Farewell Turkey, and teşekkür ederiz

Leaving Turkey was so much more difficult than I thought it would be. We expected it to be beautiful, and it was. The views along the coast,

 the ancient ruins,

twilight in cities like Selcuk,

 and the striking geography of Cappodacia.

What I didn't know was how emotionally attached I would become, despite having only skimmed the surface of all that is Turkey.

Geographically we saw a tiny fraction of the country, a tiny fraction even of Istanbul for that matter. What we saw though was amazing, and our last stops on our itinerary were no exception. 

For instance, the charming Selçuk. Our first morning there we visited the nearby ruins of Ephesus. The immense library had an ancient looking engraving, dated with the long ago year of 1978, naming the German philanthropist who paid for much of the extensive restoration of the site.

Archaeologists take exception to rebuilds that have been done over the years here and at many other ruins, but Tom had no problem with it, and upon seeing some workers on site exclaimed "look! they're building some new ruins!"

In the afternoon we asked the friendly guide at the Selçuk tourist office where the best place was to go swimming. He suggested we head to Hotel Tusan, as they a nice sandy beach that, though private, had free entry. So we hopped on the bus and got dropped off at the hotel gate, where the guard smiled and let us pass. As we walked through the manicured grounds and opulent hotel we felt increasingly uncomfortable, and by the time we got through to the beach (passing a private cinema, lounges and a glittering pool) we felt pretty sure that as non guests we weren't actually supposed to be there. But with nobody stopping us we nervously settled ourselves into sun loungers and passed a lovely few hours swimming and relaxing.

When we got up to go we must have looked a bit suspicious carrying our clothes and backpacks to the washroom, so the security guards converged and politely but firmly escorted us out, the manager acknowledging our explanation of the misinformation given by the tourist office with a tight smile and some finger wagging. 

Kyra and I - before we knew we'd be doing the walk of shame out of the beach.

We managed to avoid further brushes with the law during the rest of our time in Selçuk. We enjoyed our short time there, though we missed visiting the Virgin Mary's house, sponsored by McDonald's.

Then it was on to Çanakkale via a six hour long bus journey. Despite what I've said in past blogs about the uncertainty over schedule and fares, travelling by bus in Turkey is very civilized, and there is a lot to be said for the way they organize their system. Firstly, no matter how long or short the distance there are always two drivers, who spell each other off and divide fare collection from driving. Secondly, there are snacks, movies, games and often free wifi for passengers. Finally, instead of having bathrooms on the bus - never anyone's favourite place to go or sit near - they have regular (but short) pit stops at cafes where you can use the facilities and then have a çay or kahve or some fresh pomegranate juice.

We went to Çanakkale primarily to see Gallipoli and Troy, but the town itself was really lovely, with cobblestone streets closed to cars and a lengthy promenade along the harbour, lined with cafes and restaurants packed with people day and night. Lots of great food including jelly doughnuts from a bakery named called "Berliner".

The people we met there were friendly and helpful, especially the owners of our apartment. Şebnem and Onur had read our blog (my email signature is the blog address so they'd seen it when we corresponded about the apt) and Şebnem, who happens to be a reporter for a local online newspaper, was very excited about our journey. She interviewed and photographed us and published the story the next day which was kind of fun! (if you want to try reading Turkish it's here at http://www.canakkaleicinde.com/kitapla-baslayan-yolculuk-canakkaleyi-ve-turkiyeyi-cok-sevdik.html )

The kids also made friends with two 10 year old boys in the playground, starting with a frisbee lesson from Paul and Jacob,

then Turkish dancing lesson from the two boys, some tandem ziplining at the park, and a picnic at dusk.

They were really sweet and the kids were happy to have met them.

In Gallipoli we hiked 16 km in the hot sun through the valley and over the hills of the peninsula, something of an arduous journey to us,

but nothing compared to the travails of the ANZAC soldiers who fought in the trenches and climbed these same hills, laden in military gear, carrying injured and dead comrades, and being shot at by snipers only to ultimately suffer a resounding defeat. Blossoming trees had been planted in the gardens around the white markers engraved with the soldiers names. The beauty, peace and tranquility of the site belies its bloody past.

At the Australian War Memorial I found the Ataturk's words to the mothers of sons killed in the war profoundly moving.

The peaceful words contrasted with the sounds of fighter planes that raced through the skies above while we were there, a reminder of the conflicts far away from us in Turkey's eastern region.

Before going to Gallipoli Paul had listened to an audio tour on a website devoted to educating Australians about the doomed battle fought there in World War I. Apparently an intensive education effort was launched due to widespread national ignorance, evidenced when Australian Alan Bond's yacht won the America's Cup in 1983 and he erroneously exulted "This is Australia's greatest victory since Gallipoli". 

I was similarly uninformed about the city of Troy and its famed Trojan horse, not quite realizing it was a fiction of Homer's, which hadn't stopped the city of Çanakkale erecting a giant horse on the harbour, with an official looking plaque proclaiming its use by Brad Pitt in "Troy". The ruins at the town of Troy were smaller than we had been seeing elsewhere,

but curated well and the kids were really interested in the lessons from the audio tour. The winds were whipping in the trees that day, on cue as if to prove the truth of the motto that "the winds brought wealth to Troy", blowing so hard against ships that sailed into the harbour that they were forced to stay until the powerful Dardanelle winds turned in their favour, which could be days or longer.

Finally we returned by ferry and bus to Istanbul, where we got ready to leave Turkey by buying baklava, coffee and a few small souvenirs from the bustling markets. The city somehow seemed even more packed than when we'd been there in April, possibly because we had been in such quiet places that it a slight shock to return to such a densely populated city, but likely also busier in reality as May is prime tourist season in Istanbul. The high volume of the city soundscape, ordinarily made up of traffic noise, vendors shouting out to passersby, and calls of the muzeein, was now amplified with the addition of music and slogans from the campaigns for the upcoming June election. It blared from loudspeakers on moving vans plastered with images of candidates, and rallies where Turkish songs rang out and supporters danced in huge groups

- my kind of campaign - partying in the streets seems a lot more fun than knocking on doors! 

Despite the dancing, the political situation in Turkey concerns many, who feel the current authoritarian government is a threat to democracy. Headlines about the Armenian history, Syrian conflict (and the flood of suffering refugees into Turkey), and increasing religious extremism demonstrate that there are serious issues in the country. There is rampant poverty in the country, and our host in Selçuk told us "right now it is a struggle for us to live, but we are living, and that is something. We can share and still be happy, but it is hard, very hard". As tourists we seldom saw direct evidence of the dire poverty, except on our apartment's doorstep in a poorer area of Istanbul, where dirt smudged children not much older than toddlers ran barefoot through the cobbled streets, occasionally beseeching tourists for change but more distressingly stopping cars to beg at the busy highway. One evening we witnessed a group of men kick and punch another man on the ground in the street, before a bus stopped and a crowd of passerbys intervened to help (fortunately the man stood up and seemed relatively ok). We also crossed the highway with a tiny boy not older than four (and possibly younger) who was alone, navigating back and forth across four lanes of speeding traffic completely on his own (the children would sometimes venture out separately from their group, then return later). It was a haunting feeling we had going to sleep that night, knowing that a child younger than Tom was fending for himself like that. It's one thing to know about such inequity, and another to directly confront it - and know that we are doing nothing about it, save for charitable contributions that are a drop in the bucket of what is needed.  

Most of our encounters of course were illustrative of the positive side of Turkey. Our final day we went to the Prince's Islands for a picnic. These islands are retreats for wealthy Istanbullis, who come over to escape the heat and bustle of the city. A one hour ferry ride but a world away, with no cars allowed, leafy trees everywhere

and beautiful old wooden houses abutting the tree-lined boulevards. 

The islands can get quite busy, and the park we went to was over-run by kids on school field trips. All the chaos was a bit off-putting at first, and the kids complained that they wanted a quieter park. That changed when two boisterous and enthusiastic boys came over to our table to practice their English on us, calling Paul "brother", giving us their lunch (bread and kebabs their teacher cooked over a charcoal grill) and encouraging the rest of their schoolmates over to meet us, who took pictures with their selfie sticks,

enthused over Kyra's every word and hugged and patted Tom. They challenged the kids to a soccer match, and when Jacob scored on a penalty shot 

they hoisted him on their shoulders and chanted his name over and over.

We finished off our last night in Turkey by watching the sunset on the bridge over the Bosphorous. As the sun set and we turned to walk back to our hotel, two dolphins surfaced briefly directly below us, and did a flip in the air as if to say good-bye. Okay the flip in the air part isn't true, but I wouldn't have been surprised if they had, our time in Turkey was so magical. I left with tears in my eyes, and the whole family will always retain the enchanting impression Turkey left on our hearts.

Chickens and other Turkish wildlife

This is the first of my two final posts about Turkey, this one's for the kids because it is all pictures of animals :) Sadly no pictures of the more exotic species - dolphins frolicking from our ferry along the Bosphorous in Istanbul as well as off the coast of Çanakkale, or the sea turtle (caretta caretta) we saw from a winding path down the mountains by Kas, identifiable as a greenish gray blob with an occasionally protruding head, too distant to photograph. Much more common were the tortoises we heard rustling in the brush or came across on our path,

plodding along at a much slower pace than the lizards who darted quickly away when we startled them as they sunned themselves.

The kids loved to try and catch (and release!) the many frogs, big and tiny, who chirped loudly from the marshy canals and cool ponds.

Spring was very much in evidence, with goslings in the ponds of Pamukkale,

and tiny kittens everywhere. 

Kyra played with one while Jacob learned some Turkish dance from friends he met in the park in Çanakkale.

We saw lots of puppies too, some among the fishing boats of Phaselis,

others on the boardwalk around the ruins of Troy, so adorable that we all had to have a cuddle

until mom discovered a tick on one and it was "bye bye puppies".

Not a pig to be seen, which makes sense in a largely Muslim country. But all other farmyard animals were in evidence everywhere except farmyards. In Çirali baby chicks chased after their mother behind our table at breakfast

(that's our bread on the table sticking out in the foreground - great photographic composition I know), and we derived childish glee from seeing turkeys in Turkey.

Cows were spotted occasionally too, grazing in the ditches of Goreme,

along with horses, looking a little sad tethered to a tree all afternoon.

Goats were ubiquitous and would startle us on hikes up in the mountains

while herds of sheep forced us to make way as they travelled down our path in Faralya.

Dogs were the biggest puzzle for us. We are used to seeing feral dogs on our bikes, and are always wary of their growls or charges as we cycle through rural areas. But the vast majority of dogs we saw in Turkey seemed to pose no threat to anyone. From Istanbul (I swear we didn't just kill this

one)

and the Prince's Islands off Istanbul,

to Kas on the coast where they lay oblivious to everyone passing by them in the busy central square, they appeared to literally be sedated, lying comatose on the ground, many with chips embedded in their ears. We never figured out why.

Our lack of ornithological expertise meant we weren't able to identify the species of birds we came across, but we enjoyed watching the swallows flit across the evening sky, and hearing the coos of the morning doves. Our favourite were the giant storks, brilliant white with black tipped wings. Much bigger than the herons we see at home, they roosted atop tall trees in the gardens outside Toplakpi Palace in Istanbul, but loomed nearer and larger all over Selçuk, where the municipality had installed cages to support nests on the tops of ancient arches in the city centre.

The daily encounters we had with wild and not so wild life brought great joy to the kids, and will be a large part of what they remember about our time here.

Faralya and the trouble with paradise, or, I've made a huge mistake

Up until Faralya, it seemed every place we went was more magical than the last. Sure, our moods and family dynamics would have ups and downs, but on the whole we would finish each day with gladness in our heart and a sense of wonder over what we'd seen and experienced. Then came Faralya, where I simply ran out of superlatives. 

The dolmus ride there was heart-stopping, on a narrow road cut into the side of the mountain, winding ever higher up with a steep dropoff to the ocean. It seemed to be only one lane wide, despite having occasional traffic in both directions, with nary a barrier in sight, save for a laughable chicken wire fence

that wouldn't have stopped a determined chicken, much less a minibus full of screaming tourists and a testosterone-fueled driver. 

Once we arrived and I could open my eyes again, we walked the cobbled path to our pansiyon, where we were welcomed by Hasan, the Turkish owner, and his family.  Chickens pecked in the gardens, the call to prayer rang out from the nearby mosque, homemade bread baked over coals in the outdoor fire pit, and a pool glinted invitingly with the last rays of the sun. Dinner was served in the communal dining room after sunset, which coincided with our arrival, so we sat down at one of the tables outside and watched as the sun sank into the ocean stretching out from Butterfly Valley far below.

The five days we spent in Faralya were nirvana. The food was prepared from what grew in the garden and the local surroundings. Every morning we awoke to the sight of blue sky and tree covered cliffs, and a bountiful Turkish breakfast of yogurt, honey, olives, homemade bread, sweet juicy tomatoes, and eggs no doubt from the chickens that slept in the coop outside our room. Our days were a combination of hikes in and around Faralya

and nearby Kabak beach, itself an idyllic and extremely laid back place where we would swim in the azure ocean and then rest on a hammock or in bean bag chairs, sipping kahve while the kids contentedly ate popsicles. 

We hiked up and down the summits, through forests,

past waterfalls,

that were cold, clear and perfect for a dip - though we may have scared away some Dutch tourists who wandered by and got more of a scenic view than they expected. We drank fresh squeezed orange juice prepared in tiny stalls on clifftops

and jumped from rocks into deep blue water of the Aegean.

We returned at the end of each day with time to spare for reading, writing and math in the outdoor courtyard, 

a jump in the pool, then a viewing of the sunset over a beer 

before being welcomed again to a feast prepared by our Turkish hosts,

 

predominantly vegetarian though a chicken that must have been retired from egg-laying appeared in a stew one evening.

Our final night we pondered over where to head next. We had to decide between following the more travelled path to the grand sites of Ephesus, the Roman capital of Asia Minor (and whose ruins rival those of Rome itself); Pamukkale, a UNESCO-designated natural wonder; and Çanakkale, where the WWI battles of Gallipoli were fought 100 years ago. Our other choice was to turn inland and visit the lakes district of Egirdir, where one was more likely to meet a shepherd on the paths than another hiker, and where Turkish villages were small and relatively untouched by tourism. We ultimately chose the former, reasoning that while we would have many wonderful hikes ahead of us but might never again have the chance to see heritage sites of such renown.

Having made the decision we awoke and prepared to leave in the morning. After a delicious breakfast, 

a last swim in the pool

and meditative time looking out at the sea, we left on the minibus to go to Fethiye, our jumping off point. Upon arrival in Fethiye however I was banging my head and gnashing my teeth over our decision. Though we started the day with a nice hike from the abandoned ghost town of Kayakoy,

once we got down to Oludeniz everywhere we looked were a million other tourists. Tacky bars and hotels packed every square inch of space, and the hotel we had reserved for the night was dirty and cramped, miles from the centre and, horror of horrors, the pool was empty. I had an entirely unwarranted meltdown, envisioning the rest of trip passing in a kitsch filled overpriced blur, the wonders of our first few weeks gone and forgotten. I longed to be back in the peace and beauty of hidden Faralya. After driving everyone else in the family crazy with my moaning (and lack of perspective), I finally bid a mental adieu to the past and accepted the present, able to see all the lovely things that were around us - the mountains hadn't gone anywhere, the sea was still blue, and though their charm was somewhat obscured by the commercialism,

Fethiye and the neighbouring Oludeniz did have their own beauty, with floating paragliders

colourful against the blue sky and green hills, and crashing surf the kids went crazy over. 

Tom before the wave came...

And after...

The twilight walk along the coast to find the least expensive tourist trap was serene

and we ended up enjoying our dinner at the restaurant where the waitress was from Yorkshire and the live entertainment was a couple of Dutch men performing what could only be described as a live karaoke act - they sang and played along to a backing track that was the actual recorded song - mostly 70's easy listening hits.

 

We went back to our dinghy hotel to sleep (if somewhat gingerly on the cover of our beds) and walked towards the otogar the next morning, strolling along the coast and through back streets by canals,

taking our time until we checked our watch, panicked and hopped into a taxi where we just caught our bus to Pamukkale, a three hour drive away. 

Pamukkale is small town whose centre is mostly tourist restos and hotels, but much lower key than hyper Fethiye was, and still with signs of village life - tractors were almost as common a sight on the streets as the tour buses. 

The reason for the UNESCO designation of the town is the white travertine cliffs,

pictured in photos the world around as terraced by aquiline blue pools. The reality is similar, but not quite as glorious as the posters. The pools are very shallow,

which doesn't stop people from splashing in them and posing for selfies in their bikinis (and filling up water bottles with the mineral mud reputed to have therapeutic values - something we weren't sure of would counter the potential fungal infections from the feet of countless visitors). Still fun to walk over the white calcium hills

and in the torrents of warm water. Part of the travertines had access verboten so we were able to appreciate the beauty of pools without people draped all over them. At the top of the hills was an antique bath where admission was charged for a dip in the thermal pools, still filled with ancient columns from its time as a spa. The kids and Paul frolicked in the pool for over an hour 

while I watched from the outdoor lounge and read my book, carving out my own peace in the midst of at least two competing sound systems, the Babylonian chatter of hundreds of milling tourists, and the whistles of the jandarma warning people off protected areas of the travertines. The ruins of Hierapolis just behind the travertines were themselves interesting and much less trafficked.

*****

Paul: Kyra, Tom and I found plutonium in the ruins of Hierapolis. Plutonium (in this case) refers to the toxic gases that are emitted from a hillside spring. The ultimate source of this deadly spring was, naturally, attritubuted to Pluto, god of the underworld; hence Plutonium. Stranger still, eunuch priests would prove Plutonium's efficacy by throwing small animals into the vapours to watch them die. Kyra was interested in finding this spring, and when Tom heard there was poisonous gas of course he wanted to go straight to the source. After deciphering some cryptic references in the guidebook, Kyra first heard the bubbling and hissing gases by the foundations of the ruined Temple of Apollo (safely bricked up to minimize exposure).

I have to add that the present-day village of Pamukkale also has its own creative practices. For example, we observed that the school children of Pamukkale are summoned back to class not by the abrasive and annoying ring of a bell, but rather by the heart-pumping theme from the Game of Thrones.  I think the TDSB should adopt this practice immediately.  

The eunuch priest-killing small animals thing can remain in the distant past.