Just Go

Ah, the Frankfurt Airport. The longer your layover, the more pointless the place becomes. I was stuck there for six hours. After the initial exhilaration of surviving my flight from Istanbul wore off, I struggled to find even the least redeeming thing about the place. I found none. Well, maybe just one thing - you can smoke there. Yeah, well, let's back up a bit.

I spent much of my time in Istanbul hanging out with this Russian girl whom I met in Selcuk. As I have previously mentioned, her English was excellent. We'll call her Svetmilla - not because her name was either Svetlana or Ludmilla, but because it amuses me to combine those names. By her accent, I initially figured that she was German. But nope, Russian - although she was of Iranian descent along her father's side of things. Because of her language skills, there was no need for my flawed version of Russian with its limited vocabulary, lack of idiom and plentiful anglicisms. There was no romance, owing to the fact that she was getting over somebody and that women naturally find my advances repellent. And that was fine. When you travel, you fall in with people, then you go elsewhere and you never see them again. For me, that's always been a liberating thing, because you can be honest about everything. I mean, hey, you're never going to see them again, so why lie?

OK, Svetmilla and I did this and that (for instance, we saw Dolambace Palace and shopped for ney flutes) around magnificent Istanbul for several days. We would cap things off with drinks and dinner in the evening. Yeah, it was fun. Now, as you may recall, the final day of my last trip was pretty epic. It was just one of those days when you're squeezing out as much from every moment that you can, because at the end of it, Seattle is waiting. My last day this time around wasn't like that. For one thing, I woke up feeling just awful. I have no idea why. For this trip, I had felt absolutely excellent at every turn - until that last morning. She stopped by my place at 10:00 and promised to meet up at 2:00. That was the last I saw of her. Yep, stood up on my last day by somebody I'll never see again. Plus, I felt lousy, but that situation improved as the day progressed. I'd planned for us to take a ferry to the Prince's Islands out in the Sea of Marmara, but that was a no-go. I spent the parts of the evening wandering around Sultanahmet looking for her. Gosh whiz, what a contrast from my last evening back in May.

It's really too bad, because I had a lot of fun with Svetmilla. She was very different from me. I tend to hate people similar to myself, so it's fortunate she was that way. Her whole focus was on spiritualism - not ghosts or anything, but meditation, chanting, channeling energy, seeking enlightenment and whatnot. If I've misnamed it, I apologize. Me, I've never been into that sort of thing as I'm more into the peasant superstitions of my forebears, but it was interesting to hear somebody explain it. I still don't understand it, as there is no "unified field theory" for spiritualism. For example, with Christianity it's simple: God is responsible for all the good, the Devil is responsible for all the bad. Even a child can understand it. In fact, it makes much more sense to children. The ambiguities come later. The problem with this spiritualism-deal is that it's an individual pursuit, has no dogma and is pretty much defined by the participant, so there isn't much theory involved. Sure, there's a lot of Buddhism in that stew, but it was difficult for Svetmilla to explain why evil existed in the world, as that wasn't her particular area of focus. And why should it be? I mean, nobody becomes enlightened spending their days contemplating evil. Since I'm not seeking enlightenment, I actually spend a lot of time thinking about it. I won't get into it here, but I found her views both thought-provoking and a bit preposterous. She had actually written two books on the subject, which was quite admirable. One evening, we sat in front of the hostel. I read the scene in The Odyssey where Odysseus returns to Ithaca and whacks all of his wife's suitors (it's really violent) and she read me some passages from one of her books. You know something? She's quite a good writer. And I believe that she wrote both in English. Could I do the same in Russian? No, I could not.

OK, so that was that. I got stood up my last day. I said goodbye to X that evening. He told me that I should move to Istanbul and work for him. Yeah, one of the reasons why selling carpets with him is so fun is that I don't have to do it for a living. If my income depended on it, it would assume a completely different - and I'm guessing uglier - character. Still, I do admire X. His origins are very humble, he works extremely hard (you could say he works like a Turk) and he is completely undeterred by rejection. Maybe one day he'll be my boss. Who knows?

I slept for about two hours before I caught the 3:20am bus to Ataturk Airport. The routing for my return was Istanbul-Frankfurt, Frankfurt-Calgary, Calgary-Seattle. Usually, when we're taxiing for takeoff, I make some kind of non-binding deal with the Deity. You know: Get me through this and I'll be nicer to non-crazy bums or some such hooey. This time around, I was in no mood for such malarkey. My last day had been pretty anticlimactic and disappointing. I had a little voice in my head saying, "Just go." Istanbul is one of the greatest cities in the world, but I just wanted to get out of there.

The flight from Istanbul was, for the most part, completely terrifying. For two of the three hours we were in the air, we experienced severe turbulence. And I mean it was severe. We had all three kinds: the intense pounding and shaking, the quick-up, quick-down variety and the scariest of all - the slow roll. That's where the plane lolls lazily on its side and just when it seems like you're about to experience a barrel roll, the pilots whip it back to level. Yeah, it was so bad that the pilot had to get on the PA twice to tell us that everything was just fine and that this was completely normal. The only problem was that the first announcement (in German and English) was completely inaudible due to the violent shaking that the plane was encountering at that time. Even if we'd been able to hear, most passengers were Turkish, so they probably wouldn't have understood anyway. It just never seemed like it was going to end. I was pretty sure the plane (an Airbus A-321) was going to break apart in the air. I didn't care. At least that would have ended the ordeal. Seriously, it was probably the second-worst flight I've ever had.

Obviously, I landed safely - unless of course they've invented blogging from beyond the grave. Thanks to a cascade of French strikes, my Air Canada flight to Calgary was less than half full. I watched many movies and wasn't bothered by conversation. After cramming a two-hour US-Canadian customs procedure into 25 minutes, I hopped this cute little learjet-type plane (actually, it was a Bombardier - just like the one that flew me into Lvv) to Seattle where I promptly froze my ass off on the way back to Belltown.

So here I am. I know this is supposed to be a neighborhood blog and soon it will be again. I plan to return to both Ukraine and Turkey, but it won't be any time soon, as I am broke. So let's get back to all things Belltown. Uh, whoopee.

And Now...

...speaking of the Grand Bazaar, I bought a ring from my bestest pal, Jimmy, but it was a bit too small. Since in addition to fleecing unsuspecting tourists, Jimmy is all about customer service, he led me to a place that does jewelry modifications and whatnot. It was literally a hole in the wall. Five guys worked there in an atmosphere permeated by cigarette smoke, the smell of hot silver and Besiktas (one of Istanbul's three soccer teams) mania. Here's the guy working on my ring:

I didn't know this, but apparently around half of the Istanbul jewelry business is made up of Christians. This is something of an amazing figure, as there are so few Christians in the country. Most are members of the Assyrian Orthodox Church. I have no idea what that's all about nor do I know why they gravitated towards the jewelry business, but that's how it is. I'd like to think there's a little bit of Jeebus-magic in my ring.

And Now...

...a short film about the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul:

Istanbul

Most who have been to Istanbul remember the city like this:

Or this:

Those are Ayasofya and the Blue Mosque doing what they do best: look great at sunset. But me, I love to head down to the waterfront and take in stuff like this:

The ship traffic is total chaos - and therefore very entertaining.

Once again, I had an excellent time in Istanbul. And once more, I'll spare you the details. But I do have many photos, most of an archaeological nature:










Yeah, that's Marcus Aurelius again above. He pops up everywhere - and he's generally well-preserved, too. Speaking of that, here's Tiberius yet again:










And these were all from the Archaeological Museum, which is one of the best in the world. It's huge, extensive and completely engrossing.

Here's the thing about Istanbul: it's ancient and bustling, but it has no analogue. It's not like an ancient New York. It's not like a much-warmer London. It's large and old enough to have its own identity. That's why I like it so much. Each year, thousands of Turks flood in from far-flung parts of Anatolia to get a piece of the action. I like cities with lots of energy and Istanbul is a powerhouse in that department. Seriously, there is no other place like it on earth.

And Now...

...a short film featuring the mega-cool BusCam:

A Disapponting Pile of Rocks - Oops, I Mean Troy

My plan had no hitch. It was very simple. Following a fine day of ruin-viewing, I would hop on the Metro Monster at 10pm, ride an hour to Izmir, transfer and wake up in Cannakale. At the Selcuk otogar, they told me I'd get in at six in the morning. That was completely acceptable. By late that same morning, I'd be out in Troy, Truva, Troya, Troia - it's all the same place. In the afternoon, I'd be back in town at the Canakale's Military Museum, reviewing the exploits of Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, hero of Gallipoli, founder of the modern Turkish state and sharp dresser. Following a restful night in a hotel that had yet to be determined, I would arrive in Istanbul the following afternoon. This was the whole plan.

It all went down so promisingly. I hung out at the hotel, got invited to dinner with a few fellow guests (an older British adventurer, a French Canadian couple and a Russian - much more on her in a future post), and didn't eat but drank beer to induce sleepiness. I had taken a dreaded night bus one time previous. It was kind of a nightmare. I hardly slept, got jostled around quite a bit and felt pretty awful for the entire trip. This time, I told myself, the dreaded night bus experience would be different. And it was. At least I didn't feel awful.

When it came time to depart, I settled in on the super-deluxe double-decker Metro Monster for the one-hour ride to Izmir. They were playing this Turkish improv troupe's TV show for all passengers on the video system. You know, my understanding of Turkish is quite limited, but these guys were very funny. So yes, it was unexpectedly entertaining. After I transferred to a smaller Metro Monster (pictured above), we set off into the night. This particular bus had individual video monitors for every seat. I quickly discovered the BusCam. It's a camera mounted on the front of the bus that shows the road. You see everything the driver sees. That's it. I consider it one of the greatest and most entertaining achievements of human history. It was completely hypnotic. I watched it till I felt the need for sleep. And so I slept. But at various times of the night, I was awoken by the bus lurching and shaking violently. It became evident that the bus driver was applying inadvisable speed over less-than-satisfactory roads. Still, I found myself falling asleep again only to be awakened by more shaking and lurching. At one point, my head hit the window quite hard. I still have the knot from the impact. Some hours later, the bus boy shook me awake. I thought he asked me whether I was going to Ankara. I told him that I was headed to Cannakale. He said something else and then left. The bus stopped and he came, shook me again and said that we'd arrived. I looked at the clock. It read 4:10. That didn't make sense. We were supposed to arrive at 6:00. Apparently there had been a change of plans that involved the driver flooring it while all of his passengers slept. They hauled my pack out of the cargo hold and just left me there. If that bus was capable of peeling out, it probably would have. That's how eager they were to get away. And so there I stood in front of the Cannakale otogar. It was shortly after four in the morning, the streets were deserted and it started to rain. I took refuge in this partially-covered atrium area that served as cafe seating for the station's obligatory tea concession. Other than staying warm, there was absolutely nothing to do. I couldn't go anywhere until around 8:00. So much for arriving at a more reasonable 6am.

I read The Odyssey a bit, napped just a little and kept dry enough. The only signs of life were the otogar's cats. Most of these creatures are utterly charmless. They're only interested in begging for food and attacking other cats. They belong to no one and their lives are tough. I did, however, befriend a very sociable kitten. Sorry, I have no pictures. He sat on my lap, keeping me warm while I stroked his ears, keeping him happy. And so it went. The tea-guy showed up at 6:00 to open his cafe and shortly brought me a glass of tea just because I was there. Thanks, tea-guy! I had just recently re-acquired the nasty habit of smoking (this happened in Patara), so that also served to pass the time. More guys arrived to hang out in that uniquely Turkish way, conversing non-stop, smoking and drinking tea. The rain stopped. The sky got lighter and I headed off to find a hotel at around 7:30. My new kitten-friend was not happy to see me go. Likewise, I was sad to depart, but those ruins weren't gonna see themselves.

After becoming very lost in the old quarter, I finally found a nice place. The lady who ran it saw me waiting out front, invited me in and gave me a room. That was really nice of her! If you're ever in Cannakale, I highly recommend the Hotel Efes because of that. I went upstairs, collapsed for an hour and a half and then put my Troy-plan into execution mode. After setting out, getting attacked by a stupid, stupid dog, waiting for the Troy-bound dolmus at the wrong place, finding the right place and waiting seemingly forever for the driver to figure out that it was time to go, I was headed out to the shining gem of Ilium. Yeah, I'm still talking about Troy.

There isn't a Troy, but rather Troys - nine of them. The only one I'm interested in is the one featured in The Iliad and The Odyssey. That's either Troy VI or Troy VII. Experts disagree, but my money's on Troy VII. Of course, as one of the most visited ruins in all of Turkey, it needs its own touch of memorable kitsch. And here it is:

You know, I've been here before. It was 14 years ago. It was disappointing then and it's disappointing now. There is basically nothing around to evoke the Troy of long ago. There are just piles of rocks that used to be walls and stone outlines that used to be temples or houses or whatnot. I knew what to expect. It didn't matter. There's just something about visiting a place that inspired at least four super-great works (The Iliad, The Odyssey, The Aeneid and The Oresteia - any others?) of world literature. Well, first off, descriptions of Troy's size and scope are greatly exaggerated. It was basically a fortified village. It may have been wealthy, but it wasn't large. Based on the drawings of Troy VII, it couldn't have had a population of more than 3,000, tops. That's about as many guys Menelaus kills himself in The Iliad. Agamemnon, both Ajaxes, Odysseus, Patroclus and, of course, Achilles also contribute big numbers during the epic struggle, among many, many others. If they (assuming that any of them really existed) had gone up against the real Troy VII, the population there would have been something like -20,000 or so. Still, Troy has mystique all over the place, from its time of comparative glory to Schliemann's clumsy quest to find and excavate it. OK, so just keep that in mind when you see these pictures:



Above are the so-called Plains of Troy. This is supposedly where the Greek and Trojan armies clashed. It's worth a photo.







Now, this is the most interesting stuff the site has to offer. Just think of what I didn't take pictures of. One thing that is different from my visit 14 years ago is that the signage has been greatly improved. The first time through, everything was in either Turkish or German and it was very important for them to point out which Troy from which, but not to tell what actually happened during that era. The new info is in Turkish, German and English and it goes so far as to recreate buildings based on the excavations. The conclusion? Troy was a small but very cool place.

Since my dolmus arrived around lunchtime and my fellow passengers didn't appear interested in the place for some reason, I pretty much had the entire site to myself. I stopped and read everything along the way, envisioned what things had looked like back then and even gazed pensively off into the distance for a number of minutes. Still, it took me less than an hour and a half to see everything. That's how small it is. Nevertheless, I say that everyone should go to Troy and see for themselves.

The 2:00 dolmus didn't arrive for some reason, so I hung out and watched the post-lunch tour groups come in and leave. Most of those people were interested in the horse. Can you blame them?

After another hour of waiting around, the 3:00 dolmus actually did materialize, but by the time I got back to town, it was too late for the Military Museum. Well, drat. Next visit, I'll probably spend more time in Cannakale. I've been there before, but I had the trots and it was not a great situation. This time, I was trot-free and reasonably rested. I found Cannakale to be a very nice seaside town that I didn't feel the need to photograph. It gets a lot of visiting Australians and New Zealanders since the Gallipoli battlefields are just opposite. I don't have a huge desire to see them. The whole operation was just a huge mess, but two positive things came out of it: 1) Australia and New Zealand gained greater independence and clout in the British Empire by sacrificing their citizenry in the debacle, and; 2) It was the first chance for Mustafa Kemal to prove his ability to lead - and did he ever. Several short years later, he was the boss of all Turkey and reforming things all over the place.

Anyhow, I had fun that evening wandering around the old quarter looking for - but not finding - this restaurant recommended in the Lonely Planet Guide. It didn't really matter, as there are at least a hundred restaurants and kebaberies in the area. I eventually found a good one.

Next stop: Istanbul!

Selcuk

It was a seven-hour process getting to Selcuk, which serves as a base camp for a visit to Ephesus. During the ride there, I met some Canadians from Vancouver. That further drove home the fact that during this entire trip, I haven't met a single American. But these guys seemed fun to hang out with and we made vague plans to meet up at the ruins the next day before finding our accommodations.

There's not much to Selcuk. It's basically a farming/market town that just happens to be next to Turkey's most popular ruined city. At this time of the season, I can't blame them for being a little sick of tourists. But they still go out every day, trying to sell visitors "genuine" ancient coins. I fell for that the first time I was there, paying a whole six dollars for three specimens. That was 14 years ago. I'm wiser now. The first time somebody hit me up with coins, I'd been in town for all of about 15 minutes. He also tried to sell me weed. Five minutes later, a bunch of friendly guys had entire pocketfuls of coins to sell. Another ten minutes after that, some dude in front of the museum tried again. Yeah, all those coins are fake. They make nice souvenirs if you can get them cheap, but don't think - as I actually did 14 years ago - that you're ferrying antiquities out of the country. You're not.

OK, so my hotel was quite pleasant. I had - I'm not kidding - the smallest hotel room ever. I'm sure it was a converted broom closet. But it was quite comfortable and the price was right so I was happy to be there. There was a good view of the old Turkish fortress from my window. It looked very much like this:

It was closed for renovation, so there was no point in getting any nearer.

The night was windy and stormy. I woke up to a morning of heavy rain. Yes, it was still warm rain, but cooler than that of Patara. It didn't make any difference. There is just one Ephesus and this was my chance to see it. However, the weather was so intense that morning that I had to take shelter in the museum. Here's some of what I saw:



The guy above is, I think, Marcus Aurelius. It's tough to tell the Antonines apart. There are at least four of them: Antoninus Pius, Lucius Verus, Marcus Aurelius and the uber-awful Commodus. They all had beards and curly hair. Likewise, the first four emperors, Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula and Claudius, all strongly resemble each other. They were all from the same family line, but their resemblance is quite striking. The guy below is - if memory serves - Tiberius, but he could easily pass for Augustus:




OK, so with the weather finally starting to cooperate, I went off to Ephesus. It was about a three-mile walk from town. It would have been more pleasant if it hadn't been raining, but at least the thunder had passed. And so I arrived. I forgot about the carnival-like atmosphere by the front gate:

What scarves and handbags have to do with this place is beyond me, but hey, if it works for them, that's great. As luck would have it, I spotted the nice Canadians immediately after I arrived, so we went though the place together. Of course, the famous theater is always crawling with tourists like us:



I was actually a little dismayed about how much of it had been reconstructed. In fact, a very large part of Ephesus has been rebuilt or, at the very least, shored up with concrete and whatnot - in particular, the Library of Celsus. Well, it's understandable; they want people to see what the city more or less looked like back in the day. And that's the draw of Ephesus. Plus, the theater still hosts shows of all sorts. I heard tour guides explaining that Ray Charles, Sting and a bunch of lesser lights have had concerts there. And yes, the acoustics are quite admirable. So I guess that rebuilding it to accommodate modern audiences is just fine. Still, there's something about it that doesn't rest with me. I can't quite say what it is. Anyhow, here's a lot of stuff from around the Library of Celsus:





Yeah, it's pretty glorious - and infested with tourists. It's weird; people are always falling down the building's stairs. The first time I was there, two people tumbled. This time another two fell. None of the four was injured, but it happens a lot. Hey look, toilets!

The toilets and the brothel are both popular stops. Unfortunately the brothel was closed due to (re)construction. Boo! OK, so more stuff:





At first, I though this odeon was in a nice ruined state, but no. It's been reconstructed, too. The thing is that for every reconstructed building, there are ten things like this:

Now that's just silly! They just pile debris on debris. That ain't a city. Here are just a few more things:





It was good seeing the place and the Canadians were curious about stuff and overall good company. But we weren't quite done. The so-called Artemesion (the Temple of Artemis) awaited us on the way back. Every single guidebook warns in advance that it's very disappointing. Back in the day, it was one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World; it was the largest building constructed by the Greeks. These days, it's a swamp. This is what it looks like:



Apparently, there were 127 of those giant columns in the original temple. But one day in 356BC, a crazy guy had a dream that told him that if he set the Temple of Artemis on fire, his name would be remembered throughout the ages. His name was Erastratos. His dream was right. According to legend, Alexander the Great was born on the very night that Erastratos set the place ablaze. Today, no glory remains of the former temple. Souvenir hawkers abound. It's not really a good place to linger and contemplate the transience of existence.

OK, that was Ephesus. Troy awaited me up the coast courtesy of a dreaded night bus. More on that ordeal in the next post.