By now, everybody was pretty much aware that I wasn't in prime form. Instead of traipsing around Şanlıurfa and then checking into the hotel, it was decided to go to the hotel first. Thank God for that. I consulted briefly with the Portland doctors, who had no idea what was wrong with me and then collapsed in my room. I slept for about 14 hours. Occasionally, someone would call up from the front desk and ask me questions in Turkish. I think they were just checking to see if I was still alive. The rest of the group was out on the town. They saw the famous Cave of Abraham - the place where the legendary prophet was born (which I regretted not seeing) and the Şanlıurfa bazaar (which I didn't regret seeing as I was heading to Istanbul, home to the bazaar to end all bazaars). I slept through late lunch, dinner and everything else in between and beyond. My room was on the third floor, but it was over what I guess was a gathering spot for Şanlıurfans. I heard several languages that weren't Turkish. It turns out that they were Kurdish and Arabic. From the aesthetic standpoint of a musician, neither is as nice to listen to as Turkish, which is really quite pleasant, despite all those umlauts.
Thanks to all that rest, I was a new man in the morning. It was like the previous day's unpleasantness had never happened. Once again, the Portland doctors were puzzled, but hey, it wasn't their problem. It was suggested that I was dehydrated, but I had been guzzling water like nobody's business all day long, so probably not. I'm pretty sure it had something to do with the high altitude on Nemrut, me being a sea-level dweller and all. In any case, the day of mass tourism and feeling terrible was over.