Out of It
Former Provinces of Yugoslavia
A Backpack Journey through a Disturbed Region
April of 2002
A Slice of Turkey
Travels of Mike
& Marcy through Western and
May of 2002
Foreword and Introduction
To any reader, I suggest, no, state, that my facts are not 100% accurate. They represent the truth as I think I saw it. My perception of my environment (the world), is also my reality. Unquestionably, this is a work of fiction because few facts were corroborated, and most tales were accepted at face value, which was usually the smallest value at all, just slightly above zero. I was the scribe, whose singular purpose was to record what often was told to me by a housewife, child, policeman, taxi driver, or guide. My memory is not close to perfect so when I found a moment to regurgitate the day’s events, it too was less than perfect because I may have shrunk them to fit in my brain. Compounded with my less-than-totally-reliable sources, and I have concocted a travel journal made in Hell. Fortunately, the purpose of this journal is not to rewrite history. There are few facts that I felt inclined to research since that would stray from the direction I intended. I wrote all of these words with the sole purpose that I might reclaim the “feelings” I had during this trip. As for what I saw, I tried to capture glimpses of that through video and photographs. Those photographic mementoes of a particular moment are far less open to interpretation, or expressed in better terms than the subjective writings of an easily distracted scribe.
In order that I may get the “feel” for when I made this visit I have incorporated a list of some contemporary events of the day. Most was taken from the current newspapers of yesterday and today. (April 10th and 11th of the year 2002)
International:
Local: Police Chief
Bernard Parks was removed from office by the police commission. Talk of a secession of the
Business: Mark, my son, is efficiently running M. Richards Insurance Agency, soon to be called C.I.G. Insurance Services Inc. I am still trying to finish the procedure to incorporate. We are trying to sell a big policy to Deck King (Current prices are around 100k). We want to get a new program for roofers. It has been tough since the first day of 2002 when companies tightened up their underwriting and took huge hikes in the rates. Minimum premium for small roofers exceeds $9,000. For comparison, last year the smaller roofers would have paid two or three thousand to purchase liability insurance for one year.
Personal: I left the Lexus
for Mom and Dad to use to drive to
How This Trip was Planned. In
June of 2001, Marcy and I concluded that it was time to travel. The last
vacation we took together was more than two years ago. We quickly agreed on
I added
We had to schedule new
dates. We usually go just before or
right after ‘High Tourism Season”.
Leaving to go mid-April will mean some rain, but low prices and no
crowds. We bought our tickets through
the Internet. I purchased an additional
flight to go to
The Journey Begins
My flight leaves at
I’m
already anticipating Marcy's arrival in
Besides the actual flight time, there is a four-hour time difference
between
Meeting my flight (once I got in
the terminal) was not a problem. This
leg of the flight lasted about six hours.
I spent the first hour of the flight reading the “Turkish News,” an
English language newspaper. While
The value of a U.S. Dollar has eroded further. In November it was 1.6 million Turkish liras to the dollar, six months later it is only 1.3 million. The newspaper editorialized that the government wants this to occur so that it might avoid high interest on loans, and it artificially inflates or deflates the lira as their needs dictate.
I have not been able to watch CNN
or other English language news on television, so I’m not informed about what
news has happened today. Information shown on one of the on-board television
screens indicates we will land at
Although I had two adjoining seats, the total length was inadequate for sleeping accommodations. Coupled with the shortened day caused by the changing time as I traveled east, I was feeling irritable and very tired.
The local time in
What I must do when I
get to
Choose a hotel in the
central district
Select a travel agent
to plan
Take a city tour of
Find the Covered
Bazaar
Find guides in areas
we’ll travel
Arrange for flights to
Check out some unusual
boat travel
Underground
trains/subway
This way or from the airport was not pleasant. The scenery was of a big, gray, mundane city, with little to set it apart from any other city of commerce. Knowing how important first impressions are, this might have put a pallor over this section of the journey.
Fortunately, I had seen the heart of
I paid seventy dollars for two nights at the hotel, including breakfast and transfers to the airport. I checked my room to confirm that it was clean and satisfactory to me. I had a view of Haghia Sophia from my fourth floor window, which looked out over an alleyway clogged with sellers of clothing and luggage. I fell upon the bed and fell asleep, listening to the barkers hawking their goods, trying to be heard over the clanging din of the metal and wooden wheels of carts overloaded with huge bundles of merchandise being dragged this way and that over the rough and cracked asphalt alley.
I left my gear in the room and walked to the Grand Bazaar. Over a hundred riot police had gathered by a mosque where an anti-Israel demonstration is expected. The police checked many people for explosives or weapons by frisking them and using a metal detector.
I only had twenty minutes to look
in the Grand Bazaar because it closes at
I went to sleep to the sights and sounds of CNN. I woke whenever a loud noise bellowed from the ancient speaker mounted on the cracked and worn veneer side of a seventeen-inch screen television. Loud noises happened several times during the night, but I continued to keep the set on. A new bus bombing that occurred today dissuaded Secretary of State Colin Powell from meeting with Yasser Arafat, Palestinian president.
Expenses of
Cotton tee shirt $5
Meerschaum pipe 45
Hotel (2 nights) $70
Kebaps (three) $2 ½
Halvah candy $1
Tips (various) $3
Daily Total $126
I
woke very early this morning. My
biological clock has not yet reset itself.
At
Internet $3
City tour $60
Kebaps (2) $4
Tee shirts $8
Bottled water (3) $2
CNN, the international news
channel, was still on television when I woke.
I walked upstairs to the breakfast buffet. The red paper sign posted on a column read
that breakfast would be served at
Later, in the lobby, I spoke with
the hotel clerk. He showed me a brochure
outlining places that an organized bus tour would cover. It was a full day tour for sixty dollars and
I would get an all-around view of
The tour is titled “Byzantine and
Ottoman Relics.” Haghia Sophia was the first stop close to where I was
staying. She guided my small group of
nine into the Blue Mosque and the Egyptian obelisk, then the Serpentine Column
of Persian Shields. All of this, and
more, were around the ancient arena called the Hippodrome.
We were carefully shepherded to a
pre-selected carpet store where a small army of salespeople was waiting for us
to appear. One well-dressed, gray-haired
man explained the different ways various knots can be used in rug
manufacture. Except for Chinese or
Persian silk, wool on cotton were the best rugs. Different towns had different styles of
creating very good rugs, like at the town of
Postcards $2
Taxi
ride $20
Postage
stamps $10
Bottle
of water $2
Hotel
Room $50
Our next stop was
I woke around
I bought a small piece of halvah from the candy store that has become my favorite here, called Kostas. I walked over to the Internet center and sat there for an hour responding to Shelby’s (Robin’s) request forwarded to me. She said I should respond to a schoolteacher’s request for e-mails around the world. I also wrote a romantic e-letter to Marcy.
At
Each of the three short flights will last about 90 minutes
on the average, but also have over an hour for the wait. I was at the airport
at
The flights not only took the major part of the day, but
they were also energy drainers. Going
from
At the
In my Lonely Planet Guidebook to
I really hadn’t seen a glimpse of
One US Dollar equals 8.2 Kuna
I met Miho (the taxi driver from
last night) at
Fish
lunch for two (with wine & tip) $20
Admission
to the
Internet
Usage for an hour 50 Kuna
Ferry
Ride to Cavtat (Round-trip) 60 Kuna
Hotel
room
700 Kuna
I ate some bread and cheese. I overheard English spoken nearby. A robust balding man of forty some years was talking with the English-speaking receptionist at the hotel counter. I stood nearby and waited for an extended pause in their conversation then interrupted. I asked him if he was going into town. A journey whose length I was unsure. He said we should take the bus since he was told that it would pass right in front of the “old town”.
I had told Miho to wait for me. I didn’t want to stiff him on this short journey into town, so we took the taxi at my expense. Customarily the charges are shared. We introduced ourselves to each other. Simon Neal was the name of this hearty Welshman.
He spoke with a pronounced
brogue. I understood every third word he
spoke, but that was enough for me to piece together a fairly concise picture of
his story. He was married, no kids, but
two cats. His wife worked as a manager
in social services in
Embarking on an exploration of the old town, I paid three dollars to walk atop the four-kilometer walled perimeter of this fortified site. Immediately, I was struck by the profound charm of this medieval town, and took great pleasure in the first panoramic views. There have been many articles written about the mindless damage to this historic village by Serbs. Certainly there was another side of the story to tell (by a Serb as he saw it) but no such writings (in English) were seen. In war, there are always at least two sides of the story; each side feels they are the vindicators of righteousness. A Serbian article might reveal what slight was served up by the Croatians to encourage this attack for retribution. I could see orange clay-tiled rooftops that were partially replaced with strange ochre tiles. Sometimes old tiles were decoratively laid over functional new tiles, successfully camouflaging the last of an inadequate number of old, original tiles.
Simon was quick to laugh, a characteristic I
find rare and uncommon among people from the
I examined a piece of lace handmade by an old woman. It was pretty, a 14”x8” white cotton, latticed piece. She wore a broad vanilla colored scarf over her gray hair. The barrel-shaped woman spoke softly, but clearly, and her demeanor was not significantly changed when no counteroffer came. She just turned away, and I left without the lace, but with my sixteen dollars. This small craft pier was a gathering spot for tourists so there was no shortage of customers, even in the pre-high tourist season period now. The very old harbor was picturesque. The old ladies selling lace certainly added to the quaintness.
For sixty Kuna each, we purchased
a ticket to go to
Being that Cavtat was a very small town we easily found a particularly well-recommended eatery just one short block from the waterfront. When we sat I discovered that the owner spoke English. Since the recommendation for his restaurant came from the Lonely Planet Guide, I thought that would flatter him to read the words of praise in the recently published book. It brought a broad smile across his face and his attention to us dramatically increased.
Simon asked for a risotto with mushrooms. It was butter-drenched with caramel overtones. At the proprietor’s suggestion I ordered the local fish, gray millet. The proprietor, who was also our waiter, showed the fish to me first then said he’d grill it for me. He served a white wine with it. All this was deliciously outstanding, and it was the best meal of this trip so far. The bill was 320 Kuna including tip (250 Kuna w/o tip) totaling $40, but it was well worth it. We each put twenty dollars to the tab.
We walked some more. Simon wore open sandals, which were not the best choice for a day of walking. He unobservantly stepped into a huge, very fresh, dog dropping. Simon, at this point, decided to once again mention his general dislike of dogs.
The ferry began its final daily
return trip to
Simon suggested that we go for a
beer afterwards. I enjoyed the beer with
as much gusto as the ice cream. The rest
of that hour was spent sitting and talking.
Eventually we had enough of resting. Off we went to walk around the
walls. I stopped at a small internet
café just outside the walls and asked how late they’d be open until, which is
Tuesday April 16th,
2002 Dubrovnik,
The
bus trip cost twenty dollars and lasted seven hours. For the view alone, it was worth it. The bus was scheduled to leave at
Few businesses were open yet, and the clerk window was shuttered close. The schedule of departures was posted on a large, yellow sheet of paper so I could confirm my bus. Yesterday a tour bus company had it listed at ninety dollars for the round trip with a guide. Maybe that would be good but my way, going from town to town, will let me see much more of what I want to see. I bought my ticket when the window opened, then walked to a nearby café for a cup of coffee. I caught up on my writing and then marched over to the bus that was now waiting to load luggage and board passengers.
I tossed my backpack into the bin
and took a seat toward the front on the left side, which wouldn’t have direct
sun shining in. The ride was filled with
spectacular scenery and unusual rock formations. Unfortunately I left my camera in the
backpack, so no photos of the trip were taken.
During the 6½-hour trip we stopped three times for about 20 minutes
each. The third stop was at a pleasant
restaurant called Zdrava Voda in the hills above the town of
While we were in
When we arrived at
The hotel had a pickup bus that delivered me
to the hotel. Ten years ago I arrived by
bus from
Lunch (roast lamb) $5
Bus ticket $20
Cup of coffee $1
Bottle of water (w/gas) $1
Room rent $10
At the very moment my foot first alighted from the bus on city soil I was met by the term “Sobe” meaning rooms to rent. She said, “Twenty Markas”, I accepted, even though I don’t know what a Marka is worth. The opportunity to be in a home is a special pleasure, it could only be improved if I was invited as a guest, but I wasn’t so this is fine. While I had accepted the offer, I didn’t have any local money, Markas. I’d have to solve that problem very soon.
I followed my guide to a house four miles away from the town center and it sat at the top of a hundred steps. I kept balking that this is too far from the center of town. She was steadfast in coaxing me forward, indicating that it is just a little way more. I climbed the wide steps with my full backpack, then, at the creast of this hill she pointed to a large, modestly maintained apartment building. It looked exactly like thirty other apartment buildings all around us. Once inside the main door I saw that there was no elevator, just more cement stairs. The “pensione” was up six flights. Incredibly, I did it. Once there I realized, well really concluded, this was a bad choice, nonetheless I stuck it out. The “Mom “ kept trying to teach basic Serbian words to me, but I kept smiling and looking away. She was insistent and her daughter was insistent...compulsive is the more accurate word that described her bizarre behavior. I started thinking about the weirdest potential things that could happen, nothing that would be good. I could be spending my last day here. Scary stuff. They were eating weird food and I discovered there isn’t a lock on my door. The mom forced me to watch a television program, the ancient black and white set had little contrast so I could barely make out the picture. The room was darkened; I was filled with a feeling of caution and foreboding yet I continued on “acting normal.”
Mystical
I.
My wife
loves me very much.
II.
My wife
or I will lose our passport before this trip ends.
III.
Marcy
has thought seriously about another man, but loves me too much to do it.
IV. I am
“economical.”
I haven’t seen any television
news since leaving
I’m
alive! I woke up!!! Ja!!! Alright!!
I’m a SURVIVOR! It is still dark
outside but I hop off the couch that had been made into a guest bed. Forgive my moment of jubilance but I didn’t
know if there would be more entries in this book. That was a real weird place!! Something bizarre was going on. I had such eerie “vibes” that I’d been sure
deep sleep wasn’t going to be happening for me, and then it pulled me in,
almost against my will.
It’s
First, he took me to a place where there was an underground
railway. It was used to get food into
I had Sejo drive to a particularly large apartment building I had passed on my way into the city. There are many large buildings that were destroyed or seriously damaged. Many are still un-repaired, with the debris of battles fought littering the ground. The structure that I had current interest in was a long, five-story apartment building along the south side of the main boulevard that ran into town. A number of peopled streetcars efficiently cut up or down the middle of the wide street. Two sets of shiny clean tracks lay atop a grassy island that stretched the length of the boulevard, dissecting the road evenly. The former living quarters seemed to be politely upscale, and although it was colorfully painted, architecturally it was of simple communist-era design, totally pragmatic without a flourish of style. Now the rubbled remains lay in tattered disrepair, the result of shelling by either a large caliber canon from a tank, or hand-carried bazooka-type missiles from just three or four years ago. Huge chunks of rebar-reinforced concrete were all around, presenting a danger like the tentacles of a myriad of frozen spiders. I imagined that its owner and all of its legitimate tenants abandoned the building. I later discovered that I was accurate. Refugees from the war had occupied the rooms that were the least damaged. Little was done to make their environment more livable. They were basically camping there. Less than adequate effort was made to dispose of refuse. Translucent pink or blue plastic bags filled with everyday trash were piled high in a rear courtyard. Many of the residents, according to my driver, were war refugees.
I was able to see inside of one of these abodes. The husband
and wife that occupied it came from
Taxi 300 Markas
Lace
tablecloth 250 Markas
Bus
ticket 183 Kuna
Sausage
soup 27 Kuna
Snack 20 Kuna
Tips 16 Kuna
Purse 50 Kunaa
From a hillside overlooking the city, I could count the towers from which the imams sing. The Muslim minarets dotted the city everywhere. There seemed to be no section of the city’s topography that was without the slender stone towers. Only in the graveyards, which were plentiful, did it seem that each group or religion congregated to itself. So why would they choose segregation at death when they didn’t in life? It’s either a paradox or a lie. I suspect the latter. Certainly war can make enemies of best friends. One-time foes become endeared allies as the history of wars show. The bitter aftertaste of war is evident in one panoramic view of the cityscape.
Rusting hulks of smashed cars still sat randomly throughout the city, as monuments to the destructive powers of war. I moved through the city, closely examining everything I could. Like poor countries throughout the world, trash was a common component of the landscape in the city or the countryside. Gutters were clogged with plastic bags filled with used diapers, cans and other refuse that Mother Earth would find indigestible.
The taxi driver drove to several places I marked on the
small tourist map I’d recently acquired.
Although Sejo was born and lived in
Bus
travel is very cheap.
Lots of farming and sheep.
Smoking
is still very popular.
American
cigarettes are preferred.
Very
few dogs or cats were seen in public
Few
women smoked in public, even in restaurants
A
popular color of hair for young women is burgundy.
Women
often plump after their thirtieth birthday.
My destination was
On each bus there is a driver and a controller. The controller is an assistant to the bus
driver and drives with him. He does the
ticket-taking, the map-reading, the snack-for-the-driver-giving ... all those
miscellaneous duties that must be done to keep the bus running smoothly. I stopped the bus controller as he walked
down the rubber matted aisle to ask if I could continue on because the heavy
rain now in Plivitce would be unpleasant to sit out. He scribbled on a small tissue ticket, “118
KN”. I took the purple rectangle,
examined the number to confirm that he meant 118KN, not 778KN and paid it. We were about three and a half hours out of
I rode a short cable car up an incline and visited a few old
churches. Most were either reconstructed
from war damage or built in the twentieth century. This city doesn’t show its scars from the
war. A taxi driver told me that about
twenty miles beyond the edge of town was the closest point that the Serbian
soldiers had encamped. Further, there
are very few Serbs living in
I paid about forty Kuna for each fifteen minutes on DSL. DSL
is a very fast way to connect via the Internet.
I was happy to have it work so well.
The Internet coffee shop was pleasant and very busy, with no older
people (except me). I walked out to the
tracks, found a streetcar that was going to the bus center, climbed
aboard the No.17 streetcar and climbed off at the train center. There are no trains stop
at
To get to
I watched what many others ordered. Many asked for a bean soup with sausage in it then they took two slices of thick white bread. I followed their lead. Soon I’d discover why this was a local favorite, the sausage had a savory flavor that was pleasantly unusual to my palate. I slurped the soup quietly, copying local behavior, and enjoyed that sausage! It only cost 27 Kuna, or about three US dollars. I was full! The bean soup itself was nothing very remarkable, it had a cumin-type flavor. The thick, hearty, white bread had real body to it as well as a slightly bitter, but pleasant flavor that complimented the soup well. There were still over three hours left before this part of my journey would be over.
The moment I stepped off the bus I must have had that look on my face, which was easily read which says, “Well, I don’t have a good clue as to where I am going next.” Quickly, a pleasant, but stocky woman grabbed me, maybe in her early sixties. She said, “Sobe!” Not “Sobe?” or even “Sobe”, it was “Sobe!” I was somewhat apprehensive after my last experience. I looked closely at her face. She seemed kindly, and I asked how much she wanted “One hundred and twenty Kuna”, that’s about fifteen dollars. She promised it was only three minutes away by the city center, but it was actually closer to fifteen minutes. The walk through a very delightful city center was actually quite pleasant. Across from a department store she pulled out a large, rusty, silver key and unlocked a large, heavy, creaky wooden door. A few steps down a hallway we started to climb the steps. Carrying the forty-pound backpack up six flights of stairs was a fitting way to end this leg of the journey. Out came the key ring, and with a brass key she opened the apartment door.
As it turns out, it is a pleasant room and she isn’t too imposing. I was able to relax and use a room she had set for five people. Instead, I had the room to myself. I tried to straighten my backpack but it is getting too full. In the morning I realized what a comfortable sleep I had right on the edge of the old town. I must step back and mention that after parking most of my gear I was given the keys, and I decided to walk around town even though it is getting dark.
Digesting what I have seen on the way over here, I discover that I love this town. There was marble all around. Also, it’s not the flat, glassy kind, but the aged, foot-worn uneven kind that smelled of a long history. It just feels good underfoot; I can feel the years it has lived.
I took about twenty pictures. I love this!!! It’s so difficult to explain, the flow of
ancient times, all leading to this moment, to be trodden by me, a lone traveler
who merely wanders by to taste the air and smell the harbor air, a heady mist
of sea foam, wet marble pavement, and petrol.
I easily made my way back along the strangely photogenic street,
illuminated by an eerie mix of
Only a few shops were still open this late. I bought a scoop of ice cream from a street
vendor. The ice cream was unremarkable,
except that it was filled with jam. I
made my way back to the apartment. I
climbed the six flights of plaster stairs with my only company being the hollow
echo reverberating through the tall stairwell.
I had the door keys, but all things aren’t locked down, like in
A long day of traveling, and the very clean smelling bed,
encouraged me to take a shower despite the late hour. I examined the Eastern-European-type
contraption in the shower to figure out how to control water flow and
temperature. I’ll certainly need the
instruction manual for this device, but I proceeded without it, knowing that I
risk freezing or scalding water. I
managed to avoid both. The bed was soft
and clean, with the unique fresh smell of being aired in the sun. The window overlooked a busy street. At
I woke, and then dressed
quickly. My time is valuable and I don’t
want it wasted in sleep or useless lounging.
The madam woke too so she could greet me. She asked if I wanted coffee and I accepted a
cup of the thick chalky brew. The brown
liquid was very hot and I noisily sipped it while I gestured that I had to wash
clothes. She said she’d do it, but no
price was discussed. I paid her 120 Kuna
for the room plus an extra twenty for the washing.
On the bus, I noticed how the weather changed, once the bus
traveled beyond
I shall go to Medjugoria tomorrow,
it’s a three hour bus ride each way, so I’ll be leaving early in the
morning. I’ll return and take a late
ferry to Starigrad, stay overnight and continue to
Without any pressure I leisurely traveled around and through
the town, eventually finding a guide. I
met Ante, he’s a Croatian living his whole life in
He knew many people in the town of
300,000. So it was no surprise that he
stopped to chat with twenty people at different times along the route we
traveled. I asked him to include a stop
in our walking tour, at a Catholic church, a Jewish synagogue, and an Islamic
mosque. As I would soon discover, the
Muslims had tremendous fear of persecution if a mosque was erected. They were relatively anonymous now, and by
renting a building and holding quiet prayer within they were invisible to all
except those that knew where they were there. The head of the center says they
are trying to raise enough money to build a mosque anyway. Muslims hold the most menial jobs and are
among the poorest inhabitants of
No one greeted us at the Catholic nunnery, although Ante takes great pleasure in having several keys to certain doors within the nunnery. The women were not to been seen. Ante had a key to enter their building. Then we met the synagogue's president, who said there are only eighty members, all over fifty. They are unable to attract new members so the order may be join another in ten years. Muslim tyranny was no worse than the Catholic rages that defiled life and land to the east and south. There was oppression here when the fascist military moved in, and then again when it left.
Croatians quickly took the lead from their German masters. Brutality was just an everyday thing. The names of forty people are inscribed on the wall, so that they will be remembered, until the synagogue is gone.
The temple president, a tall, slender, white-haired, man in his mid-sixties said that even he is married to a catholic. Like many of the congregation’s offspring, his children don’t care much for any religion and don’t readily identify themselves as Jews. He sees the congregation as slowly dying, with only forty members left after WWII. He said that residents of the city were polarized during the war. They were in his perception of those times, split almost equally for the protection of the Jews, or for their extermination.
At the mosque I found dissatisfaction with the current system, but for different reasons. The imam said that they haven’t asked to build a tower because they think that it would call too much attention to them, so they won’t try to do so. Further, the young imam said they had never asked for permission or monetary help from the government. This was a contrast with the synagogue, which had asked and received some help.
The Catholic religion is the state religion. The government sponsors it heavily. Ante said, that the
economy was better under Tito. There was
no infighting, and everyone was employed.
The way it is now, if you have one slow year you are destroyed
financially, and you’ll never recover from it!
He is searching for those responsible for his plight. At one time he ran a successful travel
agency, but he had one bad year after seven good ones. This is typical of the
Balkans, I would soon discover. Someone
else is always responsible for the bad stuff, and in
An Observation of the Women of Split:
The young ones are pretty with very pleasant figures, but almost all
middle-aged, elderly, and even a few young women had severely misshapen breasts
caused by bras designed by someone, probably during the communist era, who is unfamiliar with the female anatomy. I suspect it was
the bra; at least I hope it was not the result of a Cold War experiment gone
awry. It was quite a phenomenon! Because it was so common, it was more than a
little unsettling!
The ferry is along the dock, and the train and bus terminal were all very active today. The schedules of time are all posted and followed fairly strictly.
I walked through a very active market place that had all sorts of mercantile goods. There was a separate section for produce, and another one for flowers. The restaurant Sarajevo was open. It offered a special of lard-soaked meat cooked with spices and served with potato balls, tiny ones. The shiny burgundy gravy was speckled with grated cheese. I randomly chose, from the wine list, a local white to drink, pretending that I could tell one Croatian wine from another. One glass cost 52 Kuna. For the entire meal I paid 98 Kuna, tip included.
I climbed the worn marble steps, twelve stories, to see a panorama of the town. The narrow marble steps were uncomfortable for my wide foot. The evening weather was pleasant.
I woke early to go to Medugorje. The bus stops in Mostar, a larger village
that I spent too few moments in. Several
buildings, and a historic stone bridge have been
recently destroyed. There was shooting
in this area yesterday. Everybody is on
edge and few stores are open. The cute
downtown area, about three blocks big, has some vehicular and pedestrian
traffic. The bright morning sun belies
the tragedies of yesterday. I took a
taxi from the bus station to the town where Mile, Carol’s husband, is
from. Often I cannot see the end of the
paved road and the beginning of a gravel road.
The climate here is typically Bosnian.
The foods reflect Bosnian tastes, meat and potatoes, not the fish and
broad assortment of vegetables found in
The bus let me off around the corner from a large church that was built as a monument to a miracle. The church sits adjacent to the holy hills, site of the apparition. I hope to gather some information for a project, a web site that I’m working on. I think it will be possible since there are many gift shops around. I have high hopes because this place is very highly commercialized. The merchantability of the supposed miracle seems to be the most profitable, and it is certainly the most abundant, industry in town.
Once I got my bearings, I sat at a small white table along
the sidewalk in front of a quiet restaurant.
It was partially shaded by a new green canvas umbrella. I requested steak “
Within a minute a swarm of thirty children, all severely disabled, and forty parents, moved quickly in a grey-brown cloud of dust. They came in from behind me, encompassed me, and then moved rapidly ahead of me. They were on a determined mission, of which I was merely an observer. I heard German and French excitedly spoken; this must have been a special moment for them. Quietly, I found this moment difficult to assimilate without cynicism. I understand the hope that these parents and, lesser so, the children place on this “miraculous” site. I can sense the anticipated miracle if only one of the children was cured! The story is almost too thin to recall accurately from my memory. From what I recall, the children that saw the vision of Mary were all born before 1971, and were preadolescent when they claimed to have “seen Mary several times.” There were five kids who witnessed the reoccurring event. Here is either the strength or weakness of this “event.” The locals say the kids swore a holy oath that this is true and nobody has been able to disprove this yet! My cynicism shows through, I can’t be apologetic for my feelings any more than believers can for theirs. I had hoped for some sign, but the only sign was how an insignificant dot of a town gains notoriety for a “miracle,” but it has become, by far, the greatest industry in this part of an otherwise obscure plot of land.
Room
120 Kuna
Lunch
in Medjuoria 67 Kuna
Bus
ticket to Med 47 Kuna
Bus
ticket to Split 51 Kuna
Religious
Trinkets 49 Kuna
Dinner
Pizza 8 Kuna
Internet
Use 35 Kuna
The sight of fifteen seriously ill children being paraded over a gravel parking lot saddened me. The is a constant crunch of knuckle-sized stones being ground by heavy steps, or ambitious wheelchair pushers walking behind the whitewashed church and auditorium, who reach a wide dirt path leading to the hills of the apparitions. A fifteen foot tall white wooden cross supported a large bronze statue of a bearded, European-looking Jesus on the cross.
I realized how wonderful it is that in spite of how small a chance there is of a miracle, all of the parents had pinned high hope on a miracle for their child. Looking deeply into the eyes of many of the fathers and mothers, I saw a dreadful look. A look that is truly indescribable because it spoke of the deeply seated fear or knowledge that said “What shall we do after this?”
I stopped and took a deep breath. It was an emotional minute for me. I was brushed by a collage of hope and tragedy that electrified the air. I had to leave; it was not right that I shared this deeply personal moment with them. Even as I pen these words my heart recalls too well how I felt then.
The sun shone brightly.
I took off my green jacket and stuffed it into the red, nylon bag that
was always with me. Even my casual blue
shirt was too warm. The street lacked
any trees or vegetation. The rows of
tightly spaced white buildings abutted the sidewalk, and the sidewalk was
against the black asphalt of the street.
The only escape from the heat was indoors. I was seeking a better understanding of the
importance of this site. I was
incredulous that the story I had heard was enough to anoint this sleepy town as
a holy site. I tried to follow the story
written in six languages on the outer wall of the church gift shop. I bought a
booklet to explain it to me, but that was a waste of twenty Kuna. Without blind
faith no booklet will open the door of understanding for me. I trailed behind a group of German tourists,
not one of them burdened with less than sixty-five years. The side of the blue and white bus was
painted with a sign partially obscured with mud flung up from the wheels. The metal placard indicated a tour company
from
I left the church compound to traverse neighboring
streets. I wanted to find a gift store
that spoke English (that was no problem) and had an e-mail address. That was the problem. I eventually got enough information to send
to Steve by e-mail. I caught the
While sitting, writing, and people watching, a tape of
somewhat disharmonious accordion music disturbed me, accompanied by a tenor’s
rich voice. It just didn’t belong in
this setting and irritated me like a fingernail across a blackboard. The sound played loudly through two five-foot
tall black speakers placed conspicuously along the walkway. Even this dissonance was disturbed by the
muscular, rapidly approaching, heightened drone of a motorcycle as it was being
raucously driven on the marble paved pedestrian pathway by a pimpled-faced,
fair skinned, helmet less boy. The noise
was amplified into a huge crescendo by the brick buildings that solidly lined
both sides of the pathway.
After two false early morning
starts, I finally rolled out of bed.
Once I got up while still dark. I
sleepily enjoyed a three-minute pee. The
toilet was typical of an English loo, with the water tank over six feet up on
the wall. I pulled the chain to flush
and a huge torrent of water followed. I
had to wake the matron of the apartment after I endeavored to wash up a
bit. The sink was stopped up and there were
no simple tools to fix it. I walked over
by the bed, and then fell back into it for a few more minutes. When I woke again I peeked at my luminescent
pocket-watch, and then glanced outside through the large lace-curtained window
to see the chilly light of early morning.
Information I had gotten last
night was that a
I had 2 ½ hours to fill
before the ship left on the one hour, forty five minutes trip. An open-air restaurant was just across the
street. I sat at a round white table and
sipped a cup of espresso while I waited for the waiter to bring a baked
sandwich of ham and cheese on a quarter circle of bread. The spongy bread had a white interior, but a
very crunchy, fried crust. The sandwich
was an inch thick and at least eight inches across. Like a pizza, it was cut into four sections and
served with a filling of your choice.
Such a sandwich is called a “Burek,” it is the “street food” here. Pizza, itself, is in second place.
Maybe because today is Sunday and it is early, yet few
people are ready to get up, which was why there were few people aboard this
vessel. At
The drive form Starigrad to Hvar town was a
race through a well-paved passageway between steep rounded hills. The island roads were very well maintained
like most in
I paid 170 Kuna for this ride. If I’d been on the bus the trip would have cost less than thirty Kuna. I was the only English speaking person here. The taxi driver continued his charade of not understanding anything I said except “Here’s 170 Kuna.” He was gone in a moment. Needless to say, I started with a bad feeling about this place.
The sun is out in full force; it might be 90 F today. I couldn’t wear a jacket now, but it was good
to have it for part of the boat trip this morning for coming to the island
Hvar, then from docking at Starigrad.
The town of
So I left for a while,
and I spent several hours in the small town.
First observation: over one hundred aged German tourists pour off a bus, and they overran the small town even as they moved through it like a giant blob. Although I could see that this was a charming place, it was too touristy. Just as that a though entered my head, the swarm of Germans had reached the end of a picturesque seaside street. Two buses sucked them back in like a huge dust buster. They disappeared and all was quiet again. I had climbed twenty stories of steps to get to the top of the “Spanish Fort,” built on the highest point of the island. Climbing down was much easier, but I was exhausted and very thirsty. The dust rose higher on the hill because of the intense heat. Tiny fragile ringlets of mud caked around my nostrils as I breathed a little harder because of the extra effort required to reach the summit.
Ferry ticket (round trip)
to Hvar 104 Kuna
Coffee 5 Kuna
Sandwich 10 Kuna
Hvar Taxi 160 Kuna
Fish Stew 80 Kuna
Ice Cream 4 Kuna
I sat in a restaurant and asked the waiter for some filets of fried cod like I had seen on another table nearby. The waiter brought a delicate, very pleasant fish soup with the fried fish. I enjoyed the warm soup, and even as the sun continued to radiate heat, I could feel a refreshing cool breeze come in from the ocean. After an hour at the restaurant, I felt re-energized so I walked around the town more. While there was little else to see, the bus to return to Starigrad, on the other side of the island, wouldn’t be there for another three hours.
Especially interesting in Hvar was the Venetian influence
seen in the tile and stonework. I found
an Internet service on the
Everybody got off at the ferry station. Since I had already purchased a return ticket I saved some time and I got right on the boat. This morning there were ten autos and a hundred people, now there are six times that, fully loading the large ferry. From this point I could choose to further explore some of the small outer islands if I didn’t want to get back to Split right away.
I dragged myself upstairs through a steep and narrow stairwell to get a good seat on the boat. I expected to see many Germans who, by far were the most populous tourists on the island, but I did not see any on the ferry. To reflect back on this island visit, like Medjugoria it cost too much time and money to see too little. This is a tourist town whose main export is lavender flowers.
I checked on the Internet, with the help of
the office manager, to see if it was still raining in
I must get Kuna because I must pay on
the bus, also I must pay for the room tonight. Sunday evening
at
I’ll take a
I am sitting on a bus headed (I suspect) to
I exchanged a one hundred dollar bill, for 816 Kuna. The moneychangers only want the new kind of
dollar bill with the metallic thread running through it because the old
American hundred-dollar bill was too easy for forgers to duplicate. I paid for my room (120 Kuna), bought another
pastry that I discarded after two bites.
Although it was fresh, it smelled of fish. I bought a bus ticket to
The bus ride continued for a comfortable four and a half hours because we made several stops for stretching and stops at small, disjointed restaurants that want to sell “everything for the traveler.” Their monopoly on the bus passenger’s trade is enforced by isolation from any other nearby businesses.
The Adriatic coastline was an ever-beautiful panorama
outside my window. It was a very
pleasurable drive. The coastline between
I recognized the bus stop in
I wish I’d been able to convert dollars to Kuna yesterday,
since today it is already too late to do so at a bank rather than a
moneychanger, who takes a big slice. I
would have saved a day but I’m in no rush, I want to savor my time here. Tomorrow will bring something of excitement,
of that I am certain, for I shall enter the land to the south of which is
unspoken here. South of here is
Ivana’s mother and father lived here after her grandmother
died. A second house in the rear was
added, but Ivana has acquired two dogs and four cats. They are the regular residents of that
building. She must spend fifty Kuna
daily to feed them. Ivana’s mother
speaks no English, so there was no conversations with
me unless Ivana was there to translate.
I was already comfortable in this house, although I had been here less
than two hours. Exhaustion from the bus
ride was quickly catching up to me. I lay, fully clothed, on the thin, but
stiff mattress for ten minutes. I
realized I was too tired to sleep. I
needed some physical exertion, so I got up and walked for twenty minutes into
the old town. It was an uphill walk, not
the kind I like, over a hill during a hot day.
The fort appeared as I walked through twisted streets paved with large
gray stone bricks that measured one by two feet each. The older, central areas of
Bus ticket 91 Kuna
Haircut 50 Kuna
Pizza 8 Kuna
Room 120 Kuna
Bottled Water 15 Kuna
Room in Dubrov100 Kuna
I tried to reorganize the backpack but I felt exhausted, and while still clothed laid down on the bed. I was soundly asleep in minutes, even though the bed was extra firm and felt like it was stuffed with blankets with almost no yield at all. While the bed was wide enough for two, it was too short for one. My height of six feet allows me to usually fit into most beds. This one required that I lay diagonally so my feet wouldn’t hit the footboard and my head wouldn’t crook on the top.
Ne - No
Da - Yes
Voda - Water
Dobro - Thanks
Havalla - (Most gracious) Thanks
Musliman - Moslem
Frizeur - Haircut
Sobe - Room
The bus I want to be on leaves at
Bus ticket to Prishina $31
Bread and cheese 17 Kuna
Coffee 4 Kuna
Bottled Water $1
I very briskly walked the short distance back to my
temporary shelter. I offered some of the
fresh bread and cheese to Ivana and her mother, but they declined. We continued to talk until
I was one of many people who crammed together, trying to be
the first to board the bus. Ultimately,
there were few passengers so there was little need to secure a good spot. I wanted to make certain to sit on the west
(or ocean) side, and toward the front of the bus where
bad shocks could make for a miserable journey.
The bus made its first stop at the
It was suggested by Ivana that I stop in the ancient town of
The islet church was nobly capped with a green copper
cupola. A short bit south of that, maybe
ten kilometers, was an island that was separated from the main land by twenty
feet, yet every inch of that island supported a building – also
incredible. The bus made many stops and
seldom exceeded thirty mph. From
The town walkways and streets were covered with a white
chalky dust. There were rumbling cement
sidewalks and asphalt with long deep cracks, that
knowledgeable drivers knew to avoid. I
happened to pass a tourist bureau. I
wasn’t exactly certain of what type of business it was except that it looked
professional, that is it was clean, neat and modern. I could see three young women working behind
their desks, two of them on the telephone.
I stood quietly at the wooden desk closest to the door. All three of the young women became silent,
ceasing whatever task they were in the midst of and stared at me
expectantly. The girl behind the desk
stood. She was tall, and slender with
long straight black hair. Other than a
half dozen small red pimples on her forehead, she’d be described as
pretty. I looked around and asked, “Do
you speak English?” She spoke enough
English and had the desire to help me so we were able to communicate fairly
well. I definitely needed the bathroom.
She let me use it, thankfully. I
am expecting Turkish style toilets, but was pleasantly surprised to find
European type. This was a travel
agency. She sold me a round trip ticket
to Kosova for thirty-one Euros. The bus
station in
I walked back to the bus station with over ninety minutes to spare. This is the best time to write in my continuing journal. Several white mosques stood, blue capped, stark against a cerise sky. The places of worship predominate this small city. Music played loudly from small cafes, driving me away from it (but possibly attracting the younger crowd). It wasn’t uncommon for either Western music or Middle Eastern style sounds to be intermixed on the radio, tape player, or whatever was the source of the tunes. Dogs roamed freely, a rarity in Moslem countries. As skinny as the canines were, they still had a life preserving respect for motorcycles, cars and trucks. There was no reciprocating respect extended for the hounds, and it showed. The bus cuts through the town picking up and dropping off many people. One old lady, whose thin white hair was poking out in wisps from underneath a tightly wrapped blue checkered kerchief, entered dragging a large satchel of horse manure that challenged her physical abilities. The putrid odor upset most people on the bus so the driver had to finally ask the old bent woman to get off at the next stop. I sat, quietly writing, recording what experiences I have had until the bus arrives at this bus stop. I am having some language difficulties, but the thrill of overcoming that minor obstacle is relished. I wish the language created in the first half of the twentieth century to breach communication between languages, named Esperanza, had flourished, instead of fading away. That would have changed the complexion of travel. These very obstacles are what keep others from doing what Marcy and I do. The thrill of the journey is certainly equal to the pleasure of the destination. The bus lurched forward across an ill paved parking lot, and we were off to Kosova. It was time to put away my pen and watch what happens.
From the oceanfront flatlands we began to head toward an outcropping of mountains. Narrow roads that cut through the gray slag were just wide enough for one car to travel in each direction. Heavy rain would wash the loose dirt and gravel of the sides, and they would mire the asphalt roads. Skies were clear so I felt certain that we’d make it to the other side safely. I felt a bit uneasy when I looked at the passengers in this bus. Many of them looked like miners, oil riggers, or mechanics. They were dressed to rugged unkempt work clothes, with a small brown cloth satchel, probably to carry their lunch.
The bus driver steps hard on the gas as we enter a flat
straight road. I looked out of the
window to see a small village of one-story houses all with the same color
scheme. Brown-orange tiles over white stucco walls. It was quite pretty to see. In the next mile of travel another village
had twelve or thirteen houses that resembled ones I’ve seen in
I am jiggled about in the bus, not because the shock absorbers are bad (which they are), but because the complexion of the road has changed. Because of huge potholes, the driver could seldom go more than fifteen miles per hour through long stretches of the roadway. I had left at 7:30 p.m. from the last bus pick-up point, now at 1 a.m. as we passed a checkpoint as we headed into Serbia (formerly Yugoslavia), the police (not military) came aboard the bus. When he was sitting directly behind me the staccato of one long coughing spell followed by the next. Wet, phlegmy, mucousy, coughs by somebody. It echoed through the bus. The policeman was spitting, and where he spat I don’t know; I tried to avert my eyes as he walked the aisle checking everyone’s face and asking questions. I believe, when he was spitting, he was trying to show disdain for us for a reason I am not aware of, other than the fact that none of the Yugoslavian countries get along with their neighbors. He instructed the driver to let him off at a point further down the road. While he looked at me closely, he coughed without putting a hand over his mouth. In the faint interior light of the bus I thought I saw a disgusting yellow globulate fly from his mouth. What will I discover on my clothes at daybreak? I was surprised that I was never asked for my passport. Nobody showed identification papers, visa, or passport. Nobody, near as I can guess, was asked for it.
Wednesday, April
24, 2002 Prishtine, Kosova province ,
It was another four hours before arriving in Prishtine, Kosova. We had, on part of the last stretch of roadway, to navigate through narrow, snow-clogged streets, barely wide enough for one vehicle. If another car approached from the opposite direction, the solution was that one vehicle had to give way by backing into a slender dugout carved into the mud walls. A banged up yellow Mercedes passed us shooting billowy clouds of black smoke from his tailpipe. The blue-black stream of smoke spun like a pinwheel before it blossomed into sight blinding, suffocating, chemical mist. A mile further on the road we saw the driver of the yellow car being interrogated by an armed soldier. Fortunately I had gotten some Euros in Ulcinj because the taxi drivers in Prishtine like the world over, are opportunists, ready to take advantage of the next naive soul to visit their town.
Everywhere I’ve gone I have noticed that cabbies are a tough
lot. The singular taxi driver waiting at
the bus stop at
Slowly, very cautiously, the town came alive. Unexpectedly, I saw no treasure trove of historical items here. This city (and it is a city), is the communist ideal with little to look at, with roots dug far back into history. This city was built from nothing but six buildings that acted as a shoddy, lackluster nucleus. Real construction started in the seventies and ceased in the eighties. All the larger structures were starkly modern with no flair, no flourishes, and no flamboyance. Everything was strictly utilitarian. Even the ruins of an ancient village where the people lived underground was now used as a site to build three factories, rather than making any effort to glorify the ancient history that existed there. Prishtine is devoid of a physically colorful past, and from the communist perspective, it is unencumbered with myths of old. This was in large part the reason this city was created. Communist officials decided it was necessary to build a city where one had not been before. Only the foundation of a one-century year old mosque, and the gigantic statue of an Albanian King of the fifteenth century who defeated Turkish advancement on the precursor to this city numerous times are still here. His statue looms tall over the city center.
I spent several hours at the Grand Hotel in the
morning. The rooms there were $75 a
night, but it was a 5 star hotel (they claimed). The rooms had simple furnishings, but the walls
had at one time been laminated with the most elegant wall coverings of flocked
gold and silver. At
I stopped to talk to a taxi driver, and I quickly discovered
that he and the two drivers queued in line behind him, spoke no English, and to
make matters worse, they laughed among themselves. I admit that, back in
There were several Internet cafes along the main boulevard. I walked into one built into the second floor of a three story wooden building that may have been a large warehouse at one time. The cost was reasonable at one Euro for two hours use. They even had DSL here. In a moment I was logged on and communicating with people back home. Marcy should have gotten the wrist corsage of gardenias by now. She hasn’t said a word about it though. I was surprised that Carol wrote that Mile was insulted that I didn’t think “his” country was the best.
Mile claims to be Croatian but his hometown is far within
Bosnian borders. Living with his parents
if he did, in an area clearly reflecting Bosnian way of life on many levels
included variations from
Essat met me after I finished in the Internet. I suspected Internet is all over this city too. I have felt the presence of the Internet in every town and city I’ve been in so far, small and large. DSL, a rapid port for Internet transmissions over telephone lines, is very popular now, at the very beginning of the new millennium, and is not uncommon or all that difficult to find.
Although the fighting has significantly declined in Kosova,
it is currently under the domination of
there
is a very strong UN presence here with hundred of armored vehicles and many
soldiers of all nations. In the town of
There was some light gunfire far across the bridge. I walked across the silver metal river bridge into a fairly large residential district of apartment buildings. The four-story structures lined both sides of the street leading away from the river and looked like they were built after 1920, and before 1940. Under the bridge and on both sides of the river stood the brown, earthen banks of the river. On it stood one fortified structure, which was probably an office building before some military forces took it over. No flags flew to identify the forces within. The masonry building was surrounded by burlap bags of sand or dirt and topped with razor-edged barbed wire. I stood around a corner, out of the line of fire, protected by the stone wall of a corner apartment building. I could hear frequent bursts of shooting that wasn’t far off in the distance. An occasional burst of machine guns, or larger gauge weapons would erratically punctuate the momentary silence. Usually I could hear small arms fire, such as hand guns or rifles. An occasional stray bullet would ricochet down this street making a ghastly, whizzing sound. I don’t remember hearing a shot, when at one particular moment a part of the masonry from the apartment building I had taken shelter behind suddenly had a cemented stone fly off and spin on the sidewalk I stood on. A small white cloud of gritty dust settled in my hair as I listened to the ricocheting twang of a nearby bullet invisibly whizzing by from somewhere unseen. I wondered no longer why Essat refused to accompany me, instead saying he’d wait in the car, on the other side of the bridge. It has been a chilly day, probably no warmer than 50F. I shot a few pictures then I left, crossing the bridge a second time.
After that, Essat brought me to a recent graveyard with fresh graves. I could tell they had been made recently because of the color of the turned earth above them. Several had the red and yellow military arm patch still resting on top of it. These plots were dug on grassy public land with a white wooden cross dug into a mound of dirt above. Each grave was covered in bouquets of plastic flowers. The grassy field was an acre on a hill overlooking the city. A big part of the park served as a playground for children from a neighboring governmental housing project. I shot a few more pictures of some of kids playing near the graves, oblivious to the sacrifice young men made, and without full knowledge of what good their death served. None, I’d say.
Essat showed me a modest mosque
that had no grand story behind it, nor was it worthy of a photo because of its
aesthetic grandeur. He showed it to me
to “prove” that there was acceptance of other faiths here. I bought a couple of Kosova hats, made of
light tan felt in the shape of a deep cu,p without a brim or any other
decor. The ride out of here is
long. I wanted something to eat on the
bus so I bought some peanuts and two liters of water. My bus leaves at
The airport is closed and the trains are not moving. No embargo, as I understand,
just mischief and issues of local skirmishes.
Essat didn’t know why there are no trains to
There was plenty of time to kill before the bus would leave. The bus terminal had been badly damaged in the war five years ago, but the damage remains un-repaired, other than simple dirt and asphalt fill-ins in the roadway. The people work around it, blindly avoiding any recognition that something is out of the ordinary. Three huge pillars supporting a huge quadrant of the cement overhang are so badly damaged that the area below cannot be used. The behemoth corner folded in on itself from it’s massive, now unsupported weight, and so it remains.
I have another three hours before the bus
goes to
The bus began its long journey just a few minutes before
The ride is long, it is about
The bus driver knew I am from
After all other passengers were
discharged he kindly brought me to the exact spot I was to wait for the next
bus to
Bus
ride back to
Taxi
ride to
Lunch
in
Internet
Use 20 Kuna
Room
in
Clothes
washing 20 Kuna
If I had an opportunity to come back to this part of the
world I am certain I’d want to spend some time in Kotor. It’s about thirty-five kilometers north of
“Sweda Schefa,” which is an island that is completely developed. Three acres of land jutted slightly above the
high tide waterline, and it was swollen with brick homes that filled every
meter. Kotor, the town on the
peninsula, not in the peninsula, superficially showed much promise as a
place to visit. My observations were
made as we approached and traveled through the town. A medieval castle stood in the center of the
town. Ghosts of knights long gone, I could imagine, jangled as they walk across
the castle bridge onto a green pasture where stables once encircled. Although Euros are need in
I fell asleep for a short while, but when the bus stopped at
the end of the line I exited with the other passengers. I carried my small bag and a half bottle of
water through the passport control checkpoint.
A modern bus was waited with it’s engine
running on the Croatian side. When all
passengers had boarded the bus, it took off for
I had nothing that I had to do except get stamps for Steve
and a Dalmatian t-shirt for Mateo. Then I’ll leave beautiful
I went to a restaurant recommended by my Lonely Planet Guide. The book was only published two months ago, so all the information is as fresh as possible. After I had spent several hours resting at the ‘sobe’, I had a chance to reflect back on my recent adventure. I packed everything away. All gifts and souvenirs were packed tightly together, then I showered and shaved. That really freshened me.
To
buy drinking water, sold in plastic bottles,
If
you want ‘without gas” look to see that the cap is
blue.
If
the cap is white then it has gas, like seltzer water.
I thought about sleep, having had very little before my
return, but instead I opted for a pleasant evening walk, about four kilometers
where I was the only customer. It was
still early (for dinner); it was only
At first I was sitting inside the dimly lit restaurant, but I was bored with the melancholy radio music playing in the background. The yellow-tinged, rough stuccoed walls were slathered with many expensive-looking, but nonetheless bad paintings and cheap posters. I moved outside, into the bright sun, and I discovered a shaded corner of the patio where I could watch the people and traffic pass the busy corner. Petrol fumes seldom wafted my way, but it was a small price to pay to watch the Dubrovniks push their way home at the end of the day. Quartered and herbed potatoes, long dark green strings of very fresh spinach and two small filets of “pomodoro” fish was enough to fill me. The fish was braised, then pan-fried with a coating of olive oil and a sprinkling of greenish herbs. The white flesh had the texture between fish and calamari. I slowly savored the very mild but tasty flavor. For this meal at an “upscale” bistro, I spent about $16, including tip. I elected to omit wine because, well, I’m not a big wine drinker. I walked around the Lapad area, which is dotted with small shops of all sorts. No large restaurants, markets, or other such places. In fact, many of the small coffee shops seldom served anything but small mass produced packages of candy, chocolate, or nuts, coffee, coke and beer, except maybe, they might offer a cellophane wrapped cold sandwich baking in the front window in the hot sun, but that’s it.
I am attracted to a sweet smelling bakery. I struggle with myself to buy just one light pastry. The crisp sweet bun is savored slowly while I walked along the harbor’s edge. I noticed that I was the only one who was walking and eating. I bought a Croatian chocolate bar for later. It was neither better nor worse than others I’ve had, right there in the middle of “average” somewhere. Actually, I take that back, American chocolate bars are becoming more waxy with a bit of sugar and brown coloring. Taste is not an ingredient in an American chocolate bar of 2001. So for this matter, Croatian chocolates are superior to American. This was the first candy I've had on this trip and a real treat, even if it tasted a little ‘old’. I bought some drinking water. This is the one commodity I strictly purchase rather than drink from the household tap. It has helped me maintain good health throughout all of my travels.
I fell asleep quickly and I awoke in a snap, just before
I spent ten Kuna to take the number 6 bus into old town. It was a stressful walk because the walk is almost all up hill, until sighting the fortress at the last twenty-five or fifty meters.
In old town, the original section of
The circumference of the fortified old city is about a mile
long. Adjacent forts are an added
defense in case of attack, which has happened many times.
Because I had less pressure to see the city, I was able to leisurely browse through three of the many tiny museums in old town. The damp sea air damaged beautifully colored frescoes that decorated the outside overhang of a walkway in a nunnery. Pieces of the stucco were separating from the ceiling but the colors remained vibrant and clear. There was restoration work being done to preserve and repair this treasure.
Writing
Pen 5 Kuna
Stamps
for Steve 230 Kuna
Pastry 7 Kuna
Room 100 Kuna
Bus
Ride 10 Kuna
Coffee 10 Kuna
Tee
Shirt & Small Gifts 150 Kuna
Loaf of Brown Bread 27 Kuna
The layouts of the museums that I visited were strangely similar. Each museum was quite small, seldom more than three rooms off one large chamber with a very little shuttered one, which was probably used to store valuables. The cruise ship passengers had been called back to the ship by three long blasts from its bellowing horn, and the town immediately became sparsely populated. Several shops closed early because of inactivity. The summer sun cast long shadows, providing welcomed shade on a very hot day. Resisting the impulse to have a cool ice cream cone, I bought a small bottle of water in a tiny market, and paid seven Kuna to a young woman in a caged kiosk for a bus ticket for the ride home. This was the terminal point for the city bus, and many people stood with me waiting for the next one. The buses come, fairly promptly, every fifteen minutes, but fill quickly once the passengers scurry aboard, looking for the best seats.
In the evening, about a kilometer from my room, a small
gathering was starting. I investigated
the reasons for such a gathering. I was told that a young boy, ten years old,
was discovered to have cancer. He badly needed chemotherapy, but couldn’t
afford the expense. In order to help this family, two hundred or more people,
especially young ones, showed up to drink one beer, or even a few. Most of the men would toss down a hamburger,
which is surprisingly similar in appearance to those sold in
The milling crowd congregated around the beer stalls. The
food lines were short, which was quite a contrast to the beverage line. Several pockets of local police stood at rest
on either end of the closed street at
The temperature dropped ten degrees (F) in less than an hour. I walked back to the room and spoke with Ivana for an hour or so. “Thanks,” I said for her hospitality. Her mother stood nearby, and for whom all communication, except Croatian, including English and ‘sign’ language, was an insurmountable obstacle to the expression of a single thought. When the mother saw me, in the warm afternoon, writing and nibbling on a small snack, sitting in the lavender laced garden, she brought a knife, cup, and plate to make me more comfortable.
I repacked everything to prepare for an early morning flight
at
I didn’t sleep well, I had left my window open yesterday and
a bevy of bugs decided to spend sometime here too. Although I didn’t see them, they knew exactly
where my ear hole was! They droned
around my head all night like evil sugar plum farces. Partially covering my head with the cotton
sheet left my mouth and nose as favorite areas for them to touch and
light. I turned on the light and put on
my glasses at
I turned the light off again hoping for one or two hours of sleep, but they wouldn’t have it. To continue my torture, they giddily returned to their fleshy playground. I took momentary solace in the fact that gnats generally have a life span of two weeks. The futility of my unwilling participation may be the only joy in the life of a gnat. It was time to leave.
Bus Ride 25 Kuna
Coffee/Strudel 45 Kn
Sausage and Roll $2
Room in
Kebaps (2 @) $3
Halvah (1 Kilo) $3
Dinner $5
Internet (90 min) $2
I always suspect that I have
lost, misplaced, or had a small item of value pilfered from me. It was a constant fear. But this was is necessary so that I always
remain on a high level of vigilance.
Travelers and tourists are always a favorite target of thieves. Before leaving the room I checked for keys,
tickets, money, all items at least twice, usually more. Feeling confident that I have everything, I
wrote a brief card to Ilyana thanking her and promising to send a copy of a
photo I took of her once I am back in
A small white bus with large blue
letters saying ‘ATLAS’ emblazoned on it appeared at
The bus traveled the 20 miles to the airport. I waited, and
boarded at the
The plane landed in
We landed after three hours of flight from
I met Mr. Ahmet of the Sport Hotel, where I am staying in
When I packed this morning I put everything of value in the
duffle bag that I brought with me on the plane.
I packed little of value elsewhere.
When I got to my room in the hotel and took inventory, I looked in the
pocket where the money was stolen, and my return tickets to the
Rather than repair the damage to my faithful backpack of a few ripped tabs I decided to live, temporarily, with the inconvenience of having a difficult time opening or closing certain zippered pockets. I will leave it as a remembrance and testament to travelers’ vulnerability.
Tomorrow morning Marcy arrives. I am very happy to see her! Tonight I had arranged to meet Mr. Ahmet in
the hotel to discuss further travel throughout
In the
I had prepared everything to leave the hotel early,
including a driver and taxi to the
Sunday April 28th,
2002 Istanbul,
I woke with the distant singing of the imam’s morning call to prayer. I ate a simple breakfast upstairs on the top floor. Large floor-to-ceiling windows let the light from the rising Eastern Sun come through on three sides of this coffee shop sized room. The breakfast was just coffee, plain yogurt (which I added some rose jam for sweetness), a small, crisp, tan roll with a very soft white inner part, which I stuffed full with small slices of cheese and salami. I ate as I walked toward the window looking out over parts of this tumultuous city. The lone Japanese man walked softly while I wrote in my journal.
At
Candy $2
Room $70
Fish Lunch $20
Lamb Kebaps (2) $3
Internet (2 hrs) $2
Phone (Local calls) $6
She was wheeling her luggage, which she handed to my
driver. He put the items in the car and
we drove off to the hotel. The clerk at
the Sport Hotel gave us a different room, one with a parlor and a large window
with a partially obstructed view out over the
Marcy flopped on the sofa. In a moment she was asleep in front of the TV with CNN on. I sat next to her for a while. After ten minutes, I got up and straightened out some of the personal affects that were scattered randomly around the room.
When Marcy woke from her very brief nap I took her on a
short walk around the hotel. Although
this is not the finest hotel, it has a wonderful location at the edge of the
Sultanamet district. Marcy saw the
entrance to the Grand Bazaar. Time was
whizzing by and the Grand Bazaar closes at
Marcy got a good look at the Turkish bath house, which now
seemed to have acquired a huge tourist trade.
I don’t recall so many visitors when I had been here in
One vendor had fried
seafood had a pleasant display.
He offered us an opportunity to sit upstairs. The food was
disappointedly greasy, with small portions of less than memorable quality. I am certain he chuckled when he charged
seven dollars for two small glasses of poor table wine, possibly wine
vinegar. I noticed that this seemed to
be a favorite ploy played out in many little restaurants. The owner of the shop tries his best to lure
foreigners upstairs. Foreigners are
perceived as wealthy and “fair game” for the restaurateurs. After that bad experience, we wouldn’t let
that happen again.
The Imams sang from the open towers of the mosque
minarets. The Arabic chanting filled the
quiet streets. The entire city was
bathed in the charming Eastern rhythms.
I think a westerner needs to acquire an ear for the mysterious sounds.
The modern streetcars traversed the main streets. We walked back to the hotel and went to sleep
at about
Mr. Fahtid, (pronounced like
Mr. Fatty), our driver and guide, was a balding man of
forty years, and showed every day of it. Soon we felt very confident with his
guidance. His limited knowledge on
English was impeding a fully comfortable day for us. With some effort I was
able to express ideas to him, and he was able to give an understandable answer
to me. Undoubtedly, his knowledge of
English far surpassed my repertoire of five Turkish words. The American Express office was the first
place to visit to get replacement checks for those that were stolen. The bank clerk had me fill out a quick form, then go to a nearby bank, Cok Bank, later today or
tomorrow. This bank ran out of
travelers’ checks and couldn’t give me cash, either in liras or dollars.
We ate a very light breakfast
of cumin spiced rolls, small wedges of soft Swiss cheese, thin American-style
coffee, yogurt, and eggs. The only
unusual item was rose jam, and it did taste like it was made from roses. Tomato
soup was available too. Japanese prefer
soup for breakfast. There were many
Japanese here at this hotel.
After breakfast we took the
aged elevator down to the hotel lobby where we met Mr Fatid who brought us to
the waiting car. After a short drive we
got out to walk around the hippodrome area. Marcy’s foot limited the amount of
walking she could do. The cobbled
streets paved with uneven surfaced stone rectangles made walking in the boot
difficult for her. Several areas were
paved with raised, rounded, silver dollar-sized stones mounted in
concrete. That was even tough for me to
walk in canvas shoes, it must have been much worse for Marcy. We left this area and drove through congested
streets to the
Parking on the sidewalk often
solves the problem of where to park. Drivers seeking a place to temporarily
lodge their car will think nothing of angling the vehicle in any odd way while
shopping or conducting business around town.
Some people try to prevent
The
most precious things to a Turk are:
1. Horse (now an auto)
2. Gun
3. Wife (or mother)
sidewalk parking by installing a mushroom-shaped cement post to barricade a car from entering that area. Istanbuli drivers, when pushed, become very creative. So property owners have to be more inventive. It is definitely a case of “one upmanship” between drivers and landowners. One devise is a low platform constructed of metal with spikes pointing up to destroy tires. Cars edge each other out in congested streets, often traveling less than ten miles an hour, and the air is flooded with noxious black plumes of oily auto exhaust, or bus exhaust from broken gaskets.
Mr. Fahtid owns a new
Volkswagen Autobus with no air conditioning.
This particular deficiency was overlooked because we were enjoying good
weather, about 75F temperature. We saw
the fancy buildings on the European side, the Anatolian side. This is the
Mr. Fahtid, Taxi Driver $130
Room in
Miscellaneous Snacks $10
We watched black gowned women, hidden frequently behind thin
veils, walk through the streets wearing fashionable
shoes and glittery jewelry all hidden under the gown. Most men wore western style clothes, jeans
are less popular here than in the Yugoslavian peninsula. Men often greeted each other by fake kissing
each other on both cheeks. And it wasn’t
unusual to see two men or two women walking arm in arm. Most pairs were same sex. No husband-wife or boyfriend-girlfriend
together. Street sanitation is not a big priority. However preservation of historical stuff is a
high priority, because that is what draws a huge tourist trade to
Mr. Fahtid, our driver recommended by Mr. Ahmed, was paid one hundred American dollars, an exorbitant amount I would later learn. I had agreed to that price earlier (and I was not aware yet of my imprudent behavior), so I gave him an extra twenty-dollar tip. Audaciously, he asked for another ten dollars US for parking fees. I paid with no protest. We enjoyed his company and he took special care that Marcy was never overexerting the bad foot. That alone was worth a great deal to me.
Today I must decide between the program developed by Mr. Ahmet or Mr. Levant, a fellow from another travel agency which was located along our short walk along the main street in Sultanahmet. I had told Mr. Levant the same itinerary that was divulged to Mr Ahmet so I could compare two programs. For Marcy’s comfort I wanted a private guide with a timetable we can establish. Both Mr. Ahmet and Mr. Levant worked out the way they thought we could see the important sites that we chose before coming here. We used travel books and the Internet to decide what we wanted to see.
Although Mr. Ahmet worked out
a program that might work, he was very casual, too casual about things not
being exactly as he had promised, and his written program didn’t quite do what
we had hoped. After a second meeting
with Mr. Ahmet I told him we’ll use the other program from Mr. Levant, not
his. He was disappointed but
gracious. He chided me that we would be
very rushed to try to do all of the things proposed in the other program. He asked for, and I consented to, twenty
dollars for his phone calls and “effort.”
His audacity amazed me, but I applauded his unabashed willingness to
ask.
Marcy’s foot seemed to have enough rest after yesterday, so today we will spend in the Grand Bazaar and the Egyptian Spice Market. Marcy bought twenty purses and I bought a wallet. When we return I want to get a big water pipe just before we head back home. There were a few other items we bought but spent less than two hundred dollars during a major spending spree.
Purses (9) $140
Bag & Wallet $30
Another Purse $20
Vest and Belt $18
Taxi $4
Lunch $3
Halvah $5
Tour Package $2865
We walked toward the Spice Market, which was supposed to be a ten-minute walk. Instead it took over an hour because the rough uneven pavement was such a physical challenge for Marcy. At the spice market we bought a brown paper bag filled with fresh, sweet, but small strawberries. 2lbs. cost 50 cents, shelled walnuts ½ lb. for 80 cents, a half kilo (a little more than a pound) of dried apricots cost the equivalent to one dollar.
We ate two kebaps of lamb.
Marcy waited at the table till I brought the purchases back to our room. I had
another conversation with Mr. Ahmet, then decided to
have the tour with Mr. Levant, a wiry man of forty, who spoke fluent English
because it was necessary when he served as a fighter pilot for
Everything was repacked that
night since the bags had to be prepared for when we get up early. Our flight leaves from
The drive from the center of town to the airport is about forty kilometers. Taxis will charge twenty U.S. dollars to get into town, but going the other way, into the airport, there are cheaper taxis, or “taksi” as it is called here. All legitimate taxis must be metered, but just like traffic laws, they are frequently disobeyed. There are many ways around this regulation. Most common excuse I heard is “My meterrrrr is brrrrroke.” (Note: the rolling r’s are needed for the sound of authenticity.) It was so common an English phrase spoken that you must know what is a fair price beforehand, or find a dolmus, which is a shared taxi, usually painted yellow, going to a common area. When exiting a dolmus just watch to see what the other passengers are paying.
Although we didn’t know it
yet, just like each of the preceding days, this day would be more fun,
fantastic and wonderful than the last.
The future held a surprise of what would be the best yet.
The driver was right on time. This was a
pleasant surprise in a country whose citizens usually are more relaxed about
issues of time. He took our luggage to
the car and we settled the bill at the hotel, having made two local phone
calls, once about replacing the stolen travelers’ checks, and once to Mr.
Levant, the travel agent whose program I selected. There was also a charge for one dollar for a
small pint bottle of water from the mini-bar.
The hotel room cost seventy dollars daily.
I have a little
knowledge of the German language. I
lived in
German is the second
most common foreign language behind English.
English is mandatory and is taught in all schools.
The driver sped away from the hotel. The early morning brings very light traffic
now. I asked the driver for our travel
papers. In German, he said that he
didn’t have the documents. He thought
that I was supposed to have them. He
made a call to the hotel after stopping the car on the street. Because there are so many one-way streets he
ran back to pick the papers up. A
bellboy stood outside the hotel on the front steps to hand them to him
quickly. Our driver was back in the car
in less than five minutes. We were off
to the airport, still with plenty of time.
At
Airport traffic was
light. We took care of all necessary
tasks with ease, then waited to board the plane. Security measures were efficient, and they
x-rayed everything.
This flight carried the
maximum number of passengers today, but it was mercifully brief. The stewardesses rolled their stainless steel
cart down the narrow aisles and offered passengers coffee, tea, milk, apple
juice, or cherry juice. A young man
followed the cart to present to the occupier of each seat a small hard roll
with a slice of Swiss cheese and a slice of green pickle. Each such serving was tightly wrapped in
clear plastic wrap.
We landed. Musti, a
young man who would serve as our interpreter and guide, and Hussein, an older
man, maybe virile sixty, very Semitic in appearance but he has adapted to western-style
clothes; he was our very able driver.
They waited in the
They brought us the forty
kilometers to Kayadam Cave Hotel in Ürgüp.
What a wonderful place! The inn, and all of the
rooms were carved from the stone. We had
to walk up three short flights of stairs also hewn from the monolithic
rock. The climb was not easy for Marcy
but we were rewarded with a bizarre cave-room dug out of the soft porous
stone. The rock hardens when exposed to
air for a long time. This “five-star”
lodge would have been enough to satisfy us for the day, but fortunately it was
only the beginning.
After thirty minutes to
“freshen up” we were off to see the “fairy chimneys.” These spires were cut into the valley by
millions of years of brutal erosion. The
weird geologic formations could have been backdrops for demented sci-fi
movies. We parked and I hiked a trail
with Musti. We had a panoramic view of
the valley and the shadow capped mountain, second highest in
While Marcy and I prefer small restaurants to big ones, my dad taught me, many years ago, certain signs of a good restaurant to look for when I am in a new area. If there are a lot of cars in the parking lot that’s good. Here there were many tour buses in the parking lot, a bad sign I would guess. After we maneuvered the downhill climb, we saw and smelled the food, it seemed to be a great choice, we ate chicken kebab, korma, grape leaves, spices, braising meats and herbs sent their aromas wafting through the cavernous sitting room with very long tables. Marcy enjoyed the eggplant, but we both enjoyed the orange couscous, halvah, what a wonderful spread! There were busloads of older German tourists being carted here and there. The experience wasn’t too tarnished by hungry Germans greedily hoarding certain foods. Luckily, my first impression was wrong!
As Musti predicted, around
We next went to a carpet
dealer. Marcy and I started with a
budget of $500, but he was showing us carpets for $2000-$5000. We looked at all of them. Before seeing this he took us on a tour of
how they get the silk. The unfortunate
worms that were not selected for the breeding program get boiled and the silk,
which is what their cocoon is made from, is scratched and stretched to yield
about 25 yards of a single strand. They
are boxed and wound on a spool then turned into silk thread of various
thicknesses. Each cocoon is about an
inch long. The threads were often dyed.
Seldom are natural colors selected because of a narrow number of colors
available.
Well, we looked at a bunch of
them and decided to spring for a burgundy and blue carpet about 4x8 feet this
place asks not to bargain because it offers very low prices. I countered an offer of a “discounted price”
of $1962 (plus some small fees) with $1400 total no fees, we settled on $1530
total, no fees. I could kick my self for
not offering an opening price of much less. We paid more than three times it’s true value. We
just shouldn’t have bought anything here.
Marcy insisted that I should not bargain here. She said it would insult our guide. Stamp my forehead with “Sucker.” The carpet workers packed the rug tightly in
a bag and off we were.
Marcy and I visited many
churches, and enjoyed the mystical views of the spires. It started to get very cold. I didn’t bring a jacket since it had been so
warm earlier. Now a light shower of cold
rain made the rocks glisten as the red sun disappeared in the cold shroud of
misty fog. While I enjoyed seeing the
amazing churches, the cold rain made my visit less pleasurable because there
was lots of climbing rocks, ladders, and dirt paths. Marcy decided to watch
from the interior of the warm car.
Afterwards I was cold, wet and tired.
Marcy was unhappy that I’d spent an hour here, but I could have spent more
since there was much to see.
We woke in time to eat a light breakfast of coffee, cheese
and bread, then we met driver Hussein and guide Musti
at
We were shown how a local red clay was used to make pottery. We bought nothing there, nor did we buy anything
at a jewelry and handicraft shop. I
liked the bowls and vases, which varied in color from white to green. Marcy
said they remind her (in a negative way) of
Musti and I had hiked along a
canyon, created from a small, but not navigable river that cut through the
canyon. The walls had caves dug out, and
several were worship centers. They were
decorated with primitive paintings and designs of the sixth through tenth
centuries. So many of the caves were
identified as churches that I suspect the caves may often have been the homes
decorated with paintings. These frescoes
were noticeably absent from most rooms of the underground city we visited. Several neighboring communities had
flourished below ground.
We drove back to the cave
hotel in the Goreme region, in the small town of
The four of us met for lunch after I hiked four hilly kilometers with Musti along a river. It was a pleasant refuge from the rain. With me came a hundred people. The local trout, spicy beef or chicken kebabs were the simple, and popular choices. A small bowl of lentil broth, followed by a chopped lettuce, tomato, and cucumber salad, and then they served a portion of rice with Italian parsley, which was unique with a special flavor to it.
We were back at the tiny six-room hotel in a few
minutes. Marcy was asleep by
At
We drove through
Four hours of driving through
a mountain range on well-maintained asphalt roads brought the four of us to the
city of
We walked through the mosque,
seeing the tombs of important village people that stood as monuments. The
dervishes used this area for their important dance of prayer. Musti said this city is well known as an
ultra conservative bastion of Islamic culture.
At the
We sat at a restaurant that
was a block away from the mosque. Marcy
had what looked to be pounded and highly seasoned beef molded to form a bar of
meat about the size of a chocolate bar.
Then it was grilled. Marcy had what is called, the “mixed grill.” I
ate the locally caught trout, which was grilled with some butter.
Hussein knew tons of people
everywhere. People waived to him
throughout the many neighborhoods. While
at the restaurant several friends, including his niece, stopped by. She was married a week ago and quickly
gathered her groom from around the street corner. The young couple was happy to see him. A familial greeting is to kiss both cheeks.
She is twenty, he is twenty-two. When
they finish their studies in
Up the street, Musti was
informed, is the most well known vendor of Dervish hats. It is where the
Dervishes buy their uniform. The old,
bent proprietor opened his shop on the dusty street with a big old-fashioned
door key after he finished his afternoon prayers. Musti explained to him what I wanted. The white-haired man demanded fifty million
lira. I offered ten. After a little customary bargaining I pay
thirty million Turkish Lira, which is about twenty-five dollars.
At
We arrive in Antolya at
The last straws of light would
soon dance away to the night. We were
the only people to sit outside to enjoy two pint-sized, screw-topped bottles of
wine. Marcy asked for Merlot, what was
provided was red. That’s what they
had. We enjoyed a leisure evening and we
did not notice time slipping by. Now it
is after
This was a casual
morning. We woke unhurriedly and prepared
to leave the hotel because we expected a new driver to get us and our growing
number of baggage at
Breakfast was a pleasant
affair, a huge spread with endless choices.
Not being one who prefers many breakfast foods, I looked beyond the
omelettes cooked with ingredients of one’s choice. I looked beyond the waffles, breads and
cereals. I discovered a hot entre that
few people were clamoring for. I eyed it
closely, somewhat suspiciously, then took a plate and spooned two scoops of
chicken pieces that simmered with brown mushrooms and green peppers. I grabbed an apple from the fresh fruit bar
and sat down on the outside patio to wait for Marcy to join me. There was still plenty of time left before
our meeting time in the adjacent hotel lobby.
The coffee was a pleasant finish to the meal. It was rich and good, but not Turkish coffee,
which is when hot water is poured over finely ground coffee at the bottom of
the cup.
We waited for the driver and
guide to appear. Mr. Hussein, a new and
different one, with no relation to our last driver, showed up almost
immediately after we found comfortable chairs to watch for him. Hussein took a liking to Marcy and throughout
the day was very partial to her comfort and interests. I appreciated his concern. Mr. Hussein drove a small white Fiat sedan
with the tour company emblem posted in large letters on one side. He handed us a packet of papers, which showed
a change of itinerary. Marcy sought
another day in the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul, so we had to cut out Pamukale,
which is not far from
Our first stop after the
office visit was a waterfall that, unsurprisingly, comes from the mountains
thirty miles away and takes a final sixty foot plunge into the sea. Marcy had some trouble navigating the rocky
path to the cliff edge but managed it with constant attention from Mr.
Hussein. We drove to a fantastic Roman
ruin called Per. The remnants of the once great city
were unique. The streets were tiled with
fancy mosaics along both sides of the street.
The mosaics were for pedestrian traffic.
Merchant stalls were well marked by two-foot high walls that still stood
beyond the black and white tiles on either side of the street.
The bathhouse was a central
part of city dwellers lives. It was a
complex system of hot water and hot air that could be managed to control the
bathhouse environment. While all
citizens were permitted to use it, the evenings were reserved for royalty and
officials. The public toilets were a
social event, too. While sheltered, people
of both sexes sat and talked while using the toilet. The city was the best-preserved ruin I have
seen. It was conserved by the national
government under Ataturk the early part of the twentieth century.
We passed Hadrian’s Gate as we
went out of town, deciding the water park was a waste of time. For lunch Marcy had the reconstructed beef
bar again, and I had trout. Next we
visited an
We walked to a three-pillared
arch of Apollo. The fifteen foot tall
statue was high on the cliff just outside of the ancient city where the
According to Hussein, the
search of the ruins only yielded one parchment, which was the last will of the
princess Diana, whom people loved. Marcy sat while we looked at the vast ruins
more closely. She drank half a glass of
freshly squeezed orange juice. I
finished it for her. Hussein’s legend
didn’t sway either of us.
The local cafes are especially
popular with young Russians. There are
at least a hundred young Russians along this cobblestone street, now populated
with kitschy cafes, with signs identifying the tiny kitchens with french names,
and a menu in U.S. dollars. Hussein
resents the young Russians because they take advantage of
Hussein had been telling us about his favorite ice cream
maker who makes his delicacy one small batch at a time. Hussein said that the ice cream is so thick
and rich that you must eat it with a knife and fork. He seems to be very proud of knowing the ice
cream maker of this shop. We stopped at
the fabled ice cream confectionery and we were greeted by the ice cream maker
who was hard at work, stirring a new batch of the cold, white treat. We were seated in a tiny room with open
walls. Behind the rear wall and
concealed from our eyes, but not my nose, came the wafting fragrance of honeyed
buns baking... baklava. It smelled
deliciously sweet. The ice cream was
served. A thick ribbon was twisted in a
flourish to fit on the baked clay plate. The vanilla ice cream was topped with
a generous dusting of green pistachio meat.
A honey drenched coconut pastry accompanied this confection. I found it impossible to eat the pastry, although
it smelled wonderful. The amount of
sugar I would have consumed would have sent a shock through my system. I have never had thicker or richer vanilla
ice cream, but the vanilla flavor wasn’t snapping through the congealment like
it would in
Later we traveled back to the
town center where Marcy was able to reconstruct our travel plans at the travel
agency. It was there we said “good-bye”
to Hussein #2 and “hello” to Dennis, a young, energetic, constantly busy,
thirty year old Turk. He may marry in a
year, evidenced by the wedding ring on his right hand. He used to be a pilot,
and a parachutist, before becoming a guide.
He speaks frequently and fondly of his engagement to a Turkish woman,
who is studying computers. We overhear
some angry words exchanged in the travel office. The new team is, just temporarily, Dennis and
Hussein #3. Hussein #3 teaches at a
local high school but to supplement his income, acts as a tour guide. He has a relative in
Dennis drove and drove. This was supposed be a five-hour drive along
the coast. We saw very little of the
coast, we ended up driving over a range of mountains that overlook the
coast. Many small farm communities had a
small outpost where several farmers met and sold their produce to locals and to
those driving along this long sparsely populated road.
We are whizzing along at the
fastest speed that Dennis, the driver, feels is safe. Maybe even a little beyond that. Centrifugal and other natural forces cause
Marcy and me to push, pull, and slide this way and that on the smooth plastic
bench seats of the van whenever this vehicle would try to circumnavigate to a
point beyond another of the many hairpin bends in the narrow, but well
maintained, road.
Each small town had a restaurant lit, both eerily and dimly,
by a vertically hung neon light that would indicate whether the restaurant was
open. Marcy feigned sleep as she lay
across the rear bench, gripping the seams of the seat to avoid being
catastrophically flung to the floorboard.
I tried to help keep Dennis fully attentive to his driving. He wanted to smoke. Although I granted permission (because I was
willing to do anything that would keep him fully awake), he chose to smoke only
when he was refueling the van at a highly flammable gas station. There were big, conspicuous red and black
signs posted that prohibited smoking, but that did little to hinder Dennis or any
of the other patrons. Ground out cigarettes
littered the pavement, I am sure that one of them wasn’t entirely snuffed
out. There must be at least one. I noticed this station looked fairly
new...was it built over the cinders of the last gas station here? I wondered.
Petrol was 1302 liras for one liter of gas, which translates to over $3
a gallon, more than twice the price in the
After five hours of
uncomfortable driving, we reached our destination. It was getting dark now, after
Dennis found the boat; it was
right in front of us! We moved our stuff
from the car to the boat. While waiting
for Dennis, Marcy had bought a cup of coffee from a small open-air patisserie
so she hurriedly finished the hot drink then we walked along the boardwalk,
looking in the windows of a number of shops that were closed, but lit, on the
way to the boarding ramp of the boat.
All told, it is forty feet from stem to stern with six cabins for
passengers. Our cabin measured three feet
wide by six feet long plus a tiny bathroom.
There was a shower, sink and a toilet crammed together so tightly that
two people could never be in there at one time.
We tried to put everything away so that we’d have a little room to
breathe, and the closets accepted enough of our luggage that we could get
comfortable here. We brought everything
except for what we left in
The stores, restaurants and
shops of Marmora, whichever ones had remained open for the party-goers, closed
promptly at
Three couples had to resolve
serious issues they had with their travel agent before we could pull out of
port. We left the dock at
I swam a bit in the nippy
ocean water for an hour, and then came aboard for a vegetarian lunch. I ate what we had, onions, tomatoes, spinach,
and pine nuts mixed and served over spaghetti.
I have a seldom need to use
sunscreen, but the sun was hot, and air temperature must be approaching 90 F. I
figured I had enough sun when my nipples were sensitive to touch. I noticed that I burnt them when I put on a
cotton tee shirt. They stood up like two
golf tees. I hope this condition heals
soon. I really don’t like sitting around
with a new group of people and having guys staring at my chest. Marcy had sun screen with protection level
35, I think highest possible is 40. She
thought she might have burned, too, but thankfully, not like me.
We had a very pleasant
afternoon and evening where we did little but lounge around. Marcy did show some color, and I always tan
up well and quickly. The water was no
warmer than 65F. Most people didn’t go
in. I had two short swims. One was entirely for the benefit of the
camera. I wanted some photos of me so I
had to give Marcy some brief direction on how she should do it. Coming out of the cool water to the heat of
the afternoon sun warmed me quickly.
Olga and George from
A dinner of quartered chicken
and rice was served with a light salad.
We ate at
It wasn’t enough to attract us
(meaning Marcy and me), nor any of the other six passengers. All of us stayed shipboard, but when the sun
had gone Marcy and I climbed down the narrow steps to stay in our cabin until
the morning. We were able to shower
because the boat was not moored in a port.
We had stayed moored for the
night. It was a peaceful night with
little waves lapping at the waterline. I
woke just before daybreak to watch the first beams of light whisper over
distant mountains, then twinkle-dance across the surface of the water. The sun was bursting back into life, lifting
the coolness of a damp morning. Soon we
were off to Ko, another roman city now in ruins. Immediately its special quality became
apparent to me. This city, although under protection by the Turkish government
was as it was, without restoration, a product of the elements since its
abandonment in the ninth century. The
intent of the Turks is to keep this structure as it is, that is, no
reconstruction, no restoration. I could
see archways of large stone blocks spreading apart with only a few hundred
years left before they fall. I could see
now the need to preserve and, more significantly, embark on the restoration for
future generations.
The value of numbered blocks
of stone on the ground and a drawing identified as an “artist’s concept” of how
it “may have looked” seldom keeps the interest of people long enough for them
to say “thumbs up” to spending of taxes for this one ancient monument or
another. Without the support of the
people the money to maintain the ruins would be more difficult to find. Fortunately, the treasures of
Marcy could only walk to the
edge of the ruins, but she was at a vantage point to look around and see
portions of the city. I followed a
well-marked path and was led by the best remains. A castle protected the city like fortress
perched high on a hill. I wasn’t going
to climb the hill to examine the fortress, but I would guess that it had been
partially reassembled. There were
several desert tortoises that had congregated on grassy area. Black snakes had slithered to the tops of the
blocks. There were many of them. Heated in the sunlight, a large, horned
lizard crawled out of a crevice in a rock to watch us from a safe
distance. After seeing what I could, I
met Marcy back at the water’s edge at a small rickety dock. She sat in the little powerboat that would
carry us four miles to the main boat, moored safely in much deeper water. The water is full of reefs, and gets
dangerously shallow in several places.
The small white boat had a blue canvas awning and could hold twenty people
if they did not mind having someone’s elbow shoved into their back. Today there would only be the young
Marcy was waiting at the
boat. Soon everyone returned and we
headed further up the river. To the west
I could see huge carving in the flat rock side of the mountain, reminiscent of
The
navigable waters became too shallow to continue further up as it broke into
several small, reed-clogged tributaries. The water fanned out quickly over a
broad area just beyond the wooden dock.
I held Marcy’s hand to help balance her exit from the boat. We walked a short distance over a rocky path
until we could smell sulfur. One hundred
feet along the rocky pathway, around a two-story high rock, we saw white and
yellowish vaporous clouds float away into the air and dissipate. White crusty
rings stained the rocks, which lined the steamy pond. This pool was the source for where the
gaseous fumes emanated. The rotten egg-like sulfuric odor wafted over a broad
flat plain bordered, on all sides by low-lying hills lying in the
distance. Adjacent to the pool, but not
touching it, was a pond of very muddy water.
The shallow area had steps into going down into the water. The steps were covered in slimy mud, making
the trip down into the pool a treacherous, and very
cautious event for everyone who dared.
We successfully were able to settle in somewhere toward the center of
the 20’ x 20’ lake.
The mud adhered to our clothes
and bodies with epoxy-like strength. It
was the mud bath one should take first, as we did. After covering all parts of our body we
exited carefully, and then waited in the warm afternoon sun to let the mud bake
on our skin. It changed from a dark gray
to light gray as it hardened. I rubbed
some off and walked with Marcy to the communal sulfur pool after we rinsed off
our muddy bodies under an unheated cold shower.
Then we soaked in the thermal pools for thirty minutes before slowly
walking into the cold shower again, despite the cool windy breeze. A cold shower wakes the senses and partially
cleared mud and sulfur from the skin pores.
That stuff can hide in so many folds and crevices in my fifty year old
skin that a much more thorough and warm shower will be necessary to really
complete the cleansing. This has been
proclaimed to be a very healthy experience, based on all of the posted writings
about this place. I certainly could not
understand how such an ardent attack of uncleanliness could benefit me and am
still bewildered at my very own lack of resistance to do so.
Back in the boat, we slowly
motored past the same route, going the same route we used to get here, just in
reverse. Weather shifted slightly to a
cooler breeze. A stop at a local town
allowed our Russian friends, George, Olga, Marcy and I to buy some supplies at
a local market.
A kilogram of fresh
high-season oranges cost 850.000, bananas were
3.250.000 for a kilo. Real coffee, some
wine, a small chocolate bar, two large squares of sticky baklava and some long
green peppers finished our shopping. We
walked to the waiting boat, we because we were the last to return, we quickly
got in, and off we went.
Almost immediately the cold
wind became the predominant subject of conversation. Each couple, in their own way, sought refuge
from the cold. Some used a pillow, one
couple used a too small white towel unsuccessfully, but I used an old thick
carpet on the floor. Dirty as it was it
was, and dusty to the extreme, but nonetheless it prevented a good amount of
the cold headwind. Marcy resisted at
first, but eventually surrendered to the practicality of it all. It wasn’t clean, but it was warmer behind
it. George and Olga said that they’d
prefer the brisk chill of the damp wind to some measure of warmth behind the
thick carpet. The small craft had to cut
across the water of the jagged shores to reach the yacht; bouncing over one
foot high waves, then slapping down on the water after we cut through the wave.
After an hour we reached the boat.
We boarded and each of us
headed immediately to our rooms to find a toilet and a jacket. To warm our bodies and eat hot food were the
main issues that all passengers considered.
Dinner was served moments after our return. While no gourmet meal because it was very
simple, but the fact that it was hot was enough to please us all.
The engines of this vessel
were cranked on while the night was still black, and the loud whirring of the
motor woke us up. I looked at my
watch.
The black night was lifting quickly. Once one beam of morning light peeps over the
mountains, seconds later the entire morning scene is flooded with fresh
light. The morning chill is preserved
for an hour more by the frigid deep blue water.
This vessel, now with the anchor weighed and under power, sailed to
another, yet unseen, shore. After
another hour passed, George came up on deck and joined me for a hot cup of
coffee. He said he couldn’t go back to
sleep once the engines had started with a flaccid shudder. Slowly, rhythmically, other passengers woke
and climbed the steps to greet the new day.
Marcy came up too, amidst them.
We are having a wonderful time.
We never thought that we’d enjoy three or four days on a small ship but
we are. All the other passengers are
pleasant and we have a bit of cohesive camaraderie.
We arrived, after five hours
of travel, at a small rocky harbor. No village could be seen and there seemed
to be little reason to pick this place, but I had to rely on the good
knowledgeable captain. I would have to trust that he knew these waters. I changed to swimming trunks, the same ones I
bought in Marmora, the same one that were dyed from the gray mud of
yesterday. After a dip of less than an
hour in chilly water, and sighting very few fish I climbed back aboard and
toweled off. The sun was out so I dried
quickly. We ate a small lunch on board
then get off to a new spot three hundred yards out from the dock at
Fethaye. Nobody swam because the water
was even colder here. The captain said we’d be here all night. Weid proposed we all chip in ten million
Turkish liras per couple to raise the fifty mill they
needed to pay the port tax. Once the
money was in the hand of the captain the engine was fired up, anchor pulled in
and we motored the short distance into Fethaye.
George and Olga joined Marcy and me.
We walked along the dockside street.
This town, certainly this area, is built for tourists. We looked in all the shops and
restaurants. The travel agencies here
are trying hustle people who are interested in water
activities like the “Blue Cruise,” which is like what we are doing, scuba
diving, or island hopping looking for parties, drinking, and excitement.
The ship’s cook said dinner
would be served on board at
The fact that we were sharing
this moment in
Olga told of her family and
her prior failed marriage. George
mentioned how Olga’s father said it was necessary for her to have a stamp in
her passport that she is married or she may have to explain why she is not a
virgin.
George told how it is the
custom to have an official sit at the head of each long table at a
marriage. This official has the duty to
frequently propose toasts. Marcy said
Steve should have that job. We told the
story of our wedding. A highlight was
the wonderful gifts that Steve put together, which were invitations to
important leaders and people around the world.
We all shared personal stories.
It was a glorious moment, a rare gem that happens too seldom in a man’s
life.
Out of the entire cruise, this
one moment made all else pale in contrast.
We walked back to the boat through the neon lit tourist alleys of
luggage and purse knock-offs. Imitations
abounded in each shop. This town tried
to emphasize the historic value of an ancient hamam, or communal bathhouse, but
in this country, with millions of great ruins, the bathhouse wasn’t enough to
deter people from walking by a row of brightly lit attractive shops. The four
of us, one at a time, crossed the narrow metal bridge that extended from the
rear section of the boat. I sat down on the boat cushion and waited with George
while Olga prepared some coffee to accompany the baklava purchased in a town
bakery.
Interestingly absent are
places to buy a cup of coffee or tea and a pastry or two. This baklava was made with walnuts, not the
customary pistachios. It was a fitting cap to a wonderful evening. The stars were out and if you looked away
from the city, out to sea, they shined brightly against a black velvet
sky. The last thing I saw before falling
asleep was a small clock, which told me that the time was later than
We slept aboard the gently
rocking boat until
We waited while our driver and
guide ate breakfast within eyeshot. They
casually got into their car and drove one long block to meet us, forty-five
minutes late. The five-hour drive to
Kusadasi was uncomfortable because the guide spoke very little English, and
conversations in the car were mainly between Marcy and me, or the driver and
guide. I was successful at interrupting
a few times when we needed water or the WC.
At the end of the drive was
the Andakule Otel. It was about three
miles from town center. It was infested
with busloads of old German tourists.
Our room view was wonderful, it overlooked the
We walked a few feet up a
stony incline to the point we were told the bus would meet us. Moments before we reached the exact point the
bus pulled up. I ran ahead to advise the
driver to wait a moment for my wife. He
did so, and we were soon driven to several points in the town. The driver knew we wanted town center so we
waited for him to say something. At the
appropriate moment he spoke and we disembarked, and I left a small tip of five
hundred thousand lira for him. Few gave
him anything.
The area was loaded with
tourists. Later I could see why... a
cruise ship was docked here. Until its whistle blew to call passengers back
aboard, they had control of the town by their sheer mass of numbers. But happily, it did sound it’s
deep bass tone and, as far as I could tell, all passenger wandered back to the
cruise ship. The town exhaled. Trades-people gave us a second glance. The merchants were interested in us
again. We lost our anonymity and each
merchant tried to lure us into his or her shop.
No longer was I the “bum magnet,” now it was Marcy that the vendors
hounded.
The shop’s hawker stood out
front trying to guess your nationality, then say something in a familiar
language to entice you inside like “ Hello, what
country are you from?” So the ice would
be broken and a dialogue could begin.
Any interest in their goods would have the proprietor standing or running
over to coax this chance meeting into a sale.
However small, there was no effort spared to create a sale out of the
smallest interest shown by a passer-by, especially if he looked foreign. Foreigners are all thought to be wealthy.
We made our way through a maze
of streets, not really caring about where we wound up because, as long as we
had the hotel business card, our return was well guaranteed. We’d take a “taksi”, if we were too lost. Thankfully, quite accidentally, we did find
our way back to the bus stop. After a
short wait we were aboard the minibus, which headed back to the hotels nearby.
They had many interesting
items priced well below what I would have expected to pay for such things. Because we had many miles ahead, we chose not
to buy anything, this decision did not last long. Vendors of watches perched their table inches
away from each other. One cleverly had
an English sign posted along the table’s edge.
It read “genuine fake watches.”
Few merchants were unable to converse in less than three languages.
English, German, French and Japanese were the most popular. I bought two watches at ten dollars apiece
before we caught the minibus back. We had eaten a small pizza at a small
sidewalk cafe. This was one of those times when we were thankful that the pizza
was not larger. Further up the sidewalk,
maybe another hundred feet was an Internet café. Both of us were issued time slips since we
used separate computers. No DSL here, so
we needed a full hour. Each of us paid
the charge of two US dollars. We were
thankful that we had access to see email sent to us from home.
The bus let us off at the
hotel. A buffet dinner was included in
our tour. Everything displayed for the
buffet was low quality. Grilled chicken
wasn’t grilled long enough. Coffee was
faintly colored water, but the tea was good.
Even the wide assortment of desserts all tasted like honey drenched
bread, except one of the desserts tasted like honey-drenched toast. In the area where fresh fruit was displayed,
I handled several sad specimens; they were apparently for show, not for eating.
All drinks, even water, were
extra and cost from a million lira to three million. We were tired so we went to our room. I had proposed a drink after dinner but that,
I suspect, would be an equal disappointment.
We went to sleep in separate beds, a rarity for us. I looked out the window once more to the see
the moonlight on the water.
We woke at six. We got dressed quickly, then
walked down to breakfast; it also was included in our program. It was on par with the meal last night, but
because it is warm weather we sat outside by the edge of the balcony looking
down on the rocky beach. At the next
table was a
I talked with Ed, her husband,
and discovered he sells insurance with his own agency. Their daughter is married to an
As we walked through the
lobby, and headed for our room the taxi driver of yesterday watched for
us. He was sunken into a big brown
leather easy chair placed dramatically in the middle of the cavernous room. We pointed to the luggage that we had piled
together so he could get it put into the trunk of the cab. We were soon off to Ephesis.
It was about fifty minutes from our hotel, on the way we picked up a new
guide and three liter bottles of water.
The water is never an area where I look to save money. I believe that is why I’ve never been
seriously sick throughout my travels. It
might be another hot day. Our guide spoke limited English, really not good at all. She was
a thin, young, dark, Turkish girl, who was pleasant to look at but even when I
listened to her very closely, she spoke a stunted British dialect of some sort
in soft monotones. I strained to hear
her whisper of the significance of one part or another. Once our guide had paid the admission price
to get us into the ruins I tried to listen to one of the other English-speaking
guides with large groups of tourists following them. The three of us wandered through this large
complex of fantastic ruins. I thought it
is amazing how a town could just be abandoned like this. How could people just walk away? Large pillars still stood, or were realigned
to original purpose and design.
Religious Christians find this
former city of special importance because it was the first city that had been
entirely converted to Christianity. I’ve
wondered how that could happen, you know, an entire city?
What an amazing coincidence that
everybody just figured out that this new deviation from Judaism was the “right”
way to believe. The Roman Emperor
Constantine was the first leader of the Romans to convert and then make
Christianity the state religion.
The level of preservation and
restoration make this site important to any student of history. Naturally, someone had to “conceptualize” how
some things were then, but generally it was like putting a huge jig-saw puzzle
together, or so I am told.
We went to lunch at a place
furnished with many long tables and an appropriate number of chairs. Obviously, they are expecting tour buses to
stop here. Since we’re the only ones
right now, we could eat whatever we wanted, and there was no line for us to
wait in. As I mentioned, it was buffet
style so we had to search, test by deep inhalation of fragrance. Then we did a cautious, petite tasting of the
suspect entree. I
especially enjoyed “reading” Marcy’s eyes when she put the spoon to her lips
and made studied judgment of the subject’s edibility. I looked for meat, mostly fish or
chicken. No items contained any meat
except one dish that Marcy said was very good, Aubergine (eggplant) with
shavings of lamb. I prefer the sacrifice
of one animal or another, put on a plate before me. At this meal my preference was denied.
I finished before Marcy so I
walked around the restaurant. I saw some
t-shirts, which he wanted six million liras and a white cotton gauze, button
down shirt, which he wanted five million.
Marcy said the shirt looked bad and you could see my still burnt nipples
through it. The material was just too
thin so I didn’t buy it. Our next stop was Virgin Mary’s retirement house. It is at the crest of a small mountain about
thirty miles from Ephisis. We had beaten all the tour buses to this site of
religious pilgrimages. We arrived to
find` a huge, empty, asphalt parking lot.
Sadly there is no certain
evidence that Mary, mother of Jesus, really ever lived here, or for that
matter, that anyone actually lived here.
There is no definitive archeological proof that anyone occupied this
area, even bits of columns were taken from elsewhere. Actually there was a house here constructed
of stone and mortar, but this structure has only stood for fifteen years. Prior to that, there were only a few pottery
shards on the ground and a household tool or two to prove any human existed
here before 1950. That was the year a
Greek woman had a dream about this region.
She dreamt that Mary lived here, and to this day nobody could disprove
it. Her dream continued, partially
entwined with verse from the New Testament, explaining that Paul took her here
to live out her final days, twenty miles away from Ephesis.
Now nuns operate and control
the area. A wall near the “replica” home had several white corkboards fastened
to it. People would fasten their notes
to the corkboads. There were ardent
prayers in many different languages were pinned to the cork. I was astounded to discover no other evidence
existed, only one laywoman’s dream was sufficient to
mark this as a holy site. I looked to
find a place where there was a gift shop, there were
three but none with e-mail, web site or phone number. Those from Ephesis would have to do. I recorded my visit, and then we left just as
the first tour bus arrived.
Our next stop was close to the
airport.
I think it is important to
note a ground swelling of anti-Israeli sentiment. For many years there has been cooperation and
friendship between those two countries,
We didn’t see the Jewish
history we sought. We parked near the
seaside boardwalk, got out of the car, and looked at the water held back by the
handsome block wall that prevented further erosion of the land. The look of
In
We were driven close to our
hotel “Yesil Ev” hotel, a former Ottoman residence of luxury located a few feet
from the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, the Hippodrome, etc. in itself the historic
residence was successively owned by a line of important people. It was well decorated, and the classical
music gently playing, and colorful fresh flowers all
around made this another wonderful surprise of the travel agent
We walked outside searching
for kebabs, but knowing that most places stop grilling the meats at
An evening chill floated in to
this open-air patio, which is ten feet lower than street level, and was open to
the elements. We anticipated a cool
evening and had light jackets with us.
We had some hot apple tea to brace us for the cold night air, paid the
bill, then left.
We had flashlights to
illuminate the uneven cobblestone street.
There are beautiful streetlights around this small park. The wide spacing between the lights and their
low intensity would not be adequate to reveal all, or even most, of the hazards
of the streets. We struggled back on the tiny hotel. We were tired from the long day and slept
through the night call to prayers and the early morning call to prayers. The
morning call happens at approximately
When we did get up, we joined
a few other guests from European countries for a typical Turkish breakfast of
coffee, tea, juice, yogurt, bread, fruit and jam. I would mix fresh fruit and the homemade
orange marmalade in the yogurt for a more palatable treat for me. They served the best coffee of the entire
trip. Marcy soon discovered that you
press the button on the coffee dispensing machine only once for each cup of
coffee you want poured now. Although the
served beverage took a moment to ejaculate from the machine, more than one
pressing of the button would yield more than one cup of joe
Our
objective today was to explore with more vigor,the
Grand Bazaar, and the adjacent Egyptian Spice Market. We gave up seeing Pamukale
so that we’d have a full day in
We had agreed that we were not
going to get a carpet. We also agreed
that we’d try to spend less that $500, but events would foil all of our
agreements. Instead we were drawn, again,
into their lair, falling as easy prey.
Without Marcy’s help I would have brought back a walking stick that had
a dagger concealed inside of its shaft.
Carvings of snakes illustrated the cane’s exterior in bas-relief. I saw Marcy, stacking a new cache of purses
from the same vendor of our earlier visit.
This time only six were counted.
While she negotiated I walked to a nearby stall and bought a man’s purse
for three dollars. It was slightly
marred on the back and had no fake brand name emblazoned on it. Marcy was, according to our prearranged
design, to get to her best deal then turn it over to me.
Marcy did a great job getting
the price for all down to 100 million liras.
I could only get them down another ten million. Everybody had jackets
for sale. Leather was very popular
here. Marcy said lambskin is the best,
and the vendor quickly agreed with her. She had tried on four or five, maybe
more. I lost track of how many, or even
what time it was.
Marcy asked where we could
find “
We had nothing to do today. We
want to look around, through the remaining unexplored shops, to see if we can’t
find a better one. I promised we would
return if we found nothing better at his price of $120 or we’ll buy now at one
hundred dollars. There was a bit of
heated debate between the two brothers that ran this leather shop. The deal was sealed and Marcy had the most
beautiful red leather jacket that she had tried on. After much bargaining, the jacket was sold
for a hundred dollars.
I
bought a water pipe for $20 and a bunch of small items, mainly as gifts.
We sat in an open-air
restaurant in the bazaar and bought a cup of coffee for Marcy and a cup of tea
for me. Today is a nice warm sunny day.
Sitting, relaxing, we decide that this is a pleasant place to order a
light snack rather than a big lunch.
Marcy accidentally ordered her mixed grill meat bar once more! I had a lamb kebab.
While we sat and talked, we
there was a young carpet salesman who sat in front of his basement shop on a discarded
kitchen chair. He was a young man with a
wisp of a beard and dark eyes. He tried
to carry a conversation with us to get our interest and fulfill his objective
of selling a carpet to us. I told him
that I’d look willingly but we have a strict limit of two hundred dollars. I added that I would be happier if I could
found one at one hundred dollars. He
said he has many at that price. I looked at several, and then invited Marcy to
look in his store. It should come as no
surprise that we bought one for four hundred.
This one we intend to use in
the kitchen. They rolled it tightly and
he had his brother carry it for us to
He asked if he could bring the
carpet to our hotel tonight because he lives near Yesil Ev
and wouldn’t mind. I accepted because it
meant we could continue our shopping.
Taxi service was very inexpensive compared to a big city in the
Outside the covered bazaar was
a large cobblestone courtyard. In the
center of the open area was a large non-working water fountain. People gathered here because the city
streetcars began their journey from this point.
There were buses, crowded with people so densely that we could see the
flattened bodies of bus passengers pressed firmly against the large glass
window panels. Millions of pigeons flew
around a vendor who sold small packets of pigeon food. It was always frightening to walk around on
the ground level of the area that these flying pigs claimed as
their own. City sanitation
workers tried to rid this area of many of the birds through poison, but the
public outcry made city officials cease two years ago. Since that time their numbers have increased
substantially. Now they threaten this
area with massive amounts of excrement.
I politely asked a taxi driver
if he knew of our hotel because we remembered the hotel name, but not the
address. He said he thinks he knows but,
sadly, he advised us that he has no working meter so his price is five million
to get us there (Even though that’s only four dollars, it just sounds
outrageous when you say “five million”). We got out and talked to the next
waiting driver in the line. He was watching
the interpreter who flashed ten fingers.
This driver said ten million. Marcy was the first to bolt out of the
door. We had to get far enough away from the interpreter to find an honest
metered cab. We walked sixty feet. I flagged a driver down. When we got off at our destination, he asked
for two million. I only had one million
Turkish liras, so I gave him one million lira and a dollar, which now is worth
1,380,000 lira. He happily took it and
off he went. We went back to pack for
the long and uncomfortable ride home tomorrow.
Because it was our last
evening (and Marcy’s foot was getting worse from all of the walking), we chose
to have a romantic and expensive dinner at our hotel. I made
It was a very pleasant
meal. We went upstairs after a very
brief walk in the cool night air, by the garden. From our room we heard, probably for the last
time, evening prayers.
Reflections of
First, I would recommend the
flight form
Our hotel was a very fond
memory. While we saw about twenty cave
hotels ours was outside the town of
Had we taken a room in Goreme,
there were several restaurants that looked inviting and markets with fresh
produce, cheeses and meats. Also there
was an Internet café, which I used briefly.
In Ürgüp we had none of those amenities.
We had a wonderful view and room.
The breakfast was of homemade type foods. I love that.
The valley is very rich with history. Several underground cities were created ages ago. The Turkish are using their beautiful history as a strong card to draw the tourist. Well played. The country in general is devoting huge resources for the pleasure and interest of those bringing foreign currency with them. Next, the geologic formations are so astoundingly bizarre they certainly have a draw all their own but coupled together it is a place that should be visit. I’d give it 4 ½ stars out of 5.
Reflections of
We traveled to this city in hope of seeing live Dervishes. Dervishes are members of this local sect that is devoutly Muslim. The unique quality of this group is that they’d spin around in a colorful costume until they were so dizzy they would hallucinate.
What we saw was a very conservative Islamic city, which had the Dervish mosque set up for tourists to visit, and it did contain some good Islamic art, but we only saw some wax mannequins dressed as dervishes. That’s it! There were plenty of Dervish books, videos, and pictures to buy...just not the real live Dervishes. This place was Dervishless! A total non-Dervish rip-off event. The mosque was pleasant, but not enough of a drawing card to induce the knowledgeable traveler to visit it. I’d say that it deserves a rating of less than one star out of five possible.
Reflections of Antolya
This city was a surprise to me. I
anticipated a modest seaside Muslim city with a few quaint sites, and because
we had read travel guides before our visit, roman ruins of modest importance.
All preconceived notions were wrong. Yes, Antolya is a Muslim city like all
others. But starting with Hadrian’s Gate
and continuing out to Perge, the Turkish people were actively restoring these
world treasures and preserving them for future generations. The sites in this region alone, by themselves
were enough reason to visit here. Anyone
with any interest in world history would soon discover there were other
important ruins nearby, too, which I found to be beautiful. There are several large sections of
intricately carved marble and granite pillars imported from
Reflections of Marmora
As I recall this town is a small city made for the comfort of tourists, the beaches seem to be very limited at least from what little we saw, but big on water sports, boating, yachting, skiing.
It was not yet the height of the
tourist season but throngs, yes I said throngs, of couples in their 20’s and
30’s from neighboring countries have come for one big party. The warm and very
pleasant temperatures induced young women to dress less modestly. Well, they came for the party. Prices on
goods were higher than in other towns. This is a place to drink and do those
things that go with drinking loud music, lights, and dancing. Lots of other young men and women who are here
for the same reason you are, nice clothes and money flashed around. It isn’t my kind of place but I know people
who would think this
Yugoslav Reflections
I agree with Lonely Planet’s travel guide on
Once more I want to mention the
delicious olive oil. I think I will look for the best to find when home. It was
everywhere in
Prishtina - I was
surprised to find nothing of historical value here. It was a manufactured city,
post WWII and built by the communists. The city was big and many big buildings
were clean, like maybe
Yugoslavian Peninsula (as a whole) - Fly into Zagreb
and take a train to your first destination, then use the very good buses that
travel all over Yugoslavia, sometimes stopping at the geopolitical military
borders. Most train travel is slower and cheaper than the bus, but more
comfortable. All cities are connected to
Traveling to other fiefdoms - Although a traveler is
advised to get a visa in
As far as I see
I felt safe in all cities except for Prishtina, but I anticipated action and possible gunplay there. Actually, even in Prishtina, everything seemed “normal.” It was the outlying areas where disturbances and gunfire would frequently erupt.
A word about “normal.”
Incredibly, the goal of