A typical street/sky scene in historical Malta.

I arrived Saturday mid-afternoon and headed down to Avis to claim my vehicle. Little did I know that as a former British Commonwealth nation, Malta follows the British system of roundabouts and driving on the left side of the road. ARAUGHHH!!!! It took me a while to get the hang of it, but I did OK—until I couldn’t find my hotel. I was poking around some back streets when I heard a MAJOR crunch on the passenger side of my car. Shaking, I parked just ahead to check the damage. The other car was fine, but mine had a black scrape down the entire side of the car from their side mirror. Oh, my GOD! Fortunately, I’d sprung for the insurance. I stepped into a nearby hotel for directions, only to learn that Club Riza was just around the corner. I inched my little Huyundai around the block and parked it—gingerly.

I’m staying in a little studio apartment that’s actually very sweet. It has a Murphy bed, so it feels like a living room as soon as I tuck the bed away into the wall.

I headed out for a walk to calm my nerves, and I came across a falconer training a very stubborn falcon. It was fun to watch, and I couldn’t help but think of the Maltese Falcon by Dashiell Hammett. Apparently when the island was ceded to the Knights of Malta, the Spanish emperor required the payment of a single Maltese falcon each year in rent. It’s said that Malta’s peregrine falcons were known as the world’s finest. Interesting.

The errant Maltese falcon…

and its frustrated falconer

I’ve enjoyed discovering the history of this 17-mile long mid-Mediterranean island. It’s 60 miles south of Sicily, a strategic outpost for whoever happened to control it at any given time (Greeks, Romans, Arabs, French, Brits, Italians…). The island has been under seige for much of its history, so the shoreline is dominated by either cliffs or fortresses, both of which are awe-inspiring. The Knights St. John moved to Malta from Rhodes in 1530 after that island was overtaken by the Ottomans. Later known as the Knights of Malta, they defended their island country from attack for many years.

The fortresses along the harbor in Valetta

As a Roman Catholic country, Malta boasts countless breathtaking cathedrals and basilicas (what’s the difference, by the way?), especially when its population doesn’t even reach 400,000. Ask me how many church photos I have. (A lot.)

A church facade in Valetta, Malta

The interior of St. George’s Basilica in Victoria, Gozo.

Beyond that, Malta has a few unique architectural features that fascinated me. I immediately noticed their wooden balconies, probably because they resemble those of Turkish Ottoman houses. Not surprisingly, both come from the same Arabic influence, originally intended to allow the harem (women) to see what was going on in the street without being seen uncovered. One guide told us that they didn’t originally have windows, and that the women watched the street through little peepholes in the floor.  In Malta these balconies are historically protected, with government funding for upkeep and renovation. Most of them are dark green, though some are other colors.

Typical balconies in Malta old towns–these in Valetta.

A street scene in Vittoriosa, Malta

A mix of balconies in Senglea, Malta

I’ve also enjoyed the doors. Because most of the buildings are made of limestone (Malta is mainly limestone), doors are the only colorful features on many of the homes. Some have beautiful door-knockers, often golden fish. This is new to me, and striking (pardon the pun).

A Valetta door knocker

a brilliant door in the back streets of Vittoriosa

A Vittoriosa wine bar–closed for the afternoon. Sigh…

It’s also common to see a religious icon next to a door—a frieze, sculpture, or painting, often of the Virgin Mary or Saint Lawrence.

“Our Lady of the Grotto”

a clear message to all who enter

I think this doorside miniature is porcelain—Vittorioso, Malta.

Statues of saints also grace the cornerstones of many of Malta’s buildings. The deep faith of the Maltese is evident in nearly every neighborhood.

These icons appear on corners of churches and other buildings.

The light bulbs add a nice touch…

…and it gets even worse.

On my trip to Gozo (a small island north of Malta’s main island), I enjoyed exploring some of the island’s physical features, including an inland sea and the stunning Azur Window, a stone archway to the sea.

Me at the Azur Window on Goza

Another solo traveler and I hiked up a bluff overlooking the sea above a little fishing village where we’d had lunch. Speaking of lunch—the food here has been a disappointment. Because they cater to British tourists, and perhaps because of their British heritage, my meals have consisted of fairly tasteless meat and overcooked veggies. Oh—except for a wonderful salad plate of thinly-sliced smoked salmon, tuna, and cod. There’s always hope.

Heading up the bluff after lunch

The people here have been kind and welcoming, but in spite of that I’ve been a bit lonesome. On my first day I drove into Valetta to tour on my own, and two very kind older men chatted with me for a while, but that was it. The next day I took a bus tour of the northern half of the island and joined a young couple for lunch, which was nice, but I was the “odd woman out” with all the couples. Sigh…

On the Gozo tour I palled around with another single traveler, a young Polish woman working in London. Natalia and I are both avid photographers, so our pace was compatible. I picked her up the next day to explore the three ancient cities of Malta . After lunch we hopped on a little Malta boat with Captain Joey for a tour of the harbor, then hiked back to my car from the other side. It was nice to share the adventure, nice to finally find a friend.

The harbor cruise ‘vessel’

…and a typical Malta fishing boat.

All eyes and ears on the Grand Harbor, Malta.

I’m not sure I’d choose to vacation alone again, though—I think I’m just too darned social.

But Malta? It’s lovely. If you like sunshine and history, I highly recommend it. Even in November. I’d probably forego the car rental, though.

Oh—good news. The black scrape dissolved right off the side of the car with a little solvent. WHEW! There’s a bit of a dent in the door, but nothing like it seemed …

We met at Sabiha airport on Saturday morning for the 1 ½ hour flight, rented a car at the airport, and headed out. Though I expected a small city, Erzurum has a third of a million people.

We had a bit of a problem finding our way, although we knew the street we wanted. For some reason Erzurum doesn’t have street signs. When I asked a policeman for directions, he obliged us by putting on the flashers on and leading us through the city right to our hotel. Talk about Turkish hospitality.

The Kral Hotel lobby looked a bit dingy, but their renovated Selcuk rooms sparkled. After settling in and having a cup of tea with the clerk, we headed out to explore. Our first site was the Yakut Seminary (built in 1310), presently under renovation. Its tall minaret dominated the scene with brick and turquoise decorations and cone-shaped roof, typical of much of the architecture we saw that day.

Yakut Seminary Minaret

We wandered in and out of a few spots before our destination: the Çifte Minareli Medrese, or Twin Minaret Seminary. This lovely edifice, built in 1253, is the focal point of Erzurum. Although it was closed, a man outside beckoned us in, explaining some of the details of the interior stone decorations. He was interesting, and fiercely proud of the city’s historical buildings.

Twin Minaret Seminary

Close up on one of the Twin Minarets

Tomb of Huant Hatun

He also walked us up to see the Üç Kümbetler, the Three Tombs. These were Saltuk and Seljuk tombs, again with conical roofs and side panels. Built before 1200, they were quite impressive. Two little boys cavorted inside the gates, which were locked. Of course, our friend brought us to his rug shop to show us his wares—should have figured. I didn’t succumb, though.

We ate at the Güzelyurt (yes, yurt) Restaurant, and we agreed that we had the best soup we’d ever eaten. GREAT food.

Saturday morning we woke to no electricity—or hot water. Sigh… Luckily, the lobby had gas-heated hot water for my French press. We reveled in our morning coffee as we waited for lights, which came before our cups were drained.
We headed out in the drizzle, hoping for blue sky. The highway wasn’t busy—except for a few cows on the highway.

Our first Georgian church was the Haho Monastery. Don’t ask me where they got that name, but it made for great jokes. The monastery, built at the end of the 10th century, was impressive. Its heavy rock construction was adorned with both colored stone and intricate carving. The insides were a bit of a shambles, but after 1000 years, who wouldn’t be? I was surprised to again see the cone-shaped roof on a conical dome. Very different from what we’re used to. Imagine—these were built during Europe’s Dark Ages.

Haho Monastery

Haho Monastery side window

Our second church was called Ösk Vank, a taller church with, once again, a conical dome. It was built at the end of the 10th century, dedicated to John the Baptist. Stepping inside, the high vaulted ceiling drew our eyes up. This church had more ornate carvings than Haho, and we saw the remains of religious frescoes high on the walls. Just think—1000 years old!

Ösk Vank exterior

Ösk Vank interior dome

Ösk Vank viewed from below

Our next stop was at Tortum Göl (lake) for a lunch of fresh trout and salad. It’s all they offer, but it couldn’t be better, let me tell you!

After lunch we found the road to Işhan—a grueling switchback road threading around hairpins up a mountain (single lane, mind you) to an unbelievably high spot. How in the world they got people to come to church that high, I’ll never understand. There must have been a spring up there, though, because it was greener than anywhere else except the valleys. Hmmm… Yet another very impressive church, this one with countless pillars in its construction. The Church of the Mother of God, as it’s called, is probably the oldest church we saw, dating to before 800. Amazingly, some of the frescoes were still bright.

Işhan–Church of the Mother of God

Işhan–dome

We had a number of children approach us at this church, as it’s near a village where they were out gathering holiday sweets from their family and neighbors (much like Halloween in the U.S.) Everywhere people of all ages walked the roads, visiting friends and relatives to celebrate the end of a month of fasting.

Village girls out to celebrate the end of fasting–the bayram

Exhausted, we decided to head for Altiparmak, where we had reserved a room at the Karahan Pension. This was by far the most hair-raising part of our entire trip. The road to the Karahan was 30 kilometers of single-lane, winding, hairpin turn, blind corner roadway following a river between the mountains. It took us an hour and a half to navigate it, although that included a 15-minute wait for a head-on collision to be cleared.
ARAUGHHH!!! We stopped at a small village for tea to calm our nerves.

When we finally got to the pension, we saw a sign inviting us to climb another 50 meters on foot up the mountain…

ONE more climb! (that would be me)

The Karahan family welcomed us warmly and one of Mehmet’s grown sons led us up yet another 40 steps to our aerie. We sat on the balcony and sipped tea along with chocolate candies supplied—of course—for the bayram. We spotted two ancient chapels perched on the facing mountainside, one at the top, and one about two-thirds of the way up. Chapels for mountain goats.

Unfortunately, we just about froze at the Karahan. We shared dinner with a lovely British couple (the only other guests) in the unheated lodge. BRRRR!! I slept with my socks on with three heavy blankets—two of them doubled over.

The next morning Ahmet (one of the sons) guided us to the nearby Barhal Church (also known as Altıparmak), a much different style from the previous churches we’d seen. It has a Nordic shape, much like a stave church—very tall, with a second higher peaked roof above the main one. Built around 970, its carvings and construction seemed spare after the ornate churches we’d seen. It has its own beauty, though—a note of majesty in its simplicity.

the Barhal (Altiparmak) Monastery

The rain returned, so we decided to head down to lower altitudes for hoped-for heat. The road was less busy (thank goodness), and we only met a few vehicles.

After a quick lunch in Yusufelli, we headed off to find the Dörtkilise (four churches). We had nearly given up when we discovered a sloping, tree-shaded meadow with a massive stone structure above it. Aha! Believed to be built before 960, the main church was much like Barhal—a double-roofed affair, though far more ornate. Plants growing from the walls and roofs added to its charm. We tramped the hills exploring the ruined chapels beside the church, which is still impressive. We were surprised to find some frescoes still intact on the walls of the ancient sanctuary.

Dörtkilise Monastery-main building

Dörtkilise side building with arches

And then—the real adventure: finding a place to rest our heads. In the tiny hamlet of Takkale, we came across Cemil’s Pension, a jerry-rigged and totally charming establishment situated on the river. Cemil was a congenial host, offering the usual tea and chatting with us in English, Turkish, and French. He was also the chef, and prepared us a delectable dinner of fresh trout (caught by him that day) complemented with fresh garden salad (from his own garden), bulgar, and succulent grapes from his vines. Oh, my. And rakı—my first in Turkey—as we sat outside chatting after dinner. A fine finish to a lovely long weekend.

Cemil creates breakfast in his sweet little kitchen

Cemil’s kitten waits on a railing for leftovers

FINALLY…the sun returned for our Tuesday breakfast and trek back home. Wouldn’t you know it!

My friend John revels in the morning sunshine.

A simitçi stopped at our service bus offering a sesame-encrusted breakfast.

We happened on a Circumcision Procession in a small town. Happy boys—for now!

It was a gorgeous drive down the Peninsula, and after lunch we visited numerous museums, graveyards, and monuments as our tour guide, Perihan, filled us in on the details of the Gallipoli campaign. Here’s what I learned:

During World War I, the Allies wanted an ice-free sea route to Russia, and the only available option was through the Dardanelles Strait, which runs from the Aegean Sea to the Marmara, then the Bosphorus Strait connects the Marmara with the Black Sea—and Russia (as well as Romania and Bulgaria). It was all controlled by the Turks (the Ottoman Empire).

The Gallipoli Peninsula

After a thwarted naval attack in February, 1915, the Allies decided that they couldn’t take the Dardanelles with naval power alone, so they began strategizing to take control of the entire Gallipoli Peninsula, dominating the Ottoman land forces. The British took on the campaign, enlisting Australian and New Zealand troops that had been training in Egypt (ANZAC: Australian and New Zealand Army Corps).

A Turkish man pauses at a rough statue outside the museum.

Hence began a bloody 8 ½  months on the Gallipoli Peninsula. The first attacks were made on April 25th, 1915, with the major focus (five landings) on Hellespont, the tip of the peninsula. There was another strategic point where the allies intended to land, straight across the peninsula from the narrows of the strait, with an intent to overtake the high point of the Peninsula (Hill 971, or Chunuk Bair). Unfortunately, as the ships waited through the night to land, they drifted 1½ miles north of their goal. Instead of landing on a smooth beach with low, rolling terrain, they landed on a beach with a high ridge beyond. This one mistake may have cost them this campaign, not to mention the many thousands of lives that were lost on both sides. (Allies: 43,000, Turks: 87,000—That’s over 500 killed per day in hand-to-hand combat for 8 ½ months.)
In the end, the Allies reatreated, pulling out their last soldiers on January 9, 1916.

The most significant thing to the Turks was, of course, that they retained control over the Dardanelles, hence shipping routes to Russia and Eastern Europe.

Our guide Perihan at a cemetery near Anzac Cove

Another significant thing was a young military commander, Mustafa Kemal, who “saved the day” so to speak, and later became the first ruler of the Turkish Republic (8 years later). Because the Turkish general thought the ANZAC landing was merely a feint and that the major attack would occur at the north end of the peninsula, most of the Turkish forces were posted there, leaving only a few smaller battalions to defend the central peninsula. Mustafa Kemal was put in charge of these battalions, and when he realized that thousands of ANZAC soldiers were climbing the bluffs above the beach, he set up a line of defense up in the hills. He established a headquarters on the third ridge, now known as “Kemal’s Hill”.

A monument to Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk) on “Kemal’s Hill” where he was wounded in battle.

Kemal’s order to his men is renowned among Turks: “I do not expect you to attack, I order you to die! In the time which passes until we die, other troops and commanders can take your place!”

Me at the Anzac Cemetery—facing the Aegean Sea

A grave from the “horseless” Light Horse Brigade that stormed Anzac Cove—age 25

The fighting at Gallipoli lasted over 8 months, well into the winter.

Lone Pine Cemetery, atop the highest hill.

One of many “maybe” markers–”Believed to be buried…”

I was particularly moved by this message on a monument near the ANZAC seaside graveyard:

“THOSE HEROES THAT SHED THEIR BLOOD AND LOST THEIR LIVES…
YOU ARE NOW LYING IN THE SOIL OF A FRIENDLY COUNTRY. THEREFORE REST IN PEACE.
THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE JOHNNIES AND THE MEHMETS TO US WHERE THEY LIE SIDE BY SIDE HERE IN THIS COUNTRY OF OURS…
YOU, THE MOTHERS, WHO SENT THEIR SONS FROM FAR AWAY COUNTRIES WIPE AWAY YOUR TEARS; YOUR SONS ARE NOW LYING IN OUR BOSOM AND ARE IN PEACE.
AFTER HAVING LOST THEIR LIVES ON THIS LAND THEY HAVE BECOME OUR SONS AS WELL.”
~ATATÜRK 1934

This is a huge monument, a touching quote—note Ataturk’s head at the upper left.

There are numerous tales of kindness on both sides of the battle lines: soldiers tossing cigarettes, candy, and food across the narrow expanse between the trenches. There are stories of Johnnies (Allied forces) giving water to dying Mehmets (Turks), and Mehmets carrying wounded Johnnies back to the Allied trenches. It’s hard to imagine crouching in narrow, muddy trenches hour after hour, day after day, week after week, starved and waiting for imminent death. Many of the thousands of bodies were never identified, although many mass graves were unearthed to identify and send remains back to their homelands. Some regiments were completely wiped out.

Mehmet carries a wounded Johnny

Every year on Anzak Day (April 25th) many thousands (particularly Aussies and Kiwis) visit the Gallipoli Peninsula to pay homage to those who gave their lives.

If you’re interested in seeing a map of the area, here are two links, one to an Ottoman map (with Ottoman writing) and the other to a satellite photo of the region.

Ottoman map of the Gallipoli Peninsula

An aerial view of the Gallipoli Peninsula

A statue of the oldest living Turkish Gallipoli soldier, who died at age 110.

We finished touring around 5:00, then hopped a ferry over to Çanakkale, where a Trojan horse guards the harbor. It’s not the original, but a very cool one from the 2004 movie Troy, starring Brad Pitt.

Trojan Horse, Çanakkale

We stayed at a lovely resort hotel on the beach, where the cicadas put up quite a ruckus until the evening temperatures cooled.

A cicada that was sojourning on our balcony–imagine 10,000 of them singing at once. ARAUGHHH!!!!!

An evening henna party and another wedding party next door provided live music for our listening pleasure. Really.

David wonders about summer Ottoman wear displayed in our hotel lobby.

There was one downside to our tour, though. Unbeknownst to us, our tour didn’t include return transportation to Istanbul (no WONDER it was such a good deal). We learned on Saturday that we’d have to find our own way back, which was a shock. They offered to include us on a tour of Troy and drive us back to Istanbul (for $60), but the return was very late, and we’d still have to get ourselves back to campus. Sigh… Both Lorna and David were great sports, and the Metro bus was fine. They even have stewards who serve tea and snacks. It took us over 7 hours to get back to Istanbul, nearly two to cross the city, and yet another to get back to campus. Sigh…

Oh, well. I got to Gallipoli, learned a lot, and saw a Trojan horse. Not bad.

Rather than bore you with the history of its picturesque churches, museums, monasteries, medreses (Islamic religious schools) and homes—oh, and the most stunning post office on the planet, I want to write about the people we met.

Mardin’s Mar Behnam Kilesi (40 Martyrs Church)

Mardin’s Mar Behnam Kilesi (40 Martyrs Church)

Deyrulzafran Monastery cathedral dome

Şehidiye Medresi Minaret at night

Ann Marie at the Post Office (PTT)

First off, Dee sat next to a Turkish woman (a physicist) on the plane who offered to help us organize a taxi into the city of Dıyarbakır. Once she had negotiated a fair price, she waited as we climbed in, then offered to ride along and help us find the bus to Mardin.

“Oh, heavens! You don’t need to do that,” Dee said.

“We’ll be fine, but thanks anyway,” I added.

She hopped into the cab, assuring us that she had nothing better to do. (Right.) We soon arrived at the “bus station”—a round, low building surrounded by an empty concrete courtyard. Two young boys scurried up to our taxi with a battered wheelbarrow and immediately piled our luggage into it. The taxi driver seemed fine with it, and our friend shrugged. The boys wouldn’t let me take their photo (bummer), but got right down to business leading us to our bus. It turned out that the inside of the semi-circle otogar (bus station) was lined with white mini-busses, like the service busses used in Istanbul. Our friend waited until our bus arrived, then made sure the driver understood where we were going and charged us the right amount. After a flurry of thank-you’s, cheek-kisses, and goodbye’s, we climbed aboard and she headed off. Talk about Turkish hospitality!

We sat with a rural woman and her 10-year-old daughter. They tried to chat with us, but we unfortunately understood little of what they said. (Our conversational Turkish is more than limited.) She proffered a piece of chewing gum, something like a tiny white eraser. We gnawed away at it, smiling  and nodding amiably, unsure how long our jaws could take it. Amazingly, the gum developed a hint of mint flavor after about a half hour. It never softened, though, and I finally saw Dee surreptitiously spit hers into a Kleenex. I swallowed mine.

A decorated window on a back street–probably to a churchyard?

The bus driver stopped near old Mardin (where our hotel was), then waited with us until the city bus arrived. He told the bus attendant the name of our hotel, and we were on our way. A smiling man seated in front of us gave me his card, Sevgi Taksi, offering to take us on a tour of the city the next day. Yesür was a paunchy fellow dressed in denim (both obesity and denim are rare in Turkey). When he picked us up the next day, he presented us each with a map, a guidebook, and a CD on Mardin. All in Turkish, but still helpful. How kind!

our hotel entrance—the Erdoba

Dee in the Erdoba Hotel terrace entrance.

We also met a lovely restauranteur who fawned over us in his pristine little locanta. We enjoyed a lovely meal of fresh hot pita bread, salad (which he replenished twice), chicken shish, ayran (a yogurt drink) in copper cups, and tea. He brought us our bill on a mountain of handmade toothicks—a total of 13 lira. That’s about $4.00 each. Wow.

Our 13 lira bill a la toothpicks

That first evening Dee discovered a striking stone necklace, and as she purchased it, the jeweler asked if we’d like something to drink. “Tea, water, Turkish coffee?” he asked. “We’d actually prefer some wine,” I quipped. We’d watched for a liquor store, but to no avail. Mardin is dry. Amazingly, he reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of Mardin’s own red wine. Go figure! He happily sold it to us, and we even-more-happily brought it back to our hotel and indulged in our evening vice (with pistachios).

Buying wine from the Jovial Jeweler!

The most interesting person we met was a man who “guided” us through the Deyrulzafaran Monastery (think saffron) just outside of town. There were no English guides available, but this man showed us the ancient Sun Temple, the larger Sun Church, and  an upstairs chapel. He said there’s only one monk in the monastery right now, a Swede; then he shared that he is living there as well. Actually, he’s an Iraqi Christian who’s fled his home because Christians are being persecuted in Iraq. Unfortunately, Christianity is associated with America, and Christians are being summarily executed. He’s found refuge in the monastery with his wife (a PhD in English), his young children, and his parents (retired teachers). He told us that although most Iraqis once loved America, “Now it’s different. 99 percent of Iraqis hate the American government for what it’s done to our country. I can go to America to continue my career as an engineer, but how could I live in the country that has destroyed mine?” He’s hoping to emigrate to Australia, otherwise he will take his family to Canada. Of course, he’d prefer to go back to his beautiful home in Iraq, which he will probably never see again. It broke my heart to hear him say that he doesn’t think Obama will change anything. I like to think he’s wrong.

Ann Marie with the Iranian engineer at the Monastery

Entrance to the Deyrulzafran Monastery

Our favorites, though, were the little boys, our unofficial guides. On our first night exploring the city, a 6-year-old boy led us up to the beautiful Zinciriye (shackle) Medresi which was unfortunately closed. Sigh… Of course, we’d already seen a museum, an ancient church, and many lovely homes with their ornately carved fronts, so we weren’t too upset. All the buildings in old Mardin are made of limestone, and many have ornate Moorish-like designs carved around cornices, doors, and windows. It’s gorgeous.

The little fellow in the middle was our first “boy guide”.

At any rate, another little boy named Yusuf (about 10) befriended us at the medrese. He offered to take us to more mosques, but we were just too darned tired. We ran into him at least four or five more times over the weekend, and he’d always tag along with us, chatting us up as best he could. I think he had tourist radar, but we grew very fond of our little buddy. On Saturday he hauled around a  bathroom scale all day to earn money for his family (like I’d PAY for that bad news—in public, no less).

Yusuf–Saturday morning, second meeting

Saturday afternoon we decided to walk a loop of back streets and were once again befriended by little boys. What is it about older women, I wonder, that we attract these kids? They were excited to show us the sights, though, and they were far more useful than our maps. They led us into mosques, medreses, and hotels—chatting away in Turkish, some of which we could understand. They were very polite, and equally pleased to show off their neighborhood. The quieter, thinner one was named Onur, and the stockier boy had a fascinating name: Savaş Barış (War Peace). I think of him as the Oxymoron Kid.

Tour guides Onur and Savaş Bariş in a Medrese entrance

On our way to dinner that night, we ran into our little friend Yusuf once again, still carrying his scale. He offered to guide us, but we only wanted dinner. Though we refused to get on the scale, we gave him some lira for just being a good kid.

Our favorite soap vendors

And how we loved the “eşek”–donkeys, always working hard!

So—Mardin is, indeed, a magical place. The buildings are incredible, but even more importantly, the people are delightful. Turkey continues to impress me; the generous warmth of its people puts “Minnesota Nice” to shame. Oh—by the way, Yakub found us just as we were waiting for our cab to the airport. What a sweet kid.

A fond farewell to Yusuf, his buddies, and the charms of Mardin, Turkey

Once we emerged from the mire of Istanbul traffic, it was smooth sailing—to the border, at least (300 K). The Bulgarian border crossing isn’t exactly renowned for swiftness. In fact, David says he’s often spent hours there, held up by lines and paperwork. Unlike our Canadian border crossing at home, we stopped at no less than six (was it 7?) checkpoints along the road on both sides of the border. David’s car papers were scrutinized as though he were a fugitive from justice, and believe me, his water-damaged passport didn’t help either (a fly fishing mishap). Somehow we made it through all those stops in just over an hour, record time according to David.

The LAST of many checkpoints to Bulgaria

In spite of horrific roads, we arrived in Sofia around 11:00, passing “ladies of the night” as we drove the ring road to a friend’s house. Apparently these entrepreneurs service their clients on the spot—back seat bargains, I guess. Scary. Bulgaria is DEFINITELY not Turkey.

Saint Sofia, the Patron Saint of Sofia, Bulgaria

We were finally delivered to our lovely boutique hotel around 2AM, where we caught some serious Z’s. Bird songs and sunshine woke us early, though, and we were antsy to get out to explore the city. We had breakfast outside, a grilled sandwich of sausage, cheese, and cucumbers. And they even have good coffee in Bulgaria—imagine that. David and his friend would meet us later, so we were on our own. Dee suggested we walk the mile or so to the historical area of the city, and I was glad. Not only did we need the exercise, but every few blocks brought a new discovery.
First we encountered the street market, where one booth sold local wine straight from huge wooden barrels. Either bring your own jug or drink from the spigot, I guess.

This is TRULY B.Y.O.B. wine sales.

Just around the corner we discovered Sofia’s huge synagogue with its intricately sculpted façade.

Sofia Synagogue, the largest in Eastern Europe

A block further we found the Banya Bashi Mosque, a relic from the Ottoman era. Because the Turks controlled Bulgaria for over 400 years, we noticed many similarities in food, architecture, and language, but only one mosque. Behind it was a fountain, and beyond that an entrancing building under renovation, once the city’s central baths. It had intricate ceramic borders along its cornices and windows which were more than charming.

After snapping eight million photos, we headed off again towards the city center, only to be stopped by scores of people heading into a low-walled area carrying water jugs of all shapes and sizes. Hmmm… In the middle of Sofia there’s a myriad of little individual fountains, which we assumed were mineral water. I waited my turn at one of them and took a sip—HOT mineral water! Apparently Sofia, which is located at the foot of a mountain, was initially settled because of these hot springs, a clear explanation for the nearby public bath and mosque.

Sofia’s mineral fountains, open to the public…

More photos, then off again to explore the city’s wonders: the Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, which dominates the city from its central plaza; the Church of St. Sofia (6th century) which gave the city its name; and the picturesque Russian Church of St. Nicholas the Miracle-Maker, built in the early 1900’s.

The Nevsky Cathedral

St. Sofia Church icon

The miraculous Russian Church of St. Nicholas the Miracle-Maker

We explored a number of vendors’ booths in a nearby park, where merchandise included religious icons and antiques. Both were interesting, and the recent communist rule was evident in the selection. Heavy sculptures nearby depicted the angst of the country’s many wars and communist domination. (The city was bombed by the Allies in 1943 and 1944—that would be us.)

Trying to choose an icon (actually, there’s one in my bag, bought at St. Sofia’s)

Antiques seldom found in America

We met David and his friend Nia for lunch and a bit more sightseeing, and introduced us to the traditions of Bulgarian proms. High school seniors celebrate graduation with a gala prom, but before and after the dance they terrorize the city (somewhat) by driving around, yelling, blowing whistles, and just making spectacles of themselves. Everyone seems to accept this behavior, which goes on and on and on and…

a tame but notable parading prom car

We visited the National Gallery (in a palace screaming for renovation), revived ourselves with a cup of coffee, then Dee and I headed back to our hotel. We settled happily on our little balcony aerie with our feet up, sipping cool wine and enjoying the surrounding greenery. We all met again in town for dinner, then tried a taste of night life. We propped our eyelids up until the band arrived at 12:30, but when they hadn’t started playing at 1:00, we gave up. Sigh…
Sunday we explored a new area of the city, catching a holiday parade. Instead of Memorial Day, the Bulgarians celebrate Cyrillic Alphabet Day on May 24th.  It’s actually devoted to two saints, St. Cyril and St. Methodius, the alphabet’s creators.

Cyrillic Alphabet Day Parade Beauties

After watching the parade for a while, we visited the 14th century Church of St. Petka, where we sat in on (actually, stood in on) a service in its tiny sanctuary. The incense-laden nave held us, 7 local attendees, and a gilt-garbed priest who officiated the service holding a gleaming golden cross.

Church of St. Petka–VERY old indeed

After that we explored St. Nedelya Church, which was completely reconstructed after a 1925 bombing. There we happened on a baptism, complete with the strains of a choir from a distant loft.

St. Nedelya dome

St. Nedelya interior (baptismal service)

One more stop at the 4th century Church of St. George finished our morning explorations. After that we met Nia at the Nevsky Cathedral, and she drove us up the mountain to see the charming Boyana Church, originally constructed in the 11th century. The church’s interior is painted with incredible frescoes dating back to 1259, including hundreds of human (and heavenly) images in a total of 89 scenes, all executed by one painter and his apprentice. After being selected as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1979, the church was closed for over 20 years for renovation, then reopened to the public in 2000. Only 10 people are allowed into the church at a time.

Boyuna Church “steeple”

Boyuna Church upper window

After touring the Boyuna Church, we relaxed over lunch, then visited a grocery store for bacon, ham, cheese, and good wine. Treasures for Turkey. On the way home, we stopped to photograph a small-town steeple appropriated by a stork family. Too cute.

Stork steeple

We didn’t get home until nearly 1 A.M. Sunday night, again collapsing into the sack, exhausted. It was a good exhausted, though, after a great weekend. So now I’ve been to Bulgaria.

The BOOK!

Here’s how it happened:
During my first year teaching in Istanbul, Tania Chandler and Jamilah Lajam introduced me to Edda Renker Weissenbacher’s fascinating tours through the back streets of Istanbul. I’d never heard of a han (an ancient inn) and never would have guessed that Constantinople once teemed with them. I was captivated by my first Edda Tour, which finished on the rooftop of the Buyuk Valide Han overlooking a stunning vista of Istanbul, the Marmara, and the Golden Horn. To top it off, as we gazed across the water at the Galata tower, the air swelled with a cacophony of muezzins chanting the Koran verses of the call to prayer. I was entranced.

Edda and friends on the roof of the Büyük Valide Han

After my second Edda tour I was struck with a thought. Why not make these tours available to anyone who visits Istanbul? At 70, Edda was unlikely to lead too many thousands along her back street tours, which meant they’d all miss out on this amazing experience. BUT—we could compile them into a book of self-guided tours. “Would you be interested in collaborating on a book of your tours, Edda?” I asked, a little worried that she might find my suggestion presumptuous.
“What a wonderful idea!” she answered brightly. “I’d love to!”

Me and Edda outside the Süleymaniye Mosque, writing partners!

Once we’d discussed some of the details of the project, I pounded out a book proposal. Then I visited Greenhouse Books to browse through Turkey guides and hopefully identify prospective publishers. My first choice was Çitlembik, an Istanbul publisher that produces a variety of books on Turkish culture and tourism in both English and Turkish. I was astonished to receive an immediate reply from director Nancy Öztürk. She was excited about the project and wanted to sign us on. HOORAY!!!

Edda at the Taş Han, where the first tour begins

Little did I realize that though Edda has a good decade on me, her energy for this project would far outweigh mine. She led me up and down the cobbled streets of Istanbul as I snapped photo after photo. Over 2,000 of them, in fact (photos, not streets). Early on, I often lost my way between the Grand Bazaar and the Egyptian Spice Bazaar, but it wasn’t long before I was very much at home on those narrow, cobbled streets.

I’m standing on the roof of the Sair Han, another spot that overlooks the city.

I drew careful maps of the tours we’d include in our book, re-routed them so they’d follow one after the other, and expanded on the descriptions that Edda provided of each of the nearly ninety sites. Four walks, hundreds of photos, and the combined efforts of two enthusiastic women. Ah, collaboration!

The Cebeci Han’s people-sized ewers

The Çuhacı Han, where goldsmiths work, with Nuru-osmaniye Mosque behind.

A gold shop window in the Çuhacı Han

The Süleymaniye Mosque

The Süleymaniye Medreses

The Istanbul University Gate

The courtyard of the Zincirli Han, within the Grand Bazaar

In June of 2007, Edda and I parted. She left Istanbul to spend the summer with her husband in Austria, and I returned to Minnesota. It took me a while to settle into a routine, but I wrote four hours a day through September, October, and even more in November. We’d promised to turn everything in by the end of November, and I flew back to Istanbul to retrace my steps, correcting the maps, shooting final photos, and finishing up interviews for mini-features of merchants and craftsmen along our routes. What an undertaking it was!

An article on Bedros Muradyan, one of 18 features in the book.

Edda was back in Istanbul that November, and we trekked, chatted, and laughed together as we finalized everything. Edda had just bought a new Mac laptop, and she was like a sponge, eager for everything I could teach her about Macs. She never ceases to amaze me—and she’s a meticulous editor, to boot.

Well, two years later, our book is finally out: Istanbul’s Bazaar Quarter: Backstreet Walking Tours. Its 182 pages are 30 more than expected, but it offers what we’d hoped: a clear, well-researched guide to the hans, mosques, and bazaars of Istanbul’s Bazaar Quarter. The book’s four self-guided tours draw its readers back through over a thousand years of this amazing city’s history.

The cascading domes of the Rüstem Paşa Mosque

Rüstem Paşa Mosque, one of the city’s most charming, is hidden near the Spice Bazaar

Whew! At last! And next week we’re celebrating with a book-signing event at the Koç School, complete with food and live music. Never a dull moment over here!
Now, back to my memoir about teaching in Istanbul…

Friends Stella Risi (South African), Lorna Richardson (English) and I (American) took advantage of our three-day weekend to visit the famed Mount Nemrut—the one with huge carved heads sitting atop its peak.

Me, Lorna, and Stella in Malatya (though how woud you know?)

We arrived mid-day on Friday and checked into our Malatya hotel, a VERY weak 4-stars. Like two. Oh, well. We dropped our gear and headed off to find lunch, which was thankfully a mere block from the hotel. We had Mercimek çorba (lentil soup), çoban salata (chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, and onions), bread, and an entrée (I had köfte, grilled spiced meatballs) for about $5 each. Go figure. Food is MUCH cheaper outside Istanbul, and delicious to boot.

A favorite lunch–mercimek çorba (lentil soup), çoban salata, pide (flat bread)

Next we headed off to explore Malatya, our intent to visit the street bazaar. Within minutes we were adopted by a group of three young men eager to guide us. It took us two kilometers and a few cups of coffee to shake them off, friendly though they were. That was just the beginning. Everywhere we turned, people were chirping, “Hello!”, “Hi!”, and if more fluent, “What is your name?” or “Where are you from?” It was fun, actually. I’d say we chatted with at least six groups of people of all ages, both male and female. Tourists are rare in Malatya, especially in early May. (Stella said it was Lorna’s and my blonde hair—bless her heart. We’re both pretty white-topped, if you ask me.)

Friendly girls welcome us to their town with their limited English (…and Stella)

The highlight of our explorations was the market, where we found scrumptious dried kayısı (apricots—the area’s specialty) and a few blocks where metal workers toiled right in the street. Welders with no eye protection, copper workers pounding on pots almost bigger than themselves, and knife crafters plying their trade. Pounding and banging, drilling and sawing sounds filled the air as we walked the streets, mesmerized with the scene.

Metal workers labor on the streets of Malatya

A copper worker pounds the bottom of a copper pot

Later we discovered a vegetable market, another place filled with a cacophony of sound, and everywhere there were kayısıcı, apricot vendors with every type of apricot you could imagine, including the pits, which are much like small almonds, and nearly as good.

A peek inside the Kayisici apricot seller’s shop. ALL apricots!

Then more tea, more wandering, more chatting, and finally dinner at the Kent Lokantasi (Restaurant), where we’d been treated to tea earlier that afternoon. Delicious, cheap, and FAR too much food. Sigh…
Saturday Lorna slept in while Stella and I headed off to explore near the hotel. We discovered a railway station where learned that the train from Istanbul costs a tenth of what we’d paid for airline tickets—but it takes ten times longer (30 hours). No way!
As we wended our way back through a small residential area near the station, we encountered a woman scrubbing her carpet in the street. I snapped her photo, asking for advice on rug-cleaning. She hoses down the rug, sprinkles laundry detergent on it, and scrubs it with a long-handled brush. Then she rinses it off and hangs it out to dry overnight. Easy, she said. Right. I can just see myself scrubbing my rugs on the Devil Track Road!

THIS is how you clean a Turkish carpet.

She invited us for coffee (I expected Nescafe), produced small stools from her house, and treated us to the most delicious Turkish coffee I’ve ever tasted. As we sat, more and more neighbors joined us, all tickled to chat with the yabanci (foreign) women. Sheer delight. One of the ladies beckoned us over to a shed across the street to show us a litter of newborn kittens.

Stella and I posed with the first neighbors who joined us. The boys spoke a little English.

At noon we departed for our 22-hour tour of Nemrut. Our $60 fee included mini-bus transport (with 5 other delightful tourists, a Turkish family and two young women from Malaysia), a lunch stop, a sunset visit to the top of the mountain, lodging at the Güneş (sunshine) Hotel on the mountain, a second visit to the summit (sunrise this time), and breakfast.

The very basic but charming Güneş Otel. Romantic? Umm…

The concrete “mock rock” decor of the hotel stairway.

We had great fun getting to know each other and sharing the adventure of a frigid hotel experience (no heat), the fascination of the mountain ruins, and the camaraderie of shared wine (brought it up there), soup and bread, chicken shish, and evening games (poker and checkers).
But the amazing thing, of course, was Mount Nemrut. At the top of this 2100-meter mountain sits a collection of statues and fragments dating back to the Kommagene dynasty of 80 B.C. to 72 A.D. Overlooking the Euphrates River (Turkish name: Firat), the ruins on the mountaintop were never a community, but a shrine to the gods and to the ancestors of the dynasty.

Zeus watches over the mountains from the Western Terrace of Mount Nemrut

According to a website about Mount Nemrut, “The well-preserved colossal statues overlooking the court on the east are made of blocks of limestone and measure eight to ten meters in height. The figures are shown in a sitting position. Inscriptions identify the statues on the eastern terrace from left to right in the following order: Antiochos, the goddess Kommagene, Zeus-Oromasdes (the Graeco-Persian sky-god and supreme deity, and also the largest-sized statue), Apollo-Mithras, and Herakles-Artagnes. On either side of the divinities stood a guardian eagle and lion.

A lion guards a platform on the East Terrace

The heads of all the deities have toppled over onto ground in the intervening centuries. Their finely worked facial features are striking examples of the idealized late Hellenistic style. The gods wear Persian headgear.” (Ozduzen, Nezihi. “Mt. Nemrut National Park.” All About Turkey. 6 May 2009 <http://www.adiyamanli.org/mt_nemrut.htm>.)

The headless, seated bodies of Nemrut’s  collosal statues

Unfortunately, the heads have fallen from their seated bodies, but they’ve been set up so that they can be admired. Perhaps these multi-ton heads will once again sit atop their bodies. It was all truly amazing, particularly as we viewed the statues in the slanting rays of the late-day sun.

Heads on the East face of the mountain—Antiocyus Theos and Zeus

Our bonus, too, was a traditional dance performance by a group of children from a nearby village, probably in honor of the May 1st holiday. Lucky us, huh? Of course, I haven’t mentioned that it was incredibly cold up there, well below zero, especially the next morning before the sun came up .WINDY!!!!

Young dancers on the terrace as the lion stands guard

They danced over a half hour in the bitter cold

They were tickled to pose with a yabanci (foreigner).

Although we didn’t get to see it, Mount Nemrut is the site of history’s first known astrological symbol, part of a lion statue which is presently being renovated (in a locked building).

Sunset over Nemrut

After breakfast we returned to Malatya and spent the afternoon exploring Eski Malatya (ancient Malatya) a small city about 11 kilometers away. There we explored the renovation of an old caravansaray and the newly-renovated Ulu Cami (mosque). Both lovely.

The newly-renoated interior of the Ulu Camii, in Eski (Old) Malatya

Peering up into the dome of the mosque

Detail of ceramic decorations in the mosque–tiles nearly 800 years old

Before we knew it, we were thronged by a herd of little boys eager to show us their village. They helped us find a restaurant, then waited outside, watching us eat our lunch of mercimek soup and coban salata—always our favorite lunch.

Rather than fend them off all afternoon, we caught a bus back to Malatya, where we meandered lazily back to our hotel, soaking in the sights and the sunshine, sampling coffee, tea, and sweets along the way.
Each time you eat a dried apricot, it probably comes from Turkey—from the area around Mount Nemrut. Imagine!

Olive pressing machinery at the Olive Farm, Datça

Next we stopped near Kızlan to see picturesque stone windmills that have been grinding grain for hundreds of years. Our guide explained that that area has only 8 hours a year without wind, so it’s little surprise that 36 spanking new wind turbines line the mountain ridge above the old windmills. These will soon supply the southeastern corner of Turkey with power. The initial costs were funded by the government, but a private business is picking up the maintenance and electricity delivery.

Datça’s still-operating-after-all-these-years windmill

The windmill’s inner workings…refurbished, yet much the same as in years past

After basking in the sun with a delicious snack of cheese and spinach gözleme (a little like a mega-quesadilla), we were off to the end of the Datça Peninsula.

The sun was still bright when we arrived at the Chateau Triopia, but the day was waning. We settled into our antique-furnished mountaintop apartments, then headed off to check out Knidos, a ruin at the tip of the peninsula. We just had time to scope it out for the next day, but we stepped into the restaurant (“open years along”) for a warming cup of tea beside the wood stove.

It’s one of those translation things—Open all year, I’m sure.

The view from our balcony at the Chateau Triopia

We returned to our hotel just in time to clean up for dinner, a gourmet four-course meal prepared by our host, Suavi Hasarı. Soup, bread, salad, fresh grilled fish with garlic sauce, and chocolate pudding cost us a mere 19 lira (about $12). The wine was extra. It would have been a bargain at five times the price, let me tell you! We enjoyed two fabulous meals at the hotel, and it was a good thing, too, because there were no other restaurants in Yakiköy. Just a mosque.

kahvaltı—breakfast at the Chateau Triopia

Wednesday after breakfast (Janet poured) we headed off once again for Knidos, eager to explore its treasures. Sunny, windy, and fascinating. We rambled the ruins for over three hours, marveling at every temple, column, and cow we encountered. Those cows kind of scare me, I have to admit. Once when I was walking alone, a bull gave me a glare and started toward me. I was up behind a tree before he knew it. He just ambled off, disinterested, as my heart pounded into my throat. SHEEESH!!!

Knidos columns against the Mediterranean Coastline

The same Knidos columns with the Aegean Sea behind them

Yup, I was there, too!

Knidos was established before the 6th century BC, and by the 4th century it had become a thriving metropolis of over 70,000. The whole peninsula doesn’t have anything NEAR that many people now—maybe 15,000? They apparently sent their wealth to Delphi, Greece, where they built a treasury. I’ve seen Delphi, and I noted many similarities between the two ancient cities. Knidos once extended 7 kilometers into the peninsula, and we saw evidence of ancient structures for quite some distance along the VERY narrow, twisty one-lane road.

Big action on the dock in Knidos’ South Harbor

On our way home we decided to  explore a side-road to the beach. It was a bit like the back-country hunting roads near Grand Marais—SLOW going. Our destination was a pebble beach, where we contentedly collapsed.

My beach-stack record: 16 stones and a shell

Suavi Bey created yet another delicious dinner for us, a satuteed chicken dish this time. YUM!!!! Baklava for dessert. Yup. Pretty nice.

It was hard to wave goobye to our new friends at the Triopia, but the memories still warm my heart (and stomach).Off to new adventures of the twisty-road variety. It was a 4-hour drive to Dalyan, our final destination before our flight home. Sigh…

Dalyan is a little tourist city on a river, not far from the Dalaman airport. It’s most famous for its protected sea-turtle beach, its Lycian tombs, and the Kaunos ruins. Lots to see. Scores of blue-canopied boats lined the shore, each eager to take us out for a day. We talked to a few boat owners and selected a full-day boat trip complete with lunch for 35 lira each (about $22). The price was right, and it took care of our concern about getting lunch. Food always seems to be a priority for us. Getting bigger every day…

Our boat stopped first at Kaunos, and it was well worth the kilometer hike from the river. We shared the ruin with a few other tourists, goats, sheep, and cows. (Apparently the animals keep the grass cropped during the early wet season.) A cool breeze follwed us as we strolled through the remains of a huge roman bath, a domed church, a massive arena, temples, and a seaside fountain. This city, like Knidos, dates back to the 6th century BC. It’s clear that there was commerce between all the communities along the south coast of Asia Minor (now Turkey).

Lycian Tombs above the river at Dalyan

The domed church at Kaunos-see the sheep through the door?

Jenny climbs the seats in the Kaunos arena

After a few hours at Kaunos, we boated to a waterside restaurant, the Caretta Caretta (turtle turtle). The mezes (hors d’oeuvres) were delicious, the main course OK, and the dessert—fresh local oranges—was scrumptious. Well sated, we took our huge barge-like-boat-for-three down the river to the beach, a two-mile stretch of sand which is the main nesting ground for Turkey’s loggerhead turtles. They’ve been nesting there for about 95 million years. Unbelievable.

Janet and Jenny strolling back up the beach where loggerheads nest

What a LOVELY vacation—good food, good company, and new vistas explored. A few times during the week I caught myself saying, “It doesn’t get better than this.”

I was right.

Windmills, mountains, and the confluence of two seas. That’s Datça. The Aegean Sea skirts Turkey to the west, and the Mediterranean to the south—the Datça Peninsula extends 70 kilometers between them. Remote but spectacularly beautiful, it’s a wiggly finger of mountains pointing toward Greece. In fact, four Greek islands sit just miles offshore. The peninsula’s narrowest point is called Balıkaşira, which means “the place where fish can jump across” or something like that. Just 800 yards separate the Aegean from the Mediterranean. Amazing.

Our first view of the Mediterranean near Marmaris

I’m touring with two of my colleagues from Koç, Jenny Barnard and Janet Karantay; both have lived in Turkey for years. Janet is married to a Turk, and her fluent Turkish has been a great asset on this trip. We flew to Dalaman Saturday morning, rented a car and drove the 180 K to Datça, stopping occasionally to revel at the mountainous terrain jutting from the sea.

The Çağlayan Cafe

We stopped for lunch at the Çağlayan (CHA-la-yan), a delightful garden restaurant with palms, pools, and waterfalls, famous for its kavahltı (breakfast). So—we had breakfast for lunch. Our mantra has been, “We’re on vacation; we can do whatever we like!” And we do. It was a traditional Turkish breakfast, but the bread was crustier, the tomatoes tastier, the cheese creamier, etc. etc… This is a MUST for our return trek.

Oh, my—I hear the morning call to prayer. It always touches me.

Our first hotel, just outside Datça, was the Villa Aşina. Merely a year old, it was featured on the Small Hotels in Turkey web site, which sponsors small, charming hotels across Turkey. I’ve used it often with great success, and this hotel was no exception. “Bright,” “artistic,” and “welcoming” all come to mind.

The Aşina Mosaic Serpent along its outside wall

We were first met by a braying burrow that grazed beside the hotel, then by our young hostess, Arzu Gerçekaslan, who met us at the front steps. We were the season’s first guests—the only ones in the hotel—and we were treated like royalty. Arzu advised us on our explorations of the area. The early spring sun blazed as we settled into our rooms, marveling at our spacious balconies overlooking the Mediterranean, the Greek island of Simi in the distance.

My balcony view of the Mediterranean and the Greek island of Simi

Janet rested while Jenny and I walked down to the rugged beachside near the hotel. Stunning. I was glad we’d chosen a hotel outside this bustling city of 16,000. We met some four-legged neighbors along the way.

Not only were there burrows in the neighborhood,

but goats, sheep, and cows as well.

Later we sat on the hotel’s terrace to sip a beer as we contemplated the stunning scenery. We were served fuzzy green fruit-like pods—badem (raw almonds). We sampled them, three bites of something much like a crisp, tart plum, a local specialty. Not bad, but not great either. One was enough.

“An almond in the hand is worth two on the bush? Actually, tree…”

That evening we drove into town, wandered by too many not-yet-open-for-the-season restaurants, and found a little family-owned locanta where we enjoyed a bowl of mercimek soup, bread, and salad. Perfect.

Datça’s harbor, with boats awaiting summer crowds

The patter of rain on my balcony thwarted my plans for an early morning walk. Sigh… We’ve had SO much rain in Turkey! Oh, well. Whatever…

Breakfast was at 8:30, and I emerged with a bag of Starbuck’s and my French press. I can’t abide Nescafe, the Turkish proxy for coffee. What we learned, though, after a delicious breakfast, is that the Aşina makes a kick-butt cup of tea (with a hint of cloves). YUM!!!!

The Aşina pre-season breakfast nook

In spite of the rain, we headed off in our silver Fiat to explore the area, also known as the Reşadiye Peninsula. I’m glad I forgot my driver’s license, because the road was harrowing, at best. Of course, the vistas were mind-boggling. Gorgeous.

The Datça Peninsula’s mountains are dotted with olive and almond trees.

As we neared Knidos, our hoped-for destination, the rain became a deluge. We stopped at a little hotel that Janet had found on the Small Hotels site, the Chateau Triopia.

Chateau Triopia, Culinarium, Hotellerie, Vinotheque..~ Hmmm…

We dashed through their stone gate, up the stairs, and around to the hotel restaurant. “Cay, var mi?” I asked, hoping for a few dry moments in their charming restaurant. (Little did I know that they would refuse payment—Turkish hospitality.) We enjoyed a chat with manager Suavi Bey, as well as his Turkish staff. As the sun emerged (momentarily), we toured their mountain-top inn, and we were entranced. It features stone construction, replete with mosaic art as well as lovely, antique-furnished apartments. What a spot! (We went back to stay later in the week.)

My travel buddies, Janet and Jenny on a Triopia balcony

The Chateau Triopia—a lovely mountaintop inn.

After our visit, we drove down the mountain to the sea road (Sahilyolu) and enjoyed a delectable lunch at the Dostlar (friends) Restaurant on the seaside at Palamut Bükü. The rain had abated, so we walked the beach, drove the shore road, and took another walk in a tiny village called Hayit Bükü. Charming, all!

The Datça Peninsula’s rainy-day coastline

Harbor at Hayit Bükü

Our rainy day was a success, and we headed back to the Villa Aşina for a welcome glass of wine beside a crackling fire they’d prepared in their carved marble fireplace.

The Villa Aşina’s marble fireplace

On Monday (after French toast and Turkish breakfast), we explored Eski Datça, the old city up on the hill above Datça. Entrancing. Ancient stone buildings and cobbled streets are a standard; apparently building there requires a special permit from the government, archeological excavation, and construction that matches the rest of the city. Hence, a well-preserved city.

A typical Eski Datça street

A tempting Eski Datça Entryway

Inside view of a silversmith’s shop in Eski Datça

A curious Eski Datça rooster…

…and a less-than-curious rooftop kitten

That evening we chatted with some Turkish musicians who recommended a restaurant on Datça’s harbor, the Kirmizihan Şarap Evi (red inn wine house). When we arrived, we learned that one of them had stopped in to let the owners know they should treat us well and not overcharge us, as we were schoolteachers from Istanbul. Works for me! We had a scrumptious meal of mezes (appetizers) and balik çorba (fish soup). Yum. Double yum.

Well, we’ve left Datça and are settled into the Chateau Triopia, where we’re happy as clams. The sun is out, and memories of yesterday’s rain are behind us. Does it get better than this? I don’t think so.

I arrived on Red Nose Day, a huge charity fund-raising day in England. Everywhere you turned, someone was sporting a clown nose. I even spotted a few on Saturday—the day after. This year Red Nose antics raised a total of nearly 58 million pounds—about 82 million dollars. Now THAT’S IMPRESSIVE!!!!

A few red noses on Saturday

Friday night three friends and I met in at the Victoria Theater for Billy Elliot, a truly powerful musical. Set with the backdrop of Britain’s year-long miner’s union strike of 1984, young Billy Elliot traded his boxing lessons for ballet class. His father, already stressed by the strike, nearly blew a gasket when he found out. Elton John’s music evokes feelings from elation to angst to anguish as the story progresses. I doubt there was a dry eye among us as we stepped outside after the show, still shaking our heads in wonder at this gifted young dancer (about 11 years old) and the rest of Billy Elliot’s amazing cast. A GREAT start for my theater weekend.

http://www.workingtitlefilms.com/featurePhoto.php?featureID=18

Saturday my friend Larry and I wandered Covent Garden most of the day— loverly. (It IS where Liza Doolittle sold flowers in My Fair Lady.) Unlike the bevy of flower and vegetable vendors it once was, Covent Garden is now a tourist spot. It still features an open market, but vendors now offer clothing, jewelry, and gift-type items. Pretty intriguing ones, at that. There are also shops, cafes, and restaurants to suit any taste
My favorite thing about Covent Garden, though, is the buskers. Musicians, jugglers, mimes, and you-name-it draw crowds of onlookers to every cobbled street and lane.

I’m not sure who’s the better actor!

one of many buskers—the man in the red derby

a knife juggler in a green beret—on an 8-foot tall unicycle!

A Chinese man plays the Sheng, a precursor to the pipe organ and the bagpipes.

We watched string quintets (very talented) who performed stunning acrobatics as they played without ever missing a note. A brilliant tenor entertained his extensive audience by removing a woman’s boots and donning them himself as he sang an aria from Carmen. Then he wrapped another woman’s scarf around his neck. Go figure! He was sheer delight, and the women he “stole” from were both charmed and charming with him.

a multi-talented chamber quartet performs acrobatics

a music aficionado among the masses

the tenorial robber

The tenor sings his final notes—a virtuoso!

After a pub lunch, Deidre, Larry and I trekked to the Noel Coward Theater, where we had box seats for Avenue Q, an x-rated version of Sesame Street. It’s about Princeton, a recent university graduate with no money who is trying to “find” himself. I blushed for the few children in the audience, as the music was more than risqué. In fact, the songs were hilarious. Just imagine puppets and their actor counterparts singing “It Sucks To Be Me,”  “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist,” and “The Internet Is For Porn”, a spirited dispute between the sweet little monster named Kate and the more earthy internet-surfing Trekky Monster. Need I say more? If you have a chance (and you’re not a prude), be sure to add this play to your list.

You can tell  it’s not a children’s production…

<http://nationaltheatre.org/mainstage/avenueq.htm>

We wanted to catch dinner afterward, but as you may know, England isn’t renowned for its cuisine. Pub lunches are usually good, while the best evening option is ethnic food. We went to an Indian restaurant, the Govinda, where we had a delectably spicy vegetarian meal—cheap (at least for London). The  Govinda is a Hari Krishna restaurant, replete with interesting characters. Later that evening we encountered them again on their evening processions, singing and dancing their way through the streets of Soho.

Truly London—the signpost and the phone booth

I was so, so impressed with this solar-powered parking meter.

…and in Hyde Park, “a host of golden daffodils.” (Thanks, W.W.)

Sunday morning I was on my own, so I walked Hyde Park in the early morning sunsine. It was great to just walk, walk, walk. The daffodils were “nodding and dancing in the breeze” while the Bobbies were cruised the walkways, ever on the alert. After a long walk to Victoria Station, I found it hard to hop on the bus for the airport. Oh, well. All good things must end, eh? I seriously think I’ll plan one more trek to London. Want to join me?