11-15 October
Tuesday and Wednesday spent in Akyaka continued at a leisurely pace- swimming, reading by the sea, and wandering the few forest trails in the area. I checked out Wednesday afternoon, and as I was faffing with my bags in the pool courtyard area, I was invited to join the owners for tea at their poolside table. I had been picked up by their son and brought any of my questions or inqueries to him during my stay, but had always smiled and waved to the people I assumed to be his parents, and the owners. They spoke no English beyond "hello" and "thank you." The man understood the basics, if I had a question, but that was about it. I sat with the couple and another woman, the cleaner, and sipped my tea in silence.
Awkwardness is a tension create, consciously or not, and for the first few minutes- I felt awkward. I was fully disabled from engaging in meaningless pleasantries; the weather, where I was from, how long had they been in Akyaka.
They asked a few questions- in Turkish- until it became I really didn't understand Turkish. The husband did artfully inquire, "Akyaka, finish?"
"Yes!" I replied excitedly, "I leave Akyaka this evening. I am going to Mugla, and then Istanbul."
He nodded, smiling.
Offers of more tea came in Turkish, which I quickly learned to decipher and sat to enjoy three cups with them before gathering my things to head to the beach for the afternoon.
I returned around dinner time to collect my bags and catch the bus, and as I was taking care of final packings odds and ends, the woman came over with a plate of tomato rice and beans, with fresh bread and grilled tomatoes. It was delicious.
I cease to be amazed.
The bus to Mugla was smooth, as was my transfer to the 'luxury' coaches I had come to know. This time I had two seats to myself and with room to sprawl out, I slept like a baby for the 12 hour journey.
I was awoken by the bus attendant, a young man, who motioned for me to take off my eye cover thingers and look out the window. At first I thought we were nearly there, and he wanted me awake and ready to get off right away. Not so- we were still 30minutes from the station- he was simply encouraging me to take in the view of Istanbul that swept out around us while we crawled through the morning rush hour traffic.
I dropped my pack at the airport and then had a day to enjoy more of Istanbul. Fall had clearly arrived since my last visit to the city not two weeks prior. I sat in a park with a coffee, reading and watching tourists go by. I walked for ages, wandering the streets- for curiosity's sake, but also to keep warm. I had a tasty doner for lunch and then made my way to a Hamam to pass the rest of the afternoon in the warm, steaming baths.
After a soapy and relaxing two hours in the Hamam, I had a delicious dinner at a place nearby- a Lonely Planet recommendation I had looked up the day before; rice with beans and beef. It sounds so simply, but it was spectacular. One of the waiters was quite friendly and spent much of my two hours stay sitting opposite me and chatting. He offered to show me a great shisha courtyard not far from the restaurant, once his shift was over.
He let me off paying only half of my bill, and pointed me down the street to a black wooden door under a small archway. I stepped in and found myself on the top step leading down to a massive courtyard, surrounded by tall stone walls on all four sides, filled with banquets and tables, shisha pipes poking up here and there.
On the front wall a CSI-esque Turkish drama was projected under the night sky.
The waiter joined me not long after and while his English wasn't fantastic, he made for interesting conversation. He grew up in a tiny village in the eastern part of Turkish and was of Kurdish decent. His father owned a shop and his mother stayed home to raise him and his seven brothers and sisters. In the summertime he was a mountain guide in the east and he came to Istanbul in the winter to serve tables with his uncle and cousins. He didn't have a passport and had never left Turkey.
By 9:30pm I was getting weary and said thank you and farewell- now in Turkish AND Kurdish. I got a tad lost trying to find the metro; at one point wandering in a arguably sketchy looking area, but finding my way not soon after. I was back at the airport, sleeping bag in hand, and curled up on a cushy, armrest-less benches and dozing off. It was the first time I had PLANNED to spend the night at the airport- with enough commitment to get my sleeping bag out too. Aside from being woken at 3am by the cleaners who needed to relocate my "bed," it was an otherwise entirely comfortable and sound sleep. My valuables were in bag storage, and I was surrounded by other like-minded travelers. I would do it again in an instant. I was doubly encouraged having found this website:
http://www.sleepinginairports.net/bestof.htm
The flight to Munich was uneventful and I spent a day adjusting to the chilly fall weather and wandering through much of English Garden taking in the sprawling park and its lovely fall colours. That evening I flew to London, where the temperature dropped further and I arrived in Cambridge at Jose's (a classmate from the program who has stayed on for his PhD) doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. We excitedly swapped travel stories as he had spent some time in Indonesia before buckling down as a student again.
The city is bright and crisp, with fall fully unfolded. And of course the tourists. I went for a run today and while stretching on the Queen's back I literally got stepped on by a group that wasn't looking where they were going! Tourists aside, it is wonderful to be back for a few days.... where do I sign up for another year?
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Days 34-36: Akyaka, Turkey
Tuesday 11 October (Day 36)
SMACK SMACK SMACK.......SMACKSMACKSMACK
I woke up to the startling noise of bundles of grapes splattering on my canvas tent early on Saturday morning. Grapevines seem to be commonly used as sources of shade along the Turkish coast- and they were resourcefully used for additional tent shade in Butterfly Valley. They certainly make for picturesque photos...but man, as soon as it gets windy, they make an absolute MESS, not to mention the noise. Imagine the loudest rain you've ever heard while sleeping in a tent and amplify that ten times. Suffice to say it was an early morning thanks to the grape smacking and gusting winds. The valley became a wind tunnel and the sea covered in white caps by 8am.
Grape smacking aside- I quite liked the novelty of an intense "tropical" storm. The problem was that it was likely to bring rain, rendering the sole trail out of the valley useless, and halting all boat traffic to and from the valley due to high swells. The folks living in the valley for months at a time were sure the rain would be there by mid-day, if not sooner.
As much as I liked the spot, I wasn't prepared (namely in having enough underwear or deoderant) to stay another night. I inhaled my breakfast, packed my bags, said my goodbyes and sped off onto the trail out of the valley, racing against the rain clock. The trail in and out of the valley was relatively short, but incredibly narrow and predominantly rock- so getting stuck halfway up in a downpour was really going to leave me in a pickle. Not to mention the wind- I had visions of getting blown of the side of a cliff in a powerful gust. I kept telling myself, "Just don't look down...and hold on tight."
I made it up quicker than it took me to descend (sweating buckets) but beating the rain by a mere 20minutes. I sorted out my bag back at the Pansion overlooking the valley and caught a rammed-packed dolmus back to Fethiye. I had no real plan at this point, but knew that with poor weather on the way and predicted to last for 2-3 days, I didn't like the idea of being stranded in this tiny village. While I had no firm reason to believe I could be stranded as yet, my instincts proved right soon enough.
While chatting away to a lovely couple from Victoria on the dolmus, the van came to a sudden halt. We all jerked our heads to the road in front of us- it was littered with football sized rocks, with more falling from the cliffs above. You know those "rocks falling" hazard signs.... well, I've always wondered what good they do- other than being generally aware, there isn't much you can do if rocks start raining from above. In any case, there weren't any such signs along this weaving, cliff hugging road, but the rocks were most certainly falling. The driver weaved into the other lane to avoid the biggest ones and we slowly bumped over the scattered debris. Who knows how much longer the road would be passable.
The Canadian couple were asking about where I would be headed next- but as of yet, I had no plan. Cappadoccia was an option, but having lost pace for two days when I was ill I was short on time to make the 12hour trek inland. Pamukkale was another region with good hiking, and of course, I could always return to the coastline and hope for wind.
Once at the bus station I inquired about the travel times from the bus depot. While the agents spoke good English, there was sustained confusion when I asked about how long it would take to get to Pamukkale. The problem: the bus company's name was "Pamukkale." They kept reassuring me that, "yes, this is Pamukkale," and "yes, Paumukkale bus." I eventually gave up and conceded to go back to the coast- I craved more kiting, even though the weather wasn't looking promising. While waiting for my ticket to be printed by the agent, I watched as one of his colleagues set out four small plastic cups, filling each with pop from a large bottle of pepsi he had just bought. He handed a cup to the agent on his right, one to an agent standing behind him, and then set one cup up on the counter in front of me, smiling.
"Oh! Thank you," I say. My goodness...this hospitality ceases to amaze me. He then proceded to offer the final cup to another woman standing at the opposite end of the service counter.
I caught a bus to Gokova, a town about 2hours away from Fethiye, back along the coast toward Izmir. It was yet another high tech bus, equipped with wifi and movies. The bus attendant (like an airplane steward) walked down the centre aisle and paused at my seat as we approached the two hour mark.
'"Gokova," he said, loosely pointing ahead.
"Yes," I replied. Ah, I guess he was letting me know my stop was coming up soon. That's a bit odd, I thought.... usually it is announced. Maybe this guy was just being particularly helpful.
I zipped up my bag and shifted to the edge of my seat, as if to show the attendant, Yup, I'm ready to go!
Within seconds the bus pulled over quickly, and the attendant waved his hand to me, stepping down onto the road and looking up at me impatiently.
Right. I looked out the big windows before stepping off: it was pouring rain, and I was not seeing the usual signs of a bus station. I saw a boat shop and some sort of tea hut.
There was no question this was Gokova, the attendant had already confirmed as much.
I stepped onto the muddy shoulder of the road and the attendant swiftly opened the bus compartment to pull out my pack. I swung it up onto my back,
"Thank you," I said as I tugged the hood of my raincoat tight against my face.
He gave a small smile and quickly stepped out of the rain and back onto the bus.
I turned to scope out my surroundings... Where the hell was I?
The bus pulled away, and I took in the small intersection- a boat shop on one corner, a tea hut opposite. Yup, that was it.
Three men sat under the shelter of the tea hut smoking cigaterettes engrossed in animated conversation.
'Worst case scenario....I can always ask them for help,' I thought to myelf, 'Even if they don't speak English....they'll do something for me.' Without even realising it, it seems I had come to depend on the Turkish hospitality.
I stood under the semi-shelter of a towering eucalyptus and weighed my options. I knew there was kiting in Gokova, but this hardly seemed like a town, and I certainly couldn't see any water. There wasn't even an indication of which way a town centre might be. Yup, I was going to need to ask the tea hut men.
I sauntered over and paused to the side, still standing in the rain, waiting for a break in their conversation to put my query out there.
The one facing me saw I was waiting, and when his friend paused, he nodded his head toward me,
"Dolmus, Gokova? Akyaka?" I asked hesitantly.
The man with his back to me, dressed in a wool sweater and navy trousers with a bristly black beard turned,
"No doulmus," he said.
My face immediately took on a look of disappointment...maybe there was some desperation in there too.
He stood up to face me,
"Taksi," he said, walking passed me and toward the road.
I followed him. I had come to trust Turkish strangers like none other. But it was clear he was helping me. We crossed the quiet street and at the carpark for the boat shop, he yells toward an auto garage, hidden behind two big vans. Out comes a man, wiping his hands in a rag, dressed in a grease-splattered yellow checked shirt.
He explains something to the man, tilting his head toward me on occasion. I stand back just watching, but half smiling, hood fit snuggly around my face, rain pelting down. Either they are plotting to rob and kill me or sorting out how to get me into town.
Fortunately it was the later. Turkish hospitality.
Soon enough I was in town, but the driver spoke no English and didn't know where I wanted to go in town, exactly. I didn't either. He pulled up to a barber shop and a younger man with earrings and a goatee sticks his head in the passengers window.
"Hi, where do you want to go? This is my friend," he says, pointing to the driver, "but he doesn't speak English."
"Hi. Well, I did want to stop at the kitesurfing school in town. So this is probably good here, if we're in the town centre?"
"Yes, the kite shop is there," he said, pointing just up the road.
"Great, this is good then," I say, reaching for my bag.
"Where are you staying?" he asks.
"Ah... well, I'm not sure yet. Do you recommend a pansion? I have the name of one in my bag..."
"No reservation?" he asks.
"No..." I say. It's the dead end of their busy summer season- I knew there was no need for one.
"Just one minute," he says, stepping away from the car.
The driver of the car gets out and takes a seat in one of the chairs out front of the next shop over and is handed a cup of Turkish tea.
I was now sitting in this stranger's car on my own. The rain was still pelting down. My bags were strewn about me. And I wasn't quite sure what this guy was trying to sort out. I was perfectly content finding my own accommodation... but hey, if he was willing to find something for me, by all means!
The guy with the earrings and goatee had made a few phone calls and poked his head back in the front passenger's window- "How many are you?" he asks, holding the mouthpiece away,
"One."
"Okay. How many nights?"
"One or two?"
"Is 40 lira okay, bed, kitchen, shower?"
"Yes, that's fine with me," I reply.
'Wow. All you have to do is roll up and the work will be done for you!' I thought....
I thought too soon.
A small woman with dark hair came to collect me five minutes later and we walked 50m up the street. We turned down a small corridor off the main street. We passed a tattoo shop- I glanced in to see a man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, bare shoulder under the light of the needle.
ZZZZ...ZZZZZ...ZZZZZZ.
We stopped not five feet further and the woman opens a glass door to reveal a double bed in a small room, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, facing the footpaths. On the right was an awkwardly placed and half put-together breakfast counter. It looked liked a bed was dropped into a strip mall office space.
I looked around skeptically.
She looked at me optimistically.
I'm pretty easy to please when it comes to accommodation, but it was when she shut to door and I could still hear the ZZZZ ZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZ of the tattoo shop next door that I knew it would be worthwhile to find something else.
She spoke no english, so explaining that I didn't want the place was difficult to act out in getures...but I eventually got the message across in a friendly, but firm manner. I wandered back to the main street and settled in at an internet cafe to find somewhere to crash.
I was having trouble loading the map to one spot I'd found and asked the owner to come take a look as all of the notifications were coming up in Turkish.
"Can you tell me what this says," I ask, pointing to the browser notification, "Or...do you know where this place is?" I inquire.
"This place? Yes, of course, it's my good friend! I can call him, and he can come pick you up? It's just up the street, but with the rain..."
"Yes, please, that would be great!"
Minutes later the young son of the owner pulls up and I toss my bag into the boot and off we go, the rain still pouring down. I'm led up a short, wide staircase where he opens room 1b. Rather, flat 1b. It seems that for 10lira more than the glass-walled, tattoo shop room, I would be getting a full-on apartment! And that I have- with a balcony overlooking the swimming pool, a spacious living area and kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.
I'm about to spend my third night here in Akyaka, having wandered the nearby mountains on meandering dirt roads, swam in the warm sea, and watched the endless rain from beach hut cafes. Despite the lack of wind and incessant rain, it's been a quiet, indulgent few days of reading, cooking, running, swimming, and yes, dancing to Jackson 5 in my very own Turkish living room.
SMACK SMACK SMACK.......SMACKSMACKSMACK
I woke up to the startling noise of bundles of grapes splattering on my canvas tent early on Saturday morning. Grapevines seem to be commonly used as sources of shade along the Turkish coast- and they were resourcefully used for additional tent shade in Butterfly Valley. They certainly make for picturesque photos...but man, as soon as it gets windy, they make an absolute MESS, not to mention the noise. Imagine the loudest rain you've ever heard while sleeping in a tent and amplify that ten times. Suffice to say it was an early morning thanks to the grape smacking and gusting winds. The valley became a wind tunnel and the sea covered in white caps by 8am.
Grape smacking aside- I quite liked the novelty of an intense "tropical" storm. The problem was that it was likely to bring rain, rendering the sole trail out of the valley useless, and halting all boat traffic to and from the valley due to high swells. The folks living in the valley for months at a time were sure the rain would be there by mid-day, if not sooner.
As much as I liked the spot, I wasn't prepared (namely in having enough underwear or deoderant) to stay another night. I inhaled my breakfast, packed my bags, said my goodbyes and sped off onto the trail out of the valley, racing against the rain clock. The trail in and out of the valley was relatively short, but incredibly narrow and predominantly rock- so getting stuck halfway up in a downpour was really going to leave me in a pickle. Not to mention the wind- I had visions of getting blown of the side of a cliff in a powerful gust. I kept telling myself, "Just don't look down...and hold on tight."
I made it up quicker than it took me to descend (sweating buckets) but beating the rain by a mere 20minutes. I sorted out my bag back at the Pansion overlooking the valley and caught a rammed-packed dolmus back to Fethiye. I had no real plan at this point, but knew that with poor weather on the way and predicted to last for 2-3 days, I didn't like the idea of being stranded in this tiny village. While I had no firm reason to believe I could be stranded as yet, my instincts proved right soon enough.
While chatting away to a lovely couple from Victoria on the dolmus, the van came to a sudden halt. We all jerked our heads to the road in front of us- it was littered with football sized rocks, with more falling from the cliffs above. You know those "rocks falling" hazard signs.... well, I've always wondered what good they do- other than being generally aware, there isn't much you can do if rocks start raining from above. In any case, there weren't any such signs along this weaving, cliff hugging road, but the rocks were most certainly falling. The driver weaved into the other lane to avoid the biggest ones and we slowly bumped over the scattered debris. Who knows how much longer the road would be passable.
The Canadian couple were asking about where I would be headed next- but as of yet, I had no plan. Cappadoccia was an option, but having lost pace for two days when I was ill I was short on time to make the 12hour trek inland. Pamukkale was another region with good hiking, and of course, I could always return to the coastline and hope for wind.
Once at the bus station I inquired about the travel times from the bus depot. While the agents spoke good English, there was sustained confusion when I asked about how long it would take to get to Pamukkale. The problem: the bus company's name was "Pamukkale." They kept reassuring me that, "yes, this is Pamukkale," and "yes, Paumukkale bus." I eventually gave up and conceded to go back to the coast- I craved more kiting, even though the weather wasn't looking promising. While waiting for my ticket to be printed by the agent, I watched as one of his colleagues set out four small plastic cups, filling each with pop from a large bottle of pepsi he had just bought. He handed a cup to the agent on his right, one to an agent standing behind him, and then set one cup up on the counter in front of me, smiling.
"Oh! Thank you," I say. My goodness...this hospitality ceases to amaze me. He then proceded to offer the final cup to another woman standing at the opposite end of the service counter.
I caught a bus to Gokova, a town about 2hours away from Fethiye, back along the coast toward Izmir. It was yet another high tech bus, equipped with wifi and movies. The bus attendant (like an airplane steward) walked down the centre aisle and paused at my seat as we approached the two hour mark.
'"Gokova," he said, loosely pointing ahead.
"Yes," I replied. Ah, I guess he was letting me know my stop was coming up soon. That's a bit odd, I thought.... usually it is announced. Maybe this guy was just being particularly helpful.
I zipped up my bag and shifted to the edge of my seat, as if to show the attendant, Yup, I'm ready to go!
Within seconds the bus pulled over quickly, and the attendant waved his hand to me, stepping down onto the road and looking up at me impatiently.
Right. I looked out the big windows before stepping off: it was pouring rain, and I was not seeing the usual signs of a bus station. I saw a boat shop and some sort of tea hut.
There was no question this was Gokova, the attendant had already confirmed as much.
I stepped onto the muddy shoulder of the road and the attendant swiftly opened the bus compartment to pull out my pack. I swung it up onto my back,
"Thank you," I said as I tugged the hood of my raincoat tight against my face.
He gave a small smile and quickly stepped out of the rain and back onto the bus.
I turned to scope out my surroundings... Where the hell was I?
The bus pulled away, and I took in the small intersection- a boat shop on one corner, a tea hut opposite. Yup, that was it.
Three men sat under the shelter of the tea hut smoking cigaterettes engrossed in animated conversation.
'Worst case scenario....I can always ask them for help,' I thought to myelf, 'Even if they don't speak English....they'll do something for me.' Without even realising it, it seems I had come to depend on the Turkish hospitality.
I stood under the semi-shelter of a towering eucalyptus and weighed my options. I knew there was kiting in Gokova, but this hardly seemed like a town, and I certainly couldn't see any water. There wasn't even an indication of which way a town centre might be. Yup, I was going to need to ask the tea hut men.
I sauntered over and paused to the side, still standing in the rain, waiting for a break in their conversation to put my query out there.
The one facing me saw I was waiting, and when his friend paused, he nodded his head toward me,
"Dolmus, Gokova? Akyaka?" I asked hesitantly.
The man with his back to me, dressed in a wool sweater and navy trousers with a bristly black beard turned,
"No doulmus," he said.
My face immediately took on a look of disappointment...maybe there was some desperation in there too.
He stood up to face me,
"Taksi," he said, walking passed me and toward the road.
I followed him. I had come to trust Turkish strangers like none other. But it was clear he was helping me. We crossed the quiet street and at the carpark for the boat shop, he yells toward an auto garage, hidden behind two big vans. Out comes a man, wiping his hands in a rag, dressed in a grease-splattered yellow checked shirt.
He explains something to the man, tilting his head toward me on occasion. I stand back just watching, but half smiling, hood fit snuggly around my face, rain pelting down. Either they are plotting to rob and kill me or sorting out how to get me into town.
Fortunately it was the later. Turkish hospitality.
Soon enough I was in town, but the driver spoke no English and didn't know where I wanted to go in town, exactly. I didn't either. He pulled up to a barber shop and a younger man with earrings and a goatee sticks his head in the passengers window.
"Hi, where do you want to go? This is my friend," he says, pointing to the driver, "but he doesn't speak English."
"Hi. Well, I did want to stop at the kitesurfing school in town. So this is probably good here, if we're in the town centre?"
"Yes, the kite shop is there," he said, pointing just up the road.
"Great, this is good then," I say, reaching for my bag.
"Where are you staying?" he asks.
"Ah... well, I'm not sure yet. Do you recommend a pansion? I have the name of one in my bag..."
"No reservation?" he asks.
"No..." I say. It's the dead end of their busy summer season- I knew there was no need for one.
"Just one minute," he says, stepping away from the car.
The driver of the car gets out and takes a seat in one of the chairs out front of the next shop over and is handed a cup of Turkish tea.
I was now sitting in this stranger's car on my own. The rain was still pelting down. My bags were strewn about me. And I wasn't quite sure what this guy was trying to sort out. I was perfectly content finding my own accommodation... but hey, if he was willing to find something for me, by all means!
The guy with the earrings and goatee had made a few phone calls and poked his head back in the front passenger's window- "How many are you?" he asks, holding the mouthpiece away,
"One."
"Okay. How many nights?"
"One or two?"
"Is 40 lira okay, bed, kitchen, shower?"
"Yes, that's fine with me," I reply.
'Wow. All you have to do is roll up and the work will be done for you!' I thought....
I thought too soon.
A small woman with dark hair came to collect me five minutes later and we walked 50m up the street. We turned down a small corridor off the main street. We passed a tattoo shop- I glanced in to see a man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, bare shoulder under the light of the needle.
ZZZZ...ZZZZZ...ZZZZZZ.
We stopped not five feet further and the woman opens a glass door to reveal a double bed in a small room, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, facing the footpaths. On the right was an awkwardly placed and half put-together breakfast counter. It looked liked a bed was dropped into a strip mall office space.
I looked around skeptically.
She looked at me optimistically.
I'm pretty easy to please when it comes to accommodation, but it was when she shut to door and I could still hear the ZZZZ ZZZZZ ZZZZZZZZZZZ of the tattoo shop next door that I knew it would be worthwhile to find something else.
She spoke no english, so explaining that I didn't want the place was difficult to act out in getures...but I eventually got the message across in a friendly, but firm manner. I wandered back to the main street and settled in at an internet cafe to find somewhere to crash.
I was having trouble loading the map to one spot I'd found and asked the owner to come take a look as all of the notifications were coming up in Turkish.
"Can you tell me what this says," I ask, pointing to the browser notification, "Or...do you know where this place is?" I inquire.
"This place? Yes, of course, it's my good friend! I can call him, and he can come pick you up? It's just up the street, but with the rain..."
"Yes, please, that would be great!"
Minutes later the young son of the owner pulls up and I toss my bag into the boot and off we go, the rain still pouring down. I'm led up a short, wide staircase where he opens room 1b. Rather, flat 1b. It seems that for 10lira more than the glass-walled, tattoo shop room, I would be getting a full-on apartment! And that I have- with a balcony overlooking the swimming pool, a spacious living area and kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom.
I'm about to spend my third night here in Akyaka, having wandered the nearby mountains on meandering dirt roads, swam in the warm sea, and watched the endless rain from beach hut cafes. Despite the lack of wind and incessant rain, it's been a quiet, indulgent few days of reading, cooking, running, swimming, and yes, dancing to Jackson 5 in my very own Turkish living room.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Day 33: Butterfly Valley
Saturday 8 October
I awoke recharged and keen to get on the move- but still not feeling 100%. The weather forecast for the area was not looking good beyond the next 24hours, with predictions of rain for three days straight. From the photos I had seen, Butterfly Valley was not going to be as nice in the rain as it would be in the sparkling sunshine. I decided I would pack my bag and commit to tekking down to the beach- I had made it this far and I wasn't going to foul weather spoil the view. I took as few things as possible, knowing that they had tents available on the beach- so I brought my sleeping bag, thermarest, bathing suit, flip flops, a book, and the clothes on my back.
Rob, who had recommended the spot, had warned that it was a tough, but short climb. He was certainly accurate in his description. As I approached the narrowing trail, the view of the beach below was just like on google.
Despite there being a trail in front of me, it looked dauntingly far below. I was anxious to see how on earth a trail could weave its way down this shear cliffs to get me to this prize.
And yet it did. It was just very narrow, and...well...dangerous. As I was repeatedly told by the young man who ran the pansion I had been staying at the night before.
"You strong?" he asked me, doing the pop eye bicep curl.
"Yes," I say confidently, giving the same pose back. We laughed. He still looked skeptical.
The climb down didn't take more than 50minutes and was the ultimate test for one's hips and knees. For the most part it was all too narrow for switchbacks, so ropes hangs were conveniently (and necessarily) palced at those parts where there was no choice but to shimmy down the cliffs themselves. I was in my glory.
I reached the meadowy bottom and found the main restaurant area to get myself a tent. While I have been traveling with my own, it was more weight than I wanted to bear while making the descent. I dropped my bags and then ventured about a kilometer back into the valley to where the gorge split open at a waterfall. It was the kind that disney models its log rides after- with tropical plants sprouting through water-smoothed rocks, with fresh, clear, and surprisingly tepid water gushing past.
I spent much of the day reading and taking in the view. The water in the bay was a perfect turqoise blue- crystal clear and sparkling in the constant sunshine. Oasis.
Tour boats came to and from the beach every few hours- dropping off swarms of tourists for their "one hour visit" to this boat-access only piece of paradise. It was definitely better when the smoke-fuming, beat blasting, beer guzzling visitors weren't there- but they were hardly able to spoil the experience. The tourism board fights a constant battle of having these day visitors and preserving the natural environment- recognising the siginificant disruptions these hundreds of boats bring to the area. Unfortunately it was out of season for the valley's namesake- June to September is when the place is a butterfly haven.
That evening I took in the sunset perched on the rock cliffs nearby, overlooking the sea and watching a rich couple flounce about on their 100ft sailing yacht- manned by at least 5 stewards. So this is what Bond movies are made of.
Included in the 40 lira (16 euro, 23 cad) I was paying for my tent (which came with bed and linens) was breakfast and dinner. The evening was much quieter with the crowds subsided down to no more than 20 people- nearly all Turkish- and many of whom were staff. Dinner was freshly caught tuna with tomatoes and basil, paprika potatoes, rice, salad, cheeses, and bread. I was befriended by a man well into his 70s, sporting yellow running shorts and a ragged white t-shirt. His full head of white hair and crinkly white beard made him a candidate for a tanned, skinny santa clause. He introduced me to some of his newly acquired turkish friends- a woman in her 30s from Istanbul, and a man about the same age who now works in Berlin. Both were here on holiday. Raki was poured around the big table of 12 people- all Turks nattering away happily. They sure love their raki- it's a black liquorice type liquor that is clear, but when mixed with water becomes cloudy. I could barely finish my single glass.
While sitting next to him at dinner, the old man, who's name I could never quite get, turned to me and said,
"What do you do in life?"
This was from the man who practices meditation daily for thirty years now, and when I asked how long he was on holiday for- he said, "We never know!"
"Do you mean, what work do I do?"
He looked at me quizically. I thought again about what I had just said... what a North American (and even more so "Bonita") reply.
"Yes, sure, work. What do you do... in life?" he repeated.
If only anyone ever asked was "What do you do in life?"- I think much of the world would feel far less pressed to have an impressive work-related response. It suddenly opens us to answers like, 'live happily,' or 'travel,' or 'eat and be merry.'
Alas, I'm not quite so philosophically inclined (as yet); "I'm an engineer," I reply.
"Of what?" he asks keenly.
"Mechanical."
He nods his head, and crosses his hand in his lap, turning his attention the pile of juicy grapes in front of him.
"I have just studied another part of engineering- sustainable developemt?" I go on, hesitantly, but fishing for something that might be of more interest to him. There are signs throughout the property encouraging more environmentally-friendly tourism practices, preaching for land and habitat conservation. To an alien, this could easily be described as a hippy commune in an isolated valley. Or even to a regular person. One sign even said, "We love Gaia." (see James Lovelock)
The concept of "sustainability" is difficult enough to articulate in english to someone in a related field, let alone to someone with only rudimentary english. After references to "green," '"eco," "environment," and then their Gaia sign, I think he might have sort of understood.
I then asked him what he did in life,
"Professional holiday maker," he replied with a toothy grin.
And so on this Thanksgiving Weekend in Turkey, in the gorgeous, sunny Butterfly Valley, I think I might have found a new professional ambition.
I awoke recharged and keen to get on the move- but still not feeling 100%. The weather forecast for the area was not looking good beyond the next 24hours, with predictions of rain for three days straight. From the photos I had seen, Butterfly Valley was not going to be as nice in the rain as it would be in the sparkling sunshine. I decided I would pack my bag and commit to tekking down to the beach- I had made it this far and I wasn't going to foul weather spoil the view. I took as few things as possible, knowing that they had tents available on the beach- so I brought my sleeping bag, thermarest, bathing suit, flip flops, a book, and the clothes on my back.
Rob, who had recommended the spot, had warned that it was a tough, but short climb. He was certainly accurate in his description. As I approached the narrowing trail, the view of the beach below was just like on google.
Despite there being a trail in front of me, it looked dauntingly far below. I was anxious to see how on earth a trail could weave its way down this shear cliffs to get me to this prize.
 |
| I did not realise how narrow this trail was and how far it dropped off until I took this photo and looked at it while perched on the trail. It's amazing how far you can get with the "don't look down" mentality. |
"You strong?" he asked me, doing the pop eye bicep curl.
"Yes," I say confidently, giving the same pose back. We laughed. He still looked skeptical.
The climb down didn't take more than 50minutes and was the ultimate test for one's hips and knees. For the most part it was all too narrow for switchbacks, so ropes hangs were conveniently (and necessarily) palced at those parts where there was no choice but to shimmy down the cliffs themselves. I was in my glory.
I reached the meadowy bottom and found the main restaurant area to get myself a tent. While I have been traveling with my own, it was more weight than I wanted to bear while making the descent. I dropped my bags and then ventured about a kilometer back into the valley to where the gorge split open at a waterfall. It was the kind that disney models its log rides after- with tropical plants sprouting through water-smoothed rocks, with fresh, clear, and surprisingly tepid water gushing past.
 |
| The route to the waterfall |
 |
| I made it to the waterfall! To my absolute thrill there was no one around so it was nice and quiet- even better it was warm enough to jump in! Spectacularly refreshing.... a bit surreal, really. |
Tour boats came to and from the beach every few hours- dropping off swarms of tourists for their "one hour visit" to this boat-access only piece of paradise. It was definitely better when the smoke-fuming, beat blasting, beer guzzling visitors weren't there- but they were hardly able to spoil the experience. The tourism board fights a constant battle of having these day visitors and preserving the natural environment- recognising the siginificant disruptions these hundreds of boats bring to the area. Unfortunately it was out of season for the valley's namesake- June to September is when the place is a butterfly haven.
That evening I took in the sunset perched on the rock cliffs nearby, overlooking the sea and watching a rich couple flounce about on their 100ft sailing yacht- manned by at least 5 stewards. So this is what Bond movies are made of.
Included in the 40 lira (16 euro, 23 cad) I was paying for my tent (which came with bed and linens) was breakfast and dinner. The evening was much quieter with the crowds subsided down to no more than 20 people- nearly all Turkish- and many of whom were staff. Dinner was freshly caught tuna with tomatoes and basil, paprika potatoes, rice, salad, cheeses, and bread. I was befriended by a man well into his 70s, sporting yellow running shorts and a ragged white t-shirt. His full head of white hair and crinkly white beard made him a candidate for a tanned, skinny santa clause. He introduced me to some of his newly acquired turkish friends- a woman in her 30s from Istanbul, and a man about the same age who now works in Berlin. Both were here on holiday. Raki was poured around the big table of 12 people- all Turks nattering away happily. They sure love their raki- it's a black liquorice type liquor that is clear, but when mixed with water becomes cloudy. I could barely finish my single glass.
While sitting next to him at dinner, the old man, who's name I could never quite get, turned to me and said,
"What do you do in life?"
This was from the man who practices meditation daily for thirty years now, and when I asked how long he was on holiday for- he said, "We never know!"
"Do you mean, what work do I do?"
He looked at me quizically. I thought again about what I had just said... what a North American (and even more so "Bonita") reply.
"Yes, sure, work. What do you do... in life?" he repeated.
If only anyone ever asked was "What do you do in life?"- I think much of the world would feel far less pressed to have an impressive work-related response. It suddenly opens us to answers like, 'live happily,' or 'travel,' or 'eat and be merry.'
Alas, I'm not quite so philosophically inclined (as yet); "I'm an engineer," I reply.
"Of what?" he asks keenly.
"Mechanical."
He nods his head, and crosses his hand in his lap, turning his attention the pile of juicy grapes in front of him.
"I have just studied another part of engineering- sustainable developemt?" I go on, hesitantly, but fishing for something that might be of more interest to him. There are signs throughout the property encouraging more environmentally-friendly tourism practices, preaching for land and habitat conservation. To an alien, this could easily be described as a hippy commune in an isolated valley. Or even to a regular person. One sign even said, "We love Gaia." (see James Lovelock)
The concept of "sustainability" is difficult enough to articulate in english to someone in a related field, let alone to someone with only rudimentary english. After references to "green," '"eco," "environment," and then their Gaia sign, I think he might have sort of understood.
I then asked him what he did in life,
"Professional holiday maker," he replied with a toothy grin.
And so on this Thanksgiving Weekend in Turkey, in the gorgeous, sunny Butterfly Valley, I think I might have found a new professional ambition.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Days 31-32: Fethiye and Faralya
6-7 Oct 2011
My night in Selcuk brought an end to my good health and vitality, in the context of exciting european travel, at least.
And no, I was not out for a wild night on the town having a few too many drinks...
I hadn't been feeling 100% during much of the day, but brushed it off as general fatigue. But by the next morning I had been taken out from all angles- bed bugs (a first for me...and here's hoping it's the last) AND a stomach flu.
I didn't realise how badly I'd been bed-bug bitten until I was at a bus station and a woman came out of stall and said something to me in Turkish, with a look of shock on her face. I just smile,
"I don't speak Turkish," I said, "English?"
She points to her neck and face, then to mine and said something again in Turkish.
"Yes, bites," I say. My goodness what a thing to comment on.
I looked in the mirror for the first time since I'd been feasted upon and realised that they were in fact comment-worthy.
"Snake?" she asked.
I laughed, "No....no snake. Little bugs," I replied, making little pincers with my hands to imitate a bite.
Fortunately these come with no side effects other than the welts covering my body (with a heavy concentration on the neck and face...great) and EXTREME itchiness. It's like chicken pox. Or what I remember of them, at least.
I survived the 5hour bus ride to Fethiye despite my rolling stomach and pervasive ichiness. I just needed somewhere to sleep. I tucked into a pansion in Fethiye- a busy tourist town popular amongst Brits. Before crashing, I washed my clothes from the previous night in the sink- I didn't want any damn bugs coming with me. In wringing them out, I found two little bed bugs- dead, thank goodness. Seeing them made me livid as I exercised immense self restraint by not scratching myself to bits.
The next morning I popped into a pharmacy to get some antihistamine and stomach drugs, and with meds in hand, hopped on a dolmus to Faralya. We weaved along the mountain roads, past the tourist town of Oludeniz and into a village outside of Faralya. I was keeping my eye out for a sign- as I wasn't sure where this dolmus was stopping. I was quite certain this was a case of simply announcing where you wanted to get off. As we curved along the steep mountain side, I spotted a building perched on the hill- one that looked like it might be a pansion. As we zoomed by it I realised I was right. I dashed to the front of the dolmus and managed to get out not too far past my intended destination. The dolmus drove off, and I strolled down the narrow, quiet road toward the building. I still wasn't feeling great, so planned to stay a night or two until I'm recovered and feeling up for the hike into Butterfly Valley:
The pansion sits on the hillside, amongst a few other dwellings nearby. It's a quiet area with only the odd car passing through, but overlooking a sweeping gorge and the sea beyond.
I wandered around and met some of the locals:
Even though I'm moving at a slower pace than I'd like and on day two of sickyness, this is certainly an incredible spot to be welcoming in Thanksgiving weekend!
My night in Selcuk brought an end to my good health and vitality, in the context of exciting european travel, at least.
And no, I was not out for a wild night on the town having a few too many drinks...
I hadn't been feeling 100% during much of the day, but brushed it off as general fatigue. But by the next morning I had been taken out from all angles- bed bugs (a first for me...and here's hoping it's the last) AND a stomach flu.
I didn't realise how badly I'd been bed-bug bitten until I was at a bus station and a woman came out of stall and said something to me in Turkish, with a look of shock on her face. I just smile,
"I don't speak Turkish," I said, "English?"
She points to her neck and face, then to mine and said something again in Turkish.
"Yes, bites," I say. My goodness what a thing to comment on.
I looked in the mirror for the first time since I'd been feasted upon and realised that they were in fact comment-worthy.
"Snake?" she asked.
I laughed, "No....no snake. Little bugs," I replied, making little pincers with my hands to imitate a bite.
Fortunately these come with no side effects other than the welts covering my body (with a heavy concentration on the neck and face...great) and EXTREME itchiness. It's like chicken pox. Or what I remember of them, at least.
I survived the 5hour bus ride to Fethiye despite my rolling stomach and pervasive ichiness. I just needed somewhere to sleep. I tucked into a pansion in Fethiye- a busy tourist town popular amongst Brits. Before crashing, I washed my clothes from the previous night in the sink- I didn't want any damn bugs coming with me. In wringing them out, I found two little bed bugs- dead, thank goodness. Seeing them made me livid as I exercised immense self restraint by not scratching myself to bits.
The next morning I popped into a pharmacy to get some antihistamine and stomach drugs, and with meds in hand, hopped on a dolmus to Faralya. We weaved along the mountain roads, past the tourist town of Oludeniz and into a village outside of Faralya. I was keeping my eye out for a sign- as I wasn't sure where this dolmus was stopping. I was quite certain this was a case of simply announcing where you wanted to get off. As we curved along the steep mountain side, I spotted a building perched on the hill- one that looked like it might be a pansion. As we zoomed by it I realised I was right. I dashed to the front of the dolmus and managed to get out not too far past my intended destination. The dolmus drove off, and I strolled down the narrow, quiet road toward the building. I still wasn't feeling great, so planned to stay a night or two until I'm recovered and feeling up for the hike into Butterfly Valley:
 |
| courtesy of google. my own photos to come soon (hopefully!) |
The pansion sits on the hillside, amongst a few other dwellings nearby. It's a quiet area with only the odd car passing through, but overlooking a sweeping gorge and the sea beyond.
 |
| That smile is deceiving- my hair is covering some of the biggest welts the bugs left- and therefore making them incredibly itchy as I took this photo. Nice view of the sea beyond, though! |
I wandered around and met some of the locals:
Even though I'm moving at a slower pace than I'd like and on day two of sickyness, this is certainly an incredible spot to be welcoming in Thanksgiving weekend!
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Turkish Hospitality
Below is an article I stumbled across which speaks to the hospitality I have been so fortunate to experience during my stay in Turkey thus far. The author, an American expat living in Turkey, compares Turkey to the United States, but many of hiscomparisons would stand true for Canadian culture as well.
http://www.todayszaman.com/news-201785-132-expat-voice-individualism-vs-the-all-for-one-and-one-for-all-approach.html
One line in particular stood out to me:
There seems to be the collective belief that “we are team members, we are an extended family.”
Just the other evening, the owners of the pansiyon, using Captain as a translator, politely asked that I join them at their table in the courtyard once I was done on my computer- as I was considered to be one of the family.
And similarly:
I don’t worry too much about being stranded in a place where I’m lost, unable to access money and no one speaks English, because my experience tells me the Turks will take care of me. They’ll lead me by the hand to someone they know who speaks English, stay with me until I’ve found my way or even spring for the cost of a cab or bus ride until I’m able to access cash.
This sentiment could not ring more true for how I feel on my own here- I have found myself getting on ATVs, climbing into ragged cars, and following strangers more often than I ever would have imagined or considered "safe." But there's something about this place....the hospitality, friendliness, and incredible generosity that reassures me every time. Plus they invented Turkish delights.
http://www.todayszaman.com/news-201785-132-expat-voice-individualism-vs-the-all-for-one-and-one-for-all-approach.html
One line in particular stood out to me:
There seems to be the collective belief that “we are team members, we are an extended family.”
Just the other evening, the owners of the pansiyon, using Captain as a translator, politely asked that I join them at their table in the courtyard once I was done on my computer- as I was considered to be one of the family.
And similarly:
I don’t worry too much about being stranded in a place where I’m lost, unable to access money and no one speaks English, because my experience tells me the Turks will take care of me. They’ll lead me by the hand to someone they know who speaks English, stay with me until I’ve found my way or even spring for the cost of a cab or bus ride until I’m able to access cash.
This sentiment could not ring more true for how I feel on my own here- I have found myself getting on ATVs, climbing into ragged cars, and following strangers more often than I ever would have imagined or considered "safe." But there's something about this place....the hospitality, friendliness, and incredible generosity that reassures me every time. Plus they invented Turkish delights.
Day 30: Selçuk and Efes
Despite being warned to make sure I take the correct bus from Alaçati to Izmir (ie. the one that would take me to the Otogar/bus station), I managed to get on the wrong on and spent an awkward 30minutes sitting somewhere outside of Izmir hoping another bus would come. The taxi driver tutted at some young school boys taking up a bench nearby, waving at them to shuffle over so that I had somewhere to sit. Three of them perched awkwardly at the other end of the bench, trying to discreetly look over at me and my massive bag. This was not tourist town. They excitedly exchanged words, and one of them turned to me,
"Where...are you from?" he asks, beaming.
"Canada."
"Ca..nada," he repeats, looking straight ahead. The other boys nod. And then they dash off. Right.
I was entirely relying on the information a nearby Taksi driver provided, saying that another bus would be coming and could take me to the Otogar.
Fortunately this was the case, and after a few more bus transfers, I was indeed on my way to Selçuk, a town en route to Fethyie and a short distance from Efes, or Ephesus- home to the ancient roman ruins that date back to 3,000BC.
Mom and dad had seen the area a few years back as a stop on a mediterranean cruise, so when an email from dad pointed out that I'd be bussing right by it, I figured I might as well stop and spend an afternoon. As I stepped out of the dolmus (minibus) in Selcuk, I was quickly approached by a young man with decent english. The driver had clearly given him a heads up that there was a foreigner on board. Despite my cautious notions to avoid such affronts, I was tired and have been finding that in Turkey, you can ask anyone for help and 99% of the time you'll get the honest truth- an actually quality recommendation or set of directions. In this case I asked for directions to my planned accommdation and this man said his friend was heading in that direction and could walk me over. But before sending me off, he asked if I had a booking- I said no. He then pulled out a little card showing an alternative pension,
"This place is my family's business. Not far. I will drive you there, you can look around, and if you don't like it I will take you to the other one."
Sounded fair enough to me.
The family place was tucked away on a quiet street in a proper local neighbourhood of this small town and would do the trick- plus I was able to negotiate a free ride up to Efes as well. I dropped my bags and was up at the North Gate of the ruins a short while later. In the warm late afternoon sun, I wandered around this incredible site. I'm not one to be overly appreciative of history, but these rocks and this city was OLD- quite likely the oldest I have ever seen- and surprisingly well restored. The light was perfect too, and I had a lovely time snapping photos, oblivious to the occassional swarms of tourists around me. I weaved between tour groups- a few that were clearly from cruise ships. I could just see Mom and Dad fitting right in.
Selçuk is a relatively quiet town, and I couldn't help but notice the number of tea rooms. There was nearly one on every corner, each with tables and chair spilling out onto the street- full of old men playing backgammon and checkers while sipping on Turkish tea. There wasn't a woman in sight- it crossed my mind that they may very well be male-only tea rooms, so I asked the Pension recruiter when I bumped into him near the bus station later in the day,
"No, but these men, their wives are at home. They are older, their wives go to cafes and they come here, at the end of the day."
So sort of- but not officially. That explains the gawking looks I got as I sauntered through one of these tea rooms, weaving between tables.
"Where...are you from?" he asks, beaming.
"Canada."
"Ca..nada," he repeats, looking straight ahead. The other boys nod. And then they dash off. Right.
I was entirely relying on the information a nearby Taksi driver provided, saying that another bus would be coming and could take me to the Otogar.
Fortunately this was the case, and after a few more bus transfers, I was indeed on my way to Selçuk, a town en route to Fethyie and a short distance from Efes, or Ephesus- home to the ancient roman ruins that date back to 3,000BC.
Mom and dad had seen the area a few years back as a stop on a mediterranean cruise, so when an email from dad pointed out that I'd be bussing right by it, I figured I might as well stop and spend an afternoon. As I stepped out of the dolmus (minibus) in Selcuk, I was quickly approached by a young man with decent english. The driver had clearly given him a heads up that there was a foreigner on board. Despite my cautious notions to avoid such affronts, I was tired and have been finding that in Turkey, you can ask anyone for help and 99% of the time you'll get the honest truth- an actually quality recommendation or set of directions. In this case I asked for directions to my planned accommdation and this man said his friend was heading in that direction and could walk me over. But before sending me off, he asked if I had a booking- I said no. He then pulled out a little card showing an alternative pension,
"This place is my family's business. Not far. I will drive you there, you can look around, and if you don't like it I will take you to the other one."
Sounded fair enough to me.
The family place was tucked away on a quiet street in a proper local neighbourhood of this small town and would do the trick- plus I was able to negotiate a free ride up to Efes as well. I dropped my bags and was up at the North Gate of the ruins a short while later. In the warm late afternoon sun, I wandered around this incredible site. I'm not one to be overly appreciative of history, but these rocks and this city was OLD- quite likely the oldest I have ever seen- and surprisingly well restored. The light was perfect too, and I had a lovely time snapping photos, oblivious to the occassional swarms of tourists around me. I weaved between tour groups- a few that were clearly from cruise ships. I could just see Mom and Dad fitting right in.
 |
| Notice the white chairs on the right- the area was being set up for a wedding. What a venue...talk about a convincing "Ancient Roman" theme |
Selçuk is a relatively quiet town, and I couldn't help but notice the number of tea rooms. There was nearly one on every corner, each with tables and chair spilling out onto the street- full of old men playing backgammon and checkers while sipping on Turkish tea. There wasn't a woman in sight- it crossed my mind that they may very well be male-only tea rooms, so I asked the Pension recruiter when I bumped into him near the bus station later in the day,
"No, but these men, their wives are at home. They are older, their wives go to cafes and they come here, at the end of the day."
So sort of- but not officially. That explains the gawking looks I got as I sauntered through one of these tea rooms, weaving between tables.
I picked up a few odds and ends in town and came back to the Pension as the sun was setting- the street out front was loud with the screams of nine and ten year old boys playing a very rough version of soccer...with this boy watching quietly from the side:
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Days 28-29: Kite, swim, eat, sleep
4 October 2011
The blog title says it all- I've been spending lazy mornings in the sun and windy afternoons on the Aegean sea. No shark sitings yet.
The pansiyon has been a bit busier recently, with a woman in her mid-30s checking in as well as an older couple. All three are Turkish, and I can sense through their lively and jovial conversation with the owners, that they are filled in on "me"- the one who always just nods and smiles when I am spoken to in Turkish. I can just imagine the conversation,
"So tell me, who is that young woman over there? On her computer all the time..." (probably with some tutting about not being able to get away from technology anywhere anymore etc etc)
"Oh her? She's Canadian, yes, has been here a few days now. Drinks a lot of wine. We've been told she's here to kitesurf."
I have sinced learned that the woman's name is Fedan, and it turns out she's a good friend of Captain's. She has always been incredibly smiley each time we passed- often saying things to me in Turkish, to which I usually just smiled and nodded. She certainly knows I do not speak Turkish- but it seems that doesn't mean much here, as frequently the other coupld speak to me in Turkish as well. Sometimes I understand, like when the older woman shuffles over holding out a plate of walnuts and then says something... I presume it's something like: "Here, try these fresh walnuts!" There are some precious moments when language isn't needed, like when she similarly shuffled over while I was eating my breakfast and showed me newspaper, folded to highlight a picture of some sort of tiny creature perched on a human pinky finger.
"Oh my!" I say enthusiastically. I must show gratitude at her sharing this exceptionally random picture with me. She gives me a toothy grin and flips the pages, folding again to show me another picture- this one of a light post that had collapsed onto a ferris wheel.
"Eeek," I recoil, showing shock and surprise. "In Turkey?" I ask.
She nods, wide-eyed.
"Wow," I say, smiling as she turns to return to her breakfast table.
Last night Captain (from my arrival a few days ago) came by and took Fedan and I into town. On the drive I learned that she is a dentist and comes to the area for most long weekends to kitesurf. Her english wasn't spectacular, but she was an incredibly lively woman when she spoke. It was the most fascinating thing- while she gestured and spoke in rapid Turkish to Captain, it was always paired with lively expressions and eye contact with both Captain and I. I could certainly detect the emotion of the conversation- but had no idea as to what they were talking about. To a passerby, it certainly looked like there were three people engaged in deep conversation- particularly since I found myself giving sympathetic smiles and laughs as she told a story- strictly based on body language cues. Occassionally I was filled in with a rough translation from Captain.
We dropped Fedan off at a market stall in Alacati. She was on a mission to pick up some pink tomatoes that she had seen me eating earlier in the week:
"Can I ask.... where did you find those tomatos?" she asked in the kitchen one day, "They are....very...special to me," she went on, grinning.
I pointed out the stall I had been taken to by Yigit and we dropped her off there, while Captain and I continued on to the nearby town of Çeşme. We toured the posh marina and shops of this seaside town and enjoyed DELICIOUS salami, cheese, and tomato sandwiches- with some sort of magic sauce. Very, very good.
Tomorrow I'll be off, heading back to Izmir and then back along the coast again toward Fetyie. Good 'ol facebook has put me in touch with another SJKer (highschool) who was recently in this area and provided me with some excellent recommendations for hiking and camping. (Thanks Rob!)
The blog title says it all- I've been spending lazy mornings in the sun and windy afternoons on the Aegean sea. No shark sitings yet.
 |
| Jeep-ing over to the kite bay |
 |
"So tell me, who is that young woman over there? On her computer all the time..." (probably with some tutting about not being able to get away from technology anywhere anymore etc etc)
"Oh her? She's Canadian, yes, has been here a few days now. Drinks a lot of wine. We've been told she's here to kitesurf."
I have sinced learned that the woman's name is Fedan, and it turns out she's a good friend of Captain's. She has always been incredibly smiley each time we passed- often saying things to me in Turkish, to which I usually just smiled and nodded. She certainly knows I do not speak Turkish- but it seems that doesn't mean much here, as frequently the other coupld speak to me in Turkish as well. Sometimes I understand, like when the older woman shuffles over holding out a plate of walnuts and then says something... I presume it's something like: "Here, try these fresh walnuts!" There are some precious moments when language isn't needed, like when she similarly shuffled over while I was eating my breakfast and showed me newspaper, folded to highlight a picture of some sort of tiny creature perched on a human pinky finger.
"Oh my!" I say enthusiastically. I must show gratitude at her sharing this exceptionally random picture with me. She gives me a toothy grin and flips the pages, folding again to show me another picture- this one of a light post that had collapsed onto a ferris wheel.
"Eeek," I recoil, showing shock and surprise. "In Turkey?" I ask.
She nods, wide-eyed.
"Wow," I say, smiling as she turns to return to her breakfast table.
Last night Captain (from my arrival a few days ago) came by and took Fedan and I into town. On the drive I learned that she is a dentist and comes to the area for most long weekends to kitesurf. Her english wasn't spectacular, but she was an incredibly lively woman when she spoke. It was the most fascinating thing- while she gestured and spoke in rapid Turkish to Captain, it was always paired with lively expressions and eye contact with both Captain and I. I could certainly detect the emotion of the conversation- but had no idea as to what they were talking about. To a passerby, it certainly looked like there were three people engaged in deep conversation- particularly since I found myself giving sympathetic smiles and laughs as she told a story- strictly based on body language cues. Occassionally I was filled in with a rough translation from Captain.
We dropped Fedan off at a market stall in Alacati. She was on a mission to pick up some pink tomatoes that she had seen me eating earlier in the week:
"Can I ask.... where did you find those tomatos?" she asked in the kitchen one day, "They are....very...special to me," she went on, grinning.
I pointed out the stall I had been taken to by Yigit and we dropped her off there, while Captain and I continued on to the nearby town of Çeşme. We toured the posh marina and shops of this seaside town and enjoyed DELICIOUS salami, cheese, and tomato sandwiches- with some sort of magic sauce. Very, very good.
Tomorrow I'll be off, heading back to Izmir and then back along the coast again toward Fetyie. Good 'ol facebook has put me in touch with another SJKer (highschool) who was recently in this area and provided me with some excellent recommendations for hiking and camping. (Thanks Rob!)
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