<blockquote fr-original-style="color: rgb(9, 9, 9); border-color: rgb(255, 206, 20); border-width: 4px; font-style: italic; padding-left: 10px;" style="color: rgb(9, 9, 9); border-color: rgb(255, 206, 20); border-width: 4px; font-style: italic; padding-left: 10px; margin: 0px 0px 1em; border-left-style: solid; box-sizing: border-box;">Trucks carry melons andI would always think herI was free like a little house sparrowwhile we were at home in Niksar</blockquote>Cahit KülebiI'm riding in the rattling van and have no idea where I'm going. More like I have no idea what I'm going to do. From the moment the idea of going to Tokat enters my life, Cahit Külebi's quatrain that I heard in a Yaşar Kurt song is spinning in my head.I arrive in Tokat around noon, and the first thing I do is dive into the old streets. I'm looking for the Roman Sık Dişini Helası, which I had seen on the map and said, "I must see this place."&nbsp;Meanwhile, I come across the last crumbs of history left in the center of Tokat. I encounter a city that has taken its share of the de-identification of Anatolian cities in recent years. A standardization that attributes thousands of years of history only to the castle and the few artifacts left in the town and erects the same buildings everywhere is there wherever I go. I find the latrine. It is under renovation. I rejoice that at least it hasn't been demolished.The weather is hot. I walk through the narrow streets, watching the shadows. In the old neighborhood that has survived the urban transformation, the smell of peppers hanging on the window bars spreads through the avenue. A gentle breeze blows the skirts of the tulle at the doorway.<img src="https://images.aposto.com/2022/6/1/1658146867954.jpeg" style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px; border-style: none; position: relative; cursor: pointer; padding: 0px 1px; box-sizing: border-box;" width="550" ratio="1.14" fr-original-style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px;" fr-original-class="fr-draggable">🌶 Peppers hung on window bars<hr fr-original-style="" style="height: 0px; overflow: visible; border-bottom: none; clear: both; user-select: none; break-after: page; box-sizing: border-box;">I start walking towards the castle. There is an unbearable pleasure in seeing a city from the top. Rather than making you feel like a victorious commander, you understand how the city has developed and how it relates to the surrounding geography. Of course, there is also the feeling of spaciousness that comes with being up high - a feeling that slightly overwhelms the feeling you get when you arrive in a city you don't know, where there is no one you know.After getting a rough idea of the city center, I head towards Ballıca Cave, which is at the top of the list of things to see while in Tokat. In the taxi I take, we leave the city with conversations about Tokat's problems, rural-urban migration, and what were once mulberry fields.The cave is big and more magnificent than I expected. One of the most exciting parts of traveling in Anatolia is that there is always something to discover. It is still possible to come across a little-known castle, an unrecognized valley, an unknown monastery or village.I spend 1.5 hours in Ballıca, home to 2 million pygmy bats. To be honest, the fact that I went to Tokat in the middle of the summer has a big impact here. One cools off a bit about a hundred meters underground. When the taxi driver waiting outside finishes his tea, we set off to return to the city.The sun is about to set - I look at the valley fed by the fertile waters of Yeşilırmak from the hill. With the sun turning golden, it looks magnificent. I stop the taxi and look at the orchards and vineyards that stretch to the horizon on an exciting green scale. "It's beautiful here," the taxi driver says proudly, lighting a cigarette. I sincerely thank the old people who didn't let the railroad pass through Tokat because it would spoil their gardens.<img src="https://images.aposto.com/2022/6/1/1658146983617.jpeg" style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px; border-style: none; position: relative; cursor: pointer; padding: 0px 1px; box-sizing: border-box;" width="550" ratio="1.51" fr-original-style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px;" fr-original-class="fr-draggable">&nbsp;A view that makes you say, "It's beautiful here"<hr fr-original-style="" style="height: 0px; overflow: visible; border-bottom: none; clear: both; user-select: none; break-after: page; box-sizing: border-box;">The next day I receive a message on Twitter from someone I don't know. Normally, I see those messages late and miss the opportunity to meet people. But the message from a young academic living in Tokat catches my attention. I make plans to meet him. I don't have a great plan other than walking down Cumhuriyet Street.As soon as I meet Çağatay Hoca, the conversation gets deepened. Here is a social scientist who answers my questions to the fullest. We talk about the movie Vavien, Tokat's past, and urban culture. During the conversation, we decide to go to Lake Almus, get in the car, and drive on winding roads to the small town. We visit a few shopkeepers and join the conversations. Thanks to Çağatay, my Tokat adventure deepens. I am happy to see that the rapid transformation of the city's texture is not reflected in the people that much.We sit in a shabby restaurant on the banks of Almus. The wind is blowing, I order an ice-cold beer, and fish caught in the lake. Like all pleasant summer afternoons spent by the water, there is an air that makes you feel like you will never die. As Külebi says, I feel like a&nbsp;"small and free sparrow."<img src="https://images.aposto.com/2022/6/1/1658147034140.jpeg" style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px; border-style: none; position: relative; cursor: pointer; padding: 0px 1px; box-sizing: border-box;" width="550" ratio="0.80" fr-original-style="display: block; vertical-align: top; margin: 5px auto; text-align: center; width: 100%; max-width: 550px;" fr-original-class="fr-draggable">🌳 Colours of Tokat<hr fr-original-style="" style="height: 0px; overflow: visible; border-bottom: none; clear: both; user-select: none; break-after: page; box-sizing: border-box;">The conversation comes back to the same thing: untapped potentials and untapped opportunities. The classic scenario in every Anatolian city applies here too: a city whose momentum is reversed by one or two wrong decisions. Erosion is not only in the soil. When it happens in societies, all that is left is an unhappy, tasteless, monochromatic surface. It is perhaps the biggest problem of Tokat, which is losing its multiculturalism gradually.The line from Vavien, which had been shot in Erbaa, Tokat, comes to mind:<blockquote fr-original-style="color: rgb(9, 9, 9); border-color: rgb(255, 206, 20); border-width: 4px; font-style: italic; padding-left: 10px;" style="color: rgb(9, 9, 9); border-color: rgb(255, 206, 20); border-width: 4px; font-style: italic; padding-left: 10px; margin: 0px 0px 1em; border-left-style: solid; box-sizing: border-box;">You keep it inside, and it's not a good thing. Don't keep it to yourself. It is the main cause of all the major diseases in the world, keeping it to yourself. If you want to talk, talk. If you want to cry, say, "let me go out, let me walk around," whatever. Do what you want to do, but don't keep it inside!</blockquote>We are like this as a country because we keep it to ourselves, I think. We would feel relieved if we could talk, but it's like some people poured concrete over our chins. We are waiting for someone to come and break it. Until that happens, we miss all the seasons. If we talk, share, begin asking questions, and spill our guts, we will be relieved. Stuckness is slowly killing not only us but also cities like cancer.

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