Ann Marie’s Istanbul – Page 5 – experiences in and around Turkey

Black Sea at Şile and Music at Aya Irini (Haghia Eirene)

October 13, 2011October 13, 2011 amershonLeave a comment

Talk about a busy week! My friend Sally just left after a fun, eventful week. Some people are just darned easy to have around, and Sally is one of them. She revels in every detail of life here, making friends at every turn.

Sally with Çoşkın, one of her many Istanbul friends.

Our friend David and I planned a short trip for Thursday’s Liberation of Istanbul Holiday. David and I worked all day Wednesday at our respective schools while Sally visited Camile (another common friend) in town, then we three met up at the Sabiha Gökçen Airport that evening. I caught a bus at 5:05 here on the European side and arrived at the airport (Asian side) at about 8:15. Over three hours to travel about 20 miles—Istanbul traffic. David was there waiting, and we hunted around for Sally, who’d been there the longest, wandering around wondering where we might be. Poor dear.

We stopped for dinner, then drove just over an hour north to Şile (SHE-lay) on the Black Sea. I’d scoped out a nice seaside resort, but when we finally found it, the entire complex was dark. What??? It was only 10:00! I’d talked to a receptionist the night before, so I tentatively pushed through the revolving door. A clerk materialized from the dark lobby, flipping lights on at the reception desk. Whew! “Are there any other people here?” I asked in Turkish. He laughed and assured me there were. I didn’t exactly believe him. He certainly had space for us, giving us a corner seaside suite that he said cost twice what we paid. Did we mind?

Imagine waking to this view!

We woke to a stunning seascape, and imagine our surprise when scores of Turks were already enjoying the sumptuous breakfast buffet. Apparently the Şile Resort Hotel teems with people all summer, but in October things get a little lean. After breakfast Sally and I donned our suits for a walk up the beach. David, uninterested in swimming, brought his Kindle.

We picked shells and marveled at the pristine water as we strolled along the deserted beach.

Gorgeous shells–but small

Sally and David strolling on ahead…

after we all snapped photos of the unique beach litter.

We chuckled at a discarded computer that had washed up on shore–what was THAT about? Though the Black Sea water was cool, it was warmer than most of our northern Minnesota lakes. Finally Sally and I found the perfect place for a swim, which we did. Well, first we waded out for what felt like about a mile Finally Sally dove in, and I joined her in water so shallow we couldn’t frog-kick without scraping our knees.

The water was still shallow quite a distance out from David–camera and Kindle in hand.

Finally the bottom dropped off and we headed out to a small rocky island, feeling a bit like sea nymphs cavorting in the sun. The water was so clear we could see ripples in the sand 20 feet below us.

We spent the afternoon wandering Şile, relaxing over a fish lunch in a seaside cafe, and strolling along the breakwater. At 5:00 scores of boats left their crowded moorings to head out for the evening’s catch—probably the most action the Şile harbor sees.

Sally, David, and I in front of the Şile Harbor fortress.

Şile’s fishing boats moored three deep.

A fisherman mending his nets.

A fishing boat off for the evening catch.

Friday Sally and David trekked over to Üsküdar to see the stunning Şakırın Camii, the only mosque in Turkey designed by a woman (see my blog for May 25, 2009). As they were leaving, the mosque was stormed by armed bodyguards making way for a visit by Prime Minister Erdoğan. His mother had just died, and he was looking for an appropriate grave site. Apparently that kind of security is common here.

On Saturday evening we joined friends for a concert at the Aya Irini, a Byzantine church inside the walls of Topkapi Palace. The church is renowned for its incredible acoustics, and there are unfortunately only a few concerts there each year. We entered the church through an arched stone entrance and down a long, wide stone ramp. The 1500-year-old structure supposedly stands on the site of Constantinople’s first Christian church. The main sanctuary was flanked by collonnades with a high gold semi-dome at the front, painted with a huge cross.

The Aya Irini in all its splendor before the performance

Already awed at the splendor of the sanctuary, my spine tingled as the orchestra’s first notes reverberated across the centuries. I felt that same excitement when a costumed chorus filled the ancient cathedral with the booming strains of “Carmina Burana” (Carl Orff). Oh, my goodness!

To hear the magic of “Carmina Burana”, click this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GD3VsesSBsw

Monday afternoon a group of students in my English class presented a reenactment of the myth of Pandora. Their chosen accompaniment? ”Carmina Burana.”
Small world.

Sunday trials in Arnavutköy

October 13, 2011October 13, 2011 amershon2 Comments

The weather is cooling off for us here in Istanbul, and I’ve just welcomed my first guest into my spacious Arnavutköy home—Sally Nankivell from Grand Marais. She’d visited the last time I was at Robert College and couldn’t resist the temptation of another trip (lucky me).

Sally arrived on Sunday morning, and I was committed to a parent’s open house at school.

Students chatting outside the building before school.

My friend David (who knew Sally from her last visit) offered to meet her at the airport, a godsend. I sent him off with a set of keys, then took Libby on her morning walk, planning to do some editing and writing before I headed up to school for the open house (my writing has taken a back seat lately). Just as I reached our building, I was hit with a devastating realization: My keys were still in the apartment. ARAUGHHH!!! This had been my greatest fear since moving in, as I had no landlord.

Libby and I had enjoyed our FLAT walk along the Bosphorous.

All was not lost, though, since I’d anticipated this very dilemma. I’d had an extra set of keys made to leave with the guards up at the school. I’d explained to them in my shaky Turkish that I might need them if I got locked out. Thankful that for once I’d thought ahead, I forged on. It meant a serious uphill climb and a wasted hour, but at least I’d have time to change for the open house. Heck, I told myself, it was good exercise and a gorgeous morning.

No hope of climbing to my fourth floor balcony (the white one)

I huffed and puffed up the final stairway to the guard station, where I explained my plight as best I could. The two guards on duty hunted high and low for the key I’d left there, but it to no avail. “Anahtar yok.” No key. Didn’t they understand? I reminded them that I had left my key there, and I had to meet with parents in less than two hours. I was looking mighty scruffy in dirty jeans, a t-shirt, sneakers, and bed hair. Would I dare appear to parents like this? Would they balk at trusting their teens to such an airhead? I found someone to translate for me and learned that the guards had passed the key along to the housing supervisor. Unfortunately, she wasn’t on campus, and she wasn’t answering her phone. Sigh…

I decided to climb up to my office to get a little work done (another 99 stairs), but I couldn’t find my reading glasses. This was NOT my day.

I finally got through to Elvan (the housing supervisor), who found someone to retreive the key from her office. My compatriot Reagan took pity on me and kindly drove me home to change. Though there was no time for a shower, at least I was able to don nicer clothes and sort out my hair.

Open house went fine, thanks to my charming translator Irmak—less than half of the parents spoke English.

When I returned home, David and Sally were already lounging in the living room. It felt great to collapse and chat with them for a while and leave the morning’s trials behind.

My living room, where David and Sally awaited me.

My upstairs neighbor, Füsün, had invited us all up for coffee, so we shook ourselves awake to head up. We’d had no idea what a treat we were in for. Füsün’s apartment is two stories—both with breathtaking views of the Bosphorous. We chatted on her rooftop terrace over Turkish coffee, prepared by her charming mother Şukran (from Izmir). I was tickled to meet my new neighbors and look forward to good times with them.

Oh—my doorbell just rang: Füsün’s mother had come down with a tray of three dishes of walnut-sprinkled vanilla pudding. Sadly, David is back at Koç and Sally is visiting our friend Cemile. Guess I’ll have to eat them all myself…

Bummer.

A neighborhood cat supervising the neighborhood from the safety of a car roof..

Oh, those Turks!

September 29, 2011September 29, 2011 amershon3 Comments

I continue to be amazed at the kindness of the Turkish people. “Good morning, Ms. Mershon. How are you today?” echoes from numerous students as I enter the building. Except for Erol, who teasingly salutes as I pass.

My precious and diligent 10-hour English class—what’s not to love?

My face is growing familiar to people in my little community of Arnavutköy, so I receive many greetings as I walk Libby down its cobbled streets morning and evening on our way to the Bosphorus. “Merhaba. Naszilsınız?” (Hello. How are you?) I have to admit, it warms my heart. There are dogs on every street that have come to know Libby, whether they sniff, bark, or just stare through windows…

One of Libby’s 2nd-story Arnavutköy fans.

I was significantly touched at the warmth of the Turks with a couple I guided through Sultanahmet a few weekends ago. I brought them up a stone stairway to the top of the Sair Han for a stunning panorama of the city. After oohing and ahhing a bit, I commented that there used to be a little shop up there where they made baseball caps. Gary said he’d read there were 40,000 textile factories in Turkey and wondered if many were small ones. I peeked through the doorway and discovered two people working at sewing machines while a few others stacked and organized hats a la Bartholmew Cubbins—and smoked.

This shop brought Bartholmew Cubbins to mind.

I asked (in my most polite Turkish) if we might come in to see, and they welcomed us warmly. My friends marveled at the quality of the felted woolen caps (with earflaps), which we learned were destined for Russia. Gary tried one on, then asked if it would be possible to purchase one. “Bir şapka ne kadar? Bir tane alabilir miyiz?” I translated.

The shop manager with Gary and his new “hediye” hat.

“Hayir,” (no) the older gentleman said, then handed a cap to Gary. “Hediye.” It was a gift. He offered us tea, and while it steeped he guided us to a second room tho show us how they cut piles of fabric pieces and molded each stitched cap on a steamer. Though it was a small operation, he said they produced 500 caps a day.

You can’t see the steam, but it’s emanating through that cap.

We sipped our tea outdoors, happy to be away from their cigarette smoke, yet even happier to have met them.
Later we visited the Buyuk Valide Han where a young man named Serkan crafts glass lamps and “antiques” for the Grand Bazaar. I asked if he would solder a piece of my brass and copper bracelet back together, and he cheerfully agreed to. He suggested we look at the view from the han’s roof, and he found former weaver Mehdi Bey, who also brought us to see an ancient loom that has long since been hushed.

Mehdi Bey tells us (in Turkish) about this old loom that now rusts away in an abandoned shop.

When we returned Serkan handed me my bracelet, now beautifully buffed and polished. I was astonished. I pulled out a bill and handed it to him, but he refused, saying it was for his friend. Blush. I promised myself I’d return to buy more hanging lamps for my porch, and I was relieved that my friends bought a few items for themselves.
Back in Arnavutköy my kitchen cabinet knob kept coming loose. After repeatedly screwing it in tighter only to have it fall off, I decided to look for a longer screw. I’d purchased an umbrella the other day from a tiny nearby hardware store that spills out onto the sidewalk, so I decided to start there (not hoping for much).

One of Arnavutköy’s less welcoming inhabitants–I think we interrupted his nap.

The proprieter welcomed me into his shop, cutting short his cell phone call to greet me and offer his service. Try to imagine my pathetic Turkish request, which must have sounded a bit like, “I longer need for like this please?” The proprieter nodded, then walked back through a narrow aisle and pulled out a few drawers of assorted screws. He held my knob and screw in one hand as he rummaged through the drawer and compared it to one screw after another. He finally found one that matched my screw in width, but it was far too long.

My kitchen, now brighter and happier with its new retr0-fitted knob.

I thanked him for his time, but he reassured me. “Problem yok, Kesebilirim,” or something like that. “No problem. I can cut it.”
He pulled out a mammoth pincers and worked at that screw, turning and twisting it as he squeezed on the pincer. He ended up bending the screw, so I assumed we were both screwed. “Problem yok.” He grabbed a pliers to straighten it, then used a small nut to make sure the threads were true. He spend about fifteen minutes with me, and I was both amazed and relieved to have found a solution to my problem without a trip to the city. Whew!
I pulled out my embroidered Turkish money purse to pay him, and he waved me away. “Hayir. Hayir. Çok küçük. Hediye,” he said. Again, a gift. I pressed him to take payment, and he refused a second time, then offered me a cup of tea.
Oh, those Turks!

Young neighbors who took a real shine to Libby.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

September 22, 2011September 22, 2011 amershon1 Comment

CH-CH-CH-Changes (apologies to David Bowie)

A few days ago I had an appointment with Edith, our community’s holistic healer—acupuncture, massage, pressure points, etc. She welcomed me with a warm smile, and though I think she may be nearly my age, she looked even younger than I remembered her. As she massaged my weary legs (thanks to the hills of Istanbul), we talked at length about all the recent changes in our precious village of Arnavutköy.

These fishing boats sit along the quais at Arnavutköy.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived was that the Abracadbra, my favorite seaside restaurant, had closed. The neighboring fish restaurant has taken over the building, and I mourn the loss of that funky restaurant that once adpated classic Turkish foods into gourmet delights. Rumor has it that licensure was a problem, and the bribes were \too expensive. Hmmm…

This corner used to be the deep-red Abracadabra Restaurant, now annexed by Sur Balık.

Happily, a plethora of Ottoman houses have been refurbished, and others that were beyond repair have been torn down and rebuilt. I watched one being torn down a few years ago, and it’s now a towering Victorian-looking mansion ready for new inhabitants.

One of Arnavutköy’s stunning refurbished Ottoman homes.

This one is across the street from my apartment building…

Who could help but be charmed by this entrance?

Many Ottoman houses await their turn—hope it’s not too late for this one!

Another nice change is a few pet stores, one just three blocks from my apartment. Libby is thrilled. She’s also pleased that the cat population remains unchanged—unless it’s increased a bit. There’s no lack of cats to chase as we walk up and down the cobbled streets of Arnavutköy each morning and evening. A few Toms have the guts to stand up to Libby, who knows when to turn tail and skulk off.

A surprise awaits Libby around every corner.

The newly cobbled streets were completed before my last departure, and I continue to find them immensely charming.

I wrote a few years ago about a gecekondu near my old apartment that had been demolished one night; the remains remain. A second one just below it has also been destroyed. What I wouldn’t give to know the real story behind all that destruction. It infuriates me. Why them, when the city’s entire hillside is rife with gecekondus (hastily built homes)?

There were three small grocery stores on the north side of the village, and the largest of the three is closing down as I write. The other two are franchises, obviously hard to compete with. Edith told me a bank will be moving in. That’s a little scary, because of course we fear that this sweet village is going to become a high-end tourist destination like Bebek, the next community up the Bosphorous. What can one do?

Farewell to this super market that was open just yesterday–these bins filled with produce.

Robert College feels much the same to me, though of course many of the staff have moved on to other schools. Turnover is inevitable in schools that employ foreigners, and its always hard to see good friends go. I’ve returned to the same attic office with three of my former office mates as well as four new ones. With eight of us, it’s a busy office. Oh–and the step-climbing hasn’t changed, either. I climb 99 steps to our attic each morning and add something between 200 and 400 more steps each day—and that’s just going UP! (Hence, the visit to Edith.)

An early morning shot of Robert College–prompted by the Morning Glories.

One change that makes me a bit sad is our night view. They finally finished cleaning the facade of the picturesque Kuleli MIlitary School across the water, and it looks gorgeous during the day. Unfortunately, the night lighting is bizarre–white towers with gold lighting between them. Some changes just don’t work for all of us.

Another thing that’s still the same is an ancient ruin just below my balcony. I look out on ancient brick-and-stone arches from who-knows-what kind of structure. It’s reassuring to know that some of these relics are being preserved in spite of the escalating property values in this picturesque Bosphorous community.

This ruin still stands just below my balcony.

Hooray for Heritage!

Back in Istanbul yet again!

September 14, 2011September 15, 2011 amershon4 Comments

One week down and twenty-three to go. Actually, that’s not the way one really looks at time in Istanbul. It’s more like, “Oh, dear! I only have twenty-three weeks left!” Really.

Having been stateside for over a year, returning to Istanbul was like coming back home. Libby and I were met at the airport by Adem, our kindly driver who delivered us to a spacious, bright, and breezy apartment—the best digs I’ve had in my years over here. I’m sub-letting it from a Robert College trustee who lives here in the summer, and she’s been more than kind in sharing her world as well as the name of her precious cleaner.

A neighborhood fixer-upper in Arnavutköy

I arrived in time for the third day of workshop, as I’d stayed behind for my nephew’s wedding in Boulder, Colorado. Since I missed his sister’s wedding a few years before, I enjoyed catching up with both of them and meeting their incredible partners. Ah, new beginnings!

…

It’s taken me a week to catch up with the time difference (9 hours from Boulder), and I finally feel human as I enjoy the evening breezes wafting through the apartment. I just downed a delicious tomato sandwich, thanks to Arnavutköy’s Tuesday Street Market. The tomatoes were incredible—like the homegrown beefsteak tomatoes I remember from years ago. Each vegetable stand featured tomatoes sliced open to showcase their solid, red interiors, tomatoes you’d never find in a store (even here). I paid 1,5 TL a kilo, which comes out to about 40¢ a pound. Yup. Amazing, huh? And let me tell you, that tomato sandwich was DELICIOUS!

Some incredible tomatoes at an enviable price (40¢ a pound)

Last weekend Libby and I trekked to Burgazada with my friends Sandra and David and Sandra’s friend-of-a-friend from New York. Burgazada is one of the Princes Islands, located in the Sea of Marmara not far from Istanbul’s shore. It’s about an hour-long ferry ride, and we sat on outside benches to enjoy the warm air and stunning views of the city. Cars aren’t allowed on the Prince’s islands, which makes for an idyllic setting. Horse carriages and wagons provide the only transportation, both taxis and delivery vehicles.

We hiked up to Sandra’s apartment and relaxed on her balcony overlooking the sea as we sipped coffee and indulged in a variety of local pastries. My favorite was a sesame paste roll, much like a cinnamon bun. After that we trekked to the height of the island to visit an ancient “KILISE”—church, as well as a very sweet Greek Orthodox graveyard nearby. The big bonus on our hike, though, was a massive fig tree heavy with sweet, ripe figs, ours for the taking. Oh, my!

A rough sign below the church (kilise) on Burgazada’s hilltop.

The interior of the Monastery of the Church of the Transfiguration of Christ.

These ancient (and recent) graves overlook the Princes Islands and Istanbul in the distance.

We hiked back down the island to the pier, where we sat in a shaded seaside cafe to spend two hours feasting on mezes (hors d’oeuvres), salad, and fresh-caught fish. YUM! Libby got only skin, which she didn’t mind a bit.

Doug, Sandra, me and David revel in our fresh fish lunches.

Of course, I’ve been working, too. School started Monday, and I love all three of my classes. Of course, most RC kids are incredible, which is probably why I keep agreeing to come back. They’re respectful, quiet, and diligent. Unfortunately, many are also sensitive. I’ve seen my share of tears, especially from a few who know very little English. This prep year is daunting for them, but they’ll all be on the same page by December. I often wonder how I’d react to being thrown into a classroom where we only spoke Turkish. ARAUGHHH!!!!

Opening Ceremony at Robert College–in their outdoor arena/maze

It’s been a busy week, settling in, learning about our new ThinkPad computers, planning for my classes, and walking Libby a few times a day. I just stopped to get copies of my apartment keys, and I’m proud to say that I was able to communicate clearly with the anhatarçı (key maker) in Turkish.

Harika! (Super!)

Ethiopia-Hosanna

July 7, 2011July 7, 2011 amershon1 Comment

I’ve been here a week and a half now, and I’m settling into a routine, though never without adventure. The food here is sensational (though I’ve had one intestinal blip—fresh tomatoes in a potato salad, I think), but other than that I’m happy and healthy.

Last weekend Matt and I explored the city—miles of it—on foot. We took a mini-bus to Mexico (a central square) for about 12 cents, then hoofed it. Our first stop was for macchiato (see photo) for about 35 cents each, then we hiked about an hour to another spot where we stopped for lunch of injera, which is a huge thin pancake (about 18 inches across) made from tef, a highly nutritious grain grown only in Ethiopia. It’s spread on a large tray and dolloped with different dishes and sauces. You rip off a bit of injera with your right hand, then scoop a bit of a dish or two into it, then enjoy it. My favorites are the vegetable dishes, but there are some mighty delicious meat stews and lentil dishes that I’ve tasted as well.

The 12¢ macchiato.

A delectable meal of injera with numerous toppings. YUM!

Many Ethiopians eat injera for every meal, but unfortunately many of them survive on one meager meal a day (if that). The poverty here continues to affect me deeply.

At any rate, our lunch of injera, beer, and a machiatto cost us a whopping $2 each (or was it $3?) We spent the rest of the day touring some fascinating churches and exploring new areas of the city, finally landing at the Addis Ababa Restaurant, where we indulged in a meal of injera with tej (the local honey wine—tasted a little musty to me, but we choked it down, stalwart drinkers that we are).

Matt and I were joined by two women on Saturday—Bea, a pediatrician from Madison, and Beth, a public health nurse from Minneapolis. They’ve both been very involved with international adoptions, and Bea has volunteered here in the past, so she’s been a great Addis guide. She’s introduced us to some fine restaurants and other sites. Today she’s taking us shopping before she and Beth return home escorting a baby for someone in Iowa. We’ll miss them.

Our past few days have been an incredible adventure. We took a Children’s Home Society bus to Hosanna to visit the their orphanage and school in that very poor city. Hosanna has a population of 100,000, most of whom are incredibly poor. The drive down was beautiful, and it gave us a true picture of Africa. Most of the traffic we encountered was foot traffic—both people and animals.

Though most of the street traffic was human, we saw the occasional herd of four-footed creatures.

A city street in Hosanna—foot traffic predominates everywhere, as there is 1 car per 1000 people in Ethiopia.

We left at 6 A.M., and along the way we saw hundreds of school children walking to school, many barefoot with dirty ragged clothes, but all dressed in a colored vest or sweater, their school uniform. Many walk miles to school each day, so tardiness is overlooked. Just getting there is a huge accomplishment. Statistically, only 33% of boys and less than 20% of the girls in Ethiopia attend school, one of the lowest rates of enrollment in the world. When I saw what they go through to attend, I can understand why. Many are kept home to work.

We stopped often along the way for numerous cows, goats, burrows and sheep on the road, many being driven to market or traveling to find water, a scarce commodity in the area. We saw a few trickling, muddy rivers, and I assume there were occasional wells. Water has to be transported long distances to the orphanage and school in Hosanna.

Though carts were a rare sight, this one carried numerous water jugs, managed only by a small boy.

Most of the homes we passed were mud huts built with eucalyptus poles. We saw a number of “lumber yards” along our route, but none had lumber—just piles of eucalyptus poles. Many of the mud huts were rectangular (averaging about 12 X 16 feet) with corrugated metal roofs, but we saw hundreds of more traditional round huts with thatched roofs. In the city, most of the homes were square huts with corrugated roofs.

A country house–rather nice, mud over eucalyptus poles (you can see them on the outside)

A city house–mud over eucalyptus poles, with the orphanage up the road.

After checking into our hotel (the nicest one in Hosanna—quite new and very clean for $11 a night), we headed to the orphanage. While the doctors and social workers did check-ups and met with the staff about water and nutrition issues, I stepped into the room for 6 month to 18-month-olds. There were eight beautiful babies in there with two very loving nannies who welcomed me with broad smiles. Each baby has his/her own little wooden bed sitting on the floor, except for the oldest (about 15 months, I think), who was toddling around and slept in a crib with high sides.

The exclusive Lemma International Hotel in Hosanna–$11 a night

The view across the street from the hotel—note the man on the left gesturing to me not to take photos.

Most of the babies were very responsive and enjoyed being played with and loved. These children are well cared for, let me tell you. Oh, how I wished I could take photos, but it was not to be. 10-month-old Bereket laughed and laughed yesterday as I pulled her to her feet, and she cried her little heart out when I left her. Oh, my goodness. I learned all of their names, and watched as one little girl took some of her first steps. These are some lucky children.

The new Mussi Children’s Home Orphanage in Hosanna, for babies up to 18 months.

This morning I met the parents of one little girl I’d played with. Unfortunately, They’ll only get to meet her and go to court to be interviewed, then they go back to LA to wait until all the paperwork is done. At that point (probably six months from now), they’ll return to bring her home. She’ll be walking by then, I’m sure.

Nearly all of these orphans are developmentally delayed, as they’ve come from incredibly difficult circumstances. Most arrive malnourished, and many have been neglected. Their stories are harsh—I’m editing their background reports as a part of my work here in Addis, and it’s not pretty. The good news is that they’re now cared for and loved.

These children asked me to take their photo. I wondered if the little girl attended school with the baby on her back, though she isn’t wearing the red sweater/uniform, so probably doesn’t attend school.

In the afternoon we visited the “sister” orphanage for children from 18 months up, and that was a little more chaotic. I managed to organize “Ring Around the Rosie” with them, did activities like “hands up, hands down,” etc, and a few more songs, but mostly they wanted to hang on me, turn on my indiglo watch, and hold my hands. They had lots of toys, but I could see they were a real handful for their three nannies—I think there were probably 20+ children there, and more supervision would have been great for them. Of course, I think I made things more chaotic just by being there. I tend to do that. Someone has been teaching them gymnastics, because many of them called out “Mama!” so I would watch them as they performed somersaults, handstands, headstands, and cartwheels. One younger girl went to the wall and walked her feet up the wall with her hands on the floor—too sweet. I was there about an hour, and by the time I was done, I was BUSHED!

No photos of the children, but these happily-employed ladies were hanging the children’s laundry in the yard of the orphanage.

The second day I visited the Hosanna School, which is funded by adoptive parents from the U.S. It is a tuition-free school exclusively for children from food-insecure homes (one meal a day or less), many of whom are orphans living with relatives or at the orphanage. It’s a lovely little school in the outskirts of Hosanna, and presently 215 children ages 4-15 constitute 7 classes. They’re divided by academic skills rather than age, so there can be a 5-year range in one classroom. Each year they’ll add another class of students.

Teacher! I know the answer!—the Hosanna School for children of food-insecure families

A young boy quite pleased with his exam score

The behavior of the students was impeccable, and each class stood when I entered to welcome me. “Welcome to our school, Guest. We are happy to meet you.” I interacted with them a little, then just observed and took photos. The bright classrooms and caring teachers were truly impressive. The students tend a huge vegetable garden that supplements their daily lunch with fresh produce.

One of the younger classes just after greeting me. The little girl on the left had a sore on her neck and wanted to hide it.

The Hosanna School is proud of this library, which is in dire need of books.

This precious lunchroom poster says it all. These children get two meals each day as well as an education.

Again, I have to finish by saying that I’m incredibly impressed with the service of the Children’s Home Society in Ethiopia. They’ve impacted thousands of children and created hundreds of jobs for Ethiopians. I’ve been told by many that they are the best adoption/service organization operating in Ethiopia. Unfortunately, because the government is clamping down on adoptions and because of the state of the economy, their income flow is greatly compromised, so they’re forced to make some cuts. We all hope more volunteers and more donations will help them through this crisis.

This little boy doesn’t get to attend school—too much work to do. Note his oversized boots.

Volunteering in Ethiopia

May 6, 2011May 6, 2011 amershon7 Comments

I’m in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, volunteering at an orphanage for the Children’s Home Society. It’s been a real eye-opener, let me tell you.

I don’t have any photos of the children in the Care Center because they don’t allow photos for confidentiality and security reasons. It makes me a little sad, as I’ve already grown more than fond of these little people and would love photos to remember them by. Many of them will be adopted soon, but others have been in the orphanage for years. It’s hard to find families that will adopt siblings or children with disabilities, sweet as they are.

Me with the Children’s Home Ethiopia Care Center in the background–nice digs!

I’m enjoying my mornings with the children–I teach ages 5-10 (16 kids), and about a third of them can write their names. Most know the alphabet, so I’m trying to find ways to stimulate the ones who are ahead yet not leave the others behind. I taught them the “Hokey Pokey”, and they love it. The oldest boy, Samuel, always says, “One more time, please.” They’re supposed to call me Miss Ann, but they always call me Mama. What’s THAT about? A ploy to get me to bring one of them home? Tempting, but I’m a little old to dive into parenthood again. I’m working on learning their names–a real challenge with only a few that are familiar. Asnakech, Konjit, Sintayehu, Tadiows, Ashenafi…guess which are girls. (at the end of the post)

My little darlings hard at work (photo OK because no kids are recognizable)

The other day after my class I sat in on an interesting session. A laughter therapist visits every week to lead laughter play with the older children–all 29 of them. He gets them all giggling and laughing within minutes, then has them tell repeated stories, go through familiar physical antics, etc. It was amazing to watch. He told me that this particular orphanage has the best facility and the best care of all the orphanages he visits–which are many. I’m amazed at how happy and well-adjusted these children appear to be. Their nannies are warm and caring women, yet they manage the behaviors effectively. The older children help out a lot, too—apparently a cultural thing.

Some kids posing for me on the street–typical boys!

The orphanage and the guest housing where I stay are in the embassy district. The contrast between the wealth of the embassy homes and the poverty surrounding it is shocking at best. I walk less than ten minutes to the orphanage each day, then back to guest house for lunch. Then I walk to the Children’s Home Society offices in the afternoon, where I’m mostly editing extensive reports on each child (written by the social workers). I’ll also be working on scripts for DVD’s about the country and each child’s personal background. A unique DVD is prepared and sent home with each adoptee. I’m truly impressed with all they do here.

This is the Children’s Home office building–7 floors. I had a small office on the sixth floor-92 steps up.

Children’s Home Society has done a phenomenal job of giving back to this country for sharing their children through adoptions. They established the orphanage in 2003, and with the help of these adoption funds they’ve founded a clinic/hospital for mothers and children (a 50-bed facility), they’ve established three tuition-free schools for poor children, and they also monitor the care and nutrition at rural orphanages from which they pull adoptees. CHSFS employs over 400 Ethiopians.

A small street market near the Care Center. Can you see why it seemed out of place for me to take a morning walk with my water bottle and ipod? I couldn’t face all the beggars.

Me and my friend Matt posing with tej, the local honey wine. Tasted a little musty to me.

There’s one other volunteer here, a doctor from the U of M. We get along well, and it’s nice to have a buddy. Matt left a wife and 15-month-old son back home, so he’s particularly distressed about the exorbitant cost of internet here. It’s quite slow and very expensive, so we won’t be skyping or blogging. We paid $108 for just two hours of internet, though most of that cost was the usb satellite connection. They have dial-up here in the guest house, but it seldom works. The internet is a government-owned monopoly, and it seems unfair that such an impoverished population should have to pay so dearly for internet–and slow service at that. It’s only for the wealthy.

An elder sitting against an embassy wall

The last thing I need to say is that I’m really struggling with the poverty here. Though it’s not pervasive, I see it every time I go out. Yesterday I was approached by about 12 beggars. It’s hard to walk by and ignore them, so I’ve done two things. I decided to keep small amounts of money handy to give those who ask for it, and I’ve found an alternate route to the office so I don’t have to walk by the clusters of beggars outside the church. I’m told that I shouldn’t give money where there are many beggars because I’ll be deluged. I just feel so badly for them when I have so much and they have virtually nothing. One person advised that I give to service agencies rather than to individuals, and another gave me a phrase to say that means “God protect you.”

A beggar on my daily walk home–I gave her a small bill every day (very small–6 cents), and she was always appreciative.

Names: Ashenafi and Tadiows are boys–the others are girls (all wonderful).

An apology and an introduction

January 25, 2011 amershon10 Comments

I’ve been slacking on this blog since I got home (last July), thinking there was little reason to continue it. Little did I know I could also use it as a platform for making contacts for my new memoir (yet to be finished) about my years in Turkey.

I just attended a Writer’s Digest Convention in New York last weekend, and I learned that if I want to interest an agent in this project, I have to build a huge “platform” of many thousands of contacts I can use to promote the book when it comes out–followers, so to speak. In spite of the fact that I’m scared shitless of Twitter, I’ve just joined and I already have eleven followers. Now I just need to figure out what to post. I don’t really use a cell phone, so it’s going to be just computer messaging. In due time…

As for the memoir, I’ve written just over 40,000 words, so I’m about half done. I think what I’ll do is start posting excerpts here on my blog in hopes that some of my friends will start following me again. So—for your information and edification, here’s a bit of the introduction to my book. If you have suggestions, please share them with me.

So—

Ta-Da!!!

THE BIG DECISION~ Introductory ramblings

by Ann Marie Mershon

“Why Turkey?” my son said with a tone of doubtful concern. His reaction reflected that of many friends and family when informed of my move.

“Oh, I’m jealous! Turkey is my favorite place in the entire world,” was another reaction—this from people who had been there.

So—Why Turkey?

One of the silver linings of my divorce after 32 years of marriage was the freedom to teach abroad. I’d long dreamed of teaching in another country, but my husband was unable—read unwilling—to make that shift. My tight finances as a single also meant at least three extra years of teaching, so I decided to treat myself to a grand finale. I would teach overseas—a reward for 30 years of dedication to thousands of adolescents and their fluctuating devotion to literature and writing.

In the spring of 2003 I attended a session on international teaching at an English teachers’ convention. My heart pounded as I scribbled copious notes. Moderators Bob and Carol Strandquist had taught in both England and Norway, and after tantalizing us with fascinating tales, they shared information about websites, fellowships, and recruiting fairs. I was a bit jealous of them. Why hadn’t I married a teacher interested in overseas teaching? At the same time, I was eager for my own adventure. The next day I registered with TIE Online and the University of Northern Iowa, the cheapest and most accessible recruiting tools available. I paid their fees and posted my resumé on both sites.

Then I waited.

I set my sights on Spain, since I wanted to improve on my paltry knowledge of Spanish. Barcelona sounded exciting, so I sent them a resume. In the spring of 2004 my district was in the midst of disheartening contract negotiations, and my heart fluttered when TIE Online posted a drama opening at a mountain chateau school in the Alps. Unfortunately, I’m responsible. I was committed to another year in Grand Marais, so I swallowed my excitement and stayed put.

I puttered around online regularly, soon receiving queries from overseas school directors.

Enter John Chandler, the director of the Koç School in Istanbul, Turkey. (Pronounced Coach) He sent an e-mail encouraging me to consider a position at his school. Koç? Weird name. Istanbul? Pretty exotic. I wasn’t even quite sure where it was, much less whether I wanted to go there. I searched it out in my National Geographic Atlas, then visited the school’s website. Hmmm…nice apartments, good pay… Maybe I’d consider it. I envisioned dark-mustachioed Bedoins galumphing across the desert on camels. Probably not.

Mr. Chandler courted me online, showing far more interest than any other school director. I’m good at responding to emails, but he was better. I had an encouraging reply within minutes of every message I sent. Koç looked intriguing. I pored through the information he sent, wondering whether I was willing to give up my dream of teaching in Barcelona, Salzburg, or Paris. Barcelona with its captivating Gaudi buildings, Salzburg with its Blue Danube and snow-capped Alps, or Paris’s cobbled streets with the Musé d’Dorsay and street cafes. I had a love affair with Europe, but this guy seemed to think I was perfect for his school. I read his interest as genuine and heartfelt. I think it was. Chandler is an intuitive reader of people, and he knows what he wants.

Finally in February of 2005 I was flying through a snowstorm to the University of Northern Iowa International Recruiting Fair in Waterloo, Iowa. Waterloo is far from picturesque, especially in a February freeze, but the conference was incredible. Over 600 teachers and 160 school directors filled the convention center on that first day. As I perused my information (reams of school descriptions) and sifted through the latest openings, my mind raced. What did I want? Would I get a job? What if I didn’t? Every teacher had a folder filled with notes from school directors, invitations for interviews, etc. I decided to pass on the Koç position because of a reference to rote learning; I wouldn’t compromise my teaching philosophy with drills and memorization. Not for two whole years. And why would I want to live in a country that bordered Iraq? Like it or not, America was at war there. And then there was the Islam thing. I sure didn’t want to wear a scarf. Yup, I’d avoid the Mid-east. It would be good old Western Europe for me! Barcelona or Paris would be just fine, thank you.

I found John Chandler on the arena floor at his school’s table. He was distinguished—white-haired and thin-lipped. I introduced myself and apologetically cancelled my interview. He nodded and smiled knowingly. “Can I ask why?”

“It’s the rote learning,” I said. “I’m a hands-on teacher; I prefer active learning and inquiry in my classroom.” (I wasn’t going to mention the Islamic thing—probably politically incorrect.)

“That’s exactly why we’re interested in you,” he said. “You must have misunderstood. We frown on rote learning. That information was about the dersani classes the seniors attend after school and weekends. Our system is dedicated to stimulating and involving them. You might want to reconsider. Why not take a look at Koç?”

Well, I did. I took a good look, and I liked what I saw. After two interviews with John Chandler and incoming director, Tony Paulus, I was offered a position. I was also offered three other positions.

I chatted with experienced international teachers about my options. “You can’t pass up an opportunity to teach in Istanbul,” one said. “It’s a cultural mecca,” said another. “If I could get a job in Istanbul, I’d go yesterday,” one man told me. Another teacher was familiar with the Koc School and spoke highly of it. Hmmm…

I called Luana Brandt, a former teaching compatriot who had traveled throughout Europe and Asia. I thought she might lend another perspective. When I shared my four options, she responded immediately. “Istanbul. No question.” That clinched it. Everyone had pointed the way, and I would be a fool not to follow.

Turkey it would be.

Old Fogies kayak the Apostles

September 16, 2010September 17, 2010 amershon2 Comments

The sixth annual Old Fogies Lake Superior Kayak Trip challenged us—at least a bit. We had a few handicaps this year: I was just over a month beyond foot surgery, Dick has a bum hip, and Annie has temperamental elbows and shoulders (due to an oversized kayak). Jini and Mike seemed to be in pretty good shape, but there’s always the spectre of arthritis haunting us. Could we actually BE Old Fogies? We range from 59 to 69. Hmmm…
Because we couldn’t get out until September, we decided to return to the relatively protected area of the Apostles, hoping to visit the islands we’d missed on our first trip. The weather had been stellar for weeks before our trip, so we had high hopes it would continue.

It didn’t.

Sigh…

Me and Mike and Maggie’s flamingoes
Late Thursday afternoon (after a DELICIOUS lunch in Bayfield at Maggie’s Restaurant–decorated to the hilt with flamingoes) we pulled into the Little Sand Bay, our destination. We hauled our kayaks down to the beach and loaded untold amounts of gear into them, a process called “staging.” According to Mike, we finished in record time. As we cast off from shore, we wondered about the six men who’d loaded their kayaks up on the lawn near their cars. Though it’s a chore to haul gear down to the beach, it’s FAR more difficult to carry 150+ pound loaded kayaks. To each his own.

My kayak and the gear that will go into it.

We donned our rain gear, and a mist began to fall as we paddled the six+ miles to our campsite. The guys pushed on ahead while Annie, Jini, and I took our time crossing, ecstatic with the glee of a new adventure. The mist abated as we approached Sand Island, where we were rewarded with shoreline sea caves. It’s virtually impossible to pass a sea cave without exploring; we took our sweet time enjoying the echoes, splooshes, and challenges of paddling through them.

Sea caves along Sand Island

Our first trial was paddling around the northerly point of the island into the wind, where crosswinds created a jumble of multi-directional waves, peaking erratically. Challenging, but VERY fun! We had to focus on the waves, so we could only steal quick glances at the picturesque Sand Island Lighthouse perched high on the point.

Sand Island Lighthouse

FINALLY! We reached our campsite before dark, well aware that it might be our home for the next few nights. We’d been warned of high winds to come and expected to be windbound. Luckily, both Mike and Dick have weather radios, and we did daily checks on weather and small-craft warnings. Our campsite was in a protected cove where we couldn’t really see the waves, but we were later told that ten-foot waves were reported on Friday.

Needless to say, we spent two nights on Sand Island. To fill our non-paddling days, we hiked. Down the beach, over to the lighthouse, and around the island (at least the others did—my foot wasn’t up to more than a few kilometers of hiking at a stretch, so I only walked the beach and to the lighthouse).

Walking Sand Island beach

Saturday the sun was high and the waves were, too. We were disappointed, but our radio informed us that the waves would abate later in the afternoon. We decided to enjoy the sunshine and then pack up our gear. We would have our big evening meal at noon, then be ready to cast off when things looked safe. I think we launched about 2:00 for a 14-mile paddle to Rocky Island. The good news is that the wind was with us, though we felt a bit more like surfers than kayakers.

Mike reads on a rock as we wait for the waves to calm down

We were totally exhausted when we rounded the sandy point to our destination (leeward, thank goodness) on Rocky. Lo and behold, there were no less than 12 sailboats moored just down from the first campsite.

Sunset from our campsite on Rocky Island

We had no reservation there, but we assumed that since it was 6:00 p.m. we could take any available campsite. The first site was located just off the beach, it was close, and it had great tent sites. We heaved a great sigh of relief, hauled our food to the bear box, unloaded our lunch packs, and dove in. YUM! After imbibing in both food and drink, we got the tents up just before the sun set.

Imagine our surprise when two shadows emerged from the dark just offshore, paddling our way. OOPS!!! They had, indeed, reserved this campsite, but they kindly offered to camp on the beach nearby. “Don’t worry. We’ll just wait for the ranger to leave. We prefer the beach anyway.” This considerate pair of brothers from Chicago refused our offer to join us in our site and waited until the ranger’s boat left the cove. Whew! Were we lucky! They could have made a real stink about us taking the site, but they WERE really late.

Our lovely Rocky Island campsite—after breakfast

The morning brought calm waters. Hooray! We indulged in a big breakfast of bran muffin/pancakes, then walked the beach, watching the birds and exploring the island. Mike took off on a 20-mile trek to North Twin and Outer Island, while the rest of us lollygagged before heading out on the short 6-mile paddle to Cat Island.

A fascinating lone cedar along the shore of South Twin, imagine two nearby eagles shrilling to each other…

Our campsite on Cat had a beautiful sand beach, but the cooking area and tent sites were high up on the hill in the woods. No picnic table—bummer. We had to fix food on top of the rusty old bear box. Halfway up the hill was a moldering toilet–our joke for the day. It was our first real latrine—a system of composting where we’d toss in a handful of “forest duff” after each use. The base of it was open, though screened from insects and bears, and believe it or not, it didn’t stink. Good thing.

The Deluxe Moldering Toilet, complete with instructions

Just as we were wondering how late Mike would be, he pulled up on the beach. He’d said he’d be back by 6:00, and it was 6:05. Of course, we gave him grief for being late. Why not? We were joined by a few sailboats moored off the beach (It was Labor Day weekend), and they made a point of visiting the famous toilet. Three of the boats were peopled by Single Christians who were there for some serious socializing. They couldn’t outdo us, though—in fact, one of them walked over to ask what we’d been laughing about so hysterically. “Inside joke,” Dick explained. We felt it a bit too ribald for single Christians (something about Dick’s little orange hot-dog tent). Actually, we dissolve into hysterical laughter at least daily. This trip it was often over the Dick and Mike Show: two drunks at a Wisconsin bar. Guffaw.
Dick and I sat up with the trip’s first campfire until late that night–nearly 9:30 (we were usually in our tents around 8:00).

Ah, FINALLY—a camfire!

Dick roused us all at 6:30 with a report that we needed to race through breakfast and get on the water, as the waves were going to increase to 4-6 feet by afternoon. ARAUGHHH!!! Man, did we MOVE! Cold breakfast (thanks, Jini), pack up, and off we flew. The wind was behind us, and the waves were already 2-3 feet high, amazing after the calm of the previous day.
We tried to stay together, but it wasn’t easy, especially since Jini and I decided to break the trip up with a short stop to investigate a STELLAR campsite on the south tip of Ironwood Island. The waves grew, and once we were closer to each other, we would lose sight of everything but heads–big waves. Mike was busy surfing them, smart-alec. He set a plan of action for landing in the high waves at our Oak Island campsite. He would go in first, then each of us in turn would ride a wave onto the sand, hop quickly out of the kayak, and those on the beach would pull it up before the next wave crashed. Annie made the mistake of standing up IN her kayak and was thrown off balance when they yanked her kayak up. Oops! No injuries–just laughter.

Annie and Mike prepare a delectable Breakfast for us.

It was a nice campsite, except for the wind, which pounded us head-on. I now understand how women on the prairie would go crazy from the wind. We got rid of our wet clothes, bundled up, then sat in the sun to enjoy a late lunch. Once again, we were totally exhausted. According to Dick’s GPS, we had done 8 miles in two hours with a top speed of over six miles an hour. Thank-you, Wind!

Behind the tarps on Oak Island
Jini and I pitched our tent in a quiet clearing back near the loo (wind blew away any odors), and by the second night, Annie and Mike joined us back there. We set up a rain tarp and a wind tarp, and there was a small area behind them where the wind was just tolerable. It was better to be back in the woods. We all headed up to the Overlook during the afternoon, marveling at the unique forest of hemlocks, maples, and birch.

“THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms”

-from Evangeline, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Mushrooms abounded as well–it was gorgeous. Later we did our share of reading and napping in hammocks and tents. Even back in the woods, though, the chilling wind shortened our hammock sojourns.

A coral mushroom, growing on a downed tree

Flowery-looking fungus on a downed tree

We knew we’d be windbound another night, so we took our time with cocktail hour and meals—always with the added treat of the Dick and Mike show. What a pair!
We’d hoped the wind would die down during the night on Wednesday, but the gales were still blasting us. The waves were manageable, though, and we were tired of hanging out at Oak. We packed up and headed off for Raspberry Island, hoping to be rewarded with a wind-free beach. It was a rough paddle into the wind, but we finally made it. And it was perfect. Annie and I washed our hair, letting it dry in the windless sunshine. HOORAY!!! We relaxed over lunch, napped, and read on the beach, then hiked through the woods to the lighthouse on the north end of the island. Dick and Mike enjoyed a rollicking game of croquet while Jini and I listened to the tales of our young ranger guide. He finally explained, too, that the lush Canadian yew on the island was due to the dearth of deer on Raspberry. It had been mere ground cover on Sand Island, where there’s a big deer herd. Apparently it’s pretty delicious. I’ll pass.

Croquet on the Raspberry Island Lighthouse lawn

Raspberry Lighthouse Kitchen, circa 1920
We tore ourselves away from the island around 2:00, and it took us a few more hours to paddle the five additional miles to our landing. The wind gradually abated, and we were able to chat and explore the shoreline as we approached our final destination on Little Sand Bay. Whew!

Late afternoon, paddling back to Little Sand Bay
As we drove home, the sun set over a glass-smooth Lake Superior. Now how did THAT happen? We later learned that a kayaker had drowned near Sand Island the next day. I’m glad we’re cautious. Old Fogies are.

Happy Old Fogies: Jini, Dick, Me, Annie, & Mike.

Bavaria with My Buddies

August 2, 2010August 2, 2010 amershon4 Comments

This missive marks the last of my “Istanbul Blogs” though it’s not really about Istanbul at all. My final week overseas was spent with my sister Laura and her family exploring Bavaria—Munich and Innsbruck. I’m sure it was an adventure for them to travel with this “disabled auntie”, and they were all more than accommodating of my needs. We’d happily celebrated Jana and Olaf’s marriage in Hamburg and looked forward eagerly to our flight to Munich. We weren’t exactly thrilled to stand in line with a rowdy group of “fussball” revelers. They said they’d been down for a combined football and stag party. One even offered to sign Matthew’s Twins cap. Pretty drunk.

Hamburg “foosball” revelers~checking in at the airport

One of the advantages of traveling with a wheelchair is that the entire party is whisked through expedited security. Erin and Matthew loved it. Libby was, as usual, hesitant to go through the scanner without me, but the guard dragged her through, and she waited for me nervously.

A wheelchair awaited me in Munich, and Erin pushed me while Matt pushed the luggage cart. Lucky thing, as Matt rammed into a barrier in the parking area. No loss for our luggage, but it might have been painful for me. (He couldn’t see over our mountain of luggage.)

After lengthy negotiations for a larger vehicle (a monster Mercedes van), we headed off for Dachau, about a half hour outside Munich. We had a quick lunch and did some major reconnoitering, and Rob finally found the entrance to the site. It was late afternoon, so the documentary film was over, but we walked (me on crutches) to the main site. Himmler built Dachau, which housed over 200,000 prisoners: Jews, homosexuals, gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, clergymen, and POW’s. 32,000 of them died there. The gate into the compound still has the original saying, “ARBEIT MACHT FRIE”—Work brings freedom.

“Work Brings Freedom”—entrance to Dachau Concentration Camp

Erin perusing the information, Libby’s case in tow

The Wheelchair Wonder—high-fashion matching sandals

We drove up into the mountains to our hotel, the Schwangauer Hof, a country hotel near the two castles we planned to visit. Laura had booked a package called “King Ludwig’s Summer Tour,” and it was fantastic. We enjoyed lavish breakfasts at the hotel, two fabulous 5-course dinners in a deluxe restaurant (even Libby was welcome), and a private evening castle tour and carriage ride (with schnapps at the horse barns). It was definitely a tour designed for families. The highlight of our first dinner was the “Half Lobster Schwanstein”, morsels of lobster in the shell, swimming in butter and hollandaise sauce. Oh, my!

Half lobster Schwanstein—YUM!!!

Matt and Erin cavort after dinner with the lit castle in the background

On Monday everyone else toured Neuschwanstein Castle, the Disney-looking castle that you often see on posters. Because it was a long uphill hike and hundreds of stairs, I decided to forego that tour. I planted myself in an outdoor restaurant with my knitting and an i-pod audio book. (Love that i-pod!) Rob reported that they were a part of a 100-person tour and that there were many more hundreds touring the three stories of the castle. Apparently 1.3 million tourists visit it each year, an average of 3500 a day. I must admit, I’m not sorry to have missed it.

Neuschwanstein—lived in less than one year

That evening we arrived early for our private castle tour, only to learn that it, too, required an uphill climb. We had lots of time, and I managed all the hills and stairs slowly but comfortably.

The Gillunds pose outside the castle before our tour

Not only did we have a private tour of the stunning Hohenschwanstein Castle, but we were the only ones there. (Sadly, no indoor photos allowed.)

Erin welcomes us to the castle—NO TOURISTS! (except us)

Our tour guide closed things up as he showed us around, regaling us with fascinating stories about King Ludwig and answering all our questions. I’ve never enjoyed a castle tour more than this one. King Ludwig wasn’t totally crazy—just different. Our guide suggested that he was declared insane for political reasons, which most likely precipitated his death (suicide?) at age 40.

Hohenschwangau Castle, exterior

After the tour we clambered into a horse carriage and were treated to a tour through the valley, including a stop at a pristine horse stable for a glass of schnapps and a look at the horses. A cleaner stable I’ll never see, and the owner and our driver were both congenial hosts.

Our horse cart tour included many homes like this one…very Bavarian!

Yet another stunning meal (how lucky can we get?) topped off our last night near Swan Lake (hence the “schwan” in the castle names).

This swan graces the top of the castle, named for the nearby Swan Lake

Tuesday morning we climbed into our luxurious van for the drive to Innsbruck, Austria, where we hoped to spend some time hiking in the mountains. Well, except for me… We checked into a very charming alpine hotel (The Tyrolis) and decided to head out for a tour of the Alpine Zoo. Libby and I were turned away at the gate (no dogs), so we hung out again with knitting and an audio book. Sigh…

Knitting outside the zoo…

After the zoo episode we found our way to the city center, which brought back memories of an earlier trip there with my sister-in-law Dodie (1982). We stopped to watch two buskers, one a silver-plated Bo-Peep character with a little dog (no lamb), and the other was a man with a crystal orb for juggling and magic tricks.

A silver-plated Bo-Peep and company in Innsbruck

My favorite Bavarian Singers, Matt and Erin

We sauntered the ancient streets (at my very slow crutcherly pace) and just enjoyed people-watching and browsing among the shops. I continue to be fascinated with medieval cities, and Innsbruck is a charming example. Of course, we enjoyed a heffe weissen, my beer of choice in Germany. YUM!

Tipping a brew to Bavaria, Rob, Laura, and me

On our last lovely day in Austria we took a cable car up the mountain, where I settled myself to knit (again) as the rest of the family trekked into the mountains. They came across a very friendly herd of sheep, probably expecting snacks. Libby was a bit confused, not quite sure how to interact with them.

The Gillunds (and Libby) being accosted by Alpine sheep

They hiked up higher, then returned to the chalet for lunch. Then we decided to go to the Swarovski Crystal Museum, expecting a demonstration of how the famous crystals are mined and manufactured.

Swarovski museum entrance

It was far from that, but it was a pretty fascinating art museum with pieces based on the crystal concept—works ranging from a huge honeycomb-domed room of triangular mirrors to an avant-garde theatrical piece, an entire room of animated mannequins and costumes. Weird, but fun. The kids loved each new and unique experience. The museum’s exit was a huge Swarovski Crystal store. Surprise. (Yawn.)

Matthew the Key Dude

Our last night in Germany was spent back in Hamburg with Jana, Olaf, and little Max. We dined on a delicious pasta dinner on their charming patio (landscaped, of course, by Olaf). A tiny fountain and fish pond gurgled as we ate, chatting and marveling at the miracle of little Max, who seemed to have grown in less than a week.

Post-bath Froggie Baby–Maximillian Sequoya

What a lovely way to finish our time in Germany, with people we love. Lucky me…lucky we!