EPILOG AND LAST THOUGHTS

Monday, June 9, 2008

THE SUN WAS RISING, WHEN I DROVE FROM THE AIRPORT TO MY HOME IN GAVEA. THE FAMILIAR URBAN LANDSCAPE WAS BATHED IN A WARM GLOW.

When I got into the plane in Paris I fell asleep almost immediately after the 11.15 PM departure. When I woke up, surprisingly refreshed, it was dark around me and everybody was asleep or shifting resignedly in their seats. The time was 12.30 AM Brazilian time - 5 hours flight time left. I got my computer out and finished my last entries, feeling very content working all alone there in the dark. I was wondering why it had been so special to write down all these experiences. For one thing, I hadn’t written anything in a long time, so just to feel the rush of words waiting to come out was very pleasing, but also, I think it has to do with aging and values. It so happened that  “Shine a light” - the Martin Scorcese documentary was showing on the television screen in front of me. The Stones were giving a concert in NY and it was amazing to see their energy and complicity throughout the long show. They are well into their sixties, and, although wrinkled and skinny, they have youthful expressions and seem to thoroughly enjoy playing together and being on stage. They don’t have to do this any more, but possibly they continue to play because that is what makes them feel alive and happy. At least I would like to think so.

It had struck me during our trip that the most special moments are those that happen in an instant. One minute you’re having a wonderful experience, the next, it is over - like our balloon ride. One way to hold on to the shadow of that memory is to write it down - and thus the writer become a collector of happy, sad, or significant moments. 

The thought stayed with me for a long time as I drove home through the light of the rising sun, which made the normally ugly and violent urban landscape seem fresh and calm: thrill or happiness is evanescent, and all we can do is to find it around us and commit it to memory.

LAST DAY IN ISTANBUL

Sunday, June 8, 2008

THIS IS HOW YOU LOOK WHEN YOU HAVE JUST HAD TWO SCOOPS OF FABULOUS MADO ICE CREAM - ORANGE AND RASPBERRY.

In spite of having gone to sleep after 1am I wake up in our hideous room just before 6am. The one very nice thing is that the internet works perfectly, and I can upload my photos and fuss around with my blog, with which I have been obsessed throughout the whole trip (thank you Lilian for all your comments - I wonder if anybody else read it as faithfully). My curiosity is spiked by sunlight slanted in on the building so close in front of our window. If I twist my head out the window, I can see the sea. When eventually we get up and hurry through the smoke-smelling corridor to our breakfast, we see a pleasant yacht harbor and park scenery right outside. On go our walking shoes and we stroll in the sun all along the pier and beach - where we see weather-tanned men scoring out artichokes bottoms incredibly quickly, interesting public exercise equipment next to the jogging path, and more restaurants than we can count setting up for the Sunday crowd, with the odd sheep or rooster thrown in as an added family attraction. We meander through a very upscale residential area in search of the Mado ice cream place, we saw from the shuttle yesterday, and which I tasted in Ankara. It is a bit of a challenge to order, since the menu is in Turkish and the waiter speaks no English. After some  more random walking we head back to the hotel for a rest in the air conditioning and final packing. Before leaving in the same ‘shuttle’, we have a couple of fresh artichoke bottoms in a vinaigrette sauce, salad and fresh white cheese, accompanied by a couple of very cold Efes beers. We also (shhh) have some French fries (they were out of eggs). Back in the old Renault we go and quickly reach the airport. As I write this I am sitting midway between Turkey and France, delighted to have had this lovely trip and excited about going home to hug my son and the waiting animals.

THE BALLOON RIDE & LAST DAY IN CAPPADOCIA

Saturday, June 7, 2008

THE BEAUTY OF FLOATING SILENTLY THROUGH THE FRESH MORNING AIR AND WATCHING THE SUN HEAT THE MAGICAL LANDSCAPE IS SOMETHING SO SPECIAL THAT YOU FALL SILENT TOO.

We had a 5am pick -up time for our incredibly expensive balloon ride. We were stuffed into a van quickly filling to beyond capacity with people from all over the world. When we got to the site we were excited to see a multitude of vividly colored slack balloons quickly being filled with hot air (they use less flammable propane). Our balloon held 20 people in a rectangular cage divided into 4 compartments with the captain in the middle with his GPS, levers, tanks, and so on. The cage was very fancy, quite new with leather trimming and sturdy wicker sides. Suddenly we lifted up and started to float through the awakening landscape. Wherever you looked, balloons hung in the air, and as the sun began to rise above the surrounding mountains, their shadows accompanied us on the ground. There was no sound except for the occasional jet of hot air being blasted into the canvas above. We took pictures incessantly, and there was joy and excitement on all faces as we floated though the lovely scenery. The ride took an hour and we realized that landing was highly wind-dependent, when the accompanying trailer and van, which were trying to position themselves on our landing site, had to change direction several times. But we landed, and were tied down with not a hitch, and had to wait nicely in our compartments, as they were emptied and filled with the new group one by one. Then we had a champagne toast and received a certificate. 

We were happy and excited, when we drove home to have the delicious Kelebek breakfast, which, as I now knew, included the natural honey colored dried apricots. Mehmet explained that in September the apricots are laid out to dry on all the roofs, acquiring that rich color. The yellow version that we know has been soaked in sulfur for export.  

Later the same day:

LAST DAY WITH OUR GUIDE MEHMET, OF WHOM WE HAVE BECOME QUITE FOND. I AM THINKING EAST TURKEY NEXT TIME - AND MAYBE THE SOUTH....

Our last day in Cappadocia. The complicated packing for the one-suitcase limit for the domestic flight, we will catch later back to Istanbul, where we will spend a night before taking Air France to Rio via Paris. The usual remonstrations: Why do we always take too much stuff?

Mehmet takes us to a landscape of caves that were inhabited until sometime in the 1980s, when it became illegal to live in the caves. We visit one, complete with rug adorned living room and enjoy a ‘medium’ Turkish coffee, meaning with just a little sugar. Then we move up through the former dwelling, noting that the ‘Bride’s room’ has a cradle, a double bed, a WC, and a big shotgun on the wall. At the very top are the pigeon coops. These we have seen everywhere. The pigeons were kept for the guana - fertilizer they produced, but as the caves were gradually vacated, nobody took care of the birds any more, and by now you see very few.

After another spectacular lookout we are dropped in Ürgüp, so that we can go haggle with Ali Baba and his nice wife, Then Mehmet finds us another lovely spot for lunch, almost a private house, where we can see the pot with the stew slow-cooking in a deep hole, much like the one used by the monks. As we eat yet another delicious meal, we observe a gallant rooster patrolling his area, where five or six placid chickens are huddled under an old cart. This is necessary, because across the valley another black rooster is crowing in a challenging manner.

The clouds have been getting darker and we have heard distant thunder. When Mehmet drops us in a little village to take a look around, we are surprised by lashing rain. Fortunately, he returns quickly to rescue us, and we return to the hotel to relax and wait for the shuttle. We are sad to say good-bye to Mehmet. He was a lot of fun to be with, and quickly figured out what would be our preferences.

Much too soon a van filling with international tourists, including, incredibly, a young woman Wharton School student, is whisking us away from all this beauty, traveling through an increasingly industrial landscape to the Kayseri airport, where we go through security a record 4 times. 

Back in Istanbul we are met by the airport hotel shuttle, wthe driver of which again seems surprised that we are 2 couples and not 2 persons. We split up, the Lehrer's in a cab with one guy, and us in the shuttle, an ancient red Renault sedan. The driver doesn’t speak English, but even I can tell he gets lost several times. Thus, it is very late when we reach the hotel, supposed to be less than 4km from the airport, and we are horrified when we are let into a dingy room with twin beds and a view of an apartment a few meters away. Everything smells of smoke, towels, sheets - everything. But it is late, we are exhausted and too tired to argue. We go to sleep sad that our beautiful trip should end this way.

GOREME OPEN AIR MUSEUM AND THE FAIRY CHIMNEYS

Friday, June 6, 2008

THESE VOLCANIC ASH FORMATIONS ARE NOT LIKE ANYTHING ELSE WE HAVE SEEN. WE ARE AS IF SURROUNDED BY MODERN SCULPTURES. SEEN HERE IS THE ‘MOTHER, FATHER, AND DAUGHTER FORMATION

We are the first for breakfast. We wake up very early every day in spite of the 6-hour time difference, and thus are the first to appreciate the morning view and the wonderful dishes set out for us. The Turkish breakfast is healthy and plentiful and includes cereal, fresh and dried fruits, milk, yogurt, eggs, sliced tomatoes, cucumbers and meats, a kind of pound cake and, the best of all, a thin pancake, similar to the Arabian version, folded over and grilled with cheese filling. It is cut into crispy little squares when served. With all these healthy ingredients I always wonder why the only bread is a white crusty loaf. My system yearns for whole-wheat, which would seem natural with this combination.  This is not to say that I don’t eat more than my share. There will most certainly be a moment of reckoning, when I get back to the bathroom scales. Traveling seems to have this effect of opening all your senses. Soon we are joined by the fluffy white cat that Adrienne made friends with and combed yesterday. She is hungry and makes this very clear, so we furtively feed her cheese with slices of the local summer sausage. 

Back with Mehmet in the van we decide to start the day with the important Goreme Open Air Museum. We arrive together with many other tourists in landscape like the moon, except with sun and trees. The volcanic rock formations form the surface of a warren of tunnels and caves, many of them converted into churches around the 8th century, when Christians lived here. You can still see the frescoes on the wall - each church seems to have its own color palette - from chalky orange and green to deep lapis lazuli, and even black. We visit the Apple Tree church, the Dark church, the church of the Sandals, the Tokali church....and outside it is growing hotter and brighter by the minute, as we go from the darkness of the caves to the sun, much like the monks who lived here. Their dining table was hewn out of the rock - a long slab in the middle with a lower bench on each side and a deeper groove for the feet. The stove was a deep hole in the ground shaped like a frying pan, and they had a barbecue with a groove for putting the spit at an angle over the embers.

Our next stop is on a high point overlooking a cluster of Fairy chimney, like a petrified forest from a...yes.. fairy tale, Down the road we spot our first camel, who stands in a dignified manner waiting for his next task.

On to Ürgüp, a bustling market town, where we wander around looking at the many shops. We manage to extricate ourselves from an otherwise promising carpet shop, where the owner goes into that long routine they have of telling a roundabout story of, for example, a destitute Kurdish woman from whom he bought this carpet basically to help her out, only to arrive much later at the price, which is invariably startling. Our time is nearly up when Oswaldo and I spot the fascinating Ali Baba shop, which sells beautiful antique silver jewelry, for us reminiscent of the many wonderful things Nanda in NY has collected from her trips. But we have to leave for lunch, the lovely and secluded Dimkit restaurant, which we to our surprise recognize from a photo in an October 2007 Globo travel article. 

After the lunch we get to walk around amidst the fairy chimneys and take many, many pictures. Finally, exhausted by the heat and light, Oswaldo and I find a spot in the shade of a big rock, where we can look at a dromedary and a camel tethered nearby right in the sun (the owner explains they prefer the sun) chewing slowly on something like old men with loose dentures. We buy lemon ice-creams from the friendly owner, which turn out to cost a surprising $4 in that desolate spot. Ah well, but he gave us a chair, sprinkled water on the dust and there were those camels... On our way out we observe two peasant women making those delicious thin pancakes. We finish the day with a visit to a ceramic and pottery factory, built partly in caves, where we observe how both clay and pottery are made and buy a couple of pieces after fierce bargaining, which my father would have been proud of.

It is time to return to the hotel for an early night, since we have to be up at 4:30am for our balloon ride. I have, however, two final observations: one is that it is better to be a man in Turkey than a woman - even Mehmet says so. Everywhere we go we see the men in friendly clusters sitting outside the bars smoking, chatting and playing backgammon The women can be found, swathed in many cloths, for example rump in the air hoeing her (his?) field or plastering a wall. The other - and maybe there is a connection here - is that the door to the women’s WC’s never seems to either close or lock properly. Just imagine trying to negotiate the non-western toilet, sweaty and tense (in shorts), at the same time as pressing the door shut. Not easy.

THE IHLARA VALLEY AND THE UNDERGROUND CITY

Thursday, June 5th, 2008

Mehmet picks us up for another busy day. Our first stop is a steep climb to a marvelous view of an ancient and still partly used Güzelyurt cave village, originally populated by the Greeks, until they were forcibly repatriated in 1924. We see a small unprepossessing church entrance, which turns out to reveal Christian frescos, partly defaced by Moslems when Christianity was outlawed. In the village we visit the former church of St. Gregory, now serving as a mosque with whitewash over the ancient frescoes. Above the former pulpit is a balcony reserved for the women, who are expected to go to the mosque only at Ramadam, the rest of the time only the men go there. In the course of our conversation Mehmet shows us a photo of his family, where he appears to be, as he says, ‘the king’ (or ‘sultan’, if you wish). He is a non-practicing Moslem, although his wife prays the required 5 times a day. She does not cover her head, and their daughter is just finishing her education to be a math teacher.

We proceed to the Ihlara valley, which is a 15km long gorge, probably created by an earthquake, with a stream running through it. We descend the many stairs and Mehmet leaves us to move the van to the other end, but not before showing us another Byzantine church, The Church of St. Daniels (or “Under the Tree Church - referring to the hidden entry) deep in a cave with the most beautifully colored frescos in lighter tones of orange, yellow, green, and blue. 

We continue down into the valley. The sound of water running, bees and songbirds is most lovely - really, we couldn’t be happier. We have an hour’s walk though this paradise, stopping to rest and take pictures every now and again. We are intrigued by a very loud noise, like a flock of geese fighting or so, and after much searching we find that the source is a large green and blue frog, maybe two. Mehmet meets us halfway when we have just found a little forest snack bar, where we enjoy a cold drink sitting in the shade on tree stumps. Then Mehmet leads us at a fairly fast clip to our lunch restaurant, Belisima, which turns out to have floating decks in the middle of the river, where we lounge on low sofas flung with colorful carpets and, as usual, make friends with some cats and a duck swimming hard against the stream to get at our bread. Even an intrepid sparrow flies on to our deck and demands food. 

Mehmet herds his dazed group out of there and on to a very different scene: the Derinkuyu underground city. Descending hundreds of steps though dark, damp caves, we discover how little man needs to survive. We shudder at their security system, which involved rolling millstones in front and in the back of the enemy, thus trapping them there until they would die. We are glad to be up in the sun again. Mehmet takes us to another stupendous view and then to the lovely Kelebek hotel, where we are installed in an exotic suite, part cave (or cave-like) with a rose garden out front, where we are promised (and find, sort-of) wireless internet.

Before leaving for our Turkish night program, we lounge in the rooftop bar of the hotel and chat with two young American women, one of whom graduated from Rochester University, where Keith taught, and the other from Berkeley, where Oswaldo also studied. Small world.

Two bottles of wine later, around 9pm, Mehmet takes us to a ‘cave’ show house, where we are herded in with many other (elderly) tourists from all over the place. Drinks are included, so unspeakable wine is produced in great jugs, as well as delicious nuts, cheese pastries and fruit. We opt for Raki, the local Pernod like drink. The show starts with some pretty lame Whirling Dervishes and is followed by an energetic group of youths in national costume, who dance around, and show, for example, a red-veiled maiden rejecting many suitors, who prance and jump to entice her. At the end we are all invited to dance and Mehmet gets me on the floor with Oswaldo. We dance in a long snaking ring out into a courtyard where a huge bonfire is burning, and there is a distinct heathen feel about it all. When we get in I am chosen to be ‘the maiden’ and sat in the middle of the suddenly vacated floor, on a little stool next to the former bride. I get to wear the red veil and she instructs me how to pout and shrug my shoulders rhythmically to indicate my disdain for the many athletic suitors and their antics. Finally I am marched around, arms linked with one of the young dancers. I get to choose a suitor. I choose Oswaldo of course, who has to dance enticingly for me holding a red and a white handkerchief, but refuses to do the push-ups. I think we show that we are very good sports. That whole Angra training worked.

The main attraction is still to come. Everything gets dark and from the ceiling descends a red-lit cage with a swaying woman in it. This is the long-awaited belly dancer. She languidly dances around a bit, swaying those rather generous hips, shoulders, breasts, the whole thing, separately and together. Then she looks around for volunteer men, all of whom have protruding bellies. She makes them lift up their shirts and ties a little gaily colored veil around their hips, hung with shiny golden coins, and proceeds to teach them her sinuous movements. They dance together and then each does a solo. This is something very special, and they actually steal the show. Incredibly good sports, bless them.

THE ETHNOGRAPHY MUSEUM AND CAPPADOCIA

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

CAPPADOCIA IS STUPENDOUS. WE HAVE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS - WE ARE IN ANOTHER WORLD.

Our new driver, Mehmet Gük, picks us up from ‘Lojmans’ 6 and 11 (probably derived from the French!). He is a little dubious when I ask to be taken to the Ethnography Museum, where he has never been (he is from Cappadocia), but ventures out in the traffic - and after a few wrong turns we do get there. Turns out to a good idea, the place is, as the guidebook says, a little gem, showing the beautiful Turkish embroidery, woodwork, carpet-making, and pottery. One life-size tableau shows a woman getting ready for her wedding ceremony, another the womanly activity around a sleeping boy about to undergo circumcision.

Then we are off again, driving south-east in the direction of Cappadocia. We are impressed with the flat landscape that surrounds us with not a single tree in sight. We stop at a salt-water lake, bordered by rough salt so bright that you lose the sensation of where the salt ends and the water begins. 

Three hours later we see our first cave dwellings. We are so excited that we can barely wait to get out of the car. In the scorching heat we climb up narrow passageways and over boulders until we stand in the caves and churches used by humans thousands of years of years ago. We cannot stop taking photos. We are as if surrounded by sculptures. 

Our next stop is a lookout, with a spectacular view of a castle set by a lake and with snowcapped volcano, Mt. Erciyes, in the distance. 

Then we go to see the Kizil Kilise (Red Church) made of large blocks of red stones. It stands by itself in grassy hills reminding me of western Ireland. 

On another hill we see a group of large transparent tents. 3 guys, who have arrived while we are looking at the church, and who are now talking with Mehmet, inform us that they are part of the group of 70 or so forest workers living in those tents for some months now, working on the reforestation of the smooth slopes surrounding us.

The best it yet to some. When from the car Keith spots a little village with cave dwelling that looks like they might be in use, we stop to take a look. Mehmet is an expansive friendly type, who makes friends wherever he goes, so he quickly gets talking to some of the woman wearing white cotton scarves around their tanned weather-beaten faces and big skirts to the ground. 

There are children of various ages, but they are dressed like western children. The caves now are mostly used as storage rooms, but not so long ago served as hiding places when there was danger from invading troops. When I have to cross though a recently dumped mound of manure (picking my way gingerly along the side) and exclaim: WEOW! I hear giggling from behind a wall where 3 women are working. I see a cow moving around inside a little rickety house, three fierce (tied-up, thank God) dogs barking crazily, and a black donkey with a contemplative look, also tied up in a little patch of grass. On a nearby hill an elderly white-scarved woman in a long skirt follows and talks to a cow walking slowly in front of her in search of a good spot. 3 other cows are grazing steadily in the school grounds next to us. It is utterly peaceful with a pleasant smell of animals, sun and grass in the air. Mehmet takes us to an ancient little mosque, where we meet the 23-year-old imam. 

He agrees to sing for us, so puts on his ceremonial hat, turns towards Mecca cradling his face in his hands so as to direct the sound, and then starts his prayer :Allah.... His voice in so beautiful and clear, and the surroundings so true and humble that we are all deeply moved. Only 23 years old and living there with his own little family serving 26 families. Just amazing. On our way out the women have cleared away the dirt, and we meet an old man on a donkey, who cannot sell his walking stick to Keith, because he needs it himself. We cast a last look at the village and on a lone cow who has strayed over to another hill, wondering how she will get down. From the car I see the old woman and her cow have reached a brook, where the cow is drinking with the woman looking on in the afternoon sun.

So many impressions. It is time to find the converted 19th century monastery Karballa Hotel in the village of Güzelyurt (stress on second syllable), where we will have an early night in a pretty and cool room.

SIGHTSEEING IN ANKARA

TO SEE THE ATATURK MAUSOLEUM IS TO UNDERSTAND SOMETHING OF 20TH CENTURY TURKISH HISTORY AND THE FIERCE PRIDE OF THE TURKS FOR THEIR COUNTRY

This morning, after the now familiar shuttle ride, we split up to see different things. The Lehrers went with Hilmi to see modern paintings, whereas Leslie took us to see the Anit Kabir - the mausoleum built between 1944 and 1953 by the Turks for their revered leader Atatürk - after he died prematurely at 57 in 1938. It stands as a modern (and complete) version of the many temples, we have seen. We are impressed with the number of Turkish groups visiting: children of all ages with their teachers, women with headscarves, young athletes in club outfits - not many tourists at all. 

Whereas the building is impressive and photogenic, it is the museum dedicated to Atatürk’s military feats and his personal effects that are the most interesting. The most important battle scenes have been recreated dramatically in long tableaux with sound effects, and by the end of the third you feel utterly depressed with the carnage of it all. It is almost a relief to consider Atatürk’s slender and elegant shoes, his silk pajamas suits and coats. He was a very handsome man with brilliant blue eyes, which we see represented in the many paintings and wax figures. He was also an avid reader with a huge personal library. Before leaving we take a look at his cars and his boat, housed in a different part of the mausoleum.

After admiring the meticulous gardening (the whole place is run by the military) in the surrounding area we grab a taxi to the Citadel area where we meet the Lehrers and Hilmi for lunch, in my case a crispy thin pancake (made by an peasant woman sitting on the floor next to a heated stone) filled with a slightly salty and gritty cheese accompanied by hot black tea served in a glass; others have Turkish ravioli.

We let the Hilmis go - we should be able to manage eventually to catch a taxi back home - and head into the acclaimed Museum of Anatolian Civilizations. We spend a hour or so walking amongst the many beautiful artifacts - pots, bowls, glass objects, jewelry, an exhibition on MIdas...there is just so much to see. A handsome Hermes statue stands next to a photographical explanation of his discovery and excavation. It is thrilling to see that ancient white marble emerge from the dirt - and the archaeologists do indeed look very happy.

After a refreshing Turkish coffee we head steeply uphill to the citadel, an ancient dwelling area constructed around and inside the walls of the castle there. After passing through a street fair we sit on a high-up balcony enjoying a beautiful view of the city and a cold glass of Efes. We notice many hillside slum areas reminiscent of Rio. Apparently, Leslie had explained earlier, there is a law (“gecekondu”) that will give you right to occupation of land, if you can construct a house overnight. Thus teams of needy friends and relatives have become experts at rapid construction in the poor areas. We ‘cariocas’ know only too well how this goes...

We finish off the night with a stately dinner in a private hotel dining room. As we step outside to find a cab, Hilmi reaches for his cigarettes and announces this is his 2nd last cigarette. We document this important moment and - with the experience of having quit ourselves many years ago - wish him good luck!