Language Lessons

---

It had been a bit of an adventure to find the cushy, blue seat I was sitting in. I had managed to find my way to the gate that the bus company representative told me to go to. I discovered there that the ‘gate’ was only a very general description of where I may find the bus that I had purchased a ticket on. I stepped out into the group of people crowding around a few buses, none of which were marked with a destination, and, like a parrot, I began reciting my rehearsed sentence, “Otobus Safranbolu ne zaman kalkar?” After a few blank stares, a laugh or two and a smile that is universal the world over for, “I don’t have any idea what you are saying” I abandoned my attempt at speaking Turkish and started using the good old fashioned stand-by, “Safranbolu?”, “Safranbolu?”… Eventually a young man grabbed me by the arm and pulled me off to the side. He told me in Turkish and sign language, using a clock as a prop, that the bus to Safranbolu would be arriving in half an hour and he showed me where it would be parked. I thanked him in Turkish and then took a seat in the shade. When the bus pulled up I was surprised to see the same young man step off - I suppose they had parked the bus elsewhere for some reason or another. I put my bag under the bus and I climbed up the stairs and found my seat. Another half an hour went by before the young man took the last ticket and climbed aboard. The driver closed the door behind him. With a loud grinding clack, the bus lurched backwards out of the parking space and pulled out onto Istanbul’s busy streets. I was on my way into the Turkish countryside.

I took a quick glance around me. I was the only foreigner on the bus, which surprised me since Safranbolu was supposedly a big tourist attraction. The bus bounced and swerved its way through the suburban sprawl surrounding Istanbul. We crossed the Bosporus on one of the large suspension bridges that gracefully close the gap between the two continents and then I was in Asia for the second time that week. The vast continent stretched eastward into the unknown, where mysterious lands and exotic cultures are the norm. I thought back to a journey I had taken years before. It was a different time in my life. I was at the beginning of a very successful career in engineering. Up to that point I had been spending my meager vacations traveling around America helping a friend race his alcohol funnycar in a semi-pro drag racing series. One day at work an engineer that worked for the construction manager for the waste water plant I was building came into my office to talk, not unlike most other days on the project. That day was different, because, instead of the usual banter about the project or life around the Napa valley, where we were living at the time, he told me that he had quit his job. I was surprised, so I asked him why. He told me that he had sold everything and was going to go travel around the world for a while - At that time it sounded like a preposterous idea! Through a mutual friend at work I began receiving his dispatches from the road. Through Bolivia, India and Tibet I followed his journey. With each dispatch I started to remember more of my childhood dreams of seeing the world. Eventually my friend’s journey took him to Mongolia and another grand, but odd adventure - Golfing across Mongolia, which gained him some notoriety. Inspired by his journeys and a few of my earlier ones, I signed up for a package tour to Nepal. Two weeks in exotic Asia, in the heart of the Himalaya - It was a dream come true. I maxed out my credit cards, I told my boss I was going away for two weeks (he wasn’t too happy about that) and then I set off. It was a turbulent time in Nepal. It had been less than a year since the deaths of the royal family in an inconceivable family dispute and the bloody Maoist rebellion was in full swing, committing unspeakable atrocities around every corner. The company I was traveling with took care of everything. I stayed in the finest hotels, I had private transport and English speaking guides everywhere I went - I stayed fairly insulated from the problems that the average Nepali was experiencing due to the complete collapse of their once thriving tourism industry. It was in Namche Bazaar that I met another traveler. Much like my friend, he had quit his engineering job and was backpacking around the world. We hiked towards Tengboche together for most of the day and then his trail forked off into the unknown and I continued on with Lakpa, my guide. It was then that I really understood the benefits of long term travel - It is impossible to do a thirty day hike in two weeks! I ended up spending more money on that trip to Nepal than I had in the previous five months of traveling around Africa and Europe. As I sat there in my lumpy bus seat I could only smile. What had seemed like an impossible adventure back on the Himalayan trail had become my normal life and I had managed to keep it going for nearly three years!

We wound our way through the Asian side of the city, making a stop near one of the grand old palaces to pick up more people, and then we left the city behind us. The landscape was, at times, rolling hills of sparse, brown vegetation and, at others, flowing fields of golden grass. The young man that had been so helpful back at the otogar was obviously excited to have a foreigner on his bus. He plopped himself down in an empty seat across the aisle from mine and we spent nearly an hour trying to hold a conversation, which proved to be an enjoyable, but frustrating experience for both of us. I would pull a sentence out of my phrase book and he would laugh at my pronunciation and then he would attempt to answer using an English sentence out the same book. At one point the guy pulled out his phone and showed me a picture of what I assumed was his girlfriend. She was wearing clothing that would have been at home in the nightclubs in America, instead of the usual Turkish fashions, which surprised me a bit. The guy kept smiling and saying, “You like?”, or, “pretty?” Eventually I told him my plans of traveling to Turkey’s eastern border regions to see some of the rarely visited sites over there. He responded with an alarming change of tone. He lost his jovial attitude and kept saying, “Safranbolu good, Trabzon NO!” holding his hands together in the international hand signal for ‘machine gun’ to make sure I understood. I wasn’t able to get any better information out of him regarding why he thought it was so dangerous in the east - I had heard nothing but good from the few travelers I had met that had been out there. It was just getting dark when the bus came to a stop in an unfamiliar city square and the man behind the wheel yelled, “Safranbolu!” I got off of the bus, collected my bag and said farewell to the kid.

I looked down at my crude map of the town, but I couldn’t locate the large square I was in. I started wandering around looking at road signs, hoping to match one of them with the few street names on my map. I was starting to wonder if I had gotten off in the wrong place - I was not seeing any of the charming old buildings I was told to expect. A nice man came out of a shop, clearly recognizing the look of a lost tourist, and asked if he could help me in broken English. He took a look at the map I was holding and then he told me that the part of town I was looking for was about a twenty minute walk away and pointed me in the right direction. Just as the last hints of daylight disappeared into the darkness I came to a sharp turn in the road at a place that overlooked the edge of a ravine. I glanced down the road, not knowing if I was on the right path. I then looked across the ravine, but whatever was down there was shrouded in darkness. An old Turkish lady dressed in traditional clothing ambled by carrying a few bags of groceries. She turned down the hill and disappeared into the darkness below. I decided that if she was heading down there then there must be something down there to head to and I turned and followed her into the darkness.

Ten minutes later I reached the bottom of the hill and there was still no sign of the old town. Just as I was contemplating what I should do next a large Turkish man drove up on a tiny red moped. He stopped beside me and asked if I had a place to stay. When I told him the name of the place I was planning on staying he smiled and said that was his friends place. He then asked me if I wanted a ride. I took another look at the man, who was as large as me, and then the tiny moped he was on. The mental image that formed in my mind brought a smile to my face - Two large men and a huge backpack balancing on a tiny red moped, all that was missing were the clown suits. I thanked the man, but I told him that I would prefer to walk in because of my backpack. A smile (of relief?) formed on his face again as he gave me detailed directions to the place I was looking for and then he said he would let his friend know I was on my way. I followed his taillight around the corner, passing a lovely old building, and then I entered a dark maze of cobblestone alleys. All around me the vertical walls of old, Ottoman homes towered several stories above my head forming a nearly perfect canyon-like roadway. All of the buildings were dark and silence filled the air. It must have been very similar for nineteenth century travelers arriving after dark. From what I could see, it was clear that I was going to like the town, despite the fact that the shroud of darkness kept most of the scene concealed in mystery. A young boy ran up to me out of the darkness and said, “Hello!” with a big smile on his face. I returned his greeting and then I asked him where the center of town was - I learned then that his full English vocabulary had already been exhausted. I tried a few phrases of Turkish, one of which he seemed to understand and the other made him laugh. We came to a giant tortoise that was slowly walking across the street. We both stopped and stooped down to say hello, “Merhaba”, which prompted more laughs from both of us, but the tortoise just ignored us and continued his lightning fast pace across the street into the shadows. We walked for a while and then the kid stopped and pointed down a side street, which roughly corresponded to the directions the man on the moped had given me - It was clear that he thought that was the direction I needed to go. He said, “Good bye!” with a fairly good pronunciation and I thanked him in Turkish. I turned down the side alley and he disappeared into the shadows from whence he came. A few minutes later I was looking across a well lit square with a small mosque and a hamam in it. Those were the landmarks I needed to make sense of my map. I walked around the mosque and then the ancient walls of the caravansary and then I ducked into another dark alley. A few steps further I found the small sign for the place I was hoping to stay and I knocked on the door.

A nice lady opened the door and welcomed me in, first in Turkish and then in English. I asked if they had any rooms available in the hostel and she said yes. Ten minutes later, all of the formalities were taken care of and I was following her husband through the streets to the house that the hostel was located in - He told me that they had recently expanded and decided to put the hostel in a separate building. I was fairly exhausted, though it wasn’t all that late, so I had a hard time keeping up with him as he bound up staircase after staircase and sprinted through the cobblestone alleys. Eventually he came to a stop in front of a lovely Ottoman home. He unlocked the door and we walked in. He removed his shoes and asked me to do the same, laughing at the balancing act I had to do to get them off, and then we walked up the creaking stairs to the second floor. The man opened the first door we came to and said that I was the first to arrive and that I could pick any of the beds. I selected a nice mattress in the corner up against the window and the fireplace. I dropped my bags on the bed and then, relieved to be out from under my load, we continued the tour of the nicely restored Ottoman home. The Kitchen, a nice balcony and a comfy common area lined in worn Turkish carpets and thick animal hides, the hostel had everything I could have hoped for. The man told me that there were three Korean ladies staying downstairs in the women’s dorm and that he hoped there would be a few more people arriving on the late bus. He then gave me a quick orientation of the town and told me of a few good restaurants close by. At that, he welcomed me to Safranbolu and I thanked him for his help as he walked out the door.

I immediately got my belongings secured and then I set off into the dark streets to explore a bit. I turned this way and that along the narrow cobblestone alleys stopping from time to time to make sure I would be able to find my way back again. The streets were completely deserted even though it was still early and the complete lack of street lighting added an eerie feel to the walk. I passed a man walking by himself in the darkness. He said, “Merhaba” as we passed and I returned his greeting. A short time later I emerged from the darkness back into the well lit square. I quickly found the restaurant that the man had recommended and I went in. The seating was in a courtyard-like area that had an open air feel. The sound of rushing water flowed across my table on the mist from a small fountain that was against the wall and a few well fed cats prowled beneath the tables in search of little treats. The exotic smells of Turkey bellowed out of the kitchen exciting my taste buds and setting my stomach to growling. The owner of the restaurant came over and greeted me and handed me a menu. After much deliberation, I decided to order the moussaka and a hot tea. My hot tea arrived and I sipped it while I waited for my food. There was a large Turkish family sitting at the table next to mine and an older tourist couple across the courtyard at a small table near the fountain, other than them the place was empty. At about the time my food arrived the evening prayer began blasting out of the loud speakers mounted on the minaret adjacent to the restaurant. I was shocked. The usual melodic beauty that defined every call to prayer that I experienced in Istanbul was completely lacking. In fact, it seemed that the imam was laughing his way through the incantation, almost like a crank call. I didn’t notice any discomfort on the faces of the men in the restaurant so perhaps that was just the way it was done in Safranbolu. I slowly devoured my meal and it was every bit as wonderful as I had hoped - I had eaten moussaka, which is a Mediteranean, lasagna-like meal made with egg-plant, a few times in Istanbul and I was beginning to really like it. I finished off my dinner with a small plate of baklava and another cup of tea and then my sleepiness began to take over, so I paid my bill and headed back to my hostel.

When I got back to my room I discovered another backpack leaning against a bed, but the owner was nowhere to be found. I got cleaned up and then I got my book out and started to read… I awoke to the rustling of bags and a bright light (which I had left on). My roommate had returned from dinner. He was a Japanese backpacker who had come from Cappadocia on the late bus. We talked for a few minutes about Cappadocia and a few other places he had traveled. He took about ten minutes to get everything in order with his bags and then the light went off and I immediately drifted off to sleep.

When I opened my eyes again the sun was streaming in through the windows above my bed. I was well rested and ready to start the day. I got up, showered and made some water and then I set off across town, back to the hostel’s main building for breakfast. From the moment I stepped outside into the cool morning air I knew that I had found a special place in Safranbolu. With every step I took it became more and more understandable why the town was on the UNESCO World Heritage Site list. I have been to several world heritage sites that were made up of a few surviving examples of a certain type of architecture surrounded by modern buildings. What made Safranbolu special was the fact that there were few modern buildings in the town and most of those were done in the old style. Everything else dated from the nineteenth century - An entire Ottoman town had been preserved and restored. Other than the overhead power lines and the plethora of cars, it looked as if nothing had changed in Safranbolu since the Ottomans selected the ravine for their grand homes. I retraced my steps down a zigzag series of stairs and sloping alleyways towards the old caravansary that occupied a huge area in the heart of town.

I had noticed the huge stone walls of the caravansary the night before as I walked along the dark streets, but I didn’t know what I was looking at. It wasn’t until I saw the huge structure basking in the early morning sunlight that I realized what it was and its ancient stones took on a graceful, mysterious presence. I tried to roll back the clock to a time when the Silk Road was the only route across Asia; a time when huge caravans headed eastward to the Orient, or westward to the markets of Europe, heavily laden with exotic treasures from all over the known world. The caravansaries served as a hotel of sorts, a peaceful oasis in a parched land. The caravans’ animals were kept in the stables that occupied the first floor and the weary travelers took up residence in the upper floor. The caravansary served as a neutral ground of sorts, where even the most abhorrent foes were at peace while within its walls. I knew that, even today, if I were to choose to cross Asia on a camel I would be able to string together a route that allowed me to stay at a caravansary most nights. Some would be nicely restored, now reserved as bastions for wealthy travelers searching for exclusive places to stay, others would be museums dedicated to the memory of the caravan and many more would be forgotten ruins, slowly being reclaimed by the elements - Perhaps someday, when peace again reins across Asia, I will try to do just that; it does sound like a great adventure!

My grumbling stomach shook me out of my wistful nostalgia and forced me to continue my walk. I turned down the wide street behind the caravansary and then into the narrow walk that led away from it. The tiny alley had shed the eerie gloom that had prevailed in the previous evening’s darkness. Instead I found a lovely, cobblestoned way with well maintained Ottoman homes and lots of greenery. The morning sunlight was reflecting off of the time worn cobbles in the road adding warmth to the cool morning air - It was a beautiful scene. I walked inside the hotel that served as my hostel’s lobby and I was immediately greeted by the same friendly lady from the night before. She ushered me into the dining room where I joined her children and several other travelers at a series of tables lining the wall. She then brought out a tray piled high with all of the usual elements of a good Turkish breakfast and the feast began. The television was blaring Sponge Bob Square Pants, which is one of my favorite modern cartoons. It took me a few minutes before I realized how smart Sponge Bob was - He was speaking fluent Turkish! The cartoon, coupled with our friendly host, set the tone for a lively breakfast. The couple at the table next to me was from Canada. We sat there and laughed at the fact that the cartoon was just as funny in Turkish as it was in English. When the cartoon ended we started talking about our travels in Turkey - They were traveling in the opposite direction than I was, so we were able to share a lot of good information.

After breakfast I set off to explore town. By that point I was falling in love with Safranbolu. The town itself was the attraction. There was not a lot to do other than exploring the narrow cobblestone alleys and relaxing, but that is not always a bad thing. I spent hours walking along the ancient roads. Everywhere I looked beautiful white-washed Ottoman homes lined the alleys. Some of them were well restored, high-end boutique hotels, others were well maintained family homes. Many of the old homes were in various stages of restoration, which allowed me to get a glimpse of the stout, wood-frame construction that has helped so many of the homes withstand the centuries. I couldn’t help but be thankful for organizations like UNESCO that tirelessly strive to preserve our human heritage - The funding and advertizing that those organizations provide help give many communities around the world a good reason to preserve the historic structures they live in when it would generally be easier to tear them down and replace them with modern, cheaply built structures.

About mid morning I stopped at a nice little coffee shop in the bazaar and I ordered a hot tea. I spent the next half hour or so reading about Safranbolu in one of the books I had with me. As it turned out, Safranbolu was once an important supplier of saffron, which, averaging $1000 per pound, is the world’s most expensive spice - I suppose it is obvious where the town got its name. Now tourism is the town’s only industry and it seems to be thriving, despite the lack of crowds when I was there. As I sipped my tea I learned about the different architectural features that are typical of Ottoman construction, like the wood-framed windows that hang out over the street allowing the women of the house to take in the world around them without having to be seen, or the ornate fireplaces that protrude off of the wall in each room. When I finished my tea I set off to explore a bit more of the bazaar. As I walked down the narrow alleys I looked in shop after shop. Most of the stores were filled with cheaply made, mass produced tourist trinkets, much like you can find in any tourist town throughout the world, but there was another kind of shop that drew me in like a magnet. I didn’t have a chance - The delectable window displays, the rich smells wafting out of the open doors and the smiling ladies handing out tiny gelatinous samples of confectionary delight all worked together to form an irresistible force. It was clear that I was going to be relieved of some of my money in their shops, but I wanted to lessen the damage, so I quickly ducked into the first (and only) restaurant I found in search of lunch. Inside I found a very simple seating area and the same Canadian couple from breakfast - It gave us all a good laugh when we discovered that the same thought process had forced us all through the door of the tiny restaurant. I ate a deliciously spiced, but simple Turkish style meal as I talked to my friends. Half an hour later we were all back in the candy store staring at shelf after shelf of rich Turkish lokum. The lokum, which is a sweet gelatinous candy, is better known as Turkish Delight throughout the world. I have never liked jellybeans and the lokum is very similar in texture to the interior of a jellybean, so I was a little leery about making a purchase. I had managed to avoid the lokum to that point during my travels in Turkey, but there was something different about the lokum in Safranbolu - It was flavored with saffron. The smiling young lady handed me a tiny yellow cube dusted with powdered sugar and caped with a pistachio. It was surprising, but I absolutely loved it. I tried a few more flavors and then I settled on the pistachio crowned lokum and I purchased a box of it. It looked like enough candy to last me weeks. My friends made their purchase and then we headed back towards the center of town where we went our separate ways.

I spent the rest of the day strolling around and eating candy. I was thoroughly enjoying my time in Safranbolu, but I had seen most of what there was to see and I was getting bored. I knew it was time to move on, so I began planning my journey for the following morning. The emphatic ‘don’t go east’ gestures from the guy on the bus the previous day had made me question how much I wanted to go east - There was a lot I wanted to see over there, but there was a lot of other things in the area that I wanted to see as well. I spent a lot of time over a cup of tea trying to figure out what I was going to do between then and the time I was due in Amman, Jordan for my flight home. There was definitely a lot I wanted to see back east, but I also had plans to meet some family members on the island of Rhodes in the near future. I wanted to explore Egypt and Jordan as well, so I wanted to set aside a lot of time to do that. I eventually decided that I would abandon the route I had planned to follow along the Black Sea and head inland to one of the bigger tourist areas where I would try and put together a group of people to go out east. That decided, there was just one thing left to do in the region - I had come that far and I wasn’t about to head south before I swam in the Black Sea. I set my sights on Amasra on the on the coast and then I went back to the same restaurant I had eaten at the previous evening for dinner. As fate would have it, I ended up sitting at a table next to the same Canadian couple again - We hadn’t planned it that way and it was a bit strange, three meals in a row, but we still had fun. The reason I had returned to the same restaurant was because of a huge, unbelievably beautiful salad I had seen there the night before - I ordered the salad and a plate of kofte and what a wonderful meal it was!

The following morning I packed my bags and headed down to the hotel for breakfast. I let the owner know that I was planning on heading out to Amasra after breakfast and he offered me a ride up to the bus station with a few of his other guests - I had been dreading the walk back up the hill, so I gladly accepted and ran off to get my bags. An hour later I pried myself out of the tiny van, grabbed my bags and walked into the bus station to purchase my ticket. In less than twenty minutes I was on a small bus headed out of Safranbolu. I had a relatively short distance to cover to get to Amasra, but there were no direct busses. Instead, I was going to a large town called Bartin near the coast. From there I would find a minibus to the coast.

We quickly left the suburban landscape behind us and started climbing up into a lovely, forest-clad mountain range. The road was good, which meant the driver could drive as fast as he wanted around the hair-pin curves and blind corners - Of course, I had grown used to that and, since I knew he would likely have driven just as fast if the road was bad, I was thankful for the smooth asphalt. The scenery was stunning. Thick pine forests rose up all around us. From time to time we would pass a lovely little town, or cross over a stream. The road followed a large river for a long time before it descended out of the mountains a bit and left the forests behind us. Most of the towns we passed had a mosque of some sort. Some were very simple with makeshift minarets made from sheet metal and others were grand wooden edifices that fit well into the landscape - All served as a beautiful reminder of where I was.

We had been on the road for over an hour when we left the semi-rural landscape behind us. The structures became more regular and then continuous. A few moments later we were in Bartin. I was not sure where I needed to get off the bus in Bartin, so I asked the driver in my feeble Turkish where I needed to go to find the bus to Amasra. He seemed to understand my question and with some completely unrecognizable, rapid fire words and a few more recognizable hand gestures I figured out that he would let me know when I needed to get off the bus. Several stops later he pointed to me and said, “Amasra” and pointed out the window to a small bus parked in the corner of a large parking area. I thanked him and headed in that direction.

I was happy when I saw that the bus was nearly full - Generally that means it will leave soon. I asked the driver how much it would cost me to get to Amasra and he smiled and told me he was full and that I would have to wait for the next bus - Of course, I didn’t understand what he had said until he politely closed the door and drove off. The next bus in line pulled up and let me know that they were also heading to Amasra - Sadly, it was empty! Before I boarded the bus I went in search of a restroom and some food - Oddly enough, the only restroom I could find cost me more than the lunch, but, not knowing how long I was going to be there, I decided I couldn’t take the chance of waiting. I went back to the bus, selected a nice seat and began the waiting game. Luckily, the book I was reading was very entertaining, so I had put several chapters behind me before enough people joined me on the bus to make it worth his wile for the driver to close the door and head towards the coast - I think I waited for nearly two hours, which was not too bad. The distance to the coast was very short, but we were not completely full, so we made several stops to pickup more passengers along the way. After what seemed like an hour, we came around a tight bend in the road and saw our destination for the first time - Down the steep pine-clad slopes, way below us, the rugged coastline of the Black Sea stretched off into the distance. A few greenish harbors faded into the dark black waters of the sea and between two of the lovelier harbors a small, picturesque spit of land jutted out into the sea to a pair of islands. On that spit of land and the larger of the two islands rose Amasra, the lovely city by the sea.

It took us another ten minutes to navigate the hair-pin turns and precipitous drops down to the coast. We stopped in a busy intersection and everyone quickly got off. My bag was in a compartment next to the engine in the back of the bus. I told the man that I had to get my bag and he nodded, but left it to me. Just as I reached the door to the compartment he started to drive away! A Turkish man who also had a bag in there ran up to the door of the bus yelling and I jumped onto the back bumper and managed to get the door open. The man finally realized his error and stopped and apologized to both of us. I hoisted my backpack up onto my back and then I picked a direction that I thought would lead me to the waterfront and the most likely area to find a place to stay for the night. I found the lovely tourist area and then I found the tourist information shack, which was closed. Luckily, there was a small pocket on the window that contained hand-drawn maps of the town and the main tourist facilities. I found the nearest hotel on the map and I walked towards it. Inside, the nice man behind the counter said, in broken English, that he was full, but he directed me to another place, which he said was the only place in town that still had rooms. I got a little worried when I saw the fancy lobby of the next hotel - I had known I was going to blow my budget a little traveling to Amasra alone, being one of the bigger Turkish tourist destinations in the country, but I was hoping not to blow it too badly. The man at the counter spoke excellent English, but he still humored me as I attempted to ask for a room in Turkish - He corrected me where I had messed it up and then he said, “Yes, I have a few rooms left.” The price was considerably more than I had paid the night before in Safranbolu, but it didn’t matter. I followed him up a few floors and then he opened a door into a tiny room with two beds, a TV and a window that opened onto the hallway. It also had a nice attached bathroom that effectively doubled the size of the room - In all it looked like a storage closet with an attached bathroom, but it was home for the night!

With the mundane task of finding a place to stay out of the way, I set off to explore the town. As would be expected with a town built on a small spit of land and an island, the buildings were densely packed around a labyrinthine network of narrow, cobblestone alleys. I spent the next few hours walking around exploring the sights and I must say I was impressed. I walked along a narrow alley packed with shops containing all the usual seaside tourist town trinkets as well as some amazing art and high quality souvenirs. One of the handicrafts that the region was known for was old sailing ship models and everywhere I looked amazing examples of them were on display - I came very close to purchasing one of the grand old ships, but the idea of trying to get it home with all of its rigging intact eventually deterred me. The alley ended at a road that ran along the top of an ancient Roman wall that formed part of the fortifications of the once important Roman Port - The presence of such grand fortifications surprised me and let me know just how little I knew about the area. I followed the road around the spit of land and then I crossed through a lovely arched tunnel. On the other side, the road continued to follow the walls and then it crossed over an ancient Roman bridge that joined the island to the mainland. I crossed the bridge and walked beneath another grand archway that passed through the battlements of the fortifications on the island. I followed the road to the left for a while until I came to a spot high up on a bluff overlooking the smaller, more picturesque of the town’s two harbors. I turned around and looked back towards the main part of the town. The view was simply stunning. The greenish water of the harbor, filled with swimming vacationers, gave way to the beautiful stonework of the ancient fortification walls. Above the walls, original Ottoman style homes mingled with newer buildings were built one on top of the other as they rose towards the top of the bluff where a single minaret rose high above everything else. Off to the left, the perfect Roman arch bridged the narrow gap between the island and the peninsula. In the distance, the green coastal range and the deep blue sky completed the scene.

I absolutely loved Amasra, but, much like Safranbolu, there was not a lot to do there. I decided that the town was too expensive to stay for more than the evening, but there was one thing I had to do before I left. I quickly went back to the hotel where I stashed my camera gear and donned my swimsuit. I made my way back down the alley to the ancient staircase that led down between two of the buildings to the water. I walked past the disgusting, trash-strewn shore where there were a few small boats tied up, and out onto a spit of rock with some remains from the old fortifications. The air was filled with the screaming and laughing from all of the children as they jumped off of the low bluff into the water with a big splash. I was surprised to find both Turkish men and women swimming and sunbathing on that little promontory of rock - I suppose the conservative segregation I saw at the beach in Istanbul was not as big of an issue in Amasra. I walked up to the edge and jumped in - I had gotten into the practice of swimming with my sandals on to avoid any potential foot injuries. The water was salty, but not as salty as the ocean and it was very cool - A perfect contrast to the warm sunny day. I took off swimming along the fortifications towards the lovely arched bridge. From time to time I would find a shallow spot where I was completely surrounded by the long, fine grass that blanketed the bottom of the harbor, but most of the time it was nice and deep. I swam beneath the massive stones of the arch into the bigger water of the Black Sea itself and then I turned around and swam back into the harbor. I then followed the fortifications along the island for a little while, before turning around and heading back to the tiny rock promontory I had entered at. I climbed up the rickety iron ladder, climbed back up the staircase and went back to the hotel - I had done what I had set off to do; I had swam in the Black Sea!

I spent the rest of the evening exploring the town, getting caught up on e-mail and planning my journey for the following morning. I visited the larger harbor, which was full of boats and far less charming and I sat and watched the sun set over the Black Sea from a waterfront park - The huge fiery orange orb sank out of a gray sky and disappeared into a gray sea as a perfectly silhouetted fisherman sat in his boat searching for dinner. After the sunset I went in search of dinner myself. I settled on a popular sidewalk restaurant in the center of town. I took a seat at an open table and began deciphering the menu. Ten minutes went by without any notice from my server. At twenty minutes I briefly got his attention with a wave of my hand, but he quickly averted his gaze and ignored me again. At thirty minutes a Turkish man with a booming voice stood up at the table across from mine and started yelling at the server in a string of indistinguishable words that couldn’t have been pleasant - He was pointing at my table, so it was clear that he had also noticed the server’s antics. The waiter quickly apologized and took my order and disappeared. The man came over and put his hand on my shoulder and said in excellent English, “I am sorry for the waiter’s rude behavior.” Then he asked me where I was from and then said, “We do love Americans here in Turkey, but we hate your government!” We then talked a bit about Turkey and Amasra - He was from Istanbul and was in Amasra vacationing with his family. He was excited when I told him the route I was planning on following through his country and he said he had been to many of the places I was visiting and they were all wonderful. When my food arrived he walked back over to his table and I thanked him for his help. The meal I got was not what I had ordered, but it was still delicious (it must have been the ‘special sauce’.) I am not sure why the waiter had such a problem with me. I hadn’t said a word to him and, to his surprise, I was able to order my food in Turkish, but perhaps he anticipated a huge language barrier. I was the only foreigner I had seen in the town and I was at the table by myself, so perhaps he just didn’t want to deal with me - If it was because he guessed that I was an American and didn’t like me for it then it was the first and only time that had been a problem during my travels. I walked around town for a few more hours and I ate some more baklava. It was approaching ten o’clock when I made it back to my room that evening.

I was up with the sun the next morning and after a nice breakfast at the hotel I checked out and headed down to the waterfront where I had purchased a bus ticket the previous evening. I found the bus and the driver told me he was going to get breakfast and would be back in half an hour. I took a walk along the waterfront one last time and then I found some good travel snacks. An hour later I was on the bus heading back up the steep road into the mountains. Amasra and the Black Sea were behind me. I absolutely loved Amasra and the mysteries of the Black Sea captivated me and reminded me of all of the wonder I felt as a child when I first learned of the inland sea in my geography lessons. I was bound for the capitol of Turkey, Ankara, and then onward straight to Cappadocia. It would be an arduous, all day bus journey, but it wouldn’t be the first time…

---

Photos

Amasra
This is one of the loveliest towns I have ever visited. Located on the Black Sea it is also a popular Turkish tourist attraction and has the prices to go along with it.

Ottoman Homes
The beautiful white-washed homes date back to the nineteenth century and Ottoman times. They are the reason that UNESCO has put the old town on their world heritage site list.

Morning in Safranbolu
This is the view from the patio of the hostel. The huge rectangular building with the courtyard is the caravansary.

Sunset over the Black Sea
It's not all that colorful, but it is still one of the most memorable sunsets I have seen.

Island in the Sea
This is the smaller of the two Islands at Amasra. I think it was called rabbit island.

The Vast Inland Sea
I have always been intrigued by the huge inland seas in Asia and now I have visited one of them. If my sense of direction is correct, Romania and Bulgaria are on the other side of that crisp horizon.

Sea Cliffs
This is the bluff on the mainland side of the mouth of Amasra's small harbor.

Safranbolu
All of the lovely Ottoman homes made Safranbolu a world class destination.

The Main Square
This is the heart of the old part of Safranbolu.

Cobblestone Alleys
The Labyrinth of narrow alleys allowed for hours of joyful exploration in Safranbolu.

Home Sweet Home
This was the beautifully restored building that the hostel was located in. My bed was located on the upper floor on the right side of the overhanging window.

More Ottoman Homes
I just loved these buildings.