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