Turkey and Greece (1996) - shoshtrvls

Day 1
Istanbul, Turkey
Well, it took me and Mark 23 hours to get to Istanbul; we left Philly at 1 p.m. on Saturday and arrived at our hotel at 7 p.m. Turkish time on Sunday. Fortunately, the trip was not as unpleasant as it might have been, despite the many long layovers and out-of-the-way stop-overs (someone at Olympic Airlines seems to think that Thessoloniki is on the way to Istanbul, which made what should have been a brief, 1 hour hop from Athens to Istanbul more like 4 hours). Although the plane was full, Mark and I were able to get two aisle seats across from one another and we used the time to plan the trip and to sleep.
Mark selected our hotel in Istanbul, the Ceragan Palace, which is literally a palace--a converted Ottoman palace just north of central Istanbul. It is about as plush as hotels get. There is a huge UN conference going on (Habitat II, I think), and it appears that all relevant dignitary types are staying here -- there is a metal detector at the entrance and armed guards all around the place. However, once passing through the front doors, all is marble, fountains, and quiet.
Our room, like nearly all of the rooms in the hotel, looks out over the blue Bosphorus and over to Asia. But as tempting as lounging on the patio was, after showering and changing, Mark and I decided that a real, non-airline meal was in order. At the suggestion of the concierge, we walked north along the Bosphorus to a small neighborhood called Otokoy for dinner. We selected a small open-air restaurant on the water and had a terrific dinner of sea bass. Afterwards, we walked around the neighborhood a bit--definitely an "in" spot for 20-somethings looking to see and be seen. The narrow streets were crowded with cafes, bars, food stalls, and peddlers of all kinds. We took it all in until the sound of the muezzins calling the faithful to evening prayers, a sound which would become a frequent backdrop on this trip, signaled us that it was time to head back to the hotel.
For me, the evening ended sitting on a stone bench behind the hotel (actually in front of the palace, as the original main entrance faces the water), with a huge full moon reflecting off the narrow strip of sea, watching the ferries criss-cross the strait, listening to the faint sounds of very good jazz coming from the hotel's piano bar, and delighting in the fact that I was finally on vacation.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 2, 1996 from Istanbul, Turkey
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)

Day 2
Istanbul, Turkey
Our first full day in Istanbul was a busy one and filled with many of the required tourist activities. It started with an early breakfast at the hotel, after which Mark and I headed into Istanbul proper. Our first stop, a purely practical one, was in the modern business district of Taksim to purchase ferry and plane tickets for the next leg of our journey and exchange money. As the exchange rate was approximately 77,000 Turkish Lira to the dollar, figuring out the real cost of things in our heads took math skills which are sorely lacking in my genetic make-up. I solved this problem by creating a little exchange rate cheat sheet that by the end of our trip would become a tattered and illegible reminder of the fact that Mark and I are incurable spendthrifts. Meanwhile, Mark created a mini-dictionary with those necessary phrases such as (phonetic spelling here) "Kash pura?" (meaning "How much?"), "Tuvalet?" (toilet?) and, for me, "Eht Estaymayorum" ("I don't eat meat").
From Taksim it was down the hill to the main part of old Istanbul, the one featured in all the pictures of the many-domed mosques cascading down into the ocean. We began our sightseeing at Topkapi Palace, a several acre site of your basic old palace-type stuff, similar in many ways to the Alhambra in Spain. To be honest, not much held our attention until we came to the section where the wealth of the Ottoman empire was displayed -- room after room of ruby and diamond encrusted jewelry, arms, and furniture, and a dagger with an emerald handle that was stunning.
From Topkapi we walked down a block for our first of many mosque visits -- the Blue Mosque. The mosque had stunning stained-glass windows and hand-painted tiles, making the quick visit definitely worthwhile.
After the Blue Mosque, Mark and I did what we would do over and over again on this trip -- we shopped, of course. In Turkey, as in most middle-eastern countries, this means wandering through bazaars, being convinced by a tout to enter a store, and then sitting for hours sipping tea and watching hundreds of beautiful carpets unfold before your eyes, or stacks of miniature paintings being sorted through, or piece after piece of jewelry displayed. It takes a strong will to walk away without buying anything, but there is wealth to be gained, not just spent, in these visits. Carpet talk almost always includes learning about politics ("This carpet comes from near Lake Van, which you can't get anymore because of the Kurd problem." "Really? And what is your view of the Kurdish rebellion?" and so on) and lifestyles (what our houses look like, what their homes look like, etc). Of course, Mark and I did not come away from Istanbul's Grand, or Covered, Bazaar empty-handed; a few miniature paintings somehow found their way into our daypacks.[p>
As the shops in the bazaar closed down, Mark and I wandered through a few neighborhoods and eventually found a small restaurant in the old city where we had a quiet dinner before returning to the hotel.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 3, 1996 from Istanbul, Turkey
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)

Day 3
Istanbul, Turkey
This was a much more leisurely day. Our morning began lounging at the hotel pool which, like everything else in this hotel, looks out over the Bosphorus, actually seeming to be a part of it as the water runs from the upper pool to the lower pool and into the strait.[p>
The afternoon took us back to the old city, this time for a visit to Hagia Sophia, the most famous mosque in Turkey. To be honest, however, I'm not quite sure why. It is impressive in size to be sure, and the few remaining bits of mosaic on the walls in the upper galleries were splendid, but otherwise I found the building entirely forgettable. Of course, this could be in some measure due to the huge scaffolding that was present and obscuring the view of about half of the main dome but, truth be told, the other half of the dome didn't look all that exciting so I didn't feel really cheated.
From Hagia Sofia we made the long walk cross town to the Fatih Mosque. To get there we walked through some of the oldest parts of the city, including a trip past the fairly well-preserved remains of a Roman aqueduct. And because our walk took us away from the most frequently visited tourist sites, we found ourselves in the most conservative part of the city. So, while I wore a skirt the came down below my calves and a scarf on my head, the fact that the neckline of my dress was something other than a turtleneck attracted attention, making me a bit uncomfortable.
The approach to the Fatih Mosque is a lovely, tree-lined pathway, and the mosque itself has some impressive tilework. In the adjoining cemetery is a tomb which houses the body of a dead sultan's tomb, which was interesting enough.
After Fatih Mosque, we moved on to the largest mosque in Istanbul, Sultanahmet. Along the way we meandered up and down (Istanbul is rather hilly) small streets, each of which had a different specialty -- fabric shops all on one block, pots and pans on another, appliances on a third. This was clearly the area where the residents shopped, avoiding the overly touristic bazaars. The big mosque was, well, a big mosque with more and bigger tombs. 'Nuff said.
Next we visited Economou, the wharf area from which most of the ferries which travel across and up the Bosphorus depart, and where the spice, or Egyptian, market is located. Here there was lots of activity, more great views, interesting wandering. Of course, the day would not be complete without another trip back to the Grand Bazaar where, after a bit of haggling and lots of tea, Mark finally broke down and purchased what was to become the first carpet of the trip (a 6x9 silk number), as well as another miniature painting.
Dinner that evening was in Kumkapi, otherwise known as Istanbul's outdoor restaurant row. Walking down the street involves dodging the constant barrage of "Come and sit down?" and "Please look at the menu," so much so that one could literally lose their appetite trying to shake these guys off. As a result, Mark and I decided to sit at the first restaurant where we weren't assaulted which, to be honest, turned out to be a mistake, as the food was mediocre at best.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 4, 1996 from Istanbul, Turkey
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)

Our final morning in Istanbul was spent touring the Dolmabahce Palace, which was just down the road from our hotel. Also an old Ottoman palace, this place was spectacular, by far the most beautiful and impressive sight we had seen thus far into the trip. Room after room was decorated with Baccarat crystal chandeliers, Limoges fireplaces and incredible painted ceilings. The gardens were also spectacular and proved to be a wonderful place to wander and relax.
Unfortunately, we couldn't relax for too long as we had a bus to catch to our next destination, the town of Bursa, a capital of the Ottoman Empire.

Day 4 (Continued)
Bursa, Turkey
The route from Istanbul to Bursa was a circuitous one; the bus first drove up the Bosphorus to the Sea of Marmara, then onto a ferry for the trip across to Yalova, and finally right into Bursa. Although we could have shortened the trip a bit by taking a quick hydrofoil ride across the Bosphorus to Yalova and then catching a local bus from there, but the fact is that riding the excursion buses in Turkey is definitely the way to travel. There are hundreds of different bus companies and they all run fairly nice, new, air-conditioned models at prices that were jaw-dropping; a five hour bus from Kutayha to Ankara cost us about $3.50 each, breakfast included! And then there are the little things, like the lemon-y water that gets poured on your hands several times so you can "freshen up" and the free bottled water, sodas and snacks which are served during the trip. Apparently, this makes up for the truly horrendous train service, which Mark and I didn't even dare attempt.
Arriving in Bursa late in the afternoon, we found a nice little hotel right in the center of things. After dropping off our bags, we immediately high-tailed it to the famous thermal baths in the suburb of Cekirge; the mineral water in Bursa is rumored to have healing powers and people allegedly make pilgrimages to Bursa as they do to Bathe in England. To make sure that we got the full benefit of the springs, we decided to go to the oldest Turkish baths, known as hamams, around -- well, at least Mark did. The hamam for men was built in 1555 for Suleyman the Magnificent (a name that crops up all the time in Turkey, almost as often as Ataturk's) and, according to Mark, was beautifully marbled. The hamam for women was just down the street; it was not built in 1555, nor did it contain much marble. Still, the experience was wonderful.
Hamams (at least the ones I've visited in Morocco and Turkey) have at least three rooms. Generally, the room at the farthest end is the sauna, where hot, hot water bubbles up from the center of the room. Small holes in the domed roof let some of the heat out, but on the whole these rooms are almost unbearable if you're not used to it. Some hamams also have pools in the hot room for dunking and relaxing, which this one in Bursa did. The room which adjoins the hot room has lukewarm water and pools, and here is where the serious bathing goes on. Although some people wash themselves, most people have friends or family wash them. A third alternative is to pay a professional to do it, which is what I did in Bursa. The process begins with a real scruffing off of all the dirt and dead skin cells that have accumulated since the last bath . . . and I mean scruffing, like until your skin is almost raw. Then the soap is lathered on and a serious deep tissue massaging takes place. Finally, your hair is washed, rinsed and combed. The last room is the cool room, which is used mostly for relaxing, sipping tea, and talking.
In Mark's case, he used the last room for falling asleep. Although I was done in a little over an hour and a half, I found myself sitting outside the men's hamam for another hour before a policeman hanging out across the street offered to go inside and find Mark for me. The policeman came out a few seconds later and made the international "sleep" sign (head tilted on hands pressed together), and shortly after that a rather groggy Mark emerged. By this time it was rather late and we were relaxed, so we simply headed back to the hotel for the night.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 5, 1996 from Bursa, Turkey

Bursa, Turkey
I woke up early and Mark was still asleep, so I snuck out to survey Bursa on my own. I spent a few hours wandering through the market area, watching the shop-keepers set up their stalls of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and flowers -- a bounty like I've never seen before. (Apparently, Turkey is one of only three or four countries that actually exports food). Eventually, I found my way to the main mosque, Ulu Camii, and the bazaar, where I picked up some camel-hide shadow puppets -- a well-known local art form. I then returned to the hotel for Mark and returned once again to the bazaar for his wandering pleasure.
From the center of town we went to Uludag, a suburb of Bursa, and took the cable car up to the top of the local Mt. Olympus. Although it was June, there was plenty of snow to be seen among the grassy valleys and pine-tree covered peaks. At the top of the cable car were several small outdoor eateries featuring mostly lamb kabobs grilled tableside. Mark and I selected one for lunch and then took a short hike through the woods before catching the last cable car back into town.
Mark then went back to the bazaar (practicing his "Kash pura?" all the way) while I checked out two more mosques. By this time I was, of course, about as mosqued-out as possible, but the small Green Mosque was definitely worth seeing for the tile work alone, as was the Green Mausoleum nearby which houses the tomb of Mehmet I and his children.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 6, 1996 from Bursa, Turkey

Day 5 (Continued)
Kutahya, Turkey
Late in the afternoon we caught a bus to our next destination, Kutayha. The scenery along the way was beautiful--the fields that produced all the fruits, vegetables and flowers I had seen in the market in Bursa filled the landscape. Along the way, Mark and I munched on cookies and the sweetest strawberries and cherries I've ever tasted -- purchased in Bursa for about a dime a pound. Our arrival in Kutayha was late, so finding a hotel wasn't easy, but eventually we did and sacked out for the night.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 6, 1996 from Kutahya, Turkey

Kutahya, Turkey
Mark and I rose fairly early and took a taxi from Kutayha to what turned out to be the best part of the trip so far . . . Greek ruins more spectacular than any I've ever seen before. And to think we almost missed them because the guide book we were using (Lonely Planet) barely made reference to them. The two-hour drive to get to the ruins, through pastoral scenes of shepherds with their flocks, cowherders, tiny villages surrounding tin-domed mosques, bright red poppy fields and Millet-type views of women bent over planting seeds, was exquisite -- each view a perfect painting.[p>
The ruins themselves were mostly set in an open field and coming upon them was amazing, somewhat like the photos one sees of Stonehedge. The closer we got, the more apparent it became that these ruins were very well-preserved. The main ruin, a Temple of Zeus, is set on a small hill, dominating everything around it. Virtually every column remains standing. In the gymnasium, the delicately carved marble moldings seem to have lost none of their depth and the chiseled writing on the pillars in the arena and stadium can be clearly read (if one understood the language, of course).
Wandering around these ruins in silence -- no other tourists, no one at all -- made the entire experience almost mystical. Eventually we were joined by a rather elderly caretaker, who walked with us back through the ruins to the road, explaining each of the different sites as we passed by and unlocking the gate which led to the cavern, formerly a swimming pool dedicated to Diana, underneath the Temple.
As we reached the road, the caretaker urged us to walk through the nearby village to see even more ruins, and we took his advice. The village was a small one, consisting entirely of mud and brick homes, thatched roofs, wandering chickens and dirt streets. And, just as the caretaker promised, every so often, a small ruin . . . the remains of a temple squeezed between two houses, a fountain around a corner, or an old column in the middle of the street. A wonderful experience.
Back in Kutayha by about 2 p.m., we had a quick lunch and then did what we (Mark actually) had come to Kutayha for -- porcelain and ceramics shopping. (Mark was looking for tiles for a house he has been building for almost four years now). Kutayha is known for its hand-painted tiles and porcelain and we wandered through shop after shop of some truly beautiful items. Unfortunately, none of the shops would ship anything and the pieces we were looking at were simply too heavy and breakable to carry with us. And besides, we really didn't see anything that demanded to be bought. As a result, we ended up at the actual ceramic factories just outside of town, which was a big mistake because we bought stuff . . . lots of stuff . . . tiles for my garden, bowls, vases, plates . . . well, you get the idea. Of course, even the factory at first said it couldn't ship -- until they brought in Hassan. Hassan, an executive who spoke perfect English (having studied at Berkeley and the University of New Mexico), is in charge of exports for the company (meaning bulk exports which our load, while "bulk" to us, was peanuts to the factory). Although it took about two and a half hours, with Hassan's help we finally arranged to have our purchases trucked to Izmir on the coast and then transported by DHL here to Philly.
Afterward the shopping was completed, Hassan invited us back to his home for dinner. Other visitors included a student from Hong Kong who was studying at the local university, a professor from the university with his son and daughter, and a few of their friends, turning the quiet meal into a large and jovial gathering. As a result, Mark and I stayed much longer than we had planned, enjoying the company and the food. However, as our bus to Ankara didn't leave until 1:30 a.m., we didn't mind at all
written by  shoshtrvls on June 7, 1996 from Kutahya, Turkey

Ankara, Turkey
Mark and I arrived at the bus station, or otogar, shortly after midnight and the time waiting for the bus seemed like an eternity. But it eventually arrived and Mark and I dutifully climbed aboard and promptly fell asleep. At about 4 a.m., the bus pulled into a truck stop and we were fed a standard Turkish breakfast of soup and bread. For future reference, soup does make a good start to any day. Of course, the soup was already warming my insides when I realized that it probably had some meat in it; I finally realized that my vegetarian ways might not last the entire trip. (Up until this point, besides salads and the fish we were able to get in Istanbul, my diet had consisted almost entirely of the equivalent of grilled cheese sandwiches -- and Turkey is not known for its tasty cheese).
We arrived in Ankara at 6 a.m., like clockwork, and immediately high-tailed it to the airport (having been told many times that there is nothing to see or do in Ankara) for the flight to Erzurum.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 8, 1996 from Ankara, Turkey

Day 7 (Continued)
Erzurum, Turkey
Erzurum is the main city in the eastern Anatolias, just south of the Black Sea and west of several former Soviet republics, Iran, and Iraq. A brief stroll through Erzurum quickly convinced me and Mark that there was no reason to stay in Erzurum despite the many attractions promised by the guidebook. Erzurum is just a medium-sized city with not much of interest, except kabob houses. Lots of them. Smelling great. Juicy meats in the windows. OK, I did it. I broke down. I had kabobs -- my first meat in several years -- for lunch. And they were great.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 8, 1996 from Erzurum, Turkey

Yusufeli, Turkey
At 3 p.m. we hopped a dolmus (a small bus) to Yusufeli, a village about 3 hours north of Erzurum. The ride was spectacular, to say the least. Just outside of Erzurum, we passed fields and fields of the brightest yellow wildflowers I've ever seen. Then we began the decent into the mountains. (I know this doesn't really make sense, but Erzurum is on a high plateau, surrounded by mountains which you actually go down into). The mountains were sometimes barren and craggy, sometimes green and lush. The drive passed through several small villages, and above almost each one were the remains of a 6th or 7th century fort overlooking it all. Eventually, the road met up with the Coruh river and followed alongside it into Yusufeli.
Yusufeli is a medium-sized village set between two rivers which join to form the Coruh, and upon our arrival it was immediately apparent that we were the only visitors in town. It was also apparent that within minutes of our arrival everyone in town knew that two Americans had come, and we had several offers of places to stay. We ended up choosing a small hotel with three clean little rooms about a block from the bus stop, next to the small mosque. We of course chose the one with the private bath and hot water. It was $2 a night, the owner told us. Mark and I looked at each other. The owner, thinking our look meant that the price was too high, assured us "it is my best price, really." We didn't argue.
We also make it known to the hotel owner that we were interested in hiking and rafting, and that anything he could do to help us would be appreciated. The owner then explained that since the Kurdish revolt began five years ago, tourists had stopped coming that far east (despite the fact that the problems were much further south) and so the only two rafting outfitters had closed up shop. But the owner promised that he would see what he could do.
Within fifteen minutes, there were two men at our door. One was a former rafting guide who had moved to Kas (a city on the southern coast of Turkey) to find work but was back in town for a week or so to see his family. He said that he would try to find his old raft and paddles and set something up for the next day, but that any trip would have to be limited to only one day as he had to return to Kas the following night. The other man was a trekking guide, who proudly showed us a Mountain Travel-Sobek catalogue a few years old which included his picture as one of the trail guides who led the plush tours for which the crazy Americans paid thousands of dollars. But for us, $20 a day. We talked to them both for a while (their English was quite good--all those Mt. Travel groups I guess) and made plans to go rafting the next day, and possibly hiking the following day.
Then it was dinner at a small restaurant (one of only three in town) overlooking the river which flows through the village. We ate the usual salads plus some wonderful river trout while talking with a 10-year-old boy who attended an English-language boarding school (apparently as the result of scoring the highest in the region on some national exam) and was home for the summer.
Besides the guides, this little boy and our hotel owner who spoke very broken English, the only English anyone else in Yusufeli knew were two questions: "What is your name?" and "Where are you from?" And I mean that seriously; while taking an evening stroll up and down the three blocks that comprise Yusufeli's main street (the evening activity for everyone in Yusufeli who wasn't sitting in tea houses drinking and smoking), at least 30 men and children (no women) came up to us and simply asked those two questions, listened to our responses, smiled and then walked away. One or two surprised us by first asking, "I walk with you to practice English?" We agreed, of course, expecting real conversation, but were then hit with only those same two questions. It was rather amusing, I must say.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 8, 1996 from Yusufeli, Turkey

Yusufeli, Turkey
I began my morning by sitting alongside the river reading a book (Anne Rice's latest Vampire tale, Memnoch the Devil) while Mark slept in. At 10 a.m. the rafting guide came by and we walked together to a dolmus which had a deflated raft tied to the top and paddles, life vests and helmets shoved in the back. After picking up two of his friends who would accompany us in the raft and a guy with a video camera (who was making a "Come to Yusufeli for a great vacation"-type of video to be sent god knows where), we began the drive further into the mountains on a dirt road that offered yet more incredible views of the mountains, farmers plowing rice patties with oxen, donkeys laden with hay, and old men hunched over walking sticks. After about three hours we got out and proceeded to inflate the Russian-made six-person raft . . . with a hand pump . . . slowly . . . discovering a host of leaks as the raft inflated. No question, this raft had not touched water in quite a while and the patch kit got plenty of use. But eventually the raft was ready and we took off down the river.
Although the river was somewhat low and thus the rapids not as challenging as I had hoped, it was still a great day. Rafting through gorges in the mountains of Eastern Turkey--what more could one want out of life? We stopped twice at small villages for tea and so it took us about six hours before we arrived back in Yusufeli. Best of all, Mark, who had dreaded this part of the trip (rough and tumble Mark is not), had a blast. We hadn't even pulled the raft out of the river before he started asking the guide if there was any way to do the other river the next day. Alas, it was not to be.
After a brief early evening nap, the standard trout dinner by the river, and the familiar stroll up and down the main street eating ice cream and saying our names and where we came from over and over again, we called it a very satisfying day.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 9, 1996 from Yusufeli, Turkey

Yusufeli, Turkey
Well, after less than two days in Yusufeli, Mark and I certainly felt like we were official residents. My guess is that anyone who goes to Yusufeli is generally just passing through, so our two nights probably entitled us to a key to the city. Thus, as soon as we woke, we were excitedly told by several people in town that two women from Austin, Texas has arrived the night before. We finally met up with them (how can we miss them?) and chatted for a while -- far hardier than us, these women were looking to go on an 8-day trek. This meant that our hiking guide became otherwise occupied as the prospect of eight days of work was too much for him to turn down.
So, instead of the planned trek, our hotel owner drove us (for a small fee, of course) to Ishan, a small village high in the mountains, to visit a partially-ruined 11th Century Georgian church. Like the rest of this place, both the drive and the church were beautiful. Remarkably, many of the church's frescos remained vibrant and while the walls had crumbled, the carved pillars had withstood the test of time and continued to support the painted dome ceiling.
Right next to the church is a school and as soon as we arrived in the village (on foot . . . the drivable road ends about a mile from the village), we were surrounded by kids of all ages. They kept begging that we take their pictures -- and were disappointed to discover that we did not have Polaroid cameras. But we took their pictures anyway and promised to send them to the hotel owner, who promised to bring them back to the village. [p>
Given our finds in Kutayha and here, I've come to wonder why some sites, such as Pergamon (more on that later) and Knossos (in Crete), get so much attention while others are completely unknown. What Mark and I saw in these little towns was far more impressive, better preserved, and more interesting than the huge sites. But, of course, I'm glad it is this way. No other tourists to jostle you, to make you embarrassed to be an American ("Herb, there are no toilets in the bathrooms--just holes in the floor. Don't they understand hygiene here?"), to interfere with the real pleasure that comes from exploring these places.
Anyway, after Ishan it was back to Yusufeli for our afternoon siesta before an attempt was made to get to the church at Dortkilisie, supposedly larger and in even better shape than the one at Ishan. But it is also more remote, and can be reached only after a 6 km hike from the road. Well, Mark and I clearly started out too late in the day; the trail was steeper than we expected and so our progress was slowed considerably. That we couldn't make it before dark was eventually confirmed by a girl of about 14 who spoke impeccable French as she led her pet goat into his pen. So after about two hours, we turned around without seeing the church. Still, it was a beautiful shaded hike through tiny villages, along a rushing creek and besides small planted fields.
On the way back down the mountain, Mark and I had our first (and only) fight of the trip. It had nothing to do with traveling, of course, but was substantial nonetheless. So Mark took off down the mountain, allowing me to take my time returning to the road . . . picking berries off of trees, making small talk as best I could with a few people here and there. But I didn't take too long because I was certain that Mark would be waiting in Takke, the village at the road, so we could catch a dolmus back to Yusufeli.
Well, I was wrong; Mark was apparently quite mad because I arrived a Takke only to be told that my husband (the assumed relationship) had already left, walking the road to Yusufeli (a good 10 km) in what was now becoming darkness. This, of course, made me even angrier because I would not have left him alone on a mountain, no matter how upset I was. Anyway, I waited a short time for a dolmus before also heading down the road on foot. Eventually, an already full taxi drove by and stopped for me; I squeezed in for the ride, thinking to myself that Mark must have done the same thing by now. But within a few minutes we passed Mark on the road. Fine, I thought. Let him walk it alone.
When I got back to Yusufeli, I went to watch the rafting video made the day before, which was not bad. It was edited well, and included of the rafting trip, as well as video of the two women from Austin walking on a trail somewhere, the restaurant by the river, a fortress on a hill, and a few other worthwhile sites. From watching the tape you would think that Yusufeli was a regular Yosemite with all the conveniences. Then I waited for Mark. And waited. And walked around the town looking for him. And went to the hotel looking for him. By now it was, of course, pretty dark outside and I was worried. So I found the hotel owner (not difficult, of course, as he was in one of the tea houses watching a soccer match) and had him to drive with me up the road. We stopped several times to ask villagers if they had seen him; all said yes, that he had passed through some time ago. We eventually returned to Yusufeli to find Mark sitting in front of the hotel. He said he went right back to the hotel, so I really can't figure out how we missed each other. In any event, we had it out -- I told him that I was going to go my own way after Yusufeli. He said that was fine with him.
Just as we were finishing up this conversation, however, there was a knock at the door. Our rafting guide (who decided to leave a day later) and a friend of his had come to talk. And we spent over two hours discussing economics and politics, both Turkish and American. And of course, by the time it was over, Mark and I were no longer angry with one another.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 10, 1996 from Yusufeli, Turkey

Erzurum, Turkey
This was another long traveling day with nothing of interest to report. Mark and I said good bye to Yusufeli about 10 a.m. (and from the way we were sent off, you would have thought we have been living there for at least a year) and caught a dolmus back to Erzurum. The drive was just as beautiful as it had been three days earlier, and even Erzurum seemed a bit more interesting. A gathering of horse-drawn carts just outside of town made it feel like we were going back in time to the wild west. Many people were out, with most of the women in full chodor (the black dresses that go from head to foot) with their entire faces covered. And the market was bustling with activity, fruit and vegetables spilling out of the stalls. But we couldn't stay as we had a plane to catch, so we made our way to the airport for the flight first to Ankara and then to Izmir on the west coast. We arrived in Izmir late and managed to find a good hotel at a decent price without too much hassle and settled in for the night.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 11, 1996 from Erzurum, Turkey

Izmir, Turkey
Mark and I got up fairly early (especially for Mark) in order to catch the "breakfast included in room rate." After filling our stomachs we headed out to the otogar to catch a bus to Selcuk, the town closest to the ruins of Ephesus. The 1-1/2 hour ride was entirely unremarkable . . . frankly, nothing can compare with the spectacular scenery of Eastern Turkey
written by  shoshtrvls on June 12, 1996 from Izmir, Turkey

Selcuk, Turkey
From the otogar in Selcuk we walked the 3 km to Ephesus to find . . . TOURIST MANIA!!!! The parking lot was filled with bus after bus after bus after bus . . . well, you get the idea. And, of course, there were all the visitors like us who came on local transport as a day trip from Izmir or some of the other close coastal areas. I was somewhat expecting this, of course, but coming face to face with the masses, especially so soon after enjoying the relaxing atmosphere of Yusufeli, was jarring.
However, mob scene aside, I must say, the ruins were worth it. I was expecting something like Knossos. If you've ever been there, you would know what I mean. Knossos has few original ruins left, and so some idiots decided to try and "reconstruct" the whole thing, which makes the visit there virtually useless. While there were some "replacements" at Ephesus, for the most part the actual ruins, and in particular the facade of the library (the third largest in the ancient world after Babylonia and Pergamon), were awe inspiring. And there has been sufficient excavation, particularly of the roads, to get a real sense of how the city was laid out. Mark and I shelled out $10 for a guide and it was well worth the money.
After about two hours exploring and listening to our guide, Mark and I took a taxi to the other site in Selcuk--the Virgin Mary's house. Now, I must say, this was not my idea, but Mark is a rather devout Catholic and really wanted to make the pilgrimage. Supposedly, what we saw was the house in which Mary lived out her final days. Actually, a reconstruction of the house, but built on the original foundations, per our guidebook. So Mark did his candle lighting thing, and we returned to the ruins at Ephesus.
By this time, somewhat late in the afternoon, most of the hordes of tourists, following their guides with little flags, had left and the ruins were blissfully empty with the exception of a few individual travelers like me and Mark. And it made a huge difference, so much so that Mark and I made sure to walk slowly through the ruins yet again before catching a dolmus back to Selcuk where we had lunch and visited the local museum.[p> And what a museum! The busts and the statuary, all of which had come to Ephesus, were exquisite, like I've never seen before. And they were displayed wonderfully with lighting that even the Met would be jealous of.
Finally, at 4 p.m., we grabbed what we thought was a dolmus back to Izmir, but instead it left us off in some suburb. So I became a quick study and figured out the local bus system (which wasn't easy, mind you), and got us exactly where we wanted to be, at the bazaar in the center of town. It was one of my proud independent traveler moments, I must say.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 12, 1996 from Selcuk, Turkey

Izmir, Turkey
Within about two seconds of entering the bazaar, we were seized upon by Mustafa who of course wanted to take us to "his uncle's carpet shop." But when Mark said he was really looking for some jewelry (as I slapped the back of his head for opening his mouth), lo and behold, Mustafa's family also owned a jewelry store! I was shocked, shocked.[g> But Mustafa was particularly charming, so I didn't protest all that much as we followed him first to the jewelry shop and eventually to the carpet shop. And then I did what I promised myself I simply would not ever, ever, ever do again on any trip . . . I bought a carpet. A pretty stunning 9x11 wool number from Anatolia which now sits somewhat awkwardly on my bedroom floor. (Hey, I didn't come prepared with dimensions or anything!) And to make matters worse, Mark also bought a carpet, his second of the trip.
Tired and worn from our day at the ruins and the bazaar, and full of way too much apple tea, Mark and I had dinner at a mediocre restaurant on the Harbor and called it a day
written by  shoshtrvls on June 12, 1996 from Izmir, Turkey

Bergama, Turkey
Another ruin adventure, this time to Pergamon. This involved another 1-1/2 hour bus ride, which was a bit more scenic than the last--unlike the ruins, which were . . . to put it mildly . . . shit. Maybe we were spoiled by Kutayha and Ephesus, but I think not. And the local museum . .. pffft. Definitely not worth the effort. So we were back on the bus for Izmir by 1 p.m. and back at the bazaar by 2:30 p.m.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 13, 1996 from Bergama, Turkey

Izmir, Turkey
We strolled through the bazaar for quite a bit, yesterday's trip having been aborted by Mustafa, and somehow managed to keep most of our Turkish Lira in our pockets. Instead, we focused on people watching and we finally asked somewhat what the "little king" costumes in all the clothing shops were. These outfits, for little boys, are suits, generally silk or satin, with a shoulder sash and crown a la Miss America. Well, here's the story (men take note). Jewish law requires that boys be circumcised at 7 days. Islamic law interprets whatever portion of the scriptures that deals with circumcision as requiring it at 7 *years.* That's right . . . boys get circumcised when they are SEVEN YEARS OLD! Apparently, in order to trick them into thinking that this is something fun and exciting, on the day they get circumcised, they have a big party (not unlike a bar mitzvah I gathered) and they get to be the king! And they get to wear their king costume for the whole week!
At the suggestion of the guide book, at dusk we climbed to the fortress on the top of the hill which overlooks Izmir and listened to the sounds of the muezzins calling the faithful to prayer. Because each mosque has a muezzin, and because there are so many mosques, it sounds like an echo rising up from the city, over the hill and into the heavens--a very spiritual experience, not unlike hearing the same haunting melody rising from the mist over the lakes near Srinigar. And, according to the British couple who were at least 80 years old and sitting at the cafe table next to us, it is also very romantic.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 13, 1996 from Izmir, Turkey

This morning was spent at the Archeology and Ethnology museums in Izmir, both of which were fairly unimpressive. As for archeology, the small museum in Selcuk had far more impact and nothing in the ethnology museum (traditional costumes, furniture, etc.), was particularly interesting. In fact, for me, the only things of interest were some pillars in the garden of the archeology museum that had Hebrew carved on them. Unfortunately, when I asked where they were from, what they meant, and how old they were, I just got blank stares from the caretakers. They were in the museum, so they were important, and that is all they knew.
After the museums we returned to the bazaar one last time where, lo and behold, Mustafa found us yet again. He didn't try to sell us anything this time, but rather invited us to join him for a beer at one of the small cafes hidden inside the bazaar. Mustafa, we learned, is a Kurd and this was the first time we got "the other side" of the story. Every other Turk we talked to about the Kurdish uprising generally told us, "Yes, it was bad for them, but now they can vote, and they can speak their own language (which was previously prohibited), and they have their own newspapers and tv stations, so what are they complaining about?" Mustafa, on the other hand, went to the heart of the matter. "Yes, I can rent a flat, but I can't get a job to pay for it." Besides politics, we also talked about education (Mustafa has no formal education but speaks at least four languages and is quite intelligent), travel, religion, etc. All in all, a good three hours.
From the bazaar is was back to the hotel to pack and grab a quick lunch at one of the outdoor cafes on the water. Then it was off to our second favorite haunt, the otogar, to catch a bus to Marmaris.

Marmaris, Turkey
Five hours of traveling again, but the scenery was much better . . . first rather agrarian, with the now-familiar donkey carts and millet women, then mountainous with pine trees and beautiful pink flowers which filled the gorges as though they were rivers.
It was all a sham, however, as Marmaris was the pits. The Tijuana of Turkey, no question about it. The first hotel we tried seemed deserted, so we opted for something a bit more upscale. This didn't last long, however, as no sooner had I ducked into the shower when, apparently, fire broke out in a room three doors away. How did we know this? Not because any smoke alarm went off; not because any fire alarm sounded; not because anyone knocked on our door. No, while I was in the shower, guests at the hotel next door rushed onto their patios yelling and screaming. It took Mark a while to figure out what they were saying, but he eventually got the message and got me out of the shower. We grabbed some of our stuff (hey, I was not going to leave that rug behind[g>) and headed into the hallway where hotel staff members were running our way with fire extinguishers. We could smell the smoke and thus looked in earnest for the fire exits but could find none. Meanwhile, the staff completely ignored the actual guests . . . no one knocked on doors or pointed out the exits. Mark and I headed toward the elevators (the only exit we knew), knocking on doors as we went along, as did an Israeli couple staying in the room next door. We were surprised to find that they were still working--aren't they supposed to shut off so you don't get trapped? In any event, seeing no other way down, we took one. In the lobby, everything seemed normal, and when we asked for our money back, the staff was surprised. "Why? The fire will be put out soon." Sure . . . so it could smolder overnight and begin afresh, with no fire protection in the hotel at all? Not for me. And although the fire was put out within a half-hour, when we returned to our room to get the rest of our belongings, it was clear that the fire was a tad more serious than they let on . . . not only was everything smoke-filled, but you could see the black soot on the walls near the room that was ablaze.
At this point, rather desperate and tired, we cabbed it to a "resort" somewhat further up the coast, thinking that it had to be a decent place. Well, not quite. The room was small and dingy, the price exorbitant; what we got for our $2.00 in Yusufeli was far superior. In any event, after showings and eating the dinner which was included in the room rate, we walked down the boardwalk back into the main section of Marmaris. As I said, it was like being in Tijuana . . . loud music, touts that wouldn't leave you alone, boat trip salesmen that followed you, ugh! The truly sad thing, however, is that most people who come to Marmaris do it as a day or two trip from Rhodes because it is only a 45 minute hydrofoil ride. I shudder to think that Marmaris is their only impression of Turkey . . .
written by  shoshtrvls on June 14, 1996 from Marmaris, Turkey

Marmaris, Turkey
This was a leisure day. Mark and I took advantage of what we were paying for at our resort . . . a pool with a beautiful view, a clean beach, and men in white shorts and tee-shirts catering to our every need for towels, drinks, food, etc. I finished my third book of the trip and began another. Even got some "color" in my skin. But by 3 p.m. it was clearly time to say good-bye to Marmaris so we headed to the ferry dock to catch the hydrofoil to our last destination, Rhodes.
There weren't many people waiting for the ferry, so it was easy to spot the three twenty-something USC students doing the "take a semester off and backpack through Europe" thing. And thus it finally happened--the inevitable "small world" meeting that is required for every overseas trip. After talking briefly, I discovered that one of these students was Cantor L.'s son! Who is Cantor L, you might ask. Well, he performed my confirmation and the bar mitzvahs of all four of my brothers. His son Adam seemed cool and the hydrofoil ride was made pleasant by the conversation.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 15, 1996 from Marmaris, Turkey

Rodos, Greece
We arrived in Rhodes at about 6:30. If you've never been there before, it is impressive. The old city is surrounded by massive fortifications and sailing into the Harbor through the two pillars where the Colossus once stood is really a sight to see. When we arrived, we realized that not only did we not have any place to stay, we also didn't have a guidebook for Greece or any clue as to where to look for decent lodgings. Fortunately, as luck would have it, two Australian women who were heading out on a ferry for Crete told us about a wonderful little pension about five minutes walk from the old city.
After settling into the pension, we walked about a block to a small neighborhood restaurant recommended by the pension owner, a wonderful woman, and had a great meal -- my first real tzatziki in three years. I love tzatziki, and could live on it if given a chance. Then it was a stroll through the old city of Rhodes window shopping . . . a tourist destination to be sure, but somehow less aggressive and offensive than most. In fact, it reminded me somewhat of the old part of Santa Fe . . . many, many shops and cafes that somehow didn't ruin the experience.
written by  shoshtrvls on June 15, 1996 from Rodos, Greece

Rodos, Greece
My last full day of vacation. Originally, it was to be spent on the ferry to Athens, but rough seas forced the cancellation of the hydrofoil and thus I was lucky to have gotten one of the last seats on tomorrow's early morning plane flight to Athens which arrives there just in time to get me on my plane home to the states. So, taking advantage of the extra day, Mark and I rented a little Suzuki Samurai and went exploring. Our first stop was Faliraki beach -- lots of people, warm water, and lots of activities ("no Mark, I see no reason to do that crane bungee jumping; remember, I jumped out of a real plane"). Despite the crowds, it certainly was not a bad spot. We stayed for 2-1/2 hours baking in the sun and splashing in the non-surf (nary a wavelet in sight) before heading on to Cape Vagia for lunch at a tiny little beach, fairly unspoiled and uncrowded. Then it was down the coast past Lindos where the tourists thinned out and goats were the far more prevalent mammals. We finally selected a nearly deserted beach in a secluded cove near the town of Lardos for the last hour or two of sunning.
On the way back to Rhodes proper we made one final sight-seeing stop, to Tsampika Monastery. The monastery (a small one to be sure) is set atop what appears to be the highest promontory on the coast, visible from the road as only a tiny white dot at the top of a craggy peak. To get there one must first drive a few kilometers of a steep, narrow switchback road which ends roughly 1 km below the monastery. The last little bit on foot, while a short distance, is a good little hike up -- seriously *up*, the paved "trail" even having handrails to keep one from being blown off the mountain and onto the rocks below. And the reward for all of this? Not the monastery actually but the view . . . an incredible panorama of the entire east coast of the island from Lindos to Ladiko.
Our final dinner is at a small taverna near our pension, recommended by the pension owners, with excellent fish and even reasonable prices. We then made good use of the Suzuki, driving around the walls of the old city at night, beautifully lit with flickering lanterns (and some help from modern spotlights strategically placed).
written by  shoshtrvls on June 17, 1996 from Rodos, Greece

Rodos, Greece
This morning began with yet another walk into the old city of Rhodes, touring it more carefully this time. First we visited the museum within the city's castle. And, frankly, it is the castle itself, with its massive stone rooms and high vaulted ceilings, which is more impressive than the actual collection, which consists of the by now all-too-familiar pieces of pottery, roman coins, statuary, mosaics and the like. We then walked along the Harbor and through a bit of the new city (pretty much a city like any other) before catching a bus to the town of Lindos, 1-1/2 hours away
written by  shoshtrvls on June 16, 1996 from Rodos, Greece

Lindos, Greece
Well, what can one say about Lindos except that what we had been told was dead-on accurate. Yes, Lindos is a picturesque little town above a crystal clear blue bay, white-washed buildings tumbling down a mountainside dominated by a huge fortress. And yes, more tourists squeezed into narrow cobblestone streets than are usually found at Disneyworld on a Sunday in June. And the shops (pretty much the only things in Lindos besides the restaurants) lacked any sense of "authenticity" -- tee shirt shops, souvenir shops with ashtrays emblazoned with the words "Lindos, Rhodos" on them, "handicrafts" made in Taiwan. Welcome to tourism run amok. As a result, Mark and I stayed just long enough to (1) run into our USC boys, seriously hung over from a night of raucous drinking; (2) climb to the fortress, and (3) spend exorbitant amounts of money on a late, mediocre lunch. But hey, the view from the restaurant was great, watching the sailboats from the city of Rhodes make their way in and out of the bay. Now, if we just could have gotten those obnoxious Texans at the next table to talk a little softer . . .
written by  shoshtrvls on June 16, 1996 from Lindos, Greece

Our return from Lindos was somewhat delayed by having gotten on the wrong bus to go home (and you should see the way people cram into the buses in the afternoon, like a Tokyo subway at quitting time), but eventually we found our way back to the city of Rhodes for yet another evening of strolling and shopping (my final purchase, a beautiful hand-painted gold-lief icon, perfect for a good Jewish girl like myself) and dining before returning to our little hotel

Not one to waste a minute of vacation, the last night in Rhodes night didn't really start until midnight when we met the pension owners and their two daughters at a small club for three hours of traditional Greek music and dancing -- not a tourist in sight, this was "the real thing." The music was wonderful, played on traditional instruments such as the lute, and as the wine and liquor flowed so did the clientele's inhibitions (if they ever had any). Women got up and really belly-danced, sans the costumes (like I said, this was not a show for tourists) -- which is incredibly difficult to do if you've ever tried it (which I can now say that I have). Men did the hands-on-shoulders, stomping and kicking, knee and heel slapping numbers, and everyone joined in the Israeli-like line dancing. (The pension owners were surprised at how quickly I picked up the steps; I refrained from telling them that the hora is the hora is the hora, whether it be at a bar mitzvah or a Greek nightclub). We didn't crawl out of there until almost 4 a.m., a mere two hours before I had to be at the airport. So, rather than even attempting to sleep, I spent my last hours of vacation repacking my luggage, filling out the details in my (hand written) journal, and desperately wishing that all of life were a vacation . . .