Random Notes on Turkey

Still the footwear choice for the non-conformist hipster. Even in a burka, this cool girl sports her camouflage converse.

Everyone thinks Ron is Spanish. At least a dozen times a day someone inquires “espanol?” or greets him with a hearty “ola!” I find this highly amusing. Takes me back to a charcoal sketch we got in nyc where he looked latino and I called him “taco” for several months afterwards.

It’s unclear whether this is a Turkish phenomenon or a tourist issue but there is a lot of litter especially empty water bottles everywhere tossed carelessly on the ground or stuffed in holes that were not meant to be trash cans. It’s pretty disgusting but after awhile you think it’s ok to finish something and throw it down. Y’know when in Rome…

Who is the man? Ataturk that’s who. The father of Turkey is everywhere, from the Turkish lira bank note to life size posters, inspirational signs and wall calendars. The man is a legend. Revered and loved, looking dapper in his circa 1930 suits.

There is no such thing as pedestrian rights. Cars will not stop for you and may even speed up if you cross the street. They must get 5 extra points to hit a tourist.

It is not uncommon to see men holding hands. Now this isn’t exactly a shocking site for us living in San Francisco but it is not a sign of homosexuality in Turkey but rather very close male friends enjoying a walk together. I find it interesting how men have no qualms showing affection for each other but then jealously wrap up their women.

Speaking of, its odd that tv is so inconsistent, one channel censors alcohol and cigarette smoking (literally blurring the image of Spencer Tracy taking a puff) and on the next channel is a fully naked woman with a phone number, just dial 05-3939-12186. Long distance charges may apply.

And then Wifi is plentiful but You Tube is banned. No fair Turkey. Ever hear of freedom of speech and the expression of idiocy through grainy home video? No? God Bless America and unrestricted internet!

Every man, woman, and child over 12 chain smokes like a chimney. Their hospitality is to offer you a cigarette, even at 10 in the morning, and you actually feel bad refusing. But the smell is foul and all pervasive. There is no escape. With ashtrays on every table to hold down the tablecloths from blowing away. Just this week they banned smoking inside public places. There may be a revolt so Ron and I are fleeing the country.

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Turkish Food

Most of our rooms have included a Turkish breakfast but we can’t stomach anymore tomato, cucumber, cheese, black olives (in the morning, yech), and hard boiled eggs. Usually we opt for just the free jam, bread and Nescafe which gets old pretty quick. It’s a sad fact but we’ve drunk so much instant coffee I don’t know if I remember what Starbucks tastes like anymore.

The Turkish coffee is dark and strong and comes with heavy grounds lining the bottom of the cup. This coffee kicks Nescafe in the ass but is usually twice the price.

In Bodrom we drooled over the Lokma which are fried balls of dough in sugar syrup sold on the street corner. We greedily ate them with toothpicks until a mini sword fight broke out between us as we fought for the last one.

Ron fell all over himself for the Helvasi, one type sesame, one shaped as a birds nest (or maybe mohammeds beard) and another a chocolate walnut variety that is sold in blocks that weigh at least a pound each and could be used as a doorstop in a pinch.

The most ubiquitous food is doner (essentially a greek gyro) which is the Turkish word for “turning“. I call it meat on a stick. We ate it almost everyday since it is 2 YTL or about a dollar fifty for a chicken sandwich. Unfortunately the Turks don’t believe in sauces on their doner so it is usually dry leaving me to dream of the days of where mustard was plentiful.

What would a visit to Turkey be without shish kebap? I sampled the lamb and chicken shish which comes off the skewer with rice, pita, and a little salad. It’s nothing special but it is literally everywhere. We wanted to try the pottery kebap in Goreme which is baked in a terracotta dish and busted open at your table but didn’t have the chance.

The best Turkish pizza we had was in Konya where we had a ground beef and cheese pizza alongside yogurt, spicy sauce, and fresh tomatoes and jalapenos. Ron was one happy critter!

We ate our first Gozleme in Goreme which is a tortilla like flat bread filled with meat, parsley, or potato and cheese. Like a local quesadilla this was my favorite lunch.

Sucuk is a spicy sausage that we ate several times. We had a couple follow up dinners at our new friend Kubilay’s, one was a grilled sucuk sandwich we ate near midnight and another was a delicious spicy bean soup.

Turkish Ravioli are mini raviolis filled with a bit of cheese and soaked in cold yogurt and tomato sauce. It sounds weird and if you are in the mood for actual pasta it is weird, but in the realm of authentic dishes it is high on Ron's list.

Cay pronounced “chai” is tea and it is almost religion here. Turks drink tea all day long, linger over tea, conversate over tea, offer you tea, deliver you tea down the street on a silver tray.

Nothing goes better with your morning tea than borek which is a thin phyllo-like pastry filled with meat or cheese, steamed to perfection, cut into squares and sold by weight. I could eat this every morning of my life.

The more popular but less tasty, in my opinion, is a round sesame roll called a simit that is very cheap and easy to find. Perched on this guys head make them somehow more appealing than they are.

Variety. Can I say it again how lucky you all are to have a bountiful harvest of international cuisines at your beck & call every day and night? We are so used to eating a smorgasbord of different foods, Thai for lunch, Italian for dinner, Chinese, Indian, Vietnamese, Afghani, Mexican, that its tough eating doner and shish kebap over and over and over. How do the Turks do it? Don’t they get sick of it? They must not. The Subway is empty. The Domino delivery scooters are rusty. Everyone wants the shish.

One night we found an Indian restaurant called Dubb and nearly fainted over the tikka masala, paneer, and naan. I know this post is about Turkish food, but man that was some scrumptious eats that night. Ron still talks about it.

The last night before our train to Sofia we ate sulu yemek which is traditional home cooking found at reasonable prices. Often the dishes start with the same base of garlic and tomato and are a mélange of seasonal vegetables and meats cooked in a single pot. Perfect. You know you always find the best things right before you leave.

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Alison takes a Turkish Bath

Likely my #1 reason for coming to Turkey was to experience an authentic Turkish Bath because of its exoticness, richness of history dating back to when it was the only way Ottomans bathed, and just because I can’t pass up anything that resembles a spa experience, as a true Taurean and comfort glutton. I was tempted by a few local hamams but then decided to go big and visit the 300 year old Cagaloglu Hamam with its exquisite Ottoman dome with small star shaped skylights. It was about $86 (including tip) for the Complete Oriental Luxury Service which sounded really good on paper. Something to the effect of me feeling like a sultan, and I say sign me up! It was definitely worth the experience but was not exactly luxurious in western terms nor all that relaxing.

I come in to the hamam, no one is particularly helpful or welcoming probably because they are already in “1000 Places To See Before You Die” and don't need my word of mouth. They give me a little wooden room on the first floor off the marble courtyard. The room has frosted glass up to the neck to give privacy while changing in to a mini plaid towel wrap and ridiculously oversized wooden clogs that make walking on the wet marble floor a slow and humiliating affair, trying not to slip and break my hip like in the medi-alert commercial.

I’m led in to the hamam which is sauna warm with a octagonal marble slab in the middle of a large domed room to sit and relax. After 15 minutes or so my masseuse, or Greldur the Gargantuan as I come to lovingly refer to her, comes in and leads me to the marble slab to lie down. She is a big lady and speaks little English, not enough to chit chat with me (thankfully). Instead she jibber jabbers in Turkish to the other masseuse almost nonstop.

There is only one other women on the slab so naturally I lay down one spot away facing the other direction to give us a little “space“. Greldur doesn‘t like this, she wants me right next to the other women for no apparent reason, my feet to her head so she has an extremely intimate view if she looks up and I can inadvertently kick her (which I do twice).

First up is the loofah exfoliation which is quite the experience with layers of dirty skin pealing off my body like I’m some sort of filthy snake. (Yes, I do bathe regularly.) She rubs my décolletage area so hard the skin turns raw. HEY I’m fragile here Greldur! When my front is done I turn over as carefully and gracefully as you can on a wet slab of marble which isn’t careful or graceful, more like a beached whale coming about.

Then I’m led by hand to the corner of the room where I try to act nonchalantly standing naked being doused with bucket after bucket of freezing cold water with a dozen onlookers all waiting their turn, now a bit pensively. I chuckle a little out loud. What else to do?!

Next is the dry massage which is the most like a standard Swedish massage with glimpses of deep tissue torture like an elbow digging into your spine bone because Greldur isn’t exactly trained in the finer details and structure of the muscular-skeletal system.

The wet massage portion involves a lot of foamy water and more scrubbing with a washcloth. This is definitely when you start to feel about 5 years old and you are getting a bubble bath from grandma. I was just waiting for her to start cleaning out my ears while humming a nursery rhyme.

Last was a hair shampoo and of course more buckets of water. I have to say that I did feel really clean and the most relaxing part of the afternoon was sipping apple tea afterwards in the coolness of the café area, basking in the glow of my smooth skin.

If only momentarily, five minutes into my walk back to the hostel I was dripping sweat and smelly all over again.

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Scammed in Istanbul

It was bound to happen. But somehow I thought it would be different. Something lifted from our room. A diversion on the street masking a pickpocket. I won’t go in to all the gory and, as you would imagine, embarrassing details but will give you the gist. I was taking a nap and Ron went out to take photos of the city. A local struck up a conversation with him and then asked if he wanted to go have a drink. Apparently there were women in this bar. Not naked women or women on stage, but dancing together on the dance floor, which is normal in the west but apparently there are no “girls night out” in Turkey. After the drink, a single drink mind you, the bill came for 1000 YTL (that’s over $700)!!!

Apparently this is some well known scam they play called “let’s have a drink” to get a single male traveler alone in a bar and threaten them with a ridiculous bill. Even the police are in on it and will only help you recover some of your money pocketing the rest. The sad thing is that I read about it only a week beforehand and didn’t think to mention it because it seemed like a far fetched scenario since we are usually together. So in the end Ron had to cough up a` couple hundred bucks so the 3 big guys at the bar didn’t rearrange his face.

The worst part isn’t the money it’s that our whole sense of safety has been shaken. Ron was basically robbed under the threat of physical violence. Now everyone is a scam artist. Everyone is trying to rip us off. Our whole view of the country just got flushed down the squatty potty and that really pisses us off!

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Istanbul was Constantinople

Yes, yes every time I think of Istanbul I think of the "They Might Be Giants" song, it’s a liability, or maybe a curse because its been in my head all week. I wish they made more songs about geography and history because maybe I could remember a few factoids or dates better. I’m afraid its in one ear and out the other for me. In 5th century AD some guy named so and so did blah blah blah. I don’t have a mind for it, and I envy those that can rattle off interesting details about times of yore, but that ain’t me.

I can tell you around 8am on Monday morning July 20 we arrived in Istanbul after a painful overnight bus ride with broken down AC and half the Turkish kingdom heading home we hope for a bath and a good long teeth brushing. The main bus station, or Otogar as they call it, was totally nuts. It took us one hour once we arrived to actually arrive. We had a referral for one hostel but it was a little sketchy so we moved on and found a semi-decent place (other than the arrogant and unhelpful desk punks) called Cordial House. It was in the Sultanahmet district which boasts basically all of the major tourist attractions.

We visited the Sultan Ahmed Mosque or The Blue Mosque, named for the blue tiles inside, which is the national mosque of Turkey. Built in the early 1600’s during the rule of Ahmed I it is rumored that he asked for a gold minaret but the architect confused the word “gold” with the word “six” and built 6 minarets instead of the usual 4. Afterwards, the architect feared a beheading but the sultan was pleased because I guess even then, more was better. The story continues that the sultan was then criticized that there were already 6 minarets at the Ka’aba mosque in Mecca and he had to pay to build a seventh one to ensure its rare distinction (and maybe to keep his head? they really liked to behead people back then).

The Hagia Sophia was built as a church in 537 in the Byzantine empire and was later converted to a mosque when the Ottomans conquered in 1453, and then opened as a museum in 1935. It has a massive dome and was the largest cathedral in the world for a thousand years. Inside is just as impressive with the sheer height of the ceiling making you tiny and inconsequential. There are a few lovely biblical mosaics still available to view and photograph but those pesky Japanese tourists don’t respect the no flash zone so go now before they have completely disintegrated from the onslaught of one too many Sony flash bulbs. I know I stereotype but really there was a whole tour bus in front of us and not one person turned off the flash!

We spent an entire day wandering the world famous Grand Bazaar which is the largest and oldest covered market selling everything from carpets and spices to pottery and tea sets to knock-off Rolexes and Mont Blanc pens. The place boasts over 1200 shops on 58 streets under one roof. We entered the melee with a short shopping list including a new watch for me (lost the second week of our trip), a travel backgammon set for the long travel days, and a t-shirt for Ron of the Turkish flag with the simple yet cool graphic of crescent and star. We also had notions of some gifts, and we still needed our little souvenir from Turkey. Since we can’t carry anything heavy we decided we would get one small (less than 1 inch square) souvenir from each country and make a little wooden keepsake wall box for when we return.

The market was really disorienting. People yelling, trying to get you to buy this and that, price haggling fueled by something resembling crack cocaine and the lust for a good deal. We were exhausted after trying and failing to find a backgammon set that was both cheap and light, and this was only the first hour. Then came my watch, which they don’t sell digital watches really except an old school Casio similar to Ron’s and although the style can’t be denied we are already on the brink of being one of those disgusting couples with way too many matching items. I found a Chanel knock-off that was cute but couldn’t stomach the enormous price tag. In the end we got Ron’s shirt for 15 lira and met a sweet man in a antique shop that let us sift through all of his old Turkish lira to find one as our little souvenir, and then gave it to us for free. Just that one single moment in that smiling moustach of a mans tiny and dangerously overstuffed slightly metallic-smelling stall made the whole day.

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Our Very Own Turkish Night

Everyone does tours here and prepackaged experiences. It drives us crazy. There are too many tour buses and too many tourists. And a gazillion Japanese. The whole island of Japan must be a ghost town this time of year. They pay top dollar to be shuttled in and out of the sights at breakneck speeds. But the one tour you will find the Americans (and Aussies and Germans) is Turkish night. Apparently the bars here are pretty deserted normally. Ron and I popped in after dinner one night for a whiskey but at $10 a drink we reluctantly turned around and walked out.

How does Barney Rubble afford a drink around here? I mean, how do they stay in business? The answer is Turkish night. They bus in 50 party goers, bring out the belly dancer, crank up the music, and its open bar all night. Of course this means you try to drink your moneys worth. One local remarked that he and his buddies would bet on how many tourists would stumble outside and puke in the street. Tonight, I got my money on lucky number 4.

But this post isn’t about the Flintstones Bar. Rather, we met some friendly Turks at the local moto rent place (because apparently this has been a good strategy for us to meet people) that invited us over for dinner and we had our own Turkish night that I guarantee was much more fun and a billion times more authentic, even without the belly dancer.

First the cast of characters: Kubilay and his adopted niece Ashay started Action Rent A only a month or so prior renting bikes, scooters, atvs, jeeps, and have cornered the market on buggies. Abdullah or “Abul” is the translator, who owns the jewelry shop next door. Mr. Unal is Kubilays best friend, a lawyer who lives in Kasery, dresses sharply and just that week met with the President of Turkey.
We came over at 8pm and as it was a little drizzly outside, set-up the little bbq right outside the shop. Starting the fire and getting the charcoal to burn was aided by an Ancient Turkish method of using a Vidal Sassoon hair dryer, but however speedy this got the grill going it still smoked out the restaurant next door, much to the dismay of said restaurants owner who came over and frowned at us, barking something I couldn’t understand in Turkish that very well might have been “Why the hell are you lighting a fire outside my restaurant?!”

First on the grill was tomatoes and green peppers. Next onions and garlic. Then the main event of lamb seasoned to perfection. Earlier that day, Abul helped us negotiate a good deal on the meat (our contribution to the meal) which was 30 YTL for 2 kilos. This and several loaves of ekmek (bread) and we had the best downhome meal yet. They call it mongol bbq, we called it delicious.
“Hosgeldin Unal!” this is what I repeated at least a dozen times before he arrived over and over so I wouldn’t screw up the welcome. He came with a baglama which is a handcrafted folk instrument that he played beautifully.

No Turkish night would be complete without smoking some water pipe. We all took turns sampling the sweet apple tobacco and sometimes taking too much and coughing it back up.

Not to mention, you need to be drinking raki to have a real bonafide party here. And watch out because with copious raki drinking, the dancing is bound to ensue. Ron got out his iPod and played DJ for our new friends while we danced, often comically, into the night. I will spare you my poppin' and lockin' video that I will have to take to my grave.

Through Abul we bridged the language gap and made four new friends. I learned more Turkish in one night then I did the whole week prior, even struggling to learn good pronunciation that they seemed proud of me for trying to get right. We broke bread, shared music, laughed, talked, danced, joked, and had the most special night in Turkey by a landslide.

Bizim sevgili arkadaslarimiza: Abdullah, Kubilay, Ashay, ve Unal…cok tesekkur ederim!

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Goreme or the Moon?

When we walked off the bus in Goreme we knew we were someplace special. It just had that feel to it. Open. Fresh. Spiritually Calming. Something like I remember Sedona back in the eighties. This place is just teetering towards the tourist demise but it is still a small village. Quaint. Not yet fully packaged.

The real draw of the Cappadocia region is the otherworldly rock formations formed from volcanic activity millions of years ago. The curves are mesmerizing and soft on the eyes, like mountains on the moon. And up until recently, most local people lived in houses carved out of the rock that had eroded from rain and wind into fascinating shapes and pillars called fairy chimneys. Sometimes high off the ground, you would have to scale a rock wall or climb a ladder 30 feet in the air to get to the doorway.

Houses are nestled together on the cliffside with intricately carved windows and small churches adorned with simple lines of red paint along the arched ceilings. Given the climate it is an ideal abode because the cave houses are warm in winter and cool in the summer. Many of these places are now abandoned and are like looking back in time at our cave man ancestry or have been restored into hotels.

We stayed at a place called Peri Caves in our very own fairy chimney cave room that used to be a horse stable. You can still see the basins cut into the wall where hay or water might have been kept. It also had a raised seating area with low tables that was a great place to read and hang out. Especially as it was pouring rain the first 2 days of our stay.

When we could venture out we went to Kaymakli which is the largest underground city in the region. It was at least a dozen levels deep (I even heard up to 20) but only 4 are open to visitors. It was amazing how many rooms there were: stables, sleeping quarters, storage rooms, kitchens, wine presses, churches. With the bus and entrance fees it cost 45 YTL (about $30) and was a great daytime activity to be in the coolness of a deep cave. The stairways and tunnels were narrow with impossibly low ceilings that made it tight maneuvering at times, and not for the claustrophobic or faint of heart.

Before catching the dolmus back to Goreme, Ron saw a cow and set off for a picture. Almost immediately two boys appeared and demanded 1 lira to take the photo. Knowing full well this wasn’t even their cow Ron said he would get his lira if he would get on the cow. The little boy was tentative but then agreed, approaching the massive animal that let out a loud snort sending the boy running begging to give back the lira coin. Instead Ron had him take a photo with a calf more his size that was still quite a handful for the lad.

Another day we were headed to the Goreme Open Air Museum but decided to save the $ and go on our own tour of the area by foot. We wandered for several hours and found amazing cave houses, churches, and breathtaking views. Finally arriving in another village Cavasin for lunch and a bus back to Goreme, it was a great hike made at our own leisurely pace and blissfully away from the crowds in the silence of the hills.

We caught an amazing sunset on the way back from Uchasir. Ron and I fought over whose photo was better, and yes he came out the winner again (damn his canon g-10) but only after stealing this exact composition that I took first!

On our last day, we rented a buggy to explore the surrounding area of Goreme. In Pasabag we saw different types of rock formations that, ahem, I have no further comment about. Then we drove to Urgup and on our way back found some dirt roads to speed down and try not to get too muddy or stuck in a hole. The roads here are not exactly well maintained, but that was half the fun in the buggy.

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