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!)
Monday, October 3, 2011
Day 27: Çark, Turkey
Sunday 2 October
After what felt like an absolutely luxurious sleep I woke up to another sunny day on the Çeşme Peninsula, in the tiny town of Çark. Breakfast was fresh tomato and cucumber, with bread, olives, cheese, jams and of course, Turkish coffee.
I neglected to mention that when I arrived yesterday, there was a younger guy in the bunch of hosts who spoke very good english- I thought he was the "young son" of the family who owned the Pansiyon. Not the case.
An avid windsurf racer, Yiğit was in town for the weekend, taking a break from his university studies in Istanbul, where he was born and raised. He was kind enough to join me in the courtyard last night and with the help of google maps, gave me the virtual tour of Istanbul. Home to over 15million people, I realised I really had only seen a minute part of this massive city. I certainly believed Yiğit when he said it's best seen with a local.
The generosity of this part of the world (as demonstrated in Cyprus) surfaced again, as Yiğit was kind enough to drive me into the town of Alaçatı (on a 4x4...a first for me!) and show me around. The hospitality of strangers ceases to amaze me, as the tour included Yiğit picking up a lovely bottle of Turkish wine for me to enjoy during the rest of my stay in Cark (and market fruit and veg and my laundry detergent- like I said...the generosity is surreal).
The area of Alaçatı is rammed packed with holiday goers in the summer time- drawing Istanbul's rich and famous. Getting to wander the narrow streets of this old greek town made me feel like I was walking a movie set. We stopped for turkish coffee in the town centre- Yiğit described there being a similar tradition to reading tea leaves, but reading the remnants of a turkish coffee by placing the saucer over top of the cup of 'sludge' and turning it over to reveal "your future." His grandmother knew how to read the coffee grind pattern.
Having seen oodles of these glass decoration thingers, I siezed the opportunity to ask a local what on earth they were for:
Legend has it that there was a woman with a third eye in the centre of her forehead. This eye would separate from her forehead and travel around the world and return to her, bringing the wisdom of the future and therefore good luck in anticipating future events. So in effect, this is a collection of symbolic glass eyeballs on strings. Get yours now!
The afternoon brought little wind, so I took a stab at stand up paddle boarding. I did not enjoy it. There was enough wind to make it near impossible to steer and I barely managed to stay directly parallel with the point on shore from which I left. It was a constant battle against drifting out to sea. I think it might be better tried on a no-wind, flatwater day.
I had a quiet meal back at the Pansyion under the tree lights with a new wine to try.
After what felt like an absolutely luxurious sleep I woke up to another sunny day on the Çeşme Peninsula, in the tiny town of Çark. Breakfast was fresh tomato and cucumber, with bread, olives, cheese, jams and of course, Turkish coffee.
I neglected to mention that when I arrived yesterday, there was a younger guy in the bunch of hosts who spoke very good english- I thought he was the "young son" of the family who owned the Pansiyon. Not the case.
An avid windsurf racer, Yiğit was in town for the weekend, taking a break from his university studies in Istanbul, where he was born and raised. He was kind enough to join me in the courtyard last night and with the help of google maps, gave me the virtual tour of Istanbul. Home to over 15million people, I realised I really had only seen a minute part of this massive city. I certainly believed Yiğit when he said it's best seen with a local.
The generosity of this part of the world (as demonstrated in Cyprus) surfaced again, as Yiğit was kind enough to drive me into the town of Alaçatı (on a 4x4...a first for me!) and show me around. The hospitality of strangers ceases to amaze me, as the tour included Yiğit picking up a lovely bottle of Turkish wine for me to enjoy during the rest of my stay in Cark (and market fruit and veg and my laundry detergent- like I said...the generosity is surreal).
The area of Alaçatı is rammed packed with holiday goers in the summer time- drawing Istanbul's rich and famous. Getting to wander the narrow streets of this old greek town made me feel like I was walking a movie set. We stopped for turkish coffee in the town centre- Yiğit described there being a similar tradition to reading tea leaves, but reading the remnants of a turkish coffee by placing the saucer over top of the cup of 'sludge' and turning it over to reveal "your future." His grandmother knew how to read the coffee grind pattern.
Having seen oodles of these glass decoration thingers, I siezed the opportunity to ask a local what on earth they were for:
Legend has it that there was a woman with a third eye in the centre of her forehead. This eye would separate from her forehead and travel around the world and return to her, bringing the wisdom of the future and therefore good luck in anticipating future events. So in effect, this is a collection of symbolic glass eyeballs on strings. Get yours now!
The afternoon brought little wind, so I took a stab at stand up paddle boarding. I did not enjoy it. There was enough wind to make it near impossible to steer and I barely managed to stay directly parallel with the point on shore from which I left. It was a constant battle against drifting out to sea. I think it might be better tried on a no-wind, flatwater day.
 |
| The sunset and moon rise over the surrounding hills. |
I had a quiet meal back at the Pansyion under the tree lights with a new wine to try.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Days 25-26: onto turkey's turqoise coast
Friday 30 September was my last day in Istanbul (this time around), and with Paul as a travel buddy. We slept in and lazed around as the day was hardly a welcoming one... pouring rain and cold. I am in Istnabul with weeks ahead of more travel. Life could be worse.
I endlessly snacked on Turkish delights (a sweet I detested until I tasted the most authentic) while packing my things and booked a bus ticket for the next phase of my travels. Paul and I reflect on how it's always so sad...for about an hour... when you say goodbye to travel buddies- before you then find yourself in another new and exciting locale, with freedom to do as you please. It was a quiet day of checking out the Blue Mosque (I've never seen a place so effiencient in getting people's shoes off, in through the doors and out the other side), mailing post cards, and admiring Istanbul's public rubbish bins:
I endlessly snacked on Turkish delights (a sweet I detested until I tasted the most authentic) while packing my things and booked a bus ticket for the next phase of my travels. Paul and I reflect on how it's always so sad...for about an hour... when you say goodbye to travel buddies- before you then find yourself in another new and exciting locale, with freedom to do as you please. It was a quiet day of checking out the Blue Mosque (I've never seen a place so effiencient in getting people's shoes off, in through the doors and out the other side), mailing post cards, and admiring Istanbul's public rubbish bins:
 |
| These massive bins are 3/4 underground and emptied as shown in this picture. The bins themselves dont really look anything like bins- they sit at average bin height, with a footpetal, but look like water fountains, not bins. Paul and I thought this was neat. Perhaps this is why it's wise to travel with like- minded engineers...as others might not have been so enthused. I boarded a lavish overnight bus from the Istanbul station- equipped with wifi and individual tv screens. I got stuck with an aisle seat and a neighbour who was larger than the allocated seat space. Suffice to say, I didn't sleep well. I pulled into Izmir after nine hours on the road and transfered buses to Alacati (c with a squiggle), where I then took a minibus to the tiny town of Cark (c with a squiggle), where the windsurf/kitesurf bay was located. I relied heavily on my handwritten notes as when I pronounced these places, I was getting it all wrong. They had no clue what I was saying or where I wanted to go. After the local minibus ride, I was dropped off at the end of a semi-paved road. The endless flags of kite and windsurf schools reassured me I had made it- but there was no sign of the Cark Pensyion, the place I was hoping to stay. I sauntered up the the neabry resort, backpack on, and approached the beach hut. Three young men sat around glasses of turkish tea, cigarettes glowing in the ashtray, and jumped up as I rounded the corner, shuffling in the hot sand. "Do you speak English?" I ask. "Yes! Where did you come from?" asks the one closest to me. He removed his sunglasses and looks at me as if I've just landed from mars. Or walked up to a remote beach hut carrying a huge backpack and overdressed for the hot weather, clearly lost. "The bus," I reply. "Oh," he says, realising that was sufficiently logical. I asked for directions to my accommodation, and he smilled, saying he knew the owner well and that the Pensiyon is 300m back up the road, "I was drunk with him just last night!" he says in a thick Turkish accent, beaming. "I can take you there!" he continued enthusiastically. It's clear he's bored as the beach is dead empty, and there are no resort goers looking for watesports today. It's officially the offseason. I follow him along the sand and back to the half-paved road. He stops ahead of me, opening the boot of a tiny white car. Oh my... he's going to drive me all 275m. This isn't even worth taking my pack off. Appreciate the generosity, Bonita, appreciate. This kind Turkish man had beach worn skin and ran with the beach bum look- he even called himself Captain. We pulled into the Pansiyon- which really was just 275m along the road- and he carries my huge bag out of the car and walks into the main courtyard. I follow somewhat sheepishly, grinning at the obscurity of the situation. Captain natters in Turkish to the family of six sitting around under the shade, looking back and forth from me to him. Oh god what is he saying? One of the men jumps up and grins, and takes my bag. "Is there room?" I ask Captain. He laughs, "They are pretty empty. You could maybe even stay for free," he says, joking. I wish he hadn't gotten my hopes up like that. I shook hands with Captain and thanked him, "I'm sure I'll see you on the beach!" he says, "Feel free to stop by the hut anytime!" The hosts led me up a small set of stairs into a big terracotta home and down a sunlight hallway with doors on either side. I have a comfortable room- I think the only one that was made at this point in the season- overlooking a back courtyard with glimpses of the sea beyond with a private bathroom and two twin beds. It's costing less than 16 euro per night, including breakfast. I love a deal...and the kitesurf rental shop is a mere 50m away. Once settled, I meandered down to the beach, passing the family hosts on my way out. There was no reception or front desk, but I was getting the feeling that if I needed something, someone was bound to be in the front courtyard. I spent a lazy afternoon reading and enjoying more warm sun after a rainy day in Istanbul, and at 4:30 the wind shifted and I hitched a ride with the owners of the school to a quiet bay nearby to get an end-of-day kite session in. The wind was far from ideal- gusty and dropping out at times- but kiting over this warm, shallow bay, I zipped back and forth watching as the sun set behind the mountains in the west. If only I could drink a glass of wine while kite surfing. Despite having had little rest during my overnight coach ride, I was running on adrenaline and rode until the sky was dim, the sun tucked away and the moon beginning to glow. The air grew chilly as we packed up, driving along a rocky dirt road in an open-aired jeep. We passed by sheep herders on the east, and shallow swamps housing flocks of birds on the west- with the glowing dusk mountains as a backdrop. When I returned to the pensyion the host family was sitting out in the courtyard enjoying dinner so I quietly nodded hello and shuffled on past to my room. After a steaming hot shower, I came out to the front courtyard and found the family relaxing- with a game of backgammon going on in the corner. I asked if dinner was still available, and they jumped to their feet to serve up a piping hot plate of the very meal they had just had. It was delicious aubergine and minced casserole with juicy tomatoes, fresh bread, and tasty wrap thingers (stuffed with rice- a traditional Turkish appetizer). I'm sitting under the trees of the quiet courtyard with Hilton-esque lights draped from tree to tree, the stars visible beyond and with crickets chirping in the background. And yes, I have a glass of wine. |
Day 24: Bosphorous Strait
Thursday 29 September
Despite both our type A pesonalities, Paul and I have been taking a laissez faire approach to our time in Istanbul and found ourselves wandering down to the ferry terminal today to see about this nearby continent of "Asia" that we had been hearing about.
The busy terminals were filled with touters- for pretzels and corn and chestnuts and cruises and tourguides. We ended up on a ferry cruise of the Bosphorous Strait, which we were pretty sure would allow us to step foot in Asia.
If you ever find yourself in Istanbul, these river cruises (which you can get as cheap as 10 lira or ~4.5 euro) are an excellent way to see the city- with asia on one side and europe on the other. We got off at the final stop and enjoyed two hours wandering a little village on the hillside in the late afternoon sun. We high fived the fact that we had made it "all the way to Asia."
At the top of the nearest hillside was an old castle- it wasn't furnished as a tourist site, other than that there was a road leading up to it and lots of cafes offering spectacular views of the hills and sea below. On our way up we weaved through a small village- this was indeed built around the visiting ferry goers- with ice cream and fish market and restaurants galore. We passed by a booth of fish; ones that were identical to those I had been kindly given earlier this week in Istanbul. In asking the shop keeper, he offered me more freebies of what turned out to be fried anchovies. Who would have thought they were so good?
While snapping photos of the sea from the castle site, a Turkish tourist came up to Paul, who also uses a DSLR camera. The man gestured towards Paul's camera. Paul thought he was trying to engage in "camera chat," but as the gestures continued (the Turkish man spoke virtually no english), camera lenses were switched from the man's camera to Paul's. He was lending Paul his high-end lense!
To put this in context, this man was using a professional grade DSLR- of the same brand as Paul- only costing astronomically more. The camera was worth well over 7,000 euro and the lense was worth over 6,000. And he just handed it off to Paul, as it was compatible with his camera, to allow Paul a chance to go snap happy with a lense built for spotting hummingbirds a hundred miles away. Strangers...aren't they lovely?
On the boat ride back we found some great seats and took in the riverside as the sun began to set. A man came along and sat down next to me on the bench, squeezing between two asian teenagers and me. He soon engaged in conversation with the teenagers, who spoke little English, and then turned to me.
"Are you Herman?"
"Pardon me?"
"Herman, are you?"
I paused and looked out at the water for a moment. What is he saying? Ohhh.....
"No, I am Canadian."
"Oh, you look Herman."
Right.
Conversation continued, and I soon learned that this socially awkward young man was Palestinian and was studying in Istanbul for a semester abroad. (I think....)
It was quiet for a while before he turns to me again and says,
"Is that bum?"
Oh my god.
That's hardly discreet. Is he hitting on me? It can't be.
"Pardon me?" I ask as politely as possible, trying to avoid my usual beat read face when embarassed.
"Bum," he says again, this time pointing toward the bench between us.... ie. where my "bum" is.
Wow.... who is this guy?
I pause for some time now. Paul, who is sitting on the other side of me, looks up from his book with a confused expression.
I give the guy one more shot,
"Sorry, I didn't hear you."
"Buuummmm," he says again, this time tapping his index finger on my metal waterbottle, which is in fact sitting next to me, then gesturing with his hands....
Bomb. He meant bomb.
His hands were flailing, as if to recreate the explosion of a bomb.
I quickly replied, "No no no!"
I am laughing, but also trying to keep a straight face. I didn't want others nearby to catch wind of this conversation regarding a "bomb" on this ferry in Istanbul- a mere week after an actual bomb had gone off in the country's capital.
"No, it's just my water bottle," I say. "But I suppose it does have that shape?"
He just grins and nods, thend looks away, taking in the passing riverbanks of this sprawling city.
Paul and I return to the ferry terminal ravenous and head straight for the stretch of fish restaurants under one of the main pedestrian bridges over the Bosphorous. As we sauntered along and inspected the various menus on display, we were approached with "deals" as usual. We had eaten out most nights- but Istanbul proved relatively affordable for a decent meal- if you barter.
And that we did. By night three we had learned that if we ate early enough, restauranters wanted us in their restaurants as a full restaurant attracted more tourists. I'll admit, I'm a bit more at ease trying some random new spot when I see lots of other travelers doing the same. When it comes to dining out in foreign cities, it's easy to become sheep.
But the tactics did not stop there- in every case we were always offered tables sitting right out at the front. These were all open-air restaurants, great for a view of the sea or just people watching on a busy street. Paul managed to barter the prices down by 20% on our mains, and 10% on wine at this particular fish restaurant- this was to be the cost of our "restaurant mannequin" services. We were young, often smiley, and clearly foreigners. The perfect bait for passer-bys looking for reassurance that others like them are eating there, so it must be good!
We placed our orders and enjoyed sipping our discounted wine, knowing that as the place filled up we were paying far less than the posh diners around us. I had mentioned that we were ravenous. So by the time bread basket number three was brought to the table, we were surprised. We had easily eaten a loaf of bread each- and yet they kept bringing it. They had replaced basket #2 before it was even empty!
"That's awfully visible bread," says Paul.
Oh my... he was right. The bread was yet another prop! There is nothing more enticing than seeing free bread on people's dining tables when you're chosing a restaurant (aside from good food, I suppose), and this place was capitalising on it. We scanned the front end of the restaurant and found the same trend. They were shockingly attentive in ensuring the tables were plentiful of food and drink- but not so efficient at clearing things away. And food was ALWAYS served from the front... even if it meant walking a whole loop of the restaurant to make it out to the sidewalk- where passerbys could see the dishes- before cutting back in to serve the food. Suffice to say it was entertaining to watch once we discovered the system.
Following dinner we headed onto the backpacker strip where we were staying for cheap drinks. We settled in at the only remaining restaurant/bar that Paul and I had not yet visited on this stretch- "Just Bar"- aptly named. These places offer Effes, a Turkish beer, red and white wine, hooka, and backgammon- all backdropped by colourful cushions and bright lanterns from above.
We ended up chatting with many of the Turkish staff... and became friends. Paul snuck off to the neighbouring convenience store and came back with a pack of pistachios. Our host and staffer, who had been sitting with us for some time, offered to bring over a proper dish for the snacks. He returned with a dish and soon after came his colleague (who was also the owner), who once we got chatting, was running with a joke about making me shut up (go figure). He pried open pistachio after pistashio, handing them to me like a vending machine, all in a dramatic attempt to keep my mouth full...and quiet. We were having a grand old time and it wasn't long before I began hanging spoons on my face and balancing wine glasses on knives. It was like a cruise ship dinner in Istanbul. After too many free drinks and pistachio nuts Paul and I retired to our hostel across the street. Before parting ways, we exchanged names with the hosts- in the event that they forgot my name, I pointed across the street as a reminder, where there was a brightly lit "Bonita Tour Travel"... with BONITA in significantly larger font. We all laughed as Paul and I sauntered away, grinning and pleased with a relaxed and enteratining evening.
Good night Istanbul.
Despite both our type A pesonalities, Paul and I have been taking a laissez faire approach to our time in Istanbul and found ourselves wandering down to the ferry terminal today to see about this nearby continent of "Asia" that we had been hearing about.
The busy terminals were filled with touters- for pretzels and corn and chestnuts and cruises and tourguides. We ended up on a ferry cruise of the Bosphorous Strait, which we were pretty sure would allow us to step foot in Asia.
If you ever find yourself in Istanbul, these river cruises (which you can get as cheap as 10 lira or ~4.5 euro) are an excellent way to see the city- with asia on one side and europe on the other. We got off at the final stop and enjoyed two hours wandering a little village on the hillside in the late afternoon sun. We high fived the fact that we had made it "all the way to Asia."
At the top of the nearest hillside was an old castle- it wasn't furnished as a tourist site, other than that there was a road leading up to it and lots of cafes offering spectacular views of the hills and sea below. On our way up we weaved through a small village- this was indeed built around the visiting ferry goers- with ice cream and fish market and restaurants galore. We passed by a booth of fish; ones that were identical to those I had been kindly given earlier this week in Istanbul. In asking the shop keeper, he offered me more freebies of what turned out to be fried anchovies. Who would have thought they were so good?
While snapping photos of the sea from the castle site, a Turkish tourist came up to Paul, who also uses a DSLR camera. The man gestured towards Paul's camera. Paul thought he was trying to engage in "camera chat," but as the gestures continued (the Turkish man spoke virtually no english), camera lenses were switched from the man's camera to Paul's. He was lending Paul his high-end lense!
To put this in context, this man was using a professional grade DSLR- of the same brand as Paul- only costing astronomically more. The camera was worth well over 7,000 euro and the lense was worth over 6,000. And he just handed it off to Paul, as it was compatible with his camera, to allow Paul a chance to go snap happy with a lense built for spotting hummingbirds a hundred miles away. Strangers...aren't they lovely?
 |
| The view from A hillside cafe in Asia looking over the Bosphorous Strait. With Dex and Em (see: "One Day" by David Nicolls, also at a theatre near you). |
On the boat ride back we found some great seats and took in the riverside as the sun began to set. A man came along and sat down next to me on the bench, squeezing between two asian teenagers and me. He soon engaged in conversation with the teenagers, who spoke little English, and then turned to me.
"Are you Herman?"
"Pardon me?"
"Herman, are you?"
I paused and looked out at the water for a moment. What is he saying? Ohhh.....
"No, I am Canadian."
"Oh, you look Herman."
Right.
Conversation continued, and I soon learned that this socially awkward young man was Palestinian and was studying in Istanbul for a semester abroad. (I think....)
It was quiet for a while before he turns to me again and says,
"Is that bum?"
Oh my god.
That's hardly discreet. Is he hitting on me? It can't be.
"Pardon me?" I ask as politely as possible, trying to avoid my usual beat read face when embarassed.
"Bum," he says again, this time pointing toward the bench between us.... ie. where my "bum" is.
Wow.... who is this guy?
I pause for some time now. Paul, who is sitting on the other side of me, looks up from his book with a confused expression.
I give the guy one more shot,
"Sorry, I didn't hear you."
"Buuummmm," he says again, this time tapping his index finger on my metal waterbottle, which is in fact sitting next to me, then gesturing with his hands....
Bomb. He meant bomb.
His hands were flailing, as if to recreate the explosion of a bomb.
I quickly replied, "No no no!"
I am laughing, but also trying to keep a straight face. I didn't want others nearby to catch wind of this conversation regarding a "bomb" on this ferry in Istanbul- a mere week after an actual bomb had gone off in the country's capital.
"No, it's just my water bottle," I say. "But I suppose it does have that shape?"
He just grins and nods, thend looks away, taking in the passing riverbanks of this sprawling city.
And that we did. By night three we had learned that if we ate early enough, restauranters wanted us in their restaurants as a full restaurant attracted more tourists. I'll admit, I'm a bit more at ease trying some random new spot when I see lots of other travelers doing the same. When it comes to dining out in foreign cities, it's easy to become sheep.
But the tactics did not stop there- in every case we were always offered tables sitting right out at the front. These were all open-air restaurants, great for a view of the sea or just people watching on a busy street. Paul managed to barter the prices down by 20% on our mains, and 10% on wine at this particular fish restaurant- this was to be the cost of our "restaurant mannequin" services. We were young, often smiley, and clearly foreigners. The perfect bait for passer-bys looking for reassurance that others like them are eating there, so it must be good!
We placed our orders and enjoyed sipping our discounted wine, knowing that as the place filled up we were paying far less than the posh diners around us. I had mentioned that we were ravenous. So by the time bread basket number three was brought to the table, we were surprised. We had easily eaten a loaf of bread each- and yet they kept bringing it. They had replaced basket #2 before it was even empty!
"That's awfully visible bread," says Paul.
Oh my... he was right. The bread was yet another prop! There is nothing more enticing than seeing free bread on people's dining tables when you're chosing a restaurant (aside from good food, I suppose), and this place was capitalising on it. We scanned the front end of the restaurant and found the same trend. They were shockingly attentive in ensuring the tables were plentiful of food and drink- but not so efficient at clearing things away. And food was ALWAYS served from the front... even if it meant walking a whole loop of the restaurant to make it out to the sidewalk- where passerbys could see the dishes- before cutting back in to serve the food. Suffice to say it was entertaining to watch once we discovered the system.
Following dinner we headed onto the backpacker strip where we were staying for cheap drinks. We settled in at the only remaining restaurant/bar that Paul and I had not yet visited on this stretch- "Just Bar"- aptly named. These places offer Effes, a Turkish beer, red and white wine, hooka, and backgammon- all backdropped by colourful cushions and bright lanterns from above.
We ended up chatting with many of the Turkish staff... and became friends. Paul snuck off to the neighbouring convenience store and came back with a pack of pistachios. Our host and staffer, who had been sitting with us for some time, offered to bring over a proper dish for the snacks. He returned with a dish and soon after came his colleague (who was also the owner), who once we got chatting, was running with a joke about making me shut up (go figure). He pried open pistachio after pistashio, handing them to me like a vending machine, all in a dramatic attempt to keep my mouth full...and quiet. We were having a grand old time and it wasn't long before I began hanging spoons on my face and balancing wine glasses on knives. It was like a cruise ship dinner in Istanbul. After too many free drinks and pistachio nuts Paul and I retired to our hostel across the street. Before parting ways, we exchanged names with the hosts- in the event that they forgot my name, I pointed across the street as a reminder, where there was a brightly lit "Bonita Tour Travel"... with BONITA in significantly larger font. We all laughed as Paul and I sauntered away, grinning and pleased with a relaxed and enteratining evening.
Good night Istanbul.
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