Amsterdam?

I thought my trip was over. I packed my bag and left in the middle of the night for the airport. I made such a simple mistake. There were two Havas airport shuttle buses. Everyone was loading onto one, so I thought it was leaving now and the other was for later. It turns out that they are for each of Istanbul’s 2 airports, and I was on the wrong one. Once I arrived at the airport I had to take a taxi across town, only to arrive just as my flight was leaving. I bought a new ticket to try to catch my connecting flight (don’t ever do that! They cancel your whole trip if you miss the first flight). Although I arrived in Amsterdam in time for my connecting flight, I waited 45 min for my luggage and missed check-in. I had to talk with a woman at ticketing to get a new flight. She told me that normally I would have to buy a whole new ticket, but I think because I was on the verge of tears she took pity on me and let me just pay a re-booking fee. But the next available flight wasn’t for 2 days. To lighten the mood the woman told me I’d have a good time this weekend. “It’s gay pride, you could change your hair color.”

I didn’t dye my hair, but my experience of Amsterdam was entirely characterized by pride. Especially since this was the only time I’ve ever been, I imagine the Amsterdam I would describe might sound a lot different than someone else’s Amsterdam. For an unintentional delay, this was a fun few days. I saw their unique canal pride parade, plus tons of street parties, drag performances, and art exhibits. This wasn’t just an afternoon parade, the whole city was involved in the week long festival.

There were a few queer art exhibitions around the city, including this open air photography exhibit. I also saw an exhibit called “Fluid Architecture”.

*I’m writing this at home in Ann Arbor, so I did finally catch my flight. I had a good time in Amsterdam, and I’d really like to go back, but right now it feels good to be home.

Konya / Ankara / Safranbolu

This is a quick run through the other cities I visted over the last week. I didn’t get to spend much time in any of these but they’re worth mentioning.

Konya:

This is refered to as Turkey’s Bible Belt; a more traditional Islamic city for Western Turkey. This is the only city I visited where the majority of women wear headscarves. It’s also where the poet Rumi is buried. He started a sect of Sufism called Mevlani, the same practice that the whirling dervishes follow. I expected to see a very different side of Turkey here, but there were lots of college students and besides the dress it didn’t seem much more conservative than other towns.

Ankara:

I spent less than 24 hours in Turkey’s capital. As I started added more cities to my trip I ended up cutting down the time I planned to spend here. My Turkish friends didn’t encourage me to visit Ankara. I can understand that the large concrete buildings and overpasses don’t offer much for tourists. It reminded me a bit of Shanghai though. I imagine this would be an exciting city if you got to know its ins and outs, but I definitely prefer Istanbul. I just walked around the main street and visited the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations.

Safranbolu:

I was excited to add a short stop in Safranbolu to my tour. It’s mainly a weekend getaway for Turkish tourists, but it has some of the best examples of preserved Ottoman homes in the country. I paid a bit extra to stay a night in one of these. It was nice to see the interiors of these homes that had been catching my attention in Istanbul. They have incredible woodwork and lots of quirky designs. They have long, low couches like you saw in Topkapi palace. The walls are either large windows or covered in cabinets to hide things when they’re not being used. That’s something similar to modernist design, but the wood makes it feel warmer than steel and glass. There was even a cabinet with a bathtub in it!

Tomorrow I’ll be packing my bags to return home. But that’s something I’m trying not to think about too much.

Goreme

On the way to Goreme I was almost dropped off outside the city so the bus could stay on major roads. Luckily the bus steward seemed to argue for me and I was taken to my intended destination. Even though I was the only one getting off at Goreme, I think the other passengers enjoyed the detour. As soon as we turned down into the valley everyone was looking out their windows and taking pictures of the dramatic rock formations that make Cappadocia famous. Volcanic tufa has been continually built up and eroded to form these “fairy chimneys”. Cave houses were carved into the soft rock first by the Hittites, but were used continuously by people living in the region. Smaller nooks were carved for pigeons to roost, which the locals used for food and eggs.

It’s hard to describe how amazing this place is. It welcomes the modern tourist industry while still maintaining a close-knit village community. There are tons of hostels offering “cave rooms” like the one I stayed in. The physics are hard to argue with. Whether it’s scorching hot or freezing cold, the underground rooms are always around 60 degrees. Walking around the city you’re just as likely to see a group of backpackers on rented ATVs as horse-drawn wagons carrying hay or vegetables. The first night I arrived I went out with another American family and a Dutch girl working for my hostel to a traditional dance performance.

Christians used the caves extensively when the Romans had outlawed their worship. The second day I went to the Open Air museum where many of these cave churches are on display. The most impressive was the Dark Church, which, because it received very little light, best preserved its vivid mosaics.

On the walk back from the museum I found some walking trails and decided to go for a hike. Soon I was surrounded by rock formations, many with simple caves dug into them. I started climbing through them and saw some amazing views through the carved windows. Eventually I looked through one to find only a steep drop down.

On the third day I took a tour of Ilhara valley. First we saw a panoramic view of the city. Then we visited an underground city. Different groups also used these over time. The extensive, 7-floor layout had rooms for cooking, storage, sleeping, teaching, and worship. Communities lived inside for years at a time, with just one or two leaving occasionally to catch food or spy on enemies. They think there are more like this throughout the area, but so far only 2 have been excavated. After that we went on a hike through peaceful Ilhara valley and ate lunch on a platform built onto the river. Then we visited Selime village. If it looks familiar it’s because it was used as a backdrop for the planet Tatooine in Star Wars. We ended our tour with a visit to an onyx factory. Normally I wouldn’t mention this but I answered our guide’s trivia question and got the onyx egg we just watched being carved.

Olympos

The next extra stop was Olympos, one of the many locations thought to have been called Mt. Olympus by the Ancient Greeks. Today this little village is a bohemian backpackers paradise, although maybe a bit too popular (I hear Kabak is a secluded version for those in the know). Olympos is located between two steep mountains, down a windy dirt road which ends with some Greek ruins along the beach. Before you get to the ruins both sides of the road are covered with camp-like hostels. Olympos first caught my attention because it’s known for it’s “tree house” hostels.

The rooms themselves weren’t that dramatic, just slightly elevated wood cabins. But the communal courtyard more than made up for this. When I walked into Bayrams I looked around to see travelers relaxing under a canopy of orange trees and grape vines. There were plenty of hammocks, picnic tables, and elevated wooden platforms covered in oriental rugs and pillows surrounding a low table. Breakfast and dinner are served cafeteria style here, people read or napped, there was a bar on one end, and music (Bob Marley was a favorite) playing. I was in love! If I had my own house I would want to build something like this outside. After moving around so much it was nice to have a day to just lounge around. It also gave me a chance to work on my article for Euro Art, which I have been seriously neglecting.

The first night I arrived I bought a flashlight and walked down to the beach. During daylight hours you have to pay an entrance fee but I heard from other travelers that it never actually closed. It wasn’t that big of a secret because, after a spooky walk through a dark path surrounded by ancient ruins, the beach was about half full. There was no moon, and no city lights, so the sky was filled with stars. I decided to get some sleep and wake up to see it at sunrise. I forced myself up at 5:30. It was cool and damp and I could hear birds and wild dogs in the surrounding woods. The walk down was beautiful.

When I reached the beach the sun was resting on the horizon behind hazy clouds. It was quiet, but in the light the scene looked pretty sad. Beer bottles and cigarette butts were everywhere. I guess people always take advantage of a good opportunity. I sat there for an hour while people started waking up. I swam for a bit. The water felt great as the sun was warming up. After that I walked back for our 8 o’clock breakfast, and spent the rest of the afternoon reading, writing, and napping.

The other interesting thing to see at Olympos is the Chimaera flames. On a nearby mountain there are unknown gasses coming from underground that ignite when they come in contact with the air. Ancient myth has that the monster Chimaera was lanced deep into the earth where it is stuck and continues breathing fire up to the surface. After dinner a group of us took a tour of the mountain. After a 20 minute hike there is an area with about 10-15 flames in the area. Most of the pictures came out looking like a campfire, but the flames are actually curling up from under the rocks. You can put them out, but they will relight over time.

Fethiye

I found out about two (now three actually) interesting places in Turkey that I’m trying to fit into my tour. I think I can make it to all of them, but it means I’m on a bus every two or three days. I’ll try to keep up the pace with my blog, but it may lag over the next week. The first extra stop is Fethiye, a coastal town filled with tourists who come for beautiful beaches and a vibrant nightlife.

After my post about what tourists want, I was reminded that many people visit a place for warm weather, swimming and relaxation. I guess an exotic locale is enough, and, like the girls in my hostel, you can bring your tube of vegemite for breakfast.

It was nice to spend another day on the beach, swimming in the Mediterranean this time. But the real reason for my visit was to see Kayakoy, the Greek ghost town on the outskirts of Fethiye. After WWI Turkey and Greece had a residency exchange where Muslim Greeks moved to Turkey and Ottoman Christians to Greece. Because there were more people leaving Turkey than coming in, cities like Kayakoy were never repopulated. In the 1980s the site was claimed for historic preservation and now you can wander around the ruined houses, overgrown with plants, and explore.

It was a little creepy walking through homes, school houses, and churches that had been abandoned. The traces of paint and my imagining what rooms were once used for reminded me that home is very much about people, but that even when the people are gone something stays with the house, or maybe just a longing for something.

I’m trying to think about how these abandoned homes relate to the squatter settlements and the homes that I’ve moved into and out of. Not sure yet, but it reminds me of Robert Smithson’s fantastic lecture/photo series, Hotel Panlenque. He equates an unremarkable hotel under development with the Mayan ruins that the city is famous for. He catches these two places going in reverse directions at a point in the middle where they seem to meet.

Robert Smithson, Hotel Palenque

Pamukkale

Here I am on the travertines in Pammukale (minus beard). The water in this historic spa town is rich with calcium, so the deposits leave turn everything white as it flows down the hill. The travertines are where the water pools and the calcium deposits build up these table-like structures. The whole hillside is like walking on another planet, and walking down during sunset made the whole experience unforgettable. Right after the sun set, and there was no direct light, it seemed like the ground and the sky were reflecting each other. I was being a huge photo nerd the whole way, so this post is mostly images.

At the top of the hill was a ruined city based on the curative properties of the local water. Because it was inhabited from 190 BC to the 1300s you can see a mix of pagan, Roman, Jewish and early Christian influences.

During Roman times there was a temple to Apollo here, which was guarded by an oracle and eunuch priests. The oracle’s inspiration came from a hole in the ground which to this day, unidentifiable toxic gasses bubble up (left). The hole was dedicated to Pluto (right). In the past the oracle would sacrafice birds by throwing them into the hole, and there have even been some human casualties before it was sealed off. I looked into this small hole to hear the water bubbling and was met with a warm breeze that made me choke.

Selcuk

Selcuk is the closest city to the ruins of Ephesos, the best-preserved, classical Roman city west of the Mediteranean. I arrived early at the Homeros pension and was welcomed by Oya, the very friendly and quirky owner. After showing me my beautiful room, with AC and a private balcony, she invited me to the rooftop terrace for a late breakfast. Beyond the amenities, she made sure all of her guests felt like members of her family, the rest of whom also worked at the pension. She offered home cooked meals every night, free wine at sunset, car rides to Ephesus, and help with pretty much anything else we might need.

I spent the rest of the day walking around the city. I visited the remains of the Basilica of St. John; a monumental church built over the supposed grave of the apostle.  I was stunned by the weight of the materials, which seem even heavier sunk into the ground where they have collapsed. I stopped for lunch at a lush, outdoor café with wooden canopied porches covered in rugs, floor pillows, the whole orient package. Listening to the birds and prayer calls with mixed feelings, I started thinking about what tourists want. I think we all want to see something exotic, which this café obviously understood. As I paid my bill the waiter told me about a wedding reception there later that night and that I should come see it.

After waking up from a nap I found my power to be turned off. After asking about it I was told that the entire city’s power was down. I was glad to see that restaurants were still serving food, and as I sat down to eat dinner I was really excited about a night in complete darkness. By the time I had finished dinner and the sun started to set, a generator had been turned on and a cheer was heard down the street. Again I sat with mixed feelings. On one hand I enjoyed the AC of my hotel room, but I was more than happy to trade that for seeing the city respond to a total blackout.  I also worried that the wedding reception might be canceled if the power had stayed off, so in the end I was happy to see it return. I went back to the café and had a great seat overlooking the reception with fireworks, lots of dancing, a huge cake, and a boy dressed in silver robes on a pony. I think tourists also want to see something authentic. I felt really lucky to be invited.

The following morning was spent at Ephesus, squeezing past tour groups. The grounds were incredible. You could see how roads were laid out, where homes stood, and the huge importance of temples, libraries and theatres. I guess it also gave you a sense of moving through a bustling Roman street, but I got sick of the crowds pretty quick. I think many tourists want to feel they are “discovering” something. Walking off down a dirt path I ended up alone among some of the distant ruins (which I found out later where off limits) and had some time to myself. That night I ate dinner at the pension. “Mama” was cooking tonight. Before dinner a small group of us sat on the terrace with our glasses of wine and watched the sunset. And the next morning, as each of the pensions guests left, Oya gave us hugs, told us not to go, that she would cry, and poured water on the street behind us for good luck.

massive statue of Emperor Domitian

Izmir

I think Istanbul’s appeal was really grounded in me when I started reading novels about the city. But before Pamuk or Safak I had picked up Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex. Besides being a fantastic story, it begins in Smyrna (the ancient name for Izmir) where Cal Stephanides’ Greek family originates before immigrating to Detroit. I like when little details seem to correlate to my own life, like this novel tracing an opposite route of my travels this summer.

relief of Smyrna

Izmir reminds me of a little Istanbul. It’s Turkey’s third largest city but it’s very manageable, at least for the parts I wanted to see. They have a Taksim-like walking street and seaside piers. It doesn’t have the historic buildings due to fires following the Greek invasion/expulsion after WWI. But it makes up for this lack with lots of pedestrian streets and the beautiful seaside Kordon, which is a huge park/boardwalk stretching along the sea.

But after a day walking around Izmir I realized how different my experience of the 2 cities was. In Istanbul I had made friends, I worked (somewhat), and had a routine. I gave Izmir two days. Having spent the last week on a whirlwind tour of Western Turkey there have been days I’ve felt homesick, although sometimes I can’t tell if it’s for the U.S. or for Istanbul. Looking back I realized, rather than writing about museums and art galleries in Istanbul, I should have been recording those (always unphotographed) moments when I was making it a home. The nights watching How I Met Your Mother or making fun of pretentious intellectuals with my flat mates, or looking at old Turkish magazines and their “Should you get married?” quizzes with the girls from the gallery, or just making Nescafe and looking out my bedroom window.

Of course the importance of the ordinary becomes apparent when it’s absent.

Coming back to my hotel that night the man at the desk gave me a note. It was from a German couple I had met in Bergama, asking if I wanted to meet up with them the next day. I spent the morning exploring the bazaar and the archeology museum, then met up with Julius and Hannah for some drinks along the Kordon. The moment I realized how much I miss everyone back in Istanbul, I was able to make friends with two nice people who happened to be on the same route. I like when little details seem to correlate to my own life.

Bergama

Bergama is a beautiful, little market town surrounded by ancient Greek and Roman ruins. Around 300 B.C. this town had more inhabitants than it does today. It was controlled by one of Alexander the Great’s generals. The homes seem to be a mix of Greek and Ottoman. My hostel was an amazing, restored Ottoman house. The city is leisurely, but unlike Bozcaada people seem to be living very ordinary lives here.

Acropolis –

On the top of the hill are the ruins of a Greek acropolis. It has an incredibly steep 10,000-seat amphitheatre, a gymnasium, temples to Dionysus and Demeter, and once boasted the largest library besides the one in Alexandria. But it’s best known for the Temple to Zeus, which was relocated to Berlin and is now a major point of contention. The frieze around the base depicts a battle between Greek gods and giants, which, in Greek style, was a symbol for the city’s own victories during the 1st century B.C. It later became a Roman town, and a temple was built to Trajan, who also had deity-like status.

Asclepion –

West of the city is an ancient Greek medical center. It became famous due to the physician Galen, whose work remained the basis for Western medicine until the 16th century. You can see columns carved with snakes, dedicated to Asclepios, the god of medicine.

Red Bascilica –

Inside the town is an ancient temple dedicated to Egyptian deities. It was called one of the seven churches of the apocalypse in the book of Revelation, and the throne of the devil. Rather than convert it to a church, Christians built a basilica. You can’t go inside, and actually it’s a pretty uneventful visit, but there are lots of creepy black holes in the ground.

Walking around Bergama I kept thinking about how people felt about living next to these ancient monuments. As a tourist, no one seemed surprised that I was there, but they weren’t that interested in me either. It would be naïve to assume that tourism wasn’t a strong part of the cities economy, but they didn’t seem to capitalize on it like other cities might. Streets were lined with banks, supermarkets, cafes, and automotive shops. The few souvenir stands were right outside the ruins and were pretty casual. I went to a barber for a straight razor shave, and there I could step into that everyday life. The pine-sol smelling cologne I was doused with, the banter between the men, and the orders snapped at the young assistants all had nothing to do with Greek gods or battles.

In his book Istanbul, Orhan Pamuk describes his Grandmother by writing; “Like most people living comfortably in a city, she had no interest in monuments, history, or ‘beauties’.” When I told my Istanbulian friends about my travels they all laughed and said I would see more of Turkey than they have. I think it’s common across the world that we tend to ignore the ‘sights’ of our hometowns. We pay attention to our everyday concerns like family, work, haircuts, and lunches. But I still wonder if that history has some effect on the everyday lives of people in Bergama, like the way my shave reflects the transition from Greek to Roman fashion.

Bozcaada

The guidebook says that Bozcaada Island is a place just to hang out and relax, but my experience was more like an absurdist, existential play. With the town center on the East side of the island and popular beaches on the South, I could not figure out how people, without their own car or scooter, got from one to the other. Most of the play consists of me, dressed for a day at the beach, walking for hours along lonely roads through empty hills and farmland, looking for the beach. I’m following a map with roads that have no names, just a dark line for asphalt and a thin line for dirt. Cicadas buzz in bushes as the sun beats down and I feel every rock through my flip-flops.

Other acts in this play include witnessing a midnight wedding procession led by a horse and carriage and marching band; meeting a man claiming to have been a pirate who calls the Elif Shafak book I am reading “postmodern bullshit”; and hitching a ride from two middle-aged women traveling with their kids in a hatchback jeep who take our coconut-scented protagonist wine tasting. Eventually I found the minibuses that go between the town and beach, and had a great time swimming in the Aegean, but those long walks gave me lots of time to think about my feelings about the city and the country.

I’ve always lived in the city. My family isn’t the outdoorsy type. But when I think about myself playing as a child it’s always outside. My earliest memories of Chicago are playing in driveways, backyards, public parks or overgrown lots. When my family moved to Albuquerque, I was spoiled to have the almost undisturbed Sandia Mountains literally butting up against my friends’ backyards. Up until the age we learned to drive I remember spending as much time on rocks and hills as indoors. Because of this I don’t make the typical separation between city and country. I like being outdoors, but whether it’s a hiking trail or the stoop of an apartment building doesn’t make much of a difference to me.

So, while I enjoy camping and swimming at the beach, when faced with 4 days on a quiet, relaxing resort town like Bozcaada I can’t help but feel anxious. It could accuse its overpriced meals, or that I don’t really get wine tasting, but I think it’s more my fear of settling down. Since moving out of my parents’ house I haven’t lived in the same building more than 2 years. It’s not a conscious decision, but it has happened. The fact that I’m drawn to megacities like Shanghai and Istanbul might say something. In those places I feel like people are working, and often struggling to achieve something, whether it’s material or personal. But on Bozcaada Island people seem to, having attained enough, want to let go of those struggles. I guess I’m not done struggling. I changed my hotel reservations from 4 nights to 3 and, with that done, started to relax.