This is an incredible city.
I recovered pretty quickly from yesterday's long morning. I poked around the neighborhood to get my bearings, took a couple naps, and headed out to the clubs at midnight with Ekrem, the hotel manager, and a French guy.
The club was Standard Urban Gay, but with Turkish House. It was dark and crowded; everyone was pretty butch except for a few token twinks, a handful of guys were rolling but most were getting smashed on rakı and beer, and there couldn't have been more than three or four foreigners in the place. It was interesting to watch for awhile, then I got bored. I don't always do well in bars, but didn't want to go home early my only weekend here.
At some point I had had enough beers (two - it doesn't take much) & I decided to work it and see what happened. I stripped down to my tank and moved to the dance floor, and what a difference that made. The offers came pretty fast. Real fast: it was Hello, How are you? Where are you from? and Ok so we go have sex now? The first offer was from a 21 year old kid from Syria. I passed. Second was from a bigger older man. He blew it when he bit me. I now have teeth marks on my deltoids. I'm not really sure what that was about. I saw a straight (well, 'straight') Dutch guy I had met earlier, and moved in tight with him to get some breathing room.
So I was checking out the crowd, noticed a handsome guy looking back, and we stumbled through a few Turkish niceties. He tried some German, but no go. I tried some English ... and it turns out that he's American. He's been here five years, and he introduced me to some if his gang, and pretty soon it was 4am and time to go.
We hung out most of the day. He showed me aroud his neighborhood, then we crossed the Golden Horn to look for Camii Büçük Aya Sofia. Bob: This is the Church of Sts. Sergius and Bacchus that you were looking for. It was converted to a mosque, and is actually quite well known (it was the model for the Hagia Sofya). It was just named a World Heritage Site and was undergoing renovations, so we could only look at the outside. I'll post some pictures tomorrow.
Afterwards we wandered around Sultahnmet, peeking inside the Blue Mosque and at the Gardens of Topkapı Palace. It was rainy and cold, and it's giving the city a moody air. I kind of like it. There are discoveries around every corner, and streets will open up to sudden and beautiful views of the Bosphorus, or the palaces, or the grand mosques. People I met who live here love this city completely, in the same way that others love New York or Mexico City or San Francisco. Yesterday I thought that a week was perhaps too long to spend here. Now I think it's not nearly long enough.
I haven't taken many photos. I met set aside a day later this week just to be a shutterbug.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Saturday, October 29, 2005
Problem Militair
OK, here's the deal. My mom reads this blog, so I'm going to temper my language a bit. If you want the original flavor, add the expletives of you choice throughout the post: minimum one per sentence, and bonus points for creativity.
I knew a bad day had to come. That's just life on the road. Blue skies don't last forever.
The trip to İstanbul wasn't so bad (thanks, ambien!). It was raining when the bus crossed the Bosphorus into Europe, but it wasn't into any Europe that I recognized. The city has a large, forested greenbelt around it, but inside the forest was a seemingly endless plain of five-story cement walk ups. Trouble started at the otogar, the vast bus station on the outskirts of the city. 300 bus companies are based here, and hell (oops) if I could find a pattern to the chaos. You could lose the plot here, mate by seat mate commented. The connecting service intot he city had been cancelled, so we were left to our own devices. After eleven hours by bus I wanted to take the easy way out and charter a minivan. I coralled some Aussies and Japanese from the same bus and tried to bargain a group rate for us. The opening bid: 50 lira, or ten lira each. All of 7.50 US dollars for door to door service. Ten Lira! the lead Japanese exclaimed. Absolutely not! Then she marched off ... and the group followed.
There is safety in numbers, I wanted to explain, but it was too late. They disappeared into the madness, and were gone. I was on my own. I got the single fare bid down to twenty lira, and was on my way - into the surliest traffic I have ever seen. People drove like Romans on crystal meth. There seemed to be no rules. We drove the wrong way down freeway exits, jumped curbs, and cut other cars off (and were cut off in turn), all the while everyone honking and shouting at each other. I found the tension overwhelming, and soon it had worked it's way into the very fiber of my being. I really missed our little old ladies driving with aloha. Hell, I missed yellow lines on the road.
But twenty minutes and I'll be safe in my hotel, I thought. Relax. As if it could be that easy. Many of the routes into the city were closed, blocked by police and military vehicles. Bayram'a problem militair var, the driver explained, cussing and throwing up his hands. There are problems with the military. I wasn't sure how to translate Bayram - he either meant the Bayrampaşa neighborhood (a peasant uprising?) or the Bayram holiday (a coup to mark the end of Ramazan?).
What an ugly day for a coup, I thought. İstanbul was muddy and grey and there were soldiers on the streets and men in dirty ghetto lanes burning trash for warmth. I've read that even in Byzantine times, during the glory days of Justinian, visitors to this city were shocked at how the poor lived. The aristocracy had their palaces gilded with gold; the poor had rivers of mud and filth flowing through their streets.
We finally found a way into the city proper, and as we passed through the stone walls of one of the fallen empires the world went from dull and grey to pretty and light. Suddenly there were tree lined boulevards and smart shops and white and yellow lines on the street that the cars actually followed. I started to see hope for my week in İstanbul.
The taxi let me off by the side of the road, telling me that the main road was closed and that all I had to do was go up the hill and there was my hotel. I believed him. Bad mistake. I paid him, he headed off, and I trudged a road that was more mud than road. See İstanbul Pic 1, and begin inserting two cuss words per sentence.
I was a kilometer from the hotel. It rudged up to İstiklal Cadessi, the main pedestrian thoroughfare, and worked my way through the mud to the Galata Tower. See Pic 2. It wasn't pretty. But at Galata I couldn't find the hotel. I asked directions, and got different responses each time. I went up hill and down hill and in and out of every alley in the neighborhood. I finally bagged it and hailed a taxi to take me the rest of the way.
You are all cussing with me, right? Just making sure. The taxi drove a loop around Beyoğlu, and I knew he was driving in a big circle to drive the meter up but what could I do? Thirteen lira later he drops me off around the corner from the hotel (the main street was closed).
Only the hotel wasn't around the corner, and I was even further away than from when I started. I asked a nice man with a machine gun for directions, and he pointed in the exact same direction I had just walked an hour before. I wanted to cry. I wondered what would happen if I just sat down in the mud, right there in the middle of the street, and gave up. I was wet, tired, and hungry, and far from comfort.
I trudged on. I got back tot he Galata Tower. I began asking for directions. And everyone was very nice and helpful and completely useless. They would take me by the hand, point down a street, and assure me the hotel was right there. Down the hill. Or up around the bend. Or just behind that building there. And it had now been hours that I'd been walking, and I knew I was close, and yet I could not find the address. Mind you, I did have the address - it's ust that no one recognized the street name.
Since the 'avenue' turned out to be about 10 meters long I can't blame them. I finally went into a bakery and asked to use the phone. They were kind, and said they knew right where the hotel was, but before they could send me over the river and through the woods I started begging: Dignity exit, stage left.
So they called, and the hotel sent a kid to find me and walk me the rest of the way. And I would have never found it from their directions (most guests come from the airport and are picked up by the hotel). I was feeling pretty pathetic by then, and all I wanted was a hug. I had talked to the manager a few times online, and I built up a delightful little scenario on how I would walk into the hotel and I would be greated like lost family. And it was a nice fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. I walked into the lobby, mud splattered and tired and probably with a slightly crazy look in my eye. Translation: no hug. I was lucky to get a handshake.
They did feed me though, and that made me feel better. I'm easy that way. I walked around a bit after, and this city might not be so bad afterall. The sun came out for a bit, folks are crowding the streets, and I can start to picture how a week here could be alright. First, though, I'm going to take a long nap and then start this day over.
Oh - and there was no problem militaire. They had blocked the streets for a parade. In the words of the hotel manager: the taxi drivers here are all full of sh*t.
I knew a bad day had to come. That's just life on the road. Blue skies don't last forever.
The trip to İstanbul wasn't so bad (thanks, ambien!). It was raining when the bus crossed the Bosphorus into Europe, but it wasn't into any Europe that I recognized. The city has a large, forested greenbelt around it, but inside the forest was a seemingly endless plain of five-story cement walk ups. Trouble started at the otogar, the vast bus station on the outskirts of the city. 300 bus companies are based here, and hell (oops) if I could find a pattern to the chaos. You could lose the plot here, mate by seat mate commented. The connecting service intot he city had been cancelled, so we were left to our own devices. After eleven hours by bus I wanted to take the easy way out and charter a minivan. I coralled some Aussies and Japanese from the same bus and tried to bargain a group rate for us. The opening bid: 50 lira, or ten lira each. All of 7.50 US dollars for door to door service. Ten Lira! the lead Japanese exclaimed. Absolutely not! Then she marched off ... and the group followed.
There is safety in numbers, I wanted to explain, but it was too late. They disappeared into the madness, and were gone. I was on my own. I got the single fare bid down to twenty lira, and was on my way - into the surliest traffic I have ever seen. People drove like Romans on crystal meth. There seemed to be no rules. We drove the wrong way down freeway exits, jumped curbs, and cut other cars off (and were cut off in turn), all the while everyone honking and shouting at each other. I found the tension overwhelming, and soon it had worked it's way into the very fiber of my being. I really missed our little old ladies driving with aloha. Hell, I missed yellow lines on the road.
But twenty minutes and I'll be safe in my hotel, I thought. Relax. As if it could be that easy. Many of the routes into the city were closed, blocked by police and military vehicles. Bayram'a problem militair var, the driver explained, cussing and throwing up his hands. There are problems with the military. I wasn't sure how to translate Bayram - he either meant the Bayrampaşa neighborhood (a peasant uprising?) or the Bayram holiday (a coup to mark the end of Ramazan?).
What an ugly day for a coup, I thought. İstanbul was muddy and grey and there were soldiers on the streets and men in dirty ghetto lanes burning trash for warmth. I've read that even in Byzantine times, during the glory days of Justinian, visitors to this city were shocked at how the poor lived. The aristocracy had their palaces gilded with gold; the poor had rivers of mud and filth flowing through their streets.
We finally found a way into the city proper, and as we passed through the stone walls of one of the fallen empires the world went from dull and grey to pretty and light. Suddenly there were tree lined boulevards and smart shops and white and yellow lines on the street that the cars actually followed. I started to see hope for my week in İstanbul.
The taxi let me off by the side of the road, telling me that the main road was closed and that all I had to do was go up the hill and there was my hotel. I believed him. Bad mistake. I paid him, he headed off, and I trudged a road that was more mud than road. See İstanbul Pic 1, and begin inserting two cuss words per sentence.
I was a kilometer from the hotel. It rudged up to İstiklal Cadessi, the main pedestrian thoroughfare, and worked my way through the mud to the Galata Tower. See Pic 2. It wasn't pretty. But at Galata I couldn't find the hotel. I asked directions, and got different responses each time. I went up hill and down hill and in and out of every alley in the neighborhood. I finally bagged it and hailed a taxi to take me the rest of the way.
You are all cussing with me, right? Just making sure. The taxi drove a loop around Beyoğlu, and I knew he was driving in a big circle to drive the meter up but what could I do? Thirteen lira later he drops me off around the corner from the hotel (the main street was closed).
Only the hotel wasn't around the corner, and I was even further away than from when I started. I asked a nice man with a machine gun for directions, and he pointed in the exact same direction I had just walked an hour before. I wanted to cry. I wondered what would happen if I just sat down in the mud, right there in the middle of the street, and gave up. I was wet, tired, and hungry, and far from comfort.
I trudged on. I got back tot he Galata Tower. I began asking for directions. And everyone was very nice and helpful and completely useless. They would take me by the hand, point down a street, and assure me the hotel was right there. Down the hill. Or up around the bend. Or just behind that building there. And it had now been hours that I'd been walking, and I knew I was close, and yet I could not find the address. Mind you, I did have the address - it's ust that no one recognized the street name.
Since the 'avenue' turned out to be about 10 meters long I can't blame them. I finally went into a bakery and asked to use the phone. They were kind, and said they knew right where the hotel was, but before they could send me over the river and through the woods I started begging: Dignity exit, stage left.
So they called, and the hotel sent a kid to find me and walk me the rest of the way. And I would have never found it from their directions (most guests come from the airport and are picked up by the hotel). I was feeling pretty pathetic by then, and all I wanted was a hug. I had talked to the manager a few times online, and I built up a delightful little scenario on how I would walk into the hotel and I would be greated like lost family. And it was a nice fantasy, but a fantasy nonetheless. I walked into the lobby, mud splattered and tired and probably with a slightly crazy look in my eye. Translation: no hug. I was lucky to get a handshake.
They did feed me though, and that made me feel better. I'm easy that way. I walked around a bit after, and this city might not be so bad afterall. The sun came out for a bit, folks are crowding the streets, and I can start to picture how a week here could be alright. First, though, I'm going to take a long nap and then start this day over.
Oh - and there was no problem militaire. They had blocked the streets for a parade. In the words of the hotel manager: the taxi drivers here are all full of sh*t.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Bad Weather Coming
It's my last day in Göreme - I take the night bus to İstanbul - and I picked the right day to leave. Clouds started pouting in across the plains early today, and by mid morning the sun was gone. All the heat went with it. It's been non-stop blue skies for two weeks; at some point my luck was bound to run out. It snowed in İstanbul last week, and there have been floods along the Black Sea Coast. I'm not sure what to expect tomorrow.
I've just been putzing around town wasting time; it really is to cold to wander very far. I went to the music store for awhile and picked up some cd's. I could've bought a dozen - there is some great music here. I enjoy the folk music enough, but can't imagine I'd listen to it much. Some of the modern Sufi and Anatolian jazz, however, is stunning - it's completely haunting and melancholic, and I am sure I will be subjecting all of you to it when I get home. A guy at the restaurant burned me some cd's, and I bought two more this morning.
Dawn / Ron / et al: Here are my travel basics for the next couple weeks:
I've just been putzing around town wasting time; it really is to cold to wander very far. I went to the music store for awhile and picked up some cd's. I could've bought a dozen - there is some great music here. I enjoy the folk music enough, but can't imagine I'd listen to it much. Some of the modern Sufi and Anatolian jazz, however, is stunning - it's completely haunting and melancholic, and I am sure I will be subjecting all of you to it when I get home. A guy at the restaurant burned me some cd's, and I bought two more this morning.
Dawn / Ron / et al: Here are my travel basics for the next couple weeks:
- İstanbul Oc.t 29 - Nov. 3
- New York Nov. 4-7. I'll call from there.
- Michigan Nov. 8 - 15
- Nov. 16 Home!
Thursday, October 27, 2005
The Barber of Göreme
Heaven is not the future we imagine,
rather, Heaven is the place where we store our memories.
- Orhan Pamuk, Snow
I'm paraphrasing the line - I don't have the book on me. It was the first thing I read this morning. It was a great message to start the day with.
I posted more pics, but scaled down in size. I'm slowly learning the details of this camera.
Last night was a bit warmer than normal (I only needed two blankets), and the morning was bordering on hot. I got some good news from Hawai'i - I finally made the State Planner List, as a Level III and IV. The translation: I'm employable! It will still take me some months to score full time permanent work, but I'm one step closer.
Since it was shaping up to be such a beautiful day I decided to pamper myself, and headed to the barber for the full treatment: haircut, a shave, shampoo, and a massage. Now men: If you've never had an old-fashioned shave with a straight razor, you are missing out on one of life's true pleasures. I love every minute of it, from the feel of the razor against my skin to the burn of the cologne afterwards. And it's more then just sensual - it's also an act of faith, a test of our belief in brotherhood, to allow another man to handle an open blade that close to our neck. I know that our fathers and grandfathers enjoyed shaves; I'm not sure when the practice died out in the States. I used to get them in Indonesia, and even ten years down the road I can remember the luxury of spending a morning at the barbers. I was happy to see that the tradition is still alive in Turkey.
The barber, Mehmet, was a big bear of a man. He had blue eyes, close cropped hair, and a short beard that was redder than mine, but with thick Turkish features. And his hands were huge. When he applied the lotions, or held my head to crack my neck, his palms almost covered my entire face. Combine that with furry Popeye-sized forearms, and the guy would have been King at IML.
Except that the ladies at IML would be screaming for unscented oils, and would probably melt if splashed with cologne. Ah well. We all have our own ideas of masculinity.
So, my brothers, if you ever find yourself in one of the old countries, you need to go. End of argument. I've asked around in the states, but fear of lawsuits, government regulation, and impossible insurance rates have KO'd the practice. A schoolmate from Nepal, Sagar, once told me that he thought that our endless regulations made it very difficult for the poor to survive in the US.
He had a solid point. Our health laws and licensing do help keep the middle class safe, and I know that that is good, but it's not until you travel outside the West that you see what was lost. We aren't taught that there was a tradeoff. Our professionals are all licensed, our cafes all DOH inspected, our apartments theoretically meet minimum standards - all things I agree with. But progress has destroyed the working class economy & we haven't really mitigated for that.
Enough of that. I had lunch with a Kiwi couple that I have been running into all over the place. After I tried to walk through Pigeon Valley to Uchisar, a small town about 3 km down the road. The directions were easy - follow the canal into the valley - and I set off ...
And anybody who has been reading this knows what happened. Yes, I lost the trail. Yes, I headed down many dead ends. Yes, I tried repeatedly to scale the cliffs and although I came close ... oh so close ... I did not make it to the top. But I saw some great sights. And the fall colors were brilliant. I haven't managed to time it right to see autumn in the states in years; I wasn't expecting to find it here.
I never did make it to Uchisar. By late afternoon I turned tail and headed back to Göreme, telling myself the journey is more important than the destination, the journey is more important than the destination, the journey is more important than the destination ...
rather, Heaven is the place where we store our memories.
- Orhan Pamuk, Snow
I'm paraphrasing the line - I don't have the book on me. It was the first thing I read this morning. It was a great message to start the day with.
I posted more pics, but scaled down in size. I'm slowly learning the details of this camera.
Last night was a bit warmer than normal (I only needed two blankets), and the morning was bordering on hot. I got some good news from Hawai'i - I finally made the State Planner List, as a Level III and IV. The translation: I'm employable! It will still take me some months to score full time permanent work, but I'm one step closer.
Since it was shaping up to be such a beautiful day I decided to pamper myself, and headed to the barber for the full treatment: haircut, a shave, shampoo, and a massage. Now men: If you've never had an old-fashioned shave with a straight razor, you are missing out on one of life's true pleasures. I love every minute of it, from the feel of the razor against my skin to the burn of the cologne afterwards. And it's more then just sensual - it's also an act of faith, a test of our belief in brotherhood, to allow another man to handle an open blade that close to our neck. I know that our fathers and grandfathers enjoyed shaves; I'm not sure when the practice died out in the States. I used to get them in Indonesia, and even ten years down the road I can remember the luxury of spending a morning at the barbers. I was happy to see that the tradition is still alive in Turkey.
The barber, Mehmet, was a big bear of a man. He had blue eyes, close cropped hair, and a short beard that was redder than mine, but with thick Turkish features. And his hands were huge. When he applied the lotions, or held my head to crack my neck, his palms almost covered my entire face. Combine that with furry Popeye-sized forearms, and the guy would have been King at IML.
Except that the ladies at IML would be screaming for unscented oils, and would probably melt if splashed with cologne. Ah well. We all have our own ideas of masculinity.
So, my brothers, if you ever find yourself in one of the old countries, you need to go. End of argument. I've asked around in the states, but fear of lawsuits, government regulation, and impossible insurance rates have KO'd the practice. A schoolmate from Nepal, Sagar, once told me that he thought that our endless regulations made it very difficult for the poor to survive in the US.
He had a solid point. Our health laws and licensing do help keep the middle class safe, and I know that that is good, but it's not until you travel outside the West that you see what was lost. We aren't taught that there was a tradeoff. Our professionals are all licensed, our cafes all DOH inspected, our apartments theoretically meet minimum standards - all things I agree with. But progress has destroyed the working class economy & we haven't really mitigated for that.
Enough of that. I had lunch with a Kiwi couple that I have been running into all over the place. After I tried to walk through Pigeon Valley to Uchisar, a small town about 3 km down the road. The directions were easy - follow the canal into the valley - and I set off ...
And anybody who has been reading this knows what happened. Yes, I lost the trail. Yes, I headed down many dead ends. Yes, I tried repeatedly to scale the cliffs and although I came close ... oh so close ... I did not make it to the top. But I saw some great sights. And the fall colors were brilliant. I haven't managed to time it right to see autumn in the states in years; I wasn't expecting to find it here.
I never did make it to Uchisar. By late afternoon I turned tail and headed back to Göreme, telling myself the journey is more important than the destination, the journey is more important than the destination, the journey is more important than the destination ...
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
The Underground Kingdom
I restrained myself today, and only took 30 pics. I had a hard time posting, so only a random few are up.
I spent the afternoon exploring Derinkuyu, a 4000 year old underground city. Hittite villages started building down as a defense against invaders. Later kingdoms kept up the practice, and soon the dwellings became massive underground cities, complete with granaries, wineries, corals for animals, and schools. Giant stone wheels could be rolled to block the entry to each deeper level. There are 36 underground cities known, and rumors of countless others. From the top they look like nothing more than a hole in the ground. Below, they could shelter thousands for up to six months. Seven stories have been excavated at Derinkuyu so far, to a depth of 60 meters.
It took awhile to get there. I got brave and left with no guidebook or phrasebook - I wanted to blend, and I wanted to test myself. I did alright. Outside the tourist areas people are very patient with my stumbling Turkish. Word order is my current problem - you throw all your nouns up front, tag on the proper ending, and save the verb for last. Any sentence longer than four or five words throws me completely.
The bus passed through some areas I want to explore later. I transferred in Nevşehir, which looked as non-descript as provincial capitals everywhere. Then we headed across the countryside to Derinkuyu. There were farms stretching to the horizon, which surprised me. The soil does not look capable of supporting life. It is all sand and dust, and I can't imagine it holding any water. There is not a trace of the rich humus we had in the Midwest. And yet the soil is rich - these farms produce eggplant, chiles, potatoes, corn, tomatoes, olives, beans, lentils, cucumbers, and citrus in abundance. Turkey is one of the few countries self-supporting in agriculture. And somewhere there must be miles of wheat. I've been eating about a loaf of bread a day.
Derinkuyu itself was a small desert town, hot, dry, and poor. The plazas were full of unemployed men in dusty sport coats fingering their prayer beads and watching the world pass by. I walked around for five minutes, then headed underground.
I spent about two hours exploring the city. There were plenty of unmarked and unlit passages heading off into the darkness. For once I followed the correct path.
Other, random notes:
I spent the afternoon exploring Derinkuyu, a 4000 year old underground city. Hittite villages started building down as a defense against invaders. Later kingdoms kept up the practice, and soon the dwellings became massive underground cities, complete with granaries, wineries, corals for animals, and schools. Giant stone wheels could be rolled to block the entry to each deeper level. There are 36 underground cities known, and rumors of countless others. From the top they look like nothing more than a hole in the ground. Below, they could shelter thousands for up to six months. Seven stories have been excavated at Derinkuyu so far, to a depth of 60 meters.
It took awhile to get there. I got brave and left with no guidebook or phrasebook - I wanted to blend, and I wanted to test myself. I did alright. Outside the tourist areas people are very patient with my stumbling Turkish. Word order is my current problem - you throw all your nouns up front, tag on the proper ending, and save the verb for last. Any sentence longer than four or five words throws me completely.
The bus passed through some areas I want to explore later. I transferred in Nevşehir, which looked as non-descript as provincial capitals everywhere. Then we headed across the countryside to Derinkuyu. There were farms stretching to the horizon, which surprised me. The soil does not look capable of supporting life. It is all sand and dust, and I can't imagine it holding any water. There is not a trace of the rich humus we had in the Midwest. And yet the soil is rich - these farms produce eggplant, chiles, potatoes, corn, tomatoes, olives, beans, lentils, cucumbers, and citrus in abundance. Turkey is one of the few countries self-supporting in agriculture. And somewhere there must be miles of wheat. I've been eating about a loaf of bread a day.
Derinkuyu itself was a small desert town, hot, dry, and poor. The plazas were full of unemployed men in dusty sport coats fingering their prayer beads and watching the world pass by. I walked around for five minutes, then headed underground.
I spent about two hours exploring the city. There were plenty of unmarked and unlit passages heading off into the darkness. For once I followed the correct path.
Other, random notes:
- I have been emailing you all! I swear!
- What we call Korean Bars the Turks call Bars American. No one can explain to me why this is. The hostesses are all Russian; I say we petition for a name change.
- Turkey is far more secular than the US. People I've met are quite adamant that religion and politics don't mix, and that horrors always result when they are mixed. The threat here is not from Political Islam. It is from the Deep State - reactionary forces in the government that threaten openness and modernization.
- By the same reasoning, the conflict between Israel and Palestine is inevitable, as both are states based upon religion and ethnicity. There are a lot of Israeli tourists here, and everyone seems to welcome them quite openly.
- There are 37 Muslim sects in Turkey, all co-existing. In Ottoman times there were also many Armenians, Greeks, Jews, Italians, Russians, and English here. When our history books mention the Ottoman Empire - if they mention it at all - they always refer to it as the 'sick man of Europe.' People here remember it differently - for them the Ottoman times were a 700 year era of peace. This ended, as so much else in the world did, with the First World War. Nationalism reared it's ugly head, and Turkey was the scene of the century's first genocide.
- It was the Deep State that tried to prosecute a gay and lesbian group earlier this year for 'promoting immorality' (there are no anti-gay laws on the books). I'm not sure how the political system here works: the elected government in Ankara opposed the prosecutor. The judge just threw out the case, declaring that homosexuality was neither a disorder nor immoral.
- A more serious threat to modernization is a prosecutor's case against the novelist Orhan Pamuk for 'insulting the state' for discussing crimes against Armenians and Kurds. Again, the government opposes the prosecution. Jailing the country's premier novelist would, I am sure, completely KO Turkey's chances of joining the EU this round.
- I have never eaten so many tomatoes in my life - they are part of every meal. I might go into withdrawal back in Hawaii.
- The kids here all have cell phones, and send each other dirty pictures. The young guys fill the internet cafes every night, playing multi-player video games and talking in the chat rooms. The online generation is truly international.
- In Marmaris, on the coast, it is common for English widows marry young Turkish men. The men get a visa for the UK. You know what the widows get.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Ecclesiastes
First: business - Is anyone in the States getting my emails??? I can email outside the US, but it's been radio silence for the USA since I got to Turkey (I get emails, just no responses to important questions).
I've decided to stay at Tabiat Pension for the rest of the week. Big breakfasts won in the end. That, and I like the folks that run in. I found out how to work the hot water, so I can survive the cold nights. I did have a pretty rude experience with the toilet, though. Turkish toilets have this hose (I don't know the proper name) that shoots out water to clean you when you are finished. Fine - I kind of like how clean you feel after. But Göreme must pump it's water in from some hidden glacier - I turned the knob and went into shock as a blast of icy alpine freshness shot up my ass at 7am. I didn't jump, I didn't scream; I just sat there in shock. I think I might have stopped breathing for a minute, I can't remember. Then I got up, went to my room, and crawled back under the covers.
I spent the day wandering the valleys around Göreme. I didn't have a destination in mind, which was good because I also didn't have a map that was worth a cent (I think there's a grant waiting to be written to produce some good hiking maps of the area). I packed my bag with water, Sultanı crackers, and Turkish chocolate (dark, rich, and slightly bitter, it's been one of surprises of Turkey) & headed out into the wilderness.
I had some vague directions from İbrahim at the Pension: start at the UFO Museum, head into Kılıclar, the Valley of Swords, cross this, then climb out and over into Rose Valley and Güllüdere; follow this to the small town of Cavuşin. Ten minutes past the road and I saw my first abandonned city. I left the path to explore. I wouldn't find it again for four hours. I had lots of chocolate - I wasn't worried. That, and one of the beauties of the high desert (we are at 1200 meters) is that you can climb any peak and see to the horizon. I was always oriented, even when I didn't know where I was.
I just posted sixty pics from the hike (Cappadocia / Day 2 Valley of Swords). These are out of the hundreds I took. When you look at them, remember that these were all places I stumbled upon; none were marked and I was rarely on the path. This land really is full of the kind of wonders that it doesn't matter which way you turn - you will see something. And the beauty of ıt was it was all mine to explore. It was just me and the birds for most of the day.
I followed the ridge up past the first town, and saw a doorway that for all the world looked like an entrance to a hobbıt's house. I crawled in, and the other end of the house opened up onto a fabulous valley. I sat to admire the view, and was thinking silly thoughts about hobbits and rings of power and wouldn't it be pleasant if Bilbo stopped by for a smoke. That's when I noticed a cross carved into the alcove to my left. I looked at it more closely, and realized that the bottom of the alcove had been hollowed out. I had seen this before at Saint Barbara's Church. I was looking at a child's grave. And that's when it hit me that this was a real place, not a fantasy for my enjoyment; that another generation had been born here, were loved, died, and then mourned.
I crawled out in a more sober mood, and went down into what I assumed was the Valley of the Swords. I thought that if I could just scale the other side I would come out onto the path to Güllünder and Cavşin. I tried many times, and discovered many wonders, but I couldn't find my way up and over. I would near the top and find an unclimbabe cliff, or head down a promising side valley only to have it dead end.
I decided to take the long way out, down the valley instead of up and over. And then stumbled upon the path. Cool. I told myself that I would stick to it the rest of the way. And I did. For ten minutes.
Well, more like five. There was just so much temptation outside the path, so many fantastic places to explore. The pictures can show you the rest.
I've decided to stay at Tabiat Pension for the rest of the week. Big breakfasts won in the end. That, and I like the folks that run in. I found out how to work the hot water, so I can survive the cold nights. I did have a pretty rude experience with the toilet, though. Turkish toilets have this hose (I don't know the proper name) that shoots out water to clean you when you are finished. Fine - I kind of like how clean you feel after. But Göreme must pump it's water in from some hidden glacier - I turned the knob and went into shock as a blast of icy alpine freshness shot up my ass at 7am. I didn't jump, I didn't scream; I just sat there in shock. I think I might have stopped breathing for a minute, I can't remember. Then I got up, went to my room, and crawled back under the covers.
I spent the day wandering the valleys around Göreme. I didn't have a destination in mind, which was good because I also didn't have a map that was worth a cent (I think there's a grant waiting to be written to produce some good hiking maps of the area). I packed my bag with water, Sultanı crackers, and Turkish chocolate (dark, rich, and slightly bitter, it's been one of surprises of Turkey) & headed out into the wilderness.
I had some vague directions from İbrahim at the Pension: start at the UFO Museum, head into Kılıclar, the Valley of Swords, cross this, then climb out and over into Rose Valley and Güllüdere; follow this to the small town of Cavuşin. Ten minutes past the road and I saw my first abandonned city. I left the path to explore. I wouldn't find it again for four hours. I had lots of chocolate - I wasn't worried. That, and one of the beauties of the high desert (we are at 1200 meters) is that you can climb any peak and see to the horizon. I was always oriented, even when I didn't know where I was.
I just posted sixty pics from the hike (Cappadocia / Day 2 Valley of Swords). These are out of the hundreds I took. When you look at them, remember that these were all places I stumbled upon; none were marked and I was rarely on the path. This land really is full of the kind of wonders that it doesn't matter which way you turn - you will see something. And the beauty of ıt was it was all mine to explore. It was just me and the birds for most of the day.
I followed the ridge up past the first town, and saw a doorway that for all the world looked like an entrance to a hobbıt's house. I crawled in, and the other end of the house opened up onto a fabulous valley. I sat to admire the view, and was thinking silly thoughts about hobbits and rings of power and wouldn't it be pleasant if Bilbo stopped by for a smoke. That's when I noticed a cross carved into the alcove to my left. I looked at it more closely, and realized that the bottom of the alcove had been hollowed out. I had seen this before at Saint Barbara's Church. I was looking at a child's grave. And that's when it hit me that this was a real place, not a fantasy for my enjoyment; that another generation had been born here, were loved, died, and then mourned.
I crawled out in a more sober mood, and went down into what I assumed was the Valley of the Swords. I thought that if I could just scale the other side I would come out onto the path to Güllünder and Cavşin. I tried many times, and discovered many wonders, but I couldn't find my way up and over. I would near the top and find an unclimbabe cliff, or head down a promising side valley only to have it dead end.
I decided to take the long way out, down the valley instead of up and over. And then stumbled upon the path. Cool. I told myself that I would stick to it the rest of the way. And I did. For ten minutes.
Well, more like five. There was just so much temptation outside the path, so many fantastic places to explore. The pictures can show you the rest.
Göreme ... Days of Wonder
I arrived in Göreme this morning after a long bus ride. The bus had a digital temperature gauge above the driver's head, and as we up onto the high Anatolian Plain I watched it slowly drop, from a tolerable 20 degrees C to a painful 3. I entertained and tortured myself by converting the temp to Fahrenheit in my mind. As if I needed to do that; 3 is cold in any system.
We entered Cappadocia at dawn, and what a surreal country this this. It reminds me of the American West - not note for note so much as for the way that wind, rain, and time have created a fantastic geography out of the land. But the we think of the West as untouched, and Cappadocia has been inhabited since the dawn of memory. This land has been touched. Their are monasteries carved into the cliff walls, valleys full of ancient cave churches, labyrinthian underground cities, and rock outcroppings that have been hollowed out into multi-storied dwellings. It's all quite stunning. I'll post pictures as soon as I can, maybe tonight; but know that none of my shots can do this place justice. Ansel Adams might have been able to handle this landscape; I'm not sure who else could.
I had intended to had to a backpackers' hostel and rejoin the western world for a spell. But at the last minute I was feeling contrary (I'm still not sure if that's an asset or a character flaw) and picked a pension that wasn't in any of the guidebooks. Their flyer had a picture of an amazing breakfast spread, and I'll always be a slave to my stomach. And at first I thought I had made a horrible mistake. It was pretty, sure - a mix of ancient cave dwellings, Ottoman houses, and small turn of the century buildings, all connected by ladders and tunnels and surrounding a small garden courtyard. And all lacking central heating. I sat alone in the common room ( a 6th Century cave that was once a shrine) for an hour, and was ready to bolt when the other guests woke up and breakfast was served.
The other guests were a German diplomat, his wife, and their two friends from Hanover. They were great. These were the happy, joking, fun loving kind of Germans - not a hint of post-modern angst in the bunch (yeah, I'm full of stereotypes these days). And it turns out that this pension is famous among the diplomatic community in Ankara for having the best breakfasts in Cappadocia.
And oh baby what a spread it was. There was the standard Turkish morning fare: olives, tomatoes, cucumbers, bread, and eggs. There were local cheeses, fresh butter (when I open my restaurant I want my own cow so I can serve guests fresh butter), thick yogurt, chunks of honeycomb, a grape syrup, and tahini that the owner's mother had pounded herself. An Anatolian tradition is to mix the grape syrup and tahini together; the result was close to good old PB&J. And all of this came from their garden. Their family has lived in this home for 400 years - I guess they've got it down.
I spent the afternoon walking through Göreme Valley. This was a center of Christian activity from the second century on. The other early communities in Syria and Egypt separated the devout from the citizen. Cappadocia developed a more communal form of worship, guided by Saints Basil of Kayseri, his brother, Gregory of Nyssa, and George (of dragon-slaying fame) of Nazianus. Basil's teching (and I'm stealing this from the brochure) was: if a man has one piece of bread in a famine, he should give half to his fellow man, and trust that God will take care of him.
The community at Göreme carved dozens, maybe hundreds, of churches and houses into the rock wall. Some are decorated with primitive, almost pagan, designs in red ochre. Some have been painted floor to ceiling with brilliant frescoes by unknown Michelangelo's. I was in complete and unrepentant awe. This is one of the wonders of the world. Add it to your list of things to see before you die.
The only conflict I'm facing now is: Is having the best breakfast in the region a fair tradeoff for having glacially cold showers in the mornings? I'll give it one more night.
We entered Cappadocia at dawn, and what a surreal country this this. It reminds me of the American West - not note for note so much as for the way that wind, rain, and time have created a fantastic geography out of the land. But the we think of the West as untouched, and Cappadocia has been inhabited since the dawn of memory. This land has been touched. Their are monasteries carved into the cliff walls, valleys full of ancient cave churches, labyrinthian underground cities, and rock outcroppings that have been hollowed out into multi-storied dwellings. It's all quite stunning. I'll post pictures as soon as I can, maybe tonight; but know that none of my shots can do this place justice. Ansel Adams might have been able to handle this landscape; I'm not sure who else could.
I had intended to had to a backpackers' hostel and rejoin the western world for a spell. But at the last minute I was feeling contrary (I'm still not sure if that's an asset or a character flaw) and picked a pension that wasn't in any of the guidebooks. Their flyer had a picture of an amazing breakfast spread, and I'll always be a slave to my stomach. And at first I thought I had made a horrible mistake. It was pretty, sure - a mix of ancient cave dwellings, Ottoman houses, and small turn of the century buildings, all connected by ladders and tunnels and surrounding a small garden courtyard. And all lacking central heating. I sat alone in the common room ( a 6th Century cave that was once a shrine) for an hour, and was ready to bolt when the other guests woke up and breakfast was served.
The other guests were a German diplomat, his wife, and their two friends from Hanover. They were great. These were the happy, joking, fun loving kind of Germans - not a hint of post-modern angst in the bunch (yeah, I'm full of stereotypes these days). And it turns out that this pension is famous among the diplomatic community in Ankara for having the best breakfasts in Cappadocia.
And oh baby what a spread it was. There was the standard Turkish morning fare: olives, tomatoes, cucumbers, bread, and eggs. There were local cheeses, fresh butter (when I open my restaurant I want my own cow so I can serve guests fresh butter), thick yogurt, chunks of honeycomb, a grape syrup, and tahini that the owner's mother had pounded herself. An Anatolian tradition is to mix the grape syrup and tahini together; the result was close to good old PB&J. And all of this came from their garden. Their family has lived in this home for 400 years - I guess they've got it down.
I spent the afternoon walking through Göreme Valley. This was a center of Christian activity from the second century on. The other early communities in Syria and Egypt separated the devout from the citizen. Cappadocia developed a more communal form of worship, guided by Saints Basil of Kayseri, his brother, Gregory of Nyssa, and George (of dragon-slaying fame) of Nazianus. Basil's teching (and I'm stealing this from the brochure) was: if a man has one piece of bread in a famine, he should give half to his fellow man, and trust that God will take care of him.
The community at Göreme carved dozens, maybe hundreds, of churches and houses into the rock wall. Some are decorated with primitive, almost pagan, designs in red ochre. Some have been painted floor to ceiling with brilliant frescoes by unknown Michelangelo's. I was in complete and unrepentant awe. This is one of the wonders of the world. Add it to your list of things to see before you die.
The only conflict I'm facing now is: Is having the best breakfast in the region a fair tradeoff for having glacially cold showers in the mornings? I'll give it one more night.
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