Pamukkale, Hierapolis, camel wrestling - değil

For more photographs, see: http://anatolianphotos.shutterfly.com/

There are many ways to indicate a negative in the Turkish language. “Hayir” means “no,” as in the case when you are asked if you would like some tea. “Hayir, teşekkürlar,” or “No, thanks,” you would reply. If you ask a vendor, “Do you have any apples?” (in Turkish, of course), he or she might respond, “Yok,” or “no, there are none.” The word “değil,” is a way of negating a word or phrase. “It is raining, isn’t it?” one might ask. If it is dry, the other speaker might respond: “Değil,” or “Yağmur değil.” In other words, “No, it is not raining."

I add a variation to the latter: "Yağmur, değil değil.” That is, it is not not raining. More simply: it is raining.

Where the Northeast U.S. is getting clobbered by snowstorm after snowstorm, winter in Ankara is mostly rain. This seems to be true as well with all of Turkey, except for the East of the country, where snow is the norm. Or on top of mountains which are everywhere in this large country. Even Ankara and Istanbul have had some snow so far. But mostly, we have seen lots of rain, and little sun. This is very unusual. Either it is normally dry, or normally snowy. Rain is not the norm.

The reason I go on like this about rain, is that the wet stuff turned our trip to Pamukkale, Hierapolis, and a camel wrestling match, into a “Pamukkale, Hierapolis, and camel wrestling – değil” excursion. We made the trip, but saw none of the three principle highlights. Sigh.

Nonetheless, there were many positives. Key among them was our intrepid rug dealer and guide, Kadir Bey. To make sure all his plans for our trip, and that of 26 others travelers, went smoothly, he drove from Antalya (where he was visiting his daughter and her children) to the sites of our visits, the hotel, and so on, then drove back to Ankara—all in a 13-hour marathon drive. He did this to make sure the hotel would be to our liking, the food would be good, and the roads were passable. He is an amazingly conscientious person and terrific host. If only he could control the weather.

At any rate, we headed to the rug shop to catch the bus early Friday afternoon. After a "snack" of vegetable spring rolls and raisin cookies, served by Kadir Bey’s cook, Ince, he asked us if we felt last night’s earthquake!!! The 4.1 earthquake struck at about 2:35 a.m., but I apparently slept through it. Larry heard some people talking loudly outside, but he hadn’t felt it either. Kadir Bey watched his chandelier sway, and worried that the shaking TV above his bed would fall.

Heading west on our eight-hour bus trip, we stopped at a state subsidized kilim workshop. Here, sheep’s wool is hand spun, hand dyed, using only vegetable dyes, and woven into magnificent kilims, utilizing traditional tribal motifs memorized by the women who weave them. Because Chinese imitations sold throughout Turkey are so much cheaper (they use chemical dyes and semi-mechanized weaving processes), these kilims would be prohibitively expensive if not subsidized by the Turkish government. Kadir Bey estimates that, with increased imports of cheap imitations, these and similar workshops will not last more than another five years.
I was sorely tempted to buy one of these gorgeous rugs, but, again, restrained myself. Our house in Connecticut just is not that big. And, as much as I love my friends and family members back home, these make for very expensive (and heavy to carry) gifts. Sorry!

After eight hours, we finally arrived at our hotel near Pamukkale – the Colossae Thermal Hotel and Spa, at around 9:00 p.m. If I weren’t so hungry by this time, I would have loved dipping into one of the hot spring pools both inside and outside the hotel. My nerves were on edge after eight hours of sitting directly in front of hyperactive, noisy (but not necessarily bad) kids, whose parents sat way in the back of the bus where they were blissfully unaware (or didn’t care) that their kids were driving us crazy! Ay, ay, ay!

Next day, we awoke early to test "the waters." These are the same springs that brought the ancient Romans to nearby Hierapolis for therapeutic dips into these wonderful, hot, relaxing waters. Actually, there are two types of water gushing from the nearby hills (or were they pumped up by the hotel from underground? We weren’t sure). Behind the hotel’s huge outdoor swimming pool – closed for the season – were four small pools, open all year long. One was very hot, around 40 degrees Celcius (110-ish Fahrenheit), and red from the high concentration of iron. This was the first we tried, since the air in the morning was cold. (It’s still winter). Ahhhhh! Then we immersed ourselves in the "calcium" pool—clear looking, cold water, which nonetheless left calcium deposits on the edges of the pool and overhanging ledge. Brrrr! Then we tried the lower, warm "red" pool – nah! This one’s for sissies (and kids). Finally the lower calcium pool. Eh—we’ll stick to the upper pools.

Then breakfast, and our first "adventure" of the day:
A one and a half hour bus trip to the town of Buldan, in the province of Denizli, took us to a collection of stores specializing in cloth products – table runners, Turkish (duh!) towels, bathrobes, tablecloths, curtains, scarves, and many other beautiful items. All of these items are made locally, generally using traditional fabric techniques. After several of us made some selections, Kadir Bey negotiated a lower price for us. He had suggested that we not do any bargaining on our own because some of the shop owners, if the price agreed on is too low, will reach under the table and package something of a lesser quality than you were expecting.

Next he led us to a fabric workshop where many of the products in the shops were prepared, or stored for distribution after being created by women working in their homes. I tried one of the embroidery machines on site, after watching an expert embroiderer. She and another assistant did their best to help me work the machine, but I was all thumbs.

Next was a stop at a small silk weaver’s shop, where a middle aged man created tightly woven pure silk scarves. Expensive by Turkish standards (even after he "reduced’ the price for me), it is nonetheless quite special to me. After getting it home, though, I had to air it out to eliminate the cigarette smell.

On the way back to the bus, we stopped at a small produce stand, where a nomadic couple who had been married 50 years, sold us lots of delicious dried figs, and threw in some regional raisins, made from local large grapes, with the seeds still in the raisins. Delicious! When asked why one of his fingers was missing a joint, the old man responded that it was a cutting accident. He went on to say, however, that his father was punished by the Greeks (before Turkish independence) by having two joints of two of his fingers cut off by them. Sad.

Next stop was at the town of Sarayköy, where the camel wrestling competition was to take place the next day. From the bus, we could see a few dozen men sitting in the central square of the town. As we alighted from the bus, a local band spontaneously greeted us with traditional music, played on traditional Turkish instruments – a long horn that sounded like a kazoo, another horn that droned an underlying note, and a drum. They played directly at us, as Kadir Bey gave them each a fair amount of money as a "thank you." (Hmmm. On second thought, did Kadir Bey arrange all this during his previous marathon drive?). The music brought more people to the square, as did, I think, the sight of all these foreigners emerging from a big, white bus. This is a very small town, outside the normal tourist route.

At one end of the square, a vendor was selling, and wearing, traditional orange plaid scarves, embroidered with the names of the towns that would be competing the next day, as well as a depiction of a camel. Most of us bought one or more of the scarves to tie around our shoulders during tomorrow’s match.

We made our way to the town hall, where Kadir Bey brought gifts from his workshop. His intent, I think, was to negotiate with town officials a special "box seat" in the mayor’s box during tomorrow’s camel competition. While he talked with one of the officials, we were seated in a large conference room and served delicious Turkish tea. Someone, looking out one of the windows, shouted "here come the camels." Crowding to the window, we viewed a small parade of elaborately "dressed" camels, led by their owners and/or handlers to the town square. We rushed down several flights of stairs to get a closer look at these huge creatures, where they stood in dignified display in a circle around the square.

A little about camel wrestling. This is an old village tradition that is now confined to Western Turkey, near the Aegean Sea. Held only once a year in each selected town, each match consists of two male camels, of comparable size and weight (they are bred to be large) competing for the female camel displayed to them at the beginning of the match. This time of year is mating season, which explains the infrequent occurrence of the matches. That and the distances traveled by the camels and their owners from various surrounding villages. Sarayköy’s one and only match this year was to occur the next day—Sunday.

After a female is displayed – generally arrayed in pink ornamentation – the two camels butt heads and/or wrap one leg around one of his opponent’s to try to upset the latter’s balance. The first camel to run away is the loser of the match. There is no real violence, and the competition is considered to be fairly "gentle." At least, this is what we have been told. We were warned, however, that the crowds, among which are several inebriated fans, can act a little less "gently." Apparently, the only other danger is if/when the losing camel, generally weighing around a ton, runs toward the crowd. This may be why Kadir Bey wants to arrange for a "box seat" for us.

These animals are huge and decorated with tribal rugs, camel bags, and ornamental "evil eye" tokens, to ward off bad luck.

Eventually, we returned to the conference room in the town hall, where a group of officials joined us, and addressed our group. First the governor of the district of Denizli welcomed us and told us a little about the town and its hopes for the future (more tourists). Kadir Bey translated for us. Then the town mayor welcomed us, with a beautiful smile, and ended with "I love you!" At that point, Larry was asked to address the delegation, much to his surprise, which he did with good grace, humor, and a little Turkish as well. Finally, another official handed out yet more of the orange scarves, all with the town’s name, Sarayköy, and an elaborately decorated camel. We now have three of these scarves.

Wearing our brightly covered scarves around our shoulders, we exited the building where a local photographer took a group picture of all of us surrounding the officials. I wish I could have seen the next day’s local newspaper! The little band struck up their traditional music again, as we danced with the officials, then headed down the street to our bus. By this time, a large crowd had gathered, and a spontaneous parade formed, led first by the musicians, then our group, then dozens of townspeople. All along the road, people came out of their homes and their shops to view and hear this unusual procession.

Riding back to the hotel, we saw many miles of beautiful vineyards, beyond which were small villages flanking rising mountains. Beautiful scenery!

By the time we returned to the hotel, to pick up the few people who stayed behind that day, it was getting late. The plan was to now visit the travertines called "Pamukkale," as well as the Roman ruins of the city of Hierapolis.

Pamukkale is a huge white calcium formation spilling down a mountainside in sparkling pools that had been created by thousands of years of calcium deposits from the flowing waters. It is such an unusual and beautiful formation, that it even figures occasionally in movies; there is a scene in a 1990s movie about Odysseus that features Pamukkale as the home of a wily goddess. The filmmakers, though, place the travertines in the middle of the Aegean Sea, rather than on the side of a mountain, where it is in reality. Fifteen years ago, we were able to take off our shoes and splash around in the warm white pools, but now people are restricted to a small area in order to protect the formations from the thousands of tourists who visit this amazing site each year. Note: the photo above of the white travertines was taken from a large mural in the hotel, if you're wondering what the bright lights in the photo are all about.

Hierapolis was founded by the ancients just above these pools. Used by Greeks, then Romans, as a "health spa," the inhabitants and visitors treated themselves to immersions in "the waters," or drank the healing liquid as the case may be. Hierapolis is particularly striking for its huge necropolis outside the city gates. Does this mean that "the waters" were not so healthful after all? Or, that those already near death migrated to this area in a last ditch effort to prolong life?We’ll never know.

At any rate, our plan to visit Pamukkale and Hierapolis after our Buldan and Sarayköy visits was altered. The two sites were about to close – they are national parks – and we would have little time to visit them. No problem; there’s always tomorrow, before the camel match. We’ll head back to the hotel’s thermal pools instead. And then some dinner, a soccer match on TV, and off to Murphyland (i.e., sleep).

That sleep, alas, was interrupted by heavy rain. The rain didn’t stop. It kept up all morning, and kept Kadir Bey awake since 3:00 a.m. wondering what to do about all these people who traveled, some with small children, to see camel wrestling, Pamukkale, and the famous Roman ruins.

Alas, the camel match was cancelled. The heavy rain and subsequent mud made it too dangerous for the animals to compete. They risked falling and breaking their legs. Wise decision. The visits to Pamukkale and Hierapolis were likewise cancelled. The mud and heavy rain made it too dangerous for people, who might slip and break their legs. I’m not sure this was such a wise decision, but reasonably understandable. One young woman in our group quipped, "This has been an awfully expensive shopping trip." Undeterred, she and three of her companions hired a cab to take them to Pamukkale, which they had never seen. We had been to both sites before, and elected to stay at the hotel (the bus wasn’t leaving until 11:00), to use the fitness center and try the indoor thermal pool. Besides, we wanted to stay with Kadir Bey.

Hence, the title, above, with one of the ways of saying "no." Our trip to the three sites didn’t happen. Well, the trip happened, but the three sites remained unexplored. Was it a waste? Not at all. There is always adventure to be found, and for me, visits to textile centers are always a treat. And, on the way back, the parents of the kids sat with them, so, even though some of the parents acted like kids (lots of wine and junk food), it was definitely a more enjoyable bus trip this time around.

Antalya, Perge, Alanya (Feb. 13 - 15)

Antalya

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under "Antalya, Perge, Alanya."

Last summer, some ECSU colleagues returned from a trip to Turkey, waxing poetic about how beautiful the city of Antalya was—despite the heat there at the time. My memory of Antalya from our 1990s visit was of large resort hotels, lots of noise, and, okay, the impressive Hadrian’s gate. That memory was ingrained in me from the brief stopovers in Antalya on our way to other places; e.g., Kemer, Alanya, and a boat ride to a pirate’s cave. But we never actually spent time in Antalya. So, when the Friends of ARIT (American Research Institute of Turkey) advertised a tour of Antalya, Perge and Alanya, led by a leading archaeologist of the area, we signed up.

This trip began with a one hour plane ride, rather than a nine hour bus trip. So we arrived in good time to have lunch and check into our hotel in the old, historic part of Antalya, called Kaleici (pronounced Kahlay eechee). What a difference from my original impressions of Antalya. This area is beautifully restored and/or kept as it has been for hundreds of years. Gorgeous Ottoman houses, many transformed into small hotels and pensions, are separated by nearly car-free cobblestoned alleys. It is a quiet, peaceful area, at least during this off-season, with excellent restaurants, interesting souvenir shops, and cafes, interspersed with the town’s ancient city walls.

From the vantage point of a seaside park on top of a cliff, we could see the curving shoreline west, emanating from the smaller harbor, now a yacht marina, with the cliffs rising from the sea, topped by housing and hotels. From one part of the cliffs spewed a waterfall. The small marina used to be the main entry into the town by boat. Because the Byzantines and later Ottomans weren’t inviting just anyone into their town, the small beach gave way to high walls protecting them from marauders. Only a steep stairway gave access to the city.

The morning rain gave way to just clouds, obscuring the view of the Taurus mountains surrounding the city. Scott Redford, our guide and an archaeologist, tried to describe how unusually dramatic the mountains were, but we couldn’t see any trace of them at all. The bottom picture above, though, shows what Scott was talking about; the next day they finally emerged from the clouds.

After a long history lesson by Scott, we wandered as a group along the inner city walls, where he further explained his interpretations of various Arabic inscriptions embedded high in the walls. Two years of research led him to an understanding of what he described as Seljuk political propaganda, wasted on the populace, in that the inscriptions were placed too high for people to actually read. The inscriptions, however, and additional ornamentations depicted, according to Scott, a surprising level of religious tolerance between the Muslim rulers and the local Muslim, Christian, and Jewish inhabitants.

Following one arm of the city gates, we encountered Hadrian’s gate, a three-arched gate constructed to honor the visit of Emperor Hadrian to the city. Fifteen years ago, I was able to get a good photograph of this historical structure. But, for some reason, I could not get a good photographic view this time. I suspect that the road behind me had been widened, preventing me from backing up sufficiently to take in the entire structure. The bottom of the middle arch is now covered with a glass walkway, to protect the stones below, deeply grooved by Roman carriages over many hundreds of years. This glass walkway is new and, to me, detracts from the beauty of the gate. Nonetheless, I understand the rationale behind protecting the stones from touristy feet, ours included.

Around four o’clock, we were scheduled to meet with another archaeologist, at the site of the ruins of a Byzantine Church, later a mosque, which is currently undergoing excavation and renovation. We waited for him to finish a lecture at a newly renovated museum, the Suna-Inan Kirac Kaleici museum and research center. The center included somewhat hokey, but interesting, wax figurines posing in Ottoman period costumes in reproduction Ottoman rooms. After his lecture, the Turkish archaeologist opened the gates to the archaeological church/mosque site, where we learned of the history of this building, called Kesik Minare, or Broken Minaret. (The minaret WAS broken). Originally constructed in the 2nd century as a Roman temple, it was converted to the Church of the Virgin Mary by the Byzantines in the 6th century, and later made into a mosque (around the 12th century?) The previous week had experienced torrential, deadly rains – people died in the floods not far from here – resulting in the collapse of one of the walls of the church. As such, we were limited to standing in the center of the ruins and advised not to wander too far near the walls. They certainly looked precarious.

After the church visit, we had some free time before dinner. So Larry and I wandered through the large, pretty park, where we watched the light fade as the sun set (couldn’t actually see the sun; it was still cloudy), and took some nighttime photos of the picturesque scene.

Our hotel, Atelya Art Hotel, consists of three or four (I forget which) converted Ottoman houses. The "lobby" is actually in a beautiful outdoor courtyard, with oranges ripening on the trees. Our room was very large and decorated in typical Ottoman style—dark colors, old kilims, lace, copper tabletop, carved wooden ceiling, etc. One room, occupied by another couple in our group, was in the attic and extended the entire length of the building. I could live there; it was big enough, and beautiful enough. I’ve even included a picture of their room in my photos of this trip. Our room was accessed by exiting the courtyard, crossing an alleyway, entering the "main" door of another building, and walking through Ottoman sitting rooms, library, and hallways. Alas, because it is off season, and the hotel owners opened the buildings just for us, it was very cold and had a pervasive smell of moisture and mustiness. Ah well, it was worth it just for the experience of staying in such an unusually pretty space.

Dinner that night was at an elegant restaurant. The food was sculptured and delicious. The wine surrounding us on the walls, up to the ceilings, was good. The dessert was a choice of cheesecake or chocolate soufflé (Turkish?), served ala culinary school. Aha! I had forgotten that ARIT tourists are well fed.

Antalya Museum

The next day’s itinerary included a tour of the Greek/Roman/Byzantine ruins of the city of Perge. But first, we visited the Antalya Museum, which housed most of the gorgeous, huge sculptures taken for protection and display from Perge during excavations of the site.

This museum is in many ways as impressive and significant as the magnificent archaeological museum in Ankara, except that the Antalya building was nondescript, unlike the Ankara museum, a converted Ottoman era "han." In one part of the museum, artifacts found from early civilizations (Paleolithic, Calceolithic, Copper, Bronze, and Iron Ages, and so on) are displayed chronologically. But what distinguishes this museum from the one in Ankara, besides the building, is that another part of the museum displays artifacts from specific sites displayed together in one large case, but representing all the known civilizations that occupied the site. The items included ancient pottery, Roman jewelry, Byzantine objects, even 17th century ceramics. As part of these eclectic displays, each case prominently highlights the archaeologist responsible for excavations at the respective sites, with photos, research focus, and the institutions that supported them. I thought this was a particularly imaginative approach and gave credit to the profession responsible for salvaging so much of the rich history of this region. Kudos to this museum.

Nonetheless, the main reason we were visiting this museum was to see the Roman sculptures found in Perge. Oh my goodness, these sculptures are magnificent. One room of sculptures included various gods, as expected, such as Nemesis, the god of both good and bad "luck," and the city’s home god. In addition, though, were mass produced copies of well known sculptures of the gods; e.g., Aphrodite emerging from her bath. These workshop produced artifacts gave us a chance to see some of the techniques of the artisans in creating statues that could be shipped long distances without breakage. There is a reason, too, it turns out, that large statues of people or gods nearly always are leaning on something; e.g., a lion, a camel, or some heavy weaponry. Without the support of these secondary objects, the statues would topple before long.

The highlight of the museum, was a large room constructed to hold the statues and frieze reliefs from a single building – the theater – of Perge. I tried to take a photo of the entire room, it was so impressive. But, of course, without the ability to use a camera flash, the photo is inadequate. Even with a flash, I probably would not have succeeded in conveying the grandeur of this room. The gods were huge and leaning forward somewhat. This was so they could be adequately seen on their high niches in the tall wall of the theater, from the audience below. Interestingly, I was troubled by one huge statue of a warrior, whose head seemed oddly too small for his body. I asked another prominent archaeologist (Charles Gates) who was traveling with us, what he thought about this statue. He said he never noticed the odd size of the head and, yes, he believes it does not really belong to the rest of the statue. Another person in our group noticed another oddity, which I cannot remember at the moment. Maybe we should notify the museum of our findings; maybe they already know them and don’t need a bunch of tourists to tell them their job.

One last exhibition hall we perused highlighted what is called the "Treasure of the Century," including thousands of coins from the 5th century B.C.E. that were once spirited out of the country, then recently returned after ten years of litigation against a U.S. collector who insisted on keeping them. The coins were in mint condition and included, in addition to thousands of small ones, fourteen large commemorative coins called "decadrahmi," produced by the Athenians to commemorate Greece's defeat of the Persians. These 10-drachma coins were as big as medallions. There were only seven previously known "decadrahmi." The hoard returned to Antalya included an additional fourteen. When a few years ago they came back to Turkey (which, remember, was part of Greece at one point), there was a great deal of publicity, including large posters on the sides of buses proclaiming that the "Treasure" has returned.

Leaving the museum, we looked back over the city, where suddenly the clouds cleared enough to see the mountains. Still hazy, they looked like a Chinese silk painting. They were jagged, sharply defined, spectacularly beautiful, but muted in the haze, giving them an ethereal, almost unreal quality. We were so surprised and impressed that Scott had the driver pull over so that we could get some photographs before the clouds once again swallowed them up.

Perge

After lunch – another feast of way too much food – we took the bus to the site of the excavations at Perge. This is being touted as another "Ephesus." We heard this claim a few months ago about Patara, not far from here. It seems that the success as a tourist draw has made Ephesus a model for other equally extensive ancient sites now being excavated. This phenomenon also serves as a reminder of the tremendous historical significance of so many places throughout Anatolia. I keep saying that we have to return in yet another fifteen years to see the results of all these excavations which, unfortunately, are moving somewhat slowly due to lack of funds. Perge has an interesting project currently in the works, whereby a donation of a certain amount of Turkish lira – I don’t remember how much, but it’s not a lot – enables yet one more column to be resurrected on the site of the agora, with the donor’s name inscribed on a small plaque at the base of the column. Clever, and so far reasonably successful. I even saw mention of the program, with an address to send donations, in the in-flight magazine in the airplane while returning to Turkey from the States in December.

Anyway, we began trekking along a path through tall weeds, with Roman ruins sticking up here and there. Scott’s intent was to start our tour "backwards," reversing the normal "tourist" route in order to give us a different perspective to the site. (I don’t remember what he said the difference was, except that it was "backward"). Unfortunately, the previous week’s floods were still in evidence; a huge puddle, about 50 meters long, prevented us from reaching Scott’s preferred starting point. That rain last week must have been fierce. (I had also noticed from the bus about a dozen large signs along the highway that had been snapped in half by the accompanying winds).

Like so many Greek/Roman/Byzantine sites we’ve seen, there were many of the typical buildings one associates with this type of location. What distinguishes Perge architecturally is the compactness of the locations of the significant buildings. The agora (shopping/meeting center), temple, cesme (fountain supplying water), baths, fortifications, entrance arch, theater, and stadium were all within fairly close proximity to each other. Access to the theater, from which the huge statues were taken, was prohibited because the building was structurally unsound. So, too, the long, impressive stadium, although Larry and I didn’t know about the prohibition at the stadium and wandered around on our own. No walls fell on us, thank goodness.

Another distinguishing feature is the main street. Romans were famous for their perfectly straight roads—particularly the main road connecting the most significant municipal buildings and plazas. Oddly, Perge’s main street had a bend in the middle. Scott suggests that this was due to there being an existing town, with a "crooked" long street, already in existence when the Romans arrived. The latter civilization, for some reason, chose to keep the bend in the road. Also distinguishing this road from others we’ve seen is the center "median," which is actually a water canal, bringing water from a cistern in the hills, via a cesme, or fountain, in the nymphaeum, at the end of the main road, serving as an anchor in the road’s design. The other anchor, at the opposite end of the road was once the main entrance to the city walls, later converted by the Romans to an entry "gallery" in honor of the donors of the structures. It is now referred to as the "Founders' Gallery." This section is currently under renovation, therefore covered in scaffolding.

After the Perge tour, we wrestled with sleep on the two hour bus trip to our next city, Alanya, and checked in at the Kaptan Hotel, a fancy, newish non-descript hotel on the harbor of the city, east of Antalya. The only thing I can say about the hotel per se is that my bed was incredibly uncomfortable; it tilted sideways so that I nearly fell out once during the night. The restaurant, though, was terrific. It was outside, across the street, with a view down to a pretty park skirting the harbor. Famous for its fish, the restaurant served sea bass that was out of this world. Some people had beef, and Larry and a few others were served vegetarian dishes. Again, too much food, but this time we were served sculptures of fresh, delicious fruit for dessert. Since the meal lasted until 10:30 p.m., we were glad for the light ending to the repast.

Alanya

Scott, our tour guide, had located us in rooms at the back of the Kaptan Otel in order not to have to listen to the ubiquitous disco music in the neighborhood. Luckily, I heard the thrum, thrum, thrum of the base for only about fifteen minutes before falling asleep. Others in our group were not so lucky. After a hotel breakfast, with lots of choices, Larry and I strolled around the park at the base of the hill, gazing out at the Mediterranean in the early morning. Pretty.

After checking out of the hotel, we began the long climb up the enormous rock jutting into the sea, crowned by an old citadel constructed, expanded and modified throughout successive empires. The "climb" was easy; we took our private bus.

The "rock" is said to be of the same geological construction, and as tall as, Gibraltar. It certainly is hard to miss, looming over the town below as Gibraltar does over southern Spain, although the latter rock is much longer and wider.

At the top, we first walked to the Sultan’s pavilion, a brick square, about 15 x 15 feet, jutting over a tall cliff and looking out into the sea. Legend has it that the sultan threw hapless people off this pavilion to the rocks and sea many hundreds of feet below. Scott says there is no truth to this legend as far as he knows. Since he spent twenty years working on this "rock," I’m inclined to believe him. We were protected from falling off the pavilion by a tall iron railing. Wondering why it was more than ten feet tall, Scott explained that there is another story that, from the pavilion, it is impossible to throw a stone out to the sea. Looking over the edge, the sea does look very close; the rocks below seem to extend out for only twenty feet or so. But, with generations of men bent on proving that they can throw a stone to the sea, and apparently all failing, the land behind the pavilion is now bereft of all loose stones. To protect the nearby walls and ramparts from being gradually stripped of pieces of stone and brickwork, the railing surrounding the platform was made taller than is ordinarily needed to prevent inadvertent (or otherwise) accidents.

Looking down, to the left, we viewed a long, narrow finger of rocky land jutting into the sea. On one of the "knuckles" of the peninsula is a pointy bit that looks like a sharp rock. Indeed, we are so high at this point, that it is hard to fathom that this little "point" was once a Byzantine monastery, long since abandoned.

The rest of our time on the rock, we walked down through numerous manifestations of the citadel, again reflecting the various empires that once used it as fortifications against barbarians, pirates, infidels, and so on, depending on the contemporary inhabitants. What is generally described as a "Seljuk" fortress, is really one built and modified by several empires. There is evidence of Roman construction—signified by huge stones forming the foundation for some of the walls that spill down the rock. Byzantine changes can be seen in the form of three small churches and many extensions to the walls. Seljuk modifications include more recent brickwork, and so on. We viewed soldiers’ barracks, fortified towers, cisterns, and long strings of various walls reaching down to the sea.

On the walk down, we could see the tall Red Tower at the base of the hill, a large Seljuk edifice, next to their ancient arsenal and shipyard, the best preserved medieval arsenal in the Mediterranean world. The latter three sites were on our itinerary, but we ran out of time to visit them. (Our flight back to Ankara was that afternoon). We satisfied ourselves by peering down on them from a height of about 650 feet, with the town below sparkling in the sunshine (finally!), and looking somewhat unreal, with the Taurus Mountains looming above, and the sea shining below. Great view!

On the way down we made two more stops. One was at a cliffside café, where about two thirds of the group rested and had tea. Scott led the rest of us to another vantage point, which required some courage to climb. Passing through a village and by some beautiful Ottoman summer homes, our path took us through more complex sections of the citadel, and up some fairly scary stairs, with no handrails. I made it just about five feet short of the top before my courage gave out. Larry and a few others made it to the top. About half of us did not. Nonetheless we had some spectacular views of the western view from the top of the rock, yet another manifestation of the beauty of this incredible spot.

By the time we reached the café again, a vendor had arrived, as arranged by Scott, bringing with her samples of hand woven raw silk scarves. I bought several as gifts for friends and family back home. (Spoiler alert!). She sold a lot of scarves that day. This specific type of scarf is available only in Alanya. I had bought one here fifteen years ago, but never wore it because it was too short. This time I was careful to make sure the length was sufficient to wear. (I bought myself one this time, too). Another memory of our last time here was buying a silk cacoon that we still have. This area is famous for its silk. Additionally, we once had a cup of tea inside one of the ancient cisterns, after climbing down a long stairway to the bottom of the tower. This experience is no longer allowed, darn.

The second stop on the descent was the McGhee Center, a large Ottoman building owned and used by Georgetown University for one of its study abroad programs. Scott was the director here for twenty years, until last year when he resigned to take a teaching post at a university in Istanbul. He told us he could no longer relate to students whose primary concern was the lack of broadband access, among other nuisances. It is hard to fathom living here for four months, in a cliffside Ottoman mansion, with multilevel gorgeous gardens, overlooking, from a height of about 600 feet, the beautiful Mediterranean Sea, and worrying about internet access. But, I, too, am no longer twenty years old. On the other hand, I can certainly relate to students wanting to instantly share their experiences with their friends and family back home. Proof: this blog.

At the bottom of the hill, we boarded the bus, stopped at another "boutique" Ottoman restaurant, ate another gourmet meal, and headed back to the airport for our flight back to Ankara.

In the airport, one of our companions, an employee of the U.S. State Dept. told us why he was on the phone so much as we walked down that impressive rock in Alanya. He had received an urgent message and was frantically trying to contact the appropriate people in Ankara to prevent a "person of interest" from boarding a plane there. He succeeded in stopping the bad guy from getting on the plane. Hooray!

Just one more comment about the people on our trip. With seventeen people and three guides, and lots and lots of time eating and socializing in restaurants, we got to know a lot of new people, and we got to know better those with whom we were already acquainted. What an interesting and kind group of people. One man even bought a red rose for each of the women on the tour for Valentine’s day. (He bought his wife a bouquet). We carried those roses with us everywhere, leaving them on the bus in water when we were touring sites. Thank you Ray! And the guides were terrific. Scott is a fountain of historical knowledge, although occasionally he forgot that we weren’t students. Yunis, the local guide, supplemented local historical stories. And Vicdan, the ARIT representative, kept us laughing. Thanks to any of my fellow travelers reading this blog for making this such a special experience.　

February (Subat) 1 to 12

For a few more photographs (not many this week), see: http://anatolianphotos.shutterfly.com/ Feb. 1 to 12.

Another two fairly quiet weeks.

We continue with our attendance at the Bilkent Symphony Orchestra’s Friday night performances. On the 5th of February, the performance included Milhaud’s "Creation of the World," a Strauss solo piece, sung by Elena Brilova, entitled "Ariadne of Naxos," then Beethoven’s Symphony #1. Tonight we will see a Valentine’s Day special: excerpts from Tchaikovsky’s "Romeo and Juliet," Bernstein’s "West Side Story," and Prokofev’s "Romeo and Juliet." I wonder what the theme is?

Last night, we joined Meldan and her brother, Ercan, for a concert at Ankara’s central Concert Hall, home of the Presidential Symphony Orchestra. This is one of the oldest symphonies in the world, having been founded in the 1820s. The first conductor was Giuseppe Donizetti. Last night’s performance included a father-son rendition of Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto #1. The father conducted; the 28 year old son was the pianist. Great performance, but, alas, the piano was on occasion too loud. Larry thought so, too, so my suspicion that my hearing was at fault was put to rest. The tyranny of the audience’s synchronized hand clapping forced two encores from the pianist. The last half of the program was Gudonov’s "Four Seasons." This time, the conductor would have none of the audience’s insistence on another encore; I don’t blame him, we were shameless.

When not attending concerts, we were visiting the rug shop, Best Koleksyon. First, for a cocktail party (really another big meal, but this time in the evening, with wine), and orientation for our upcoming trip to the southwestern part of Turkey, led by our rug dealer, Kadir Bey. In a little more than a week, we will see camel wrestling, Pamukkale (I hope), and some other great sites.

Two days later, Meldan called to invite us back to Best Koleksyon, where her brother, Ercan, wanted to "just look" at some rugs. So back we went. I welcomed this visit so soon after our cocktail party, as I had lost an earring at the party and wanted to look for it in the shop and on the sidewalks outside. Alas, it is gone. Ercan had always said that he would never buy a rug made outside of Turkey. When, with our encouragement, he actually bought a beautiful Afghan rug, he justified his decision with the knowledge that the wool and specific dyes used on the wools were supplied by one of Kadir Bey’s workshops. At one point during our visit, Larry asked me, "We don’t have any red rugs, do we?" Oh no! We’re not going to buy another rug, are we? Whew! We let the temptation pass and went home empty handed.

In between concerts and visits to Best Koleksyon, I worked on finding information on Amy Tan and the literary canon for Meldan’s talk she will be giving in Dublin next month. I finally have a better sense of what Meldan is looking for than I did in September when I was so unsuccessful in helping her find information. Success! She now has lots of articles and book references. And I ordered a book for her from Amazon in hopes that it arrives in time for the conference in Dublin, where Larry will also be giving a talk. (I, of course, will tag along with them).

Because of the paucity of travel during the last several weeks, I had planned on spending time with photographs and some discussion of various new foods and drinks we have been exposed to so far. But I’ve run out of time before we head out on a new adventure tomorrow. Nonetheless, I have to mention a new food we discovered in a small shop called "Etsiz Cif Kofte." Cif kofte is an egg-shaped meatball made with raw meat and spices. "Etsiz" cif kofte is "meatless" raw meat meatballs. ??? For those of you who’ve eaten at our house, think "tofu meatballs." The "etsiz" version has bulghur as a base. We eat them by wrapping them in lettuce leaves, then in extremely thin bread that had been spread with a tiny amount of hot pepper sauce (aci biber salcasi). Yum!

Another new dish I actually made was inspired by Kadir Bey’s cook, who served "kirmisi mercimek koftesi" (red lentil balls) as one of the many dishes at last week’s cocktail party. Because I used the wrong kind of bulghur with the red lentils, I had to add more water than the recipe called for. This made the whole concoction too moist, so I couldn’t form the egg shaped balls. Instead, we just wrapped them in lettuce, then thin bread spread with a little hot pepper sauce . . . . Sound familiar?

I can’t wait to cook some of these new dishes for my friends and family back home.

Tomorrow we head back to the Mediterranean. Next week we go to see camel wrestling. The following week a trip to Kayseri, near Cappadocia, where Larry will deliver another talk, courtesy of the U.S. Embassy. Then we return to the Ambassador’s Residence to hear a talk by the daughter of the second president of the Turkish Republic.

So no more concerts or visits to rug shops for awhile. I’ll have lots of pictures and descriptions when we return!