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
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)
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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
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)
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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.

written by  shoshtrvls on June 14, 1996 from Izmir, Turkey
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)
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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
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)
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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
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)
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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
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)
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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
from the travel blog: Turkey and Greece (1996)
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