Today, as you walk along the beaches of Badavut—famous for Ayvalık's turquoise waters—or pause among ancient ruins, could you imagine that a centuries-old secret is hidden beneath the sand under your feet and the surrounding structures? That geography was once a giant industrial base that shouldered the empire's appetite for construction, where smoke never ceased to billow from chimney stacks. And this entire story was hidden in those sealed bricks where earth met fire.
For centuries, the geographical texture of Ayvalık and its surroundings has offered more than just a pastoral landscape; it has been the stage of a deep-rooted industrial transformation fueled by the geological memory of the subterranean earth. Ignimbrite deposits known as "Ayvalık stone," the characteristic building block of the region, were not merely quarries from which blocks to adorn architectural facades were cut; they also created a flawless raw material pool for the ceramic and brick industry. The waste material processed in the stone quarries was cleverly converted into brick mortar.
While industrial and commercial structures rapidly rose in Ayvalık and its immediate vicinity during the late Ottoman period, the manufacturing sector also transitioned to mass production under factory conditions. Indeed, as reported in the 104th issue of Servet-i Fünun magazine dating back to 1894, the active operation of around 14 tile and brick kilns and 7 pottery and cup kilns proves that there was a colossal industrial clustering here relative to the conditions of that era.
The heart of this industrial mobility beat in the Sarımsaklı Badavut locality of the settlement of Yeniçarohorion, the former name of today's Küçükköy. In this geography where the chimneys of dozens of kilns smoked, fierce and ruthless commercial competition prevailed among producers who wanted to capture market share, stand out in the construction materials market, and register their quality. Every manufacturing workshop had to stand behind the goods it produced and distinguish them from imitations in the market, because for the kiln fire to go out meant losing a market.
The Production of Theoharis Kontos
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| Ayvalık Badavut brick, Akın, B. (2014:180) |
Amidst this ruthless competition, one of the craftsmen trying to keep his kiln afloat among the clay deposits of Badavut was Theoharis Kontos. He was a self-taught artisan, he blended what he knew with traditional methods learned from his father and master, combined with the experience of years. We can imagine the tense commercial atmosphere of that period, a day spent in his workshop, and the story of the stamps he pressed onto his bricks from his own perspective as follows:
"As the morning frost filtered down from the hills of Badavut, the fire of our kiln would already be stoked. Mixing the dust and waste of that famous Ayvalık stone, which we extracted from the stone quarries next door, with local clays to give the dough the right consistency required a truly trained hand; a master in his kiln knew why he did what he did by touching the earth. Making our name known in the market in those years was by no means easy; because new kilns were opening one after another from all four corners of the bay, and everyone was racing with each other to produce the strongest, most standardized brick. Achieving that flawless modular standard with the dimensions of 21x10x4 cm (also available 23x11x5,5 cm and 23x10x5 cm) for our bricks used in buildings and chimney installations was a masterwork born from the hands of our craftsmen.
In a market where competition was so sharp, we had to stamp the quality and provenance of the goods we produced. A brick is not merely baked earth; from the moment it leaves the kiln, it gains an identity with that Θ.Κ. stamp engraved upon it, becoming our commercial honor: Theoharis Kontos. While those sturdy bricks of ours—referred to as Badavut production—were being laid into the walls of buildings, we were actually carrying the destiny of this geography and our labor into the future."
From the perspective of alternative history readings, these local industrial networks of the late 19th century constitute a microcosm of the empire's economic transformation. These small-scale factories established by artisan-entrepreneurs like Theoharis Kontos left their mark on the architectural fabric of the period. However, with the Population Exchange of 1923, the demographic structure in the region changed radically, these kilns sank into silence, and the factory buildings physically disappeared over time, succumbing to natural conditions.
The factories were demolished, the kilns went out, people were displaced. Yet, the public memory was not erased. The local people continued to refer to this coastline by the names of the producers who brought it into existence. Evolving in language over time and passed down from tongue to tongue, this heritage has transformed into the "Badavut" brand, to which millions of domestic and foreign tourists flock today.
Those sealed bricks (Γιενιτσαροχωριον) unearthed from under the ground or from the corner of an old wall continue to carry the vibrant commercial competition of the past, the kilns smelling of Ayvalık stone, and the memory of a people into the present in a silent yet proud manner. Those pieces of clay emerging from the hands of Badavuti Ruso or Theoharis Kontos are like forgotten manifestos whispered by a geographically evolved name to its true owners.
Reference
Akın, B. (2014), Osmanlı'nın Son Dönemlerinde Ayvalık ve Yakın Çevresinde Endüstri ve Ticaret Yapıları, Çanakkale Onsekiz Mart University Social Science Institute, unpublished PhD tesis
