Turkish Delight

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Although we were geographical “right next door”, it took us 2 days to reach Bodrum, Turkey, via ferry from Sifnos Island to Siros Island to Kos Island to Bodrum. We thought island hopping our way there would be fun and since the ferries traveled at night, we could save some money on accommodations.

At 3 PM, we rode our scooter down to the Sifnos dock and turned it in, a little worse for wear. We had several hours to waste before the 7 PM ferry to Siros so we sat in an internet café and watched the restaurant owners bring in their umbrellas as the wind swiftly began to pick up. The three weeks we spent on Sifnos had been beautiful with blue skies the whole time, so we joked about the approaching storm and how apropos it was for us to leave. The hours whiled away, and soon it was 8 o’clock and then 9 o’clock with still no ferry. A chubby, balding man on a little scooter rode past the line of people that had been sheltering themselves along the rock barrier of the dock. He shouted through the wind that the ferry was delayed due to the storm and would be here shortly. I huddled close to Bryan and watched the rhythmic beam from the lighthouse illuminate the crashing waves.

At about 10 PM we saw an old ferry emerge from the dark sea and swing its bow around, skillfully maneuvering its belly into place in order for a half dozen cars to disembark. I looked at the paint peeling from its side and the rust eating away at its bones as I walked up the swaying ramp. ‘I’ve been on a thousand ferry rides growing up, this should be a piece of cake,’ I tried to reassure myself. But I couldn’t help wondering, ‘Hadn’t I heard something in the news about an old boat going down in the Mediterranean right before we’d left the States, with hundreds of people dying at sea?’

Bryan and I found a cushioned bench in the smoking section next to the galley to use as our bed for the night, amidst middle aged chain-smoking woman and cigar smoking men. As I watched him quickly fall asleep, I listened to the creak of the boat’s metal joints and the plastic crackle of my water bottle pillow, and tried to keep from rolling off the bench. The mix of breathing secondhand smoke, rolling back and forth, and the galley-hand horribly burning the toast every time someone ordered a sandwich, began to make me feel seasick. I tried to divert my thoughts about throwing up by devising my plan for survival if the boat were to capsize, telling myself that I was a strong swimmer but then wondering how cold the water was and why I had ever decided to see the movie “Titanic“. Suffice it to say, it was a very long night and when we pulled into the dock at 3:30 AM, I was thrilled to have my feet on solid ground again.

The worst of the storm had subsided and I found myself admiring the park benches along the dock, trying to select which would make the best bed. The old Sara would have been mortified with the thought of sleeping on a park bench, but the new Sara was glad to be alive and very practical about getting some sleep. I awoke several hours later to people walking by on their way to work, lunch sacks in hand, giving me a wide berth as they passed sideways glances in my direction. I felt surprisingly content, not caring what those passersby thought of me. We each have a story, and mine was a happy one on this sunny morning for I could see a handsome, unshaven Bryan making his way over to my park bench with fresh coffee and rolls. I gave my hair a brush, put on a little pink lipstick, and told myself to look kindly on the “homeless” people I see sleeping on park benches.

To make this already long travel story a little shorter, I’ll just say, I did sleep somewhat better on the floor of the ferry the next night. In the early morning hours of our arrival in Kos we set up camp in a small public park where we slept for another hour or so. We were kicked out by a rotund gardener that didn’t need to speak English because he was yielding a hose and spraying water precariously close to our tent in order to communicate his point. Later that morning we boarded our third boat and arrived, fairly well rested, in Bodrum, Turkey, where we easily bought visas at the border. As we walked through the marina sitting in the shadow of the 15th century Castle of St. Peter, we admired the dozens of beautifully finished wooden sailing yachts, each flying the proud Turkish flag, and had that sense of accomplishment that comes with having arrived.

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Bodrum is a clean resort town that gives the arriving westerner very little to shock the cultural senses. We found it to be much like the midsize tourist sites we‘d been to, with rows of well-stocked gift shops, restaurants that line the beach, lots of scantily clad Europeans, and touts trying to steer you into their place of business. It was here that we were served our first cup of tea by a Turkish carpet salesman and his assistant as they dragged out rug after rug for us to admire.

“We will ship for free, anywhere in the world!“ he exclaimed.

As he rattled on we learned how to tell the difference between handmade vs. machine made, synthetic fibers vs. wool or silk, types of knotting, embroidery, dyes, colors, patterns and symbols. Finally, as the pressure mounted, a ‘serious’ shopper entered and during this momentary diversion Bryan and I made our slip; Grateful for the new found knowledge and the opportunity to escape with wallet intact.

The next day, we rented a car from Avis, and set out to find the ‘real’ Turkey. We had 10 days to explore before my daughter, Marina, would be joining us in Egypt for her fall break. We had purchased her plane tickets, in-between power outages, in one of Bodrum’s little internet cafés and we wanted to see as much of this large country as possible before flying out of Istanbul to meet up with her in Cairo.

We drove most of the day, following the southern coast and stopping long enough to eat lunch and meander through a large street bazaar. The cultural differences became much more apparent as we saw that women wore head scarves, long billowy pants or skirts and long sleeves. I had read that I should dress conservatively, but now I had an idea of what that meant and I was glad I was not showing much skin because even my hair being down made me a bit self conscious. I noticed people staring at us and we knew there was no way we were going to blend in during our time here. When we sat down to lunch the waiter pulled out Bryan’s chair and only brought a menu to him, never addressing me. Bryan looked a little confused and as the waiter posed each question to him, Bryan would repeat the question to me as a way of taking my order and relaying it. I didn’t get the feeling that the waiter was being rude, in fact he was all smiles and quite jovial, but I sensed that he was not addressing me out of respect for Bryan and the fact that I was with him. When the food arrived, Bryan was served first, and he broke into a smile, stating he could get use to this. Although this stop on our drive was an eye opener, we needn’t have worried because for the remainder of our Turkish journey, as much as we stood out and were constantly stared at, especially me, the people of Turkey were kind, curious and helpful. I was to learn that in parts of middle and eastern Turkey, it is unusual to see woman and men socializing together in public. We spoke only with men, because we rarely saw woman working in jobs outside the home (unless it was selling farm produce) and many times if I posed a question or comment to one of these men, he’d turn and give the answer or respond to Bryan. I wanted to jump up and down and wave my arms saying “Hello, I’m over here, you can talk to me.“ But, I’d remind myself, it’s just not what they are use to and they don’t feel comfortable. There were several times I sat in coffee shops among dozens of men as the only woman. They looked, but no one seemed too bothered by us and on one occasion the waiter even rushed to get the key when he saw I was headed for the bathroom, as only the urinal section was normally open.

As the sun went down we began to look for hidden places along the road where we could pitch our tent. Bryan and I had decided that since the rental car had been fairly expensive, we should try to camp as many nights as possible. There was a long sandy beach just past the town of Finike and it looked dark, deserted, and sheltered from view by trees. We thought the sand would give us a soft bed and waking up to the ocean outside our door sounded romantic. Not long after we‘d crawled in our sleeping bags, turned on our headlamps, and opened our books, there was a sudden short siren and flashing lights right behind our tent. Bryan’s eyes bulged as horror stories of Turkish prisons shot into his mind, and I loudly whispered the obvious, “It’s the police, it’s the police!” I suppose we expected them to haul us off immediately, thinking that this may be a major Turkish law we had broken. As Bryan poked his head out of the tent he faced three policemen with a large spot light on his face. “Hello?” Bryan called. There was a long pause, and then one of them responded “Okay.” Bryan said, “Okay?” and he said, “Okay.” And that was that. They got back in their police car and drove away. It took us far longer than this 15 second altercation to calm our hearts and stop our nervous laughing but eventually we fell asleep in our “okay” tent on the beach.

We spent the next morning visiting the ancient ruins of Mt. Olympos. The Olympians worshipped Hephaestus (Vulcan) here, the god of fire, probably because it is the site of the mysterious Chimaera, a cluster of flames that blaze up spontaneously from crevices on the rocky slopes of the mountain. By the 15th century this city had been abandoned and is now just scattered fragments of once, obviously powerful buildings, hidden in the overgrowth of vines and trees. Bryan and I enjoyed “bushwhacking” our way through the forest to find the many walls, churches, and the impressive temple entrance.

The roads in Turkey are easy to navigate and well maintained, and we wound our way from Mt. Olympos on the coastline into the mountains where we camped our second night. We were not awakened by any police but I did greet Bryan with a big “Happy Birthday!” the next morning, Sept. 16, his 38th birthday. We did the calculations on our map and figured we could make it to the city of Konya by mid-day, and in order to celebrate, opted to skip the tent and stay in the best hotel in the city, Hotel Balikcilar. The room had a beautiful balcony that overlooked the most renowned site in Konya, the Mevlana Museum, sitting right across the street. Also across the street was the entrance to the very busy market district.

It being Bryan’s birthday, and his feeling very unkempt as we passed several barber shops, I encouraged him to get a shave and be pampered. Although hesitant, he relented and we entered a shop for his first professional shave. The barber changed blades, swirled the shaving cream with a brush for ages, heated water, and generally busied himself for many minutes before beginning, so I knew we were in for a show. Bryan received a long lather, two shaves, a trimming of the neckline, and even had his ear hairs burned with a match before the barber offered to take care of the little outcrop of hairs on his upper cheeks. Bryan, feeling very relaxed and really enjoying himself at this point, said “Sure!” as the barber began to twist and turn a thick thread between his teeth and fingers. I had a flash back to some Oprah show that talked about this hair pulling method and then the loud yell came from Bryan. He was caught completely off guard as dozens of the blond cheek hairs were ripped out from under his eye. The barber laughed and kept right on pulling as Bryan teared up in spite of himself. I have to admit, I enjoyed myself as much as the barber at Bryan’s expense. After this torture treatment was complete, the barber ran outside to a phone on the wall, made a quick call for tea to be delivered by a young boy of about 11, similar to the ones I had seen running all over the city with swinging tea trays, and proceeded to show us pictures on his cell phone of his wife, children and mother. He had spent over an hour working on Bryan’s face, serving us tea, sharing pictures and his barbershop diplomas, and generally trying to visit, without a word of English in his vocabulary. After all of this he pointed to his prices on the wall and only wanted to charge Bryan for a simple shave, the equivalent of about $2 dollars. Bryan gave him a large tip and we said good bye as if we were long time friends.

We spent the remainder of our time in Konya walking around the crowded market district and visiting the Mevlana Museum. The market district is made up of dozens of alleys filled with little shops. Different streets of the market have a theme that becomes apparent and we made our way to the clothing alleys where I found a pink scarf and skirt for about $5 that I thought would come in handy while visiting Mevlana Museum. We left the market and walked across the street to the museum’s decorative courtyard and fountain. Bryan made sure he was not wearing shorts (the first time in our travels), I covered my head with my scarf, and we wore the plastic booties they provided over our shoes before entering. Once inside we noticed several people praying at different tombs. The museum is a very holy place for Muslims and over 1.5 million people visit each year. It is the former lodge of the whirling dervishes (men who dance in a spiritual ceremony) and is really a shrine because Mevlana, his son, Sultan Veled, and eminent dervishes are buried here.

We had a lot of driving ahead of us so it was time to head for Cappadocia in the central part of Turkey. It was in the Ihlara Valley that we first spotted the remains of cave dwellings. Because the Cappadocia area is covered in soft volcanic tuft, it has been sculpted over millions of years into amazing formations by water and erosion. Like a lunar landscape, these mushroom shaped formations, often referred to as fairy chimneys, resemble Swiss cheese with all the cave dwellings that have been carved out of them. Bryan and I expected to see the cave dwellings we had read about, but we didn’t expect to come across towns with people still living in them. We marveled at the juxtaposition of ancient cave dwelling homes with satellite dishes mounted to their rock exteriors and even an opening at the base of one of them with a car parked in it’s carved out “garage”.

We spent the night along a dirt road in a farmer’s field, well off the main road. I didn’t sleep much due to the extreme cold (have I mentioned Bryan can sleep at anytime, under any conditions? Sheesh) and although I woke to sunshine, it took a long time before we could get the camera’s batteries warm enough to work. We headed for the nearby underground city of Derinkuyu where people of the area used to hide when under attack. The cities were so expansive that they could live underground, undetected for up to six months at a time with 8 stories, a winery, well, and defense stones that were rolled into place to block strategic corridors. While waiting for the site to open we were summoned into a Turkish rug shop located near the entrance and we splurged on an old camel bag that was once used to carry rice. Camel bag under Bryan’s arm, we descended into the cold, dark chambers and I wondered at what it must have been like to live underground for months at a time, knowing the enemy was just above you.

We drove, or I should say, Bryan drove, because I can’t take any credit, from Cappadocia that afternoon, all the way to the eastern outskirts of Istanbul. We arrived late into the night and opted for a hotel since we were both very tired. Entering Istanbul the next morning was a long process because it’s a huge, sprawling city on both sides of the Bosphorus Straight. As we took the bridge that crossed the straight, we had one of those ‘Aha’ moments when Bryan said “Look out at both sides. On one side is Asia and on the other side is Europe!” We were truly where the cliché ‘East meets West’ has its origins. The mix of cultural influences on the city was apparent in the conservative vs. western dress of the different women and the fact that men seemed much more at ease in my presence although they still stared. We now had several days to sightsee in Istanbul before flying out so we chose a hotel located within walking distance of the Blue Mosque, the Aya Sofya, and the Grand Bazaar.

The Blue Mosque and Aya Sofya sit across from each other. In building the Blue Mosque, Sultan Ahmet I set out in 1606 to build a monument as beautiful, and maybe even more beautiful than the Aya Sofya. It is the biggest of all the Ottoman mosques and the blue tiles of the interior, that give the mosque its unofficial name, number in the tens of thousands. Bryan mistakenly wore shorts on our day of touring and was required to don a blue sheet, wrapped around his waist to cover his legs, before entering the mosque. We entered through a side door after removing our shoes and the tourists spoke in whispers as it was apparent some were their to pray. We then walked across to Istanbul’s most famous monument, the Aya Sofya. Completed in 537 by Emperor Justinian as part of his effort to restore greatness to the Roman Empire, it reigned as the greatest Christian church until Mehmet’s Conquest of 1453. Mehmet converted it into a mosque, which is what it remained until 1935, when Ataturk proclaimed it a museum.

The monuments were amazing; awe-inspiring in their magnificence, but what we couldn’t wait to do was spend some time in the very famous Grand Bazaar. We were ready to swap friendly banter with the hundreds of shop owners, look in every nook and alley, compare prices upon prices, and bargain with the pros. Bryan was on a mission for some meerschaum pipes made of a fine whitish mineral that resembles clay and is found in central Turkey. It is very lightweight and brilliantly white so makes for beautiful carving material. I wanted to add some inexpensive clothes to my tattered wardrobe and I loved the look of the Turkish clothing. We spent the next two days wondering the shops, being haggled unceasingly, and walking away exhausted but successful in our endeavors.

As we boarded our smelly Egypt Air flight to Cairo, (the use of deodorant by those around us seems to be dwindling in direct proportion to the distance away from home we travel) we were all smiles, because we were ready to begin our journey through the continent of Africa.

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Photos

I slept surprising well on my park bench.
Siros Island, Greece onroute to Bodrum, Turkey.

Entering Bodrums Harbor you pass...
Castle of St. Peter (seen here in the background) and find dozens or beautiful wooden sailing yaughts.

We helped him cross the street a little more quickly.
Who knew Turkey had so many turtles?

A cheap deterrent method?
The fake police cars sit at the side of the road and probably cause people to slow down (until they see it's made of wood).

Look closely...
and you can get a glimpse of this hair pulling technique. Those little hairs under his eyes: all gone.

Mevlana museum tombs.
The large turban indicates someone of high reverence.

Central Turkey
These men had just excited their mosque after prayer time.

The rocks were rolled...
into place to keep the enemy out and arrows could be shot through the center if they approached.

Comments

[Susan]

Once again...
What a treat to receive a new blog. Once again your commentary and photography is captivating! I would never have guessed there are turtles in Turkey. I had to giggle when I saw the picture of you "helping" him cross a little more quickly. I would have had (my) Brian pull the car over, and I would have done the same thing! :) My eyes started watering when I read the part about Bryan having the hairs under his eyes removed. Ouch! Perhaps we should shave the upper cheek hairs next time? Thank you again for sharing your adventures. I love you and miss you lots...

[Jehanne]

wow
You have amazing pictures i love ALL of them! Keep it up!