Istanbul

OK, here it is. Over the last week or so, I've wondered exactly how to frame this post. Should I go into detail about Istanbul or should I sum up? I'm gonna opt for a summation. My trip, super-fabulous up until this time, became even better once I set foot in this amazing city. This is my fifth time to Istanbul, but I saw so many different sides of the wonderful metropolis, it was like I was there for the first time. Just in my first morning there, I took more pictures than I'd taken in all other places in both Ukraine and Turkey combined. Yeah, there is just that much to see and remember.

I did all of the standard tourist stuff: went to Topkapi Palace, went to the Grand Bazaar, took the Bosphorus cruise, strolled around the Hippodrome, etc., etc., but you know what? Those things are always excellent. Here's some advice: when staying in Istanbul, there's just one place to be. Here it is:



Sultanahmet is Istanbul's Belltown. But unlike Belltown, people are extremely friendly - perhaps the most welcoming in all of Turkey, I kid you not. Sure, some want to sell you carpets (more on that later), but most are just friendly. It takes a while to get used to, especially for a Seattleite coming from Ukraine. So basically, I was this even-keeled guy arriving from a very xenophobic country. I was deposited in the midst of all this friendliness. The thing is that people became even nicer as the trip wore on, culminating in the Sultanahmet experience. Sure, there are other districts where you can stay. Many prefer Taksim Square. Russians seem to flock to nearby Aksaray, but honestly, Sultanahmet is the absolute touristic bomb. If you can find a place with a roof terrace, all the better. The hostel where I was staying had a decent terrace, but by far, the best place was the Hotel Byzantium. Here's the evening versions of the Blue Mosque, Ayasofia and the Sea of Marmara:



Those views never get old. Like I said, this was my fifth time in Istanbul and I had a sensational stay.

Here are some photos from "museum day." I hit three major places in one day: Topkapi Palace, the Archaeological Museum Complex and Istanbul Modern. Unfortunately, they don't let you take photos at the last place, so you'll have to content yourselves with all this old stuff. Here goes:






















And one last museum day item; this pretty much sums up Turkey's historical legacy. Here in the U.S., if a museum is lucky enough to have a shard of geometric pottery, well, that's an entire display case right there. Here's what you get at the Archaeological Museum:

Their entire mezzanine level is trays of pottery shards. I'm fairly certain that they have whole warehouses full of such items in and around Istanbul. There's so much history that they've run out of space to display it.

One thing I always do is take a Bosphorus cruise. Touristy, yes, but a wonderful way to recover from museum day. It all starts from Eminonu, which is this total chaotic jam of boats:

Ferries swoop in, linger a few minutes, then take off at full speed to other stops. The cruise that I took was actually by public ferry. It had five stops along the way. Our captain's landing technique was quite unique in that it involved ramming the dock. Well, that's one way of doing it. Here are some photos:





The place above, Anadolu Kavagi, is at the entrance to the Black Sea and exists only to serve people on the cruise lunch. If you feel so inclined, you can climb up to the castle. It was raining, so I camped out at a bar near the dock. The rain stopped and the trip back was gorgeous.

The rest of my stay was equally as tremendous. I really have to say, though, that my last day there was probably the best day I've had anywhere. Yes, among other things, I did spend an afternoon selling carpets - actually trying to sell carpets - with the owner of my hostel. He was really quite the salesman, but we didn't move any product. It was all very weird. The day actually got weirder from then on. Like I said in an earlier post, you'll just have to take my word for it, as I'll have to wait till everybody connected with all these events is dead. Yeah, it was that kind of last night there. I didn't sleep a wink and didn't need to. I had the kind of time that only one of the world's great cities can offer.

And then I came back to Seattle. More on that later.

12 Islands

Before we get to Istanbul, let's back up a bit. A few days before my fail-trip to Aphrodisias, I went on the so-called 12 Islands Tour. You start off in Dalyan. A bus takes you to pretty little Göçek and then you take a boat around the aforementioned islands. It does no good to keep count, because the way they go, you end up counting the same island two or three times. Besides, this outing was not about island-counting. It was about sunning yourself on the deck of a ship and swimming in the Med. Did I mention how much I like the Mediterranean? Oh, it's a quality sea! It's not quite as warm as, say, the Pacific around Hawaii, but it's a drastic improvement on Puget Sound, which, as I liked to dramatically tell anyone around, would kill you with hypothermia after a mere 20 minutes or so. The Med is like a tepid swimming pool. It's invigorating and bracing, but it's far from cold. The swimming was the biggest selling point of the whole trip. The sunbathing was a negligible benefit. But hey, everything was pleasant. We even had a guide. Her name was Shukran. That means "thank you" in Arabic.

My fellow passengers were mostly British. There were a few older couples and this group of youngsters with bad tattoos and premature chubbiness who began drinking as soon as we pushed away from the dock at around 10:00am. In addition, there were two pretty Turkish girls along. And me; I couldn't write about this unless I was there, right? OK, so you know, funny thing, I didn't actually take any pictures of the 12 islands or the boat or my fellow passengers. I regret that now. To the casual viewer, it would all look the same: little rocky islands with tenacious shrubs and wild olive trees. So I'll spare you. For me, the simple memory is sufficient. But I do have to say that it was very beautiful. There were four swimming stops. I was the only one to take advantage of all four. At the last one, I stayed in the drink nearly an hour. You know, Brits are terribly funny. The waters around their fair island are even colder than Puget Sound (meaning that you die in 15 minutes, instead of 20), but they're always complaining about how cold the water is. For Pete's sake, people, it's refreshing! Plus you get used to it in half a minute. And then it's so very nice. The Turks, however, also keep their distance. They're used to everything being warmer and the water to them is freezing. My point is that the British have no excuse. They're not going to find warmer water anywhere in the country. The Aegean? It's colder. The Black Sea? Much colder. Love the Med. It may be the toilet of southern Europe/north Africa/Asia Minor, but it sure is nice to swim in.

During one of these swim breaks, we anchored so close to shore that I managed to get on dry land and hike around. It was steep and rather treacherous. The news report kept flashing through my head: "American tourist missing, presumed dead." After failing to find some rock tombs I went back to the boat. I rejoined my fellow tourists as I had fled from them - by tossing my shirt and shoes across and swimming the rest of the way. When I got back, everybody was having lunch. I declined as I was still full from breakfast, but I did try to wish the two pretty Turkish girls the Turkish equivalent bon appetit. I mispronounced one of the words, and for some reason, they thought I wanted their rice. I eventually de-mangled the phrase, but it was way too late. The net of confusion had already been cast. It was greeted with not a little eye-rolling. Most of the time, Turks appreciate the effort. These gals did not. So I've still got that goin' on!

I whiled away the rest of the day either on deck or in the water. I also had several beers that ended up being fairly expensive, but they tasted really good. The young Brits began to burn. I was way past that point. My burning days were behind me. I was in killer tan territory. One of the older guys was also in that same zone. He actually kept a tanning schedule (pronounced it shed-jule for the complete effect) so that no particular region would get too dark. Well, good for him. Not every British person burns to a crisp.

The tour concluded around 4:00. The boat rounded a point and there was pretty little Göçek awaiting us. We loaded into the bus and headed back to Dalyan. But wait! Things weren't quite finished. For unknown reasons, we stopped at the Ley Ley, which is a large restaurant in the middle of nowhere (outside of Dalyan and neighboring Kemaliye) that does phenomenal business. One of the reasons is that they invite people returning from tours in for tea and home-baked bread. They also have animals around. For instance, geese:

And ducks:

And smaller, blurrier geese:

And ostriches (who were trying very hard to escape the entire time):



There were also storks and partridges, but the storks were too far away and the partridges didn't look very happy. Incidentally, their home-baked bread was really good. They just throw it into the fire and it bakes just like that. If I'd actually been with somebody else, I totally would have gone to the Ley Ley - all of the older Brits on the tour had gone and really enjoyed themselves - but that kind of Turkish showbiz (super-friendliness, live music, folk dancing, God knows what else) seemed a little excessive for just one guy. Heck, I feel kind of weird going to restaurants by myself. But hey, that's the way it's got to be when you travel alone. For me, it's never lonely, but it can be just a little odd. Going to a restaurant alone is like being up on stage; I never know what to do with my hands. That's why I quickly order a beer. Anyhow, I didn't get to the Ley Ley this time around. Next time for sure.

And so that was the 12 Islands Tour. I'd like to thank Ramazan at Akhan Travel for selling it to me cheap. Few souls anywhere are jollier than Ramazan.

Saturtle

Yeah, I know it's Sunday. I hope your Saturday wasn't ruined by lack of turtle. There's only one left after this one and he's not very interesting. Just thought I'd warn you about that. Anyhow, enjoy this meandering fellow.

(Not) Aphrodisias

The weather was once again acting up, so I decided to wander very far afield. This day-trip was going to be to Aphrodisias. I've been there many times before, but not this time, so what the hell? When I got to Ortaca, I talked with a bus driver and he told me it was a complicated process of getting there and back and that I should plan on returning to Dalyan at around 11:00 that night. That was fine. I didn't care. It was way far away and I was going to make it there and back. So I got comfortable and let the buses do the work. By my estimate, I'd be traveling about 400km today.

Well, the coast gave way to the mountains. And after those mountains there were more mountains. I switched buses and we found still more mountains and after three hours of travel, I was in Tavas, a small town at the crossroads to Aphrodisias. With Turkey being Turkey, I thought that the last part of the process was to catch a dolmuş down the road to Aphrodisias. I'd done it in the past and expected that was how things still worked. Wrong! For some reason, there was no service to Aphrodisias that day. As they told me at the local otogar, there was totally a bus the following day. Yeah, I went all that way to have to turn around. I did get to see mountains, but otherwise, it was something of a pointless travel exercise. Here's the best picture I got of Aphrodisias:

About 50km down that road and you can't miss it. OK, I had to accept the situation. That's what all the nice people at the otogar urged me to do. Since I wasn't going to Aphrodisias, I decided to take some pictures of Tavas and its fine otogar. Here they are:


There was this great guy at the Metro counter. His name was Veli. He had nice shoes. He wanted me to take a picture of him and here it is:

He put on that hat special for the picture. I'm supposed to send him the photo. I'll do it next week for sure.

I even made two short films about Tavas. This first one is called Guy Sweeping Up:

The other one is about many things. It has no title:

At 3:00, the bus showed up. I caught it and was back in Dalyan at 6:30. I traveled a long way just to take pictures of a bus station parking lot. Yes, it was disappointing, but at least I got to see a little of the countryside.

No Escape

You know, Russians used to be confined to just one or two areas in the vicinity. Those were Kemer (there are two; one by Antalya and one by Fethiye here in the west; theirs was the former) and Demre. But now there's no escaping them. Back when their economy super-sucked, even those strongholds were sparse with my Slavic brethren. These days they even show up at Dalyan's beach. God knows where they import them from (besides Russia), because they definitely don't stay in town. And the weird thing is that they're all part of the same package tour, so they're given an hour and a half and Turtle Beach and then they're gone back to wherever the heck they came from (not Russia). The other day, I had the unique opportunity to yell at a Russian woman in Russian because she had no idea that the sand she was shaking from her towel could be carried by the wind, which is all around us, and shower some innocent party, namely myself, with sand. It went something like this:

"Woman! Don't be throwing sand! Damn!"

I think she may have said, "Oh," but there was no accompanying apology. That's OK. In five minutes, I was practically alone on the beach. And then the afternoon shift of sunbathing Russians appeared with their too-small bathing suits, burly physiques and endless talk of how much everything costs. There is no escape. At least the British act like someone is watching them. The Russians do not.

Speaking of no escape, there is a bar in Dalyan that has a trivia night. It's a quaint little British-owned joint that caters to the British ex-pats of whom there are quite a few around town. Like almost all Brits, these expats don't tan well and don't speak Turkish. But they are very nice. So my first week there, I was just sitting there watching the NBA playoffs (Boston vs Orlando broadcast a day late on - get this - al-Jazeera) and the quiz started. I allied myself with a couple of tipsy middle-aged Scottish persons and, long story short, we won. The next week, I was on the ex-pats team. We also won. It was nice that the music round was American TV theme songs of the seventies and eighties. We slew the competition. So yes, no escaping my lust for trivia.

No escape, part 3. You know, I left Seattle in a fairly apprehensive state. It had been eight years since I'd been overseas. My biggest concern was that perhaps travel would no longer agree with me. Well, that was a stupid concern, because not only am I still a good traveler, but I seem to have gotten better at it in the intervening years. I'm more energetic, resourceful and motivated than I've ever been before. Another major reason why I just wanted to call this whole thing off is because I was going great guns with music. Seriously, I was extremely productive in the weeks leading up to my departure, plus I was writing stuff that I liked a lot. There's a difference between that and being-productive-with-stuff-that-I'll-have-to-go-back-and-fix-later. Anyhow, so I had to mentally file all this stuff away, as there wasn't too much concentrated effort I could give it while I was traveling. I only gave it a passing thought while I was in Ukraine. But as soon as I got to Turkey, I started having these music dreams that became progressively louder and more insistent. They have culminated in Dalyan. They now wake me up at about three in the morning. Some part of some tune needs work and I can't get to sleep until I mentally fix it. This has happened a lot lately. So I guess there's no escape from that either.

NOTE: I'm actually back now. I have two more Turkey entries, then I'll start roaming around Belltown again looking for stuff to write about. This appears to be something of a challenge since this crummy place is almost exactly as I left it. OK, Shallots closed. And that's about it. Meanwhile, Istanbul was folding me into its sweaty embrace. It takes a while to recover from that, sweet people. I have tales from my last day there, but I can't go into detail until everyone connected with those events has died. Yeah, it was that kind of last day. I'll have those posts up in the next few days.

Tlos

Since the Marmaris "adventure," I've had a day at the beach and a Dalyan tour. At the latter outing, I met someone originally from Zimbabwe. I originally thought that she was not only English but "veddy" English. Not so! Anyhow, we met at - of all places - Dalyan's nearby mudbaths, talked for quite a while (minus the mud) and left it at that. As luck would have it, we ran into each other just a few hours later, talked some more and set up drinks for the next day. I dunno, I guess in our 45 minutes of conversation, I so charmed her with my knowledge and good looks that she immediately left town. Yeah, I didn't see her again after that. Unless someone barricades themselves in their room, it's impossible not to run into them in Dalyan - especially me, as I am traipsing all over town a lot. It's just too small of a place. So that happened.

But the following day, the weather was again on the bad side, so I resolved to go to Tlos. It's a Lycian/Roman/Seljuk ruin located on the other side of Fethiye. I've been there before. This was back when I had my car. I remember almost nothing about it except that the so-called Tomb of Bellerophon and a very large fortress on the acropolis are there. Well, the journey there was pleasant enough. The rain held off although the clouds persisted. The bus strategy was as follows: Dalyan-Ortaca, Ortaca-Fethiye, Fethiye-Tlos. Or that was the main idea. The only problem is that the bus doesn't actually go to Tlos; it goes near it. The driver stops and says: "Everybody out of the pool!" or some such in Turkish and you walk the rest of the way. The sign at the bottom looks like this:

Not only did they spell it wrong, they also guessed at the distance. Boy, were they off. It wasn't four kilometers but more like six miles. And it was all uphill. Seriously, every step of the way was uphill. For six miles. The reason why I remember nothing about it from years ago is that I didn't have to walk it. I had a car. Now I will never forget it. If the sun had been shining full-blast, I probably would have died. It was a tough walk. It was also quite scenic as you slowly rise from the valley floor to the commanding heights. By mile five, the road was getting steeper and I was quite the sweat-monster. A nice Turk (is there any other kind?) stopped and gave me a ride the rest of the way. And then I explored. Here's what it looked like:



Now, I'm no architecture expert, so I'm just a little puzzled that the official sign points the way to a "Hellenistic Acropolis," but what's up there is this:

That looks an awful lot like Seljuk fortress style to me, guys. Uh, guys? Wow, this is just like Ukraine; there's nobody to complain to! Anyhow, my suspicions were correct; not only was it built by the Seljuks, but it was built as a stronghold by this famous Seljuk thief. Take that, battered signage! Here is a view from said fortress:

Here is their interesting jumble of a theater:


All the pieces are there. It just needs to be put together. In the meantime, please retain your ticket stub. You're in row N, not row H. We're speaking Greek here:

This is a view down to where I originated, six miles distant, where everything was flat and pleasant:

Note the moodiness of the weather. It tried a few times to rain, but it was largely unsuccessful. Well, all this is very good and fine, but most folks come for the tombs. Here are a few:


A warning to all tomb owners: this is what your tomb will look like if you leave it outside for 2,500 years. People actually don't come for those tombs. The real money is on the so-called Tomb of Bellerophon:

They call it that because there's a relief of a guy riding a flying horse. You can't see it, but it's up there. It's not the actual tomb of Bellerophon. As far as I know, just like Jesus and Rutherford B. Hayes, Bellerophon didn't exist. Here is the tomb next door:

This is the so-called Tomb Next to the Tomb of Bellerophon. This is a nice ensemble shot:

And then my camera's battery died and I left.

These nice tourists in a rickety rental jeep gave me a lift down to the main road and I caught a dolmus to Fethiye. I've gotta say that all manner of bus drivers from dolmus to those huge Pammukale/Metro land yachts have always gone out of their way to help me. This one did not. I told him that I was going to the Fethiye otogar (a good Turkish word for bus station; it's a fun combination of "auto" as in "autobus" and "gare" as in the French word for train station) and he totally fudged the drop-off. Instead, he let me out a mile from it when he could have dropped me a block away. I didn't say anything because I though he was going back that way. Well, he wasn't, so I had to walk it all the way back. Now, I am sure that there are some of you saying: "Hey, Fethiye isn't that big. You can't still be in downtown Fethiye and walk a mile to the otogar, which is also downtown." I assure you that it's that big. If you want, we can fight about it, because, while it's no giant metropolis, Fethiye is really stretched out and you can end up walking in it forever for minimal return. And that's why I'm staying in Dalyan. Anyhow, although a bit maddening (I let the guy know that I was displeased and he was appropriately chagrined although he did nothing to help other than smiling and shrugging), I managed to make it back to Dalyan by 7:00 - just in time to clean up, change and get stood up by the girl from Zimbabwe.

More Dalyan

Since Dalyan is still wonderful (although sometimes the weather is not), I've decided stay here longer. What's the alternative? Well, there's Marmaris and its yacht harbor. Yeah, that's been done and it didn't take very long. There are several other regional options and I'm weighing them, but Dalyan's appeal might just keep me have until I have to go to Istanbul. Speaking of Dalyan, here is a store across the street from one of my favorite bars:

Who would have ever thought that Genghis Khan would have his name associated not only with leisurewear, but leisurewear for all? You know, when I first came to Dalyan, it was far smaller and quieter. There were only about 10 bars (there are now over 50) and the most prominent industry was selling small handmade trinkets to tourists. I called the sellers of such trinkets "souvenir hippies." They were all Turks. Most were strikingly handsome or very, very pretty. All spent much of the day barefoot, drinking tea, smoking and hanging out. Very little of their time was spent actually selling trinkets. In fact, in four visits, I haven't seen them make a single sale - except to me. If memory serves, the item ran me 75 cents.

This year is no exception, but time has passed. It's been eight years since my last visit. I can say this about myself: I look pretty much the same as I looked then. I can't say the same about the souvenir hippies. They've kind of lost their edge. The leader of the pack is this guy (I've never talked with him ever; as far as I know, he's never even looked in my direction) who looked like the Turkish version of a young Orson Welles. He was one handsome dude. Unfortunately, these days he's looking like a more advanced version of Orson Welles. Another example is a woman who used to sell jewelry on the street. She was really pretty; she had long, straight black hair and a very dusky look. She smoked constantly. These days, she has her own shop, but I barely recognized her. The hair, so lustrous in its day, is gone. She's resigned herself to a functional bob. Her teeth are all brown from tea and cigarettes. There are other examples, all aging not exactly gracefully. Time marches on, folks. I can guarantee one thing, though. The next time I visit Dalyan, they'll still be here.

I guess now is about the right time to include a picture of Dalyan's main drag. Here it is:

The weather wasn't cooperating that day. Yes, this is Dalyan's main street, but, funny thing, it's one of the only streets. Seriously, there are only about three or four others. Even in bad weather, it's still quite beautiful. Oh, and while we're at it, here's where I'm staying:

It's right there on the river. I highly recommend it.