acropolis

The day before, we stumbled into InStyle's Fashion Week in Athens. The signs hung in front of a government building in the park, and we walked in to find cocktails and a runway show in progress. The event had multiple shows going on at once, as well as exhibits in rooms off a main plaza. In the plaza, Absolut girls dressed in throwback spacesuit dresses (think hot Jetsons mom) served the latest flavor of Absolut, and models took pictues against a logo backdrop after they walked. In the exhibit rooms, designers displayed their new lines in small booths with just single articles of each piece.
We grabbed a table in the central plaza and did some of the best people-watching in history. Jordan had his camera, and I had my oversized sunglasses, so we did a decent job of blending in unsuspected. Models legged through with hair in rollers and oversized tote bags, and designers wandered like puppies trying to get attention from the right important individuals. One of the men looked like he'd just pulled himself off the couch and thrown on a robe before coming over--he even could've been The Dude. Most likely, his robe was Versace and his slippers Prada.
On the other side of the spectrum was the Plaka Flea Market. I used to like the Aptos flea market for the odds and ends you could find, the treasures amidst the junk that jump out at you for their resemblance to something in a history book, or maybe something you used to own yourself. In the Plaka flea market you can find these sparkling little gems, gyroscopes and brooches and pocket watches and model ships. If only I had more room in my luggage, and in my Brooklyn apartment. A vintage silver microphone teased me, and so did a tiny engraved ouzo goblet.
We left emptyhanded and found our way to the Acropolis entrance (like many things in Greece, not clearly marked). The giveaway was the mass of schoolchildren surging up the path, led by tired-looking teachers. We joined the migration and stopped at the top to overhear a tour guide explaining the reconstruction. Apparently the buildings have been taken apart and put back together numerous times in efforts at restoration, and right now Athena Nike's temple is nowhere to be found. The Parthenon is hard to appreciate fully because it's filled with scaffolding, and its columns are a patchwork of plaster. However, when you read what's happened to it--like being burned by the Turks and blown up by other enemies--it's amazing that even this much of it still exists. The museum just southeast of the Parthenon is a better place to see the friezes and statues up close and really appreciate the artistry of the monument. InStyle's appreciation of aesthetics and detail is the modern version of such values.

cream of athens

We've been in Athens, Greece for a little more than a day and I already know I want to come back. For one, the weather turned and we've had clear blue skies and t-shirt weather. 2nd, we don't have time to see the farther islands like Mykonos or Santorini, so that will have to be another time.
We're staying in Plaka, a pedestrian/shopping/restaurant area. The hotel sits off the main drag between the Acropolis and the Stadium, and the National Gardens stretch to the Northeast. We saw more Americans here than anywhere in Turkey, and vacationing Europeans too.

Sat down for dinner at a place credited in the Rough Guide, but the waiter told me one by one that they didn't currently have any of the 5 dishes involving vegetables. I settled for the 'frozen squid' (we half-hoped they would come on lollipop sticks-it turned out to be fried calamari), and Jordan tried the traditional moussaka. Despite the walls covered in photos of the owner posing with dozens of visiting celebrities, the food was bad. The Grecian bread came in a metal tin similar to the ones I used to wash myself in the Turkish bath, a crusty half-loaf of tasteless flour-water mixture. The eggplant salad turned out to be eggplant puree mixed with tartar sauce--I'd recognize that tang anywhere. At least it came in handy with the calamari. The waiter's only redeeming moment was when he reemerged at the end of the meal with a plate of Greek yogurt dribbled with honey. The yogurt was as thick as real sour cream or heavy ice cream--almost like a creamy paste, and slightly sweet. It goes down smooth and the honey adds a touch of mellow flavor. We then decided to tip.

Down a side street south of the Acropolis, we walked into an outdoor night club--just off the main drag, the street was lined with bars and cafes and a din of music and chatter. We pushed through the crowds and found a pair of chairs at a popular outdoor cafe. We sat back and surveyed the scene over an Amstel and soon realized that others were just drinking coffee, preparing for a long night of clubbing. Most were our age, some younger, and a majority were helping the air stay thick with cigarette smoke.

kapadokya, turkiye

I am tired after today's tour. We began just after breakfast, on a tourbus chartered by the hotel (for an extra fee). A half-dozen other hotel guests joined us, and we piled into an old-school Mercedes mini-bus with fold-down tray tables and attendant lights above the seats. It wasn't actively snowing, but the landscape was covered in a layer of white, with patches of earthen layers showing through on the steeper hills and towering rocks. We stopped at an overlook where we got the first explanation of Fairy Chimneys and the history behind them. They're basically the effect of erosion, and only about 5% are inhabited today. Some of the remaining homes have tiny holes above the door which serve as entrances for pigeons. Turkish farmers use their dung as fertilizer (although these days, most use artificial chemical fertilizers -- and pesticides, we were told -- I cringe to think of what residue remained on the strawberries I ate a few days ago).


When we landed yesterday, it was actively snowing and I was actively suffering from SADD. This was the worst-case scenario for our ill-planned spring break destination: we had packed for the cold, but not for the snow. Earlier that morning, the airport shuttle had stopped abruptly at the offramp for domestic flights, parking at an acute angle to the triangle of orange trash cans filled with sand. "Domestic?" he asked a few times before we realized what was going on--that he was booting us out at the offramp while cars whizzed past at 60 mph because he didn't want to pull through domestic departures. We de-vanned and wheeled our bags along the shoulder, shaking heads in amazement.

The trip from the Kayseri airport took over two hours, as we rambled from town to tiny town and dropped off other travelers. The towns looked like combinations of shantytown and ski villa, some suburban areas with new homes shouldered up to crumbling cave houses. The landscape was unreal; the highway between each town rose and fell as it ambled through fairy chimney valleys and crept up stratified hillsides.

Back to today: the tour van dropped us at a row of souvenier stand leading to the entrance to Kaymaklı, one of the many underground cities used by Christians in Turkey centuries ago. In my mind, I had pictured a cave the size of two football fields, with brightly-lit huts and multi-story cave houses. I thought it would resemble the Lost City of Atlantis in Duck Tales cartoons. Instead, we entered the cave and descended down a tunnel barely wider than Jordan's shoulders and lower than my tallest measurement. Anyone with claustrophobia would not do well in ancient Christian Cappadocia. We stopped to hear about the first room, a small living area with cubbies off each side to store the children during the days of war (no joke--so they wouldn't play and make noise when enemies prowled). We descended deeper down another path into more and more rooms, weaving back and forth down four stories like ants in a plastic-sided ant farm. The kitchen was larger, and housed a giant round of basalt for grinding--a type of rock not found that deeply in the earth, meaning it was somehow rolled into this space. The air circulated through ventilation holes 70 meters deep and carved perfectly square all the way down. It was unreal, like navigating a video game or a movie set. They also guess that these cities may connect to other underground dwellings over 5 km away. It's hard to imagine how the builders estimated the thickness of the ceilings/floors, and it was only discovered in the 1960's. The tour guide's friends used to play in the caves before they were privatized and regulated--can you imagine such a fort?


We resurfaced and went wine-tasting. The Cappadocia region is known for its wine,but because of the soil type it can only grow dry varieties. The owner poured us a white, then a red--and frankly, both tasted like cheap wine, watered down (not all cheap wine is gross--I am a frequent conniseur of 2-buck Chuck). Not one bottle was taken home. We had lunch at a Medieval Times-style restaurant, with spectator seating holding over 100 tourists and two Turkish musicians playing in the center stage. It was quite a spectacle, and we had about 30 Japanese tourists at the tables in front of ours. Next stop was a pottery factory, where artisan painters hand-glazed amazing detail into pots and vases that were thrown effortlessly by potters. They asked for a volunteer, and the tour group had collectively elected Jordan in advance. He did a fine attempt, but they didn't let him place the clay for himself and it wasn't quite centered, so he was at an unfair advantage. I think that was part of their plan, before leading us to their shop, to how us how very difficult the craft was.

Our tour mates turned out to be really nice people--one pair was a brother and sister, both Berkeley alums, both know my friends from Cal and the sister now goes to NYU law. It was quite a coincidence that we ended up on the same tour, with a similar spring break itinerary. We have the same flight out tomorrow evening, so we'll probably exchange email addresses. The other family was from Georgia, made up of a young couple and the girl's parents. The father was a greyhaired, glasses-wearing man named Jeff--couldn't help but make me wish Dad was on the trip too.

The day ended with a hike and more spectacular Fairy Chimneys and rock formations. The colors are beautiful, and the stratified layer of rock on the sloping cliffs look like tablecloths thrown over a plateau. We crunched through fresh snow and orange clay-soil, and breathed in the silence of an otherworldly terrain.

tuesday

More rain today. It seemed a good day for indoor activities, so after breakfast we walked to the Aya Sophia to wandered the grounds of the cathedral/mosque. It's interesting that in its restoration, the Christian mosaics and icons have been only partially uncovered. Restorers have chipped away the plaster to reveal images from its pre-1400's era as a cathedral, but in some areas they seem to have stopped the project. The Arabic additions from the past few centuries don't look very permanent; the largest ones hang on giant discs as if they were erected for a party, and would be taken down after the guests left. The stained-glass windows are eerily empty of figures or faces; the colors that line the borders are an outline to frosted white glass. Jordan tried out some effects with his new Canon Rebel XTi, and then we moved on to the archeological museum within the castle grounds.

It was a strange museum, an odds-and-ends collection of really old artifacts, statues and figurines. It was also empty--maybe because it was low tourist season, maybe because it was sort of a bad museum. We couldn't figure out why Jerome had raved about it, until we realized at the end that we were not touring the royal Ottoman rooms; that was a separate (much larger) building altogether. One of our new roommates was a canadian who just returned from the Middle East, where he hung out in Palestine coffee shops and visiting friends in Jerusalem. I don't think I have the guts to travel in those areas right now. He described watching a coffee-shop date: the girl and the guy were obviously on a romantic outing, but sat across from one another and He drew us a freehand map to the open-air market on the Asian side of the bosphorous. A ferry brought us there in 20 minutes, and at the asian dock we bought a grilled fish sandwich from a stand, baguette holding flaky, freshly caught fish.

We followed the penciled map until we got to a 5-way intersection and had to take a gamble. The street we chose turned into another pedestrian shopping zone, and I made a quick stop in a Mango outlet but left once I'd had enough of the feeding frenzy inside. The clothes were pretty cheap but there weren't too many things that I could actually see myself wearing, so I passed. Jordan waited patiently and then we continued our search for the open-air market. We wove through side streets until we could see a meadow of white tents in the distance, but as we approached it was clear that it was being actively taken apart; rainwater waterfalled from the tarps and cars shared the walkways with shoppers. Farther in, a produce market was still active. This was definitely not a tourists' bazaar; we were the only non-Turks to be found. Sellers stared at Jordan's giant camera lens, and the noise level was 10 times what you'd hear at the Aptos Farmer's Market. One man saw him shooting the camera and grabbed his arm to gesture at his buddies, holding up a finger and jeering, "1 Lira"--take our photo and pay us one Lira. He wouldn't let go of Jordan's arm and he had to jerk it free. Unlike old town Istanbul, this market gave us an undeniable feeling of outsider-ness. On the ferry back, we had Turkish tea in traditional glass with saucer, and took one last pass through the grand bazaar in the old city.

sunny day

Jordan woke up to blue skies out the window on Monday morning... but soon realized that it was the bright-blue awning hanging over the wrought-iron window. Nevertheless, the sun poked through and we explored more of the old city, stopping at a pet/gardening bazaar to admire plastic jugs of leeches and peacocks in cages. Locals filled the streets today (and many more women!) and the town was bustling with movement and hollers and cars driving down nearly-too-narrow cobblestone streets. In the open-air bazaars, there are no passive sellers ; instead, they continuously call out to passersby and we can only imagine they are saying "figs! figs! I have figs!"


We walked across the bridge to the northern, more modern part of the city and weaved through the industry/tools district to head toward a big tower on the hill. As we climbed a narrow winding cobbled street we realized that nearly every shop on either side held musical instruments--we had apparently entered the instrument district. Turks sell things in cameraderie, which seems counterintuitive to laws of competition, but it must be working. I suppose if you want shoes, you will go to the shoe district and most stores eventually get a portion of sales.

We reached the tower and kept climbing til we came upon a pedestrian shopping street. It seemed more posh than anything in the old town, and people looked more modern--less headscarves, more stiletto boots and sunglasses. When we arrived in Taxim Square, we stopped to share a sesame-bread round from a street cart (sort of like a bagel, but drier) and noticed armed cops patrolling the entire area, including a sniper bearing a machine gun on an adjacent rooftop. There didn't seem to be any urgency or panic in the people's faces as they walked around, so we decided this must be a normal state of affairs.

We crossed back into the old city over the easternmost bridge, passing by a row of restaurants and bars on the lower level who tried in various languages--Turkish, Spanish, English--to entice us in (apparently as a couple we look like we could speak any of these three). Back at the bazaar, we went spice-shopping and were drawn into a booth by a funny character of a man. He led us on a tour of his spices, clinging to my forearm and turning to talk inches from my face. After he explained various mixtures--meatball spice, lemon salt (for fish) he served us hot apple tea, and we chose what we wanted. We pointed at the three mentioned above, as well as some apple and turkish tea and hot red pepper flakes. This booth's winning asset was the vacuum-pack: our luggage couldn't take much more. He scooped about a kilo of each at first; we had to shake our heads and ask him to dump at least half of each bag, and we still walked away with $40 of spices. They're good-quality, and different than what we would find in our markets.

Back in Sultanhamet, we used the Lonely Planet to pick an Indian restaurant next to the Aya Sophia called Dubb. We were led to a table on the fifth floor, seated near a wall of windows with an eye-to-eye view of the mosque. It was spectacular, framing the monument lit by accent lights and looming over everything in its domain.

istanbul, turkey

We arrived in Ataturk Int'l Airport on Saturday afternoon and took the tram to the old city. Our directions to Hostel Istanbul told us to get off in Sultanhamet and walk between the Aya Sophia and the Blue Mosque, turn right and then left and pass the Four Seasons Hotel. This sounded promising, and as we navigated our suitcases over the cobblestones we agreed that it was great to feel no hurry, that we could move slowly and take in the city. We left the metro station and became immediately disoriented; our directions didn't account for a major highway and multiple bus stations. Two Turkish men spotted our confusion and asked if we were lost in spotty English. I looked at Jordan and we tried to silently agree upon the right answer, but the men pushed forward and offered to help--Yusuf Pasa? This way? He nodded and said, Yusuf Pasa, yes. We rounded a bend and saw the walkway mentioned in the Hostel's directions--and he pointed and stuck out his hand to shake goodbye. It was a nice welcoming experience to Turkey, helpful and friendly even after seeing that we were Americans.

As we passed between the mosques we couldn't take our eyes off the strikingly different architecture; it was like nothing we were used to seeing in the United States, or even Western Europe. The dome crouched like the body of a spider, its spindly tower legs protruding toward the sky. Boxy buttresses pushed against a wide, broad dome and gold accented the uppermost spires and domes. The gray sky made the stonework appear colorless and it couldn't help but remind me of an evil fortress in a thriller movie. We found the hostel and checked into our dorm room, realizing that it may not be much longer that we can do the hostel--thing; it's fine now, but I forget how important it is to have your own space after a long day of walking and a backpack full of semi-valuables. We had dinner and came back to the hostel's basement-level bar, already lively with Aussies getting drunk and ranting about American malpractices abroad. You can't blame 'em; America is oil-greedy and has caused some major world problems. Jordan and I set up the backgammon table to celebrate Turkish gaming traditions but realized that neither of us could remember how the board was set. We played chess instead, working through half-liter beers and a jetlag haze that resulted in a fairly long and uninspired game (yes, he won). For the next game, I asked one of the hostel workers to set the board for us and he quickly dropped the pieces in the right place, pushing them into straight lines of two, three and four and stepping back to admire his work. The backgammon match was a brilliant display of skill and cunning, in which one player emerged as a true master of the sport (yes, I won). We also made a friend--one of the Hostel workers, in his second day on the job, pulled up a chair and chatted with us in English. He asked about New York and about travel, and said he'd never left the area. We learned from him a bit about Turkish schools and rent prices, and asked him what we should do the following day. Using the backgammon chips, he made a map of the area and showed us where to find shops and cafes across the bosphorous to the north.

The next morning we had a hostel breakfast resembling a Greek platter: sliced tomato and cucumber, soft, creamy feta, a half dozen well-cured black olives, hunks of baguette and a hardboiled egg. Coffee came from a Nescafe can, and tea came in a normal black tea bag. I doubt I've ever eaten olives before noon, but it was a nice start to the day and less heavy than most American breakfasts. Our first stop was the Blue Mosque, and we pulled off our shoes like the rest and carried them through the holy building in a plastic bag. The building was impressive inside, but its grandeur was diluted by the hanging chandeliers that descended like advent wreaths of bare bulbs and hung 10-12 feet from the floor. It must've been a prayertime necessity, or something traditional, but it made the architecture hard to appreciate.

We continued on to the Cagalogli Hamami, the oldest Turkish baths in the area. I'd found them online in a few traveler's reviews, and they are one of NY Times' Top 1000 things to do before you die, so it seemed the best bet for a bath experience. We paid our Lira and split ways, me to the women's side. I was shown to a small room with a bed (for massage? after-bathing nap? I never really knew) where I undressed and wrapped myself in a blue-and-white towel. I was expecting a long soak in a tub, maybe multiple tubs of different temperatures like in Spain, but instead my masseuse led me by the hand into the steam room. She brought me in front of a faucet that ran like a fountain into a stone bowl and took my towel from me. I now stood naked in front of her and she said, sit. You sit here. She took a metal bowl and showed me how to take bowls of water from the wall and pour it over myself to get clean. She told me, you wash. Wash, wash, wash. I come back. And with that, she left me alone in the steam room. I looked around for the first time, from the star-shaped holes letting in shafts of light from the ceiling to the raised center platform accented by a single potted palm. I was in a James Bond movie, or maybe transported through time to a harem. I was the only one in the bath, and I did what I was told, pouring water over me and humming a little to hear the 5-second echo of the octagonal stone room.

Another girl entered after a while, and we didn't make eye contact, just continued washing. After another 10 minutes (this felt like a lot of washing) my masseuse came back and took me by the hand to the center platform, where she told me to lie down. I kneeled and she motioned for me to roll over on my back. hmmm, frontal massage. This was a new one. I lay, and she squirted oil on my stomach and began to massage in circular motions. It felt more like a doctor's visit than anything, and I closed my eyes and tried to get over the wierdness and enjoy the oil massage. This is the way the Turkish have been doing it for thousands of years, so I took it all in. I wondered briefly about Jordan and decided that no matter what he was wearing, he was probably uncomfortable.

She flipped me over and gave me a good back and neck massage, and then did my feet. She had me sit up facing her and did my shoulders, which felt very mothering and safe. Finally, she led me to the faucet and did a shampoo and face massage, covering my nose and mouth as she poured water over my head--just like in the bathtub 20 years ago. She asked me how I liked it and I told her it was very nice, very good. She smiled and handed me my towel, then took off her bathing suit and wrapping in a towel--she only wore the suit for my comfort, apparently. Better for there to be only one nudist in the room at a time, and that would be me. Jordan had a similar experience, but faced the same confusion as I about where to go and what to do, and his masseuse was hard on the chest hair. We agreed that we didn't have to do the baths twice, but were glad to have done it.

We began to walk back along the tram tracks, weaving in and out of alleys and avoiding the gaze of shopkeepers, who would prey upon a passersby that so much as looked through the window. I began to notice routines that are unfamiliar to us; throughout the day, shopkeepers and diners and almost everyone takes small glasses of turkish tea, set on a white platter with a small silver spoon to mix in a cube of sugar. It's a tiny vase of liquid compared to anything starbucks churns out, but it's apparently a staple in the diet. Jordan noticed that the stereotypes about doner kebab have an utter basing in real-life Turkish diet; you can't walk 20 feet without hitting another doner stand. Conical stacks of meat hung everywhere we turned, rotating against a heatlamp and dripping reguarly into a frying pan underneath. We stopped at lunchtime to try a doner, ducking randomly into one of the shops and ordering the burrito-style wrap. It came covered in newsprint and held a delicious mix of grilled chicken, lettuce and shredded carrot, and the occasional french fry. Our bill came to something like 2.25 in dollars.

More to come...