Turkey for me, Turkey for you

Let's eat the Turkey in my big brown shoe.

Not that kind of turkey? Ohh, you must be referring to the transcontinental excursion on which Noel and I endeavored (just about a month ago now, yikes I'm a slacker). Got it! Well, since you inquire (FB), I would love to impart with you all a few noteworthy tales about our trip. Better yet, don't they say pictures speak a thousand words?

As you'll see Noel and I teamed up with 2 thoroughly entertaining Brits, Indy and the Monk, for the 1st half of our trip. We piled into the Ford Focus which accumulated some 2000 miles over the course of our journey from Istanbul to Safranbolu on the northern coast, hitting central Cappadocia, touching upon Konya province (comprised of mostly ghost towns with one listed hotel in a 50 mile radius) and shredding air until we finally reached Olympos (home of the treehouses and wagonwheel complexes), situated on the southern coast.

Bahaus hostel, our first sample of the Turkish culture and a backpacker's safe haven, became our home for the first couple of nights in Istanbul. We arrived shortly after Anzac Day, commemorating the battle between Turkey and Australia, so, as one would imagine, the area was grossly populated with Aussies. Although we Americans were outnumbered, we received assurance on more than one occasion that there was a special place in the Turkish heart for Americans (contrary to beliefs some of us may have held/do hold about our perception in the Middle East). The native people were so amenable to tourists (from around the world) that it was difficult not to feel suspicious at times. Advice, directions, guidance and transportation were offered at the drop of a hat (from where does this experession stem? anyone?) and with no monetary supplement expected.

Noel and I took a Bosphorus River cruise (which divides the European side of Istanbul from the Asian), bought spices and Turkish Delight (gooey deliciousness interspersed with nuts) at the Spice Bizarre and wrist sweat bands and silk scarves from the Grand Bizarre, wined and dined at some of the local restaurants and pubs (where we managed to get barricaded in in an effort to escape the po-po) and lavished ourselves with a Turkish bath and massage (a long extinct Turkish tradition that still (surpise!) brings in excellent revenue from tourists) while in Istanbul. I do feel I need to elaborate on the Turkish bath experience some. Having received no instruction aside from where to undress, Noel and I instinctively retreated back to our school girl days with our towels tucked neatly under our arms as we entered a sauna filled with 20-25 clothes-less women strewn about on a circular stone platform in the center like slabs of meat on a grill. It appeared that they were sunbathing without realizing they were indoors. Rather rotund Turkish women (impossible not to take note of) would splash water on you, which was your cue that your number was up. Nonverbal language sufficed for this part of the bathing; a finger, a slap, a pull of the hand and you were anything but disobeying. I felt like a 5 year old again and probably the cleanest I'll ever feel in my life.

Our next stop was Safranbolu, the most popular tourist town for Turks. With little to see or do aside from a mosque and some cobblestone streets lined with family-run markets (targeting mainly 10 year olds; similar to suks one may happen across in Marrakesh), we continued onto Cappadocia. This is about when I stole the hot seat. And, since I had never learned how to handle a stick, Indy (aka Owen) was my impeccable driving instructor. Success! (Minus a few bumps in the road later in the trip when I hit a town inundated with traffic lights that were partial to the color red...)

Cappadocia is a region denoted by volcanic deposits and rocks, from which villages were later carved. We chose to spend our night in Goreme which was littered with what are referred to as "fairy chimneys", hundreds of pillars and minaret-like (fallic as Noel deemed them) rock forms. As many residents had transformed the caves into a place of inhabitance, we found it fitting to stay in a plastered hostel resembling such. In Goreme we were able to attend a "Turkish Night" where twirling dervishes and belly dancers entertained tourists whilst they ate tapas and drank Raki (a potent and acidic-tasting libation). Our carpeted van ride back into town put us in touch with our favorite gay traveler, Tom, who took the entertainment reigns for the remainder of the evening. At 5am we got ready to take a surreal hot-air balloon ride (or hover rather) above the magnificent pillars. Before we departed Goreme, the gang visited the open air museum which contained churches and homes carved out of rock and decorated with frescoes and ancient biblical illustrations. Sadly, graffiti marked many of the walls of these Lycian ruins (due to the lack of funding for preservation and upkeep). We also toured an 8-story underground city dating back 4500 years ago that held up to 5000 people. These people did their share of wine drinking when they weren't defending themselves from invaders (they even had an Indiana Jones circular stone that rolled into place at the release of a lever to serve as an entry blockade from any attackers). It’s incredible to imagine living in such tight (claustrophobia-inducing) quarters, crouching through tunnels, sleeping on stone surfaces and defecating in non-ventilated quarters, isn't it?

Time to continue our journey. With a reprieve (stopping off at a hotel, a rarity in Konya provence as aforementioned) from driving along unlit mountainous and winding roads (not unlike Lombard St in San Francisco), we landed at our destination; Olympus. I should mention that during our evening travels (with me as a less than superior navigator) we were pulled over at a random checking point. The police were purposively checking for Iraqis who may be sneaking across the border. However, with an undeniable language barrier, we received a disappointed curled-lipped face and awaited a possible English speaking officer to attend to us. As he approached the window, the only words exchanged were “good-bye”. Curt and concise (minus any cuffs), I’ll take it.

The Kadir treehouse village greeted us with vagabond workers and log laden dormitories and bars amidst rolling mountains. The rocky beach, within 2 minute’s walking distance, was surprisingly more comfortable to sprawl on than to traverse (which didn’t take long to discover). The “Bull bar” at the treehouse complex provided endless amusement with a fire pit and free-spirited dancers (namely Noel and Whyte, the bartender). For my birthday night, I received a caramel hostess cupcake complete with a sparkler and thoughtfully scripted inspiring words from my fellow cohorts. We witnessed the eternal flames (an hour ride from our site and a half an hour hike) with a bottle of champagne complements of Indy and the Monk. In case anyone was wondering, the flames are not resistant against water…and walking down a mountain in the dark without the aid of a flashlight will most likely end with a sprained ankle. Noel, being a Fairfield U graduate was very familiar with the idea of “stealing a birthday”, which does not commonly infer a negative connotation despite the typical use of the verb in this phrase. And so, as tradition would have it, Noel “black out” Barnes received a branding unlike those most eyes have seen before (one that Aussies refer to as a “vacuum marker”), thereby claiming May 7th as her own.

Leaving the treehouses and our newly established travel companions (and let’s not forget Freddie the Focus) proved to be more of a difficult task than anticipated. The only thing to which we looked forward was the possibility of hot showers in our near future. We boarded our schooner with 11 others for a 4 day venture around a small peninsula that culminated with the town of Fethiye. The water was not hot, nor was it warm, and the septic system was not functioning to the best of its ability, nor was it preventing feces from overflowing onto the bathroom floors, BUT the boat did offer plenty of opportunity to sun bathe and sleep on the deck as the sun emerged over the horizon.

As we docked for the last time, Noel and I faced a series of decisions that ultimately, after making plans with different Turks to hit the town that night, getting a hostel room and canceling it, buying plane tickets to Istanbul and voiding them, we boarded an overnight bus (not the one that we bought tickets for of course but the one adjacent to it) for a 14 hour ride to Istanbul, to Bahaus hostel in fact. For our last night we managed to meet up with a friend’s younger sister studying in the city (despite having a consistent mode of communication, like say a phone) to carry out the ultimate dance revolution.

Turkey was a place of fascinating and inspiring people, rich and unfolding history and incredible and memorable adventures. There are too many details to relay in this entry but if you’ve made it to this point, I thank you for taking the time to read my ramblings! Serefe (cheers)!

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com