Demre

On my way to Patara, I stopped in Demre. I remember it as a weird, dusty place with pıctures of Santa Claus everywhere. Why? Well, the original St. Nicholas was the bishop of Demre in the 4th century. Somehow the real St. Nicholas and that of Father Christmas were conflated sometime between the 4th century and now, and voila, we have the present-making/delivering machine that we all know and love. Incidentally, St. Nick was born in Patara, but they don't make a big deal about it. Anyhow, I got to the church, which is a nice little 1800 year-old ruin known to the locals as Noel Baba, but it was 10 lira to get in. That´s six bucks for this tiny chuch that was absolutely packed with Russians. I´ve already seen it, but there was a picture I needed to get. I´ll let the Blue Guide set me up:

The Church of St. Nıcholas is on the W side of Demre, about 150m from the main square. In a small garden to the left of the entrance, there is a rather ıncongruous statue of the saint in the persona of Santa Claus, complete with a sack of presents and a mob of children.

And here you go:

But the Blue Guide gives only half the story. There is another statue just a half block away. At first, I thought it was Atatürk, but no such luck. It´s Santa Claus. Observe:

Did I mention that Russians were everywhere? And Turks were there as well to sell them fantastically overpriced and shoddy icons. It was something to see. And speaking of those fine Turks, here´s what they built right next to St. Nıck´s church:

A fitting tribute.

From there, it was a rather long walk up the street to the ruins of Myra. These turned out to be rather disappointing. You can only see the theater and the so-called Sea Necropolis. There is a River Necropolis that contains this spectacular painted tomb (known as the Painted Tomb), but the path is blocked by stupid greenhouses. There's just no way to get there. In any case, here are some pictures of tombs and theater:





Once again, Russians as far as the eye could see. So many that they just assumed that everybody is Russian. The following exchange happened at the theater between me and a couple who wanted their picture taken. Here are the conversation's details in literal translation:

Russian: Man! Please to take photograph.
Me: Gıve camera.
Russian: Take!
Me: Stand.
Russian: We stand.
Me: No movement. Time, two, three.
*click*
Russian: Finish?
Me: Finish.
Russian: Give camera.
Me: Take!

And scene! Riveting stuff, no?

On the way back, I noticed nice flowers and took their picture:

And later that day, I made it to Patara and stayed a week, which happened to be last week. More on that soon.

Olimpos

This was my fourth time in Olimpos. The first two visits were great; the last one was rotten. It kind of turned me off of Australians for quite a time. But their number was diluted this time around. For some reason, tons of Turks have discovered the place. Yeah, imagine Turks taking vacations in their own country. Absurd! I stayed there three nights and managed to cobble together that wonderful Phaselis/Arykanda adventure in between beach days. But I didn´t really make the scene. Maybe it´s all the years of being in Belltown or something, but I really felt no need to connect with my fellow humans. That was fine, as I used all my non-beach, non-ruin time to convey my Ukrainian ordeal to you, my three readers. OK, if you´re reading this and still wondering what the hell this Olimpos place is, I´ll describe it like this: it´s a place in the middle of nowhere on the Lycian Peninsula between Kemer and Kumluca that stands near the ancient city. Since the entire place is built on an archeological site, people aren´t allowed to sink foundations, so inventıve purveyors of accommodation have built treehouses in their stead. The first two times, I stayed at Kadir´s. It was like high school. Then I switched to Bayram´s. That was more like college. And the partying was very serious, so serious in fact, that it was no fun at all. But this time around, it was much better. While recovering from my preliminary sunburns, I had a chance to explore the Olimpos ruins. They are as you see them: unexcavated and overgrown. Here are some pictures:





The town was around for more than 1500 years, but thanks to the silting of the harbor (something that happened all the time in the ancient world) and Arab raids, everybody left around 1000. True story: during my jaunt around the ruins, I was forced to scramble over the entire northern necropolis in order to get back to Bayram´s. I even had to do a fair amount of rock climbing. Normally heights are an obstacle, but I climbed so high that I could no longer see bottom, so it wasn´t a problem. So that´s how you solve acrophobia: keep climbing. By the way, have I mentioned what a vast improvement that Turkey is over Ukraine? The people are nicer, the roads are better and the sights are much more interesting. So yeah, Turkey´s way better.

Fast Turtle 1

Getting ahead of ourselves briefly... One of the great things about my seven days at Patara was seeing all the turtles on my way to the beach. They are retiring creatures who spend their days crawling around and eating grass. Sometimes they´re not as slow as we imagine they are. Here is one example:

Look at him go! Keep in mind that he´s not under duress; he´s just out for a morning jog.

Since there aren´t any squirrels in this part of the world, think of the turtle as the new squirrel.

Phaselis and Arykanda

In all of Lycia, there are only two major ruins that up until now I haven`t seen: Phaselis and Arykanda. For some reason, I`ve missed them time and again. Not this visit. The only problem was that they were quite far apart and I was depending on Turkish buses to get me there and back. It turned out to be no problem at all. Sure, it took all day, but man, was it ever cool. Let`s start with Phaselis:

It`s only about 10 miles north of where I was staying at Olimpos. I`ve been to Olimpos many times, but God knows why I´ve missed this place. It´s fantastic. But don´t take my word for it. The indispensable Blue Guide (otherwise known as the Blue Brick for its heft) waxes poetic about the site thusly:

Visitors to Phaselis often confess themselves deeply moved by the beauty of its situatıon between the mountains and the sea. The sight of fragments of ancient buildings protruding from the lush undergrowth produces a mood of gentle melancholy.

First things first, Greeks were mental for natural harbors. Phaselis doesn´t have one - it has three. Here´s the North Harbor:

Here are other pictures:






Are you feeling the gentle melancholy yet? I sure am. The place is really quite beautiful, all by the shore and stuff. But it was time to go way far up into the mountains to Arykanda. Once again, take it away, Blue Guide:

Arykanda is one of the most beautiful places in Turkey. It has been compared, not unfavourably, with Delphi in Greece.

Really now? How the hell is that possible? I´ve been to a lot of beautiful places in this country and nobody´s said anything about Arykanda, which, in its time, was a minor city in the mountains whose inhabitants were renowned for their laziness.

You know what? The Blue Guide is absolutely right. The city is built on a series of terraces that stretch up the side of a mountain. Things are steep. All exploring is done with the tacit understanding that if you fall, you´re dead. Here are some more compelling shots:








For you fans of masonry, here are two styles that comprise the theater:


The place has been standing for the last 2,000 years, so I think they did something right. Oh, and there were mosaics:



Byzantine, yes, but still very nice.

It was a truly spectacular day. I made it back with tales to tell. Unfortunately, nobody at where I was staying was interested. Oh well. Anyhow, our lesson for today is never doubt The Blue Guide. Never.

Phrasebook Phun

You know, I´ve been been trying to post photos from this wondrous, beautiful place to no avail. I´ve got two of the best minds in Patara working on it (Soner, the hotel owner, and his son, Hassan) and nada. But I was thumbing through my Turkish phrasebook and I came across some really bizarre stuff. Here are a few phrases you might find useful during your next trip to Turkey:

I´d like to learn some of your local dialects: Bu yörelerin şivesini öğrenmek istiyorum. (Yeah, even though I know only a few words of Turkish, teach me how to speak with a southern accent. That oughta go over well.)

Please use a new syringe: Lütfen yeni bir iğne kullanın. (Always useful.)

My child weighs 1000 kilos: Çocuğumun ağırlığı bin kilodur. (But other than that, he´s completely average.)

This is burnt and stale! Bu yanık ve bayat! (So far, everything I´ve gotten that has been burnt has been fresh.)

I like to explore wrecks: Batıklan incelemek istiyorum.

I do scuba wrestling: Ben aletli güreş yaparım.

You´re on your own as far as pronunciation goes. I´ll look for more useful phrases.

One Last Thing About Ukraine

Hey folks, it`s going to be a little while before I can post more Turkey shots (and they`re pretty spectacular), so I figured that I`d have one last parting shot at Ukraine. You know, I left less than a week ago and it`s like I was never there. Yeah, that`s how good of a time I`m having in Turkey. But here is one good thing about Ukraine: nobody has tattoos. In the whole country, I saw one tattoo parlor and it doubled as a shoe repair shop. There`s a stigma that accompanies tattoos over there. Unless you want your fellow convicts to know how many people you stabbed ın the eye, there`s really no point. So that`s a good thing. Here`s what will drive you nuts: the world`s worst ringtones. I swear to God. They`re just terrible. And they`re always at top volume. A lot of them are either Ukrainian hip-hop (unfortunately, it does exist), some lame-ass balladry from American Idol or something far worse. So there you go. The two things cancel each other out. The verdict? Ukraine still sucks.

Antalya

OK, I admit it. I've warmed up to Antalya. This is due for the most part to the place I stayed in the old city. Everybody there was so extremely nice. God, what a change from Ukraine! I'm afraid I don't have any proper pictures from the city, but I did visit the museum and I took pictures of heads and assorted other stuff. Check them out:










So Antalya isn't such a bad place after all. But I'm off to other places. Will report shortly.

The Old Country 4

Today is the day I leave. I have a flight from Odessa tomorrow. Nobody has figured out when or how I'm going to get there, but I'm not concerned. We have more visiting to do before that. There's Cousin Gennik in the afternoon and Cousin Roman in the evening. I assumed that some sort of train from somewhere would whisk me away after that. Around noonish, Cousin Bogdan came and got us. He drives a new Lada. I looks like a Hyundai. Bogdan works in a bank in Ternopil and his wife just had a baby. I mean, like the day before. It's so new to the world that it doesn't even have a name. That makes Cousins Gennik and Lyuba grandparents. Golly. Anyhow, we again found ourselves in Karashintsy. Here is a picture of our hosts:

Those are Cousins Bogdan, Lyuba, Andriy (he's pathologically shy) and Gennik. Cousin Gennik is a legendarily laconic fellow. He makes a confirmed stoic like Cousin Arsen look positively chatty. He is also an extremely no-nonsense guy. In the past, he's said stuff to me like, "Why the fuck are you asking that? It's a stupid question" and other bits of encouragement. He also mumbles. But today, Cousin Gennik was in an expansive mood. He poured round after round for us and actually made conversation. A bit later on, he took us for a walk and showed us the neighboring buildings he'd recently acquired. Here he is in front of one of his tractors:

I've never seen the guy so in the mood to receive visitors. Maybe it was the birth of his first grandchild. Maybe it's just that life is getting better, but it's nice to see that things are going his way.

After all that good and booze, I was ready to take on Cousin Roman. But once we got back to Cousin Arsen's, he declared that we absolutely, positively had to leave immediately and drive really fast to Ternopil. We, drat. No Cousin Roman this time around. Good thing that Roman was there waiting for us. I made my apologies and sent Kathy and Tim along with him. Luckily for them, he had invited some woman who spoke some English to dinner, so I'm guessing that they were able to communicate. Meanwhile, Bogdan, Arsen and I were tearing toward Ternopil in Bogdan's new Lada. This led to an impromptu adventure. See, we got there at around 6:00 only to discover that the train didn't leave till 10:00. So we walked around town. I've always found Ternopil completely charmless. This is due to the fact that it was first bombed to rubble during the Soviet advance, then that rubble was ground to dust by armored divisions meeting on the same spot. But the day was exceedingly nice. Here's what things looked like:



OK, that last one is just Yanukovich's party headquarters. We also met up with Igor, Galya and Volodya's (from Lviv) son. He runs the ride concession in Ternopil's lakeside park. He's not just a carny - he's chief carny. Here he is with his surprisingly hot wife + Cousin Arsen:

We hung out in their trailer for a while, then it was time to get back to the station. I took one last photo of Arsen and Bogdan before they left:

Ain't that sweet?

Anyhow, the only tickets they had left for this train to Odessa were third class, or platskart as they're known. The train arrived. I boarded it. I immediately knew that things were not right. The car was far too hot, humid and stinking. For the next ten hours, I had to exist in this environment. Although the outside temperature was in the comfrotable fifties, the inside of the car was at least 100. You couldn't look outside, because the windows were steamed over. Hot and close as it was, it was even hotter in top=bunk land where I was situated. There was nothing to be done about it. It's not like there was anyone to complain to. I just had to tell myself that I'd be out of the country in mere hours and that I could tolerate the indignity of it all till then. Well, despite the fact that it was the absolute worst train trip I've ever had, I managed to survive. I even slept six hours. It wasn't a good six hours, but it was six hours. Getting out of that stupid airtight car was a true gift from God. If I can avoid it, I will never ride third class again. It's not an adventure. It's a test for the soul. I nearly failed.

OK, I had arrived in Odessa. Uh, big deal. I've never liked the town. The best thing about it is that everybody speaks Russian. Other than that, it sucks. It's just a big, conceited, empty post-Soviet nowhere. The only cool thing that happened is that in the taxi on the way to the airport, the Vysotsky tune about Odessa came on the radio. That was neat. Otherwise, I hate that city with a passion.

I was soon gone and thank God for that. I might return to Ukraine for Cousin Ivas' wedding in October. Ukraine, you rotten place, why do you keep pulling me back?