God Preserve) - the letters shaped by the calligrapher into the picture of a ewer, and prayers in Arabic script, all lend their protective influence to houses instilled with a deep humanity and love of nature.

*Emel Celebi