Sunday, October 21
Steve was up and gone for sunrise Sunday morning early. Again, hypothetical for me. Apparently the sky was threatening, and that I believe because he returned just before the heavens opened and buckets and buckets of rain descended on Cirali.
Fortunately, Cirali is just as beautiful in the rain, if not more so... the hill behind the hotel became a darker, deeper green, shrouded in mist and shadowed by the greyness of the sky. We splashed out onto the rivers running down the tile pathways, which were slippery in flipflops. Fortunately it was still warm, or at least not too cold, and breakfast was delicious... again!
We spent the morning stuffed like sausages, watching the weather and reading trashy novels. It was great, though our laundrey was obviously not going to dry.
As if I could actually be any more relaxed, I set off into the light drizzle for my 11am massage. The rain was light enough to be refreshing and not wet enough to be actual rain for a West Coaster. Steve and I had agreed to meet at the little glass shop at noon after the massage so that we could find somewhere for lunch.
I was greeted at the entry to the garden by the bridge by a handsome young man in a white teeshirt and red thai pants. He was very striking in the vivid greens of the garden. The room I was led to was warm and airy, with pale walls and curtains on the windows. It smelled lovely and I was releived to see a normal massage table with sheets and blankets. I was directed to hooks on the walls to hang my clothes on and managed to get under the sheet just before he came in. I kept my undies on, though frankly, everything was very professional.
There was even Loreena McKennit playing on the stereo -- how Canadian! And relaxing!
I had selected a full body massage for some 40L which was supposed to take an hour. It was lovely. The oils were warm and scented and the masseuse had a nice touch. I wasn't entirely surprised when I was asked to turn over... now I don't want to be alarming -- he was very professional -- but I certainly wasn't covered when he massaged my stomach and ribcage. It was a little disconcerting at first, but I was relaxed and warm and in no danger of any impropriety.
Just be warned, if you're not by nature a comfortable person -- when they say full body massage, they mean FULL body massage.
When I emerged from the little room, it was raining harder, so I hurried over to the glass shop. After waiting for a few minutes, watching the rain bucket down, I popped next door to the grocery store to see if I could use the washroom. I wasn't making much headway until a little contingent from the Canada Hotel showed up: our kindly but silent waiter and several of the woemn who worked there. They made my request more clear and I was shown to a tiny, spotless bathroom at the back of the store. There were bunkbeds in a back storeroom: another example of public vs. private space in every business we saw in Turkey.
I bought a few toiletries and whipped back over to the glass shop where -- the power went out. I stood waiting for Steve, watching the road turn into a river and people leapt from car to shop and back to car, soaking to the skin within seconds. The man in the glass shop courteously brought me a chair, but I couldn't quite sit in it as I was too busy looking for Steve and trembling to the thunder and lightening that shook the little town of Cirali.
According to Steve, he set out at 10 minutes to noon to meet me just as the sky opened up to thunder and biblical rain. He checked by the massage place but was told I had left, then went to the glass shop where... I wasn't.
He must have come by just as I was in the washroom and, not finding me, returned soaked and miserable back to the hotel. When Saban saw his bedraggled state and heard his pitiful "I've lost my wife", our kindly host offered to come find me. The staff had returned to the hotel by this time and told Saban the whereabouts of my last sighting.
All I knew was that through the curtain of rain, I saw Saban leap from his car to the shop next door, getting slightly soaked in the process. I didn't know he was there for me; I just saw a saviour in a sedan who could drive me back to the hotel. I leapt myself, the few steps to next door, getting soaked myself. I quickly asked if I could get a ride back, and when Saban told me he was there for me, I was just delighted. The Canada Hotel is a wonderful place to stay!
Dashing from the car to the hotel common room, I became wetter, but Steve was the wettest. I gave him a huge hug, soaked as he was, as he told me his pathetic tale. Awww, poor wet husband!
We cuddled under covers and read books, listening to the rain and thunder. The hotel had a generator, so the power wasn't a problem. It cleared a little in the afternoon and Steve took a walk down the beach on the other end from the ruins of Olympos, but he couldn't get around the cliffs. I opted to stay in bed, warm and sleepy, and more than a little cough-y.
After another delicious, huge dinner, we decided it was now or never to see the famous Chimera. There are flaming gas jets on the slopes of Olympos which led to the legends of the Chimera, a creature reported as part goat, part lion and part serpent, which the Greek hero Bellerophon killed from the back of the winged horse, Pegasus. The Chimaera breathed fire, and it is this fire which burns on the slopes of Olympos.
Saban offered us our waiter to drive us in a large rattling van. At the bottom of the path that led up the hill, we shouldn't have been surprised to see a ticket booth. We were surprised, though, and even more surprised to realize we hadn't brought any money! After frantically searching our pockets, our kindly driver took pity on us and hauled a 5L note out of his wallet. We thanked him profusely, and taking our hotel-supplied flashlights and our brought-from-home-headlamp, we walked up the stone-lined pathway to the Chimera.
It took less time than suspected to get up, though it wasn't unsteep, and our first glimpes of flames through the trees were very exciting. There were a few other people at the site when we arrived at the top, but they spoke German at each other, looked at some ruins, and left pretty much right away.
We investigated the gas jets, which were really cool. There was a slight smell of methane and you could hear a hissing sound, much like that of a gas stove or fireplace. Some flames were large, like bonfires, and others were no more than a thin blue stream. On some the mix was bad, with orange smokey flames, and others were pure blue.
Apparently they used to be so extensive that they were clearly visible from the sea, and actually formed the picture of the creature of the myths. Even reduced, they were very impressive.
The fires created shadows on the trees and broken ruins around the Chimera and small sounds emerged from the trees. It wa a little spooky. Ok, I found it spooky, and was in a hurry to leave by the time Steve was done taking photographs. At the top of the path, as we were leaving, we had to pass under a tunnel of dense forest where the branches met over our heads. It was exceptionally dark walking into that tunnel and I practically bolted through it. Steve was intensely entertained, and I was distinctly not. More people came up while we were heading down, which made things a little less eerie.
Back at the bottom, we collected our driver, who had been having a nice chat and smoke with the gatekeeper. It was so interesting to drive back through Cirali. As a tourist, we would never have guessed the full extent of the town that stretched much further past the bridge and little built-up area. There were groves, and a mosque, and lots of houses that stretched over the flat area between the mountain and the sea. It would have been a fascinating place to explore -- too bad we were leaving tomorrow!
Back at the hotel, in the warm and scented night, we considered staying more time in Cirali, but we had been four days already and four nights, and we wanted to see the Tuesday market in Fethiye. I also, by this time, wanted to find a place that sold cough syrup.
Hoping for dry laundry by morning, we went to bed sad to leave Cirali.
Well then.
Turkey -- Day Thirteen -- Cirali & Olympos
October 20, 2007. Saturday.
I woke up feeling more than a little draggy and congested, so Steve left all on his ownsome to walk down to the beach for sunrise. Apparently it was beautiful, but he woke up every dog in town and his dawn-y ramblings were accompanied by his own personal tragic chorus. He walked all the way down the beach to the ruins of the Roman harbour city of Olympos and poked around briefly before returning to the hotel for breakfast.
This is all heresay, as I wasn't up or awake.
Breakfast was another amazing meal, with the traditional delish breakfast accompanied by more fresh jam and bread. Amazing! We commented to each other that Turkish breakfasts hold us all day, unlike even our healthiest breakfasts at home. Not even 10 grain cereal with fruit, milk, honey & hemp hearts aren't as filling or lasting.
The Canada Hotel had a whole shelf of book exchange and we swapped our Dan Brown and other incomprehensible novel for an A.S. Byatt (less incomprehensible) and a vintage Harlequin (less trashy than D.B., I'm afraid). We spent -- ok, I spent -- the morning lazing around on a poolside lounger. Steve lazed but also splashed around in the slightly chilly pool. Brave man!
Saban returned from Antalya and we were sad to hear that Carrie was staying in town as their daughter had a swim meet. We would have liked to have met her after chatting on Turkey Travel Planner forums... next time! We casually mentioned to Saban that the food, while incredible, was overly plentiful and we were feeling badly for wasting so much of it. Less food woiuld be perfectly acceptable.
We walked down the village again, and I decided to go into the little house with the sign for massages out front. The girl booking didn't speak much English at all, but between my phrasebook and her appointment book, we figured out the masseuse was back tomorrow and I could have a massage at eleven. Paradise!
In the village, we looked around a little grocery store and a shop which contained all kinds of blown glass things -- plates, bowls, tiles, and a whole menagerie of little glass animals. I wanted one -- ok, a zoo of them -- but couldn't quite decide. That and Steve was getting restless in that 'hungry Steve' kind of way. We walked a little further down the road and found a little cafe that advertised gozleme (our new favourite) as well as having divan platforms under trees glossy with ripe oranges and pomegranites. We walked in and sat down (more lounging) on the cushions and an older woman came up to us. After ascertaining that we were foreigners and were there for lunch, she went over to a blanket-covered lump on the divan next door, and woke up the lump... I mean the waitress. Oops! We were sorry to spoil her nap, but she was in pretty good spirits all the same.
We ordered gozleme and our usual visne suyus and settled back on the cushions to unsuccessfully try to convince a kadi to come say hello and take surrepticious pictures of the older woman cooking the gozleme. When they arrived, the gozleme were hot and good, but not superlative like the previous ones... maybe they needed a side of Nevsehir tomatoes!
Replete and un-restless, we walked back through the village to the bridge and turned right towards the beach, where we found a large brown dog who wanted a walk. How did we know he wanted a walk? Because he followed us down the road, around the corner, back to the road when we made a wrong turn, through a restaurant (I know!) and down the beach towards Olympos.
The beach was pebbly and a little challenging to walk on in flip flops since I had to stop every few steps and empty my sandles. I was pretty grouchy by the time we reached the pathway that led away from the tiny lagoon and into the forest wherein lay Olympos. That may have been why the dog abandoned us in favour of a group of people heading in the opposite direction down the beach.
There was no-one at the ticket booth, so we walked right in as noncholantly as possible.
First thing we saw a tomb/ossuary that had belonged to a shipbuilder? Or someone associated with boats, since there was a beautiful carved boat in bias-relief, so detailed it even had a figurehead with flowing hair carved into the prow of the boat.
We walked along stone paths that lead through arches and murky forests sheltering spooky tombs, and over to more ruins including a house with broken pieces of mosaic that were made with black and white pebbles. There was a piece of a temple which was perfectly standing. It seems that when the structures are made of dressed stone blocks they survive, but when it is stone and brick material mortared together, it just crumbles in time. We walked around the back of the temple all the way around some quite intact walls... we would have liked to explore inside but couldn't find a way in.
We found Olympos to be quite extensive though very patchily restored, which actually adds to the charm. It has a magical feel and seeing a series of arches descending into a reflective, reed-fringed pond is positively awestriking.
After making our way up out of the National Park of Olympos, we reached the bottom of the community of Olympos, famed in backpacker circles for cheap lodging and treehouses.
At the bottom end of Olympos, we found a few cafes, another unattended ticket booth and a very well kept washroom (again unattended). I left my 50 kurush on a ledge and walked back down to where Steve was talking to another tourist. Even though I was a little wheezy, we decided to walk a bit on the other side of the river where the ruins continued.
The path was a little rougher, but we saw some beautiful tombs, arches and walls. We left the main path to slither over a bunch of rubble (I was regretting my choice of footwear, though in my defence, this was supposed to be a gentle walk down the beach) to find a theatre and baths. The theatre was nothing much, though the way the jungle was claiming back the arches and walls was quite amazing. The baths were lovely and peaceful and very extensive. We eventually turned back and, upon reaching the main path, decided to try and walk back towards the sea rather than turning and going back up and across the river and back down to the beach. Much to our chagrin, after squishing around in a muddy area, we were back in the baths, but from the other side! Since the thought of navigating the rubble AGAIN was not very appealing, we decided to bushwhack back down to the other side of the lagoon. Fortunately, that was easier than we thought it would be, and we arrived back on the beach only a little wet and muddy.
Back up the beach, through the restaurant, up the road and back to the hotel, where there was more lounging, reading and coughing before dinner.
Saban ignored us. Completely. Dinner was another five mezes, plus salad, bread, soup and another main course. Everything was cooked to perfection and delicious, and again we ate maybe half of it. Oh well -- we tried.
Another early night and we hoped the next day would bring some swimming in the ocean and less coughing for me.
I woke up feeling more than a little draggy and congested, so Steve left all on his ownsome to walk down to the beach for sunrise. Apparently it was beautiful, but he woke up every dog in town and his dawn-y ramblings were accompanied by his own personal tragic chorus. He walked all the way down the beach to the ruins of the Roman harbour city of Olympos and poked around briefly before returning to the hotel for breakfast.
This is all heresay, as I wasn't up or awake.
Breakfast was another amazing meal, with the traditional delish breakfast accompanied by more fresh jam and bread. Amazing! We commented to each other that Turkish breakfasts hold us all day, unlike even our healthiest breakfasts at home. Not even 10 grain cereal with fruit, milk, honey & hemp hearts aren't as filling or lasting.
The Canada Hotel had a whole shelf of book exchange and we swapped our Dan Brown and other incomprehensible novel for an A.S. Byatt (less incomprehensible) and a vintage Harlequin (less trashy than D.B., I'm afraid). We spent -- ok, I spent -- the morning lazing around on a poolside lounger. Steve lazed but also splashed around in the slightly chilly pool. Brave man!
Saban returned from Antalya and we were sad to hear that Carrie was staying in town as their daughter had a swim meet. We would have liked to have met her after chatting on Turkey Travel Planner forums... next time! We casually mentioned to Saban that the food, while incredible, was overly plentiful and we were feeling badly for wasting so much of it. Less food woiuld be perfectly acceptable.
We walked down the village again, and I decided to go into the little house with the sign for massages out front. The girl booking didn't speak much English at all, but between my phrasebook and her appointment book, we figured out the masseuse was back tomorrow and I could have a massage at eleven. Paradise!
In the village, we looked around a little grocery store and a shop which contained all kinds of blown glass things -- plates, bowls, tiles, and a whole menagerie of little glass animals. I wanted one -- ok, a zoo of them -- but couldn't quite decide. That and Steve was getting restless in that 'hungry Steve' kind of way. We walked a little further down the road and found a little cafe that advertised gozleme (our new favourite) as well as having divan platforms under trees glossy with ripe oranges and pomegranites. We walked in and sat down (more lounging) on the cushions and an older woman came up to us. After ascertaining that we were foreigners and were there for lunch, she went over to a blanket-covered lump on the divan next door, and woke up the lump... I mean the waitress. Oops! We were sorry to spoil her nap, but she was in pretty good spirits all the same.
We ordered gozleme and our usual visne suyus and settled back on the cushions to unsuccessfully try to convince a kadi to come say hello and take surrepticious pictures of the older woman cooking the gozleme. When they arrived, the gozleme were hot and good, but not superlative like the previous ones... maybe they needed a side of Nevsehir tomatoes!
Replete and un-restless, we walked back through the village to the bridge and turned right towards the beach, where we found a large brown dog who wanted a walk. How did we know he wanted a walk? Because he followed us down the road, around the corner, back to the road when we made a wrong turn, through a restaurant (I know!) and down the beach towards Olympos.
The beach was pebbly and a little challenging to walk on in flip flops since I had to stop every few steps and empty my sandles. I was pretty grouchy by the time we reached the pathway that led away from the tiny lagoon and into the forest wherein lay Olympos. That may have been why the dog abandoned us in favour of a group of people heading in the opposite direction down the beach.
There was no-one at the ticket booth, so we walked right in as noncholantly as possible.
First thing we saw a tomb/ossuary that had belonged to a shipbuilder? Or someone associated with boats, since there was a beautiful carved boat in bias-relief, so detailed it even had a figurehead with flowing hair carved into the prow of the boat.
We walked along stone paths that lead through arches and murky forests sheltering spooky tombs, and over to more ruins including a house with broken pieces of mosaic that were made with black and white pebbles. There was a piece of a temple which was perfectly standing. It seems that when the structures are made of dressed stone blocks they survive, but when it is stone and brick material mortared together, it just crumbles in time. We walked around the back of the temple all the way around some quite intact walls... we would have liked to explore inside but couldn't find a way in.
We found Olympos to be quite extensive though very patchily restored, which actually adds to the charm. It has a magical feel and seeing a series of arches descending into a reflective, reed-fringed pond is positively awestriking.
After making our way up out of the National Park of Olympos, we reached the bottom of the community of Olympos, famed in backpacker circles for cheap lodging and treehouses.
At the bottom end of Olympos, we found a few cafes, another unattended ticket booth and a very well kept washroom (again unattended). I left my 50 kurush on a ledge and walked back down to where Steve was talking to another tourist. Even though I was a little wheezy, we decided to walk a bit on the other side of the river where the ruins continued.
The path was a little rougher, but we saw some beautiful tombs, arches and walls. We left the main path to slither over a bunch of rubble (I was regretting my choice of footwear, though in my defence, this was supposed to be a gentle walk down the beach) to find a theatre and baths. The theatre was nothing much, though the way the jungle was claiming back the arches and walls was quite amazing. The baths were lovely and peaceful and very extensive. We eventually turned back and, upon reaching the main path, decided to try and walk back towards the sea rather than turning and going back up and across the river and back down to the beach. Much to our chagrin, after squishing around in a muddy area, we were back in the baths, but from the other side! Since the thought of navigating the rubble AGAIN was not very appealing, we decided to bushwhack back down to the other side of the lagoon. Fortunately, that was easier than we thought it would be, and we arrived back on the beach only a little wet and muddy.
Back up the beach, through the restaurant, up the road and back to the hotel, where there was more lounging, reading and coughing before dinner.
Saban ignored us. Completely. Dinner was another five mezes, plus salad, bread, soup and another main course. Everything was cooked to perfection and delicious, and again we ate maybe half of it. Oh well -- we tried.
Another early night and we hoped the next day would bring some swimming in the ocean and less coughing for me.
Turkey -- Day Twelve -- Cirali & Myra
Friday, October 19
We woke up to a beautiful sunny day, excited over the prospect of jeep day! Actually, I was a little nervous about driving... Turkey is right-hand drive, so at least that is the same as Canada, but Turkish drivers are... well, our observations of Turkish drivers showed a whole lot of not paying attention to signs/lights/speed limits/pedestrians. I was actually worried about being too polite and being honked off the road due to my cautiousness. Knowing that drivers of all kinds do, in fact, honk at people going too slow in front, I figured I'd be pulling off a LOT.
Breakfast, our first at the Canada Hotel, was delicious, and we ate a whole loaf of bread that was served with a bowl of cherry jam and some dry grated cheese, like Parmesan cheese. We didn't get the point of the cheese, but the jam was superb.
Getting into the Samauri, we were delighted to be in familiar ground. Well, familiar except for the functioning soft top and doors, that is -- it was strange to be in a Samauri and not have bungee cords brushing the tops of our heads, or reaching for the screwdriver to open the driver's side door.
The plan was to drive the coastal road over to the ruins of Myra in the modern city of Demre, and then catch the Friday fruit & veggie market in the town of Kumluca on our way back to Cirali.
It was with great anticipation that we turned left on the highway from the road down to Cirali. We noted a gas station about ten minutes out of town as a good place to fill up on the way back in. The vehicle was given to us with a half tank of gas and we were to bring it back with the same amount in it... this seemed a bit of a crapshoot as it would be difficult to know exactly how much to put in. Oh well, worries for later!
Coming down the hill towards Kumluca presented a very strange sight... it looked like the entire delta was awash in grey sand dunes. It wasn't until we were much closer that we realized we were seeing the grey tops of glass & plastic greenhouses covering (it seemed) every square inch of the fertile soil. The thrill of seeing the blue Mediterranean glinting past the greenhouses was still present -- that's the MED!!!
Driving was fine until I reached Kumluca. Turkish streetlights are arranged horizontally, and the yellow lights appear to warn you of both impending red lights AND impending green lights. That means that if you aren't actually in motion when the green comes on, you are obviously a lazy, inattentive tourist and deserve to be honked at promptly. Which we were. Being honked at (or rather 'trumpeted' at) by a large white bus that dwarfed the little jeep made me miss the turn which would have taken me to the highway along the water. Instead, I went straight and ended up driving through the rural districts slightly inland from the highway. We were looked at very strangely as we bombed along the little roads, dodging brightly-painted trucks carrying produce. I guss most lazy, inattentive tourists still figure out where to turn left!
Fortunately, the road coincided with the highway again at Finike, which is where the windy part started. When Saban had told the drive to Demre would be over an hour from Kumluca (which is 1/2 hour from Cirali), we thought he must be kidding... it wasn't that far in terms of kilometres. We weren't considering how very, very, very windy the road was. It was 50 kilometres per hour, the whole way... much to the dismay of the giant bus behind me. I managed to occasionally put on a big spurt of speed on a straightish stretch and get out of its way, but it was pretty relieved to put the pedal down and pass me, just as we were emerging from the crinkled road onto the straight stretch beside a big bay full of fishing boats.
Did I mention that Turkish people don't just pass on the straight stretches? Yeah.
Demre is just past Kale, named for the fortress high on the cliff overlooking Demre. We took a bit of a wrong turn off the highway in Demre and ended up on a stretch of road that seemed to lead to the St. Nicholas church. Demre is the birth place of Santa and they've made some serious hay out of that particular fact, though not as much as a North American city would have. All in all, we were very impressed at how non-touristy most of the tourist attractions were.
Getting on the right road was as easy as asking passerby "nerede Myra?" and we were pointed in the right direction to the cliffs behind the town, carved into which were some beautiful Lycian rock tombs, and the very well preserved Roman theatre of Myra.
You can learn more about the Lycian culture here: http://www.lycianturkey.com/lycian_tombs.htm
We parked in a little parking lot beside a cafe where we were told by the cafe keepers that there was free parking. We thought there might be a catch and there was: the visne suyu was 3L per can! Craziness! Oh well. The bathroom was clean.
We walked up a gauntlet of tourist shops which was festooned with trinkets and shaded by trees. The greenhouses crowded close on both sides. There were little dried gourds which rattled when you shook them and were painted to look like a very folksy Santa Clause. I really wanted one but Steve was dubious.
We poked around the theatre for a bit amongst the crowds, then hiked up the theatre, around the back, down to the tombs, past some chunks of carved rock and then back to the theatre where, like magic, the tour buses had sucked their inhabitents back into place and driven off, leaving us to enjoy the theatre on our own for a few minutes before the next group came in. Even when full of people, Myra is a magical place. To ourselves, it was superb.
Walking out, I inquired as to the price of the shaker-Santas, but decided 8L was too much for a dried squash. Oh well. The ice-creams in the cafe by the parking lot were even more overpriced than the juice, so we declined them too.
The fortress on the hill beckoned, but we were advised that the hike was rather steep. That in itself wasn't a bad thing, but it was getting rather warm. Way back in the hills, though, a road made a scar across the mountainside and we thought it might be worth it to take a look.
Up and over a bridge across a perfectly dry riverbed (they were mining it for gravel), we turned a sharp left to see if we could see the start to the Lycian Way, a new hiking trail that goes some 500 kilometres between Fethiye and Tekirova. We eventually found the start of the trail, which began at the riverbank and looked to climb straight up the mountainside to meet with the road.
I am truly my father's daughter: there is something about being behind the wheel of a 4x4 that makes me want to drive it UP. We hemmed and hawed a bit, but eventually decided that even if it were a dirt road going up the mountain, we had to take the chance and do a "little look-see." Back to the bridge we went, and took a left along a little road that looked like it would lead up the hill. Much to our surprise and delight, the road was smooth and paved, and at least 1.5 jeeps wide. It was only from below that it looked like a glorified goat-track. No guard-rails though, and it would have been a long drop if we'd missed a corner. We eventually saw where the Lycian Way crossed the road, and, at a hairpin bend, we stopped and got out to look at the wide, wide expanse of greenhouses and the blue sea beyond. Standing on a newly built cement cistern, looking at the view, we heard the gentle thonking of goat bells approaching until a river of black goats flowed over the road and dropped out of sight in the scrub below, leaving only distant thonking in their wake.
A little further up the road, we came to the tiny (TINY) village of Beloren, which had wonderful timber-frame barns that looked about 800 years old. The road split here: the paved road went straight, or a rocky dirt road went right, through the village and into the hills. Really, it was no contest. We eased into 4-high and turned right. We had the intention of just seeing what we saw, and also -- if it were possible -- to find the Church of the Archangel Gabriel, which is a ruined church on the Lycian Way which is in utter ruins but still quite beautiful, according to the Lonely Planet. What the heck! We'd go as far as we made it, and hope not to wreck the rental. The few locals we saw looked incredibly shocked to see us up there.
The road was very rough, covered in large, orange, sharp-looking rocks, but at least the dry climate meant that wash-outs would presumably be not much of a problem. We took it slowly and gently, and I was glad to have the four wheel drive. We passed all kinds of dry streambeds, pine trees and others that look just like Arbutus trees only with greyer stems, a tiny little village (three houses and a barn), some tumbledown stone walls and sometimes the flashes of red and white paint that indicated the crossings of the Lycian Way.
Steve read from the L.P that we were following the 'Unbelievers Road' which was a path early Christians would take to come up to the glorious Church of the Archangel Gabriel on pilgrimage. Given the steepness of the terrain, I could see how walking up here would smack of penance.
We basically kept right, or west, and after just-not-quite-too-far (just to the next corner, ok? Ok. So... just to the NEXT corner, ok? Ok.), we found ourselves looking over a little valley just full of rubble on the ground, and we could see a few standing arches. We had found the Church of the Archangel Gabriel, just where it should be.
We parked on the side of the road below some beehives, and set off on the gentle walk down the hill towards the church.
This area had once been an important Christian centre (given that St. Nicholas was Bishop of Myra), and even from the road, we could tell the church had once been impressive. We walked down a dry and barren field of rocks and poop -- yes, poop, which was not surprising given the dozens and dozens of goats wandering around the little valley. Both in sandals, we joked that at least it was a dry poop.
We picked our way down the valley from the road to the ruin, which wasn't that far, but seemed farther since we had to pick our way through the rocks. We gave up on avoiding the poop. We passed a barking dog, and several wild-looking cows, one of which was chewing on a piece of plastic. Mmmm... tasty!
When we reached the ruin proper, it was just amazing. One main wall was still standing, which contained several arches. The size of what remained hinted at the grandeur this building would have had when complete, and to have such a structure this far back in the hills was inspiring. You could imagine pilgrims walking all the way up and catching their first sight of a fully-formed church in the middle of what is otherwise a dry and howling wilderness -- wow.
There were a few other partial walls, and some carved panels, and a well. Just lying on the ground beside the well was a carved piece of stone the size of my palm, in the shape of a leaf. I really, really wanted that piece of stone. Bearing in mind Turkey's protective (understandably) view of its antiquities, and the lack of amenities in its jails, I abstained from actually taking it and just took photos instead. I hope someone else goes up to that church and gets to stand amongst the remains of a profound structure and hold that stone leaf in their hand and have the same frisson of wonder that washed over me.
As we were poking around, a woman and her son came down to the other side of the ruins and appeared very surprised to see us. We greeted her with a friendly "merhaba" and she merhaba-ed back, and left again after a few minutes. We walked back around that direction on our way out, and found another well set up as a trough for animals, and a sick goat sitting in the shade of a wall. The locals had piled up some of the stones from the ruins to make themselves fences for their stock and we thought why not? On one hand, it's nice to have everything stay where it fell and create a monument... on the other, why shouldn't the locals use the stones for a living purpose? It's not as if they can eat monuments.
Walking back up the hill, we got barked at some more by a dog who never came quite close enough to be a threat -- silly kopek! The cows looked all goggle-eyed at us again, and the bees buzzed around again, and every midge, mosquito and blackfly in the valley had collected around us. The temptation was huge to keep going past the Church, and try to make it all the way back to Kumluca by the back road, but we had no idea how long it would take and wanted to get back to Cirali in time for another delicious dinner. We jumped into the car and zoomed back down the hill.
At the unnamed little village, a small, white moppy-looking dog appeared by the side of the jeep. We told him we couldn't take him home, and he seemed to disappear. A few hundred metres down the road, though, there was a man on a motorcycle talking to some kids on the roadside. He guestured wildly, and the little dog tore past the jeep and towards the man. He picked up the dog, and held it out to us as we stopped beside him. We couldn't tell what he was saying, and since we had been offered several cats for purchase, we declined whatever he was offering, just in case he was selling us the dog. He kept guesturing and talking in rapid Turkish, and the village kids were smiling and laughing, but we kept saying no, and eventually drove on. I suspect, after all, that he was asking us to give the dog a ride back down to Beloren, since it followed us along the road the entire way. It seemed impossible, especially as I really sped up in the straightaways trying to lose it, but it always managed to follow along behind, and would appear in the rear view mirror as soon as I slowed down again. It was some four or so kilometres to Beloren and it made it the entire way at a run. We were a little afraid it would try to follow us further, but a group of village boys in Beloren came out and ran behind the jeep themselves for a little distance, and presumably they picked up the dog. It was very cute, and very tenacious, and probably had a grand afternoon out, first following the motorcycle and then the jeep.
Back down the paved road we flew, stopping at the cistern again for a look at the amazing view, and then back into town. As we were driving along, we passed a little store with a Magnum cooler out front, and stopped for icecream. While we were getting into the car, and old man came up to us and asked a bunch of questions in Turkish, which (as usual) we didn't understand. He kept repeating 'Demre, Demre' and Steve figured out that he just wanted a ride all the way into town. He clambered into the back while I looked up the words for 'stop' and 'let me out' so that we would know where get wanted to get out. Fortunately, he tapped me on the shoulder a few kilometres down the road; we stopped and let him out, and he was very pleased and thanked us many times.
We then drove over to the Church of St. Nicholas, but realized that we were tired and dirty and midge-eaten, and didn't really want to go inside after all. Plus we thought we could still make the veggie market in Kumluca if we hurried.
This time I kept right/seaward through Finike and we followed the highway along the coast all the way to Kumluca. I had a small moment of panic when I realized that I was driving beside a police car and I didn't know the speed limit! Except when entering town, where there is a 70kph sign immediately followed by a 50kph sign, there are no speed limit signs. Certainly not one that tells when to speed up or how fast to go when you get there. I decided to drive the same speed as a truck with a man sitting in the back, though I fully expected him to get pulled over too. I should have known better -- Turkey seems pretty relaxed about safety considerations like seatbelts.
When we got to Kumluca, and drove along the main road where the market was supposed to be, traffic was quite busy and there didn't appear to be any parking. We decided we had done enough for the day without looking at some vegetables, and would just travel on back to Cirali.
The gas tank was just about empty, so we stopped at a gas station where I made a lucky guess as to the correct location of the gas tank. The attendent came right over, took the keys, knew what gas to pump (stations still carry leaded gas, as well as diesel), and I was even able to explain that I wanted 15 (on-besh) LITRES not 15 LIRA, which would have been like five litres of gas. I figured that would give us half a tank and we could put another litre or two in a little closer to Cirali.
We stopped briefly at an overlook coming out of Myra to catch the sunset colours over the Med. Lovely!
To our surprise and dismay, the gas station closer to Cirali was closed, and we figured we would be assessed a penalty for not bringing it back right at a half tank. Oh well, not much to do about it at that point.
Back at the Canada Hotel, Saban had gone into Antalya to hang out with Carrie and the kids, so his assistant and waiter served us up another huge meal of homemade lentil soup (which was divine, and I don't like lentils), fives mezes AGAIN plus salad, and then a delicious fried fish each. I thought I was going to pop, I ate so much AGAIN. Good thing we walked a bunch.
We just about had the energy to wash the poop-dust off our legs and crawl into our comfy bed. Bliss!
We woke up to a beautiful sunny day, excited over the prospect of jeep day! Actually, I was a little nervous about driving... Turkey is right-hand drive, so at least that is the same as Canada, but Turkish drivers are... well, our observations of Turkish drivers showed a whole lot of not paying attention to signs/lights/speed limits/pedestrians. I was actually worried about being too polite and being honked off the road due to my cautiousness. Knowing that drivers of all kinds do, in fact, honk at people going too slow in front, I figured I'd be pulling off a LOT.
Breakfast, our first at the Canada Hotel, was delicious, and we ate a whole loaf of bread that was served with a bowl of cherry jam and some dry grated cheese, like Parmesan cheese. We didn't get the point of the cheese, but the jam was superb.
Getting into the Samauri, we were delighted to be in familiar ground. Well, familiar except for the functioning soft top and doors, that is -- it was strange to be in a Samauri and not have bungee cords brushing the tops of our heads, or reaching for the screwdriver to open the driver's side door.
The plan was to drive the coastal road over to the ruins of Myra in the modern city of Demre, and then catch the Friday fruit & veggie market in the town of Kumluca on our way back to Cirali.
It was with great anticipation that we turned left on the highway from the road down to Cirali. We noted a gas station about ten minutes out of town as a good place to fill up on the way back in. The vehicle was given to us with a half tank of gas and we were to bring it back with the same amount in it... this seemed a bit of a crapshoot as it would be difficult to know exactly how much to put in. Oh well, worries for later!
Coming down the hill towards Kumluca presented a very strange sight... it looked like the entire delta was awash in grey sand dunes. It wasn't until we were much closer that we realized we were seeing the grey tops of glass & plastic greenhouses covering (it seemed) every square inch of the fertile soil. The thrill of seeing the blue Mediterranean glinting past the greenhouses was still present -- that's the MED!!!
Driving was fine until I reached Kumluca. Turkish streetlights are arranged horizontally, and the yellow lights appear to warn you of both impending red lights AND impending green lights. That means that if you aren't actually in motion when the green comes on, you are obviously a lazy, inattentive tourist and deserve to be honked at promptly. Which we were. Being honked at (or rather 'trumpeted' at) by a large white bus that dwarfed the little jeep made me miss the turn which would have taken me to the highway along the water. Instead, I went straight and ended up driving through the rural districts slightly inland from the highway. We were looked at very strangely as we bombed along the little roads, dodging brightly-painted trucks carrying produce. I guss most lazy, inattentive tourists still figure out where to turn left!
Fortunately, the road coincided with the highway again at Finike, which is where the windy part started. When Saban had told the drive to Demre would be over an hour from Kumluca (which is 1/2 hour from Cirali), we thought he must be kidding... it wasn't that far in terms of kilometres. We weren't considering how very, very, very windy the road was. It was 50 kilometres per hour, the whole way... much to the dismay of the giant bus behind me. I managed to occasionally put on a big spurt of speed on a straightish stretch and get out of its way, but it was pretty relieved to put the pedal down and pass me, just as we were emerging from the crinkled road onto the straight stretch beside a big bay full of fishing boats.
Did I mention that Turkish people don't just pass on the straight stretches? Yeah.
Demre is just past Kale, named for the fortress high on the cliff overlooking Demre. We took a bit of a wrong turn off the highway in Demre and ended up on a stretch of road that seemed to lead to the St. Nicholas church. Demre is the birth place of Santa and they've made some serious hay out of that particular fact, though not as much as a North American city would have. All in all, we were very impressed at how non-touristy most of the tourist attractions were.
Getting on the right road was as easy as asking passerby "nerede Myra?" and we were pointed in the right direction to the cliffs behind the town, carved into which were some beautiful Lycian rock tombs, and the very well preserved Roman theatre of Myra.
You can learn more about the Lycian culture here: http://www.lycianturkey.com/lycian_tombs.htm
We parked in a little parking lot beside a cafe where we were told by the cafe keepers that there was free parking. We thought there might be a catch and there was: the visne suyu was 3L per can! Craziness! Oh well. The bathroom was clean.
We walked up a gauntlet of tourist shops which was festooned with trinkets and shaded by trees. The greenhouses crowded close on both sides. There were little dried gourds which rattled when you shook them and were painted to look like a very folksy Santa Clause. I really wanted one but Steve was dubious.
We poked around the theatre for a bit amongst the crowds, then hiked up the theatre, around the back, down to the tombs, past some chunks of carved rock and then back to the theatre where, like magic, the tour buses had sucked their inhabitents back into place and driven off, leaving us to enjoy the theatre on our own for a few minutes before the next group came in. Even when full of people, Myra is a magical place. To ourselves, it was superb.
Walking out, I inquired as to the price of the shaker-Santas, but decided 8L was too much for a dried squash. Oh well. The ice-creams in the cafe by the parking lot were even more overpriced than the juice, so we declined them too.
The fortress on the hill beckoned, but we were advised that the hike was rather steep. That in itself wasn't a bad thing, but it was getting rather warm. Way back in the hills, though, a road made a scar across the mountainside and we thought it might be worth it to take a look.
Up and over a bridge across a perfectly dry riverbed (they were mining it for gravel), we turned a sharp left to see if we could see the start to the Lycian Way, a new hiking trail that goes some 500 kilometres between Fethiye and Tekirova. We eventually found the start of the trail, which began at the riverbank and looked to climb straight up the mountainside to meet with the road.
I am truly my father's daughter: there is something about being behind the wheel of a 4x4 that makes me want to drive it UP. We hemmed and hawed a bit, but eventually decided that even if it were a dirt road going up the mountain, we had to take the chance and do a "little look-see." Back to the bridge we went, and took a left along a little road that looked like it would lead up the hill. Much to our surprise and delight, the road was smooth and paved, and at least 1.5 jeeps wide. It was only from below that it looked like a glorified goat-track. No guard-rails though, and it would have been a long drop if we'd missed a corner. We eventually saw where the Lycian Way crossed the road, and, at a hairpin bend, we stopped and got out to look at the wide, wide expanse of greenhouses and the blue sea beyond. Standing on a newly built cement cistern, looking at the view, we heard the gentle thonking of goat bells approaching until a river of black goats flowed over the road and dropped out of sight in the scrub below, leaving only distant thonking in their wake.
A little further up the road, we came to the tiny (TINY) village of Beloren, which had wonderful timber-frame barns that looked about 800 years old. The road split here: the paved road went straight, or a rocky dirt road went right, through the village and into the hills. Really, it was no contest. We eased into 4-high and turned right. We had the intention of just seeing what we saw, and also -- if it were possible -- to find the Church of the Archangel Gabriel, which is a ruined church on the Lycian Way which is in utter ruins but still quite beautiful, according to the Lonely Planet. What the heck! We'd go as far as we made it, and hope not to wreck the rental. The few locals we saw looked incredibly shocked to see us up there.
The road was very rough, covered in large, orange, sharp-looking rocks, but at least the dry climate meant that wash-outs would presumably be not much of a problem. We took it slowly and gently, and I was glad to have the four wheel drive. We passed all kinds of dry streambeds, pine trees and others that look just like Arbutus trees only with greyer stems, a tiny little village (three houses and a barn), some tumbledown stone walls and sometimes the flashes of red and white paint that indicated the crossings of the Lycian Way.
Steve read from the L.P that we were following the 'Unbelievers Road' which was a path early Christians would take to come up to the glorious Church of the Archangel Gabriel on pilgrimage. Given the steepness of the terrain, I could see how walking up here would smack of penance.
We basically kept right, or west, and after just-not-quite-too-far (just to the next corner, ok? Ok. So... just to the NEXT corner, ok? Ok.), we found ourselves looking over a little valley just full of rubble on the ground, and we could see a few standing arches. We had found the Church of the Archangel Gabriel, just where it should be.
We parked on the side of the road below some beehives, and set off on the gentle walk down the hill towards the church.
This area had once been an important Christian centre (given that St. Nicholas was Bishop of Myra), and even from the road, we could tell the church had once been impressive. We walked down a dry and barren field of rocks and poop -- yes, poop, which was not surprising given the dozens and dozens of goats wandering around the little valley. Both in sandals, we joked that at least it was a dry poop.
We picked our way down the valley from the road to the ruin, which wasn't that far, but seemed farther since we had to pick our way through the rocks. We gave up on avoiding the poop. We passed a barking dog, and several wild-looking cows, one of which was chewing on a piece of plastic. Mmmm... tasty!
When we reached the ruin proper, it was just amazing. One main wall was still standing, which contained several arches. The size of what remained hinted at the grandeur this building would have had when complete, and to have such a structure this far back in the hills was inspiring. You could imagine pilgrims walking all the way up and catching their first sight of a fully-formed church in the middle of what is otherwise a dry and howling wilderness -- wow.
There were a few other partial walls, and some carved panels, and a well. Just lying on the ground beside the well was a carved piece of stone the size of my palm, in the shape of a leaf. I really, really wanted that piece of stone. Bearing in mind Turkey's protective (understandably) view of its antiquities, and the lack of amenities in its jails, I abstained from actually taking it and just took photos instead. I hope someone else goes up to that church and gets to stand amongst the remains of a profound structure and hold that stone leaf in their hand and have the same frisson of wonder that washed over me.
As we were poking around, a woman and her son came down to the other side of the ruins and appeared very surprised to see us. We greeted her with a friendly "merhaba" and she merhaba-ed back, and left again after a few minutes. We walked back around that direction on our way out, and found another well set up as a trough for animals, and a sick goat sitting in the shade of a wall. The locals had piled up some of the stones from the ruins to make themselves fences for their stock and we thought why not? On one hand, it's nice to have everything stay where it fell and create a monument... on the other, why shouldn't the locals use the stones for a living purpose? It's not as if they can eat monuments.
Walking back up the hill, we got barked at some more by a dog who never came quite close enough to be a threat -- silly kopek! The cows looked all goggle-eyed at us again, and the bees buzzed around again, and every midge, mosquito and blackfly in the valley had collected around us. The temptation was huge to keep going past the Church, and try to make it all the way back to Kumluca by the back road, but we had no idea how long it would take and wanted to get back to Cirali in time for another delicious dinner. We jumped into the car and zoomed back down the hill.
At the unnamed little village, a small, white moppy-looking dog appeared by the side of the jeep. We told him we couldn't take him home, and he seemed to disappear. A few hundred metres down the road, though, there was a man on a motorcycle talking to some kids on the roadside. He guestured wildly, and the little dog tore past the jeep and towards the man. He picked up the dog, and held it out to us as we stopped beside him. We couldn't tell what he was saying, and since we had been offered several cats for purchase, we declined whatever he was offering, just in case he was selling us the dog. He kept guesturing and talking in rapid Turkish, and the village kids were smiling and laughing, but we kept saying no, and eventually drove on. I suspect, after all, that he was asking us to give the dog a ride back down to Beloren, since it followed us along the road the entire way. It seemed impossible, especially as I really sped up in the straightaways trying to lose it, but it always managed to follow along behind, and would appear in the rear view mirror as soon as I slowed down again. It was some four or so kilometres to Beloren and it made it the entire way at a run. We were a little afraid it would try to follow us further, but a group of village boys in Beloren came out and ran behind the jeep themselves for a little distance, and presumably they picked up the dog. It was very cute, and very tenacious, and probably had a grand afternoon out, first following the motorcycle and then the jeep.
Back down the paved road we flew, stopping at the cistern again for a look at the amazing view, and then back into town. As we were driving along, we passed a little store with a Magnum cooler out front, and stopped for icecream. While we were getting into the car, and old man came up to us and asked a bunch of questions in Turkish, which (as usual) we didn't understand. He kept repeating 'Demre, Demre' and Steve figured out that he just wanted a ride all the way into town. He clambered into the back while I looked up the words for 'stop' and 'let me out' so that we would know where get wanted to get out. Fortunately, he tapped me on the shoulder a few kilometres down the road; we stopped and let him out, and he was very pleased and thanked us many times.
We then drove over to the Church of St. Nicholas, but realized that we were tired and dirty and midge-eaten, and didn't really want to go inside after all. Plus we thought we could still make the veggie market in Kumluca if we hurried.
This time I kept right/seaward through Finike and we followed the highway along the coast all the way to Kumluca. I had a small moment of panic when I realized that I was driving beside a police car and I didn't know the speed limit! Except when entering town, where there is a 70kph sign immediately followed by a 50kph sign, there are no speed limit signs. Certainly not one that tells when to speed up or how fast to go when you get there. I decided to drive the same speed as a truck with a man sitting in the back, though I fully expected him to get pulled over too. I should have known better -- Turkey seems pretty relaxed about safety considerations like seatbelts.
When we got to Kumluca, and drove along the main road where the market was supposed to be, traffic was quite busy and there didn't appear to be any parking. We decided we had done enough for the day without looking at some vegetables, and would just travel on back to Cirali.
The gas tank was just about empty, so we stopped at a gas station where I made a lucky guess as to the correct location of the gas tank. The attendent came right over, took the keys, knew what gas to pump (stations still carry leaded gas, as well as diesel), and I was even able to explain that I wanted 15 (on-besh) LITRES not 15 LIRA, which would have been like five litres of gas. I figured that would give us half a tank and we could put another litre or two in a little closer to Cirali.
We stopped briefly at an overlook coming out of Myra to catch the sunset colours over the Med. Lovely!
To our surprise and dismay, the gas station closer to Cirali was closed, and we figured we would be assessed a penalty for not bringing it back right at a half tank. Oh well, not much to do about it at that point.
Back at the Canada Hotel, Saban had gone into Antalya to hang out with Carrie and the kids, so his assistant and waiter served us up another huge meal of homemade lentil soup (which was divine, and I don't like lentils), fives mezes AGAIN plus salad, and then a delicious fried fish each. I thought I was going to pop, I ate so much AGAIN. Good thing we walked a bunch.
We just about had the energy to wash the poop-dust off our legs and crawl into our comfy bed. Bliss!
Turkey -- Day Eleven -- Cirali
Oct 18, Thursday
Waking up on the bus was... not the most pleasant experience. We knew by the time we got to Cirali at mid-morning, we'd be very pleased we didn't waste a day on that long stretch of bus travel, but waking up stiff and, in Steve's case, bitten, was a tiny bit sucky. Getting off the bus to be greeted by a guy yelling 'Olympos Cirali Dolmus' was actually pretty great, since it meant we didn't have to wander around looking for the right bus.
The first thing we noticed was that the air was blissfully, balmily WARM. Probably 20 celcius, even at eight in the morning, and it smelled like honey and deisel.
We paid our -- what, six lira each? -- and walked to the other side of the terminal where we sat in an empty dolmus. It didn't stay empty for long, and when it was truly dolmushed, we left at about 9 am. It tootled along a four-lane highway towards the ocean, when, unexplicably, it turned off onto the dirt on the side of the road and stopped with a bunch of other dolmi (?) where everyone got out to buy simit at a little simit cart parked on the side of the highway. It was quite startling to see cars just... stopping on the side of the freeway to buy simit. Ah, I love Turkey!
After a brief stop, we went back on the highway heading to Cirali. The road was wind after wind, and after about an hour, I was ready to haul out the Gravol but lo! with a two minute stop on the side of the road, we were punted out and left in the now-hot sun at the top of a road that seemed quite a bit more than seven kilometres from the sea.
There were two vehicles parked at a little lookout at the top of the road, and we thought they might be dolmusler (my understanding of Turkish plurals is limited) and they even had little 'Cirali' signs. However, we had previous warning from a different travelogue that there was a proper, cheap dolmus and a more expensive quasi-dolmus, and we were determined not to be taken in.
When pressed, the dolmus driver admitted it was 20L to take us to the village of Cirali but we were welcome to wait until a few more people to show up. Maybe we were overtired and grumpy, but that seemed a little ridiculous -- we only paid 12 to come from Antalya!
We decided to walk. Yes, walk. Seven kilometres to Cirali.
It wasn't as ridiculous as it sounds, now: it was only mid-morning, our packs were still light, we had comfy sandals to put on, and heck -- it was only seven klicks, downhill.
We set off and were amazed all over again at the scent of the air. The pine forest combined with fruit trees, the heat on the road, passing orchards of oranges and red pomegranates, barking dogs, crowing chickens: it seemed like paradise, and it smelled of milk and honey.
After a few kilometres, we came to a small cafe on the side of the road. Since our simit breakfast seemed a long time ago, we decided to stop for 'gozleme', a kind of stuffed crepe we had heard was good.
The proprieters were a little surprised to see people coming by, on foot, at eleven am, but set to with a will. They had a cunning little samovar with a fire underneath to heat the hot water, with the teapot on top, kept from overbrewing by distance from the heat. We drank tea, and much to our surprise, were brought a huge fresh tomato, sliced on a plate. We were told it was a tomato from the wife's mother in Nevsehir and we were told it was the best tomato we'd ever have, and they were right. It was the penultimate tomato, and we ate it sliced with a dusting of cilantro under a grape arbour in a land where the very dirt smelled of spice. The gozleme were good too, but the tomato... ah, the tomato!
The entertainment for the meal consisted of a darling little girl, maybe four years old, who kept appearing at my elbow, staring up with long-lashed eyes and sniffling gently from a cold. Her parents eventually plunked her down on a chair a few feet away where she could look to her heart's content without actually being attached to me, but it didn't stick. It got to the point where she was clutching at my arm with her head leaning against my shoulder, spreading adorable little germs all over my sleeve... she was too cute to push away, so I wiped her nose as best I could and drank my tea.
Best of all, Murat, our host, who was driving his little girl down to town to attend mother-school, offered to pile us into his minivan and take us down to Cirali. Good things happen to those who stop and eat domates. On the way down, Murat talked to us about Mevlana and the holy nature of Sufis in his very limited English. Much to my annoyance, my Rough Guide Phrasebook didn't have ANY words to describe religious feelings like sacred or holy -- not that we're terribly religious ourselves, but we wanted to describe to Murat the amazing things we had seen. Stupid phrasebook!
Did I mention the tomato?
We were dropped right at the door to the Canada Hotel, which seemed a heck of a lot farther than seven kilometres from the road. We were greeted by Saban who, with his Canadian-born wife, Carrie, owns the Canada Hotel. The hotel appeared, at first glance, to be a little slice of paradise itself. The bluest pool, backdrop by the nearby mountainside, alongside a covered cabana, which was next to a lovely green space separated from the road by the pink hotel itself. There were chickens and bunnies, and trees growing oranges and bananas, and hammocks dotted in the shade. Hamukkale! we cheered when we saw the hammocks.
We were shown to our room, which was cool and peaceful, with a little balcony looking over the green garden and a spotless bathroom with a nice shower stall. We appeared to be the only guests. After a little nap, we changed into swimming clothes and set out to find the Mediterranean.
The Canada Hotel is a short walk from the village proper, and it took us just a few minutes to reach the bridge, while dogs and cats came out to greet us, and chickens crossed the road over and over again. At the bridge was a sign advertising a massage place and I resolved to avail myself of those services while in Cirali.
After the bridge began the main village, which comprised a little grocery store, a glass-blowing place, a few car-rental places (including one renting a white Suzuki Samurai), and about a million little restaurants and cafes. We walked down a little road and then cut down another road to the right, towards the beach, which was everything you can imagine in a beach: long, long expanse of white sand, actual turquoise waters (Turkey = turquoise), beautiful wooden gullet yachts moored offshore, and a whole bank of white beach loungers.
We set ourselves up on a lounger and eventually abandoned our beach towels (handily provided by the Canada Hotel) and headed for the water. The beach was a little pebbly, and I minced across the stones towards the water, where Steve had already thrown himself in. I took a little longer, though the water was very warm. Once I was in, it was glorious. The water was clear, clear, clear and the sky was blue, blue, blue, and the salt was heavy on our lips. We splashed around and goofed around and had a wonderfully honeymoon sappy time, floating together in the bouyant sea.
The sea seemed endless and the sun sparkled on the water. We eventually tore ourselves out of the surf and staggered back up to the lounger, where we baked in the sun for a little while. It was very comfy, though we kept wondering when the boy asking for money for the privilege of lounging was going to come along. He never did, and we decided to head back to the main part of town and look for icecream! Yay, dondurma!
After looking in too many empty coolers (I guess only crazy tourists get icecream in October), we finally found Magnums, which are kind of like a Sensation bar, but better. Mmmm... icecream on a stick! We wandered slowly back to the hotel, eating icecream and dodging chickens, looking forward to many more dips in the deep blue Med.
We asked the Samarai-renter how much for a day, and he said 70L, which was cheaper than we expected. When he asked where we were staying, and we told him, he told us Saban was his cousin. Now, we'd been in Turkey long enough to know that everyone has a brother/uncle/cousin, and all those relatives want to sell you something, so we took that with a grain of salt. When we talked to Saban, though, it turns out to be true! Saban had grown up in the tiny town of Cirali, so, when he met Carrie (originally from Calgary), it made sense for them to come back and have a hotel in his hometown. Carrie was staying in Antalya with the kids, who go to school there.
After discussion, we decided to rent the little Samurai. No credit card, no deposit... the guy just came to the hotel with the jeep and the keys, I turned it on to make sure it went, and we did an entirely irrelevent walk around it (in the dark) to see about damage. None that we could see! It was a 1992, and white, and had a working top, but other than that it was pretty much identical to our little jeep at home. This was going to be fun!
Having jeep-acquired, we sat down for our first dinner. We were first brought steaming bowls of homemade cream of tomato soup, which was divine. Then no less then five mezes were brought out, each more delicious than the last, in addition to fresh salad and exquisite bread. We stuffed ourselves stupid. The main course was a blur of tastyness, and then dessert! Craziness!
We rolled ourselves up to our room and collapsed in a pair of overstuffed lumps, where we slept soundly on comfy beds. The only thing that disturbed us was my occasional cough...
Waking up on the bus was... not the most pleasant experience. We knew by the time we got to Cirali at mid-morning, we'd be very pleased we didn't waste a day on that long stretch of bus travel, but waking up stiff and, in Steve's case, bitten, was a tiny bit sucky. Getting off the bus to be greeted by a guy yelling 'Olympos Cirali Dolmus' was actually pretty great, since it meant we didn't have to wander around looking for the right bus.
The first thing we noticed was that the air was blissfully, balmily WARM. Probably 20 celcius, even at eight in the morning, and it smelled like honey and deisel.
We paid our -- what, six lira each? -- and walked to the other side of the terminal where we sat in an empty dolmus. It didn't stay empty for long, and when it was truly dolmushed, we left at about 9 am. It tootled along a four-lane highway towards the ocean, when, unexplicably, it turned off onto the dirt on the side of the road and stopped with a bunch of other dolmi (?) where everyone got out to buy simit at a little simit cart parked on the side of the highway. It was quite startling to see cars just... stopping on the side of the freeway to buy simit. Ah, I love Turkey!
After a brief stop, we went back on the highway heading to Cirali. The road was wind after wind, and after about an hour, I was ready to haul out the Gravol but lo! with a two minute stop on the side of the road, we were punted out and left in the now-hot sun at the top of a road that seemed quite a bit more than seven kilometres from the sea.
There were two vehicles parked at a little lookout at the top of the road, and we thought they might be dolmusler (my understanding of Turkish plurals is limited) and they even had little 'Cirali' signs. However, we had previous warning from a different travelogue that there was a proper, cheap dolmus and a more expensive quasi-dolmus, and we were determined not to be taken in.
When pressed, the dolmus driver admitted it was 20L to take us to the village of Cirali but we were welcome to wait until a few more people to show up. Maybe we were overtired and grumpy, but that seemed a little ridiculous -- we only paid 12 to come from Antalya!
We decided to walk. Yes, walk. Seven kilometres to Cirali.
It wasn't as ridiculous as it sounds, now: it was only mid-morning, our packs were still light, we had comfy sandals to put on, and heck -- it was only seven klicks, downhill.
We set off and were amazed all over again at the scent of the air. The pine forest combined with fruit trees, the heat on the road, passing orchards of oranges and red pomegranates, barking dogs, crowing chickens: it seemed like paradise, and it smelled of milk and honey.
After a few kilometres, we came to a small cafe on the side of the road. Since our simit breakfast seemed a long time ago, we decided to stop for 'gozleme', a kind of stuffed crepe we had heard was good.
The proprieters were a little surprised to see people coming by, on foot, at eleven am, but set to with a will. They had a cunning little samovar with a fire underneath to heat the hot water, with the teapot on top, kept from overbrewing by distance from the heat. We drank tea, and much to our surprise, were brought a huge fresh tomato, sliced on a plate. We were told it was a tomato from the wife's mother in Nevsehir and we were told it was the best tomato we'd ever have, and they were right. It was the penultimate tomato, and we ate it sliced with a dusting of cilantro under a grape arbour in a land where the very dirt smelled of spice. The gozleme were good too, but the tomato... ah, the tomato!
The entertainment for the meal consisted of a darling little girl, maybe four years old, who kept appearing at my elbow, staring up with long-lashed eyes and sniffling gently from a cold. Her parents eventually plunked her down on a chair a few feet away where she could look to her heart's content without actually being attached to me, but it didn't stick. It got to the point where she was clutching at my arm with her head leaning against my shoulder, spreading adorable little germs all over my sleeve... she was too cute to push away, so I wiped her nose as best I could and drank my tea.
Best of all, Murat, our host, who was driving his little girl down to town to attend mother-school, offered to pile us into his minivan and take us down to Cirali. Good things happen to those who stop and eat domates. On the way down, Murat talked to us about Mevlana and the holy nature of Sufis in his very limited English. Much to my annoyance, my Rough Guide Phrasebook didn't have ANY words to describe religious feelings like sacred or holy -- not that we're terribly religious ourselves, but we wanted to describe to Murat the amazing things we had seen. Stupid phrasebook!
Did I mention the tomato?
We were dropped right at the door to the Canada Hotel, which seemed a heck of a lot farther than seven kilometres from the road. We were greeted by Saban who, with his Canadian-born wife, Carrie, owns the Canada Hotel. The hotel appeared, at first glance, to be a little slice of paradise itself. The bluest pool, backdrop by the nearby mountainside, alongside a covered cabana, which was next to a lovely green space separated from the road by the pink hotel itself. There were chickens and bunnies, and trees growing oranges and bananas, and hammocks dotted in the shade. Hamukkale! we cheered when we saw the hammocks.
We were shown to our room, which was cool and peaceful, with a little balcony looking over the green garden and a spotless bathroom with a nice shower stall. We appeared to be the only guests. After a little nap, we changed into swimming clothes and set out to find the Mediterranean.
The Canada Hotel is a short walk from the village proper, and it took us just a few minutes to reach the bridge, while dogs and cats came out to greet us, and chickens crossed the road over and over again. At the bridge was a sign advertising a massage place and I resolved to avail myself of those services while in Cirali.
After the bridge began the main village, which comprised a little grocery store, a glass-blowing place, a few car-rental places (including one renting a white Suzuki Samurai), and about a million little restaurants and cafes. We walked down a little road and then cut down another road to the right, towards the beach, which was everything you can imagine in a beach: long, long expanse of white sand, actual turquoise waters (Turkey = turquoise), beautiful wooden gullet yachts moored offshore, and a whole bank of white beach loungers.
We set ourselves up on a lounger and eventually abandoned our beach towels (handily provided by the Canada Hotel) and headed for the water. The beach was a little pebbly, and I minced across the stones towards the water, where Steve had already thrown himself in. I took a little longer, though the water was very warm. Once I was in, it was glorious. The water was clear, clear, clear and the sky was blue, blue, blue, and the salt was heavy on our lips. We splashed around and goofed around and had a wonderfully honeymoon sappy time, floating together in the bouyant sea.
The sea seemed endless and the sun sparkled on the water. We eventually tore ourselves out of the surf and staggered back up to the lounger, where we baked in the sun for a little while. It was very comfy, though we kept wondering when the boy asking for money for the privilege of lounging was going to come along. He never did, and we decided to head back to the main part of town and look for icecream! Yay, dondurma!
After looking in too many empty coolers (I guess only crazy tourists get icecream in October), we finally found Magnums, which are kind of like a Sensation bar, but better. Mmmm... icecream on a stick! We wandered slowly back to the hotel, eating icecream and dodging chickens, looking forward to many more dips in the deep blue Med.
We asked the Samarai-renter how much for a day, and he said 70L, which was cheaper than we expected. When he asked where we were staying, and we told him, he told us Saban was his cousin. Now, we'd been in Turkey long enough to know that everyone has a brother/uncle/cousin, and all those relatives want to sell you something, so we took that with a grain of salt. When we talked to Saban, though, it turns out to be true! Saban had grown up in the tiny town of Cirali, so, when he met Carrie (originally from Calgary), it made sense for them to come back and have a hotel in his hometown. Carrie was staying in Antalya with the kids, who go to school there.
After discussion, we decided to rent the little Samurai. No credit card, no deposit... the guy just came to the hotel with the jeep and the keys, I turned it on to make sure it went, and we did an entirely irrelevent walk around it (in the dark) to see about damage. None that we could see! It was a 1992, and white, and had a working top, but other than that it was pretty much identical to our little jeep at home. This was going to be fun!
Having jeep-acquired, we sat down for our first dinner. We were first brought steaming bowls of homemade cream of tomato soup, which was divine. Then no less then five mezes were brought out, each more delicious than the last, in addition to fresh salad and exquisite bread. We stuffed ourselves stupid. The main course was a blur of tastyness, and then dessert! Craziness!
We rolled ourselves up to our room and collapsed in a pair of overstuffed lumps, where we slept soundly on comfy beds. The only thing that disturbed us was my occasional cough...
Turkey – Day Ten -- Konya (Wednesday)
October 17, Konya
Another chilly morning in Goreme: clear and cold. We woke up early to make sure we'd be at the bus station for our 8am bus and packed up. Our laundry was done, but smelling slightly of Russian tobacco. Still, the 10L seemed well spent, and went directly to the Russian's wife, who also offered us a US dollar if we'd take Pakize, the kitten, with us. Tempting! but customs might not approve... Andor and his wife were to be leaving in November for Japan for a few months, and I hoped the kitten would keep her home (though considering how much the kids loved her, I think she'll be fine).
We watched the balloon parade again... and watched the purple balloon go down in Goreme village... again. We were pretty glad we opted not to take a balloon ride... again!
We made our goodbyes to Kevin, the kitty, Andor and the sleepy Canadians. After a yummy, and early, breakfast, we were a bit surprised that Andor didn't offer us a ride to the bus, considering he had driven the Korean girls down the hill, but oh well. He did tell us that the bus was unlikely to come before 8:15, so we had lots of time to walk. Um, thanks!
We walked into town, faintly disbelieving that we were actually leaving Goreme: we had a lovely time and could easily have stayed another day, so we weren't even worried if we missed our bus. The bus was, however, almost an hour late, so we couldn't have missed it if we tried. We were put on a minibus to Nevsehir and then took the big bus to Konya. Steve was a little alarmed at a tuvalet stop: I had gone to the bathroom, and was met at the door to the washroom by the bus attendent, who hurried me back to the bus. I jumped onto the bus at the back as it started pulling away, only to see Steve standing up saying WAIT my wife! It's ok, I'm here! Once again, we were impressed by the bus service in Turkey: our 4.5 hour bus ride cost 20L each and we were again treated to tea and drinks, cookies and kolonya. What service!
The trip was otherwise uneventful, and arriving in Konya, we headed straight to the Nevsehir counter to buy our tickets to Antalya. The departure time was *shudder* 1:30am! Yuck! Fortunately, there was a rather nifty luggage-leaving place where they stored our bags in a watched room for some 3L per bag.
Light-shouldered and light-hearted, we walked a few hundred metres out of the otogar to the tram station, where we purchased two cards that said '2' on them for two lire each. We weren't quite sure what the ticket-seller meant by them, as we could tell from the transit map in the tram that we got on at the border of one zone to where we wanted to go. Hmmm...
We got off at the last stop, which was Aladdin's Hill, and stepped out into our first big city since Istanbul. Konya has some 600,000 and is noted for being Turkey's "Bible Belt" (um... Koran Belt?) where people are notoriously conservative. The first thing we noticed was that drivers were actually paying attention to traffic lights. Facinating! This must be a conservative city!
Knowing Konya was fairly conservative, I had worn a long-sleeved shirt. I was pleased to see lots of women in tshirts, even some in skirts that came to the knee (though with heavy black tights). The university crowd comes to Alladin's Hill to hang out and picnic, so perhaps that was the prevailing influence.
After a brief stop at a pharmacy (eczane) to get some deoderant and contact lens solution (for 15L!), we decided to get lunch at a 1L tavuk doner stand. Along with some seftali suyu (peach juice) and a small bag of freshly-roasted pistachios, we headed back onto Aladdin's Hill for a picnic ourselves. Aladdin's Hill is a small conical park right in the middle of Konya. The tram comes from the university, past the otogar, and rings the hill before heading back out to the otogar etc. There were paths, and grass, and benches, and some mighty plump-looking pigeons. A young entrepreneur tried to sell us a wilted rose which he had obviously just picked from the flowerbed. We declined.
We had a delicious lunch and felt refreshed after our longish bus ride, and set out on foot to find the market area, the Mevlana Museum and a little felt store called Ikonium.
From where we had gotton on the Hill, I figured we were fairly near the road that we needed to take, so we started walking around the hill. We walked quite a while, but didn't really realize why we weren't finding the road to take until we saw the same mosque... again! We asked a passerby and found out we had actually ringed the hill and were now on the exact opposite side of where we needed to be. *sigh* Fortunately it was a pleasant walk!
The bazaar area was nice, all kinds of winding streets, but I was determined to find the Ikonium store, which the L.P. says is having a new take on the tradition of felt-making. After some getting lost, some asking directions, and some escaping the clutches of the carpet salesman who provided the directions, we found the store. We were greeted by Rahbia, the Argentinian wife of Mehmet, the felt-maker, who showed us the process, the workers, the merchandise and a BIG plate of sekker treats. It was deeply, deeply cool, and we were so pleased we found the place (even Steve, who was a little dubious). Since they were going to be working into the night trying to finish up an order of traditional sufi dervish hats, we decided to leave our purchases (and the snacks) behind, and go to the Mevlana Museum while we could, and then return in the evening to pick up our stuff and hang out some more.
The Museum was only a five-minute walk away, and was flanked by a beautiful mosque. We paid our entrance fee, and were immediately overcome by the loveliness of the courtyard with its ablution fountain, green grass, and slinky kitties. Some of you may recall that we had Helen Tripp, our officient, read a few poems from a medieval Turkish poet, Rumi: Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi was a 13th Century mystic who founded the Sufi (Whirling Dervish) order, as well as being a lovely poet. He lived and died on Konya, which houses his remains and those of his disciples in a complex which contains a shrine, a dervish dance-hall, living quarters, mosque and, since 1927, a museum.
Besides the whole poetry thing, which we found inspiring at our ceremony, Rumi was also an incredibly wise and profound religious leader. You can learn more about Rumi at: http://www.mevlana.net/.
""Come, come again, whoever you are, come!
Heathen, fire worshipper or idolatrous, come!
Come even if you broke your penitence a hundred times,
Ours is the portal of hope, come as you are." Rumi
After taking a number of pictures of the exterior of the 13th C Mevlana Mausoleum with its turquoise-topped minaret, we spurned the blue plastic shoe covers, and opted to take off our sandals before entering the mausoleum. You're not allowed to take pictures inside the museum, which is a shame, as there were many wonderful things to look at. We saw silk-and-silver carpets, silk clothes that actually belonged to Rumi (700 years old!) that were still bright and lusterous, korans of every variety, the tombs of Rumi and his followers... oh, and our guide. No, we didn't enter the museum with a guide, but we ended with one. As we were oohing and aahing over the goodies in the glass cases, a man told us what we were seeing, and then directed us to look at another case, and another... it dawned on Steve and I at the same time that he wasn't a nice guy educating some awestruck tourists: he was just wearing his guide-id badge tucked into his shirt.
We didn't mind too much, though. He was knowledgeable and didn't rush us (except a little at the end).
One of the things that was nice is that he explained the meaning of a little fountain in the front yard: the first ledge symbolizes the person who enters the world alone, then the two ledges are meeting ones' spouse, then three ledges for a spouse and children, then the children leave (two ledges), then your pass out of the world alone. Without him, we thought it was a pretty fountain.
We offered him 10L because it was all that we had! He accepted with good grace and offered to wait for us so he could show us his 'brother's store' where we could buy some postcards (since I had advised that was all we were buying in Konya).
After the tour, we hung around taking some more pictures, and walking around the back of the building, until we were kindly informed by a security guard that the museum closed at 5. We thought it was 5:30 (or at least the L.P. said it was!) so apologized profusely. No wonder the guide was rushing at the end -- the place was closing!
We were led to the brother's store, which principally sold china, like the kind for sale in Avanos. We declined, which forced the owner to dig in a dusty old box, from which he produced a handful of postcards. We bought three or four, and escaped without any pottery.
After a quick stop by an ATM, we headed back to Ikonium, where we were treated to tea, more candy, and as many pictures as our cameras could hold. The girls making the scarves were a little leery of having their pictures taken, but were good-natured all the same. We chatted a bit with Mehmet and Rahdia, who showed us the partially completed sufi hats -- very cool! I desperately wanted to make a scarf, and if we had been spending the night in Konya, I would probably have begged my way into the shop to do just that! Oh well -- when we win the lottery, I'll go back and make a scarf!
We asked the Ikonium people for a good and cheap lokanta (ucuz (ojoos) and nefis (nef-ees)), and they recommended the Damla Restaurant -- I don't know exactly where it is, except for just around the corner from Ikonium, and it has a green and yellow sign. The food was amazing! I had a kuzu something that was very good, but Steve had a local specialty (finir something or other) that was the most tender and tasty mutton. Damn! it was good.
We headed back to the main street and walked back up to Aladdin's Hill. The streets were quiet and a bit eerie. We didn't feel unsafe, exactly, but just a little more aware. The tram came along promptly, and we were pleased to find out that the transit cards we had been given were actually good for two trips! So we got to ride back to the otogar on the same ticket. Yay!
Our bus left at 1:30am and we wanted to make sure we'd be back in plenty of time, so we arrived back at the otogar at about 9:30pm, thinking four hours wasn't too long to wait. We weren't counting on the most rock-hard and horrible of seats, or the slightly creepy guy who stared at me while Steve slept, or the constant smoking by other waiitng people. Well, it wasn't that bad, but the seats were Really Very Uncomftable.
We were entertained by a young man who had done the tour guide training but ended up as a sales person for a company that made... farming equipment? We were tired. He was very happy to practice his English skills and we had a nice chat for a half-hour or so. He told us that when he was in university, sometimes if he was short on money, he'd come and sleep in the otogar as it was warm and safe. He must have a bum of steel! He was waiting for a Sekker Bayrami package to come on the bus from his family; he hoped it was food :-)
At about 1pm, we moved over to the berth the bus was due to come in on. At quarter after, we were approached by a young man in a suit (which means nothing, as even the guy with the dustpan is wearing a suit), who asked us if we were taking the Nevsehir bus to Antalya. We replied yes, and he told us to follow him, which we did. To the other side of the building, then out the building, across the parking lot, across the street... we were getting a little nervous, and he was on his cellphone the whole time, and I occasionally caught the word 'turista', which didn't help my suspicion level.
Fortunately, the bus pulled up on the side of the road a few minutes later: I guess it didn't want to go all the way into the otogar when we were the only passengers. We climbed aboard and into our seats, where we happily fell asleep. We were awakened in the night a few times -- me by feeling something crawling on my shoulder; Steve by something biting his hand three times. We came to the conclusion it must have been either a spider, a wasp or, most likely, a scorpion, but since he crushed it and threw it away, we didn't know. The bites were uncomfortable but not life-threatening (as I'm sure you guessed).
All in all, it was a slightly sucky evening, followed by a more-than-slightly sucky night on the bus, but it was still better than wasting precious waking hours being on a bus. We knew we'd be happy in the morning when we would reach Cirali in time to take a dip in the Mediterranean.
Another chilly morning in Goreme: clear and cold. We woke up early to make sure we'd be at the bus station for our 8am bus and packed up. Our laundry was done, but smelling slightly of Russian tobacco. Still, the 10L seemed well spent, and went directly to the Russian's wife, who also offered us a US dollar if we'd take Pakize, the kitten, with us. Tempting! but customs might not approve... Andor and his wife were to be leaving in November for Japan for a few months, and I hoped the kitten would keep her home (though considering how much the kids loved her, I think she'll be fine).
We watched the balloon parade again... and watched the purple balloon go down in Goreme village... again. We were pretty glad we opted not to take a balloon ride... again!
We made our goodbyes to Kevin, the kitty, Andor and the sleepy Canadians. After a yummy, and early, breakfast, we were a bit surprised that Andor didn't offer us a ride to the bus, considering he had driven the Korean girls down the hill, but oh well. He did tell us that the bus was unlikely to come before 8:15, so we had lots of time to walk. Um, thanks!
We walked into town, faintly disbelieving that we were actually leaving Goreme: we had a lovely time and could easily have stayed another day, so we weren't even worried if we missed our bus. The bus was, however, almost an hour late, so we couldn't have missed it if we tried. We were put on a minibus to Nevsehir and then took the big bus to Konya. Steve was a little alarmed at a tuvalet stop: I had gone to the bathroom, and was met at the door to the washroom by the bus attendent, who hurried me back to the bus. I jumped onto the bus at the back as it started pulling away, only to see Steve standing up saying WAIT my wife! It's ok, I'm here! Once again, we were impressed by the bus service in Turkey: our 4.5 hour bus ride cost 20L each and we were again treated to tea and drinks, cookies and kolonya. What service!
The trip was otherwise uneventful, and arriving in Konya, we headed straight to the Nevsehir counter to buy our tickets to Antalya. The departure time was *shudder* 1:30am! Yuck! Fortunately, there was a rather nifty luggage-leaving place where they stored our bags in a watched room for some 3L per bag.
Light-shouldered and light-hearted, we walked a few hundred metres out of the otogar to the tram station, where we purchased two cards that said '2' on them for two lire each. We weren't quite sure what the ticket-seller meant by them, as we could tell from the transit map in the tram that we got on at the border of one zone to where we wanted to go. Hmmm...
We got off at the last stop, which was Aladdin's Hill, and stepped out into our first big city since Istanbul. Konya has some 600,000 and is noted for being Turkey's "Bible Belt" (um... Koran Belt?) where people are notoriously conservative. The first thing we noticed was that drivers were actually paying attention to traffic lights. Facinating! This must be a conservative city!
Knowing Konya was fairly conservative, I had worn a long-sleeved shirt. I was pleased to see lots of women in tshirts, even some in skirts that came to the knee (though with heavy black tights). The university crowd comes to Alladin's Hill to hang out and picnic, so perhaps that was the prevailing influence.
After a brief stop at a pharmacy (eczane) to get some deoderant and contact lens solution (for 15L!), we decided to get lunch at a 1L tavuk doner stand. Along with some seftali suyu (peach juice) and a small bag of freshly-roasted pistachios, we headed back onto Aladdin's Hill for a picnic ourselves. Aladdin's Hill is a small conical park right in the middle of Konya. The tram comes from the university, past the otogar, and rings the hill before heading back out to the otogar etc. There were paths, and grass, and benches, and some mighty plump-looking pigeons. A young entrepreneur tried to sell us a wilted rose which he had obviously just picked from the flowerbed. We declined.
We had a delicious lunch and felt refreshed after our longish bus ride, and set out on foot to find the market area, the Mevlana Museum and a little felt store called Ikonium.
From where we had gotton on the Hill, I figured we were fairly near the road that we needed to take, so we started walking around the hill. We walked quite a while, but didn't really realize why we weren't finding the road to take until we saw the same mosque... again! We asked a passerby and found out we had actually ringed the hill and were now on the exact opposite side of where we needed to be. *sigh* Fortunately it was a pleasant walk!
The bazaar area was nice, all kinds of winding streets, but I was determined to find the Ikonium store, which the L.P. says is having a new take on the tradition of felt-making. After some getting lost, some asking directions, and some escaping the clutches of the carpet salesman who provided the directions, we found the store. We were greeted by Rahbia, the Argentinian wife of Mehmet, the felt-maker, who showed us the process, the workers, the merchandise and a BIG plate of sekker treats. It was deeply, deeply cool, and we were so pleased we found the place (even Steve, who was a little dubious). Since they were going to be working into the night trying to finish up an order of traditional sufi dervish hats, we decided to leave our purchases (and the snacks) behind, and go to the Mevlana Museum while we could, and then return in the evening to pick up our stuff and hang out some more.
The Museum was only a five-minute walk away, and was flanked by a beautiful mosque. We paid our entrance fee, and were immediately overcome by the loveliness of the courtyard with its ablution fountain, green grass, and slinky kitties. Some of you may recall that we had Helen Tripp, our officient, read a few poems from a medieval Turkish poet, Rumi: Mevlana Celaleddin Rumi was a 13th Century mystic who founded the Sufi (Whirling Dervish) order, as well as being a lovely poet. He lived and died on Konya, which houses his remains and those of his disciples in a complex which contains a shrine, a dervish dance-hall, living quarters, mosque and, since 1927, a museum.
Besides the whole poetry thing, which we found inspiring at our ceremony, Rumi was also an incredibly wise and profound religious leader. You can learn more about Rumi at: http://www.mevlana.net/.
""Come, come again, whoever you are, come!
Heathen, fire worshipper or idolatrous, come!
Come even if you broke your penitence a hundred times,
Ours is the portal of hope, come as you are." Rumi
After taking a number of pictures of the exterior of the 13th C Mevlana Mausoleum with its turquoise-topped minaret, we spurned the blue plastic shoe covers, and opted to take off our sandals before entering the mausoleum. You're not allowed to take pictures inside the museum, which is a shame, as there were many wonderful things to look at. We saw silk-and-silver carpets, silk clothes that actually belonged to Rumi (700 years old!) that were still bright and lusterous, korans of every variety, the tombs of Rumi and his followers... oh, and our guide. No, we didn't enter the museum with a guide, but we ended with one. As we were oohing and aahing over the goodies in the glass cases, a man told us what we were seeing, and then directed us to look at another case, and another... it dawned on Steve and I at the same time that he wasn't a nice guy educating some awestruck tourists: he was just wearing his guide-id badge tucked into his shirt.
We didn't mind too much, though. He was knowledgeable and didn't rush us (except a little at the end).
One of the things that was nice is that he explained the meaning of a little fountain in the front yard: the first ledge symbolizes the person who enters the world alone, then the two ledges are meeting ones' spouse, then three ledges for a spouse and children, then the children leave (two ledges), then your pass out of the world alone. Without him, we thought it was a pretty fountain.
We offered him 10L because it was all that we had! He accepted with good grace and offered to wait for us so he could show us his 'brother's store' where we could buy some postcards (since I had advised that was all we were buying in Konya).
After the tour, we hung around taking some more pictures, and walking around the back of the building, until we were kindly informed by a security guard that the museum closed at 5. We thought it was 5:30 (or at least the L.P. said it was!) so apologized profusely. No wonder the guide was rushing at the end -- the place was closing!
We were led to the brother's store, which principally sold china, like the kind for sale in Avanos. We declined, which forced the owner to dig in a dusty old box, from which he produced a handful of postcards. We bought three or four, and escaped without any pottery.
After a quick stop by an ATM, we headed back to Ikonium, where we were treated to tea, more candy, and as many pictures as our cameras could hold. The girls making the scarves were a little leery of having their pictures taken, but were good-natured all the same. We chatted a bit with Mehmet and Rahdia, who showed us the partially completed sufi hats -- very cool! I desperately wanted to make a scarf, and if we had been spending the night in Konya, I would probably have begged my way into the shop to do just that! Oh well -- when we win the lottery, I'll go back and make a scarf!
We asked the Ikonium people for a good and cheap lokanta (ucuz (ojoos) and nefis (nef-ees)), and they recommended the Damla Restaurant -- I don't know exactly where it is, except for just around the corner from Ikonium, and it has a green and yellow sign. The food was amazing! I had a kuzu something that was very good, but Steve had a local specialty (finir something or other) that was the most tender and tasty mutton. Damn! it was good.
We headed back to the main street and walked back up to Aladdin's Hill. The streets were quiet and a bit eerie. We didn't feel unsafe, exactly, but just a little more aware. The tram came along promptly, and we were pleased to find out that the transit cards we had been given were actually good for two trips! So we got to ride back to the otogar on the same ticket. Yay!
Our bus left at 1:30am and we wanted to make sure we'd be back in plenty of time, so we arrived back at the otogar at about 9:30pm, thinking four hours wasn't too long to wait. We weren't counting on the most rock-hard and horrible of seats, or the slightly creepy guy who stared at me while Steve slept, or the constant smoking by other waiitng people. Well, it wasn't that bad, but the seats were Really Very Uncomftable.
We were entertained by a young man who had done the tour guide training but ended up as a sales person for a company that made... farming equipment? We were tired. He was very happy to practice his English skills and we had a nice chat for a half-hour or so. He told us that when he was in university, sometimes if he was short on money, he'd come and sleep in the otogar as it was warm and safe. He must have a bum of steel! He was waiting for a Sekker Bayrami package to come on the bus from his family; he hoped it was food :-)
At about 1pm, we moved over to the berth the bus was due to come in on. At quarter after, we were approached by a young man in a suit (which means nothing, as even the guy with the dustpan is wearing a suit), who asked us if we were taking the Nevsehir bus to Antalya. We replied yes, and he told us to follow him, which we did. To the other side of the building, then out the building, across the parking lot, across the street... we were getting a little nervous, and he was on his cellphone the whole time, and I occasionally caught the word 'turista', which didn't help my suspicion level.
Fortunately, the bus pulled up on the side of the road a few minutes later: I guess it didn't want to go all the way into the otogar when we were the only passengers. We climbed aboard and into our seats, where we happily fell asleep. We were awakened in the night a few times -- me by feeling something crawling on my shoulder; Steve by something biting his hand three times. We came to the conclusion it must have been either a spider, a wasp or, most likely, a scorpion, but since he crushed it and threw it away, we didn't know. The bites were uncomfortable but not life-threatening (as I'm sure you guessed).
All in all, it was a slightly sucky evening, followed by a more-than-slightly sucky night on the bus, but it was still better than wasting precious waking hours being on a bus. We knew we'd be happy in the morning when we would reach Cirali in time to take a dip in the Mediterranean.
Turkey – Day Nine – Goreme (Tuesday)
October 16, Guzeyurt and Ihlara
We woke up to an overcast but dry day, which was a big relief. We arranged to have our laundry done by the hotel as we wanted clean clothes on our trip to Cirali.
Andor gave us a deal on renting his minivan and driver (we thought we’d get the taciturn Russian but Andor wanted to get away and nap…business stress? He seemed a little frustrated that the Russian just lounged around smoking up the common room.) We recruited Kevin and two shell shocked Vancouverites named James and Jody who had just had a very long overnight bus ride from Istanbul. We handed them our L.P. to read up on their surprise excursion. Their eyes bugged when they read 16 kilometre hike! but we reassured them that we'd only be doing a few of those kilometres!
We first arranged to stop in the village of Guzelyurt which is a few kilometres away from Ihlara. The weather was partly cloudy, but it was warm, and the village itself was lovely. We bought a ticked for 5L each, which also got us into an underground city! It was not even a little bit developed, and had no 'this way out' signs, but was actually much cooler than Kaymakli. We wandered around there for a while, geting lost and found, and enjoyed having more light (it was less claustrophobic).
Only a few hundred metres away was the incredibly beautiful Church of St. Gregory, which had been transformed into a mosque which was still in use. The mosque was serene and beautiful, full of light and peace. The mihrab was lovely, as was the gate by which you entered the courtyard. What a perfect spot!
On the way out, a woman drove a few cows down the road, all of whom looked at us with some curiousity.
The drive to Ihlara was stunning: the clouds were dark and dramatic, and broken up by shafts of sunlight. The distant mountains had snow to their knees.
We descended into the valley, a knife-edged slice into the rolling prairie, along a twisting road. Steve and I had wanted to start at the village, where you can apparently slide into the valley from behind a hotel, but Andor said it was much better to begin at the tourist entrance at the top of the cliffs. Since the Canadians looked tired, we aquiesed.
The L.P. describes the entrace (the cost of which was included in our Guzelyurt ticket; we showed our ticked and were allowed through) to the Ihalra Valley as 300 knee-jarrig steps. There were 300 all right, but not very knee-jarring from our perspective. The Ihlara Valley has many rock-cut churches and at one time also supported a number of monestaries. The fertile river bottom was a great place for agriculture to support the monastaries, and it would have been virtually invisible from the prairie hills until you were right on top of it. The few churches we went into were very lovely, and the cliffs along the fairly gentle walk on the valley bottom were dramatic and stunning.
It was nice to see the valley was still being used for agriculture: we found pistachio nuts on the ground under trees, and there was evidence of all kinds of farming (including donkey poop on the pathway). There were all sorts of birds in the trees, and the air was full of song. The trees themselves were sometimes funny shapes: Kevin said the farmers would trim the new branches and store them as winter fodder in the remaining tree branches.
We ran into Adil, who was leading another group on the trail. He called out and greeted us, which was very nice. He looked like he was having a good time, and certainly had a much larger group than last time!
Kevin had brought along some pomegranates (naf, in Turkish, though often referred to as 'grenades' which you can kind of understand). We all shared in the pomegranates along the trail. By then it was sunny and almost hot, and the sun on the trees and water of the little creek was just lovely. We were so pleased we had decided to take this trip and Kevin too was glad that he had stuck around. The Canadians looked stunned but happy, and you can't ask for more after a bus trip of their magnitude. We relaxed in the sun and mostly gave up on scrambling up to the churches in favour of a leisurely walk along the river.
We met up with Andor at the Belisirma Village, where he took us to the Aslan Restaurant (literally, Lion Restaurant, which gave us nice Narnia frissons) for a fairly touristy but tasty lunch. Steve had a chicken casserole, and I had lamb, but we both eyed Kevin's yummy-looking trout. Must remember: balik for fish!
Andor had planned on having a good nap here, but was apparently too busy socializing. He looked happy.
Next stop was the rock-cut monestary at Selime (Sel-eem-ay). This too was included in our ticket to Guzelyurt. We walked up some stone ramps into a warren of caves that reminded us of Swiss cheese. I'm not a fan of the holey cheese, which may be why I found myself looking for a tuvelet. There was none at the monestary, so I walked down the road looking for Andor and the van to take me to a bathroom. He wasn't where he said he'd be waiting (maybe I was early?) so I asked a nice-looking boy in a school uniform if there was a bathroom I could use (thank goodness for a few words of Turkish: nerideh tuvalet, lutfen?). I was led to the school's bathroom, though it looked like school was out for the day. The squat toilet was clean enough, and fortunately I brought my own TP (you buy it in little pink scented packs like how we buy portable kleenex), but I found out that the water was turned off when school closed. That made flushing a little difficult! but I made do with the trickle that was still coming out of the tap.
I could hear the growing sounds of kids outside the bathroom building, and I decided to arm myself with a number of Canada flag pins to reward my rescuers. Not surprisingly, the one kid had told all his friends about the tourista in the tuvalet, and I was greeted by about five kids outside the bathroom. As I was handing out pins, another few came. I had thought it would be a nice genteel gift-giving, but these kids were monsters! They opened my hands to pry pins out, even the ones who already got a pin. Fortunately, Andor drove up just as Steve was walking down the road towards me. My saviours! I fled into the van, away from the piranhas. Apparently James had seen the kids milling around me and had told Steve I was in trouble... he didn't believe it, and I wasn't really, but those kids were overwhelming.
As the other people trickled into the van, Andor turned around to head back to Goreme. After traveling a hundred metres down the road, he stopped the van, got out, and pried a kid off the back bumper. After that, we were able to get on the road again. The drive back to Goreme was nice: we passed a few places we had seen on our previous tours, and were starting to get the lay of the land. The slanting sun on the snowy mountains and golden rolling hills was just beautiful.
We all agreed to pay Andor an extra 5L each as a tip, over and above the 25L per person which made up the 125L charge to have him drive us around all day. This compared pretty favourably to the 70L to rent the car plus 40L in gas to drive that distance. Gas is expensive in Turkey: some 2.8L per LITRE.
Steve and Kevin hiked up to Sunset Point on the cliff's edge, while I hung out on the internet in the nice warm common room (and had Pakize walk on the keyboard). While we were away, the Russian had hooked up a tiny wood stove and its chimney, which made everything quite cosy. To our dismany, the heat was not yet on, and didn't look to be on by nightfall. When we inquired about our laundry, we found out it hadn't dried in the intermittent sunshine. As we were leaving for dinner at Dibek, the Russian's wife was spreading it around the common area near the stove to dry. We decided not to be embarassed about having our damp undies on display and headed off for dinner.
Before dinner, we stopped by the Nevsihir bus company to buy our 8:30am ticket to Konya. After much discussion, we had decided to spend the afternoon in Konya and then take a night bus to Antalya, rather than having eight hours of travel during the day. It was sad to think about leaving Cappadocia, but exciting to be on the move again.
At Dibek, we were shown to an upstairs room which ended up being our own personal dining room: it was lovely and romantic, but we were left alone to the point where we thought we might have been forgotten! The claypot dinner was just amazing, and this time the pot was actually broken to get dinner out. The mezes were delicious, and Steve tried some raki. Raki is a liquor like ouzo (meaning liquorice flavoured and just as gross) and Steve learned quickly that water is required as a raki mixer.
On the way out, we saw the tired Canadians settled down for dinner where we ate last night. We wished a little that we had been out in the main area and socializing, but having dinner in a private room of a 400 year old converted stone house isn't exactly shabby, either.
The walk back up the hill to the Panorama Hotel was a little on the chilly side, but there was no rain. We pet Pakize a few more times and watched the Russian imbue our laundry with the fine aroma of cigarettes. Oh well.
We woke up to an overcast but dry day, which was a big relief. We arranged to have our laundry done by the hotel as we wanted clean clothes on our trip to Cirali.
Andor gave us a deal on renting his minivan and driver (we thought we’d get the taciturn Russian but Andor wanted to get away and nap…business stress? He seemed a little frustrated that the Russian just lounged around smoking up the common room.) We recruited Kevin and two shell shocked Vancouverites named James and Jody who had just had a very long overnight bus ride from Istanbul. We handed them our L.P. to read up on their surprise excursion. Their eyes bugged when they read 16 kilometre hike! but we reassured them that we'd only be doing a few of those kilometres!
We first arranged to stop in the village of Guzelyurt which is a few kilometres away from Ihlara. The weather was partly cloudy, but it was warm, and the village itself was lovely. We bought a ticked for 5L each, which also got us into an underground city! It was not even a little bit developed, and had no 'this way out' signs, but was actually much cooler than Kaymakli. We wandered around there for a while, geting lost and found, and enjoyed having more light (it was less claustrophobic).
Only a few hundred metres away was the incredibly beautiful Church of St. Gregory, which had been transformed into a mosque which was still in use. The mosque was serene and beautiful, full of light and peace. The mihrab was lovely, as was the gate by which you entered the courtyard. What a perfect spot!
On the way out, a woman drove a few cows down the road, all of whom looked at us with some curiousity.
The drive to Ihlara was stunning: the clouds were dark and dramatic, and broken up by shafts of sunlight. The distant mountains had snow to their knees.
We descended into the valley, a knife-edged slice into the rolling prairie, along a twisting road. Steve and I had wanted to start at the village, where you can apparently slide into the valley from behind a hotel, but Andor said it was much better to begin at the tourist entrance at the top of the cliffs. Since the Canadians looked tired, we aquiesed.
The L.P. describes the entrace (the cost of which was included in our Guzelyurt ticket; we showed our ticked and were allowed through) to the Ihalra Valley as 300 knee-jarrig steps. There were 300 all right, but not very knee-jarring from our perspective. The Ihlara Valley has many rock-cut churches and at one time also supported a number of monestaries. The fertile river bottom was a great place for agriculture to support the monastaries, and it would have been virtually invisible from the prairie hills until you were right on top of it. The few churches we went into were very lovely, and the cliffs along the fairly gentle walk on the valley bottom were dramatic and stunning.
It was nice to see the valley was still being used for agriculture: we found pistachio nuts on the ground under trees, and there was evidence of all kinds of farming (including donkey poop on the pathway). There were all sorts of birds in the trees, and the air was full of song. The trees themselves were sometimes funny shapes: Kevin said the farmers would trim the new branches and store them as winter fodder in the remaining tree branches.
We ran into Adil, who was leading another group on the trail. He called out and greeted us, which was very nice. He looked like he was having a good time, and certainly had a much larger group than last time!
Kevin had brought along some pomegranates (naf, in Turkish, though often referred to as 'grenades' which you can kind of understand). We all shared in the pomegranates along the trail. By then it was sunny and almost hot, and the sun on the trees and water of the little creek was just lovely. We were so pleased we had decided to take this trip and Kevin too was glad that he had stuck around. The Canadians looked stunned but happy, and you can't ask for more after a bus trip of their magnitude. We relaxed in the sun and mostly gave up on scrambling up to the churches in favour of a leisurely walk along the river.
We met up with Andor at the Belisirma Village, where he took us to the Aslan Restaurant (literally, Lion Restaurant, which gave us nice Narnia frissons) for a fairly touristy but tasty lunch. Steve had a chicken casserole, and I had lamb, but we both eyed Kevin's yummy-looking trout. Must remember: balik for fish!
Andor had planned on having a good nap here, but was apparently too busy socializing. He looked happy.
Next stop was the rock-cut monestary at Selime (Sel-eem-ay). This too was included in our ticket to Guzelyurt. We walked up some stone ramps into a warren of caves that reminded us of Swiss cheese. I'm not a fan of the holey cheese, which may be why I found myself looking for a tuvelet. There was none at the monestary, so I walked down the road looking for Andor and the van to take me to a bathroom. He wasn't where he said he'd be waiting (maybe I was early?) so I asked a nice-looking boy in a school uniform if there was a bathroom I could use (thank goodness for a few words of Turkish: nerideh tuvalet, lutfen?). I was led to the school's bathroom, though it looked like school was out for the day. The squat toilet was clean enough, and fortunately I brought my own TP (you buy it in little pink scented packs like how we buy portable kleenex), but I found out that the water was turned off when school closed. That made flushing a little difficult! but I made do with the trickle that was still coming out of the tap.
I could hear the growing sounds of kids outside the bathroom building, and I decided to arm myself with a number of Canada flag pins to reward my rescuers. Not surprisingly, the one kid had told all his friends about the tourista in the tuvalet, and I was greeted by about five kids outside the bathroom. As I was handing out pins, another few came. I had thought it would be a nice genteel gift-giving, but these kids were monsters! They opened my hands to pry pins out, even the ones who already got a pin. Fortunately, Andor drove up just as Steve was walking down the road towards me. My saviours! I fled into the van, away from the piranhas. Apparently James had seen the kids milling around me and had told Steve I was in trouble... he didn't believe it, and I wasn't really, but those kids were overwhelming.
As the other people trickled into the van, Andor turned around to head back to Goreme. After traveling a hundred metres down the road, he stopped the van, got out, and pried a kid off the back bumper. After that, we were able to get on the road again. The drive back to Goreme was nice: we passed a few places we had seen on our previous tours, and were starting to get the lay of the land. The slanting sun on the snowy mountains and golden rolling hills was just beautiful.
We all agreed to pay Andor an extra 5L each as a tip, over and above the 25L per person which made up the 125L charge to have him drive us around all day. This compared pretty favourably to the 70L to rent the car plus 40L in gas to drive that distance. Gas is expensive in Turkey: some 2.8L per LITRE.
Steve and Kevin hiked up to Sunset Point on the cliff's edge, while I hung out on the internet in the nice warm common room (and had Pakize walk on the keyboard). While we were away, the Russian had hooked up a tiny wood stove and its chimney, which made everything quite cosy. To our dismany, the heat was not yet on, and didn't look to be on by nightfall. When we inquired about our laundry, we found out it hadn't dried in the intermittent sunshine. As we were leaving for dinner at Dibek, the Russian's wife was spreading it around the common area near the stove to dry. We decided not to be embarassed about having our damp undies on display and headed off for dinner.
Before dinner, we stopped by the Nevsihir bus company to buy our 8:30am ticket to Konya. After much discussion, we had decided to spend the afternoon in Konya and then take a night bus to Antalya, rather than having eight hours of travel during the day. It was sad to think about leaving Cappadocia, but exciting to be on the move again.
At Dibek, we were shown to an upstairs room which ended up being our own personal dining room: it was lovely and romantic, but we were left alone to the point where we thought we might have been forgotten! The claypot dinner was just amazing, and this time the pot was actually broken to get dinner out. The mezes were delicious, and Steve tried some raki. Raki is a liquor like ouzo (meaning liquorice flavoured and just as gross) and Steve learned quickly that water is required as a raki mixer.
On the way out, we saw the tired Canadians settled down for dinner where we ate last night. We wished a little that we had been out in the main area and socializing, but having dinner in a private room of a 400 year old converted stone house isn't exactly shabby, either.
The walk back up the hill to the Panorama Hotel was a little on the chilly side, but there was no rain. We pet Pakize a few more times and watched the Russian imbue our laundry with the fine aroma of cigarettes. Oh well.
Turkey – Day Eight – Goreme (Monday)
This is the Monday, the 15th of October. We've been in Turkey for a week.
We woke up at a reasonable hour to NO kitty surprises, which was nice! Pakuze is a sweet, sweet kitty and, as Lisa from Barrie, ON, stated: "I'd pick her out of a litter." We're so glad she's found a home.
We ate inside as the weather was cold: rainy and unsettled. I sent an email to the Rock Valley people as I had exchanged emails with Jody about possibly going horseback riding, but today wasn't exactly shaping up to be a good day. Steve was hoping to hike the Rose Valley, which was apparently spectacular with pink-tinted rocks, but it wasn't exactly shaping up for that, either.
We had a chat with Kevin, the nice Australian man. We had discussed renting a car to go to the Ihlara Valley, as he wanted to see it too, but now he was considering taking off the next day like Lisa had. We decided to look more into prices of hiring a driver, as I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to drive myself if Kevin was leaving. After a leisurely morning of chatting and cuddling the kadi, it was time to bite the bullet and, wearing every piece of clothing we brought, we left the pension under a threatening sky to go back to the Goreme Open Air Museum. We were hoping that the wet weather and the Monday would keep most of the tourists away (funny how we didn't think of ourselves as tourists!).
On our way down through the village, we stopped in at a little shop to buy some visne and su, and as usual, thanked the shopkeeper in Turkish. He asked us where we were from, in very broken English, and we said "Kanada". He told us his son was in Australian, and when Steve said he had been to Australia, we found ourselves whisked into his back room, seated at a table, and a photo album of his son's recent trip to Australia was placed in front of us, along with steaming glasses of tea! The man explained that his son, Ali, had gone to Australia and was now engaged to an Australian woman. He was so proud! It was very sweet, and the tea was lovely and warm in the cold weather.
Shivering in our sandals, we headed out on the road that leads the kilometre to the Open Air Museum. Kilometres in Turkey seem much longer than Canadian kilometres! We passed one area with a HUGE puddle, and realized a bus was bearing down on the puddle, threatening to swamp us. We were running out of the danger zone when the bus driver passed us very slowly and carefully in order to avoid watery displacement -- so kind! He was laughing at us while he did it, but at least we weren't wet.
The museum was much, much less crowded than yesterday. After paying our 10L each, we went in the opposite order from the tour by walking up some stairs to the left upon entry. There was a cute little dog curled up under a bush next to a church and Steve mentioned to me that he wondered what the Turkish word for 'dog' was. A woman just above us told her husband to tell us the word: kÖpek, pronounced 'kerpek'. Awww, cute little kopek!
We went first into the Sandal Church which had been an absolute zoo on the tour. This time, we had it all to ourselves and had lots of opportunity to take photos of the amazing frescos.
From the top of the site, we enjoyed looking out over the little valley all shrouded and magical in the mist and rain. The demeanor of both valley and tourists was hushed and reverent.
Next we went to the Dark Church, which has an additional 10L each fee to get in. We had declined to go in during the tour, due to the likely overcrowded-ness of it, but Adil had mentioned specifically that it was worth it to go back and look at it. You enter through a rather nice set of stairs onto a little raised courtyard, where you pay, and then go through a steepish ramp/steps up into the rock. The Dark Church isn't called such because of any scary elements; rather, the single window made it a dark place. The darkness saved the incredibly bright and beautiful 11th C frescoes from both the degredation of sunlight and the predations of bored shepherds with pointy sticks. The place is deeply magical and we were so fortunate that we had it to ourselves for over 20 minutes straight, before other intrepid pilgrims came to wonder at the pictures. Every dome, arch and surface is covered in bright and vibrant paintings.
When and if you go to Goreme, go to the Dark Church. It is completely worth the extra lira.
We eventually left the Dark Church to look at the other churches we had previously seen. It was nice to have the time to take pictures at our leisure, though some of the guides looked a little sniffy when they thought we were listening to their tours. As the weather disimproved, we thought we'd go while the going was good.
I didn't even take the time to use the museum washrooms... on the Saturday, I had stood in line for the lady's (bayanlar) tuvalet only to find out that the lineup was only for the sit-down toilets. There was a whole busload of English ladies who were more willing to stand in line to sit down, rather than use the squat toilets! I had come out of the bathroom shaking my head over this, much the amusement of the rest of the group.
As we were running the gauntlet of tourist shops in the beginnings of the deluge, crazy Japanase tourists were being convinced to buy and eat ice-cream (dondurma) in the freezing rain.
In the space of 30 feet of tourist shops, we decided to stop in a little cafe for some gozleme (Turkish filled crepes) and wait for the rain to pass. We were delighted to find not only cheap, tasty gozleme, but a red-hot space heater pumping out the BTUs. We ate gozleme after gozleme, and drank tea after tea, waiting for the weather to turn. It didn't.
Some Russian tourists came by and parked themselves in front of the heater, so it was time to go. We raced back to Goreme through what I'm sure was sleet. We were freezing cold and soaked to the skin -- bah, humbug! I knew the cave would be cool, so passing through Goreme village, I stopped at a number of shops to look for a wool blanket. They had wool pashminas a-plenty, but the 'wool' blankets and ponchos we were shown were definitely acrylic. We declined, and headed back to the pension.
On the upside, the common room in the pension also had a glowing space-heater; on the downside, the room was chilly. We were advised by Andor that the heating guy hadn't come today, but hopefully tomorrow. We asked for an extra blanket and fresh (dry) towels, which we were given. We curled up in bed, trying to keep warm and hoping our soaked clothes might dry before we left Wednesday morning.
After warming up and getting a bit dry, the weather looked like it was improving, so we headed back down the hill to a L.P. recommended restaurant, Dibek. The cobbles were wet and shiny, and everything was very picturesque in the mist. Too bad we could see our breath, and wearing sandals at the same time!
In Dibek, we were seated on cushions on the floor around a low table. It was remarkably comfortable, and lovely music was playing from a... computer! Like most places we had been so far, the public areas in hotels and cafes were often the family's private area as well, so there was a tv in the corner as well. This seems like a sensible idea, as it cuts down on the need for separate living and shop/restaurant space. In our land-hungry Vancouver, I wish more people did this.
Dinner was amazing: I had a lamb shish (kuzu sis) and Steve had a lamb casserole that was absolutely divine! We had an amusing incident: I had ordered our dinner in Turkish with no problems, but a woman who had just sat down across the room was very excited and asked me, as I spoke Turkish (?!), to translate a letter for her! I had to politely tell her that no, I didn't speak Turkish, what you heard was pretty much the extent of it... It was flattering -- apparently my accent is pretty good :-) This woman, from Ottawa, had done a trip in Turkey with friends a few years ago, and was taking her husband now on the Exact Same Tour. Same hotels, same restaurants -- same trip. Bizarre!
Dinner was awesome, even the baklava that Steve ordered (too sweet for me, I'm afraid).
Before leaving, we made a reservation for tomorrow night including ordering claypot casserole, which has to be ordered at least four hours in advance. Mmmmm! Dibek is very nice: highly recommended!
We headed back up to the pension and hung out in front of the heater for as long as possible before heading to our cold bed. We had nice chats with Kevin and Andor, who convinced Steve to play his guitar again. Too bad Andor likes classic rock best, but has a classical guitar! Steve pulled out some Lynyrd Skynyrd (I think) which was a crowdpleaser. Andor offered us a good deal on a driver and van (his van, the Russian as driver) that was about the same price as renting a car + gas. Kevin was still thinking of leaving the next day due to the weather, but thought he might come. We decided to decide tomorrow and headed to bed.
We woke up at a reasonable hour to NO kitty surprises, which was nice! Pakuze is a sweet, sweet kitty and, as Lisa from Barrie, ON, stated: "I'd pick her out of a litter." We're so glad she's found a home.
We ate inside as the weather was cold: rainy and unsettled. I sent an email to the Rock Valley people as I had exchanged emails with Jody about possibly going horseback riding, but today wasn't exactly shaping up to be a good day. Steve was hoping to hike the Rose Valley, which was apparently spectacular with pink-tinted rocks, but it wasn't exactly shaping up for that, either.
We had a chat with Kevin, the nice Australian man. We had discussed renting a car to go to the Ihlara Valley, as he wanted to see it too, but now he was considering taking off the next day like Lisa had. We decided to look more into prices of hiring a driver, as I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to drive myself if Kevin was leaving. After a leisurely morning of chatting and cuddling the kadi, it was time to bite the bullet and, wearing every piece of clothing we brought, we left the pension under a threatening sky to go back to the Goreme Open Air Museum. We were hoping that the wet weather and the Monday would keep most of the tourists away (funny how we didn't think of ourselves as tourists!).
On our way down through the village, we stopped in at a little shop to buy some visne and su, and as usual, thanked the shopkeeper in Turkish. He asked us where we were from, in very broken English, and we said "Kanada". He told us his son was in Australian, and when Steve said he had been to Australia, we found ourselves whisked into his back room, seated at a table, and a photo album of his son's recent trip to Australia was placed in front of us, along with steaming glasses of tea! The man explained that his son, Ali, had gone to Australia and was now engaged to an Australian woman. He was so proud! It was very sweet, and the tea was lovely and warm in the cold weather.
Shivering in our sandals, we headed out on the road that leads the kilometre to the Open Air Museum. Kilometres in Turkey seem much longer than Canadian kilometres! We passed one area with a HUGE puddle, and realized a bus was bearing down on the puddle, threatening to swamp us. We were running out of the danger zone when the bus driver passed us very slowly and carefully in order to avoid watery displacement -- so kind! He was laughing at us while he did it, but at least we weren't wet.
The museum was much, much less crowded than yesterday. After paying our 10L each, we went in the opposite order from the tour by walking up some stairs to the left upon entry. There was a cute little dog curled up under a bush next to a church and Steve mentioned to me that he wondered what the Turkish word for 'dog' was. A woman just above us told her husband to tell us the word: kÖpek, pronounced 'kerpek'. Awww, cute little kopek!
We went first into the Sandal Church which had been an absolute zoo on the tour. This time, we had it all to ourselves and had lots of opportunity to take photos of the amazing frescos.
From the top of the site, we enjoyed looking out over the little valley all shrouded and magical in the mist and rain. The demeanor of both valley and tourists was hushed and reverent.
Next we went to the Dark Church, which has an additional 10L each fee to get in. We had declined to go in during the tour, due to the likely overcrowded-ness of it, but Adil had mentioned specifically that it was worth it to go back and look at it. You enter through a rather nice set of stairs onto a little raised courtyard, where you pay, and then go through a steepish ramp/steps up into the rock. The Dark Church isn't called such because of any scary elements; rather, the single window made it a dark place. The darkness saved the incredibly bright and beautiful 11th C frescoes from both the degredation of sunlight and the predations of bored shepherds with pointy sticks. The place is deeply magical and we were so fortunate that we had it to ourselves for over 20 minutes straight, before other intrepid pilgrims came to wonder at the pictures. Every dome, arch and surface is covered in bright and vibrant paintings.
When and if you go to Goreme, go to the Dark Church. It is completely worth the extra lira.
We eventually left the Dark Church to look at the other churches we had previously seen. It was nice to have the time to take pictures at our leisure, though some of the guides looked a little sniffy when they thought we were listening to their tours. As the weather disimproved, we thought we'd go while the going was good.
I didn't even take the time to use the museum washrooms... on the Saturday, I had stood in line for the lady's (bayanlar) tuvalet only to find out that the lineup was only for the sit-down toilets. There was a whole busload of English ladies who were more willing to stand in line to sit down, rather than use the squat toilets! I had come out of the bathroom shaking my head over this, much the amusement of the rest of the group.
As we were running the gauntlet of tourist shops in the beginnings of the deluge, crazy Japanase tourists were being convinced to buy and eat ice-cream (dondurma) in the freezing rain.
In the space of 30 feet of tourist shops, we decided to stop in a little cafe for some gozleme (Turkish filled crepes) and wait for the rain to pass. We were delighted to find not only cheap, tasty gozleme, but a red-hot space heater pumping out the BTUs. We ate gozleme after gozleme, and drank tea after tea, waiting for the weather to turn. It didn't.
Some Russian tourists came by and parked themselves in front of the heater, so it was time to go. We raced back to Goreme through what I'm sure was sleet. We were freezing cold and soaked to the skin -- bah, humbug! I knew the cave would be cool, so passing through Goreme village, I stopped at a number of shops to look for a wool blanket. They had wool pashminas a-plenty, but the 'wool' blankets and ponchos we were shown were definitely acrylic. We declined, and headed back to the pension.
On the upside, the common room in the pension also had a glowing space-heater; on the downside, the room was chilly. We were advised by Andor that the heating guy hadn't come today, but hopefully tomorrow. We asked for an extra blanket and fresh (dry) towels, which we were given. We curled up in bed, trying to keep warm and hoping our soaked clothes might dry before we left Wednesday morning.
After warming up and getting a bit dry, the weather looked like it was improving, so we headed back down the hill to a L.P. recommended restaurant, Dibek. The cobbles were wet and shiny, and everything was very picturesque in the mist. Too bad we could see our breath, and wearing sandals at the same time!
In Dibek, we were seated on cushions on the floor around a low table. It was remarkably comfortable, and lovely music was playing from a... computer! Like most places we had been so far, the public areas in hotels and cafes were often the family's private area as well, so there was a tv in the corner as well. This seems like a sensible idea, as it cuts down on the need for separate living and shop/restaurant space. In our land-hungry Vancouver, I wish more people did this.
Dinner was amazing: I had a lamb shish (kuzu sis) and Steve had a lamb casserole that was absolutely divine! We had an amusing incident: I had ordered our dinner in Turkish with no problems, but a woman who had just sat down across the room was very excited and asked me, as I spoke Turkish (?!), to translate a letter for her! I had to politely tell her that no, I didn't speak Turkish, what you heard was pretty much the extent of it... It was flattering -- apparently my accent is pretty good :-) This woman, from Ottawa, had done a trip in Turkey with friends a few years ago, and was taking her husband now on the Exact Same Tour. Same hotels, same restaurants -- same trip. Bizarre!
Dinner was awesome, even the baklava that Steve ordered (too sweet for me, I'm afraid).
Before leaving, we made a reservation for tomorrow night including ordering claypot casserole, which has to be ordered at least four hours in advance. Mmmmm! Dibek is very nice: highly recommended!
We headed back up to the pension and hung out in front of the heater for as long as possible before heading to our cold bed. We had nice chats with Kevin and Andor, who convinced Steve to play his guitar again. Too bad Andor likes classic rock best, but has a classical guitar! Steve pulled out some Lynyrd Skynyrd (I think) which was a crowdpleaser. Andor offered us a good deal on a driver and van (his van, the Russian as driver) that was about the same price as renting a car + gas. Kevin was still thinking of leaving the next day due to the weather, but thought he might come. We decided to decide tomorrow and headed to bed.
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