Finlay McQuade

Once a year, camel wrestling comes to Selcuk. For up to a week in advance of the main event, one hears the dull sounds of a cowbell, “clink, clink, clunk; clink, clink, clunk,” and looks around, because “clink, clink, clunk” is a sure sign that a c amel is coming down the street. Maybe two or three are parading into town, led by their proud owner. Every day, more camels come to the town square. They are dressed in their gaudiest attire, hand-woven drapery decorated with mirrors, sequins, and buttons of colored glass, lavishly set off with colored scarves and ribbons that dangle to their feet. And what is that? A knitted nosebag intended to catch the foam coming out of each camel’s mouth--but not entirely succeeding. T here could not be more noticeable advertising for the camel wrestling to come. Lynne, my wife, took some photos and recorded some of her observations .  Camels Ready to Enter the Arena On the big day, we arrive at the site by scooter to find it filled with people and the

  A Roman Aqueduct in Selcuk      I live in Brunswick, Maine, a very pleasant college town with a main street of restaurants, gift shops, and food shops in 19th  century buildings. In mid-winter, the streets might be deserted, but in summer they are populated by hundreds of “summer people” strolling up and down, window-shopping, or enjoying a meal in the pleasant sidewalk sunshine. I have lived here for over 20 years, but on any day of the year I could walk the length and breadth of the town without ever meeting and greeting someone I know.       Not possible in Sel ç uk, a town in Turkey about the same size as Brunswick. My wife and I lived there for eight years. From the moment we stepped out of our garden gate, in winter or in summer, we’d meet and say hello to neighbors, shopkeepers, restauranteurs, and any number of local people enjoying a meal, or drinking tea, or playing backgammon out-of-doors. Shopkeepers and waiters, when they were not busy serving customers, would stand i