This postcard comes from the ANZAC house in Cannakale, which is a clean but noisy hotel. Excuse me if I appear to be in a daze, as the jet lag has me not knowing up from down.
This morning was the first day for me on the Fez Bus. A group of young people (and old me) were on time for the 07:00 departure from Istanbul. The group is what I expected, about 2/3s females from Australia, traveling in groups of three. So far, so good.
The bus is new - an Isuzu with A/C and seats the size of one buttock. The tour guide is a 28 year old gal from Australia who likes Abba and has been around the Fez circuit nine times already in four and 1/2 months.
It is hot here. I am being a good boy and drinking cold, bottled water by the liter. We traveled down the coast (the bus route is circular and counterclockwise) and I just sat on one buttock while the bus made its way out of smoky Istanbul. I am not relaxed yet, today I kept having this terrific urge to check my e-mail at work. The Isuzu bus does not yet have a link to our network.
We stopped for a tea break at about 10:00 at a clean, well lit place for trucks which had a cafeteria. Steam table food is especially good here and, since it was before lunchtime, the offerings were fresh. I had a plate of stuffed eggplant stewed in olive oil, whose name translates into 'The priest fainted'. Scrumptious.
The first real destination today was Gallipoli, and all except three were dropped off at the former battlefield, now a Mecca for those from Australia and New Zealand. This history is incredibly gripping for them, but several were surprised that I was opting out of the weep fest. This particular bit of world history frankly means little to most Americans unless they have seen the Mel Gibson movie. I smartly excused myself and made it to the hotel. The other two that did as I did are from Eugene, as in Oregon.
My room, a single, clean but not ensuite, came to about $7. When I went in I noticed that although it was clean and had been freshly painted, someone had neglected to install a window to the outside world. Next door was a double with two windows and a balcony, and for an additional $3.00 I was happy.
And while you were working today, I took a nap.
I wasn't hungry at dinnertime, so at about 10:00 pm I wandered the streets. The hotel is right next to the ferry dock, the temps were still in the 80's and families were still out strolling. It looked like any Saturday night in Paris, kinda sorta.
I found a man with a foot cart. His product was mussel sandwiches.
Tempura batter-fried on a French roll for about a dollar. Tasty, but I was not satiated.
Then I found the pide of the gods.
A wood-burning oven, open to the street so that I could see the logs, pide (Turkish pizza) was being made and sold where all could see, a bit of old-fashioned hucksterism that nobody can resist. At least not me. I ordered a pide with ground, spiced lamb and cheese. The pizza paddle, the longest that I had ever seen, brought it out after a few minutes and the chef slathered some olive oil on it, the put it back for a moment to finish it off. Per my request, they sprinkled some ground, red chili flakes upon it and packed it up to go.
(Pause typing to watch a horse-drawn cart clip-clop by hauling produce)
The bill for the wood-fired pizza came to 900,000 Turkish lira, or about $2.20. I sat on my balcony with a cold Efes pilsiner and ate pide. It was enough for two and I could not finish it.
At midnight I decided to go to bed. The bus will depart at 09:00 and I needed to sleep. I set my alarm watch and then put in ear plugs to drown out the street noise. Go figure.
As we wandered down the coast, the temperatures got hotter and hotter. I am now drinking a gallon of water a day, plus the occasional adult beverage.
It was a long stretch to cover in one day, and the Isuzu bus has only a 4.3 liter engine so it was often done in second gear. Comparison to an overloaded VW bus would not be unkind. We listened to ghastly pop music tapes and drank water. Mountains covered with scraggly pine trees, fig orchards and ripe sunflower fields went by as Abba played.
There was a stop at what can best be described as a row of fruit stands. Wrinkled old men sellng cool stuff from nearly identical stands. Black olives, honey, local olive oil, under ripened nectarines, lovely figs, freestone peaches and amazing melons.
We came, we saw, we gorged. Veni, vidi, piggy.
We were now in a hurry. Or as much of a hurry as one can be in an overloaded bus, smelling of figs and listening to Abba. We were going to the Ruins of Pergamum. The R.O.P. is tres cool, or 'cök supa' as the Turks say. A fortress, a theater, lotsa marble pillars, constructed before any of us were around. It was also the perfect place to see the eclipse. Where were YOU during the eclipse?
Lunch was good. I ordered three starters; a bowl of mystery soup, (Soup der the jury is out), some börek, which are kinda like cheese filled eggrolls, and a wonderful eggplant salad. These appetizers were 300,000 each, or 70 cents a piece. My main course was spicy lamb meatballs (köfta) and rice.
That night we stopped in Selcuk. The staff remembered me from last year, for I am not a typical customer there, I am not 25 and Australian.
The Fez Bus is a 'Hop on, Hop off' bus and most people had done one or the other. My new 'mates' were all Kiwis or Aussies in their 20's, but with different names. They sang 'Happy Birthday' to me, and we all had a few too many glasses of raki last night. My advice? Beware of strong liquors that change their color when water is added. Malathion does that also. Coincidence?
Today we are off to Olüdinez.
Greetings from Oludinez!
We are pretty far south now, the water is blue, the beach is white sand. I have hopped off the Fez Bus for a couple of days, though one could easily spend a week or more here and be very, very happy.
Yesterday we departed from KÖYCEGIZ, a small agricultural town on a lake. The Fez Bus bunch had stopped at the Tango Pension, a clean, modern hotel. In the morning after my Raki-drinking birthday, it was time to settle the bill. My room (double bed, ensuite bath), dinner, breakfast, an hour of Internet usage, one liter of cold spring water, three glasses of Raki, came to $22.50. Can hardly complain about that.
The main stop for the day was Saklikent Gorge, a natural water canyon. After paying the 50 cent admission fee to the nice man in the booth, I donned my Tevas and waddled up the canyon along with hundreds of other people, mostly Turkish families on vacation. Walking along slippery stones is the only option, and I am pretty good at it, despite my advanced age.
The canyon walls go up hundreds of feet, the river below where I was treading was anywhere from a foot deep to four feet deep, depending upon where you stepped. There were occasional ribald exclamations of surprise as I found myself quickly submerged after slipping on a algae covered river stone.
The Fez bunch had somehow gotten ahead of me. Those 20-somethings are a bit quicker than I. There were parts where I had to pull myself up using handholds and my natural Ehrlich agility. However, a combination of smooth algae-covered rocks and rushing water provided considerable amusement to onlookers as I tumbled backwards into the water repeatedly. I am not sure of what was being said, but the translation from Turkish probably referred to what a delightful sight it was to watch the corpulent American slip and fall again and again. It was all in good humor though, I wasn't the only one slipping, and the Turks were insistent that I let them provide a hand up over the slippery boulders.
Back on the bus and onwards to a Government run carpet cooperative. Everywhere one looks in Turkey there are carpets. This is not a bad thing, the carpets are beautiful and hard to resist. I cannot resist a bargain and carpets here (and away from Istanbul) are about one third the cost of a carpet in Berkeley. The 4 X 6 ones that I hanker for are running about $600. The room-sized ones are about $2,000, but still much cheaper than at home. After all, I do have an unused Visa card along, and who knows when I will be back? Should I?
Well, no. I live in a home with wall to wall carpeting, I have a dog who shows her contempt by peeing on the rug when I don't take her to the dog park often enough. A new handmade Turkish carpet will just have to wait until I make a killing on my North Face stock. In other words, never.
So now we are in Oludinez and I have hopped off the bus. The Fez Bus has to stop somewhere, usually it is in a place that is suitable for budget backpackers. One is not required to stay where the bus stops, it is just often easier that way. Last night the bus stopped at a pit known as "Oludinez camping". It is on the beach and there are tent sites, a hostel-style dorm and individual bungalows. I asked for the "Presidential Suite" and with a smirk, the young Australian showed me to my "suite". It was a wooden cabin, suitable for storing garden tools.
The Aussie tried the key and it would not work. He showed me that, since the door was severely warped, the trick was to press the toe of your left Teva against the bottom of the door to straighten the wood enough to cause the lock to function. Inside, a double bed, an electric light bulb and a lot of nothing presided. It was bloody hot and I immediately opened one of the windows. The bug screen was intact and feeling better about the situation, I decided to open the other window to provide some cross ventilation. The other window opened easily enough, perhaps because a previous guest had ripped out the bug screen. Not wanting to become Soup du Joe for mosquitoes, I gave up and closed the second window and bolted it. One window will simply not do, I thought, two are needed to create any draft to cool the place.
I decided to give up and go in search of a chilled libation with the right balance of hops and barley, so grabbed the door handle and turned it. The handle came off in my hands. I re-inserted it to the door and turned again, this time more carefully. The door would not budge. I was trapped inside a dark, mosquito infested tool shed without any beer.
It immediately dawned on me that a previous resident must have been trapped as well. SO THAT is why the screen is missing. I opened the window, reached around and let myself out.
Can we not discuss the dinner? I will spare you.
Eventually it was time for a relief of the type that involves sitting down. In general, Turkey has very clean restrooms, Moslems being very cleanliness conscious. I managed to find the exception to the rule. The facility had four toilets. Two were of the old style. There are spots to place your feet, a hole in the ground and a water tap on the left side. The only thing missing is a place to sit. The mental picture that you are now forming is not a pretty one, especially if it involves me. When I was in Turkey in 1974, this type of toilet was standard. Last year, I saw only one out of the many that I visited.
Turkey is much more modern than it was in the 70's, but the modernization campaign apparently skipped my choice of lodging last night.
Luckily, the other two stalls had "Western" style toilets, the type that you are familiar with. One of these stalls had been the subject of an unfortunate incident involving a drunk Australian. The seat and tank had been ripped down and lay on the floor. It was unusable, except maybe for an Australian.
The remaining Western-style stall was occupied by a large, middle-aged British guy. I know this because the large window on the stalls' door was completely missing, thereby allowing anybody nearby to stop by and say 'howdy' while the poor bloke was having a sit down. A pal of the Brit stopped by to chat a bit to his captive audience. Eventually, the stall was vacant and I moved in. Thankfully I knew nobody there, and I was allowed to make peace with my bowels without having to discuss the weather with anyone.
Dusk came and it was "Happy Hour". Australians and Kiwis came out of the woodwork for the 2-for-1 drink prices. The music was turned on. The music was turned up. The music was turned up to "11". Song choices were pop hits, "Bye Bye Miss American Pie" was heard. I was surprised that the song lyrics stood up so well after all these years, it was a hit when I was in tenth grade and Nixon was President. The Australians sang along, drinking more Efes beer and chain smoking as they do. I went and hid in my tool shed. I finished a delightful book, put in ear plugs and went to sleep.
As soon as I could pack I was out of there. I paid my hotel bill, a whopping $3.50. The morning Fez Bus stopped by and gave me a ride into town (There is always a Fez Bus coming though the circuit, one each day) and they were happy to give me a ride into town. I was armed with alternatives for lodging because I knew that Oludinez might be a place where I would want to stay over.
A taxi took me to the Aygul hotel, a place that I had learned about from the Internet. http://hotels.wec-net.com.tr/aygul/engoludeniz.html More my style, air conditioned ensuite rooms, flowering gardens throughout, wonderful large swimming pool, free breakfast buffet and a view of the ocean from my balcony. Cost per day is 7,000,000 Turkish Lira, otherwise known as $16.43.
This Internet connection is inside a bar, I am drinking cold Coca-Cola and typing away. To my left is the ocean, maybe 500 yards away. This is a shorts and Tevas day. I may go find some pistachio ice cream after lunch, take a taxi back to my hotel and nap.
That is all for now.
Another fabulous day in Oludinez.
Not only is the water blue, but the Europeans that are here on package holidays seem to have left their bikini tops elsewhere. Tanned breasts are an everyday occurrence. I do not stare. Really I don't. I am too busy writing these notes home to pay much attention. Honest.
The tourists are mainly here on package tours, and my hotel has posted what times their flights leave to their respective destinations. There are direct (charter) flights from whatever airport is near here to Manchester, Cardiff, Birmingham, etc. I have exchanged pleasantries with some of the British hotel guests staying at my fabulous hotel. They are middle-aged and large, so therefore seem familiar.
The hotel staff is bemused by my presence. I am not on a package tour and I kid around and talk to them as people, with respect, something that the usual fussy hotel guests do not even attempt. I swam at sunset in the large hotel pool. My Zambezi river shorts work well.
Another fine North Face product!
Remember that scene in "The Thin Man" where William Powell teaches the bartenders how to make a martini? There was nobody at the bar, so I asked to see the selection of glassware available. I settled upon a tall glass, maybe 14 oz., and instructed the young bartender to fill it with ice up to the rim. When he returned with ice, I asked for two shots of the local vodka to be poured over the ice, and then stirred. After it was suitably chilled, I asked for it to be topped off with Schweppes tonic water. My request for a slice of lime proved fruitless, so to speak. We settled upon lemon. I explained that I would be staying around for two days, and THAT was the drink that I needed to keep me sane. He nodded.
I ordered dinner and sipped my "Joe drink". Two different kinds of eggplant salad and some grilled spicy Turkish sausage were my appetizers. They brought me a second drink. I was feeling no pain. For the main course I settled upon what we would call a 'Mixed Grill' which had a delightful assortment of lamb and beef thingies, a pilaf side and some fresh, ripe tomatoes. There is always fresh bread by the bushel on the table, French style with sesame seeds and plenty of artery-clogging butter.
Obviously, I am thankful (for a variety of reasons) to not be at the Outdoor Retailer Show in Salt Lake City. A color aerial photo of the damaged tents at OR was on the front page of the Turkish Daily News yesterday. I am counting my blessings.
I neglected to mention that we went to see the ruins of Pergamum, which was one of the richest and most powerful kingdoms of the Greek Empire. Situated high on a hill to aid in defense from tourists, the ruins are spectacular and not all that ruined. The theater is intact. As amazing at it is, the reason that I am mentioning it is that we were there during the eclipse. How many people can say that they saw the last eclipse of the millenium from Pergamum?
Today I am off to Fetiye. The dolmus fare is 500,000 Turkish Lira, or slightly over a dollar. I am in search of some towels and trinkets. Maybe an ice cream cone. Then a nap.
I had hopped off of the Fez Bus (bus #44) in Oludinez and I could have happily stayed at the Aygul Motel another decade. After two glorious days there a yellow Turkish Fiat taxi took me back to the Fez pick-up spot, which was that horrible Oludinez camping spot, the budget backpacker spot that I had fled after only one steamy, sleepless, mosquito infested night.
Fez Bus #46 was waiting for me, and with it came a new "Offsider", Greg, from Perth. He was a tall, handsome man, maybe 25 or so, and the female passengers were charmed. The bus left on time and a tape cassette was shoved somewhere into the dashboard in the hopes of providing music. What else could it have possibly been but Cat Stevens? Yes, THAT Cat Stevens, the one that we had forgotten about in the States is as popular here, even today, as he was when I was in Junior High School, about 30 years ago.
Surprisingly, the music does hold up well, but why he is still popular with young Australians perplexes me no end. The entire bus was singing along to Cat's version of "Another Saturday Night" and I pointed out that Sam Cooke had a hit with a similar song in about 1963. I'm kind of a wet blanket that way.
The coastline is very rugged and the 3/4 sized Isuzu bus is perfect for this kind of road. The terrain reminds me of the road to Ensenada, but with worse pavement.
We pulled off at a roadside shoulder scarcely large enough for my butt and everybody got off the bus. There was no signage, but it was a secret swimming spot at a secluded cove, a planned stop on the Fez Bus route. Everyone hopped down to the tiny beach and jumped into the sea. The water was warm and the color was one I had not seen before. Perfectly clear, changing to the lightest shade of blue/green and finally to the deepest blue that I had ever seen.
I spent a few minutes paddling around, trying to stay afloat and trying to remember the last time that I had allowed myself the luxury of swimming in saltwater. I could not remember. If my company wants to keep me around, we will have to negotiate a swimming allowance in my next contract. Note to self: stop allowing work to rob my soul.
I swallowed a healthy mouthful of the Mediterranean and decided to paddle to shore. I hoisted myself up onto the rocks where I had left my shoes, a sight that must have appeared as a Manatee preparing to die. Note to self: exercise more.
The Fez Bus, once again filled with damp Aussies and Kiwis, continued down the coast on our way to Olympus. We turned down a very steep road that took us to the area where the archeological site is located, as well as our lodging. There are plenty of places to stay for budget backpackers, and the most famous of these is "Kadirs", a group of tree houses that rent out for a couple of bucks a night. Kadir even has his own web site, though the URL escapes me at the moment.
Non-stop volleyball, Reggae music, beer-drinking and debauchery makes Kadir's popular with the 20-something Aussie set, kind of like a whole mess of Deadheads with funny accents hang out there. I had stayed there in 1998 and chose to avoid it this year, being a stuffed shirt that I am. I still remember the sleepless night, the flies and the dodgy sanitation.
The Lonely Planet book mentions another, more upscale place nearby, but nobody had heard of it. I was determined to find this place, the "Olympus Lodge", described as 'German Run, very efficient, worth the price for the pampering that they give'. That works for me. I have a Visa card.
It was in the 40's Celsius, (which is damn hot in Fahrenheit) and I was sweating buckets. I was completely drenched and rapidly losing my sense of humor. The pack was cutting into my shoulder blades and I was feeling near exhaustion. I was not prepared for the hike. My pack is heavier than it needs to be, it is packed with every book that I have wanted to read all year. I am on a bus tour, so it would normally not be a big deal.
To get to my lodging, I needed to hike along the beach through the sand. Hiking through sand is never a treat even on the best of days, and a tired Joe with a heavy pack made it grueling. After what seemed like an hour but was only about 60 minutes, I arrived at the lodge.
To the manager, I must have appeared to be a desperate homeless person. I probably didn't smell so good either. I was immediately warned of the price per night, but I didn't care.
The manager was gracious and showed me to my room. The price was $90 a night, including dinner, breakfast, air-conditioning and pampering. I needed pampering.
Actually, I needed Pampers. I had developed a case of "Turkey Tummy" and was a bit tardy in taking my 'Imodium AD'. I am OK now, and I soaked my Patagonia Capiline underwear in the sink using VO5 shampoo as detergent. Extra body.
A nicer hotel cannot be found anywhere in the world at any price. A bottle of the local red wine was waiting for me in my room, which was air conditioned and had French doors leading to a beautiful garden with hardwood floors and Oriental carpets. This hotel caters to Europeans and the clientele was very upper crust, notwithstanding stinky old me. Peacocks patrol the grounds, pausing only to steal grapes from the guests' dinner plates. There is an aviary with parakeets and doves.
The food served is European/Turkish. Alice Waters would like it. I passed on the dinner that night because I felt like dog poop. Sweat was pouring off of me for over an hour even though I had showered with a cool shower. I turned the A/C up to "11" and lay upon the bed, staring at the ceiling. The phone rang.
It was the front desk. Would I be eating dinner? They inquired. The chef could not leave for the night until the last guest had eaten and the kitchen staff was staying late on account of me. I declined dinner. "It would be no trouble" I was told, for them to "bring it around to my room". I declined that very nice offer and hung up the phone, falling asleep almost immediately.
The following morning, I got up, took another dosage of "Bars Radiator Stop Leak" and a healthy swig of bottled water and turned on the BBC. (I always carry a portable shortwave radio whilst traveling) It was early, before 08:00 and that was the first that I had heard about the earthquake in Izmit.
I hustled over to the office and found the staff clustered around the telephone, perplexed as to why they could not get through to anywhere. I explained what had happened, they had not heard the radio reports at all yet. The news that I brought was immediately translated into Turkish for the benefit of the rest of the staff. Much rapid discussion ensued. I retreated to my room.
The 7.1 earthquake brought with it an array of inconveniences to us tourist folk. I felt quite guilty, as the minor annoyances that I was faced with were damn trivial compared to the prospect of losing your life while still in your nightclothes because someone got paid under the table to supply shoddy concrete.
Other travelers that I met up with spoke of the same conflict: So we couldn't check our e-mail. Big fucking deal. Many had lost their entire families. There is a currently a noticeable lack of whining from my fellow travelers.
I was still at my air conditioned luxury hotel, the one with the modern direct dial phone next to my bed. I tried calling the MCI operator repeatedly, but got only a busy signal. (Perhaps I should have called them at dinner time like they always do to me!) I tried ringing the AT&T operator as well, same result. The Fez office in Istanbul has a toll free phone number, but all I got on that one was the same 'busy' signal that I had gotten from the others. For all I knew, the Fez office was under a pile of rubble and my tour was over. Everything had gone pear-shaped all in one day.
I checked out of my luxury hotel and thanked the manager for overlooking my previous grotty appearance. Of course, at check-out time, I was freshly laundered and shaven and was wearing a clean white shirt. (100% cotton, Cabelas)
My new convertible pack had been transformed from a shoulder bag into a proper backpack for this trek, and I hiked back though the sand to the pick-up spot in slightly under 45 minutes.
When I arrived at Kadir's, the Turkish staff were all clustered around the lone television. Non-stop coverage of the Izmit quake was on, mostly live, some bits pre-recorded. The television station staff had not had enough time to edit tape, it was being shown as quickly as the content came in. Live shots taken from helicopters showed just how hard Izmit had been hit. Scenes of bloody, lifeless bodies being pulled from beneath rubble rated a close up shot from the cameraman, the scenes of mothers and relatives screaming in anguish as their dead children were unearthed were captured by the microphones. Periodically, the screen would show tallies of the dead by city, Izmit got hit the hardest in terms of deaths, the total at that time was at 3,500. Now it is over 6,500. My source of news was the non-stop coverage on Turkish TV and the BBC World Service on my Sony shortwave radio.
The Fez Bus "Offsider" finally showed up and my fellow passengers appeared with their 'Mac Pac' brand backpacks. Mac Pac is a brand from New Zealand and is the brand of choice among Aussies and Kiwis who comprise the bulk of the traveling populace. I had a few minutes before boarding and decided to dial home again. Although I was not able to use my much-touted MCI World Com, I was able to direct dial to the States.
Not wanting to awaken friends of relatives, and not all together sure if the news had even made it to the San Francisco Chronicle or if anybody I knew even gave a shit, I called the main number to The North Face and punched in the extension of a close co-worker. The bot voice still suggested that I could do what I wanted if I knew the right extension. This damn Turkish phone apparently did not generate true tones. I called back, this time to her direct line and left voicemail stating that I was OK and would someone please tell my mother that I was OK?
Where I was at that moment was nearly cut off from the world. The Internet did not work because not only was the power off (they were running the TV off of a small generator), but apparently the Internet was routed through Istanbul which, at that time, had no phones, water or power. Strangely enough, cellular phones worked fine. In Turkey you cannot drink the water but there is fabulous cell coverage everywhere.
The Fez Bus left on time, more or less, what we refer to as on "Turkey Time", aka "Fark Etmez", aka "It doesn't matter". The objective of the day was to climb the ruins of Termessos, hidden away in the Taurus mountains. I kept my eyes peeled to catch a glimpse of a live Taurus, but saw only ordinary Fords.
Shortly before arriving, we stopped at a Migros supermarket, an efficient, Swiss owned supermarket chain with gaudy orange signage. I bought fresh, perfectly ripe peaches, pastrami, Gouda cheese and chocolate milk (three cartons).
Termessos is one of the few places that Alexander the Great could not conquer. Set high upon a mountain with adequate water cisterns, it would have been impossible for any dude to conquer, no matter how much chocolate milk that they had brought along. After we hiked up more mountain in one hour than I usually do in a year, we continued across the Anatolian plane following the famous Silk Road, as in Marco Polo and the one to China. THAT Silk Road. FYI, it is long and straight and hotter than hellmouth.
We were driving along, listening to some ghastly tape cassette as we watched an accident occur right in front of us. A farmer driving a diesel water truck eastbound blew through a stop sign from a farm road and severely limited the forward progress of a southbound Tofas Fiat. Two men were ejected post haste through the windshield and the force of the collision broke the truck in two. Here we are on a pleasant holiday and all of a sudden we had bloody carnage to contend with. All of us piled off our bus and asked the whereabouts of any sort of first aid kit, an item that the bus was not equipped with. I suggested that someone donate a t-shirt to stop at least some of the bleeding. The two unfortunates were living and I would guess that they will be OK and will be able to play the piano someday soon. Our bus driver gave the offending farmer what-for and the victims were whisked away to a hospital by a passing Tofas Fiat. Not wanting to be detained by the police as witnesses, we were ordered back upon the bus and we continued our journey.
We arrived at that evening's destination, Egirdir. The group stayed overnight in one pension while I fled in the opposite direction. I chose the first recommendation mentioned in the "Let's Go - Turkey" book, which turned out to be one of my better decisions lately. A double bed, clean shower/toilet ensuite came to 3,000,000 TL, or about US$7.00.
The jovial owner is a retired Pepsi distributor. His wife does the cooking for the guests. He touted the fish. I ordered the fish. Wise choice. Egirsir is at the edge of Turkey's second largest lake and is known for the freshwater bass. The unfortunate fish that was now upon my plate had been caught by my host's brother that afternoon and was about as tasty as I ever have had. Another course worthy of mention was slices of eggplant (or aubergine, if you prefer) that had been wrapped around a lamb meatball as if one was to wrap a present, and secured with a toothpick and then stewed in a fragrant tomato sauce.
The next morning I got a lift by the hotel shuttle, a tired Renault with a slipping clutch, driven by the hotel owners' son. I was taken to the Fez Bus pick-up spot where I dropped off my luggage and went for a walk. It was market day in Egirdir, peasant farmers and their families in raggedy pickup trucks or ancient Massey-Ferguson tractors had arrived in town for the occasion, bringing loads of melons and produce. Lots and lots of melons. The hotel owner's son had told me that these people were from small villages, not big towns like Egirdir, population 5,000.
I snapped some sneaky photos of the scene. Moslems, like the Amish, believe that a photo steals ones soul. I passed on the melons, but I bought a lovely kitchen knife for $4.00, made in Bursa, where the good knives come from.
Back on the bus, we traveled northbound past endless wheat fields on our way up to Cappadocia.
Greetings all. This postcard comes to you from Goreme (Gore-uh-may) which is my final destination before I return to Istanbul and my flight home.
Goreme is the highlight of my trip, the place that I had been dreaming about all though the work year and I had planned upon staying for an extended period of time here, chilling, relaxing, napping. Last year through I had been in Goreme for only a couple of days doing the tours of the highlights of the region: the underground city ('The ancient city of Claustrophobia'), Ilhara valley, the moonscapes and tufas. http://www.prizma.net.tr/~nesecafe/index-tour.htm will give you an idea of the place.
I reserved my room months ago and when I arrived I was greeted with "Welcome back Joe". A sign on room #16 said "Joe's Room". Room #16 IS my room, the one that I stayed in last year, the one that I insisted upon for this year as well. It is a cave room with a double bed and stays cool during the day.
The pension (hotel) is named "Flintstones", as in Fred. Fred's larger than life image is painted on the outside wall just next to my room. Please don't tell Hanna-Barberra.
I have already been here for five days and have but one more night before the Fez Bus takes me on a grueling, 12 hour overnight bus ride back to Istanbul.
My days at Flintstones consist of getting up at 06:00, watching the early morning sun peak up over the mountains, a cup of Nescafe, a nap, a swim, a walk, a nap, some reading, some dinner. I am trying to relax and sort out my life before I go back to work where an intense battle is being fought among ourselves and the combat does not conform to Geneva convention rules of engagement.
Carpets are everywhere in Turkey. They are never out of your sight for even a minute. I have avoided carpets during my trips to Turkey, they are costly and I abhor bargaining. Goreme is a haven for budget backpackers and the carpet salesmen here have a disadvantage; the travelers have seen many carpets already, know the prices and are usually out of money by the time that they get here. One shop here fights this disadvantage by working on a fixed price system and the prices are about one half of the prices in Istanbul and much, much less than the prices at Macy's. I gave in. I did it.
I picked out two Turkman's and a Kilim, total cost $900 on my Visa card. Perhaps I will sell one of them when I get back to cover the cost of my other carpets, I don't know, they are so beautiful that I doubt that this plan will work.
Every morning as I drink my cup of Nescafe we watch the news of the earthquake on Turkish TV. At this time, people are still being found alive, but those events are getting rarer. A three-year old was found yesterday alive as was her 95-year old grandmother. I don't understand what is being said on the TV, but the BBC World Service keeps me clued in on my pocket shortwave radio. I was able to receive "All India Radio" yesterday, a first for me, for their broadcasts to the west coast of the US are too weak for me to get normally.
All of the shop windows in town have signs up from the New Zealand Embassy ordering all Kiwis to phone home immediately with their whereabouts. I am sure that their phone lines have been flooded with calls from nervous relatives. Travelers here tell of their mothers calling the Red Cross. There is also a clothes drive to aid the earthquake victims, the tourists are filling the donation bins with donated clothing.
Yesterday, the dolmus took me to Nevishir, the regional capital, for market day. Of course there was the usual produce, mountains of ripe melons, piles of red peppers, oodles of offal. Horse drawn carts loaded with unhappy hens, many stands selling nothing but cured black olives, sunflower cooking oil, spices, lentils, chickpeas, goat heads for soup. Strands of dried okra, strung as you would popcorn for a Christmas tree. Beautiful stainless steel cooking pots, stands selling nothing but short, straw brooms. Counterfeit Adidas, Timberland, Levis, Tommy Hilfiger and gobs of fake Nike everything.
I bought a few trinkets, a lovely cooking pot and a hat, but I passed on the goat heads. The dolmus took me back to Goreme with my treasures.
Then I spent the afternoon drinking the local white wine, one with a kerosene finish. Of the many fine products found in the Cappadoccia region, this one is not on that list. Around sunset a storm moved in and the rain started teasing us, never becoming annoying enough to move indoors. The winds picked up, followed by thunder and lightning. The storm moved in fast, I counted the seconds between the flashes of lightning and the claps of thunder. They became one. I moved indoors, in fact we all hurried indoors. A bolt of lightning struck and the power went out. We were in complete and total darkness.
Someone grabbed a Bic lighter, I drunkenly fumbled for my Mini-Maglite, candles were found and lighted. Every guest at Flintstones came out of their rooms over to where the only light was.
I ordered more wine.
People started loosening up and the "where are you froms?" commenced. Rain was falling steadily. There were about a dozen of us now, a German family, some Aussies, a handful of Kiwis, one particularly annoying Canadian, a gregarious lawyer from Italy and a couple of Turks. The door opened and a dark, dripping figure in a poncho arrived. It was a young Israeli who was made welcome by the group. We chatted and solved most of the world's problems before I trotted off to bed, flashlight in hand.
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