I have also, in my Vancouver-centrism, neglected to give the Turks credit for another area wherein great care is taken to polish appearances. Shoe shining is big business in Turkey. Everywhere we go there are men with elaborate portable kits eager to burnish your Burkenstocks or hover over your Hush Puppies. Did not partake of this particular service ourselves--Vs flip flops are patent-plastic and they probably wouldn't have had that particular shade of flourescent blue anyway, and my Pradas are far too valuable to trust to some street merchant.
A typical Turkish shoe shining establishment
We decided to take an organized tour of Hieropolis and the terraces primarily to avoid the Deinizli pirates. It turned out to be a wise move. The group was small, including a Korean couple who spoke virtually no English and so were an anomaly on our English tour, and three people from South American from whom we learned that Turkey is a favorite destination for Brazilians as evidenced by daily, direct flights from Rio to Istanbul. Our guide, Suleiman the Magnificent (self described), was a gem. This wee 30ish man, a Turk from Montreal with plans to return to Canada, knew everything worth knowing about Hieropolis and the terraces. Among the sights was the necropolis which stretched, literally for miles from the entrance gate to the city. No doubt, the gauntlet of sarcophagi served as ample warning to ne'er-do-wells to keep the peace while in town. We saw a place where, rumour and Suleiman the Magnificent have it, Marcus Aurelius is sarcophagied.
A sarcophagus that may or may not contain the remains of Marcus Aurelius. One--well, me--wonders how much of the Meditations was composed whilst astride one of the latrines described below.
Just inside the city gates is a massive, co-ed latrine where men and women lined up on a marble bench with holes discreetly placed every three feet, to relieve themselves before entering the market. No prudes these ancients.
But the highlight of the day was our first hand, rather 'first foot', experience with the terraces. This part of Suleiman's tour involved having us walk bare foot down the face of the calcified cliffs while he rode down in the bus. This was to be done to protect the delicate surface of the deposits from the ravages of tourist footwear, and to protect him from catching pneumonia from the downpour now upon us.
The smiling couple at the top of the terraces
We are here to testify that this "delicate" surface is not. Despite Suleiman's assurances and the cotton-like appearance of the cliffs the experience was character building. The walkway had obviously not been swept in years, as evidenced by the invisible pebbles which plagued each step. V attempted to escape the torturous path by wading along the thermal stream, but decided that the risk of going ass over tea kettle was less appealing than shredded soles.
V braving the raging, ankle deep waters of the thermal flood
After an hour or more of careful, calculated exclamation-dotted descent, we reached the bottom of the cliffs, and had only a small crevasse to traverse to reach safety. The shorter members of the group edged their way across one small step at a time without incident. Moi decided to take advantage of my long legs and simply step across in one stride which I did sans effort. The effort came when I had to pick myself up off the pebbled ground after the slab 'o marble upon which I set my fore foot became a skateboard. An embarrassing incident, although nothing but my pride was scathed.
Our feet. 'Nuff said
We arrived back in the hotel at the peak of the bus parade, and were dazzled by the efficiency of the staff in unloading and delivering thousands of bags and tourists simultaneously. Suspect that these clever Turks may be much more tidy and competent than they pretend to be.
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