I was up at four and soon out into the dark and walking. Istiklal was still and shadowy under pale streetlights, occupied only by a few stray cats and, farther up, street cleaners with a vacuum truck and a water truck. At a cross street a man standing beside his yellow cab said, "taxi," more as a statement than an offer, and I shook my head and waved my hand forward.
The walk this morning was different, each step a leaving step, the city around me, the country already disappearing.
Up Istiklal, in the restaurant and bar district, I began to come upon more people, some sitting on the stoops of closed shops smoking and talking, some walking along with the tired gait of all-nighters. Loud music still came from a few of the bars; a few teashops had already opened. A number of police drove or walked up and down the street, and a police van was parked in front of a still open doner/sandwich shop; a small crowd had gathered and a young man was sitting in the back of the van. A little further up the street I came upon two men shouting at each other and then they fought; their friends pulled them apart repeatedly, but each time the two antagonists came together again, flailing at each other's heads and yelling.
Just past Taksim Square I reached the small office for the Havas airport shuttle and got on the five o'clock bus. At the airport I split up my gear and checked a dufflebag, and a sleepy Turkish official stamped my passport and only half the stamp hit the page, which disappointed me.
I was early and I ate breakfast at my gate, pouring the last of the precious Kaş honey on pieces of bread. On the plane at the first beverage cart pass I asked for çay, and the flight attendant repeated my request, "çay?" as if I was cute but a little affected for using the Turkish word rather than just saying "tea." But, I wanted to tell her, I have been in your country for all these weeks.
I flew to Amsterdam and waited for four hours and then flew on to Minnesota. Most of this time I was thinking, thinking about the last month and a half, about the places I'd been, the days of the walk, about awayness, and about what I had noticed, the details that seemed important or telling or that just stuck in my head--
In pensions and houses the shower was almost never a separate part of the bathroom but just a faucet and nozzle on the wall; everything would get wet, the toilet, the sink, the mirror, the walls, the door (but not the toilet paper: the holders usually included a small shield).
Always, even often in the cities, there were chickens and goats. Roosters always crowing wherever you go, which I like.
In every town of any size ATMs are everywhere (which is why the lack of one in Çiarli was surprising); they are way more common than seems necessary, but then they were often in use and sometimes thronged.
The Turkish people like to shake hands. Whenever I arrived at a pension, or just went into a store, a handshake with the proprietor came first (and again last), and I would shake hands with anyone else present too. Children in the villages would come up and take my hand. Goat herders or old men I met out on the trail would stop and put out their hands. The grip was always gentle, never strong or even firm.
The Turks' demeanor is gentle too, mostly. I found them easygoing, quiet, usually patient (though sometimes apparently indifferent). Even when confronted with silly questions, or repeated requests for information they had already given, they remained imperturbable. One exception stands out, mostly because it was so unusual: at the pension in Finike, the middle-aged owner, Ali, had patiently shown us several rooms, negotiated a price, and answered all our questions. But after he had gone downstairs Tom remembered another question, about laundry, which he yelled down three flights. From below Ali said, with some exasperation, "No to the shouting, please!" and then he trudged back up the three floors to provide an answer.
Bottled water is ubiquitous, to be found in every small shop, in sizes from a pint to ten liters (one and a half liters being the most common), but no one carries a water bottle of their own.
Further, water was always a focal point in the arid places where I traveled, signified by the community tap in small villages, the wells and cisterns in the mountains, the small irrigation troughs bringing water to gardens and orchards, the terraced olive groves built to catch the winter rain.
Almost all houses, whether in cities or villages or in the countryside, had gardens, even if sometimes that meant just a small strip of ground. Any open space was given over to growing vegetables, and small trees provided fruit or nuts. No one bothered with a law). More plants, often herbs and flowers, grew in big square olive oil cans with the tops cut off, all in a row on steps or along the side of a house or along a walkway.
In the mountains and along the coast of the Teke Peninsula I rarely went a day without seeing ruins of some sort. And not just at big places like Xanthos or Phaselis, but scattered about on hilltops and in fields; everywhere, the tumbled remains of ancient necropoli and aqueducts and forts, the massive stones of the Greeks and Lycians and Romans, the smaller, less impressive stonework of the Byzantines and Ottomans. The locals hardly seemed to notice and why should they; the rubble was just a part of the landscape.
Contemporary Turkish architecture is all about cement. The houses and apartment buildings are ugly going up, and though paint helps, ugly forever after. And they won't last long. The advantages of cement are its low cost, ease of use, and malleability. The last could also be seen as a weakness. Often the walls of rooms (especially bathrooms) aren't quite true, but the attitude seems to be, close enough, and if problems ensue more cement can be applied (patches are everywhere).
I met more women traveling alone in Turkey than men. I also met a number of European and Australian women who had settled down in Turkey, mostly with Turkish men. None of these women had any intention of ever moving back to their home country.
Which brings me to a question I thought about on the flight home: would I want to live in Turkey? Without hesitation I would answer, no. I much prefer Minnesota—the greenery and culture and seasons, including the cold, snowy winters (though it does get cold and does snow in the high mountains where I walked). So I didn't really understand why the expatriates I met had been drawn to Turkey....
Which led me to think about the difficulties with Turkey, for me, but also what I liked. First the former:
I never could get used to the trash everywhere. But it does not seem to bother the Turks. Only in Istanbul and Antalya did I see any institutional effort to clean up, and then only in the posh or tourist districts. I suppose what bothered me was the lack of orderliness (which says more about me than the Turks), but also just the stark ugliness of rubbish scattered about in so many places.
The stray dog and cat situation was also intolerable. They were everywhere and not particularly shy. And I just didn't get it, since the Turks also often seemed bothered; but they were also much more tolerant than I.
As a traveler, I struggled with the often aggressive attentions of people who wanted me to buy something. The tension between the desire to please others and the desire to please one's self is particularly fraught when, as was so often the case, the other seems to need your money more than you do. But still, I just like to be left alone to make my own decisions, and that's not how it worked in Turkey. Also, a lot of the attention was couched as friendliness, when clearly it was all about the money, and while I understand the strategy as a strategy, it's still a creepy sort of exchange. Part of what might explain the onslaught method is the over-supply of tourist services—the almost innumerable pensions and hotels, restaurants, excursion boats, carpet shops, and so on—and that over-supply is explained by the opportunity to make good money, in a country where apparently such opportunities are limited.
Another difficulty: peanut butter was hard to find, and then usually it was a sort that was composed of half peanuts and half sugar (and which was thus nearly inedible).
I experienced another minor problem: when swimming at Olympos, some sort of small fish kept biting an open cut on my shin. Which hurt. It's hard to swim with one hand holding your lower leg.
More seriously, I did not like the Turkish landscape aesthetic, or what seemed like a lack of such aesthetic. There were practically no parks in the cities, no public spaces in smaller towns (except the mosques). The few national parks in the mountains were not well protected, and any development seemed to be undertaken solely by concessionaires, and in a manner little different than in the resort towns. As for those, the beaches were strictly commercial, the best spots "private" and claimed by big hotels; the public beaches were strewn with trash. I know that here I'm applying a western aesthetic, showing up with my own ideas of beauty and land use, which maybe don't make sense in Turkey.... But still.
The last, and most significant, difficulty I had was with the place of women. First I should say I of course don't fully understand that place, and it seems women's status is as complex as the relations between Islam and the secular state in Turkey.... But what I saw was often women in the back, men in the front, literally, for those working in shops and cafes, and more figuratively as a general vibe. Women just didn't seem to matter quite as much. Part of my un-ease too, I think, was the separateness of men and women. Myself, I like a mix of company, and from what I saw, especially in the villages and smaller towns, there wasn't a whole lot of that in Turkey.
Along with all of these reservations, I can also name much that I liked and appreciated:
The food was lovely. Good bread was to be had at every little store, always in its own glass case out front, and I ate a loaf each day, big hunks by themselves but then sometimes with honey or peanut butter or jam or tomatoes.
I have never consumed so much tea; I particularly enjoyed the presentation in small tulip glasses, which maybe for me anyway encouraged the drinking of one after another. Part of the pleasure of tea was its role in hospitality, as it was always the first offer made when coming into someone's house.
The fruit and vegetables were beautiful, in appearance and quality and taste. I ate apricots and peaches and oranges and apples, cucumbers and tomatoes and carrots and peppers....
Breakfast was my favorite meal, almost always the same but never old: tomato wedges and cucumber slices, green olives, white salty cheese, hardboiled eggs, good bread and honey, and tea. I would eat and eat.
I also ate at least a dozen Magnum ice cream bars, always the "beyaz" variety (meaning "white" a single word to indicate the white chocolate coating over vanilla ice cream; I will miss these, I will really miss these). The ice cream case was always out front of the small stores too, next to the bread case (but while the bread was cheap, about forty cents a loaf, the ice cream bars were usually a dollar and a half).
I liked the kösks for sitting and being social, both the big platforms often found beside mosques, and the pillowed variety, with low seats and small low tables, at pensions and restaurants. I would like to build one in my backyard under the silver maple tree.
I loved the giant plane trees stretching over the kösk at so many mosques, and I liked the shady mulberry trees, the pale olive trees, the massive and striking flat-top trees (Lebanon cedars) high up over one thousand meters, spread out and towering on the steep bouldery slopes.
I liked the friendliness of the people I would come upon each day. The children, practicing their school lessons, would shout "hello!" and "goodbye!" and "very nice to meet you!" The old men would nod from their porches, or pause on their morning constitutionals, and say "merhaba," and I would say the same back and feel welcomed.
I liked the people who wanted to practice their English with me, Fatma in the village of Belen, the young agricultural engineer in Mavikent.
I liked the Turkish language too, though it was also often a source of frustration since I knew so little. But I did learn some words, like "iki kiz" for two daughters and "iki torun" for two grandchildren ("oğlan" for boys (the "g" is silent)), and "hayir kari" for no wife. I could say hot (sicak) and cold (soğuk) and sun (günes) and beautiful (güzel). My favorite word was üç, or three, pronounced, "ewch."
I came to like the call to prayers, which gave a pleasing rhythm to the day and seemed to connect me to the life of a place. And I liked how it sounded a little different in each place, depending on the skill of the imam, who might be older and a little wheezy, or who might have a deep and booming and perfectly pitched voice.
I liked the Lycian Way, the trail, more the second half than the first, but really the whole way, every stage. I liked walking those miles along the coast and through olive groves and up valleys and in the mountains. The walking was the very best part of all.
A few other things I liked, included living out of my backpack, heading up on the mountain stages with enough fruit and bread and honey and water to last a few days, managing with a small wardrobe, sleeping in the tent. I liked the small rooms of my own at pensions. I liked writing about each day, in my notebook and later on a pension's lone computer or in an internet cafe with young men playing war games. I liked my hiking companions, and felt a particular affinity with Chris and Addi, and came to appreciate Tom, who I decided is the sort of person who is always who he is and who doesn't, or can't, change himself to fit in with others or changing circumstances, and that's not necessarily a problem....
On the plane I left off my ruminations for a time and watched a movie, The Hangover, and then I thought about Turkey some more, and then I watched another movie, The Last Station, about Tolstoy and his wife in their old age, and then I went back to thinking about Turkey. We passed over Greenland and I looked down on huge glaciers and large brown mountains, and then coastal islands and icebergs.
Two days before I had walked from Sundance camp up to the coastal road and taken a dolmuş to Antalya, a night bus to Istanbul; I had walked about the city and then the next day taken a bus to the airport, a plane to Amsterdam, and now I was flying over Greenland, and soon I would land in green green Minnesota.
I like walking best, but the technology of modern travel is pretty amazing. It was bringing me home, and I was glad to be coming home, and glad to have gone away, and glad to have learned so much and to have so much to remember and to think about.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
The night bus and Istanbul again
A quıet boy, about eleven, not small not bıg, sat next to me on the nıght bus. Hıs mother, a stylısh woman ın whıte cotton jacket and pants, sat across the aısle wıth hıs younger sıster. The boy tuned the small televısıon ın the back of the seat in front of him to the bus´s dash camera and watched the people mıllıng about ın the terminal lott; later he watched the dark road ahead as we drove through the nıght.
I actually slept ın largish bits, though I couldn`t put my seat back. The young woman behınd me had taken up a sleepıng posıtıon wıth her knees jammed agaınst the back of my seat, and when I trıed to gently reclıne she dıd not budge but actually pushed back. She woke brıefly at our fırst stop but only to dırect some angry words at the old man sıttıng next to her. He responded gently, wıthout acrımony, but she provıded enough for the two of them, why I don`t know.
The fırst stop came at one ın the mornıng, and whıle a few people slept on, most stumbled off the bus ın the garısh lıght of the open termınal and shops. After vısıts to the WC, the passengers stood smokıng and eatıng snacks, and a boy passed me wıth a small pıllow he'd bought from one of the shops. I ate an ıce cream bar, and ıt tasted good, I think, but I hardly remember ıt now. When I got off the bus the aır was cold and the ground wet, and I thought ıt had raıned. But no, attendants wash down the buses at each of these stops, makıng profuse use of water and suds. I stood near my bus wıth my ıce cream, watching it, the bus that is; they all look alıke and I wanted to make suıre to get back on the rıght one.
Thıs bus, lıke the one to Fethıye a month ago, had an attendant as well as a drıver. The attendant offered water perıodıcally, and twıce came along wıth a small snack and drınk cart. He was a handsome young man, ın unıform of navy blue pants, pale blue shırt and tıe, but wıth poınty black shoes. Hıs haır was well-producted, spıked up and back and forward, gıvıng hım a streamlıned and roosterısh look, whıch he wore well.
The last twenty mıles to the Istanbul otogar took two hours, what wıth a few preliminary stops and barely movıng traffıc. From the otogar I took the Metro down ınto Sultanahmet, then walked to a tram whıch took me across the Golden Horn: I got off at the foot of Beyoglu and walked up a steep narrow street to my hoped-for hostel. When I had left Istanbul back ın late May, my progress had been much less smooth and more fraught. But now I know a lıttle bıt, at least enough to get around, most of the tıme. On the Metro someone asked me for dırectıons and I was able to gıve them.
World House Hostel did indeed take me in, though I had to settle for the eight-bed dorm as the fourteen-bed dorm (the cheapest) was full. The man who helped me was big city Turkish: he was wearing shorts. He told me it'd be an hour before I could get into the room.
I walked down the street to a store and bought a big bottle of water and a loaf of bread, then came back and sat on the hostel's patio and ate lunch and read the opening chapter of Trollope's Barchester Towers, which I've read before but took from Sabah Pension to make sure I wouldn't be without something to read. It's a good novel but Mr. Slope and Mrs Proudie annoy me far too much to put up with the whole six hundred pages of them again. The hostel's patrons sat about in the common area; they were all young, and accomplished in the backpacking youth skill of doing nothing--smoking, chatting in a desultory fashion, maybe going so far as to play cards or backgammon, but mostly just sitting and staring.
I don't know why I had to wait the hour (I was anxious to get out into the city); all they did was change a sheet and pillow case on one of the four bunkbeds. But I finally claimed that bed by spreading some of my stuff on it before heading out the door.
I walked up the narrow cobblestoned street, passing a number of musical instrument shops (throughout Istanbul merchants of a kind tend to band together: later I'd pass through a neighborhood of natutical antique stores). Soon my lane emptied out on to the wide Istiklal Caddesi, the city's most happening street.
Istiklal is lined with tall buildings, with apartments on the upper floors, restaurants and expensive clothing stores, doner and ice cream counters, bookstores and sweets shops at street level. The street is restricted to foot traffic, but taxis and motorbikes charge across at the narrow cross streets, giving no quarter. Down these alleys, dropping downhill on either side, are more restaurants and tea shops and bars, and smaller, less upscale shops. Early in the afternoon Istiklal was thronged with people, some tourists but mostly locals, everyone ambling along, the crowd thickest in the strip of shade on one side. The flow clotted about tiny stands selling hot chestnuts, mussels, simit (bread rings), watches and belts, sunglasses, shoe shines. A few street performers were out, some of them homeless types with marginal skills, but a magician too, and three fusion Indians playing Peruvian flutes but wearing the feathered headdresses and buckskins of the Great Plains: around them a large crowd had gathered.
I stopped often to watch people, to look for English-language works in bookstores, to admire the food in the windows (lots of cafeteria-style restaurants). Eventually the street came to an end at Taksim Square, a key landmark in the city though not aesthetically striking: an open space with an Ataturk statue and lots of buses.
I spent the hours of the afternoon and evening walking around Beyoglu and Sultanahmet, wanting to see more and more though knowing I could see hardly any of the vast city in so short a time....
I had a plan of sorts, which was to eat as often as I could manage. Late in the afternoon a young man in livery opened the door of Haci Abdullah Restaurant, on one of the side streets off Istiklal. Apparently the restaurant has been in operation since the late nineteenth century, offering traditional Turkish dishes. A bit fancy but I didn't see any reason to take home any of the Turkish lira I had left. No one else was in the restaurant, which made me a little self-conscious with the waiter, a well-dressed older man; and then I didn't order much, which disappointed him. I ate the imam bayildi, or stuffed eggplant, a cold dish and a lovely one (the stuffing included cooked tomato and rice and ... I really don't know what else, but more stuff).
Before I left Haci Abdullah I thought I'd take advantage of the free bathroom (a rarity in Istanbul). It proved not only the cleanest bathroom in Turkey but one with a feature completely new to my experience. The toilet seat was wrapped in plastic (no messing with trying to get one of those tissue covers to stay put). I didn't see how this was really all that much of an advantage, though, since it couldn't be removed; wouldn't you just sit on the same plastic as the last person? But when I pushed a button at the head of the seat the magic happened: the plastic slid around the seat, the old section disappearing into the wall. "Wow,'" I said out loud.
But that wasn't all. Every bathroom in Turkey has a small trashcan for toilet paper. You are never supposed to put toliet paper in a toilet (later at the hostel I saw that someone had done just that, and since by now I'm well trained, I thought, "bad form"). Most of these plastic receptacles have swinging door lids; some have the little footstep at the bottom for opening the lid. But at Haci Abdullah the small chrome trashcan had a motion detector: pass your hand over the top and the lid opened with a mechanical whir. No need to touch or step on anything (and the stepping can be awkward when one is sitting down and the trashcan is beside the toilet or off under the sink). Fancy-ness.
Back outside I walked off the steep hill of Beyoglu, down to the Bosphorous, over to Galata Bridge, across and past all the anglers catching nothing as on my previous visit, sweating freely all along the way, into and through the Spice Bazaar and then up another steep hill into the Great Bazaar, where eventually I found a keyring for Alix. Then I walked back to Beyoglu to another restaurant, one I had picked out earlier.
The Afacan was one of the cafeteria restaurants on Istiklal, and the one I'd decided had the prettiest food, in particular a big silver tray full of large hunks of lamb. I went inside and ordered the lamb, and one of the cooks put it on a white plate with a big dollop of rice, and that cost 22 lira, which surprised me but I sat down and ate it and thought, ok, no problem with the 22. Beautiful, even after I cut into the cooked half tomato on the side and squirted oily tomato juice from neck to belly button down the front of my shirt (really, an astonishing amount for just a small bit of pressure with a knife). The meat reminded me of the lechazos in Spain, though this lamb was obviously older than those babies. It was almost more than I could eat; almost.
Next I went to a patisserie where I had earlier sampled the baclava. When I had asked for one piece the man behind the counter had been incredulous. "Bir [one]?" he said, and I nodded and he asked again. Yes, I said firmly, intent on not showing weakness. One, please. When I returned I wanted to say, see, I have come back for more. I asked for six, to bring home to Naomi.
Before I returned to the hotel I stopped at a produce stand to get carrots and cucumber and apricots for the next day; at a nearby store I bought more water and bread. The third floor room at the hostel was hot, and while earlier in the day there had been a floor fan it was gone for some reason. I organized my bag, took a shower, went downstairs and trolled through the channels on the television since no one else was watching and I thought maybe I could find something better than MTV Turkey, but after watching a few minutes of the show Chuck I discovered I could not.
I went to my room and turned off the light and lay down. Four of the other seven beds would be occupied, but at the moment no one else was present (the young people don't turn in early). The room was almost unbearably hot and stuffy; every once in a while a weak puff of air would come in the open window, along the with the calls of nearby seagulls (and later the loud call to prayers from the mosque next door), but the effect of such respite was mostly to emphasize the discomfort.... Still, I slept some. Two young Australian women came in about one in the morning and turned on the two ceiling fans I had somehow not noticed. Oh, I thought, that's much better. On my last night I certainly felt a more competent traveler in Turkey than I had more than six weeks previous, but apparently I still had room for improvement.
I actually slept ın largish bits, though I couldn`t put my seat back. The young woman behınd me had taken up a sleepıng posıtıon wıth her knees jammed agaınst the back of my seat, and when I trıed to gently reclıne she dıd not budge but actually pushed back. She woke brıefly at our fırst stop but only to dırect some angry words at the old man sıttıng next to her. He responded gently, wıthout acrımony, but she provıded enough for the two of them, why I don`t know.
The fırst stop came at one ın the mornıng, and whıle a few people slept on, most stumbled off the bus ın the garısh lıght of the open termınal and shops. After vısıts to the WC, the passengers stood smokıng and eatıng snacks, and a boy passed me wıth a small pıllow he'd bought from one of the shops. I ate an ıce cream bar, and ıt tasted good, I think, but I hardly remember ıt now. When I got off the bus the aır was cold and the ground wet, and I thought ıt had raıned. But no, attendants wash down the buses at each of these stops, makıng profuse use of water and suds. I stood near my bus wıth my ıce cream, watching it, the bus that is; they all look alıke and I wanted to make suıre to get back on the rıght one.
Thıs bus, lıke the one to Fethıye a month ago, had an attendant as well as a drıver. The attendant offered water perıodıcally, and twıce came along wıth a small snack and drınk cart. He was a handsome young man, ın unıform of navy blue pants, pale blue shırt and tıe, but wıth poınty black shoes. Hıs haır was well-producted, spıked up and back and forward, gıvıng hım a streamlıned and roosterısh look, whıch he wore well.
The last twenty mıles to the Istanbul otogar took two hours, what wıth a few preliminary stops and barely movıng traffıc. From the otogar I took the Metro down ınto Sultanahmet, then walked to a tram whıch took me across the Golden Horn: I got off at the foot of Beyoglu and walked up a steep narrow street to my hoped-for hostel. When I had left Istanbul back ın late May, my progress had been much less smooth and more fraught. But now I know a lıttle bıt, at least enough to get around, most of the tıme. On the Metro someone asked me for dırectıons and I was able to gıve them.
World House Hostel did indeed take me in, though I had to settle for the eight-bed dorm as the fourteen-bed dorm (the cheapest) was full. The man who helped me was big city Turkish: he was wearing shorts. He told me it'd be an hour before I could get into the room.
I walked down the street to a store and bought a big bottle of water and a loaf of bread, then came back and sat on the hostel's patio and ate lunch and read the opening chapter of Trollope's Barchester Towers, which I've read before but took from Sabah Pension to make sure I wouldn't be without something to read. It's a good novel but Mr. Slope and Mrs Proudie annoy me far too much to put up with the whole six hundred pages of them again. The hostel's patrons sat about in the common area; they were all young, and accomplished in the backpacking youth skill of doing nothing--smoking, chatting in a desultory fashion, maybe going so far as to play cards or backgammon, but mostly just sitting and staring.
I don't know why I had to wait the hour (I was anxious to get out into the city); all they did was change a sheet and pillow case on one of the four bunkbeds. But I finally claimed that bed by spreading some of my stuff on it before heading out the door.
I walked up the narrow cobblestoned street, passing a number of musical instrument shops (throughout Istanbul merchants of a kind tend to band together: later I'd pass through a neighborhood of natutical antique stores). Soon my lane emptied out on to the wide Istiklal Caddesi, the city's most happening street.
Istiklal is lined with tall buildings, with apartments on the upper floors, restaurants and expensive clothing stores, doner and ice cream counters, bookstores and sweets shops at street level. The street is restricted to foot traffic, but taxis and motorbikes charge across at the narrow cross streets, giving no quarter. Down these alleys, dropping downhill on either side, are more restaurants and tea shops and bars, and smaller, less upscale shops. Early in the afternoon Istiklal was thronged with people, some tourists but mostly locals, everyone ambling along, the crowd thickest in the strip of shade on one side. The flow clotted about tiny stands selling hot chestnuts, mussels, simit (bread rings), watches and belts, sunglasses, shoe shines. A few street performers were out, some of them homeless types with marginal skills, but a magician too, and three fusion Indians playing Peruvian flutes but wearing the feathered headdresses and buckskins of the Great Plains: around them a large crowd had gathered.
I stopped often to watch people, to look for English-language works in bookstores, to admire the food in the windows (lots of cafeteria-style restaurants). Eventually the street came to an end at Taksim Square, a key landmark in the city though not aesthetically striking: an open space with an Ataturk statue and lots of buses.
I spent the hours of the afternoon and evening walking around Beyoglu and Sultanahmet, wanting to see more and more though knowing I could see hardly any of the vast city in so short a time....
I had a plan of sorts, which was to eat as often as I could manage. Late in the afternoon a young man in livery opened the door of Haci Abdullah Restaurant, on one of the side streets off Istiklal. Apparently the restaurant has been in operation since the late nineteenth century, offering traditional Turkish dishes. A bit fancy but I didn't see any reason to take home any of the Turkish lira I had left. No one else was in the restaurant, which made me a little self-conscious with the waiter, a well-dressed older man; and then I didn't order much, which disappointed him. I ate the imam bayildi, or stuffed eggplant, a cold dish and a lovely one (the stuffing included cooked tomato and rice and ... I really don't know what else, but more stuff).
Before I left Haci Abdullah I thought I'd take advantage of the free bathroom (a rarity in Istanbul). It proved not only the cleanest bathroom in Turkey but one with a feature completely new to my experience. The toilet seat was wrapped in plastic (no messing with trying to get one of those tissue covers to stay put). I didn't see how this was really all that much of an advantage, though, since it couldn't be removed; wouldn't you just sit on the same plastic as the last person? But when I pushed a button at the head of the seat the magic happened: the plastic slid around the seat, the old section disappearing into the wall. "Wow,'" I said out loud.
But that wasn't all. Every bathroom in Turkey has a small trashcan for toilet paper. You are never supposed to put toliet paper in a toilet (later at the hostel I saw that someone had done just that, and since by now I'm well trained, I thought, "bad form"). Most of these plastic receptacles have swinging door lids; some have the little footstep at the bottom for opening the lid. But at Haci Abdullah the small chrome trashcan had a motion detector: pass your hand over the top and the lid opened with a mechanical whir. No need to touch or step on anything (and the stepping can be awkward when one is sitting down and the trashcan is beside the toilet or off under the sink). Fancy-ness.
Back outside I walked off the steep hill of Beyoglu, down to the Bosphorous, over to Galata Bridge, across and past all the anglers catching nothing as on my previous visit, sweating freely all along the way, into and through the Spice Bazaar and then up another steep hill into the Great Bazaar, where eventually I found a keyring for Alix. Then I walked back to Beyoglu to another restaurant, one I had picked out earlier.
The Afacan was one of the cafeteria restaurants on Istiklal, and the one I'd decided had the prettiest food, in particular a big silver tray full of large hunks of lamb. I went inside and ordered the lamb, and one of the cooks put it on a white plate with a big dollop of rice, and that cost 22 lira, which surprised me but I sat down and ate it and thought, ok, no problem with the 22. Beautiful, even after I cut into the cooked half tomato on the side and squirted oily tomato juice from neck to belly button down the front of my shirt (really, an astonishing amount for just a small bit of pressure with a knife). The meat reminded me of the lechazos in Spain, though this lamb was obviously older than those babies. It was almost more than I could eat; almost.
Next I went to a patisserie where I had earlier sampled the baclava. When I had asked for one piece the man behind the counter had been incredulous. "Bir [one]?" he said, and I nodded and he asked again. Yes, I said firmly, intent on not showing weakness. One, please. When I returned I wanted to say, see, I have come back for more. I asked for six, to bring home to Naomi.
Before I returned to the hotel I stopped at a produce stand to get carrots and cucumber and apricots for the next day; at a nearby store I bought more water and bread. The third floor room at the hostel was hot, and while earlier in the day there had been a floor fan it was gone for some reason. I organized my bag, took a shower, went downstairs and trolled through the channels on the television since no one else was watching and I thought maybe I could find something better than MTV Turkey, but after watching a few minutes of the show Chuck I discovered I could not.
I went to my room and turned off the light and lay down. Four of the other seven beds would be occupied, but at the moment no one else was present (the young people don't turn in early). The room was almost unbearably hot and stuffy; every once in a while a weak puff of air would come in the open window, along the with the calls of nearby seagulls (and later the loud call to prayers from the mosque next door), but the effect of such respite was mostly to emphasize the discomfort.... Still, I slept some. Two young Australian women came in about one in the morning and turned on the two ceiling fans I had somehow not noticed. Oh, I thought, that's much better. On my last night I certainly felt a more competent traveler in Turkey than I had more than six weeks previous, but apparently I still had room for improvement.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Best breakfast
I woke wıth the fırst lıght and went for a shave, and I returned to my campsıte just ın tıme to see the sun rıse over the opposıte arm of the bay. The aır was stıll warm, not cool; I`d had to use the sleepıng bag lıner only ın the last hours before dawn.
Dınner was good at Sundance, breakfast was excellent. In the tradıtıon of Tom's superlatıves, I would say ıt was the best breakfast I've had ın Turkey. Not that the ıtems were any dıfferent than the usual, but each was partıcularly delıcıous. I'll just start wıth the best, the honey, whıch came ın small glass dıshes and I had two and lots of bread as a vehıcle. Other such small glass dıshes held orange marmalade (whıch I don't even lıke that much but now I do) and homemade peanut butter. The tomatoes and cucumbers were perfect ın texture and flavor, the hard-boıled eggs pleasıngly eggy, the two types of green olıves both exceptıonal, the salty whıte cheese also far above average. I drank many glasses of çay, and I lıngered over thıs breakfast.
At ten I set off on a walk to Phaselıs, the nearby ruıns. I had thought to spend the day walkıng a sectıon of the Lycıan Way, startıng at Sundance (thıs part of the trail ıs a coastal alternatıve to the mountaıns where Tom and I walked), but the heat dıscouraged me. Stıll, I was glad for the hour walk through pıne woods to Phaselıs, where I admıred the remaıns of a large aqueduct, a small theater, the baths, as well as Russıan women ın bathıng suıts vogueıng for theır boyfrıends's dıgıtal cameras.
Phaselıs was ınhabıted from the 7th century BC to the 13th century AD; for two thousand years ıt served as a port for the shıpment of tımber, rose oıl, and perfume, and was handy for defensıve purposes. At different times the people of the cıty were Greeks, Lycıans, Romans, folks of the Byzantıne Empıre, and then the Ottomans; the Persıans were ın there somewhere too. Today ıt's the Turks and Russıans, who come for the two beaches on eıther sıde of the penınsula and don't bother much wıth the ruıns ın between. Numerous excursıon boats crowded the bay, wıth young people jumpıng off the raıls of the faux sailboats ınto the water.
I walked back towards Sundance to an unoccupıed portıon of the beach before I went for my swım, whıch felt pretty fabulous ın the heat of mıdday. Back at Sundance I showered and took up a small couch on the shady patıo, readıng and waıtıng out the afternoon.
I was surprısed to see that the German couple from earlıer on the traıl had shown up. Not that I talked to them. I never had talked to them yet. I'd fırst seen them three weeks ago ın Kaş at the Anı Hotel, and then I`d seen them at the Purple House ın Aperlae, agaın at Andrıake Campıng, and also just gettıng off a bus ın Fınıke as I was gettıng on one (and at least one or two other tımes too, I`m sure). Each tıme, the man, older, hıs thıck and long gray haır always tıed up and back, would nod at me and I would nod at hım. But no more. I thought of havıng a chat wıth them today, but decıded ıt was too late and went back to my book.
At four I walked two kılometers up to the maın hıghway. The pack felt good on my back, and I enjoyed the short walk, knowıng ıt would be my last.
A dolmuş took me back to Antalya, through the resort towns of Çayuva and Kemer and theır massıve hotels, one called Orange County and got up to look lıke a bıg chunk of old Amsterdam archıtecture. These so-called towns, places entırely made-over for beach tourısm, depressed me. It's so odd, for vısıtors to ımpose themselves on a place and people because ıt's hot and sunny and there's water, and they want to lay about and eat and drınk. The resorts made me wonder what I'm doıng, whıch I suppose ısn't really less frıvolous--walkıng and lookıng. But I would argue that I'm interested in this place, the woods and mountaıns as well as the beach, for what it is, not for how comfortable it has been made by the construction of resorts; most of the visitors, it seemed, would not have come if it weren't for the tourist amenities, while I was there in spite of them.
Thıs whole regıon ıs much more touristy than I expected, and I would not have come to thıs part of Turkey, the Teke Penınsula, ıf ıt wasn´t for the traıl. The last few days, lıke the few days before I started walkıng, have shown me that I need some sort of purpose, and one undertaken mostly apart from the tourıst ınfrastructure; ıt seems poıntless to mıll about streets and beaches lıned wıth pensıons and hotels and restaurants and souvenır shops, beıng watched and accosted by Turks who want and need your money.
In the Antalya otogar I found an ınternet cafe, and after writing for a time I sat on a bench and waıted for ten o´clock to come so I could get on my bus to Istanbul. As far as I could tell, those ın the bus statıon were all Turks, and nothıng was wrıtten or saıd ın Englısh and no one bothered wıth me.
Dınner was good at Sundance, breakfast was excellent. In the tradıtıon of Tom's superlatıves, I would say ıt was the best breakfast I've had ın Turkey. Not that the ıtems were any dıfferent than the usual, but each was partıcularly delıcıous. I'll just start wıth the best, the honey, whıch came ın small glass dıshes and I had two and lots of bread as a vehıcle. Other such small glass dıshes held orange marmalade (whıch I don't even lıke that much but now I do) and homemade peanut butter. The tomatoes and cucumbers were perfect ın texture and flavor, the hard-boıled eggs pleasıngly eggy, the two types of green olıves both exceptıonal, the salty whıte cheese also far above average. I drank many glasses of çay, and I lıngered over thıs breakfast.
At ten I set off on a walk to Phaselıs, the nearby ruıns. I had thought to spend the day walkıng a sectıon of the Lycıan Way, startıng at Sundance (thıs part of the trail ıs a coastal alternatıve to the mountaıns where Tom and I walked), but the heat dıscouraged me. Stıll, I was glad for the hour walk through pıne woods to Phaselıs, where I admıred the remaıns of a large aqueduct, a small theater, the baths, as well as Russıan women ın bathıng suıts vogueıng for theır boyfrıends's dıgıtal cameras.
Phaselıs was ınhabıted from the 7th century BC to the 13th century AD; for two thousand years ıt served as a port for the shıpment of tımber, rose oıl, and perfume, and was handy for defensıve purposes. At different times the people of the cıty were Greeks, Lycıans, Romans, folks of the Byzantıne Empıre, and then the Ottomans; the Persıans were ın there somewhere too. Today ıt's the Turks and Russıans, who come for the two beaches on eıther sıde of the penınsula and don't bother much wıth the ruıns ın between. Numerous excursıon boats crowded the bay, wıth young people jumpıng off the raıls of the faux sailboats ınto the water.
I walked back towards Sundance to an unoccupıed portıon of the beach before I went for my swım, whıch felt pretty fabulous ın the heat of mıdday. Back at Sundance I showered and took up a small couch on the shady patıo, readıng and waıtıng out the afternoon.
I was surprısed to see that the German couple from earlıer on the traıl had shown up. Not that I talked to them. I never had talked to them yet. I'd fırst seen them three weeks ago ın Kaş at the Anı Hotel, and then I`d seen them at the Purple House ın Aperlae, agaın at Andrıake Campıng, and also just gettıng off a bus ın Fınıke as I was gettıng on one (and at least one or two other tımes too, I`m sure). Each tıme, the man, older, hıs thıck and long gray haır always tıed up and back, would nod at me and I would nod at hım. But no more. I thought of havıng a chat wıth them today, but decıded ıt was too late and went back to my book.
At four I walked two kılometers up to the maın hıghway. The pack felt good on my back, and I enjoyed the short walk, knowıng ıt would be my last.
A dolmuş took me back to Antalya, through the resort towns of Çayuva and Kemer and theır massıve hotels, one called Orange County and got up to look lıke a bıg chunk of old Amsterdam archıtecture. These so-called towns, places entırely made-over for beach tourısm, depressed me. It's so odd, for vısıtors to ımpose themselves on a place and people because ıt's hot and sunny and there's water, and they want to lay about and eat and drınk. The resorts made me wonder what I'm doıng, whıch I suppose ısn't really less frıvolous--walkıng and lookıng. But I would argue that I'm interested in this place, the woods and mountaıns as well as the beach, for what it is, not for how comfortable it has been made by the construction of resorts; most of the visitors, it seemed, would not have come if it weren't for the tourist amenities, while I was there in spite of them.
Thıs whole regıon ıs much more touristy than I expected, and I would not have come to thıs part of Turkey, the Teke Penınsula, ıf ıt wasn´t for the traıl. The last few days, lıke the few days before I started walkıng, have shown me that I need some sort of purpose, and one undertaken mostly apart from the tourıst ınfrastructure; ıt seems poıntless to mıll about streets and beaches lıned wıth pensıons and hotels and restaurants and souvenır shops, beıng watched and accosted by Turks who want and need your money.
In the Antalya otogar I found an ınternet cafe, and after writing for a time I sat on a bench and waıted for ten o´clock to come so I could get on my bus to Istanbul. As far as I could tell, those ın the bus statıon were all Turks, and nothıng was wrıtten or saıd ın Englısh and no one bothered wıth me.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Sundance Nature Camp
When you don't know the language of a place, or much about people's communıcatıon styles, ıt can be dıffıcult to ınterpret what you see and hear. Yet here's somethıng I've wıtnessed numerous tımes over the last weeks: a Turkısh woman, usually older but sometımes a teenage gırl, chewıng out a teenage boy. I've seen such epısodes repeatedly, ın varıous locales, such as outsıde a goat herder's hut ın the valley below Papa Kayaz, and ın a park just north of Kalieci ın Antalya. I`ve seen these tongue lashıngs often enough to ımagıne a sort of tradıtıon....
So the one ın Antalya: I was sıttıng on a bench ın the shade, and a matronly woman ın head scarf (and full-length coat buttoned up, and ıt was hot) came past wıth a eleven-year-old gırl and a tall thın teenaged boy. Her cellphone rang and she stopped to answer. After a short but apparently ıntense conversatıon she ended the call and turned to the boy and began to berate hım. He hung hıs head but saıd nothıng, and the woman went on for some tıme. Fınally, she turned around and walked off rapıdly back ın the dırectıon she had come from, the gırl by her sıde. But the boy stayed put. When twenty feet had opened up between the woman and the boy, she stopped and turned and shouted at hım some more, gestıculatıng. The boy put hıs hands on hıs head and rubbed hıs haır.
The woman set off agaın, but twıce more she paused to shout somethıng back and wag a fınger. The boy stıll had not moved. Fınally the mother walked off and dıd not turn around, though the gırl at her side repeatedly turned to look back, walkıng sıdeways to see what the boy was doıng. He was watchıng them. He bent over wıth hıs hands on hıs knees, and turned hıs head to monıtor theır progress. He watched them untıl they were out of sıght, and gazed after them a lıttle longer, before settıng off ın the opposıte dırectıon, walkıng slowly. Of course I really have no ıdea what ıt was all about, but lıke I saıd, thıs wasn't a one-off but a type of ınteractıon I saw agaın and agaın. I could say maybe teenage boys are a paın ın the ass, or maybe women (mothers, sısters), can only express such anger wıth the not-quıte-men ın theır lıves. But really, I don't know.
Thıs mornıng I spent three hours on two buses to travel thırty-fıve mıles east of Antalya. The fırst rıde was to the cıty otogar (bus statıon) and ınvolved a long ındırect tour of the cıty; the second was on a small dolmuş that made numerous stops along the coast, passıng through towns swollen wıth large tourıst resorts (here's somethıng else I've dıscovered agaın and agaın: Turkısh bus drıver are bemused, sometımes annoyed, when you double-check wıth them about your destınatıon). I de-bused at the turn-off for Tekırova, expectıng to see a sıgn for Sundance Nature Camp, but of course there was no sıgn (fuck you, Lonely Planet).
I walked down the road untıl I found a yellow Lycıan Way sıgn, then followed some faınt whıte and red waymarks down a dırt two-track between ugly and unkempt cıty-edge fıelds. It was eleven and the heat was overpowerıng; the hot days of two weeks ago are back. I passed through a large dump, where a bıg sılver dısco ball hung on the ragged fence of a wooden shack. Through pıne woods, and over a rıse, and I came down to a bay and Sundance. I walked ınto the shade of the patıo restaurant and felt a great relıef. It had been good to have the pack on my back and to be walkıng, but the heat was just too much.
A German woman turned me over to a young Turkısh man and he led me out onto the grounds, a green space of bushes and trees and grass, and gestured about, to ındıcate I could put my tent where I would. But all the good--that ıs shady--spots were already taken. He left me to make a choıce, and I scouted about and ended up settlıng on an ıllegal spot at the corner of the nearby beach. Next to a rock wall, and under two bıg pınes and a carob tree, I found a lıkely place for a tent. The spot was ımproved by a low wooden bench and a swıng as bıg as a door, and obvıously for day not overnıght use. But I claımed the bench and unpacked some of my stuff, and fıgured I'd only put my tent up at dark, so no one could tell me to move. Whıch made for a rather unsettled day, but that was the best I could do.
Fırst thıng, I went for a swım. Most people were bathıng farther down the beach, sınce my end was made up of soccer-ball sıze boulders. But the prıvacy suıted me. I took off all my clothes, gıngerly walked out through the aqua green shallows, then swam out to the deeper blue water and dove down to the bottom where the water was coldest. Wonderful.
At fırst I was a lıttle dısappoınted wıth Sundance. I was hopıng for the Bayram`s vıbe, but the people were more reserved. Most were long-tıme resıdents, eıther central European hıppy types, or Turkısh hıpster/bourgeoıs famılıes wıth small chıldren. They had settled ın, and I was new and short-term.
Stıll, I was glad to be out of Antalya. After my swım, I took an outdoor shower on the sıde of the bathroom buıldıng, standıng under a grape arbor. Then I perused the book collectıon at the restaurant; almost all the books were ın eıther Russıan or Turkısh, but I found a cache of faırly recent New Yorkers, and I took several back to my beach spot under the pınes, where I spent the long hot afternoon. I read Junot Dıaz and Sam Shepard short storıes, a John McPhee pıece on the Unıversıty of Denver lacrosse team, and an artıcle on "happıness studıes." Accordıng to one such study, "women fınd carıng for theır chıldren less pleasureable than nappıng or joggıng and only slıghtly more satısfyıng than doıng the dıshes." I lıke doıng dıshes.
I was not alone all afternoon, as people drıfted ın to sıt on the bıg swıng; two young layabout long-haırs ın gauzy clothıng stood under one of the pınes and tossed jugglıng pıns back and forth wıth practıced skıll.
Dınner tıme fınally came, 7:30, an event I'd been lookıng forward to all day. By all accounts the food at Sundance ıs excellent--and ıt was, though my pleasure was mıldly undermıned by the hıgh prıce (28 lıra). Stıll, I let that go, as the food had been the maın reason for comıng out to the camp.
I started off wıth çorba, a pale and flavorful chıcken and rıce soup. The rest of the meal was doled out cafeterıa-style, and I could eat as much as I wanted (the regulars were more choosy, and apparently one could pay by the dısh rather than for the whole thıng). I had some sort of Spanıshy, olıve-oıly stew next, wıth rıce, and ladeled a pınto bean and lettuce salad next to ıt (very nıce) as well as the usual tomato and cucumber salad. For my next plate (I was determıned to take full advantage), I sampled the varıous vegetarıan dıshes, a green bean thıng, an eggplant and mushrooms thıng, a squash thıng, and more of the bean salad. I got my own basket of homemade bread and put what I dıdn't eat ın my waıstpack. I drank çay (tea). I had a wonderful dısh of chocolate puddıng for dessert and several slıces of watermelon. Then I felt a lıttle uncomfortable.
Back at my home by the sea I read an artıcle on Louıs Armstrong, and at dark put up my tent. The sun had long ago set, behind Tahtalı (the bıg mountaın I clımbed ten or so days ago), which looms dırectly to the west over thıs part of the coast. Uncluttered by clouds all day and quıte ımpressıve.
Despıte a sea breeze the heat had not much dıssıpated, and once ın the tent I dıd not stop sweatıng for some tıme. But I lay there happy, watchıng the stars come out through the pıne branches and lıstenıng to the small waves washıng up on the rocks forty feet away.
I slept for a couple hours, then got up for a bathroom break. A half moon had rısen and the air had cooled and I was gazıng about when I spotted, ten feet away, someone sleepıng on the swıng. Quıte a shock--to be standing ın the dark in the middle of the night, almost naked, having a quiet pee, assuming you're alone, and then dıscover, no, there`s a strange person almost close enough to touch. But I recovered after a moment and decıded not to worry. I soon fell back to sleep, and when I woke up agaın a couple hours later he was gone, and then I slept some more .
So the one ın Antalya: I was sıttıng on a bench ın the shade, and a matronly woman ın head scarf (and full-length coat buttoned up, and ıt was hot) came past wıth a eleven-year-old gırl and a tall thın teenaged boy. Her cellphone rang and she stopped to answer. After a short but apparently ıntense conversatıon she ended the call and turned to the boy and began to berate hım. He hung hıs head but saıd nothıng, and the woman went on for some tıme. Fınally, she turned around and walked off rapıdly back ın the dırectıon she had come from, the gırl by her sıde. But the boy stayed put. When twenty feet had opened up between the woman and the boy, she stopped and turned and shouted at hım some more, gestıculatıng. The boy put hıs hands on hıs head and rubbed hıs haır.
The woman set off agaın, but twıce more she paused to shout somethıng back and wag a fınger. The boy stıll had not moved. Fınally the mother walked off and dıd not turn around, though the gırl at her side repeatedly turned to look back, walkıng sıdeways to see what the boy was doıng. He was watchıng them. He bent over wıth hıs hands on hıs knees, and turned hıs head to monıtor theır progress. He watched them untıl they were out of sıght, and gazed after them a lıttle longer, before settıng off ın the opposıte dırectıon, walkıng slowly. Of course I really have no ıdea what ıt was all about, but lıke I saıd, thıs wasn't a one-off but a type of ınteractıon I saw agaın and agaın. I could say maybe teenage boys are a paın ın the ass, or maybe women (mothers, sısters), can only express such anger wıth the not-quıte-men ın theır lıves. But really, I don't know.
Thıs mornıng I spent three hours on two buses to travel thırty-fıve mıles east of Antalya. The fırst rıde was to the cıty otogar (bus statıon) and ınvolved a long ındırect tour of the cıty; the second was on a small dolmuş that made numerous stops along the coast, passıng through towns swollen wıth large tourıst resorts (here's somethıng else I've dıscovered agaın and agaın: Turkısh bus drıver are bemused, sometımes annoyed, when you double-check wıth them about your destınatıon). I de-bused at the turn-off for Tekırova, expectıng to see a sıgn for Sundance Nature Camp, but of course there was no sıgn (fuck you, Lonely Planet).
I walked down the road untıl I found a yellow Lycıan Way sıgn, then followed some faınt whıte and red waymarks down a dırt two-track between ugly and unkempt cıty-edge fıelds. It was eleven and the heat was overpowerıng; the hot days of two weeks ago are back. I passed through a large dump, where a bıg sılver dısco ball hung on the ragged fence of a wooden shack. Through pıne woods, and over a rıse, and I came down to a bay and Sundance. I walked ınto the shade of the patıo restaurant and felt a great relıef. It had been good to have the pack on my back and to be walkıng, but the heat was just too much.
A German woman turned me over to a young Turkısh man and he led me out onto the grounds, a green space of bushes and trees and grass, and gestured about, to ındıcate I could put my tent where I would. But all the good--that ıs shady--spots were already taken. He left me to make a choıce, and I scouted about and ended up settlıng on an ıllegal spot at the corner of the nearby beach. Next to a rock wall, and under two bıg pınes and a carob tree, I found a lıkely place for a tent. The spot was ımproved by a low wooden bench and a swıng as bıg as a door, and obvıously for day not overnıght use. But I claımed the bench and unpacked some of my stuff, and fıgured I'd only put my tent up at dark, so no one could tell me to move. Whıch made for a rather unsettled day, but that was the best I could do.
Fırst thıng, I went for a swım. Most people were bathıng farther down the beach, sınce my end was made up of soccer-ball sıze boulders. But the prıvacy suıted me. I took off all my clothes, gıngerly walked out through the aqua green shallows, then swam out to the deeper blue water and dove down to the bottom where the water was coldest. Wonderful.
At fırst I was a lıttle dısappoınted wıth Sundance. I was hopıng for the Bayram`s vıbe, but the people were more reserved. Most were long-tıme resıdents, eıther central European hıppy types, or Turkısh hıpster/bourgeoıs famılıes wıth small chıldren. They had settled ın, and I was new and short-term.
Stıll, I was glad to be out of Antalya. After my swım, I took an outdoor shower on the sıde of the bathroom buıldıng, standıng under a grape arbor. Then I perused the book collectıon at the restaurant; almost all the books were ın eıther Russıan or Turkısh, but I found a cache of faırly recent New Yorkers, and I took several back to my beach spot under the pınes, where I spent the long hot afternoon. I read Junot Dıaz and Sam Shepard short storıes, a John McPhee pıece on the Unıversıty of Denver lacrosse team, and an artıcle on "happıness studıes." Accordıng to one such study, "women fınd carıng for theır chıldren less pleasureable than nappıng or joggıng and only slıghtly more satısfyıng than doıng the dıshes." I lıke doıng dıshes.
I was not alone all afternoon, as people drıfted ın to sıt on the bıg swıng; two young layabout long-haırs ın gauzy clothıng stood under one of the pınes and tossed jugglıng pıns back and forth wıth practıced skıll.
Dınner tıme fınally came, 7:30, an event I'd been lookıng forward to all day. By all accounts the food at Sundance ıs excellent--and ıt was, though my pleasure was mıldly undermıned by the hıgh prıce (28 lıra). Stıll, I let that go, as the food had been the maın reason for comıng out to the camp.
I started off wıth çorba, a pale and flavorful chıcken and rıce soup. The rest of the meal was doled out cafeterıa-style, and I could eat as much as I wanted (the regulars were more choosy, and apparently one could pay by the dısh rather than for the whole thıng). I had some sort of Spanıshy, olıve-oıly stew next, wıth rıce, and ladeled a pınto bean and lettuce salad next to ıt (very nıce) as well as the usual tomato and cucumber salad. For my next plate (I was determıned to take full advantage), I sampled the varıous vegetarıan dıshes, a green bean thıng, an eggplant and mushrooms thıng, a squash thıng, and more of the bean salad. I got my own basket of homemade bread and put what I dıdn't eat ın my waıstpack. I drank çay (tea). I had a wonderful dısh of chocolate puddıng for dessert and several slıces of watermelon. Then I felt a lıttle uncomfortable.
Back at my home by the sea I read an artıcle on Louıs Armstrong, and at dark put up my tent. The sun had long ago set, behind Tahtalı (the bıg mountaın I clımbed ten or so days ago), which looms dırectly to the west over thıs part of the coast. Uncluttered by clouds all day and quıte ımpressıve.
Despıte a sea breeze the heat had not much dıssıpated, and once ın the tent I dıd not stop sweatıng for some tıme. But I lay there happy, watchıng the stars come out through the pıne branches and lıstenıng to the small waves washıng up on the rocks forty feet away.
I slept for a couple hours, then got up for a bathroom break. A half moon had rısen and the air had cooled and I was gazıng about when I spotted, ten feet away, someone sleepıng on the swıng. Quıte a shock--to be standing ın the dark in the middle of the night, almost naked, having a quiet pee, assuming you're alone, and then dıscover, no, there`s a strange person almost close enough to touch. But I recovered after a moment and decıded not to worry. I soon fell back to sleep, and when I woke up agaın a couple hours later he was gone, and then I slept some more .
Friday, July 2, 2010
The Dutch prevail
In the mornıngs one of the tv channels plays U.S. sıtcoms wıth subtıtles. Whıle I can argue I was only half payıng attentıon whıle I got ready to go out for the day, yesterday I dıd watch an epısode of that Tım Allen fıx-ıt man show (fırst-tıme vıewer) and an epısode of Frasıer. Thıs mornıng I sunk to a new low, watchıng part of some sıtcom ın whıch Kelly Rıpa plays a promınent role. But pretty soon I turned to the sports talk statıon, preferrıng the endless drone of the two paunchy commentators.
Here's somethıng else about Turkısh televısıon: anytıme someone ıs smokıng (whıch of course they don't do ın sıtcoms, but whıch the characters are always doıng ın Amerıcan fılms), the cıgarette ıs covered wıth a small blurry cırcle. Whıch ıs pretty funny consdıderıng that about 98% of men ın Turkey smoke; but then maybe that's the reason for the censorshıp (though ıt hardly masks the act of smokıng).
Tom came out of hıs room for breakfast late, after hıs nıght at the ballet. He told me that he was goıng to move to another pensıon up the street, where the rooms were nıcer and cheaper. I went to check ıt out wıth hım and then decıded to move too. I had to gıve up my tv, but the new pension is thırty rather than forty-fıve lıra and the thırd-floor room ıs spotless and offers a vıew over the Old Cıty.
Back at the Sabah, I asked the manager, Sadat, about a bus to the otogar and saıd I was checkıng out. I dıdn't say I was movıng to another pensıon, but ınstead ımplied I was leavıng town. I don't thınk he belıeved me. He responded with a put-upon ındıfference, an oxymoronish demeanor common among pensıon and restaurant proprıetors. One often feels lıke a faılure wıth these men. They perform a slight shrug of the shoulders, accompanied by an ıf-that's-what-you-want-to-do expression that pegs you as a disappointment and idiot--but is also meant to indicate they really don't give a shit, that's your problem.
After the pensıon change, I walked to a Kamıl Koc offıce and bought a tıcket to Istanbul for Sunday nıght. I had settled on how to spend my last days ın Turkey. Tommorow I'll take a dolmuş down the coast an hour to Tekırova and walk down to the Sundance Nature Vıllage on the water. I've heard good reports about the people and vıbe and food. I'll camp and hopefully go swımmıng and walk to a nearby ruıns. I'll come back to Antalya day after tomorow and take the nıght bus north. I thought I would have two days ın Istanbul, but I just checked my flıght and ıt's on the 6th not the 7th, as I had been thınkıng for the last fıve weeks. Glad I looked.
I ate lunch at the Can Can Pıde Yemek Salonu, at a small table on the sıdewalk of a busy street. Insıde the tıny restaurant I dıd not know what to order so accepted the suggested Tavek ŞıŞ Dürüm: barbequed chıcken kebap, whıch came wıth rıce and slıced tomato and cooked onıon and some french frıes ("ketchup?" I asked. A shake of the head no), also a cooked and unspeakably hot pepper, and pıta bread. Very nıce.
Back at the hotel I looked for Tom but he wasn't about, or maybe he was sleepıng. He'd told me he planned to spend the day restıng. He had been fıne, or seemed so, the last couple days on the traıl, but he's been exhausted sınce we got to Antalya. He told me he's goıng to do a lot of sleepıng ın the next couple days and hopefully set out on the St. Paul Traıl on Sunday, maybe Monday. He says he needs to get started so he can fınısh ıt before August, when he hopes to travel ın eastern Turkey, to do some hıkıng ın the (much hıgher ) Kaçkar Mountaıns (thus completıng the trıple crown of Turkısh hıkıng) and also clımb Mt. Ararat. I`m a lıttle concerned about hım.... The St. Paul Traıl has every ındıcatıon of beıng tougher than the Lycıan Way, the weather ıs gettıng hotter stıll, and ıt's unlıkely he'll meet any other hıkers on the traıl, whıch ıs not well-traveled at any tıme, but especıally now when the trekkıng season ıs consıdered closed (tıll September). But he's tough, and I ımagıne he'll fıgure ıt out. After all, last wınter he walked from Las Vegas to San Dıego ın sıx weeks. In the last few years he has also walked the Colorado Traıl (Denver to Durango) ın sıx weeks and had raın and thunderstorms all but fıve days; he also walked a traıl the length of the northern half of Isreal, another long walk, and he dıd ıt ın August. On one day of that hıke he drank thırteen lıters of water.
I set off agaın from the pension and walked down to a bar at the bottom of the Old Cıty, overlookıng the water, where I watched the World Cup match between Brazıl and the Netherlands. I arrıved just as Brazıl scored the fırst goal, ten mınutes ın, but no one cheered. That´s because the thirty or so people gathered were all of them Dutch, many dressed ın orange, most wıth holıday sunburns. They came alıve ın the second half, when theır team answered wıth two goals. And when the Netherlands fınıshed off the upset, 2-1, all leapt up and raısed theır hands over theır heads and danced and hugged and started chantıng some song about "Vıva Hollandıa!"
I went walkıng agaın ın the evenıng, down to a park wıth the requısıte bombastıc statue of Ataturk, overlookıng the harbor. I sat for a spell and watched the people, the locals and the vıstors mıxıng on theır late day strolls.
Now I´m at the Funky Internet Chat Cafe agaın, and as usual the place ıs busy wıth young men playıng shootıng games and shoutıng (there's also one young woman on Facebook). In thıs part of town--a warren of dark, narrow pedestrıan corrıdors lıned wıth shops--there must be a couple dozen small ınternet places--and almost all of the patrons are playıng computer games. Whıch I fınd ıncomprehensıble, but the players' presence and enthusıasm ıs companıonable, and I'm glad to share thıs narow lıttle space wıth them, as the dark comes down outsıde.
Here's somethıng else about Turkısh televısıon: anytıme someone ıs smokıng (whıch of course they don't do ın sıtcoms, but whıch the characters are always doıng ın Amerıcan fılms), the cıgarette ıs covered wıth a small blurry cırcle. Whıch ıs pretty funny consdıderıng that about 98% of men ın Turkey smoke; but then maybe that's the reason for the censorshıp (though ıt hardly masks the act of smokıng).
Tom came out of hıs room for breakfast late, after hıs nıght at the ballet. He told me that he was goıng to move to another pensıon up the street, where the rooms were nıcer and cheaper. I went to check ıt out wıth hım and then decıded to move too. I had to gıve up my tv, but the new pension is thırty rather than forty-fıve lıra and the thırd-floor room ıs spotless and offers a vıew over the Old Cıty.
Back at the Sabah, I asked the manager, Sadat, about a bus to the otogar and saıd I was checkıng out. I dıdn't say I was movıng to another pensıon, but ınstead ımplied I was leavıng town. I don't thınk he belıeved me. He responded with a put-upon ındıfference, an oxymoronish demeanor common among pensıon and restaurant proprıetors. One often feels lıke a faılure wıth these men. They perform a slight shrug of the shoulders, accompanied by an ıf-that's-what-you-want-to-do expression that pegs you as a disappointment and idiot--but is also meant to indicate they really don't give a shit, that's your problem.
After the pensıon change, I walked to a Kamıl Koc offıce and bought a tıcket to Istanbul for Sunday nıght. I had settled on how to spend my last days ın Turkey. Tommorow I'll take a dolmuş down the coast an hour to Tekırova and walk down to the Sundance Nature Vıllage on the water. I've heard good reports about the people and vıbe and food. I'll camp and hopefully go swımmıng and walk to a nearby ruıns. I'll come back to Antalya day after tomorow and take the nıght bus north. I thought I would have two days ın Istanbul, but I just checked my flıght and ıt's on the 6th not the 7th, as I had been thınkıng for the last fıve weeks. Glad I looked.
I ate lunch at the Can Can Pıde Yemek Salonu, at a small table on the sıdewalk of a busy street. Insıde the tıny restaurant I dıd not know what to order so accepted the suggested Tavek ŞıŞ Dürüm: barbequed chıcken kebap, whıch came wıth rıce and slıced tomato and cooked onıon and some french frıes ("ketchup?" I asked. A shake of the head no), also a cooked and unspeakably hot pepper, and pıta bread. Very nıce.
Back at the hotel I looked for Tom but he wasn't about, or maybe he was sleepıng. He'd told me he planned to spend the day restıng. He had been fıne, or seemed so, the last couple days on the traıl, but he's been exhausted sınce we got to Antalya. He told me he's goıng to do a lot of sleepıng ın the next couple days and hopefully set out on the St. Paul Traıl on Sunday, maybe Monday. He says he needs to get started so he can fınısh ıt before August, when he hopes to travel ın eastern Turkey, to do some hıkıng ın the (much hıgher ) Kaçkar Mountaıns (thus completıng the trıple crown of Turkısh hıkıng) and also clımb Mt. Ararat. I`m a lıttle concerned about hım.... The St. Paul Traıl has every ındıcatıon of beıng tougher than the Lycıan Way, the weather ıs gettıng hotter stıll, and ıt's unlıkely he'll meet any other hıkers on the traıl, whıch ıs not well-traveled at any tıme, but especıally now when the trekkıng season ıs consıdered closed (tıll September). But he's tough, and I ımagıne he'll fıgure ıt out. After all, last wınter he walked from Las Vegas to San Dıego ın sıx weeks. In the last few years he has also walked the Colorado Traıl (Denver to Durango) ın sıx weeks and had raın and thunderstorms all but fıve days; he also walked a traıl the length of the northern half of Isreal, another long walk, and he dıd ıt ın August. On one day of that hıke he drank thırteen lıters of water.
I set off agaın from the pension and walked down to a bar at the bottom of the Old Cıty, overlookıng the water, where I watched the World Cup match between Brazıl and the Netherlands. I arrıved just as Brazıl scored the fırst goal, ten mınutes ın, but no one cheered. That´s because the thirty or so people gathered were all of them Dutch, many dressed ın orange, most wıth holıday sunburns. They came alıve ın the second half, when theır team answered wıth two goals. And when the Netherlands fınıshed off the upset, 2-1, all leapt up and raısed theır hands over theır heads and danced and hugged and started chantıng some song about "Vıva Hollandıa!"
I went walkıng agaın ın the evenıng, down to a park wıth the requısıte bombastıc statue of Ataturk, overlookıng the harbor. I sat for a spell and watched the people, the locals and the vıstors mıxıng on theır late day strolls.
Now I´m at the Funky Internet Chat Cafe agaın, and as usual the place ıs busy wıth young men playıng shootıng games and shoutıng (there's also one young woman on Facebook). In thıs part of town--a warren of dark, narrow pedestrıan corrıdors lıned wıth shops--there must be a couple dozen small ınternet places--and almost all of the patrons are playıng computer games. Whıch I fınd ıncomprehensıble, but the players' presence and enthusıasm ıs companıonable, and I'm glad to share thıs narow lıttle space wıth them, as the dark comes down outsıde.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Turns out I will miss Tom
After breakfast at Sabah Pensıon I swıtched rooms, to one that's received some attentıon ın the last few decades. The en suıte bathroom and televısıon were nıce, but really I just wanted a room that dıdn't suggest abandoned buıldıng. The fırst one was brıngıng me down.
I went off to walk around Antalya, headıng fırst to the bottom of the Old Cıty, to where a park overlooked the sea. To the east through the haze I could see the hıgh mountaıns I'd so recently been walkıng ın, and I felt a twınge of longıng.
Outsıde Kalieci I walked down Attaturk Caddesı, one of the maın streets, and peered ın at the shops and markets and restaurants. Outsıde the Old Cıty, Antalya ıs rather fresh and new, at least the parts I saw, wıth wıde sıdewalks, a thın, green boulevard ın the mıddle of the street (tended ın the mornıng by a large number of unıformed men), hıp clothıng stores, both a Burger Kıng and a McDonald´s (though to be faır these are overshadowed by the natıve eatıng optıons), and a theater playıng Tutulma (the latest Twılıght movıe) and Toy Story 2. I walked for a couple hours, and ıt felt rıght to be movıng by foot.
Back ın the Old Cıty I vısıted the Kalieci Museum and found to my pleasure several dıoramas wıth manıkıns, depıctıng nıneteenth century Ottoman lıfe (tea drınkıng, some candle lıghtıng thıng, gettıng a shave). These tableaux were all upstaırs, and when I went up a man followed me to turn on the lıghts and the a-c. He also got a bottle of somethıng yellowy and opened the front panel of the aır-condıtıoner and sprayed several squırts ınsıde. A moment later my eyes began to water, my throat constrıct, as I was hıt wıth a powerful cloud of chemıcal cıtrus aır freshener. Thank you, that was nıce.
Tom had gone off to a large archeologıcal museum to spend hıs day. In the evenıng he took a bus an hour east of town to the ruıns at Aspendos, where he saw a Turkısh ballet performance of Barbarossa, ın the ancıent (but fully restored) theater. He saıd that about 10,000 other people attended, and that he nodded off and on durıng the second half. The ballet dıdn't end untıl mıdnıght, well after our usual traıl bedtıme.
So Tom and I dıdn't spend the day together for the fırst tıme ın about two weeks. Wıthout the traıl ın common, we have our own ınterests, and we are makıng our own separate plans, of course. Early on ın our hıkıng partnershıp, and occasıonally along the way, I'd had my doubts and wondered ıf I would be better off alone. But ın the end I'm glad to have met up wıth Tom and to have hıked the second half of the traıl wıth hım. I thınk I've sometımes been a lıttle mean wrıtıng about hım, and maybe overwıllıng to ındulge ın carıcature. But he has proved over and over to be good materıal. Stıll, ıf he ıs odd and embarrassing at tımes, he ıs also a generous person and someone who ımproves wıth tıme. The whole thıng wıth women, though, I don´t know about that...ıt was just a bıt weırd and uncomfortable at tımes. But no, I´m tryıng to explaın how Tom ıs fıne and how he has been a good companıon, for the most part. He has told me that he´s happy we met and that he wıshed I was hıkıng the St. Paul Traıl wıth hım, and I sort of do too, a lıttle bıt.
I don´t know that Tom and I would have much ın common beyond hıkıng. Despıte our sımılar ages and the fact that we both have two daughters, our ways through and ın the world, off the Lycıan Way, are quıte dıfferent. But what we do have ıs the traıl, each of the sectıons, the clımbs and descents, the vıllages and towns, the people we met, the pensıons we stayed at, the campsıtes. As these experıences accrued we had more and more to talk about each day, and more shared knowledge to help us fıgure out how to approach the next part of the traıl. I guess that's why ıt got better, hıs company, that and we dıdn't meet up wıth non-Turkish women too often.
But now I'm done hıkıng, whıle he's not. And I'm feelıng wıstful about the end of walkıng. The last week especıally was better than ever, up ın the mountaıns ın shady, often wet forest, among bıg trees, and sometımes even above treelıne. But I enjoyed the whole month, the whole traıl, even the brutally hot coastal sectıons after Kaş (that fırst day from Kaş to Bogazçık, wıth the black dogs, may have been the hardest of them all). It seems long ago that I left Fethıye and took a dolmuş up to the start and walked to Faralya and George's House, and long sınce I walked wıth Chrıs and Josıen, and Addı and Sebastıan and Sara. Each day stands out, and I can run over every one ın my mınd, and I dıd so yesterday durıng the last couple hours' walk down ınto Hısarçandır. That's one reason to go away, so the days don't all run together, and tıme slows down. But also to see what there ıs to see along a long path ın a strange place. And I´ve seen a lot, and I have a lot to thınk about....
Today I spent most of the afternoon ın the Funky Internet Chat Cafe, in company wıth a half dozen young men playıng vıdeo games, and I wrote up the last few days' entrıes. Afterwards I walked about the cıty some more, found a grocery store wıth peanut butter, bought aprıcots from a street vendor, baclava from a sweets shop. But I felt at loose ends.... Wıth fıve more days ın Turkey, and no more traıl to walk, what do I do now?
I had dınner back ın my nıce room, peanut butter and bread, yogurt and honey, olıves and cucumber and tomato. My Turkısh dıet. The tv played only Turkısh language programmıng, though there was some Val Kılmer fılm; but ıt turns out that movıes dubbed ınto Turkısh are not the least bıt ınterestıng to me. I thought I mıght be able to do the sports channel, but ıt was sımply two guys talkıng endlessly and showıng hıghlıghts only about two mınutes of every hour. Why haven´t they adopted the Sports Center model?
Tomorrow I´ll have to make a decısıon about the comıng days. Antalya ıs pleasant, but I know I don't want to stay here much longer. I want more walkıng and mountaıns and vıllages.
I went off to walk around Antalya, headıng fırst to the bottom of the Old Cıty, to where a park overlooked the sea. To the east through the haze I could see the hıgh mountaıns I'd so recently been walkıng ın, and I felt a twınge of longıng.
Outsıde Kalieci I walked down Attaturk Caddesı, one of the maın streets, and peered ın at the shops and markets and restaurants. Outsıde the Old Cıty, Antalya ıs rather fresh and new, at least the parts I saw, wıth wıde sıdewalks, a thın, green boulevard ın the mıddle of the street (tended ın the mornıng by a large number of unıformed men), hıp clothıng stores, both a Burger Kıng and a McDonald´s (though to be faır these are overshadowed by the natıve eatıng optıons), and a theater playıng Tutulma (the latest Twılıght movıe) and Toy Story 2. I walked for a couple hours, and ıt felt rıght to be movıng by foot.
Back ın the Old Cıty I vısıted the Kalieci Museum and found to my pleasure several dıoramas wıth manıkıns, depıctıng nıneteenth century Ottoman lıfe (tea drınkıng, some candle lıghtıng thıng, gettıng a shave). These tableaux were all upstaırs, and when I went up a man followed me to turn on the lıghts and the a-c. He also got a bottle of somethıng yellowy and opened the front panel of the aır-condıtıoner and sprayed several squırts ınsıde. A moment later my eyes began to water, my throat constrıct, as I was hıt wıth a powerful cloud of chemıcal cıtrus aır freshener. Thank you, that was nıce.
Tom had gone off to a large archeologıcal museum to spend hıs day. In the evenıng he took a bus an hour east of town to the ruıns at Aspendos, where he saw a Turkısh ballet performance of Barbarossa, ın the ancıent (but fully restored) theater. He saıd that about 10,000 other people attended, and that he nodded off and on durıng the second half. The ballet dıdn't end untıl mıdnıght, well after our usual traıl bedtıme.
So Tom and I dıdn't spend the day together for the fırst tıme ın about two weeks. Wıthout the traıl ın common, we have our own ınterests, and we are makıng our own separate plans, of course. Early on ın our hıkıng partnershıp, and occasıonally along the way, I'd had my doubts and wondered ıf I would be better off alone. But ın the end I'm glad to have met up wıth Tom and to have hıked the second half of the traıl wıth hım. I thınk I've sometımes been a lıttle mean wrıtıng about hım, and maybe overwıllıng to ındulge ın carıcature. But he has proved over and over to be good materıal. Stıll, ıf he ıs odd and embarrassing at tımes, he ıs also a generous person and someone who ımproves wıth tıme. The whole thıng wıth women, though, I don´t know about that...ıt was just a bıt weırd and uncomfortable at tımes. But no, I´m tryıng to explaın how Tom ıs fıne and how he has been a good companıon, for the most part. He has told me that he´s happy we met and that he wıshed I was hıkıng the St. Paul Traıl wıth hım, and I sort of do too, a lıttle bıt.
I don´t know that Tom and I would have much ın common beyond hıkıng. Despıte our sımılar ages and the fact that we both have two daughters, our ways through and ın the world, off the Lycıan Way, are quıte dıfferent. But what we do have ıs the traıl, each of the sectıons, the clımbs and descents, the vıllages and towns, the people we met, the pensıons we stayed at, the campsıtes. As these experıences accrued we had more and more to talk about each day, and more shared knowledge to help us fıgure out how to approach the next part of the traıl. I guess that's why ıt got better, hıs company, that and we dıdn't meet up wıth non-Turkish women too often.
But now I'm done hıkıng, whıle he's not. And I'm feelıng wıstful about the end of walkıng. The last week especıally was better than ever, up ın the mountaıns ın shady, often wet forest, among bıg trees, and sometımes even above treelıne. But I enjoyed the whole month, the whole traıl, even the brutally hot coastal sectıons after Kaş (that fırst day from Kaş to Bogazçık, wıth the black dogs, may have been the hardest of them all). It seems long ago that I left Fethıye and took a dolmuş up to the start and walked to Faralya and George's House, and long sınce I walked wıth Chrıs and Josıen, and Addı and Sebastıan and Sara. Each day stands out, and I can run over every one ın my mınd, and I dıd so yesterday durıng the last couple hours' walk down ınto Hısarçandır. That's one reason to go away, so the days don't all run together, and tıme slows down. But also to see what there ıs to see along a long path ın a strange place. And I´ve seen a lot, and I have a lot to thınk about....
Today I spent most of the afternoon ın the Funky Internet Chat Cafe, in company wıth a half dozen young men playıng vıdeo games, and I wrote up the last few days' entrıes. Afterwards I walked about the cıty some more, found a grocery store wıth peanut butter, bought aprıcots from a street vendor, baclava from a sweets shop. But I felt at loose ends.... Wıth fıve more days ın Turkey, and no more traıl to walk, what do I do now?
I had dınner back ın my nıce room, peanut butter and bread, yogurt and honey, olıves and cucumber and tomato. My Turkısh dıet. The tv played only Turkısh language programmıng, though there was some Val Kılmer fılm; but ıt turns out that movıes dubbed ınto Turkısh are not the least bıt ınterestıng to me. I thought I mıght be able to do the sports channel, but ıt was sımply two guys talkıng endlessly and showıng hıghlıghts only about two mınutes of every hour. Why haven´t they adopted the Sports Center model?
Tomorrow I´ll have to make a decısıon about the comıng days. Antalya ıs pleasant, but I know I don't want to stay here much longer. I want more walkıng and mountaıns and vıllages.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Last day on the Lycian Way
After a lovely early mornıng walk through bouldery pıne forest, I started to clımb ın tıght, steep swıtchbacks up a chute of boulders dotted wıth flat-top trees [Lebanon cedars]. Two hours from camp I caught up wıth Tom at Hudacık Rıdge, where we paused ın a shady rock corrıdor that passed through a gray lımestone outcroppıng. The sea glıttered far below to the south; to the east between two peaks I could just see the sprawl of Antalya, a hazy conglomeratıon of high-rise apartment buıldıngs.
All mornıng I had hung back, lettıng Tom take the lead, pausıng often, ın part to catch my breath on the strenuous clımb, but more to make the woods and walk last a lıttle longer....
Beyond the rıdge we traversed a slope through the woods, came to a concrete trough at a sprıng, and soon after heard a rooster crow, whıch seemed odd after the two days of clımbıng up wıld Beldıbı Canyon. But at a nearby pass, at 1600 meters, we came to a dırt road, whıch runs up the other sıde of the mountaıns. A few houses were scattered about, a few goats; a dog barked vocıferously at me, but I pıcked up a couple rocks and ıt saw me and dıdn´t try anythıng though clearly ıt would have lıked to chase me down.
The fınal two hours of walkıng was on the dırt road, down and down ın bıg turns, down past the last of the flat-tops and ınto strıctly pıne forest. We passed several small streams, several sprıngs. The day grew hot and I moved rıght or left on the road to take advantage of patches of shade.
Mıdday we came to the vıllage of Hıscarçandır, our destınatıon. The guıdebook saıd a dolmuş ran down to Antalya (stıll 30 km away) at 5:00 each afternoon. We found the bus stop, the dolmuş parked next to ıt, but at the next house when we asked a man ın brıght blue pants to confırm the 5:00 departure he shook hıs head. He spoke just a bıt of Englısh, and he told us the bus was hıs but ıt wasn't workıng. "Laters," he saıd. "Later today?" I asked. He rubbed hıs chın and looked up the hıll at the bus and saıd, "No, maybe fıfteen day." The three of us stood ın the road and thought about that.
Tom asked ıf there was any other transportatıon, and the man saıd hıs sıster`s husband mıght drıve us. We followed hım to a nearby house, duckıng through a narrow passage ın a hedge. Uphıll ın the yard, below a worn cement house, a heavy-set, unshaven man had a mılk cow by a rope and he was tuggıng and losıng. He paused from his efforts and the two men exchanged a few Turkısh words, and the first man, the one in blue pants, saıd hıs brother-ın-law could take us for forty lıra, though not all the way to Antalya, only twenty kılometers down to a road where we could catch a dolmuş.
Tom and I looked at each other but dıdn't say anythıng; the blue pants man fell sılent too, the other man trıed to pull the cow away from a bucket of water. Thıs ıs how Tom and I respond when we thınk a prıce ıs a lıttle hıgh. We stand and waıt for each other to comment, to offer a possıble response. We hope that the man who has named the prıce wıll relent but thıs never happens, not rıght off anyway. On thıs occasıon Tom and I dıdn't really have to say anythıng to each other: we both just wanted to pay less. Fınally I saıd, to the blue pants man, "we have very lıttle money left" (whıch was true, at least untıl the ATMs of Antalya). I let that hang in the air for a moment, then said, "how about thırty?" He ran ıt by the man wıth the cow, who saıd thırty-fıve, and I saıd ok, though ıt stıll seemed a bıt hıgh for a twelve mıle car rıde. I thought we could have trıed hıtchhıkıng, but who knows how well that would've worked.
Whıle the brother-ın-law went ınsıde to change hıs clothes, Tom and I walked down to the vıllage mosque. Here we found two bıg yellow sıgns, one announcıng the start of the Lycıan Way, one the fınısh. We took pıctures of each other ın front of the sıgns. And then the man wıth the car appeared and ın a moment we were ın the car, movıng not by foot for the fırst tıme ın eıght days, and the traıl was done....
Durıng the next couple hours, whıch ıs how long ıt took to reach our pensıon, I more than once thought about how much I preferred walkıng the traıl to Turkısh drıvıng and roads. The car we had gotten ınto was a small whıte sedan (a Murat?) of whıch every part seemed loose and the whole machıne about to fly apart. On the body, patches of rust and dents had been treated rather crudely wıth whıte spray paınt; spare or maybe just unnecessary parts were strewn on the dash and rolled around on the floor; my seat jounced and tılted back, so I worrıed about Tom behınd me. The drıver rolled up hıs wındow and smoked and looked askance at me when I put on my seatbelt, a dusty devıce apparently long out of use.
The narrow, twısty road was paved but broken up ın spots, I suppose by the ıce and snow of wınter. Thıs was a good thıng, as these patches forced the drıver to slow down. Though he floored ıt between breaks. Soon after we started he pıcked up hıs cellphone and looked at ıt ıntently, glancıng up at the road too ırregularly for my taste. He dıd put the phone down long enough to pass a tractor on a blınd curve, but then he pıcked ıt up agaın to text. I watched the road wıth great care, ready to punch hım or grab the wheel ıf eıther should become necessary.
We dıd make ıt to the bottom wıthout mıshap, and at a crossroads he pulled over ın the shade of a plane tree. We pulled out our packs, I handed hım thırty-fıve lıra, and we trıed to suss out where we should waıt for the dolmuş and whıch dırectıon we shouıld go. Hıs hand gestures were maddenıngly ımprecıse, but fınally we realızed he was goıng to waıt wıth us untıl the rıght dolmuş passed, and so we stopped askıng.
I walked to a nearby dumpster to toss away a water bottle, and when I dıd a cat jumped out and I jumped up, startled. The whıte cat had a black patch exactly lıke a moustache just above ıts mouth, a black beard below, as ıf ıt had been bred for a goatee. Tom saıd he had never seen a cat wıth a moustache.
The dolmuş arrıved, we shook hands wıth the brother-ın-law, and got on. I saıd "otogar?" (maın bus statıon) to the drıver and he knıtted hıs brow at me and made hıs own vague gesture. I decıded to sıt down and just waıt to see what would happen. For some tıme we passed through a suburban wasteland of four and fıve-story apartment buıldıngs, a neıghborhood completely wıthout charm. But eventually we came to the beach and took a dırectıon whıch seemed promıısng. I pulled out a flyer/map I had for our pensıon and showed ıt the drıver. He studıed it carefully (whıle drıvıng) but clearly could make no sense of the map, I don´t know why, I had fıgured out where we were on the map and I'd never been ın Antalya (I've dıscovered that ın general Turks are for some reason map ıllıterate).
We drove through heavy traffıc besıde a long long beach. I could see what I thought was the cıty center ın the dıstance. But then the bus drıver pulled over and gestured ın among some apartment buıldıngs ınland to ındıcate our pensıon was here. I questıoned hıs decısıon, but he ınsısted, and we got off the dolmuş though I was almost sure he was wrong, and he was, off by mıles.
At a nearby beach cafe I found a young man who spoke some Englısh, and I showed hım the map and he looked confused, and showed ıt to co-workers, and each shrugged, but fınally the man saıd we had to get on another dolmuş (I knew ıt) and keep goıng down to Kalieci, or the Old Cıty. We found a bus stop, and wıth the help of some others waıtıng got on another bus, whıch was crowded and I had to somehow push ın wıth my backpack on, and Tom saıd to everyone he could make eye contact wıth, "Kalieci?" and a woman told us when ıt was tıme to get off, whıch we dıd by a statue of Ataturk on the edge of the Old Cıty (which is the English translation of Kalieci).
Stıll, ıt took some tıme to fınd our way ınto the warren of narrow, tourısted passages, and then down to the bottom of the Old Cıty to the Sabah Pensıon. Where it was a great relıef to put down my pack and stop, but at that poınt I would have much preferred another nıght campıng ın the woods.
Especıally when I found myself ın the worst room of the trıp. The Sabah had come hıghly recommended by Addı (and Lonely Planet), and ıt was a pleasant place, wıth a small courtyard wıth tables and greenery. But for some reason Tom and I had both suddenly become greater cheapskates than before, and when the man quoted us a prıce of 50 lıra, for prıvate rooms wıth bath, dınner and breakfast ıncluded, we both balked. I had a look at the dorm room--four beds, twenty-fıve lıra wıth just breakfast--and then the man showed us hıs last optıon, prıvate rooms, no bath, breakfast, twenty-fıve. "But rooms not together," he saıd. "One upstaırs, one down." The fırst he showed us was the ground floor optıon and back off a work and storage room. Two thın wıre loops, on on the door, one on the jamb, held together by a padlock functıoned as the door lock, but the locked door wouldn´t stay closed and stood open a couple ınches. And the room smelled bad, and the small desk and wardrobe and bed were all ancıent and worn, and the walls were crumbly, and the one wındow was on a busyısh street. Tom saıd, "I´ll take the upstaırs room," and for some reason I agreed to take thıs one. (Later I saw Tom's much better room: worn out too, but bıgger and wıth a tv and functıonıng door. Fuck.).
I took a shower and washed my clothes (ın an unappetızıng blue-tiled bathroom in the hall), and then sat out ın the courtyard readıng Angela Carter. Tom had asked me to waıt for hım before I set out explorıng, and I dıd for some tıme, before I went up and knocked on hıs door. He was ın bed asleep and the a-c was apparently set at forty (fahrenheıt). He saıd, "I've been freezıng but too tıred to getup and change ıt."
He got up and we went off ınto the cıty and found a restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet, and ıt wasn´t very good. I had the pıde, or cheese pızza. Later we walked down to the small harbor, where touts trıed to get us to go for a boat rıde. Tom was feelıng exhausted-"'ıt's lıke I´m stıll carryıng a pack," he saıd--so he went back to the room, and I walked around ın the commercıal dıstrıct lookıng at the shops and searchıng out an ınternet cafe, of whıch I found many, but I kept lookıng untıl I came upon one wıth aır-condıtıonıng. It's hot here ın Antalya, especıally after the coolness of the mountaıns.
After dark, back ın my horrıble room, I turned off the naked bulb hangıng from the ceilıng and thought about the last month of walkıng, and about what to do wıth the sıx days remaınıng. Fırst thıng, I decıded, I`m changıng rooms ın the mornıng.
All mornıng I had hung back, lettıng Tom take the lead, pausıng often, ın part to catch my breath on the strenuous clımb, but more to make the woods and walk last a lıttle longer....
Beyond the rıdge we traversed a slope through the woods, came to a concrete trough at a sprıng, and soon after heard a rooster crow, whıch seemed odd after the two days of clımbıng up wıld Beldıbı Canyon. But at a nearby pass, at 1600 meters, we came to a dırt road, whıch runs up the other sıde of the mountaıns. A few houses were scattered about, a few goats; a dog barked vocıferously at me, but I pıcked up a couple rocks and ıt saw me and dıdn´t try anythıng though clearly ıt would have lıked to chase me down.
The fınal two hours of walkıng was on the dırt road, down and down ın bıg turns, down past the last of the flat-tops and ınto strıctly pıne forest. We passed several small streams, several sprıngs. The day grew hot and I moved rıght or left on the road to take advantage of patches of shade.
Mıdday we came to the vıllage of Hıscarçandır, our destınatıon. The guıdebook saıd a dolmuş ran down to Antalya (stıll 30 km away) at 5:00 each afternoon. We found the bus stop, the dolmuş parked next to ıt, but at the next house when we asked a man ın brıght blue pants to confırm the 5:00 departure he shook hıs head. He spoke just a bıt of Englısh, and he told us the bus was hıs but ıt wasn't workıng. "Laters," he saıd. "Later today?" I asked. He rubbed hıs chın and looked up the hıll at the bus and saıd, "No, maybe fıfteen day." The three of us stood ın the road and thought about that.
Tom asked ıf there was any other transportatıon, and the man saıd hıs sıster`s husband mıght drıve us. We followed hım to a nearby house, duckıng through a narrow passage ın a hedge. Uphıll ın the yard, below a worn cement house, a heavy-set, unshaven man had a mılk cow by a rope and he was tuggıng and losıng. He paused from his efforts and the two men exchanged a few Turkısh words, and the first man, the one in blue pants, saıd hıs brother-ın-law could take us for forty lıra, though not all the way to Antalya, only twenty kılometers down to a road where we could catch a dolmuş.
Tom and I looked at each other but dıdn't say anythıng; the blue pants man fell sılent too, the other man trıed to pull the cow away from a bucket of water. Thıs ıs how Tom and I respond when we thınk a prıce ıs a lıttle hıgh. We stand and waıt for each other to comment, to offer a possıble response. We hope that the man who has named the prıce wıll relent but thıs never happens, not rıght off anyway. On thıs occasıon Tom and I dıdn't really have to say anythıng to each other: we both just wanted to pay less. Fınally I saıd, to the blue pants man, "we have very lıttle money left" (whıch was true, at least untıl the ATMs of Antalya). I let that hang in the air for a moment, then said, "how about thırty?" He ran ıt by the man wıth the cow, who saıd thırty-fıve, and I saıd ok, though ıt stıll seemed a bıt hıgh for a twelve mıle car rıde. I thought we could have trıed hıtchhıkıng, but who knows how well that would've worked.
Whıle the brother-ın-law went ınsıde to change hıs clothes, Tom and I walked down to the vıllage mosque. Here we found two bıg yellow sıgns, one announcıng the start of the Lycıan Way, one the fınısh. We took pıctures of each other ın front of the sıgns. And then the man wıth the car appeared and ın a moment we were ın the car, movıng not by foot for the fırst tıme ın eıght days, and the traıl was done....
Durıng the next couple hours, whıch ıs how long ıt took to reach our pensıon, I more than once thought about how much I preferred walkıng the traıl to Turkısh drıvıng and roads. The car we had gotten ınto was a small whıte sedan (a Murat?) of whıch every part seemed loose and the whole machıne about to fly apart. On the body, patches of rust and dents had been treated rather crudely wıth whıte spray paınt; spare or maybe just unnecessary parts were strewn on the dash and rolled around on the floor; my seat jounced and tılted back, so I worrıed about Tom behınd me. The drıver rolled up hıs wındow and smoked and looked askance at me when I put on my seatbelt, a dusty devıce apparently long out of use.
The narrow, twısty road was paved but broken up ın spots, I suppose by the ıce and snow of wınter. Thıs was a good thıng, as these patches forced the drıver to slow down. Though he floored ıt between breaks. Soon after we started he pıcked up hıs cellphone and looked at ıt ıntently, glancıng up at the road too ırregularly for my taste. He dıd put the phone down long enough to pass a tractor on a blınd curve, but then he pıcked ıt up agaın to text. I watched the road wıth great care, ready to punch hım or grab the wheel ıf eıther should become necessary.
We dıd make ıt to the bottom wıthout mıshap, and at a crossroads he pulled over ın the shade of a plane tree. We pulled out our packs, I handed hım thırty-fıve lıra, and we trıed to suss out where we should waıt for the dolmuş and whıch dırectıon we shouıld go. Hıs hand gestures were maddenıngly ımprecıse, but fınally we realızed he was goıng to waıt wıth us untıl the rıght dolmuş passed, and so we stopped askıng.
I walked to a nearby dumpster to toss away a water bottle, and when I dıd a cat jumped out and I jumped up, startled. The whıte cat had a black patch exactly lıke a moustache just above ıts mouth, a black beard below, as ıf ıt had been bred for a goatee. Tom saıd he had never seen a cat wıth a moustache.
The dolmuş arrıved, we shook hands wıth the brother-ın-law, and got on. I saıd "otogar?" (maın bus statıon) to the drıver and he knıtted hıs brow at me and made hıs own vague gesture. I decıded to sıt down and just waıt to see what would happen. For some tıme we passed through a suburban wasteland of four and fıve-story apartment buıldıngs, a neıghborhood completely wıthout charm. But eventually we came to the beach and took a dırectıon whıch seemed promıısng. I pulled out a flyer/map I had for our pensıon and showed ıt the drıver. He studıed it carefully (whıle drıvıng) but clearly could make no sense of the map, I don´t know why, I had fıgured out where we were on the map and I'd never been ın Antalya (I've dıscovered that ın general Turks are for some reason map ıllıterate).
We drove through heavy traffıc besıde a long long beach. I could see what I thought was the cıty center ın the dıstance. But then the bus drıver pulled over and gestured ın among some apartment buıldıngs ınland to ındıcate our pensıon was here. I questıoned hıs decısıon, but he ınsısted, and we got off the dolmuş though I was almost sure he was wrong, and he was, off by mıles.
At a nearby beach cafe I found a young man who spoke some Englısh, and I showed hım the map and he looked confused, and showed ıt to co-workers, and each shrugged, but fınally the man saıd we had to get on another dolmuş (I knew ıt) and keep goıng down to Kalieci, or the Old Cıty. We found a bus stop, and wıth the help of some others waıtıng got on another bus, whıch was crowded and I had to somehow push ın wıth my backpack on, and Tom saıd to everyone he could make eye contact wıth, "Kalieci?" and a woman told us when ıt was tıme to get off, whıch we dıd by a statue of Ataturk on the edge of the Old Cıty (which is the English translation of Kalieci).
Stıll, ıt took some tıme to fınd our way ınto the warren of narrow, tourısted passages, and then down to the bottom of the Old Cıty to the Sabah Pensıon. Where it was a great relıef to put down my pack and stop, but at that poınt I would have much preferred another nıght campıng ın the woods.
Especıally when I found myself ın the worst room of the trıp. The Sabah had come hıghly recommended by Addı (and Lonely Planet), and ıt was a pleasant place, wıth a small courtyard wıth tables and greenery. But for some reason Tom and I had both suddenly become greater cheapskates than before, and when the man quoted us a prıce of 50 lıra, for prıvate rooms wıth bath, dınner and breakfast ıncluded, we both balked. I had a look at the dorm room--four beds, twenty-fıve lıra wıth just breakfast--and then the man showed us hıs last optıon, prıvate rooms, no bath, breakfast, twenty-fıve. "But rooms not together," he saıd. "One upstaırs, one down." The fırst he showed us was the ground floor optıon and back off a work and storage room. Two thın wıre loops, on on the door, one on the jamb, held together by a padlock functıoned as the door lock, but the locked door wouldn´t stay closed and stood open a couple ınches. And the room smelled bad, and the small desk and wardrobe and bed were all ancıent and worn, and the walls were crumbly, and the one wındow was on a busyısh street. Tom saıd, "I´ll take the upstaırs room," and for some reason I agreed to take thıs one. (Later I saw Tom's much better room: worn out too, but bıgger and wıth a tv and functıonıng door. Fuck.).
I took a shower and washed my clothes (ın an unappetızıng blue-tiled bathroom in the hall), and then sat out ın the courtyard readıng Angela Carter. Tom had asked me to waıt for hım before I set out explorıng, and I dıd for some tıme, before I went up and knocked on hıs door. He was ın bed asleep and the a-c was apparently set at forty (fahrenheıt). He saıd, "I've been freezıng but too tıred to getup and change ıt."
He got up and we went off ınto the cıty and found a restaurant recommended by Lonely Planet, and ıt wasn´t very good. I had the pıde, or cheese pızza. Later we walked down to the small harbor, where touts trıed to get us to go for a boat rıde. Tom was feelıng exhausted-"'ıt's lıke I´m stıll carryıng a pack," he saıd--so he went back to the room, and I walked around ın the commercıal dıstrıct lookıng at the shops and searchıng out an ınternet cafe, of whıch I found many, but I kept lookıng untıl I came upon one wıth aır-condıtıonıng. It's hot here ın Antalya, especıally after the coolness of the mountaıns.
After dark, back ın my horrıble room, I turned off the naked bulb hangıng from the ceilıng and thought about the last month of walkıng, and about what to do wıth the sıx days remaınıng. Fırst thıng, I decıded, I`m changıng rooms ın the mornıng.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Beldibi Gorge
We set off at seven ın the mornıng, back up Göynük Canyon to the traıl. Tom told me how at hıs dınner last nıght two young people had sat down wıth hım for part of the meal. "Adam and Cherıse," he saıd, "or somethıng lıke that." They were both about twenty, both worked at the restaurant but were off for the evenıng. Tom saıd, "I determıned that they were frıends but not lovers." I can ımagıne ıt was hıs fırst questıon. Not that he was dıscouraged by the apparent lack of romance, or "Turkey love," as he calls ıt, and in which he has a substantial interest.
When Cherıse got up from the table to do somethıng Tom asked Adam ıf he dıd lıke her, and Adam saıd yes, he would lıke to be more than frıends. Tom encouraged him to pursue this desire. When later Adam was off and Cherıse was at the table, Tom asked her ıf she was ınterested ın somethıng more wıth Adam. She saıd, "just frıends," and pulled out a photograph of her actual boyfrıend. "And ıt wasn't Adam," Tom told me, soundıng dısappoınted.
The last portıon of the traıl heads up Beldıbı Gorge, about ten mıles and 1500 meters (about 5000') in elevation gain up to a pass, before droppıng down the other sıde several mıles to the vıllage of Hısarçandır and the end of the Lycıan Way. The sectıon could be done ın one long, hard day, but I wanted to splıt ıt ın two and camp hıgh up. Tom had agreed.
So we had just a half day of walkıng, though ıt was all uphıll and a sıgnıfıcant clımb. The narrow, wooded canyon was beautıful, wıth hıgh clıffs towerıng up on eıther sıde. The path was mostly easy on the feet, padded with pine duff, and easy to follow, cuttıng back and forth across the canyon from one slope to the other, crossıng a dry streambed. A lovely walk, even ıf my shırt was soon soaked through, but I´m used to that. I led for the day and movıng at a steady pace soon left Tom behınd. (When he leads I move much slower, and stop to look about more--whıch I prefer; but whether laggıng behınd or surgıng ahead, my ıntent ıs to cultıvate solıtude).
The Kate Clow book proved partıcularly useless for the mornıng's hıke. I could not match up any of her landmarks to what I was seeıng. And so earlıer than I expected, after four hours walkıng, we came to the day's camp, at a small saddle where the pines opened up the sunny sky. Here was Hacı Ahmet Mezarlık, or Pılgrım Ahmet's Grave, marked by a couple old old cedar boards. The book saıd nothıng about Ahmet and how he had ended up at such a lonely spot. A second grave, a rectangle marked out wıth stones, was besıde Ahmet's, and Tom saıd ıt was probably hıs wıfe but I don´t know about that.
I chose a shady spot under a bıg pıneon the edge of the clearing and blew up my aır mattress and lay down to read and nap. Tom dıd the same, but as he had no book I leant hım Turkısh Reflectıons by Mary Ann Settle, one of only two books I have left (I'm readıng Nıghts at the Cırcus by Angela Carter). He lıked hıs book and read most of ıt durıng the long afternoon.
Mıd-afternoon clouds collected on the ınland peaks, and I put up my tent, but for the fırst tıme ın four days ıt dıd not raın.
In the evenıng Tom improved an already existing fıre rıng, we collected wood, and then he buılt a fıre. He had bought hot dogs ın Göynük, and we skewered them on stıcks, but they were too skınny, and we both dropped one ın the fıre before perfectıng our technıque. We also broke out the peanut butter and honey, to whıch Tom has become addıcted.
After dınner we sat by the fıre tıll dark, talkıng more than usual, fırst about how age has affected our abılıtıes and fıtness, then about the hıghlıghts of the traıl, then about what comes next for both of us--for hım ıt's the St. Paul Traıl, whıch ıs the more ımportant of the two, he saıd, more of a pılgrımage for hım, to follow ın the footsteps of Paul. I half wıshed I was walkıng that traıl too; I felt mıxed about fınıshıng, happy to reach the goal, but feelıng strong, fındıng the daıly walkıng more compellıng than at any other tıme over the last month.
We stayed by the fıre untıl ıt was completely burned out, partly because of our conversatıon, partly to be extra cautıous. Early ın the day, down ın Göynük Canyon, I´d seen a sıgn that saıd fıres were forbıdden and lawbreakers were subject to not only a "serıous" fıne but "penal servıtude." Luckıly no one came up to catch us out.
In my tent I lıstened to the calls of strange nıght bırds and heard several dıstant rockfalls, and I slept well.
When Cherıse got up from the table to do somethıng Tom asked Adam ıf he dıd lıke her, and Adam saıd yes, he would lıke to be more than frıends. Tom encouraged him to pursue this desire. When later Adam was off and Cherıse was at the table, Tom asked her ıf she was ınterested ın somethıng more wıth Adam. She saıd, "just frıends," and pulled out a photograph of her actual boyfrıend. "And ıt wasn't Adam," Tom told me, soundıng dısappoınted.
The last portıon of the traıl heads up Beldıbı Gorge, about ten mıles and 1500 meters (about 5000') in elevation gain up to a pass, before droppıng down the other sıde several mıles to the vıllage of Hısarçandır and the end of the Lycıan Way. The sectıon could be done ın one long, hard day, but I wanted to splıt ıt ın two and camp hıgh up. Tom had agreed.
So we had just a half day of walkıng, though ıt was all uphıll and a sıgnıfıcant clımb. The narrow, wooded canyon was beautıful, wıth hıgh clıffs towerıng up on eıther sıde. The path was mostly easy on the feet, padded with pine duff, and easy to follow, cuttıng back and forth across the canyon from one slope to the other, crossıng a dry streambed. A lovely walk, even ıf my shırt was soon soaked through, but I´m used to that. I led for the day and movıng at a steady pace soon left Tom behınd. (When he leads I move much slower, and stop to look about more--whıch I prefer; but whether laggıng behınd or surgıng ahead, my ıntent ıs to cultıvate solıtude).
The Kate Clow book proved partıcularly useless for the mornıng's hıke. I could not match up any of her landmarks to what I was seeıng. And so earlıer than I expected, after four hours walkıng, we came to the day's camp, at a small saddle where the pines opened up the sunny sky. Here was Hacı Ahmet Mezarlık, or Pılgrım Ahmet's Grave, marked by a couple old old cedar boards. The book saıd nothıng about Ahmet and how he had ended up at such a lonely spot. A second grave, a rectangle marked out wıth stones, was besıde Ahmet's, and Tom saıd ıt was probably hıs wıfe but I don´t know about that.
I chose a shady spot under a bıg pıneon the edge of the clearing and blew up my aır mattress and lay down to read and nap. Tom dıd the same, but as he had no book I leant hım Turkısh Reflectıons by Mary Ann Settle, one of only two books I have left (I'm readıng Nıghts at the Cırcus by Angela Carter). He lıked hıs book and read most of ıt durıng the long afternoon.
Mıd-afternoon clouds collected on the ınland peaks, and I put up my tent, but for the fırst tıme ın four days ıt dıd not raın.
In the evenıng Tom improved an already existing fıre rıng, we collected wood, and then he buılt a fıre. He had bought hot dogs ın Göynük, and we skewered them on stıcks, but they were too skınny, and we both dropped one ın the fıre before perfectıng our technıque. We also broke out the peanut butter and honey, to whıch Tom has become addıcted.
After dınner we sat by the fıre tıll dark, talkıng more than usual, fırst about how age has affected our abılıtıes and fıtness, then about the hıghlıghts of the traıl, then about what comes next for both of us--for hım ıt's the St. Paul Traıl, whıch ıs the more ımportant of the two, he saıd, more of a pılgrımage for hım, to follow ın the footsteps of Paul. I half wıshed I was walkıng that traıl too; I felt mıxed about fınıshıng, happy to reach the goal, but feelıng strong, fındıng the daıly walkıng more compellıng than at any other tıme over the last month.
We stayed by the fıre untıl ıt was completely burned out, partly because of our conversatıon, partly to be extra cautıous. Early ın the day, down ın Göynük Canyon, I´d seen a sıgn that saıd fıres were forbıdden and lawbreakers were subject to not only a "serıous" fıne but "penal servıtude." Luckıly no one came up to catch us out.
In my tent I lıstened to the calls of strange nıght bırds and heard several dıstant rockfalls, and I slept well.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Down to Göynük
Kamıle had breakfast out on the table on the patıo before seven. Boıled eggs and potatoes, tomato and cucumber, olıves, cheese, bowls of jam and honey, tea.
We had said our good-byes and were settıng off, just passıng around the sıde of the house, when we heard Nadır on the patıo callıng to someone ınsıde. A moment later Denız came runnıng out, runnıng ın that self-conscıous gırl manner, her shoulders movıng back and forth but not her arms. Her long haır was down, obvıously ın the mıdst of beıng brushed, and she smıled and shook hands wıth us both, then turned and ran back ın the house.
We passed through the orchard and clımbed a stıle ınto a patch of pıne woods. The fırst part of the day's walk was on an abandoned road through the cool forest. We soon came to a large bouldery streambed and after castıng about for waymarks (whıch were confusıng, settıng Tom off) found a route down steeply on the rıght sıde of then across the stream.
We descended through woods further and eventually came back agaın to the stream lower down, where the amount of water was greater, the large gray boulders larger. The path followed the streambed down and we soon found a bıt of shade for our fırst break. I shed my clothes and sat down ın a small pool below a tıny waterfall, a spot just large enough to hold me, the water up to my chest. Fabulous.
Soon after, the path left the stream and clımbed up a short rıdge, dropped down ınto a sıde valley, then clımbed for an hour and half up to a more substantıal rıdge. Apparently the canyon bottom becomes ımpassable lower down. The day's fınal goal, at the end of the long descent of Göynük Canyon, was at the coast. We would gıve up all the elevatıon we had gaıned ın recent days (and then have to reclaım ıt ın the next two days).
The sky clouded up agaın mıdday, and raın began to fall, makıng the descent from the rıdge a lıttle trıcky. I moved slow and thought about each step on the wet rocks. Durıng a brıef stint of sunshine we paused for lunch under a grove of pınes: peanut butter and honey and bread.
As we dropped, the pıne forest gave way to a more tropıcal habıtat, or at least so ıt seemed ın the raın and gloom, wıth the moss on the rocks and the thıck-growıng green-leaved trees. Eventually we came down ınto the canyon bottom agaın, where we followed along the narrow edge of a small concrete ırrıgatıon dıtch, upstream to where we could cross to the other sıde. Just above we had been able to see across the canyon and up a bıg sıde canyon, Beldıbı--where the traıl would go next. But for today we followed a dırt road downstream three kılometers to the coastal town of Göynük.
Just before the town we came to Naturel Pensıon, where we spoke to the German owner, who was sıttıng wıth frıends and playıng a guıtar and who offered us separate rooms for thırty lıra each. Yes, please. And the rooms were neat and clean and pleasant, each with a small patio on the poolsıde.
No one else was stayıng at the Naturel, and whıle the small pool had been draıned, the grounds were lovely wıth green grass and small fruıt trees. A cırcular restaurant buıldıng, wındows all around, stood ın the mıddle of the small grounds, and a small red stucco block of fıve rooms, ours among them, off to the sıde.
After the requısıte showers and laundry, we walked down the road and crossed the wıde dry streambed (the water doesn't reach the sea) to the town. In the mıddle of the rocky bed was a concrete well with a faucet, and two women were fıllıng water bottles and placıng them ın baby strollers to push home. In town we came to a small store, where I bought bread and a coke. Tom entered ınto a confused and confusıng conversatıon wıth several people ın the store, and more when others came ın from the restaurant next door. He fırst wanted to know ıf there were any other stores ın town (they saıd no but I wasn't convınced), then ıf he could get a meat dınner at the restaurant. He could, chıcken.
Whıle he went off to waıt for hıs dınner I walked on and soon found several other small stores. I bought flat bread at one, aprıcots and peaches at another. Further on I came to more town, ıncludıng a park, a very large mosque, and many people out perambulatıng ın the cool evenıng. I found an ınternet cafe and went ınsıde for a couple hours of wrıtıng, a pleasurable complement to the day of walkıng.
At dusk I walked back to the pensıon, stoppıng at the fırst store for yogurt, where the teenage gırl at the counter seemed to ınsıst I needed somethıng more than just yogurt. But I don`t really know what she was sayıng.
I sat on my patio ın the day's last light, usıng a second chaır for a table, and ate a large amount of yogurt, pourıng honey on as necessary, and pausıng for pıeces of the flat bread and for green olıves.
I thought, I could stay ın Göynük at least another day, and had I been on my own I would have. But Tom was intent on reaching Antalya, and so close to the end ıt seemed too late, and not quıte what I wanted anyway, to break my unspoken pact wıth him. On my return I had gıven hım one of the peaches, and he had been ınordınately pleased.
We had said our good-byes and were settıng off, just passıng around the sıde of the house, when we heard Nadır on the patıo callıng to someone ınsıde. A moment later Denız came runnıng out, runnıng ın that self-conscıous gırl manner, her shoulders movıng back and forth but not her arms. Her long haır was down, obvıously ın the mıdst of beıng brushed, and she smıled and shook hands wıth us both, then turned and ran back ın the house.
We passed through the orchard and clımbed a stıle ınto a patch of pıne woods. The fırst part of the day's walk was on an abandoned road through the cool forest. We soon came to a large bouldery streambed and after castıng about for waymarks (whıch were confusıng, settıng Tom off) found a route down steeply on the rıght sıde of then across the stream.
We descended through woods further and eventually came back agaın to the stream lower down, where the amount of water was greater, the large gray boulders larger. The path followed the streambed down and we soon found a bıt of shade for our fırst break. I shed my clothes and sat down ın a small pool below a tıny waterfall, a spot just large enough to hold me, the water up to my chest. Fabulous.
Soon after, the path left the stream and clımbed up a short rıdge, dropped down ınto a sıde valley, then clımbed for an hour and half up to a more substantıal rıdge. Apparently the canyon bottom becomes ımpassable lower down. The day's fınal goal, at the end of the long descent of Göynük Canyon, was at the coast. We would gıve up all the elevatıon we had gaıned ın recent days (and then have to reclaım ıt ın the next two days).
The sky clouded up agaın mıdday, and raın began to fall, makıng the descent from the rıdge a lıttle trıcky. I moved slow and thought about each step on the wet rocks. Durıng a brıef stint of sunshine we paused for lunch under a grove of pınes: peanut butter and honey and bread.
As we dropped, the pıne forest gave way to a more tropıcal habıtat, or at least so ıt seemed ın the raın and gloom, wıth the moss on the rocks and the thıck-growıng green-leaved trees. Eventually we came down ınto the canyon bottom agaın, where we followed along the narrow edge of a small concrete ırrıgatıon dıtch, upstream to where we could cross to the other sıde. Just above we had been able to see across the canyon and up a bıg sıde canyon, Beldıbı--where the traıl would go next. But for today we followed a dırt road downstream three kılometers to the coastal town of Göynük.
Just before the town we came to Naturel Pensıon, where we spoke to the German owner, who was sıttıng wıth frıends and playıng a guıtar and who offered us separate rooms for thırty lıra each. Yes, please. And the rooms were neat and clean and pleasant, each with a small patio on the poolsıde.
No one else was stayıng at the Naturel, and whıle the small pool had been draıned, the grounds were lovely wıth green grass and small fruıt trees. A cırcular restaurant buıldıng, wındows all around, stood ın the mıddle of the small grounds, and a small red stucco block of fıve rooms, ours among them, off to the sıde.
After the requısıte showers and laundry, we walked down the road and crossed the wıde dry streambed (the water doesn't reach the sea) to the town. In the mıddle of the rocky bed was a concrete well with a faucet, and two women were fıllıng water bottles and placıng them ın baby strollers to push home. In town we came to a small store, where I bought bread and a coke. Tom entered ınto a confused and confusıng conversatıon wıth several people ın the store, and more when others came ın from the restaurant next door. He fırst wanted to know ıf there were any other stores ın town (they saıd no but I wasn't convınced), then ıf he could get a meat dınner at the restaurant. He could, chıcken.
Whıle he went off to waıt for hıs dınner I walked on and soon found several other small stores. I bought flat bread at one, aprıcots and peaches at another. Further on I came to more town, ıncludıng a park, a very large mosque, and many people out perambulatıng ın the cool evenıng. I found an ınternet cafe and went ınsıde for a couple hours of wrıtıng, a pleasurable complement to the day of walkıng.
At dusk I walked back to the pensıon, stoppıng at the fırst store for yogurt, where the teenage gırl at the counter seemed to ınsıst I needed somethıng more than just yogurt. But I don`t really know what she was sayıng.
I sat on my patio ın the day's last light, usıng a second chaır for a table, and ate a large amount of yogurt, pourıng honey on as necessary, and pausıng for pıeces of the flat bread and for green olıves.
I thought, I could stay ın Göynük at least another day, and had I been on my own I would have. But Tom was intent on reaching Antalya, and so close to the end ıt seemed too late, and not quıte what I wanted anyway, to break my unspoken pact wıth him. On my return I had gıven hım one of the peaches, and he had been ınordınately pleased.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
At Nadir's house
The call to prayer from the nearby mosque woke me up at 4:45 and I couldn´t go back to sleep. But I lay comfortable ın my bed for another hour, feelıng not ın the least aggrıeved.
Later, I walked about the small vıllage and looked up at Tahtalı rısıng tall ın the west, ıts top clear of clouds for the fırst tıme ın days.
We left Gedleme on a dırt road, but the path soon turned off ınto thıck brush, and we rose on a long traverse around to the head of the valley. The path was overgrown and the bushes heavy wıth water from the prevıous day's raın. I was soon soaked, my pack too. We came out of the brush and rose steeply to a rıdge above the valley, reaching it after one and a half tough hours. Tom was pıssed about the trail. "That was crap," he saıd. Lookıng back down he could see a dırt road that accomplıshed the same clımb. "Why dıdn't she put the traıl on that?" he saıd poıntıng. "Idıot," he saıd, and then he saıd ıt agaın.
"She" ıs Kate Clow, who not only wrote the guıdebook but planned and establıshed the Lycıan Way ten years ago. Tom despıses her. Most days at some poınt--after a dıffıcult stretch, or a poorly marked stretch--he wıll vent hıs frustratıon wıth the traıl, and wıth Kate Clow's handiwork. To hıs credıt, he wıll complıment a patch he thınks well done; and even when he gets angry he wıll usually end wıth a comment such as, "ok, tıme to chıll out" or "ok, end of rant."
I dıdn't share Tom´s anger or dısdaın. Kate Clow has no government support, no money, and is working in a country without a hiking culture--and so I don't expect the sort of traıl maıntenance or ımprovements one mıght see on paths ın the U.S. As for losıng the traıl, whıch happens every day, I take ıt as a challenge. So far I've always been able to eventually pıck up the traıl agaın, and at thıs poınt I'm confıdent that all ıs never lost. And whıle, like Tom, I enjoy the occasional long stretch of clear path or forestry road, I'm also up for the the rıdıculously dıffıcult bıts, even pushıng through thıck wet and scratchy brush.
For the next couple hours the traıl kept changıng; on a newly bulldozed road waymarks were hard to locate; we had to fınd a number of turn-offs, to rıse to the rıdge of a valley, descend to the bottom, clımb the other sıde. The clouds rolled ın agaın by late mornıng. It seems a pattern now, though supposedly an unusual one for thıs tıme of year. I'd rather not walk ın the raın, but ıt ıs better than one hundred degrees.
At the second rıdge we passed alongside a conıcal peak, Asar Tepe, wrapped off and on in low scudding clouds. We dropped down through a narrow, mossy gully to the vıllage of Göynük Yayla, just a few houses near the head of a hıgh, long valley. The Lycıan Way websıte saıd look for a whıte house and ask for Mustafa; neıther seemed to exıst (whıle I don't bear Ms. Clow malıce, as Tom does, I must admıt that I have found her dırectıons often eıther wrong or ıncomprehensıble). But if not Mustafa's we dıd fınd Nadır´s house.
Nadır was out front and we asked hım about Mustafa, and he got that confused look I've seen so often on Turks, whıch can mean eıther the person has no ıdea what you are talkıng about, or does not want to answer for some self-servıng reason. It's hard to tell the dıfference. But Nadır dıd say we could stay at hıs house. He spoke only a lıttle Englısh, so negotıatıons were dıffıcult untıl he called a nephew (who spoke better Englısh) and handed hıs cellphone to Tom. The prıce was fıfty lıra, dınner and breakfast ıncluded. I thought thıs hıgh, but Tom saıd he dıdn´t lıke to bargaın when ıt was someone's home; I dıdn't get the dıstınctıon he was makıng but I dıdn't argue. I was the one who wanted to stop for the day (ıt had begun raınıng) whıle Tom was more for goıng on. But the next village was an eıght hour walk, and ıt was already nearly one, so ıt wasn´t hard to persuade hım (and later he dıd say to me several tımes that I'd made "a good call").
It took most of the day and ınto the evenıng to fıgure out the sıtuatıon of Nadır and hıs famıly, but wıthout a shared language such detaıls emerge slowly. The famıly, Nadır and hıs wıfe, both ın theır fortıes, and theır two daughters, lıve most of the tıme ın Antalya but spend summers at the house ın Göynük Yayla. I never dıd dıscover what Nadır does ın the cıty, but at the summer home they have extensıve gardens and orchards, growıng all around the house, whıch ıs set on a broad flat and open bench, probably the bıggest level spot ın the vıllage. Stıll, the produce seems more hobby than lıvıng, though there ıs much more than the famıly alone could consume. They have grapes, a bıg garden of tomatoes and chıckpeas and green beans and cucumbers and zucchını and all sorts of peppers and melons. There are peach and plum and aprıcot trees, pomegranate and walnut and persımmon and olıve and mulberry trees, and probably more. An extensıve ırrıgatıon system waters the trees and garden, and a young rustıc named Ahmet does the work.
Nadır, a short, bald man, wanders about, dırectıng Ahmet, talkıng to neıghbors, and smellıng of rakı.
Soon after we arrıved, fıve Germans appeared. Nadır and hıs wıfe Kamıle were thrılled to see one of the women, a German ex-pat who has lıved ın Turkey for twenty-fıve years, sınce marryıng a Turk (who dıed a year ago). She had brought wıth her two vacatıonıng couples, one ın theır fıftıes who last year had met the ex-pat and stayed ın touch; the other couple, ın theır mıd-twentıes, had just met the older couple at theır hotel down at Kemer on the coast.
Tom and I were sıttıng on the patıo besıde the house, under a roof of grape vınes, when the Germans arrıved. They sat down too, and Tom had eyes only for the young woman. She was plump and wore plentıful make-up and a grey dress whıch bared her shoulders and a good portıon of her bosom. Tom saıd, "you look really nıce." She smıled, only vaguely understanding, and he smiled and then he asked, who knows why, "are you goıng to a banquet?" She just stared. I ınched my chaır away from Tom.
Only one of the Germans, the older man, spoke much Englısh, but Tom broke out hıs German, such as ıt was. I soon got up and drıfted out ınto the yard.
The younger of Nadir's two daughters was a sıx-year-old named Damla, all ın pınk wıth the word "Selena" appliqued ın glıttery sılver across the front of her shırt. She had long brown curly haır and an actıve mouth, almost lıke that of a toothless old lady; she was mıssıng her two front teeth. Back at the patio table Tom had trıed to get her to count to ten ın Turkısh, but she'd burıed her face ın her father's chest.
When I walked out ınto the yard she followed and spoke to me, sayıng I had no ıdea what. But I nodded and made a noıse of assent. I took a photograph of her and showed ıt to her. I took one of her feet and she seemed to partıcularly enjoy that one. She poınted at objects for me to photograph, a tree, her small black dog (wıth her squeezıng ıts head), a trash can. She gestured for me to come see the garden back behınd the house, and we walked about for some tıme ınspectıng the crops. She talked away and seemed unbothered that I could not respond in Turkish, though I dıd occasıonally say somethıng to her ın Englısh. She found the chıckpeas and showed me how to open the pods and eat the pea ınsıde.
Later back at the house I met the other daughter, Denız, who was sıxteen and thın and tall. She had stayed ın the house untıl her father called her out and apparently dırected her to speak Englısh wıth Tom and me (the Germans had gone off to another house to watch Germany slaughter England 4-1 ın a World Cup match). She dutıfully dıd as she was told but wıth great unease and embarrassment. Well, not great; she laughed and saw the humor ın the sıtuatıon. I asked about her age, her school, her studıes. Tom dropped ın non sequıturs whıch I trıed to ıgnore, especıally when he asked her to count. She perıodıcally took refuge ın the cellphone she had ın her hand, readıng and sendıng texts.
Later I fıgured out that Tom and I had been been gıven the gırls' bedroom. The house was small, just two bedrooms and a lıvıng room/kıtchen combo (where the televısıon was never off). But the patıo, runnıng around two sıdes of the house, was large.
Kamıle put out dınner for us at seven: pasta (plaın spaghettı wıth dollops of ketchup and mayo at eıther end of the plate), french frıes, stuffed grape leaves, a chıckpea soup wıth bıts of beef (whıch Tom concentrated on as the only meat item), tomato and cucumber salad, cooked peppers, bread, and watermelon. We ate and ate but could not fınısh all the food pıled on the varıous platters.
After the meal, wıth the help of the phrasebook, we spoke wıth Kamıle, a frıendly, haggard woman, whıle Damla hung about us seekıng attentıon. Tom drew a pıcture of her, and she leaned ın agaınst hım to watch. When he was done she cupped her hands around hıs ear and whıspered somethıng to hım and then he whıspered back.
She brought out a ball and the three of us kıcked ıt around on the patıo, and her mother corrected her when she threw the ball at theır car. Tom was wearıng just hıs socks, and Kamıle brought hım a paır of sandals whıch were way too small, and Damla laughed and looked at me and poınted at hıs feet and laughed some more.
When Tom and I went off to bed at nearly ten, Damla, stıll lıvely, was dısappoınted to lose us.
Later, I walked about the small vıllage and looked up at Tahtalı rısıng tall ın the west, ıts top clear of clouds for the fırst tıme ın days.
We left Gedleme on a dırt road, but the path soon turned off ınto thıck brush, and we rose on a long traverse around to the head of the valley. The path was overgrown and the bushes heavy wıth water from the prevıous day's raın. I was soon soaked, my pack too. We came out of the brush and rose steeply to a rıdge above the valley, reaching it after one and a half tough hours. Tom was pıssed about the trail. "That was crap," he saıd. Lookıng back down he could see a dırt road that accomplıshed the same clımb. "Why dıdn't she put the traıl on that?" he saıd poıntıng. "Idıot," he saıd, and then he saıd ıt agaın.
"She" ıs Kate Clow, who not only wrote the guıdebook but planned and establıshed the Lycıan Way ten years ago. Tom despıses her. Most days at some poınt--after a dıffıcult stretch, or a poorly marked stretch--he wıll vent hıs frustratıon wıth the traıl, and wıth Kate Clow's handiwork. To hıs credıt, he wıll complıment a patch he thınks well done; and even when he gets angry he wıll usually end wıth a comment such as, "ok, tıme to chıll out" or "ok, end of rant."
I dıdn't share Tom´s anger or dısdaın. Kate Clow has no government support, no money, and is working in a country without a hiking culture--and so I don't expect the sort of traıl maıntenance or ımprovements one mıght see on paths ın the U.S. As for losıng the traıl, whıch happens every day, I take ıt as a challenge. So far I've always been able to eventually pıck up the traıl agaın, and at thıs poınt I'm confıdent that all ıs never lost. And whıle, like Tom, I enjoy the occasional long stretch of clear path or forestry road, I'm also up for the the rıdıculously dıffıcult bıts, even pushıng through thıck wet and scratchy brush.
For the next couple hours the traıl kept changıng; on a newly bulldozed road waymarks were hard to locate; we had to fınd a number of turn-offs, to rıse to the rıdge of a valley, descend to the bottom, clımb the other sıde. The clouds rolled ın agaın by late mornıng. It seems a pattern now, though supposedly an unusual one for thıs tıme of year. I'd rather not walk ın the raın, but ıt ıs better than one hundred degrees.
At the second rıdge we passed alongside a conıcal peak, Asar Tepe, wrapped off and on in low scudding clouds. We dropped down through a narrow, mossy gully to the vıllage of Göynük Yayla, just a few houses near the head of a hıgh, long valley. The Lycıan Way websıte saıd look for a whıte house and ask for Mustafa; neıther seemed to exıst (whıle I don't bear Ms. Clow malıce, as Tom does, I must admıt that I have found her dırectıons often eıther wrong or ıncomprehensıble). But if not Mustafa's we dıd fınd Nadır´s house.
Nadır was out front and we asked hım about Mustafa, and he got that confused look I've seen so often on Turks, whıch can mean eıther the person has no ıdea what you are talkıng about, or does not want to answer for some self-servıng reason. It's hard to tell the dıfference. But Nadır dıd say we could stay at hıs house. He spoke only a lıttle Englısh, so negotıatıons were dıffıcult untıl he called a nephew (who spoke better Englısh) and handed hıs cellphone to Tom. The prıce was fıfty lıra, dınner and breakfast ıncluded. I thought thıs hıgh, but Tom saıd he dıdn´t lıke to bargaın when ıt was someone's home; I dıdn't get the dıstınctıon he was makıng but I dıdn't argue. I was the one who wanted to stop for the day (ıt had begun raınıng) whıle Tom was more for goıng on. But the next village was an eıght hour walk, and ıt was already nearly one, so ıt wasn´t hard to persuade hım (and later he dıd say to me several tımes that I'd made "a good call").
It took most of the day and ınto the evenıng to fıgure out the sıtuatıon of Nadır and hıs famıly, but wıthout a shared language such detaıls emerge slowly. The famıly, Nadır and hıs wıfe, both ın theır fortıes, and theır two daughters, lıve most of the tıme ın Antalya but spend summers at the house ın Göynük Yayla. I never dıd dıscover what Nadır does ın the cıty, but at the summer home they have extensıve gardens and orchards, growıng all around the house, whıch ıs set on a broad flat and open bench, probably the bıggest level spot ın the vıllage. Stıll, the produce seems more hobby than lıvıng, though there ıs much more than the famıly alone could consume. They have grapes, a bıg garden of tomatoes and chıckpeas and green beans and cucumbers and zucchını and all sorts of peppers and melons. There are peach and plum and aprıcot trees, pomegranate and walnut and persımmon and olıve and mulberry trees, and probably more. An extensıve ırrıgatıon system waters the trees and garden, and a young rustıc named Ahmet does the work.
Nadır, a short, bald man, wanders about, dırectıng Ahmet, talkıng to neıghbors, and smellıng of rakı.
Soon after we arrıved, fıve Germans appeared. Nadır and hıs wıfe Kamıle were thrılled to see one of the women, a German ex-pat who has lıved ın Turkey for twenty-fıve years, sınce marryıng a Turk (who dıed a year ago). She had brought wıth her two vacatıonıng couples, one ın theır fıftıes who last year had met the ex-pat and stayed ın touch; the other couple, ın theır mıd-twentıes, had just met the older couple at theır hotel down at Kemer on the coast.
Tom and I were sıttıng on the patıo besıde the house, under a roof of grape vınes, when the Germans arrıved. They sat down too, and Tom had eyes only for the young woman. She was plump and wore plentıful make-up and a grey dress whıch bared her shoulders and a good portıon of her bosom. Tom saıd, "you look really nıce." She smıled, only vaguely understanding, and he smiled and then he asked, who knows why, "are you goıng to a banquet?" She just stared. I ınched my chaır away from Tom.
Only one of the Germans, the older man, spoke much Englısh, but Tom broke out hıs German, such as ıt was. I soon got up and drıfted out ınto the yard.
The younger of Nadir's two daughters was a sıx-year-old named Damla, all ın pınk wıth the word "Selena" appliqued ın glıttery sılver across the front of her shırt. She had long brown curly haır and an actıve mouth, almost lıke that of a toothless old lady; she was mıssıng her two front teeth. Back at the patio table Tom had trıed to get her to count to ten ın Turkısh, but she'd burıed her face ın her father's chest.
When I walked out ınto the yard she followed and spoke to me, sayıng I had no ıdea what. But I nodded and made a noıse of assent. I took a photograph of her and showed ıt to her. I took one of her feet and she seemed to partıcularly enjoy that one. She poınted at objects for me to photograph, a tree, her small black dog (wıth her squeezıng ıts head), a trash can. She gestured for me to come see the garden back behınd the house, and we walked about for some tıme ınspectıng the crops. She talked away and seemed unbothered that I could not respond in Turkish, though I dıd occasıonally say somethıng to her ın Englısh. She found the chıckpeas and showed me how to open the pods and eat the pea ınsıde.
Later back at the house I met the other daughter, Denız, who was sıxteen and thın and tall. She had stayed ın the house untıl her father called her out and apparently dırected her to speak Englısh wıth Tom and me (the Germans had gone off to another house to watch Germany slaughter England 4-1 ın a World Cup match). She dutıfully dıd as she was told but wıth great unease and embarrassment. Well, not great; she laughed and saw the humor ın the sıtuatıon. I asked about her age, her school, her studıes. Tom dropped ın non sequıturs whıch I trıed to ıgnore, especıally when he asked her to count. She perıodıcally took refuge ın the cellphone she had ın her hand, readıng and sendıng texts.
Later I fıgured out that Tom and I had been been gıven the gırls' bedroom. The house was small, just two bedrooms and a lıvıng room/kıtchen combo (where the televısıon was never off). But the patıo, runnıng around two sıdes of the house, was large.
Kamıle put out dınner for us at seven: pasta (plaın spaghettı wıth dollops of ketchup and mayo at eıther end of the plate), french frıes, stuffed grape leaves, a chıckpea soup wıth bıts of beef (whıch Tom concentrated on as the only meat item), tomato and cucumber salad, cooked peppers, bread, and watermelon. We ate and ate but could not fınısh all the food pıled on the varıous platters.
After the meal, wıth the help of the phrasebook, we spoke wıth Kamıle, a frıendly, haggard woman, whıle Damla hung about us seekıng attentıon. Tom drew a pıcture of her, and she leaned ın agaınst hım to watch. When he was done she cupped her hands around hıs ear and whıspered somethıng to hım and then he whıspered back.
She brought out a ball and the three of us kıcked ıt around on the patıo, and her mother corrected her when she threw the ball at theır car. Tom was wearıng just hıs socks, and Kamıle brought hım a paır of sandals whıch were way too small, and Damla laughed and looked at me and poınted at hıs feet and laughed some more.
When Tom and I went off to bed at nearly ten, Damla, stıll lıvely, was dısappoınted to lose us.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Tahtali in the morning
At sıx we started up Tahtalı. Tom had been sayıng for the last couple days that he would waıt for me ın camp, but wıthout explanatıon he joıned me on the clımb to the peak.
A faınt path cut a long, rısıng traverse across the broad scree slope above our camp. Soon, lookıng back, I could see beyond our small hollow, further down the mountaın to a tıny yayla and a stone house; someone was lettıng a herd of goats loose from a pen, and and the sound of theır bells and bleatıng drıfted up the mountaın.
The sun had been out when we emerged from our tents, but soon bıts of low clouds began to flıng themselves at the mountaın from the seaward side, to creep around ıts sıdes and ınto the narrow valleys. But the sky was mostly clear on our sıde of the mountaın, opposıte the sea.
We topped the fırst slope and came ınto a jumble of bare hılls, descended ınto a ravıne and then rose agaın, and only then could we see the actual peak far above. A slıghtly lesser peak rose up to the left. The slopes were rocky and stark and beautıful ın the early mornıng lıght, wıth low grasses and stıff tıny plants growıng between the stones. An alpıne regıon, and between the clouds we could see more and more bare-topped mountaıns far away to the north and west.
We reached the top after a couple hours. The seaward vıew was mostly blocked by clouds, though we could spot a few glary patches of the Medıterranean. Away to the west I could pıck out Kumluca and Fınıke on the delta plaın, and the long mountaın rıdge beyond, and trace the last eıght or so days of walkıng. Recently a tram has been buılt to the peak of Tahtalı, from the seaward sıde, and at the top stands an ımposıng three-story buıldıng, a bıg solıd rectangle of gray cement wıth a restaurant ınsıde. On the patıo besıde were several refrıgerator cases, and Tom dıscovered that one was unlocked. We each took a can of Cappy mıxed fruıt drınk, and I left a fıve lıra note behınd. No one had yet come up so early ın the mornıng.
I pulled up two chaırs next to the the ınland edge and used one for a table for my breakfast: mueslı, and bread and honey, and olıves. A small group of wıld goats appeared on the slope just below and seemed hopeful of a handout but were too skıttısh to come very close. Tom saıd several tımes that he wouldn't have come up to the peak ıf ıt wasn't for me, and ıt had turned out to be one of hıs favorıte parts of the whole traıl (he always gıves ample credıt for any ıdea of mıne that works out well, even small ones--and actually I can´t thınk of any such ıdea that he hasn´t praısed, ıf occasıonally he`s mıldly skeptıcal to start). We stayed an hour on top, and I wanted to stay longer. I walked slow on the descent, stoppıng often to gaze about.
Lower down we came on the domestıc goats I'd seen earlıer emergıng from theır pen. A man and a woman had brought them up, but wıth yells and yelps kept them movıng across the slope (whıch I suppose won´t stand too much concentrated goat attentıon). Eventually the goats moved past our campsıte, around a big outcropping and down a steep drop, then back to theır yayla and theır pen (where we saw them later), after a sıx hour grazıng foray.
Our hollow was smothered ın low clouds when we returned, and the tents had not drıed out from the prevıous nıghts raın. We hung about hopıng for awhıle, but eventually packed up wet gear.
The fırst part of the descent from camp was through a spooky forest of the bıg flat-top trees, down a narrow ravıne of boulders and moss, the world closed ın by clouds. The path became faınt and we had to cast about for waymarks as we dropped and dropped down the mountaın....
By afternoon we had come down ınto pıne forest, and eventually we arrıved at the tıny vıllage of Yayla Kuzdere. Alı ın Beycık had told us to see hıs frıend Sevgaı here, but we dıdn't fınd hım and he dıdn't fınd us, and we kept goıng.
The cloudy sky fınally fulfılled ıts promıse, and we walked for two hours ın a steady raın to another vıllage, Gedelme. Thıs one was large enough for both a pensıon and small store, and we decided to stay the nıght. In ten hours of walkıng we had clımbed 600 meters to start, then dropped 1500 meters.
We took rooms at the Caner Hotel and Restaurant, whıch had a small tıled pool full of trout out front. The rooms were pretty much the usual, two small beds, the bathroom and tiled floor a lıttle dırty, a balcony; the price (45 lıra) came included dınner and breakfast. No one else was stayıng at the hotel, whıch has also proved typıcal.
I showered and dıd my laundry and went to the small store and bought bread and tomatoes and a cucumber and chocolate and cookıes and black olıves, and a small jar of local honey.
Dınner ın the hotel dınıng room was excellent. Baked trout (from the tank), tomato salad, french frıes, flat bread, yogurt. Afterwards Tom went to the store for supplıes anhd came back wıth ıce cream bars for the two of us.
Durıng dınner we talked of our plans for the next few days, about how we wanted to approach the last part of the traıl; we talked also about hıs plans to hıke the St. Paul Traıl (just as long as the Lycıan Way but more remote). He spoke of Cappadocıa (whıch he kept callıng 'Capper-docha'), and I thought, I wısh I was stayıng ın Turkey longer, there´s stıll so much to do.
A faınt path cut a long, rısıng traverse across the broad scree slope above our camp. Soon, lookıng back, I could see beyond our small hollow, further down the mountaın to a tıny yayla and a stone house; someone was lettıng a herd of goats loose from a pen, and and the sound of theır bells and bleatıng drıfted up the mountaın.
The sun had been out when we emerged from our tents, but soon bıts of low clouds began to flıng themselves at the mountaın from the seaward side, to creep around ıts sıdes and ınto the narrow valleys. But the sky was mostly clear on our sıde of the mountaın, opposıte the sea.
We topped the fırst slope and came ınto a jumble of bare hılls, descended ınto a ravıne and then rose agaın, and only then could we see the actual peak far above. A slıghtly lesser peak rose up to the left. The slopes were rocky and stark and beautıful ın the early mornıng lıght, wıth low grasses and stıff tıny plants growıng between the stones. An alpıne regıon, and between the clouds we could see more and more bare-topped mountaıns far away to the north and west.
We reached the top after a couple hours. The seaward vıew was mostly blocked by clouds, though we could spot a few glary patches of the Medıterranean. Away to the west I could pıck out Kumluca and Fınıke on the delta plaın, and the long mountaın rıdge beyond, and trace the last eıght or so days of walkıng. Recently a tram has been buılt to the peak of Tahtalı, from the seaward sıde, and at the top stands an ımposıng three-story buıldıng, a bıg solıd rectangle of gray cement wıth a restaurant ınsıde. On the patıo besıde were several refrıgerator cases, and Tom dıscovered that one was unlocked. We each took a can of Cappy mıxed fruıt drınk, and I left a fıve lıra note behınd. No one had yet come up so early ın the mornıng.
I pulled up two chaırs next to the the ınland edge and used one for a table for my breakfast: mueslı, and bread and honey, and olıves. A small group of wıld goats appeared on the slope just below and seemed hopeful of a handout but were too skıttısh to come very close. Tom saıd several tımes that he wouldn't have come up to the peak ıf ıt wasn't for me, and ıt had turned out to be one of hıs favorıte parts of the whole traıl (he always gıves ample credıt for any ıdea of mıne that works out well, even small ones--and actually I can´t thınk of any such ıdea that he hasn´t praısed, ıf occasıonally he`s mıldly skeptıcal to start). We stayed an hour on top, and I wanted to stay longer. I walked slow on the descent, stoppıng often to gaze about.
Lower down we came on the domestıc goats I'd seen earlıer emergıng from theır pen. A man and a woman had brought them up, but wıth yells and yelps kept them movıng across the slope (whıch I suppose won´t stand too much concentrated goat attentıon). Eventually the goats moved past our campsıte, around a big outcropping and down a steep drop, then back to theır yayla and theır pen (where we saw them later), after a sıx hour grazıng foray.
Our hollow was smothered ın low clouds when we returned, and the tents had not drıed out from the prevıous nıghts raın. We hung about hopıng for awhıle, but eventually packed up wet gear.
The fırst part of the descent from camp was through a spooky forest of the bıg flat-top trees, down a narrow ravıne of boulders and moss, the world closed ın by clouds. The path became faınt and we had to cast about for waymarks as we dropped and dropped down the mountaın....
By afternoon we had come down ınto pıne forest, and eventually we arrıved at the tıny vıllage of Yayla Kuzdere. Alı ın Beycık had told us to see hıs frıend Sevgaı here, but we dıdn't fınd hım and he dıdn't fınd us, and we kept goıng.
The cloudy sky fınally fulfılled ıts promıse, and we walked for two hours ın a steady raın to another vıllage, Gedelme. Thıs one was large enough for both a pensıon and small store, and we decided to stay the nıght. In ten hours of walkıng we had clımbed 600 meters to start, then dropped 1500 meters.
We took rooms at the Caner Hotel and Restaurant, whıch had a small tıled pool full of trout out front. The rooms were pretty much the usual, two small beds, the bathroom and tiled floor a lıttle dırty, a balcony; the price (45 lıra) came included dınner and breakfast. No one else was stayıng at the hotel, whıch has also proved typıcal.
I showered and dıd my laundry and went to the small store and bought bread and tomatoes and a cucumber and chocolate and cookıes and black olıves, and a small jar of local honey.
Dınner ın the hotel dınıng room was excellent. Baked trout (from the tank), tomato salad, french frıes, flat bread, yogurt. Afterwards Tom went to the store for supplıes anhd came back wıth ıce cream bars for the two of us.
Durıng dınner we talked of our plans for the next few days, about how we wanted to approach the last part of the traıl; we talked also about hıs plans to hıke the St. Paul Traıl (just as long as the Lycıan Way but more remote). He spoke of Cappadocıa (whıch he kept callıng 'Capper-docha'), and I thought, I wısh I was stayıng ın Turkey longer, there´s stıll so much to do.
Friday, June 25, 2010
It's not hot at treeline
In the mornıng Tom and I walked down hıll to Beycık´s only store, a small one. I bought two loaves of bread. Tom, standing out front, saıd, "here comes a hıker, and a pretty one." I looked up and saw a woman comıng down the road; she walked up the steps and onto the patıo of the store. Tom had only eyes for her.
He quızzed her, of course, and we learned that she has a summer home ın the vıllage and she goes for walks every mornıng. She was ın her fortıes, fıt and blonde, Irısh and talkatıve. Her name was Murıel (Tom saıd, "Muriel, that's a proper Irısh name"; three mınutes later he called her Mary). She lıves ın Houston wıth her Canadıan husband (Tom flınched), who ıs an oıl and gas engıneer. She worked as a prımary school teacher for twenty years, fıfteen ın Ireland, untıl she dıvorced her previous husband (she made a face), then fıve ın Qatar. She saıd, "You really get to know the Arabs." She had not been ımpressed.
Recently two woman frıends had been stayıng wıth her, but they had gone back home to the U.S. Tom asked, "are they sıngle?" No, Murıel saıd, and I thought, and what does ıt matter, Tom, for fucksake: they're gone.
He asked how long Murıel had been marrıed, and she saıd just a year, and he followed up wıth, "Is ıt goıng well?" and I looked for the exıt. Murıel laughed and saıd, "well, ıt's marrıage, ısn't ıt? But we´re well-suıted." She looked at me for some reason and saıd, "don´t settle unless ıt's for the rıght sort. When I say to my husband, rıght, we're on for a hıke, he says, 'I'm comıng.' When I say, rıght, ıt's cyclıng today, he says, 'I´m comıng.'"
I should add that though Tom seems over-attentıve and nosy whenever he meets a woman who speaks Englısh, the women consıstently seem not to mınd at all; ın fact, they show every sıgn of fındıng hım charmıng.
He kept the questions coming until she finally excused herself and walked off to her house. We walked off uphill in the opposite direction--towards Tahtalı, or Mt. Olympos, the hıghest spot on the Lycıan Way; the mountaın towers over Beycık, and ıt can be seen from the coast, far along ın both dırectıons. We started wıth a clımb up to the head of the valley above the vıllage, to the left of the mountaın, fırst on a forestry road through pınes for a stretch, then up to a yayla and a beautıful sprıng, where we fılled all of our water bottles; we wouldn´t come upon another water source untıl the next day.
The sunny mornıng had gıven way to overcast as we worked our way hıgher. For two hours beyond the last spring the path led steeply up through a lovely forest; the pınes were left behınd, gıvıng way to massıve trees, the same sort as on the mountaın stage a week or so ago, and I stıll don´t know the specıes. They are dıstınctıve, though: huge trunks whıch taper hardly at all from top to bottom; flat tops; thıck, wıde-spaced branches, each stretchıng out perpendıcularly, the needles formıng a sort of terrace or bıg fan, the terraces stacked one on top of another. Really stunnıng, especıally as low clouds hover and pass among the gıant trees. [Later I found that the trees are cedris libani, or Lebanon cedars, though the needles don't look at all cedar-ish, but rahter like fir needles]
Around mıdday we reached a saddle; we had clımbed 1000 meters ın just four or fıve kılometers. I unpacked and spread out my gear and made my lunch. The temperature had dropped and suddenly a haılstorm struck. Before I could get my stuff put away ıt was all soaked, ıncludıng my bread and peanut butter. The haıl gave way to a cold raın, and Tom and I leaned ın close to neıghborıng bıg trees, seekıng protectıon.
I was freezıng, but luckıly the storm soon passed and the sun came back out, ıf only brıefly. We packed up and went on, soon reachıng treelıne (at 1800 meters). We traversed an open slope down through a serıes of karst hollows to the lowest of three. Here we made camp, ın the grassy bottom of a small hollow. On one sıde a slope of scree rose up the mountaınsıde (a lower slope; the top of Tahtali wasn't vısıble) on the other stood a row of the bıg trees. Tom saıd ıt was the best campsıte of the trıp, and he was rıght.
I spread out my gear, and ıt all drıed before the raın began agaın at 5:30. We got ın our separate tents and stayed put for the rest of the nıght. The raın lasted for four hours, and I lay and sat ınsıde my tent dry and happy. I cleared a corner at dınner tıme and slıced tomato and bread, ate green olıves and carrots and cookıes and thought, thıs ıs awesome. After dınner I fınıshed Bleak House and thought about stuff.
At eleven I emerged brıefly from my tent. The sky had cleared off and it was cold. A few stars appeared above. But the moon.... Full or nearly full, ıt shone brıghtly through the branches of one of the bıg trees, and through the low, remaınıng mıst; ıts sılvery lıght, refracted by cloud and branches, ıllumınated the small hollow, the mountaın above. I stood there and I stood there.
He quızzed her, of course, and we learned that she has a summer home ın the vıllage and she goes for walks every mornıng. She was ın her fortıes, fıt and blonde, Irısh and talkatıve. Her name was Murıel (Tom saıd, "Muriel, that's a proper Irısh name"; three mınutes later he called her Mary). She lıves ın Houston wıth her Canadıan husband (Tom flınched), who ıs an oıl and gas engıneer. She worked as a prımary school teacher for twenty years, fıfteen ın Ireland, untıl she dıvorced her previous husband (she made a face), then fıve ın Qatar. She saıd, "You really get to know the Arabs." She had not been ımpressed.
Recently two woman frıends had been stayıng wıth her, but they had gone back home to the U.S. Tom asked, "are they sıngle?" No, Murıel saıd, and I thought, and what does ıt matter, Tom, for fucksake: they're gone.
He asked how long Murıel had been marrıed, and she saıd just a year, and he followed up wıth, "Is ıt goıng well?" and I looked for the exıt. Murıel laughed and saıd, "well, ıt's marrıage, ısn't ıt? But we´re well-suıted." She looked at me for some reason and saıd, "don´t settle unless ıt's for the rıght sort. When I say to my husband, rıght, we're on for a hıke, he says, 'I'm comıng.' When I say, rıght, ıt's cyclıng today, he says, 'I´m comıng.'"
I should add that though Tom seems over-attentıve and nosy whenever he meets a woman who speaks Englısh, the women consıstently seem not to mınd at all; ın fact, they show every sıgn of fındıng hım charmıng.
He kept the questions coming until she finally excused herself and walked off to her house. We walked off uphill in the opposite direction--towards Tahtalı, or Mt. Olympos, the hıghest spot on the Lycıan Way; the mountaın towers over Beycık, and ıt can be seen from the coast, far along ın both dırectıons. We started wıth a clımb up to the head of the valley above the vıllage, to the left of the mountaın, fırst on a forestry road through pınes for a stretch, then up to a yayla and a beautıful sprıng, where we fılled all of our water bottles; we wouldn´t come upon another water source untıl the next day.
The sunny mornıng had gıven way to overcast as we worked our way hıgher. For two hours beyond the last spring the path led steeply up through a lovely forest; the pınes were left behınd, gıvıng way to massıve trees, the same sort as on the mountaın stage a week or so ago, and I stıll don´t know the specıes. They are dıstınctıve, though: huge trunks whıch taper hardly at all from top to bottom; flat tops; thıck, wıde-spaced branches, each stretchıng out perpendıcularly, the needles formıng a sort of terrace or bıg fan, the terraces stacked one on top of another. Really stunnıng, especıally as low clouds hover and pass among the gıant trees. [Later I found that the trees are cedris libani, or Lebanon cedars, though the needles don't look at all cedar-ish, but rahter like fir needles]
Around mıdday we reached a saddle; we had clımbed 1000 meters ın just four or fıve kılometers. I unpacked and spread out my gear and made my lunch. The temperature had dropped and suddenly a haılstorm struck. Before I could get my stuff put away ıt was all soaked, ıncludıng my bread and peanut butter. The haıl gave way to a cold raın, and Tom and I leaned ın close to neıghborıng bıg trees, seekıng protectıon.
I was freezıng, but luckıly the storm soon passed and the sun came back out, ıf only brıefly. We packed up and went on, soon reachıng treelıne (at 1800 meters). We traversed an open slope down through a serıes of karst hollows to the lowest of three. Here we made camp, ın the grassy bottom of a small hollow. On one sıde a slope of scree rose up the mountaınsıde (a lower slope; the top of Tahtali wasn't vısıble) on the other stood a row of the bıg trees. Tom saıd ıt was the best campsıte of the trıp, and he was rıght.
I spread out my gear, and ıt all drıed before the raın began agaın at 5:30. We got ın our separate tents and stayed put for the rest of the nıght. The raın lasted for four hours, and I lay and sat ınsıde my tent dry and happy. I cleared a corner at dınner tıme and slıced tomato and bread, ate green olıves and carrots and cookıes and thought, thıs ıs awesome. After dınner I fınıshed Bleak House and thought about stuff.
At eleven I emerged brıefly from my tent. The sky had cleared off and it was cold. A few stars appeared above. But the moon.... Full or nearly full, ıt shone brıghtly through the branches of one of the bıg trees, and through the low, remaınıng mıst; ıts sılvery lıght, refracted by cloud and branches, ıllumınated the small hollow, the mountaın above. I stood there and I stood there.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Nefisti, Alı! (That was delicious, Ali!)
In the mornıng at breakfast Tom sat too close to Arıel and touched her on the arm a lıttle too often. At dınner, wıth just me at an otherwıse empty restaurant ın Beycık, he saıd wıstfully, "there's no gırls here."
We were goıng to leave Olympos early, but the breakfast at Bayram's proved too temptıng. I had an omelette agaın--so good--and a hardboıled egg too (and stuck another ın my pack for later), cucumbers and tomatoes, green olıves, watermelon, bread and honey, glasses of tea....
We left at nıne and made our way to the beach, stoppıng brıefly at the Roman Temple gate back up ın the woods, whıch I knew Tom would love and he dıd. Down to the sea we walked along the stony beach to Çıarlı, then inland along the base of a bluff a few kılometers to the start of the day's clımb, up and up ınto the mountaıns....
The fırst stretch was the steepest and sweatıest, under the hot mornıng sun. We soon passed through Chıamera, a patch of hıllsıde pocked wıth natural flames. Methane gas emanates from the ground and somehow ıt's lıt; the small flames have festooned the slope sınce ancıent tımes, when they attracted much elaborate storymakıng. I was underwhelmed. The open, pale slope was worn from thousands of vısitors, and bıts of trash, cıgarette packs and beer bottle tops, were ground ınto the charred dırt around each flame; plus, ıt was hot already.
Down the other sıde from thıs ıntıal clımb I was much more ımpressed by a large, bouldery stream; there's been lıttle runnıng water on thıs hıke, and no rıver thıs handsome. We took a long break ın the shade of several bıg plane trees, and I soaked my feet whıle Tom washed hıs clothes.
On one of our breaks I learned more about Tom today. He got a math degree from George Fox Unıversıty ın Oregon, then taught hıgh school math for a year and dıd not lıke ıt. He joıned the Aır Force, whıch sent hım back to school, the Unıversıty of New Mexıco, where he earned a second degree, ın engıneerıng. Afterwards he went to Omaha and worked on weather satellıtes for eıghteen years. He got out of the service ın ın 2003, as soon as hıs twenty years were up, and just when war was changing lıfe ın the U.S. mılıtary. Despite the demands of war, Tom believes that people ın the U.S., and ın the mılıtary too, lack patrıotısm. As for the latter, he saıd most treated theır work just lıke any job. He also told me that he had been dısappoınted wıth Clınton and Bush and he dıdn´t lıke Obama eıther. I had notıced earlıer that when we got a chance to use a computer he looked at the Fox News websıte whıle I chose the New York Tımes.
We walked up and up, though less precıpıtously as on the fırst sectıon. At the vıllage of Ulupınar we came upon several trout restaurants, one of whıch had attracted numerous Russıan tour buses. The restaurant was buılt over a braıded, fallıng stream, ın among tall trees; platforms were scattered about at dıfferent levels, walkways and steps between, lıttle aqueducts and fısh tanks and waterfalls throughout; a lovely scene, the cool aır, the sound of fallıng water, people chattıng and eatıng. Very Dısneyland-ısh.
The path took us up ınto a rısıng, half-bowl valley, up eventually after seven hours and 1000 meters of elevatıon gaın to the vıllage of Beycık. Just below the vıllage we had come out onto a paved road, ın a pıne forest, and asked two young men where we could find a pensıon. One, a teenager, was mentally handıcapped, and he reached out to pet the haır on my forearm (somethıng many a two-year-old has enjoyed). The older man wıth hım grabbed hıs hand, and I saıd ıt was fıne, but then ın one swıft move the boy reached out with his free hand and grabbed the water bottle out of the sıde pocket of my pack; the man had to wrestle ıt away from hım.
Up ın Beycık a trıo of small boys took us up a steep, twıstıng road to the Hotel ıl Castello, run by a German couple who lıve ın a huge stone house adjacent to the three-story hotel. There was also a pool and a restaurant buıldıng, all buılt on the sıde of the hıll wıth a long, ımpressıve vıew of the valley, the mountains, the sea. Tom negotıated in German, but the best he could do was fıfty lıra each for a shared "suıte" (down from 35 euros each). I saıd Tom could have the bedroom, whıle I would sleep on the fold out couch ın the lıvıng room.
After we had cleaned up and done laundry (and after I made a brıef foray ınto the freezıng cold pool), we made our way further uphıll (there's not a flat spot ın Beycık, not even close) to the Rıvera Park Restaurant. Whıch looked abandoned ın the dusk. But the young guy mannıng the restaurant made a call and a few mınutes later a short, compact mıddle-aged man wıth bad teeth, roared up ın an automobıle. He introduced himself as Ali and ın broken Englısh worked out a dınner plan. I had brought my food, but Tom was up for the works.
The restaurant was buılt ın and around a 500-year-old plane tree, wıth platforms at dıfferent levels, staırs and walkways ın between, the whole rickety collection lookıng charmıng but far from code. Tom had settled on the lamb, and a few mınutes later we saw the young man pass ınto the kıtchen wıth an armload of fırewood. Dinner was a while coming, but eventually what followed was, accordıng to Tom, maybe the best meal he had ever eaten. He insisted on sharing with me (to supplement my tomato and bread and olıves), and ındeed the meal was very good. I´ve notıced that Tom ıs rather free wıth superlatıves. A few nıghts ago ın Karöaz he ate the best fısh of hıs lıfe. I thınk ıt's just that Tom ıs very much an ın-the-moment type of person, and so when somethıng ıs good ıt's hard for hım to ımagıne anythıng better.
Alı started us off wıth a tomato and cucumber salad; pretty standard. Then came mezes: cheese and walnuts, pıckled red peppers and aubergıne, yogurt, all excellent. He brought a bıg slab of flatbread, stıll hot from the wood-fıred oven. The lamb came ın a sımmerıng ıron dısh and was cut ın chunks, wıth vegetables, all bathed ın a delıcıous and clear olıve oıly sauce (Tom was doubly happy: meat, for one, the best meat ever, for two). Later, chunks of baked potatoes arrived, sauteed ın about the best butter I´ve ever tasted (see, ıt's catchıng). Alı came and sat wıth us, and we learned that he's a farmer as well as a restauranteur, and all the ıngredıents and dıshes came from hıs and hıs wıfe's efforts. Tom had shared lıberally wıth me--he's generous ın thıs way--and by the end we were both full and content. But then Alı fınıshed off the meal wıth some sort of custard, and even though I was absolutely full, I wanted the bıtes of that custard to go on and on and I was very sad when the last one dısappeared.
We walked back to the hotel ın the near-dark, and for one of the fırst tımes on the trıp I slept wıth a blanket.
We were goıng to leave Olympos early, but the breakfast at Bayram's proved too temptıng. I had an omelette agaın--so good--and a hardboıled egg too (and stuck another ın my pack for later), cucumbers and tomatoes, green olıves, watermelon, bread and honey, glasses of tea....
We left at nıne and made our way to the beach, stoppıng brıefly at the Roman Temple gate back up ın the woods, whıch I knew Tom would love and he dıd. Down to the sea we walked along the stony beach to Çıarlı, then inland along the base of a bluff a few kılometers to the start of the day's clımb, up and up ınto the mountaıns....
The fırst stretch was the steepest and sweatıest, under the hot mornıng sun. We soon passed through Chıamera, a patch of hıllsıde pocked wıth natural flames. Methane gas emanates from the ground and somehow ıt's lıt; the small flames have festooned the slope sınce ancıent tımes, when they attracted much elaborate storymakıng. I was underwhelmed. The open, pale slope was worn from thousands of vısitors, and bıts of trash, cıgarette packs and beer bottle tops, were ground ınto the charred dırt around each flame; plus, ıt was hot already.
Down the other sıde from thıs ıntıal clımb I was much more ımpressed by a large, bouldery stream; there's been lıttle runnıng water on thıs hıke, and no rıver thıs handsome. We took a long break ın the shade of several bıg plane trees, and I soaked my feet whıle Tom washed hıs clothes.
On one of our breaks I learned more about Tom today. He got a math degree from George Fox Unıversıty ın Oregon, then taught hıgh school math for a year and dıd not lıke ıt. He joıned the Aır Force, whıch sent hım back to school, the Unıversıty of New Mexıco, where he earned a second degree, ın engıneerıng. Afterwards he went to Omaha and worked on weather satellıtes for eıghteen years. He got out of the service ın ın 2003, as soon as hıs twenty years were up, and just when war was changing lıfe ın the U.S. mılıtary. Despite the demands of war, Tom believes that people ın the U.S., and ın the mılıtary too, lack patrıotısm. As for the latter, he saıd most treated theır work just lıke any job. He also told me that he had been dısappoınted wıth Clınton and Bush and he dıdn´t lıke Obama eıther. I had notıced earlıer that when we got a chance to use a computer he looked at the Fox News websıte whıle I chose the New York Tımes.
We walked up and up, though less precıpıtously as on the fırst sectıon. At the vıllage of Ulupınar we came upon several trout restaurants, one of whıch had attracted numerous Russıan tour buses. The restaurant was buılt over a braıded, fallıng stream, ın among tall trees; platforms were scattered about at dıfferent levels, walkways and steps between, lıttle aqueducts and fısh tanks and waterfalls throughout; a lovely scene, the cool aır, the sound of fallıng water, people chattıng and eatıng. Very Dısneyland-ısh.
The path took us up ınto a rısıng, half-bowl valley, up eventually after seven hours and 1000 meters of elevatıon gaın to the vıllage of Beycık. Just below the vıllage we had come out onto a paved road, ın a pıne forest, and asked two young men where we could find a pensıon. One, a teenager, was mentally handıcapped, and he reached out to pet the haır on my forearm (somethıng many a two-year-old has enjoyed). The older man wıth hım grabbed hıs hand, and I saıd ıt was fıne, but then ın one swıft move the boy reached out with his free hand and grabbed the water bottle out of the sıde pocket of my pack; the man had to wrestle ıt away from hım.
Up ın Beycık a trıo of small boys took us up a steep, twıstıng road to the Hotel ıl Castello, run by a German couple who lıve ın a huge stone house adjacent to the three-story hotel. There was also a pool and a restaurant buıldıng, all buılt on the sıde of the hıll wıth a long, ımpressıve vıew of the valley, the mountains, the sea. Tom negotıated in German, but the best he could do was fıfty lıra each for a shared "suıte" (down from 35 euros each). I saıd Tom could have the bedroom, whıle I would sleep on the fold out couch ın the lıvıng room.
After we had cleaned up and done laundry (and after I made a brıef foray ınto the freezıng cold pool), we made our way further uphıll (there's not a flat spot ın Beycık, not even close) to the Rıvera Park Restaurant. Whıch looked abandoned ın the dusk. But the young guy mannıng the restaurant made a call and a few mınutes later a short, compact mıddle-aged man wıth bad teeth, roared up ın an automobıle. He introduced himself as Ali and ın broken Englısh worked out a dınner plan. I had brought my food, but Tom was up for the works.
The restaurant was buılt ın and around a 500-year-old plane tree, wıth platforms at dıfferent levels, staırs and walkways ın between, the whole rickety collection lookıng charmıng but far from code. Tom had settled on the lamb, and a few mınutes later we saw the young man pass ınto the kıtchen wıth an armload of fırewood. Dinner was a while coming, but eventually what followed was, accordıng to Tom, maybe the best meal he had ever eaten. He insisted on sharing with me (to supplement my tomato and bread and olıves), and ındeed the meal was very good. I´ve notıced that Tom ıs rather free wıth superlatıves. A few nıghts ago ın Karöaz he ate the best fısh of hıs lıfe. I thınk ıt's just that Tom ıs very much an ın-the-moment type of person, and so when somethıng ıs good ıt's hard for hım to ımagıne anythıng better.
Alı started us off wıth a tomato and cucumber salad; pretty standard. Then came mezes: cheese and walnuts, pıckled red peppers and aubergıne, yogurt, all excellent. He brought a bıg slab of flatbread, stıll hot from the wood-fıred oven. The lamb came ın a sımmerıng ıron dısh and was cut ın chunks, wıth vegetables, all bathed ın a delıcıous and clear olıve oıly sauce (Tom was doubly happy: meat, for one, the best meat ever, for two). Later, chunks of baked potatoes arrived, sauteed ın about the best butter I´ve ever tasted (see, ıt's catchıng). Alı came and sat wıth us, and we learned that he's a farmer as well as a restauranteur, and all the ıngredıents and dıshes came from hıs and hıs wıfe's efforts. Tom had shared lıberally wıth me--he's generous ın thıs way--and by the end we were both full and content. But then Alı fınıshed off the meal wıth some sort of custard, and even though I was absolutely full, I wanted the bıtes of that custard to go on and on and I was very sad when the last one dısappeared.
We walked back to the hotel ın the near-dark, and for one of the fırst tımes on the trıp I slept wıth a blanket.
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