Friday, Oct. 22-- Leaving Turkey day

After 14 days it's time to leave Turkey.  Seems ages ago that we were waking up the Avis agent at 3:30 in the morning in Izmir.  These two weeks have added immeasurably to our trove of treasured moments.

Perhaps it was excitement or perhaps sadness, but neither of us slept well.  Up very early to pack.  Last breakfast on the rooftop, last view of the ships in the holding bay.  Driver arrived at 7:30 and spent an hour and a half threading his way through Istanbul's rush hour to Sabiha Gokcen Airport on the Asian side.  We have found Turks to be remarkably patient whether it's moving goods with donkey and cart or negotiating a deal brewing a cup of chai. 

 Four weeks, seven airports, and 6 beds in and we're still smiling

Check in, boarding and take off in clear skies all went smoothly.  We both had the feeling that this was the beginning of our journey home.  Once in the air, again with Pegasus, only this time in a plane with actual leg room, we were treated to the safety instructions.  I say 'treated' because the announcement was a delightful surprise.  Instead of the usual flight attendant in the aisle with the fixed smile going through the motions mechanically, this was a taped message with children playing the parts of crew and passengers.  It was charming and funny, and one of the most effective presentations I've seen in years, on any subject. We'd recommend you fly Pegasus if the opportunity arises, just to see this. 

Flight path took us over a list of 'a' states--Bulgaria, Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, and Austria before descending into Basel.  Needless to say, the Swiss car rental agent was not asleep.  Snappy Volkswagen Touran was efficiently provided, and we were off on highways where we could read the signs.  Difficult to relate our sense of calm at being in a landscape that felt like home. 

Hotel Staubbach and its setting

Easy three hour drive south through Bern and Intelaken to our the Hotel Staubbach in the tiny town of Lauterbrunnen.  Check-in was typically Swiss.  The clerk, apparently battling the early stages of a cold, had gone home.  However, a list of guests expected to arrive today was on the reception desk along with instruction about keys and breakfast.  Lovely room with large balcony with a view of the towering Staubbach Falls.  If you ever see a photo of this village, it will inevitably show the view from our room.

View of Staubbach Falls from our room

Out into the crisp night air for a short invigorating walk.  Interesting how walking in Turkey was draining while here it seems to revive both energy and spirit.  Wonderful, flavourful dinner of venison--hunting season has started, and a fine bottle of Valais Fendant.  Would have been almost idyllic has it not been for the young American at the next table who insisted on carrying on a shouted monologue which he mistook as a conversation with a reluctant German family on the other side of the room.

What a pleasure it was to open the windows wide to the cold mountain air, and to climb under the puffy quilt onto a cloud-like bed.  Zzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Thursday, Oct. 21-- Boating day

Sleep of the just...just about killed ourselves walking yesterday.  Probably would have slept in, but we had brilliantly booked ourselves on a Bosphorus cruise starting at 9.

There are, invariably, three certainties when we travel:  1. Our flight will leave from the gate which is as far from the security area as is physically possible.  2.  The same holds true for hotel room, they are always at the end of the hall off the opposite end of the hall from where the elevators are.  3. If we are to be picked up from our hotel whether by a guide or an airport shuttle, we will be picked up first, and then taken on a meandering tour of every other facility in the region. 

And so, while our cruise departed at 9, we were rousted from our lobby at 7:30.  Hour and a bit of narrow streets and pick-ups, including a quick stop at a traffic light where the driver simply got off and was replaced by a guy who had been standing on the corner eating a sandwich.

On to the boat and out into the Bosphorus where the wind was building swells of several feet.  Once clear of the breakwater, the upper deck we had chosen to sit on became an amusement park ride.  Being intrepid travelers we forsook the shelter of interior seating and chose to experience the roiling seas by anchoring ourselves and our plastic chairs to the railing of the upper deck.

V braving the buffeting Bosphorus

Turned out to be an excellent decision when one of the guides, a fellow fun-fair aficionado, joined us for the duration.  With him all to ourselves, we were treated to a two hour conversation ranging from the mile-long chain that was used to blockade the strait in the 15th century to the mercenary past of the Kurds, to the perils of the bartending life in Istanbul.

Bob the Magnificent, our Kurdish guide

Landed at the Rumeli fort, an amazing piece of fortification built in 4 months.  After a tour, it was obvious  that  much of this construction miracle is attributable to skimping on stairways which, to my vertigo-ed eye seemed no more than a foot wide, damned steep, and impassible when two people, both clinging to the stone wall for dear life, meet.  I would have done the decent by sliding my bum from step to step, however having one cheek dangling, as it were, would have been small reassurance.

Photo of Bosphorus traffic taken at peril to life and limb from fort parapet

On to the Spice market and more, convoluted urban landscape.  V and I have long been aware of our limitations when it comes experience overload.  In places like the Louvre or British Museum it's two hours tops before our eyes begin to glaze over. It's not that we've exhausted our interest in so short a time, but rather that we need a break to absorb what we've seen.  And so it is with the wonders of Istanbul's bazaars.  After spending several hours in the Grand Bazaar yesterday, the Spice Market proved to be too much, and we found ourselves giving cursory attention to things which otherwise would have been fascinating.  Obviously, we will need another, longer visit to this amazing city.

Skill testing question:  Where was this picture taken?

Accordingly, we decided to spend much of our last afternoon amongst the comfy cushions of  a restaurant tucked into a back street.  Good food, warm breezes, cold Efes, and entertainment provided by waiters soliciting business and dates from passersby. 

 Sometimes life is so good that you just have to pinch yourself.

An evening walk for one last look at the city set the hook for another visit.

Wednesday, Oct. 20-- Istanbul

Started our day with breakfast on the hotel rooftop with the Blue Mosque looming on one side and the Sea of Marmara below us on the other.  We think that English Bay in Vancouver is a busy port, but by comparison it's small budadoes.  Watched hundreds of ships from huge oil tankers to small coastal freighters bob and weave waiting for the tide to change so they could make their dash up the incredibly narrow Bosphorus Strait... all the while taking care to avoid the nets of seiners miraculously fishing amongst the choreographed chaos.

Holding area at the south end of the Bosphorus

Off to find an internet cafe.  Again, the 'stop the first young person and say 'Internet' tactic worked like a dream, although doing it in the courtyard of the Blue Mosque seemed a little surreal.  Great little cafe on the second--first, for those of you following along in Europe--floor; above, as it turned out, a carpet wholesaler.  We were given laptops and chai and seats beside open floor-to-ceiling windows.  Luckily, I was mesmerized by the physical and verbal antics of a small group of men on the sidewalk below us, and this kept me from dwelling on the fact that I was inches from plunging to a certain death.  They were carpet dealers, one buyer and a cluster of sellers. 

Sidewalk carpet trade in Istanbul

The routine was for the sellers to take a carpet from a large pile on the edge of the street. They would then spread it out on the sidewalk and the haggling would begin.  There were several amazing things about this tableau: one was that the carpets were not new.  Each had it's own patchwork of tears and frays, some quite large.  Another was that, all through the negotiations, the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk continued with a parade of people walking across the piece being considered. And a third was the detailed examination of minute sections of the carpet by the buyer despite the glaring flaws mentioned above.  In the end, when the  last purchase has been made, they all had chai and the buyer, in jeans and carrying a backpack, put on his jacket and made to leave.  I decided to take a chance that one of the men spoke English, and called down asking how much the last carpet--a 5 by 8 foot piece with two large tears and missing a section of fringe--had sold for.  Ended up in a conversation with the buyer who turned out to be a carpet dealer from California .  Friendly guy who answered all my questions including the first; he had paid 7500 Turkish lira (about $3500) for it.  He volunteered that it would, after repairs, sell in his Los Angeles shop for around $20,000.  His advice for those of you planning on buying a carpet in Turkey--always buy one that's been used.

It was time to see the interior of the Blue Mosque.  I had worn long pants, for the first time in two weeks, in preparation.  V. had her legs covered and had brought along a scarf, but for those women who hadn't done this, scarves and wrap skirts were provided.  We were handed bags for our shoes, and waded through a small trough of what V's socks later revealed to be bleach and water.

V and I in our mosque attire

Interestingly, this mosque and Westminster Abbey were the only major public buildings on our trip without security screening.  The mosque is magnificent and to try and describe it here would be as futile as trying to describe a sunset.  Suffice to say that the domes are stunning and, not surprisingly the carpet, which covers an area larger than a football field, is cloud-like to walk on.  We spent a long time here.  Well worth the sore necks and bleached socks.

Some of the domes in the Blue Mosque

Despite our appetites for extraordinary beauty being more than sated, we crossed the street and plunged into another magnificent display at the Hagia Sophia, a building which was constructed as a church in the 4th century, became a mosque a thousand years later, and finally turned into a museum by Ataturk in 1935.  As with the Blue Mosque and Ephesus, the Hagia Sophia must be experienced to be appreciated, especially the bit where you get to stick your thumb in a well-worn hole in the stone, and twist your arm while making a wish.

Hagia Sophia, if you look closely you still can't see the thumb hole.

Having bloated ourselves on beauty, it was now time to take on the beast.  The Grand Bazaar can no more be given its due here than could the other historic sites--at this point I understand if you, dear reader, are prompted to ask,  "What the hell am I reading this for?"  Nonetheless, I'll forge ahead and do the best I can.  If your impressions of the Grand Bazaar have been gleaned from travel guides and spy novels, then you might think that it is a flood of humanity where you are swept along by throngs of pickpockets and overwhelmed by an olfactory assault of the septic sort.  Nothing could be further from the reality.  The place is an inviting  warren of small streets and lanes suffused with seductive scents which make it impossible to feel lost even when you obviously are. And the crowds, while substantial, are not overwhelming, and .  It is a place to immerse yourself for several hours or several days and simply enjoy.

My V, dazzling even amidst the Bazaar throngs

There is something to surprise and delight around every corner--a police officer on a Segway, a crowd of men on cell phones clogging a particularly small alley which turns out to be the Istanbul currency exchange,  an intimate, treed plaza full of locals drinking--you guessed it--chai, which a plaque tells us is the courtyard of a 1500 year old inn.  Then there is the delightful scene of a group of children laden with books and backpacks, and one has to wonder what life perspective they gain after having the passageways of the Grand Bazaar be their school commute.

The Istanbul currency exchange

We emerged from the Bazaar to find ourselves in a small square wedged between a mosque and the impressive gates of Istanbul University where we had--all together now, "Chai"--before lurching back to the hotel where we collapsed panting from sensory overload. 

What a day!!

Tuesday, Oct. 19-- Travel day

Woke to the lovely trill of the call to prayer at dawn.  There is something wonderfully soothing about this, especially here where we are treated to a symphony of calls from various villages down in the valley, each starting slightly askew of the others.  Reminds me of the church bells in Verdun when I was a boy.  I am neither Catholic nor Muslim, but find in both of these an inner peace.

 Plunged from this into the hubbub of buffet breakfast in the dining hall.  Quick bite, bags in car, and off for Izmir airport.  Took the back road out of town to foil the scooterized pirates.  Three hours drive was highlighted and otherwise lighted by a series of thunder and lightning storms that pursued us.  Could it be that those dastardly pirates have set the gods upon us??

Found the Avis crew awake and lively.  And here, unlike most of the other rental return sites we've used, the company does not expect you to empty the car of luggage and then drag your bags the several miles to the terminal.  The attendant actually drove us back to the departure doors, and amazingly, sent one of his minions to get us a cart with his own lira.

Flew with Pegasus, an airline named after the mythical, Greek winged horse.  The horse, methinks, provided more legroom.  To say the seat was small would be a disservice to my bruised knees.  However, the skies were blue and the flight smooth, and we enjoyed spectacular views of the Aegean all the way north.

Found a driver with Vs name on his sign outside the arrival gate.  He ushered us and our baggage over to a corner of the terminal and parked us there while he returned to the gate with a new sign.  Felt like we had just been reeled in by a trout fisherman, and, setting in his creel, he headed back to the stream to angle for more dinner.  Our greeter anxiously kept a keen eye on us, perhaps fearing we'd escape.  He finally scurried back and led us away.  We thought we were going to a car, but instead, we were handed off and a different guy in a black suit loaded us into his Mercedes van.  Aaaand we were off!  Our introduction to Istanbul traffic was exciting, full of twists and U-turns and tiny streets, but in jig time we arrived in the vicinity of our hotel.

 Arriving at the Tashkonak

I say "vicinity" because we discovered that the computer printout of our hotel's name taped to a window in a lovely old building did not indicate that this was the hotel, but rather that the hotel was two blocks down and around a corner in a side street.  Who knew?  Certainly not our driver who spent ten minutes asking everyone the neighbourhood where the Hotel Tashkonak was. 

The hotel, a small, family-run affair was delightful.  The staff saw to our every need, and did it with a smile.  We were settled into a comfortable, brightly decorated room with a view of the garden and the computer station just steps down the corridor.

V getting all the details on the hotel services

Went for stroll and found everything we needed within a couple of blocks.  A laundry, a necessity when traveling for six weeks with two small bags was located, a corner store with ample supplies of Efes was nearby, and for good measure, the Blue Mosque was a stone's throw away, if one were so inclined.  We were not.  The laundry neatly encapsulated Turkish life, to wit, one woman did all the work while three men tackled the demanding task of standing outside the door and smoking for hours.  And, here too, we found the ubiquitous Turkish cats.  One in particular, pictured below, summed up cat status in Turkish life by claiming a spot in the middle of a very busy sidewalk for the sole purpose, it seemed, of staring at a display case full of pastries.

Pastry perusing cat

We walked to the Blue mosque, and were awed by the majesty of it, even though prayers were in progress and we couldn't enter, and despite one side of it being lined with gaudy, touristy booths.  An interesting phenomenon was the flocks of birds which came, and come each night apparently, and circled the turrets.  Three days will obviously not be enough to experience this city.

Seagulls circling the Blue Mosque at sundown

Monday, Oct. 18-- Pamukkale

Western elitism has, at times I fear, led me to say unkind things about the Turks especially with regard to their collective aesthetic.  That opinion was changed today when we learned that the Turkish government had ordered several high-end resort properties torn down to protect the Pamukkale travertines.  Can you imagine the government of Canada or the U.S. demanding the removal of the Banff Park Lodge or the Four Seasons at Jackson Hole just because of some silly environmental consideration? 

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. 

Sunday, Oct. 17-- Driving day

Up early to pack and have our last taste of Zeytindali honey.  Our time here has been wonderful primarily because of the introductions provided by Heidi.  Must admit, however, that we are looking forward with some excitement to the delights of ensuite toilets and fluffy pillows.  And so it was "Everyone out of the pool." and we were off.

Our spa experience started dry and ended wet

 Drove inland and south for 5 hours mostly on secondary roads through dusty, rolling landscape. We had been told repeatedly that there are only three, maybe four things to see in Turkey,  none of them were on our route.  Don't want to say that it was boring, but I was driving AND asking "Are we there yet?"  Highlights included sighting giant grapes hanging from a stop light, and finding a superstore-like retail centre.

Giant grapes, just in case you thought we were making them up.

If the signs in the super store had been in English, we could have been in a Walmart in Wisconsin. We fled postehaste, but not without bounty.  V managed to score a pair of swell flip flops, certainly not up to the standard of my Prada purchase, but...

On to Pamukkale, a UNESCO heritage site with both natural and cultural designations.  The natural is for the splendid, white calcium cliffs which have been formed by hot spring water over millenia.  The cultural is for the ruins of Hieropolis, a city dating from the second century.  Before we reached our destination, however, we had to run the dreaded Denizli gauntlet, a barrier of human flesh and motorized mafia feared by all but not by us.  Our--or at least my--steadfastness in the face of the onslaught was attributable to my V's discovering through research that any tourist venturing into Denzili was fair game for local shills.  Like Somali pirates spotting an freighter, young men leapt from the curb while others pursued us astride scooters which looked like they had been abandoned by the ancient Greeks.

Denzili chariot

Thanks to some quick manoevering and a range of suggestive hand motions, we escaped the fate of many (according to Trip Advisor).  Arriving at our destination without a reservation--if only the pirates had known--we stopped at a gilded palace on the edge of town.  Dazzled by the marble entry and the gleaming smiles, I was ready to sign.  V thought it best that we scope out a room first.  Needless to say, it turned out to be an excellent idea.  The room we were shown was also dazzling, as was the patio which overlooked a pond.  However, upon closer inspection, we discovered the pond to be dotted with lumps of, dare I say, a brown-ish hue.  We fled, as though pursued by gangs of Superstore associates and Denzilian scooter thugs.

A Denzilian whirling thug

Clean living and a keen eye soon brought us to the Richmond Pamukkale Thermal Hotel, a huge 500 room edifice that was all but empty.  We were in luck; their best room was available, and, upon inspection, did indeed deserve that label.  What a relief to go from our meager manger of the last week to a large, comfortable room with, as we had dreamed, ensuite and fluffy pillows.  And the terrace had a magnificent view of the valleys to the north, a feature which more than proved its value when we were treated to the evensong of the call to prayer from several village mosques at once.  

Took a quick dip in the thermal pools and had an interesting conversation with Norwegians whom we took to be German.  They returned the slight by thinking us American.  

Being at the far end of the building we had no idea that steady caravan of buses had been disgorging Germans and Brits--and, we discovered, Norwegians--apace.  By the time we arrived in the dining room, it was chockablock.   The buffet was enormous, and even my laser vision was not sharp enough to be able to see to the other end of the room.  The food was great and the logistics of service a marvel.  That combined with finding a quiet corner where the bus drivers took their vittles, made the meal a delight. Well fed and early to bed.

Saturday, Oct. 16-- Last Dikili day

Heidi hied us off to the mountains today for a peek at life away from the sea.  Captivating cacophony of sights and activities.

We were again struck by what appear to be, to our western sensibilities, the incongruities of Turkish life.  Two stand out.  One would assume, from the attention paid to cats here, that Turks are animal lovers.  Yet today we saw the friendly, old yellow lab that had greeted us with wagging tail at our usual parking spot, lying dead in the middle of the road, apparently struck by a car in the night.  To our dismay, the corpse was still there several hours later.  Then in the mountains, the beauty of the hillsides of pine and ancient stoneworks was marred by the ubiquitous piles of garbage.  We are left with an uncomfortable sense of not knowing what to make of it all, or, whether it is our place to make anything of it all, at all.

Every mountain village has a purple house.  We don't know why.

Stopped for lunch at a Turkish vineyard.  Ate Menomen, a dish of vegetable and eggs and drank a bottle of the local vintage.  Two observations about this.  The first is that Turkish wine has an alcohol content and smoothness best likened to the national beverage of Newfoundland, Screech.  The second is that plastic water bottles have been a boon to every liquid industry from olive oil to wine.

Our Turkish vineyard experience

Our host

Our booth

The afternoon was spent wandering and experiencing slices of mountain life.  We picked up a smiling elderly gentleman whose suit jacket pockets were stuffed with branches.  As we drove him the several miles back to his village, he explained that these were cuttings to enhance his orchard, and that he often walked long distances on similar errands.  We watched men breaking apart large pieces of granite using sledghammers in a quarry that would not have been out of place during the building of the pyramids.  We were facinated by the workings of a pine orchard.  I say orchard because the trees are left standing and carefully pruned and cultivated, and the economic benefits come in the form of the harvesting of pine nuts for foreign pesto producers, and pine cones to be used as fuel in stoves locally.

The Turkish entrepreurial spirit at work in a roadside çay stand

 There is a self sufficiency here that is enviable in a world where one's employment of 20 or more years can be eliminated by the stroke of a board room pen thousands of miles away.

Our headlong tour eased to a conclusion when our guide lost her bearings among the small rural roads, and we had to guess our way back to recognizable terrain.  At this point, my ever vigilant V pointed to the temperature gauge on the car and said, calmly, "Is that supposed to be that high?"  It wasn't.  Sterling Heidi pulled the car over just as a plume of steam erupted from beneath the hood.  Probably all that slow driving at the end of our tour.  We had no time to lament our plight however, as a truck pulled over almost immediately, and our condition assessed by the experienced eye of one of the few Turks still working.  Off he went to get water, and returned in moments with--you guessed it--a plastic bottle full, and we were saved.

Replenishing our radiator supply at a roadside spring

Our time in Dikili and with Heidi ended wtih a cold Efes and wine on the beach near her home, watching the sun set over Greece.  We have been exceptionally fortunate to have had such an intimate introduction to the wonders of this intriguing place.

Heidi and lucky us on her beach

Our last view from Dikili.  Seemed appropriate to include a fisherman.