Every July, scores of wrestlers flock to the Kirkpinar tournament in the northwest of the country, a national and international attraction that gained UNESCO cultural recognition in 2010.
For the winners of this brutal contest, Turkish sporting immortality beckons.
For the losers, anguish and another year of training until they get their next shot.
"This is our Olympic Games," said Murat Kalender, one of the dozens of contestants this year.
With arms and abs as if hewn from stone, the 27-year-old warmed up in the shade of his van as he readied to take the field for the sixth year running.
"Our ancestors fought here," he told AFP, "and carrying on their legacy doesn't come without sacrifice."
Turkish oil wrestling is gruelling, and has grief woven into its illustrious history.
Legend has it that Edirne, capital of the Ottoman Empire until the fall of Constantinople, has hosted the Kirkpinar tournament each year since 1357.
The story goes that two soldiers who were brothers wrestled each other to the death -- thus the festival was born.
Today, the fights may not be to the death, but the equipment worn by a "Pehlivan" -- meaning brave warrior in Persian -- has not changed much.
Despite the prohibitive expense, olive oil is the only lubricant allowed, and the slickness makes balance as important as brute force in the fight.
The only item of clothing the wrestlers wear is leather trousers made of buffalo hide, studded and already slicked up to the britches, and weighing a whopping 10 kilogrammes (22 pounds).
With no fly to help the competitors slip into their trousers, visitors to Kirkpinar can be treated to the sight of the wrestlers contorting themselves to put on their gear -- naked.
"A belt would give the opponent something to grab hold of," said Melih Ozturk, a baby-faced 18-year-old, as he strapped the pants with cords just below the knees ahead of his bout.
No grip
In the blazing heat of the Turkish summer, the fighters lined up to face their sparring partners, the sun reflecting off the sheen of oil on their foreheads.
The aim is to overwhelm an opponent by using his strength and weight against him, to force him to the ground and pin him on his back.
Key to any successful bout is giving your rival as little purchase as possible.
The fighters slapped and pushed and pulled as they tried to gain a grip on their opponent's neck, shoulders or legs before delivering the coup de grace.
Each pair fought under the watchful eye of a referee clad in blue and gold, white towels at the ready to hand to the wrestlers should they request it.
Should they feel their bodies are not slippery enough, each competitor can also ask for extra oil.
By the end of a bout, the wrestlers' skins had turned red from the constant grappling, their eyes heavy-lidded with grease.
At the highest level, a match can last close to an hour.
"A great fight is when two opponents give it their all," said Hakan Orhan, one of the tournament's 120 referees.
A former wrestler himself, Orhan turned to umpiring "so as not to cut ties with the sport" in which he now trains his son.
"I intervene in case of an improper position, or when the wrestlers become uncontrollable and violent because they're stuck," Orhan said.
But these are rare cases as mutual respect is paramount.
The winner takes pains to congratulate his opponent, kissing the hand of older competitors out of deference.
Golden belt
At the top of the 14 classes of Pehlivan wrestlers are the Baspehlivans, who make a living from their craft and who train all year round.
"Everyone wants to be a champion here," said Hamza Ozkaradeniz, a 32-year-old Baspehlivan who has been wrestling for 20 years, but never before at Kirkpinar.
"But we're all dreaming of the golden belt," the tournament's top prize, which comes with a bonus of 550,000 Turkish lira ($17,000) -- more than 30 times the minimum wage.
This year's winner was Yusuf Can Zeybek for the second year running, who claimed the famous prize in 52 minutes.
Another win next year and eternal glory will be his: whoever triumphs at Kirkpinar three times in a row earns the right to keep the gold belt for life, a feat last achieved in 1997.
Not every wrestler is so lucky.
The losers often end up collapsed onto the grass, inconsolable and incandescent with rage, or else in hospital to treat their wounds.
Yet despite the pain, the wrestlers cannot tear themselves away.
"I've had shoulder surgery," said Ozkaradeniz, and last year he suffered a ruptured Achilles tendon.
His litany of injuries also includes "fractures on my ribs, torn knee ligaments... three operations on my wrists".
"But we love this nonetheless."
