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In the little wooden hut perched high on metal-wrapped stilts, the drone is high, loud and insistent.
With his beekeeping suit on, but hands uncovered, Hasan Kutluata squeezes the bellows on his pine-filled bee smoker. Pale wreaths swirl in the air, mirroring the mist that drifts over the slopes of the densely forested Kaçkar mountains outside.
The smoke is to calm the bees, masking the pheromone they release when they sense danger and which warns other bees to attack.
When Kutluata lifts the lid off the round lindenwood hives, the hum rises to a crescendo — but these bees aren’t angry, it’s just their honey that’s mad.
We’re here to harvest deli bal — bal means “honey” and deli means “crazy” or “mad” — and Turkey’s Black Sea region is one of only two places in the world to produce it, the other being Nepal’s Hindu Kush Himalayan mountain range.
“In our untouched forests, the purple rhododendron blooms in spring,” Kutluata tells CNN. The bees collect nectar from those flowers, and that’s how we get the mad honey.”
The nectar contains a naturally occurring toxin called grayanotoxin. The amount that makes it into the honey varies per season and what other flowers the bees have been feasting on, but a spoonful can pack enough buzz to deliver a gently soporific high — while a jar would land you in a hospital.
For millennia, deli bal has been used as folk medicine, a spoonful taken daily to lower blood pressure or used as a sexual stimulant. Today, this potentially dangerous delicacy sells at a premium price.
The honey that defeated an army
Kutluata uses a knife to carefully extract comb from the hive, the sticky elixir dripping thick and sweet as he gathers it in a bucket.
Deli bal is a dark amber red and its scent is sharp. There are telltale sensations that announce the presence of grayanotoxin: A herbal bitterness underlies the sweetness of the honey and a burning heat catches the back of the throat.
Today’s honey has all the signs. “We shouldn’t eat too much. If we eat more, it might affect us,” says Kutluata. “There’s no hallucination involved. It just causes dizziness, low blood pressure, a slight fever, nausea, and difficulty walking.”
No more than a teaspoon or tablespoon is recommended. “We have to be careful while consuming this honey,” says Kutluata. “Too much of anything is harmful. And too much honey is harmful as well.”
This is a food that has felled armies. In the 4th century BCE, the Greek military leader Xenophon wrote of soldiers traveling near Trabzon on the Black Sea coast who overindulged on the sweet treat: “Not one of them could stand up, but those who had eaten a little were like people exceedingly drunk, while those who had eaten a great deal seemed like crazy, or even, in some cases, dying men. So they lay there in great numbers as though the army had suffered a defeat, and great despondency prevailed.”
Exit, pursued by a bear
“That’s enough for today; the bees are starting to attack,” says Kutluata, “Let’s slowly head down now.”
Once we’re back on solid ground, the ladder goes back up to the hut so no more climbing can be done. The enemy this mini-fortress is warded against isn’t Greek armies, but honey-crazed bears.
The metal around the poles is to prevent bears digging their claws in, and the platform’s height, some 10 feet off the ground, is to stop momma bear throwing her cub up to get the honey she can’t reach.
Kutluata is viscerally aware of the dangers. Some 20 years after an attack, he still has scars on his hand and leg from when he fought off a bear which had raided his hives and got into a deli bal stupor.
The apparently sleeping bear had roused when Kutluata and his friends approached and the ensuing chase and struggle landed Kutluata in intensive care for more than a week.
“Whether we’re afraid of bears or not, we have to do this work,” he says. “We will continue beekeeping. We encounter bears almost every day. Whenever we go up the mountain, we come across a bear.”
When dangerous doses of dali bal aren’t involved, however, “the bear doesn’t attack us. The bear runs away from us, and we run away from the bear.”
Village of the bees
We hop in the truck and rattle down the winding mountain tracks to Kutluata’s family home near the village of Yaylacılar, not far from Arili Köyü — the aptly named “village of the bees.”
His parents, wife and son join us for lunch; they’re a beekeeping family of three generations. The table is set under the eaves of the traditionally styled house, with its uninhabited lower floor stacked with box beehives.
“Our village is very cool. Summers are very cool here. There are no mosquitoes. It’s not like the city, where it’s too hot to stay,” says Kutluata. “Here, it’s a natural life. We have a river; we can go swimming. There’s no noise here.”
The purity of the environment contributes to the quality of the honey, says his wife Emine. “What makes us different is the nature, the altitude, and the absence of settlements. That plays a huge role in the production process.”
Deli bal is just one of the honeys the family cultivates. After the purple rhododendron, the white chestnut flower blooms. After that, the white rhododendron is in flower.
In summer, if the weather isn’t rainy, Kutluata’s bees can fill up a hive in about 20 days.
“The longer the honey stays in the hive, the higher its quality becomes. The quality is determined by the promille value,” he explains. Promille refers to the concentration of the honey. “The higher the promille value, the higher the quality.”
“Chestnut honey can be found everywhere, but it really makes a difference,” adds Emine. “In terms of the promille value, it can be 600, 700, 800, but elsewhere, it might be 500 in terms of quality.”
Breakfast of champions
Honey is a breakfast staple in Turkish homes and the Kutluatas show us how they mix it with butter and spread it on bread, for a hearty and high-energy start to the day.
The food’s properties as a natural antibiotic have long been documented; it’s one of the world’s oldest medicines.
To Emine, honey “represents health. If my throat is sore, I turn to honey. If I’m coughing, I turn to honey. If I’m feeling weak, I turn to honey again.”
And to Kutluata, the bees themselves are restorative for mental health. “When I’m feeling down, I go to the bees. When I’m stressed or feeling troubled from work or the outside world, I go to the bees,” he says. “I open the hive, take care of them, and I feel peaceful and happy. And all my stress and troubles disappear.”
Deli bal can be sold legally in Turkey and is legal in many countries. However, the US Food and Drug Administration does not recommend its consumption.
“Consumers should check labeling of honey to ensure it is not labeled as ‘mad honey’ or marketed for intoxicating qualities,” an FDA spokesperson told CNN.
“Eating honey with a high amount of this toxin can lead to ‘mad honey’ poisoning, with symptoms such as nausea, vomiting, or dizziness. This type of poisoning is rare.”
CNN’s Christina Macfarlane, Stefanie Blendis, Işıl Sarıyüce and Paul Devitt contributed to this story.
