As I sat on the bus from Cannakale to Ayvalik, I mulled over my time in Cannakale.  I’d had a good time with Christian and with the Scottish lasses, including an odd but satisfying half-hour drunkenly reprising the greatest hits of the film classic Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang (‘Toot Sweet’ came out particularly well).  The walk through the farmlands outside ancient Troy with Christian also stood out, back in the moment I probably didn’t appreciate fully the richness of that experience.  At the same time, it was good to be solo again.  I hadn’t exercised, or relaxed, or written anything, in Cannakale, and the three days seemed, in retrospect, like a marathon.  I had enjoyed Christian’s lawlerly conversation style…but at the same time his Teutonic smugness and intensity dıd wear on me.  I’ve met lots of cool Germans on my travels – they’re much more relaxed than their elders, for sure…but with many of them, I’ve also found that they feel strongly that Germany is better than other countries (better, at least, at least the third-world country you meet them in, and perhaps your own country too) and they aren’t shy about telling you that.   There’s nothing wrong with being happy about being born in a first-world country, but I do think it’s not great form to walk around being so obvious about it.

So it was good to be able to sit and think without distraction.  The bus ride to Ayvalik was a bit choppy, had to switch from large bus to minivan after a while, and finally wound up at a bus station outside Ayvalik.  I threw in the towel and just took a taxi to my pension, Bonjour Pension, down near the harbor.  Dumped my stuff and wandered around town for a while.  I was dying to get in some diving, and Ayvalik is famed for its red corals, down about 40 meters a ways out to sea.  The pension owner made a call and found out that the Koftez Diving boat would be back in the harbor around 6:30 p.m.  I surmised that there was either no formal dive shop on land, or that there was but that it was enough to simply show up at their boat and take care of business there. 

Ayvalik the site of the first battle of the Turkish War of Independence, a war you’ve likely never heard a single thing about.  After WWI, the Allies picked over the carcass of the defunt Ottoman Empire and pretty much screwed the Turks out of everything.  Mustafa Kemal Ataturk and other Turkish leaders didn’t take that sitting down, and proceeded to fight for their homeland, eventually defeating the cheeky Greeks and convincing the British and French to vacate premises.  By 1923 they had recovered what is now Turkey, and proclaimed a republic.  There’s your history – and it started in Ayvalik, a little port city on the Aegean.

The dive boat returned, as advertised, at 6:30 p.m.  Spoke with the boys on the boat and signed up for their trip the next day.  Two dives, lunch, etc. for 80 lira – decent price, assuming good diving.  They do have a little shop, but it’s some ways off and most business takes place on the boat itself, which is massive and which has all the necessary equipment on board.  Pretty good system.  I was excited to break out my dive computer get under the waves, it had been around 5 months since my last dive.

Had dinner that night at a kofte (meatballs) place.  They bring out a salad of white beans, tomatos, and onions with olive oil, then the main event, a plate of grilled chunks of meat with bread, onions, and a few other things, including some terrific red hot sauce.  You don’t leave hungry.

Finished ‘The Book of Fathers’ that night.  I’d been working through this book, by Miklos Vamos, for a few weeks, it’s about the generations of a family, the first-born of which in each generation has the gift of clairvoyance.  Fairly depressing book, but sweeping and evocative as well – it takes you through 6 generations (I believe), from the 18^th century all the way through to current times.  Different sort of book – if you’re looking for something by an author you’ve never read, give it a try.  I’m sure you can pick it up on Amazon.com.

Next morning, got up early and had breakfast at the pension.  I’d met a very nice older Aussie couple, Ray and Bev, the day before when I checked in, and they were already at table when I got there.  Ray and Bev are veteran travelers and they were grilling another couple on Egypt and Syria.  I couldn’t be that helpful there, but when discussion turned to India I was able to chime in.  I do like these little sessions comparing notes – often much more helpful than gushing guidebook descriptions and outdated logistics.

Went to the dive boat, hoping for a great day of diving.  Met an Anglo-South African couple, Lee and Ika.  Lee used to work in TV and was endlessly entertaining…Ika is from the Cape and we exchanged stories about that place.  I haven’t been back to SA in 7-8 years and I think in 2009 I’ll finally return.

It was a fine day at sea, there was a bit of rain at first but it cleared up.  But the diving was just so-so – because of rough seas, we had to scrap the first two preferred dive spots and go for two different ones, and there wasn’t much red coral, or marine life.  I had my camera and waterproof case with me, and took some shots, but nothing was all that impressive.  To boot, I wasn’t thrilled with the equipment on hire – the divemaster strongly advised me to use 12 kilos of weights, whereas I usually use 6.  Part of the reason is that we were wearing wetsuits, and you need more weight to compensate for the buoyancy of these…at the same time, 12 kilos seemed excessive.  But everyone seemed to be wearing a lot of weight, so I went along.  When I descended, I found that I needed to constantly adjust my BCD (vest), usually adding a lot of air, and I felt heavy the entire time.  I understood the logic for erring on the side of having too much weight – I wouldn’t accidentally shoot to the surface and get the bends.  Still, it wasn’t a great call.

But I was better off than poor Lee, who had a leak in his BCD and eventually had to be taken by the hand by the divemaster and brought up to the surface.  Ugh.  It was the end of the season, and the equipment was in sore need of repair…still, I thought that Koftez Diving should have done a better job prepping everything, and ensuring that we ‘fun divers’ had working stuff.  Fun divers aren’t paying huge bucks for a dive course, so they’re generally left to their own devices – in this case, we were left too much alone.  I suspected that my BCD was also dodgy, so exchanged it, and also dropped my weights to 10 kilos, but my second dive only felt a bit better.  Oh well.  The day out was still worth it, but I wouldn’t recommend Ayvalik as a world-class dive spot.

A few photos from the day, above and below the waves – the guys caught a small octopus and were a little rough in handling it, IMHO:

Got back to shore.  Lee and Ika were racing off to the next town, Bergama – they had a tight timetable for their holiday.  I was going there the next day, and we said we’d meet (somehow) for a sundowner.  They didn’t know where they were staying, and I hadn’t arranged anything, except that I recalled a pension from my guidebook which had wireless – I’d probably try that out. 

Was starving – diving makes me hungry, and that goes double for diving while wearing too much weight.   Tried the famed Ayvalik Tost, which is two grilled pieces of bread stuffed with local sausage (not pork, not sure what it is), cheese, mayo, etc.  Better than it sounds – very filling. 

Found an internet café and watched the VP debate between Biden and Palin.  Palin held up fairly well, but it still came across like an exchange between an adult and a high school girl.  Colossal difference in knowledge and composure – Palin succeeded in that she didn’t stutter or make a huge gaffe, and was feisty.  She was obviously heavily coached and often was seen referring to her notes for various zingers…but no blood was drawn.  Palin pronounces ‘nuclear’ like W. does – mildly amusing. 

I thought that Biden was able to make lots of good points for his ticket, and to refute various mistruths that Palin (and McCain) had raised – I hope that Obama is using him fully and effectively, because he is a fairly impressive guy.  He must have had to hold himself back throughout the debate, and not appear to be piling on poor overmatched Sarah…who on 3-4 occasions completely blew off the moderator’s question and switched to energy policy or other non sequiturs.  Setting low expectations is a good strategy, it appears – only by doing so could one judge Palin’s performance as adequate.  Of course, hard-core GOP voters were thrilled – which only goes to demonstrate their own lack of cranial capacity.

Sad to imagine that after a 2-3-year presidential campaign that will probably cost $1 billion in total, we may just be a heart attack away from a President Palin.  Why does the American political system so often yield these unimpressive figures?  I’ve met countless people in work and in other settings who would make much better leaders than nimrod Sarah Palin (or John McCain).  Maybe they don’t want the job.

I finally got to see what commentator Gwen Ifill looks like, as she moderated the debate, quite ably I think.  I get the podcast ‘Washington Weekly’ and she’s the moderator of that session as well, it brings together 5-6 journalists each week to review the political goings-on.  Great 25-minute podcast, I learn a lot from it and highly recommend it.  You can get it on iTunes or from the PBS site.  Are any of you surprised that I’m a PBS fan??

Took it easy that night, even though it was Friday.  Was tired from the diving and lack of sleep in Cannakale.  Plus, I was moving on to Bergama the next day, and might be facing a big Saturday night in Bergama if I found Lee and Ika. 

Got up Saturday, went to breakfast and again sat with Ray and Bev.  Gave Ray ‘The Book of Fathers,’ thought he might enjoy it, and was happy to get the largish book off my hands.  Then checked out and walked to the bus stop to catch a dolmus (minivan) for Bergama.  The bus that eventually came by was full-sized, got on that and in an hour or so was in Bergama.  I love the way these Aegean and inland towns are so close together, it makes for simple bouncing from town to town and you can see quite a few places quickly.  Oftentimes I dislike traveling every other day, it seems too fast, but around here it seems just right.

The hills come close to the Aegean coast, the effect is rather dramatic and overall it’s a beautiful area.  No wonder the Turks fought so hard to get it back!

Thought a bit more about WWI and Gallipoli.  I’d seen trenches dug by the Aussies and by the Turks – interesting differences.  The Aussie trenches curve, they’re rarely straight for more than a few meters.  The Turkish trenches are simpler and straight.  The advantages of the former, made by the famed Aussie ‘diggers,’ is that if an enemy soldier takes your trench, he can’t mow down your buddies, he can only get a few soldiers at most.  Food for thought.

Got to Bergama, known in Roman times as Pergamum.  Was lucky to spot Gobi Pension from the main road, stopped my minivan and got off.  Great little place, I was met straightaway by Mustafa, the English-speaking son of the non-English speaking owner, and shown to my room.  Mustafa was heading off somewhere for a few days, but he got me settled first.  My room was big and clean, and they did indeed have wireless, so was able that night to do all my laptop tasks without hassle.

Spent a couple hours seeing the easier sights.  First, the Asclepion, an ancient medical center/hospital founded by famed Galen, the Greek doctor/scientist whose work served as the standard until the 16^th century.  Pretty cool.  The Asclepion is a short walk from the town center, and is a strangely compelling set of ruins.  En route, you gaze up and can see the hilltop Acropolis – I’d be heading there the next morning. 

Spent an hour wandering around the Asclepion, wondering about the work that went on there.  Saw a column with the emblematic snake heads:

Other Asclepion shots:

There’s a Turkish military base right next door to the Asclepion – strange location.  You’re not supposed to ‘point your camera towards the base,’ but of course everyone does.  Weird to see a pile of ordnance nearby a set of ancient ruins…

I have to say that my education (and memory, perhaps) is sorely lacking.  I’m not too sure I ever learned about the Asclepion or Galen in school, I did pick up some of this from my own reading.  Oh well, at least I’m curious and want to enhance my knowledge – that will get me somewhere.  But I wish that I’d come in knowing a lot more about ancient Greece and Rome, I feel like we covered those subjects in just a cursory sense in school, and now my aging brain won’t take in much more data…

Saturday night – no sign of Lee and Ika, not surprised.  Bergama is a small city, but it’s not a given that you’ll run into everyone you met in the previous stop.  And they were on a tight timeline, traveling each day to a new place.  Oh well.  Wasn’t unhappy to be able to wander around and do as I pleased.  Downloaded a few podcasts, took a short nap, and went out to eat and drink.  Found a place in town center with a big-screen TV showing some soccer, sat down and had a small feast.  It was a bit chilly, good weather for lying in bed and reading.  Decided to explore a bit more before heading home.  Far uptown, saw a ‘birahaynesi,’ a beerhouse, and went in.  Just when I was thinking that Turkey’s a bit prude (I had passed a place where some party was on, and lots of men were dancing together), this place gave me pause for thought.  I was directed towards a table, I sat down.  Immediately an unattractive middle-aged woman wearing a dress came over and sat with me.  Oh no, I thought, this is like Yalta – the female town drunk is hitting on me.  But no, turned out that this bar was different, the chicks here are working.  I don’t think they’re prostitutes, but they get paid to sit and drink (you pay) with you.  The women approach your table and shake your hand, then you can pick one.  They were all awful and I just drank my beer and fled.  I used to toilet upstairs before leaving…I was wondering what was going up there, but more of the same, nothing better or worse. 

It’s funny what you find when you wander out of the town center a bit.  I’d heard stories about Istanbul’s rip-off bars, where some friendly fellow invites you to join him for a beer, you wind up in a flashy bar, a couple women come over and join you, and then your bill is US$1,000.  This place in Bergama was nothing like that, but it was at least further evidence that there’s more to Turkish nightlife than sitting around puffing on a waterpipe and drinking tea. 

One month till the US elections.  Seems like Obama is pulling away from McCain – national polls have him ahead.  But national polls don’t mean all that much, given that we have the brilliant, contemporary Electoral College – invented in 1785 or thereabouts.  I have to laugh when people hold on so tight to these ossified practices.  The Electoral College, in a nutshell, was created to ensure that ‘proper gentlemen’ (i.e., electors) had the power to make the final presidential selection, and to try to force candidates to visit many states, not just a few.  Today, only 10-15 states are battlegrounds, and the rest of the states are ignored.  If we did away with this outdated practice, then the popular vote would be the deciding metric and states per se wouldn’t matter that much, you could campaign locally and win in micro-geographies. 

Other imperfections I think we should right:

-Americans should be required to register, and to vote.  What kind of ‘democracy’ is it where 50% of people don’t even vote, and a significant percentage aren’t even registered?  Of course, you know which party is against these changes…

-We should minimize the role of money in the process.  In the 1970s our infallible Supreme Court judged that spending money is free speech, hence money has become hugely important in campaigns.  In Israel, France, and other countries, they have a short election cycle (2-3 months), they have equal spending by candidates, a set number of debates, and perhaps no advertising for a week before the vote.  All good ideas. 

-Our schools should do a better job preparing us to be intelligent citizens and voters.  Easier said than done, of course…but if Americans were an intelligent, demanding bunch who learned from their stupid mistakes, do you really think Sarah Palin would be up there now??

The Red Sox won their first-round series against the Angels, despite the latter probably having more talent.  Who would have thought, years ago, that the Red Sox would be a clutch, experienced gang who knows how to win tough games?  Their reputation was precisely the opposite before 2004.  And this year they’ve had a crazy slew of injuries, it seems half the team is no longer with them or able to play:  Schilling, Manny, Lowell, Lugo.  But news guys and the young call-ups have stepped it up.  Bravo, boys.

Let’s hope they continue their march and can defend their title.  I’ve watched some of the games on my laptop, I have MLB.com and when there’s a wireless signal I can get the game, either live or afterward.  I may have to configure my travels in coming weeks so that I can watch the later-round games live…so far in my travels I’ve had incredible luck, I’ve never been on a plane during the World Series or Super Bowl, for instance.  I’ve lately put all these key dates on my Treo so I know not to break my streak…between these sports dates and my new Holidates application, my calendar is packed with information…

En route to the Gobi from the hostess bar, I passed a pharmacy whose display caught my eye.  They were displaying a variety of erectile dysfunction meds, from the major brands like Levitra and Cialis to a generic (legal?) called, appropriately enough, ‘ViaGrande.’  Improving on the original – is that worth a patent?  Didn’t expect to see a display of products like these in a Muslim country…

Had breakfast the next morning, sat near an American woman from Pittsburgh named Anne.  Our liberal views quickly came to the fore and we bonded…wound up sharing a taxi up to the Acropolis.  Anne was traveling with another Pittsburgher named Ray, she seemed to be getting sick of him – he’s a right-winger and despite having traveled extensively, he doesn’t seem to pick anything up, he’s a loud gringo through and through.  Charming.

When we got to the top, it was a bit windy, and clouds were looming.  Hmmm.  Ray had gotten an earlier start, he didn’t want to pay for a taxi so had hoofed it up.  We saw him after a while, he seemed a bit jealous that I was hanging out with Anne.  Hmmm.  We parted and checked out different parts of the Acropolis, which was very cool – spread across a large hill, imposing still.  The worsening weather made it more awesome – against dark skies the ancient ruins seemed more important and dramatic.  And the stadium, built right into the hillside, was unlike anything I’ve seen – very steep and perfectly incorporated into the natural features of the hill:

Not so many people there, didn’t feel overrun with tourists.  It finally began to rain, then pour, and get a bit chilly.  Everyone ran for cover under the ruins, Anne and I ducked under an arch.  At one point she was cold and put her arms around me for warmth (I think).  Good thing Ray wasn’t around to see that – he might have gone ballistic.  Anne’s staying right across the hall from me at Gobi and I wondered what the next few hours might have in store…

We finally deemed our Acropolis visit finished, and went to the carpark for a coffee.  Chatted about politics with the locals hanging out there, including one funny cab driver who began calling the little café the ‘Obama Café.’  We had caught up with Ray by this point.  Eventually we bundled Anne into the taxi driver’s cab, she was still getting over a bad case of pneumonia and it wasn’t a good idea for her to walk back to town, as Ray and I were planning to do.  The taxi driver drove off with her, and as he drove away he yelled out the window ‘Obama Taxi!’ I love it.

BTW, if this wasn’t already painfully obvious, only 99.5% of foreigners want Obama to win the election.  If we care about repairing our relations with the rest of the world, this is one way to start.

Lost Ray on the walk back to town – wasn’t sad about that.  As I got into town, the taxi driver went by and again yelled ‘Obama Taxi!’ at me.  I think Obama might want to hire this guy to drive around Alabama and do this for a few weeks…

Checked out the Red Basilica for a half hour.  This is a huge structure put up, apparently, to worship an Egyptian god, then converted to Christian worship by the Byzantines.  Large, and fairly impressive even in ruins:

Not sure what those Hebrew inscriptions are…were these tablets carried back from the Holy Land??

Got back to the town center.  Bought a bus ticket for the next day, to the large city of Izmir, my next stop.  Took a nap.  Went for a good, solid run as the sun set.  Felt pretty good about life.

Had given the pension some laundry that morning – now got it back.  Anne had also done a few pieces, and these had been put in my laundry bag, unbeknownst to me.  She knocked on my door as I got out of the shower – she asked if I had her stuff – I checked and found her bra and socks, which looked a lot like my socks.  That’s what you get when you buy the brand your dad recommends (Gold Toe, I guess it’s famous in Pittsburgh?). 

Had a late dinner at a little place, tried the local Bergama kofte, which was pretty good.  Had a beer and watched some soccer at one of the outdoor cafes, and thought about how nice this little city was.  Cool people, incredible ancient ruins, good food.  You need to try the tomatos from here, I think they’re the best I’ve ever had…

Heard that Palin is now harping on Obama’s associations with various characters from the Chicago area.  I wondered why Obama hadn’t gotten going on the ‘Keating 5’ scandal from McCain’s past.  I worried that this was a typical Democratic mistake, that they were ‘above’ such practices.  But no – right away the Obama campaign sent out flyers and emails with links to a short video about the Keating 5.  And friend Alan told me that Obama has a 24-hour satellite channel that just loops his ads.  Might have mentioned that last week, I forget – but anyway, this is not your father’s Democratic campaign.  And good thing, too.  Obama might actually win.

Got ready to depart Bergama.  Had breakfast with Anne and Ray before I left.  As I was getting up, I heard my name called and it was Ray and Bev, the Aussie couple, walking by.  Turned out they had met Ray the day before at the Red Basilica, had somehow found out that Ray had met me at the Acropolis and was staying at the same place, and had asked him to tell me that they were staying nearby.  Ray hadn’t told me any of that, not that I had seen much of Ray the previous night, just in passing.  Still, I was annoyed at him – felt like he had withheld some information.  Was he jealous that I had become friendly with Anne?  Sometimes people are really just pathetic.

Chatted with the Aussies for a bit, then went to get my bus.  While waiting, checked emails and news on my Treo.  Heard that a major quake had hit Kyrgyzstan, about 200 km from Osh.  A village was leveled and about 80-90 people died.  Poor Kyrgyzstan…plane crashes and earthquakes.  Oh well, at least they aren’t threatened with Sarah Palin…at least, not yet.  Do you think she can see Bishkek from the coast of Alaska?  Those are powerful glasses she has on…

Easy bus trip to Izmir, the third-largest Turkish city.  Izmir was formerly known as Smyrna, you may have heard of it.  Legend has it that the epic poet Homer (no, Governor Palin, not Homer Simpson) was born and/or lived in Smyrna around 700 B.C.  Can’t verify that, but the place certainly has an ancient past. 

Izmir isn’t a huge tourist draw, but is an attractive big city, with a huge harbor.  The city is spread around the harbor and sprawls onto the hills behind the harbor, and the setting is impressive.  The city itself is modern and not all that compelling, but it’s a pleasant place to spend 2-3 days.

Got in, checked into Hotel Imperial.  A bit closer to the train station than I’d like, train stations tend to attract the riff-raff and in this case it was no different, some seedy characters hanging out near my hotel (the street must have had 15 hotels, all lined cheek-to-jowl), and lots of random African guys there, quite odd for Turkey.  It’s a port, so you’d expect a fair number of lowlifes.  I made a note not to flash my iPod or Treo on the street, and to leave most of my ‘valuables’ in the hotel room.

Got on Facebook, for once, and left a comment in my ‘what are you doing now?’ line about getting hit on by a 53-year-old woman.  Within a few hours I must have had 10 people send me comments about this.  People spend way too much time on Facebook, and the internet in general.  Turn off the computer and call a friend…it’s much more rewarding.

My hotel was alright, same sort of place as Hotel Sen Palas in Istanbul.  Not your usual tourist hotel, I’m sure the usual customer is a Turkish small biznesman.  At least the bedsheets were clean.  There was a TV, switched that on to see if there were any international news channels.  Nope…but amongst the 14 channels they did have HustlerTV.  Now I was nearly certain this place catered to small biznesmen.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen this channel before…it wasn’t all that great, after two hours I got bored and switched it off.  The mosque’s just across the road and I didn’t want any bad vibes to float there…

Turkey is weird in this regard, as you’re probably coming to realize from my entries.  It’s a Muslim country with the usual hang-ups about gender, but I’ve spotted a few erotic shops in the bigger cities, found myself in that Bergama hostess bar, and now I’ve found HustlerTV in a hotel.  I’m personally all for a liberal society (and since when did ‘liberal’ become a pejorative term?), so I applaud these sorts of things.  But I can imagine the uproar they generate amongst the clergy and the holier-than-thou.

I’ve become addicted to simit.  It’s not a drug (per se), it’s a ‘Turkish bagel,’ a sesame seed-covered circular bread product that has some sort of grape enzyme or flavoring as its ‘secret sauce.’  I eat at least one per day, the vendors are everywhere and they cost one Turkish lira apiece.

Found a great bookstore in a little mall near the harbor – finally picked up a Turkish phrasebook, two weeks after entering Turkey.  And this shop has loads of guidebooks too, but I just ordered a bunch of Middle East guidebooks and had them sent to my friend Dri in New York, she’s coming to Istanbul mid-October and will hand them to me there. 

Walked for an hour or so along the Kordon, the harborfront promenade.  This place is the life of the city and everything happens there.  Very pleasant place to spend time…one of the better waterfront walks I’ve seen.  Did some running both nights I was in Izmir along the Kordon…it reminded me a bit of Mumbai’s Golden Necklace, the lights that shine on Marine Drive.

Not so many tourists in Izmir – saw a few Japanese wandering around, looking confused.  Also saw – no, heard – three Americans on the Kordon.  First, I heard the nasal voices, then I spotted them across the way.  Classic – one of them was carrying 5 large water bottles, the second was chatting away, and the third, probably the mother, was obese and was having trouble keeping up with the other two.  I cringed and walked along.  I dislike cringing but seem to do it fairly often…

Had a light dinner that night, then a couple beers at Passport, a somewhat flashy bar on the Kordon.  They were playing Café del Mar volume 5, one of the best Café del Mar discs, and I stayed longer than expected just to listen to the music.  The place was pretty dead but that was OK, I was in a mellow mood. 

Observation and question:  it’s incredible how many places can’t get the hot and cold faucets right.  It’s literally a 50-50 chance that when you turn on the ‘H’ or red faucet on the left, you’ll get hot, not cold, water.  Why is this?  I’m too lazy to investigate, but one of you might want to figure this out…

The PKK (Kurdish rebel party) attacked a Turkish army outpost near the Iraq border and killed around 20 soldiers.  Huge uproar in Turkey – this base has been attacked 5 times now, and the public wants to know why it’s still so vulnerable.  Good question.  There’s also demand for the army to go into Iraqi Kurdish territory (which is de facto autonomous these days) and kick some ass.  I don’t blame them.  Whoever’s pulling the strings in Baghdad these days had best take care of this.  I feel badly that the Kurds got screwed over the centuries, and never got their own country…but now they pretty much have it in northern Iraq, and have oil, and they should leave Turkey alone. 

Another question:  which one of you clowns gave my email address to ChristianDating.com and ViagraLords?

Did the rounds in Izmir and saw the main sights.  The Agora, the old Roman marketplace, is right in the middle of the city and is worth a half-hour.  Not that much left, but evocative nonetheless.  Took a bus to the heights of the city, to the fort of Kadifekale, which had terrific views of the entire city:

Spent an hour in the Archeological and Ethnographic Museums, which are side-by-side – for once, something convenient for tourists.  Then I was through with sight-seeing and had some time to mill around the bazaar and find something good to eat.

Couldn’t find a place called Tabaklar, which has locally-famous dil shish, or fish kebabs.  The Izmir bazaar’s streets are labeled, but in no apparent order – I was unable to figure out where Sokak 873 was.  I got to 863, and 872, but even with a map it was not happening.  Oh well.  I just had a doner kebab, then decided to try some of the Turkish desserts I’d forgone thus far.  First, supangle, which is to chocolate pudding what Joe Biden is to Sarah Palin.  Or something like that.  It looks like your average chocolate pudding, but is quite milky and is just richer than Midas.  The name sounds like ’zuppa inglese,’ a custard dessert dish I recall having eaten elsewhere - not sure where ’supangle’ comes from - reader Ari is our resident foodporn king and might want to investigate… 

I was like a stoned teenager as I stood there on the street corner scooping it into my mouth.  Second, bal kaymak, buttermilk drizzled with honey – absolutely seizure-inducing stuff.  You mix up the buttermilk and honey and go to town – wow.  It’s surprising that Turks aren’t fatter, their foods are out of this world.

Was thirsty after my sugar binge, got a fresh orange juice.  The clerk spoke some English, we chatted for a while.  He wants to get a U.S. Green Card and work there – must be desperate.  At least he is aware of the financial mayhem, but I guess he really wants to go anyway.  He asked me a number of immigration-related questions that I was actually able to answer…but I’ll bet if he leaves Turkey he’ll miss it immediately.  Sometimes better the devil you know…

Listened to a few podcasts – there was a Discovery piece on Americans addicted to plastic surgery.  Scary stuff – some people are utterly without any anchor in their lives.  I’d say this only happens in America, but it’s probably even more rampant in South America.  Whatever happened to exercise and diet??

That night I walked down the length of the Kordon – well, much of it – to the northern part of town.  There’s a restaurant and bar district there, I had a kebab and then a couple beers at an outdoors café.  The 2^nd U.S. presidential debate was coming up, I was curious about how that would go.  Went back to the hotel to get some rest, read a magazine called ‘The Sun’ that Anne in Bergama had given me, it’s a pretty cool publication with a solid roster of writers and loads of letters written by readers.  Provocative articles – one was by David Grossman, who’s been called ‘Israel’s moral voice.’  I’d like to subscribe to The Sun, but not till I’m in one place and can more readily receive my mail.

Next morning, got up early to check out the debate news.  Had a quick breakfast of mercimek (lentil soup) at a café near the train station.  This was my second consecutive breakfast there, and they don’t get many tourists, so I stood out.  The waiter was a friendly guy – he saw my English newspaper and pointed to a photo of a distraught-looking guy on the front page.  I assumed it was a Wall Street trader…but no, it was a soccer team coach who had just been forced out.  God bless the Turks – not only are they friendly and helpful to a fault, but they aren’t so preoccupied with money that they forget about everything else.  A very good lesson for the rest of us…

Watched the debate on the internet.  Had some trouble finding it – finally tracked it down on MSNBC, which is probably the most reliable site for these sorts of videos.  I also watched the Saturday Night Live version, with Tina Fey as Palin – classic.  Talk about nailing your subject – she should win an Emmy, or whatever the right prize is for this category of acting.

The debate:  not conclusive by any means, not game-changing.  Good for Obama in that regard.  McCain did not look robust, or even that steady.  Admittedly I’m biased, but I was somewhat surprised that 1) McCain wasn’t nearly as good as advertised in the town hall format he’s renowned for ‘owning’ – Obama looked a lot more comfortable and adept, and 2) perhaps it was just bad video/audio quality, but McCain seemed to do a lot of word repetition, he repeated his previous two words on 7-8 occasions during the debate.  I think there’s a medical condition in which the patient often repeats his previous phrase – and I wonder if McCain’s age is catching up with him.  He’s certainly in good form for a 72-year-old man, but I remember thinking that Reagan was losing it in 1984, when he was around that age, and I was right.

That done, I returned to Hotel Imperial and checked out.  No trains till that night to my next stop, Selcuk, home of the famed Ephesus ruins.  So I had to get to the Izmir Otogar (main bus station), a few km outside town.  This is always a bit of a pain, particularly if you don’t yet have your ticket.  If you do, you can usually hop a servis (free minibus) to the otogar, otherwise you need to get there on your own.  I could have taken a taxi straight there, but that would not be cheap.  I pieced things together, taking a short taxi to the Konak bus station, then found a local bus going all the way to the otogar.  Pretty cheap, and I got to hang out with a busload of locals.  One old fellow made sure I got out at the right stop – very kind of him.  Turks couldn’t be nicer people – one of the best things about this country.

Got to the otogar, found the right area.  Right away, I was hailed by a fellow who asked me my destination.  I told him, he pointed at his little bus right there.  I asked the price, it was cheap.  Turned out he also has a guesthouse in Selcuk – and it was where I had made a booking.  I looked in my guidebook, as he suggested, and his name was in there, in the description of Nazar Hotel in Selcuk.  The fellow, Osman, and his brothers and family have a nice little integrated operation here – bus from Izmir to Selcuk, popular (and good) guesthouse in Selcuk, tours, food, etc.  Osman and I chatted while we waited for the bus to leave – mostly about America, including how McDonald’s is getting popular in Turkey and how little Turkish kids are getting fat as a result.  Turkish food isn’t that light, but they eat lots of vegetables and yogurt…the problem is that kiddies like burgers and french fries and Ronald McDonald, like kids everywhere, and the diet is changing.  Sad story.  Maybe I’ll sell my recently-purchased McDonald’s stock – nah.

The one-hour bus ride was uneventful.  The bus dropped me off right near the guesthouse – where Osman’s brother was waiting.  Man, these guys keep a tight leash on you.  It’s nice to come across such a turnkey operation when you’re a weary traveler, but my spidey sense does go off when I feel like I’m being controlled.  In the guesthouse, I checked in, and met a young lady who had spent time in Virginia.  I told her I went to UVA for b-school, she opened her jacket and there was a UVA t-shirt.  Small world.  Of course, she then wanted to sell me a carpet.  And I hadn’t even dropped my pack yet.  The place also offered me a tour of Ephesus, Ephesus books, dinner that night, you name it.  Felt a bit too commercial.  I suppose older, less independent travelers like that short of thing – one-stop shopping – but I don’t.  I like to spread my business and money around – I don’t mind throwing a bone to the guesthouse now and then – laundry, water, a meal – but not everything.  If you concentrate your spending too much, some places will wither and then you have less on offer.  It’s hard to strike the right balance between being helpful and being commercial, and not many places get it right…

Ephesus is the best-preserved Roman city in the eastern Mediterranean.  That’s what I had come to see.  It’s a touristy place, but I’d heard it was worth the torture.  I’d see that the following morning.  For now, I visited the nearby sights.  First, the Basilica of St. John the Evangelist, one of Jesus’s apostles.  He came to Ephesus twice, and supposedly died right here.  Legend has it that the Virgin Mary joined him, and lived nearby.  John wrote one the big four gospels and also the Book of Revelation, my personal favorite for its trippy descriptions of the end of days.  Not that I believe any of this shit, mind you – I’m not the President of the United States.

The basilica was a good place to hang out – very few tourists, and its hilltop location was peaceful and impressive.  The ruins are in decent shape and I spent an hour wandering around them.  The good thing about visiting these places in Turkey is that they let you go up to the ruins and really see them – some areas are roped off, but they’re not overly restrictive.

Then visited the Ephesus Museum, which has many pieces found in the ruins outside town.  Lots of sculptures and images of Eros and Priapus, my personal favorite (cue the Beavis & Butthead sountrack):   

Took it easy that night. Went to Old House Restaurant and had a good meal…checked emails…called home but couldn’t get Dad or Ellen.  Downloaded some songs recommended by brother-in-law Dave, including a couple gems:  In Five Years’ Time by Noah & the Whales, and Suburban Knights by Hard-Fi.  Went to sleep, excited about getting up and seeing the ruins of Ephesus.  Will cover those in my next entry…I feel like I’ve covered a lot of places already, seems like a long time since I was in Ayvalik, where this entry began.  Over and out.

Continued to agonize over the stock market.  Heard that Warren Buffet bought a ton of Goldman Sachs shares…so, being the independent and thorough thinker that I am, I jumped in and did the same – I bought approximately 0.00003% the amount that Buffet did.  So there.  I’m sure he appreciates my support.

Got a call from Ken in Madrid.  He manages to track me down in odd spots – Mongolian dumpling cafes, Russian churches, and Turkish koftecisi (meatball restaurants). 

Had moved from Sultanahmet to Beyoglu, across the Galata Bridge.  Beyoglu is a genuine Istanbul ‘hood and has far fewer tourists than Sultanahmet – but there are still a fair few honkies running around here.  I checked into the Hotel Sen Palas, a modest operation that was budget-friendly.  The room was only a bit larger than my Odessa-Istanbul cabin, but at least I wasn’t sharing with three crazed Turks and I even had a little bathroom to myself.  I suspect 99.99% of this hotel’s guests are traveling Turkish biznesmen – the rooms were a bit smoky but not too bad.

Beyoglu is centered on modern Istanbul’s main drag, Istiklal Caddesi, which is a great place to walk around.  Lots of little restaurants and shops line it, and the side streets are absolutely packed with bars and music halls.  One of the more sociable areas I’ve ever seen – there are some little streets that are wall-to-wall drinking establishments and restos.  Reminded me of some of Madrid’s livelier neighborhoods.  Was happy that I had moved over here – I was OK with Sultanahmet, but it feels pretty artificial, life-support for the Aya Sofya and Blue Mosque.

News of the financial crisis was never far away, though.  I could even make out headlines in Turkish newspapers that covered this topic, and the foreign papers spoke of nothing else.  The two US presidential candidates did their fair share of posturing, while saying nothing of note.  McCain probably came out looking worse, however, when he ‘suspended’ his campaign and flew to Washington to ‘deal with’ the crisis.  This consisted, from all accounts, of sitting with all the other bigwigs in a room at the White House and saying nearly nothing for a half-day or so.  I don’t expect McCain and Obama to really have much of an impact – yet – on the crisis, but at least don’t grandstand and take credit for doing nothing.  Talk about a stupid, impulsive gambit – McCain really shouldn’t be president, his judgment has gotten increasingly questionable and perhaps desperate. 

On that topic – Sarah Palin.  I’ve seen a few clips from her Couric debate, and read more about her – very scary.  This woman is the female George W. Bush – dumb, inarticulate, and without an ounce of grace.  The V.P. debate is tonight, will try to watch some of that, but no matter what happens I think Palin is completely unacceptable and she’s just more evidence that McCain has become so cynical he’ll do and say anything to win the election.  Sarah Palin…Dan Quayle.  Where do the Republicans find these clowns?

Watched the first Pres. debate.  Fairly even, but McCain looked pretty angry, very patronizing, and I thought Obama at least held his own.  Polls look to have picked him as the winner, for the most part.  Bravo.

I’d love to see a talkshow where a leading scientist debates a leading Republican politician about evolution and the origins of the planet.  Many of our so-called leaders today believe the earth is only 5,000 years old, and that evolution is a myth.  To be fair, there are Democrats in this camp as well, but suffice it to say that the GOP has stewardship of these sorts of insane beliefs.  I blanch whenever I’m talking with another traveler or a local out here and they ask me about religious lunatics running the US…it’s not as if I can accurately refute their assertions.  What a sorry state to be in – from an admired, emulated nation to one that’s the laughingstock of much of the world.  Thanks, George Bush & Co.

The weather was pretty crappy in Istanbul, so I tried to spend much of my time indoors.  Went to the Military Museum, which is a massive complex with some very good exhibits.  The chief reason I went was to see part of a huge chain that the Byzantines put across the Golden Horn to prevent Ottoman ships from entering and shelling the city from the north.  It worked, but only temporarily – Mehmet the Conqueror just had his ships put in across the peninsula, had them placed on wooden rollers, rolled them up and down the hill to the other side, put into the Golden Horn, and it wasn’t long afterwards that the city fell. 

There was also a room dedicated to the Armenian Genocide (my word, not the museum’s) controversy.  The purpose of the room was to show documents and bloody photos in an attempt to depict the Armenians as equally to blame, as terrorists and instigators.  I need to read more about this period before I feel comfortable making strong statements here, but I have read that Hitler was inspired by this murderous period (and by the Boer War).  Draw your own conclusions…

The rain and wind picked up when I was walking home, so I ducked into the Hilton to escape, and had the opportunity to watch satellite news of the ongoing financial meltdown.  Hellacious storms outside, financial storms inside – is there nowhere to run?

That night, was in a bar nursing an Efes when I got an email from friend Don in Seattle – Washington Mutual just collapsed/got taken over.  This was no surprise, but it was still the largest failure in US history and yet another brick in the wall.  Don wrote that much/all of his savings were in company stock (Don, feel free to comment and correct me – or curse me for being so loose-lipped), so his retirement fund is now approaching zero.  His solution?  Go to Dublin for a few days and relax.  Much better than sitting around moping, huh?

Was now the weekend.  Asli was not feeling well, so didn’t meet up with her – too bad, she would have made a great nightlife guide.  My other contact, former colleague Kristina, was stranded in NYC and wouldn’t be back till Sunday.  Oh well, I was on my own – I can handle that.  I did have an appointment, as the Japanese say, for Saturday night, with a friend of former colleague Katie.  So I wouldn’t be that lonely in the big city…

Friday night was mostly spent walking around Beyoglu and it’s ‘eat streets.’  There are 2-3 alleys that, as I wrote earlier, are full of cool little places to sit and drink/gossip/eat/watch sports on the tube.  I did a bit of all of those, and turned in around 2 a.m. 

Woke up Saturday and watched the presidential debate on the Internet.  See above.

Walked over the Ataturk Bridge to Sultanahmet, to visit the Archeology Museum.  Stopped for food several times along the way – as in Spain, in Turkey I prefer not to sit for a huge formal meal, but to snack non-stop.  Had a superb fish sandwich – sardine?

Walked in the rain to the museum, which had an extensive collection befitting a country at the crossroads of much of the world.  Assyrian stele…Greek and Roman sculptures…loads of stuff from Byzantine and Ottoman times…relics and histories of Troy…and sarcophagi from an excavation at Sidon, now in Lebanon, which included a stunning tomb, called the Alexander Sarcophagi, which I’d never heard of, but which looks like it was created last week and is just awesome in its decorative might:

Around 6 p.m. I met up with Zee, friend of Katie, who is half-Turkish/half-British.  We met because Katie had read on Facebook that I was sampling food from every vendor in Istanbul, and Katie has spent a lot of time here and knows some folks from various sailing trips around the country.  Katie then put me in touch with Zee, and we made plans to meet.  I’m highly equivocal about Facebook, but once in a while it pays dividends, and I should be better about keeping it more up-to-date.

Zee was funny and friendly, and is quite skilled at getting you to open up and expose your inner self.  We met at a famous Turkish landmark – Burger King, in Taksim Square.  Didn’t eat there…it’s just an easy place to meet.  Had a nice hours-long chat with her – at Galata Tower, with its terrific views, over beers at a placed called something like ‘lemon courtyard’ (in Turkish, of course), and over meze in one of the alley meyhanes (taverns).  Capped things off with desserts at a classic old place – Zee challenged me to name one of the dishes, a puffy white concoction which was delicious and unlike anything I’d ever tried.  I got creative and guessed it was something from an animal, i.e. meat – very close.  Turned out to caramelized chicken breast, called kazandibi here.  The meat is basically turned into a soft, creamy substance with loads of sugar etc.  Much better than I describe it.

I was a bit woozy when we finally parted ways and I wobbled back to Hotel Sen Palas – whose staff got a real kick out of me.  Hotel people seem to like me these days – that was not always the case.

Next day I spent a couple hours touring Topkapi Palace, former home of the sultans.  Highlights:

-an 86-carat diamond, I think the biggest I’ve come across.  It was found in the trash somewhere in Istanbul, sold (thought fake) for a couple watches or something similarly worthless, finally recognized as a treasure, and purchased by the monarchy. 

-a room that could tell some stories

-far more interesting – in the ‘Relics Room,’ a series of ancient objects that made me raise my eyebrows.  First, the sword of Prophet/King David.  About 1000 B.C.  Hmmm.  Next, Moses’s staff, a long knobby stick that looked like a fresh branch.  Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.  What was next, I asked myself – Abraham’s jockstrap?  Nope, nothing like that.  Only Abraham’s saucebowl.  Right.  I couldn’t help but giggle, and the Filipino family behind me was also highly skeptical.  What a laugh.  The various swords and other objects of Prophet Mohammed – no problem, 630 B.C. isn’t that ancient.  But Abraham’s pottery from 2000 B.C.?  Right.

I was surprised that a prophet had so many swords…but those were violent times.  As are these, in a sense.  I read somewhere that since WWI, there hasn’t been a single day of peace on the planet – there’s always been some war on.  Haven’t verified that, but go ahead if you’d like.

After that shocker – who knew Abraham’s stuff was in Istanbul? – I walked over to Galata Bridge, and had a beer at the same café I’d been to on day 1, with Hartmut.  Watched the sun set, then walked back to my hotel.  It’d been a great week in Istanbul, and it was soon time to move on.

Took it easy that night – had a kumpir (stuffed potato) for dinner, a couple Efes, then retreated to the hotel.  Exchanged emails with financial advisor/friend Yuhin, and also with Dri, who’s coming to Turkey in a few weeks.  We’ll meet in Istanbul, along with her sister Lisa, and then figure things out from there.  They’re likely to go to Cappadocia and go hot-air ballooning…I might join them.

Meant to get my laundry back from the little shop near my hotel, but it was closed Sunday.  I was planning to get up early Monday and go to the bus station, en route to my next stop, Cannakale, but now I was stuck waiting for the shop to open.  Thankfully he was there before 8 a.m., so didn’t upset my plans.  Packed my stuff, bid adieu to the Sen Palas gang, and hopped on the Istiklal tram up to Taksim, where I’d get on a bus to take me to the long-distance bus station (Istanbul Otogar).  En route I saw a couple Reese Witherspoon ads – jeez, they really love her all over the planet.

I also thought I spied an Adam Mickiewicz Museum sign – didn’t know the Polish poet-hero was popular here too.  Must be some story associated with that…

The Otogar is a massive place, with scores of bus companies vying for your business.  But only a few go to each destination, I tracked down one, Cannakale/Truva, and went with that one.  Wasn’t as cheap as I’d hoped, but the other companies had the same price and later departures, so there I was.

I was going to Cannakale to visit the WWI Gallipoli peninsula sites, and to see nearby Troy.  I won’t get much into the history of these places, they’re pretty well-known and hey – do a bit of research if you’re clueless.

Met a personable German lawyer named Christian on the ferry that we took from the Europe to the Asia side of the Dardanelles.  The straits are wide there, and quite busy:

Got to Cannakale, Christian came with me to Yellow Rose Pension, where I had a booking.  They had plenty of rooms, so he got one too.  We unpacked a bit, then went out for a beer.  And didn’t come back till 1 a.m. or so.  Started in a courtyard bar called Han Bar…met some Turks there who led us to an upstairs bar with a killer harbor view, and we sat, drank and smoked there for a few hours.  Had a lot of fun with our new Turkish friends, and got fairly drunk.  I vaguely recall speaking lazy French with one Turkish lass who had studied in Paris.  Around midnight or so, we were starving (no dinner yet – the British approach, ‘eating is cheating’) and wandered around till we found a great little place that had 1) mussles/moules served Turkish style, 2) little beef-puffs, and 3) Turkish meat tartar wrapped in leaves – all delicious, really.  We sat and ate and talked with the locals for a good hour (the waitress was super-cute), and spent a fair amount of lira, all worth it.

We finally stumbled home and called it a night – we had the Gallipoli tour the next day.  A fun, random sort of day – travel at its finest!

Gallipoli brings loads of Aussies and Kiwis out this way.  Christian asked one young Aussie woman why Gallipoli was so important to Aussies – I thought her answer quite lazy, she just said something like ‘it’s a very sad place.’  I had told Christian that my understanding from knowing many Aussies is that Gallipoli is the place where their young nation (only 14 years old by that point) came together and forged a common, unique (i.e., non-British) identity.  Maybe my understanding was incomplete, but I’ve heard that from quite a few Aussies and read it in a number of places – I was sort of annoyed by her basic, superficial answer.  Oh well. 

The first few sites were in and around Anzac Cove, where the Aussies and Kiwis first came ashore.  Controversy exists as to whether this was the intended beach, or whether the currents took them too far north.  Regardless, this is a brutal place to come ashore – the beach is small, and it quickly comes to higher ground, and then to steep hills.  One Turk could probably hold off 50-100 invaders from there – and they generally did.  Just an awful mess for the Allies, all round:

Subsequent sites included Lone Pine and Chunuk Bair, the latter the highest spot on the peninsula.  Kiwis actually managed to seize this spot, in an August offensive (the initial invasion was on April 25, 1915), but couldn’t hold it in the face of a large Turkish counter-offensive.  And that was that, the campaign ended a few months later when the entire force was withdrawn (successfully).  What a waste of lives – the trench warfare, the charges over no-man’s land…too sad for words. 

We also saw a Turkish memorial – obviously, the Turks also consider Gallipoli as a sacred place, and hey – they won the battle. 

When constructing this memorial, to the Turkish 57^th battalion, which was totally wiped out, they found the following:

On the way back to Cannakale, we were with a couple of fun Scottish women who were also going to Yellow Rose, to check in for the night.  We wound up going out for mussels at the little place with the cute waitress…then to one of the pricey waterfront restos where we spent way too much loot…and finally back to the upstairs bar, where we saw a few familiar faces, but I was eventually tortured by a Turkish-American who had evidently been deported for criminal acts and wanted to be my friend.  He had huge rings on all of his fingers, a bunch of tattoos, and I wasn’t up for his sob stories about not fitting into Turkish society.  We cut out and went back to Yellow Rose – had to get up early to go see Troy. 

We didn’t take a tour of Troy, we did it ourselves – unlike Gallipoli, it’s a compact place and there’s no need to spend a pile on a tour.  We found a minibus heading out there, then walked around for a couple hours.  Much larger than I expected – and Christian was impressed, because his mother had been there and had said there wasn’t much to see.  We disagreed – you could tell there had been a large city (series of layered cities, actually) there, and the setting as well was cool.  The mouth of the Dardenelles looms a couple kilometers away, you could imagine the lower city and farms under the city walls, stretching all the way to the beaches.  Imagine the Achaean Greeks coming ashore and invading.  The place drips with history, and I was fascinated by it all.  I had forgotten my old mythology stories - how Aeneas fled burning Troy and how his offspring in Italy helped found Rome.

Pic 7 above is the original Schliemann trench.

After seeing Troy, we decided to walk to the modern town we saw in the distance.  Christian really wanted to walk for a while, I was indifferent but gave in and joined him.  Saw Troy back in the distance - good hilly place to put a settlement:

Funny adventure – we got close to the city, but there was a fairly broad creek in our way, and no bridge.  Had to backtrack about halfway, a good 15-20 minutes, then there was a road over it.  Walked again towards the city – and came to another part of the creek.  Saw a vehicle and driver at one stretch, the driver was filling up huge tanks with creek water – probably mixing pesticides.  Charming.  But he saw us stuck on the far bank, we motioned and he nodded.  After a few more minutes of mixing he drove across and fetched us – we hung on for dear life as the monster machine churned across the foul waters and onto the far bank.  We hopped off and thanked the guy – nice little vignette of Turkish friendliness.

Wandered into town.  Found the main street, had a chay (tea) in a little café, then found a place selling sandwiches – hallelujah, it was now about 3 p.m. and we were both starving.  Sat inside and were joined by a fellow who we had thought was the owner or at least a café staff, but he turned out to be the barber in the shop next door.  He was kitted out very nattily – and was an amiable guy.  Ramadan was over and people were kicking back – they called it Bayram here, it’s analogous to Eid al-Fitr in the Arabic world, more or less.  We joined the barber for a few beers – had our sandwiches, and a few of his cigarettes.  Spent an enjoyable if odd hour with the barber and the denizens of the café, apparently this place was where people hung out and met.

The barber tried very hard to communicate with us, and we had some breakthroughs, particularly when he went up to the ‘Efes Girl 2008’ bikini poster and kissed the model’s lips.  He then motioned that he cut hair for a living – I motioned that most of my hair is between my legs but that he isn’t allowed to cut that.  He found that hilarious and that was, I think, when he decided we weren’t asshole foreign tourists but just regular guys like him…

Finally discovered that this town was Kumkale, wasn’t on my guidebook map but it was on Christian’s monster map of Turkey.  The barber got us on a bus back to Cannakale, and Christian and I laughed about our little adventure, which had included climbing over barbed wire on the back side of the Troy site and wandering through farmer’s fields that have probably been growing tomatos and other crops for 5,000 hours if not far more than that.  A jaunt through history, indeed.

Last night in Cannakale.  Bought my onward bus ticket to Ayvalik, which I’ll describe next week.  Showered.  Ate more mussels and meat thingies at the little place near the harbor.  Cute waitress wasn’t there, so I didn’t linger.  We watched ‘The Fatal Shore,’ a Gallipoli documentary, at the pension.  Impactful, lots of interviews with Aussie and Kiwi vets of the conflict, as well as one with a Turkish survivor.  Then went out for a great dinner with lots of meze and a bottle of raki, which is slowly growing on me.  It won’t displace beer or regular wine, but I’m easy.  Had a couple more beers, then called it a night.  Christian was returning to Istanbul the next morning, and I had a morning bus to catch as well.

The Red Sox won theır fırst playoff game agaınst the Angels.  And NBA traınıng camps have already started – seems lıke days ago that the Celts won the championship.

Woke up this morning – water problem in the pension.  I ‘showered’ using a weak stream of water from the sink, then packed.  Exchanged contact details with Christian, then walked to the bus station.  My next round of adventures awaits, including, I hope, a day of diving on the red corals off the coast of Ayvalik, not far from the Greek island of Lesvos.  By this time next week I hope to see Obama’s lead widening, Palin even more of a laughingstock, and some sort of bill passed by Congress to calm the markets.  And, of course, a partridge in a pear tree.  Over and out.     

My final day in Odesa, and by extension Ukraine, was fairly lazy, even by my standards.  It had gotten pretty cold and felt a lot like New England…the old buildings, the falling leaves, the crisp air.  My overnight bus trip had worn me out, and I just felt like lying about reading…but managed to get up and do some strenuous exercises:  abdominals, resistance cord, and then a good run around Shevchenko Park as darkness fell.  It’s rare I manage to put those different exercise bits together – afterwards  I felt simultaneously refreshed and spent.

Hotel Passazh had a ‘European Business Center’ downstairs which had wireless, so got on the web.  Exchanged Skype messages with John in Shanghai, who was in ballistic mode because he’s been drinking the local milk and realized that he might have consumed 10 liters of milk in the past couple months – milk that might have contained melamine, of which you’ve by now no doubt heard.  I completely understood his fury – even though it comes with the territory, in China things are rarely what they seem.  The scandal is even showing up on Ukrainian television.

Checked out the ‘Chumby,’ a bizarre, nearly formless Internet-enabled device thatcan do about 100 different things, but seems to have no core application.  Anyone have one of these?  Thoughts?  Seems to be a poster child for retail therapy, methinks…

Friday night – not in an especially frisky mood.  Had a couple beers at Mick O’Neills…walked by Captain Morgans but it was packed and they were turning people away…ducked into Pobeda but it had a weak vibe and didn’t feel that inviting.  I decided to take it easy and not try for a memorable last night in Ukraine.  And, in truth, I was ready to roll on.  I had generally liked Ukraine, and Odesa in particular is an excellent city…but four months in the ex-Soviet lands had been enough.  If I had had a great social network here, it would be different, but I was ready for things to come a little easier – logistics, social life, etc.  In SouthEast Asia everything’s at your fingertips, and making friends is effortless.  I think it’s still my favorite region, but am keeping an open mind and I do enjoy the contrasts between places.  Ukraine and Turkey – that will be a huge contrast, I’m sure.

Saturday midday, went down the Potemkin Steps to the boat terminal, where I was supposed to register for that evening’s boat to Istanbul.  Registration was predictably annoying – the UkrFerry window was shut and the sign had ’13.30’ as the time of re-opening.  It was now ’13.50’.  Re-opening actually occurred at ’14.25’ so I had stood there for over a half-hour, along with a slew of other passengers and hangers-on.  I had spotted the boat, the MV Caledonia, on my way into the terminal – fairly large, although not luxury-cruise size.  Probably the largest boat I’ve been on since my time in the Philippines…I should make an effort to do more sea journeys.  But I’m getting ahead of myself here…

Finally registered, was told to return at 7 p.m. for boarding.  Easy enough.  Had a few hours before then, mostly spent them walking around the city, taking in the sights and sounds.  Noticed a bank advertisement offering 10% deposit returns on US$.  Returns on the Ukrainian gryvnia were more like 17%, but the inflation rate is high here so that would eat away much of that.

Tried to use the balance of my mobilephone credits.  Can check emails here with my phone, so have been especially good about staying on top of them – feels a bit like being back at work, but I do hate have 75 emails in my inbox.

Took care of stupid little things (which could snowball and become issues), like repairing my backpack raincover.  This sheet, from REI, is useful in protecting my pack from dust and dirt as well as rain, but it’s a bit flimsy and gets torn easily.  Found a store selling ‘scotch’ (that’s what scotch tape is called out here), bought a roll and fixed up the cover.  Felt a minor sense of accomplishment.  I wouldn’t say I was killing time – fixing the cover truly was important, OK? – but I was semi-anxious to get on the boat and head out on the Black Sea already.

Walked by a Turkish restaurant, Turkuaz, which was offering some meal deal.  Tempting, but I’d be in Turkey soon enough.  Turkish and Greek food are amongst my favorites and I fully expect a gastronomic blowout once I hit Istanbul…there are so many superb cuisines in this world, it’s hard to imagine more diversity and better offerings.  If I had to choose a last meal, I’d have real trouble doing so.

There seem to be no KFCs in Ukraine – odd.  Plenty of McD’s, zero KFCs.  I’d always thought, and I’m sure written in this blog, that fried chicken is the world’s favorite food, pizza perhaps being right up there too.  But that doesn’t seem to be the case out here.  I stand corrected…

Walked to the hotel to get my pack.  Went by a shop blasting out the New Radicals song ‘You Get What You Give,’ a great track on a great album.  I think the New Rads only had that one album, not sure what happened to them.

Got my pack.  Wanted to take a taxi down the hill to the boat terminal, was told by hotel reception it would cost 20-25 gryvnia.  But when I went outside and talked to the cabbies hanging out there, they wanted 50, and wouldn’t budge.  It’s always better to flag down a cabbie in motion than one parked at a stand, but I didn’t see anyone coming so was forced to deal with the cabbies at hand.  They were obviously in legion on this – I asked 3, and got the same response.  Well, fuck them.  I wasn’t paying US$10 for a 2 kilometer ride down the hill, I wanted to save my remaining gryvnia for food/drink at the terminal or on the boat.  I hitched up my pack and walked.  I had just enough time and, besides my basic economic objection, I refused to reward stupid Ukrainian cabbies for their thieving ways.  I was more than happy to be done with these crooks and to travel to places with either cheap taxis, or at least metered taxis.  Good riddance.

Reached the terminal, boarding was just starting.  The usual chaos…no real queues, people with shocking amounts of luggage (smugglers, natch), and confusion about the process.  Eventually we filtered through Ukrainian immigration and customs.  No problem.  I noticed a few ancient ‘CCCP’ Soviet passports on the officer’s desk – I’d pay good money to have one of those for nostalgia’s sake.  Remember the Soviet Union?  It’s been almost 20 years since it collapsed…and I still can hardly believe it.

The duty-free store at the terminal was laughable.  Tiny shop, crammed with two things:  booze and butts.  There was zero pretext of limiting alcohol carried onto the ship – unlike luxury cruises where they work hard to ensure that you consume their pricey liquor.  In the FSU, alcohol is king and it’s a god-given right to carry your body weight with you wherever you go.

There was a concert at the top of the Potemkim Steps, it was reaching fever pitch as the boat got ready to pull out.  Were the good people of Odesa sending me off in style, or were they celebrating my departure from their land?

My cabin on the MV Caledonia was a shoebox.  Not only was it smaller than the master bathroom at Dad & Ellen’s place in Boston…it was far smaller.  And there were 4 bunk-beds in there.  Yowza.

I hoped I wouldn’t have the full load of cabinmates, but they all showed up.  First, Ibrahim, a 25-year-old Turk who was in the apparel (smuggling) business in Odesa and apparently had just lost US$1,000 at a roulette table.  He had a bottle of Jack Daniels with him and was in the mood to drink.  There went any concerns I had that my cabinmates would be hardcore Muslims who would be praying the entire voyage.

Ibrahim was a real wild child – got right into the whiskey (I had my own bottle of Russian cognac and did the same), all the while telling me he was a ‘hooligan’ and that he preferred smoking reefer because that didn’t give him a headache the next morning.  I half-expected him to pull out a hash-pipe but I guess he hadn’t wanted to risk that.  I wasn’t sure how to feel about Ibrahim – I was happy to have a lively cabinmate and sidekick, but I also wondered how he’d mutate as the evening and voyage went on.  I’d see soon enough…

Ibrahim also told me he had heard that George W. Bush is Jewish.  As context, I had told him I was Canadian..that was my cover for the trip.  But, of course, conversation turned at one point to world events and politics, and I had to spend some time convincing Ibrahim that W. is a Christian fundamentalist and not a Jew.  I think I won him over, but it was a fight I was not expecting.

Our two other cabinmates showed up.  Both older Turkish fellows, I believe they were doing construction work in Ukraine.  Normal enough guys – one had no more than 3 teeth, but wasn’t shy about it.

Our cabin was right near the ‘Disco Bar’ and Ibrahim and I gravitated towards that after draining much of our respective bottles of liquor.  We plopped (fell) down on a couch and I drank a couple beers while we attempted a conversation over the incredibly loud pop music.  Ibrahim was getting sloppy and at one point I feared he’d vomit all over me (or worse, my mobile).  I’ve written on several occasions that my internal sense of doom is usually accurate – stay tuned for more proof.

At one point I was pretty sure I heard the song ‘Shabbat Shalom.’  But I’m really not too sure…

My Soviet cognac was nasty stuff – right up there with Ibrahim’s Jack Daniels.  Both of us were probably in over our heads…then again, as long as it wasn’t vodka, I’d be fine.  I wasn’t too sure about Ibrahim, though.  He might have been a hooligan, but he didn’t make it past midnight.  I think I fell asleep in the disco for a few minutes – I didn’t recall one of my other cabinmates being in the disco, but when I turned my head there he was.  He smiled at me like I was insane.  He and cabinmate #4 weren’t drinkers, but I also wouldn’t really call them well-behaved.  There were a few Ukrainian lasses on board who were heading to Istanbul for ‘some work.’  Cabinmate #4 was hanging all over one of them, and it was a sorry sight.  It occurred to me that there might have been a solid reason for my lack of sea travels in the past few years.

Not sure what time I finally went to sleep.  But the seas were very rough that night, and I awoke to the sound of Ibrahim in the upper bunk across from me, rolling around in agony.  Then he leaned over and dry-heaved…my damage control sensors went into hyperdrive, I reached down to the tiny table and grabbed a plastic bag, thrusting it into Ibrahim’s hands.  A carpetful of vomit in that tiny room would have been sheer hell.  I silently cursed Ibrahim as he continued to do his thing…I figured he was a weak drinker…but then it occurred to me that he might just be sea-sick, with the Jack D merely an accomplice.  I gave him the benefit of the doubt – later on he did claim that it wasn’t the whiskey, it was the waves.

That day was shrouded in mist.  I managed to straggle upstairs for breakfast – not that my stomach was in great shape, either – cognac and waves both played a role.  I sat outside and stared at the horizon to calm my stomach down.  Popped my last promethazine tablet, which is part of the famed ‘Coast Guard Cocktail.’  I forget what’s the other half.  The problem is that once you start feeling sick, it’s too late to take the medicine.  But this seemed to help.  Went back in the cabin – Ibrahim was understandably still out cold, but so were my other cabinmates.  Sleeping looked like a great idea…reading would have been iffy given the seas and my stomach, and I wasn’t comfortable pulling out my laptop and watching a DVD, given the company.  Slept till lunch…ate a bit, then down to the deck for more gazing…and finally back to the room.

Ibrahim was actually getting worse – he had another puking session, at which point I helped him to the doctor’s quarters, where they jabbed him with something that seemed to take effect quickly.  Back in the room, the old goat cabinmate had invited a few of the Ukrainian girls in for a drink (of our booze, natch – he had none of his own).  Jesus, Ukrainians can drink.  Ibrahim and I were too tired to complain, and eventually the girls took off.  I suspect one of them was giving grandpa a hand job under the covers – I have a piece of evidence but it’s not bulletproof.

We then slept all afternoon.  I haven’t slept that much in a 24-hour period in years.  Awoke to calmer seas, and Ibrahim’s settled belly.  Got up and had a beer from the bar…watched the sun go down (should have taken a photo of that – exquisite)…and pondered the remaining stretch of the journey.  A little Ukrainian kid was running around and pretending to shoot me, he was somehow connected to the Ukrainian girls (son of one of them?  Scary thought.)  I was inspired by the orange setting sun, mellow seas, and relaxed feeling, and belted out a bold version of ‘Love Boat,’ which the little kid absolutely loved.  For the rest of the night he was bugging me to sing – I think I did another rendition once or twice.

Went to dinner – last meal on the boat.  Food was altogether forgettable throughout, but that was expected.  A 36-hour voyage for US$190, what do you expect?  At my table was a tall skinny fellow who was rather quiet.  I also wasn’t feeling too social, but we eventually started talking.  Turns out he’s a German mathematics/physics teacher named Hartmut who’s on a 9-month sabbatical, and is traveling through these lands en route to Iran, where he once spent a few months.  Intriguing guy – well-traveled and very thoughtful.  I seemed to recall him dancing around in the disco the previous night, his head bumping into the ceiling.  But don’t quote me on that, I was probably seeing things…

Took it easy that night – just a couple beers at the disco.  One of the Ukrainian girls sat next to me, we tried to have a chat but it wasn’t easy.  Besides language barriers, there may have been cognizance issues…

Seas stayed pretty calm and I think I slept fairly well.  One concern I had was that I’d sleep too long and miss our passage through the famed Bosporus Straits, separating the Black Sea from Istanbul and the Sea of Marmara.  We were supposed to reach Istanbul by 8 a.m., which meant that we’d enter the Bosporus around 6:30 a.m. or so.  Somehow I got up exactly as we came upon the straits, the boat seemed to rock a bit more, probably because of nearby boats.  I got up, dressed, grabbed my camera, and went to the top deck to check out the views.  Which were spectacular – I’d been to Istanbul once, briefly, but hadn’t really seen the straits, nor much else.  Saw Hartmut up on the deck and we resumed our conversation.  As we took photos and hung out, we implicitly decided to hang out together in the city that day.

Got to the docks a little late, but then had to wait a while.  Turks got off first and foreigners had to chill.  Hartmut gave me some of his oranges and apples and I was totally relaxed – in no hurry to shoulder my pack and start walking.  Eventually we were let off the ship, and we went into the terminal to clear customs/immigration.

Funny process – the scanners weren’t in service, so a single guy went through people’s bags.  As for immigration, they had our passports and a fellow would just yell out an approximation of someone’s name, that person would then go up and pay for the visa, collect his/her passport, and go back to fetch bags and clear customs.  Low-tech, but OK.  Hartmut and I were ‘processed’ at the same time, and we were waved right through customs without even a cursory check of our bags.  ‘Midnight Express’ crossed my mind…interestingly enough, the prison in that movie is now the Four Seasons Istanbul, rooms going for US$800/night.

That was the start of a very enjoyable day, one of the most pleasant I’ve had in the past two or so years on the road.  We got some cash, then found a modest little café right near the Galata Bridge, where we sat for an hour, drinking tea and eating kebabs.  Kebabs for breakfast – you heard it here.  Then we walked over the bridge into Old Istanbul, up the hill into the Sultanahmet area, which is the touristy part of town, OK, but you’re a stone’s throw away from the Blue Mosque, Aya Sofya, and Topkapi Palace.  Hartmut needed to find a room, I had one booked.  We parted ways for a couple hours and did our thing, then met again to check out the Blue Mosque and the neighborhood.  He’d been here 5 years before, so knew more than I and showed me around.

The Blue Mosque:

We were both starving, and after seeing the interior of the Blue Mosque we noticed a vendor selling potatos stuffed with all sorts of ingredients.  It’s called ‘kumpir’ and puts the Wendy’s Chili and Cheese version to shame.  The vendor whips the potato and even adds extra potato, then butter and cheese, peas, beets, a bit of meat, sauces, etc.  The thing is a mound of food and is more than a meal.  One of the strangest things I’ve eaten.  Not quite as strange as Kyrgyzstani breizol, but not far behind…

It was raining, but the air temp was cool and comfortable, I suspect the summer would have been hot as hell.  We had a nice long walk, from the Blue Mosque to the Hippodrome park, over to Topkapi gardens, then down the hill to the Golden Horn – we were ready for a beer or two, and were most likely to find one under the Galata Bridge, where there’s a string of cafes and shops, like a Turkish version of Florence’s Ponte Vecchio.  Found a great little place and had some Efes drafts while the sun set.  It was still Ramazan (Ramadan), and it can be a challenge to get a drink here, but there are places and this was one of them.  No big deal.  It’s actually a pretty good time to visit, at sunset people are ready to feast and there’s a huge amount of activity and buzz in the air.  I hear that after Ramazan the discos and bars get very busy again, I’ll be back in mid-October and will check ‘em out then.

Hartmut and I were both pretty beat by this point, and meandered back to Sultanahmet.  We sidetracked to the Spice Bazaar, where we both bought some sweets.  I don’t really have a sweet tooth, but some of the products they have here are irresistible.  I bought a bag of walnuts covered in some sort of amber candy, a bit like honey.  Excellent.  After a few months in ex-Sovietland, the foods of Turkey are simply mind-blowing.

Got a bit lost going home.  Wandered into what seemed some sort of graveyard, which eventually opened into a courtyard where tea and waterpipes (narjileh) were on offer.  We sat down (were escorted to a tourist section, to be accurate), and had some tea and a waterpipe.  Very relaxing – a fine way to spend my first night in Istanbul.

Stopped for a plate of meatballs (kofteh) before getting back to the pension.  I think it will prove difficult here to maintain my girlish figure…Istanbul probably has some of the world’s best street food, right up there with Bangkok.  I still rate Tokyo the best eating city on earth, but that might be challenged.

The guy at the front desk is named Asi, sounds like Ozzie in English.  I asked him if he had heard of Ozzie Osbourne – I believe he had.  I try not to be a stupid tourist but sometimes succumb…

Had noticed a few things during the long day running around Istanbul.  One:  many women wear headscarves here.  I’d heard the practice was growing, but perhaps one in three women (in the Old City, anyway) were wearing them.  Two:  Turks are good at looking a bit stylish while hanging around town.  Many guys wear an old sport coat, for instance.  Three:  Istanbul is very touristy compared to Ukraine or Russia, but I was not unhappy about that – at least you can get your laundry done without hassle, you can get tickets and change money easily, etc.  A bit of infrastructure can be worth the annoyance of nasal American voices all round you…

Next morning, got up early, had breakfast on the pension’s rooftop (commonplace here), and visited the historic Aya Sofia, aka Hagia Sofia, which until 1453 was the largest church in the world.  Then the Ottomans took the city and converted it into a mosque.  If you’re interested in more history than that, there’s lots online to read, but I’ll just say that the interior of the now-museum is absolutely massive in scale and is astonishing in its design and style – even if you’re good and sick of churches, as I’ve become, this place really stands out as one of the top buildings in the world.  And the Ottomans left many Christian frescoes and mosaics in place – right above the imam’s pulpit there’s a mosaic of Jesus and Mary, still intact.  I guess Muslims consider Jesus an early prophet so no harm having his image there…

Next, walked across the street (the sights in Sultanahmet are that close) to the entrance to the Basilica Cistern, an underwater reservoir that was built by the Byzantines, then forgotten for centuries until a Dutch archaeologist found it in the 1500s.  There are still some old Ottoman houses with access to this body of water, and in fact it the Dutch explorer found it again because some people told him they could get fresh water by lowering a bucket from a hole in their basement, and could even catch fish sometimes.

This place is odd and captivating.  There are walkways over the water, and scores of old columns holding up the ceiling.  The water is everywhere – the air feels wet, and water drips from the ceiling.  Watch thy camera, oh tourist.  And fish swim in the waters, which are apparently still clean but who knows.

There’s also the obligatory ‘Cistern Café’ with overpriced food/drink, no one was sitting there when I visited the cistern.

Started to rain again.  I escaped by ducking into Karadeniz café and having a Turkish coffee and a bowl of lentil coup – mercimek, which is a bit like Indian dal bhat but is lighter in color and in flavor.  Rain eventually let up and I went out.  Had noticed that my flimsy daypack was ripped, yet again, and saw a tailor’s sign.  Went upstairs and found the shop – the tailor didn’t speak English but it wasn’t difficult to communicate my problem (the bag, that is).  He sat down and finished up his current job, and indicated that I sit on a chair nearby.

I read my guidebook for a couple minutes, then another customer came in and spoke with the tailor.  This guy then went behind the door, removed his pants, and handed them to the tailor.  I was a bit foggy from the rain and from all the morning’s sight-seeing, so I didn’t think much about this, just continued to peruse my guidebook.  At one point I looked up and saw the guy still standing behind the door, pant-less.  At that point I put the pieces together and started to laugh.  So did the guy, sheepishly.  The tailor soon joined in.  The customer spoke a bit of English and told me he ripped the seat of the pants jumping over a big rain puddle.  I laughed even louder, so did the other two.  We must have gone on for 5 minutes, until the tailor somehow finished repairing the guy’s pants and he paid and left.  Then the tailor finished my crappy little pack – he pretty much remade it, cut off the failing material and restitched it so that it should hold up for a while longer.  He’s a real tailor and did a nice job – my earlier rescue efforts were in the hands of FSU dezhurnas (floor ladies) who were willing, but not that able, it seems.

Funny episode.  I think there will be lots more to come here, the Turks seem pretty light-hearted and the place in general seems ripe for laughs.

The rains come and go here, and then there’s bright sunshine.  Reminds me of storms in Johannesburg, the sky would suddenly go dark, there’d be hellacious lightning and thunder, then pouring rains, and a few minutes later bright sun again.  Weird.

I continued to traipse by street-food vendors and storefronts and drool uncontrollably.  This sort of food really does it for me – must be genetic.  I’ve written before about conditions under which I’m likely to visit McDonald’s, i.e. countries with mediocre local food (Philippines), and countries with ridiculously overpriced local food (UK, Russia).  I think Turkey may be the country where I’m least likely to visit a McD’s – the local food is terrific, it’s fast, and it’s pretty cheap.  Even in Japan I’d hit a McD’s once in a while, just to sink my teeth into something solid…here, that’s just not an issue.

Had lunch (my third meal of that day) in a koftesisi (meatball place).  Sat at a table next to a Caucasian couple – we chatted a bit, they’re from New York and were on a Holland America cruise ship.  They had a local woman showing them around, and I copied their food and drink choices – a plate of meatballs, a dish of bean salad, and a yogurt drink.  All excellent.  The fellow was fun to talk to – we commiserated about the financial crisis, and he told me that he was on the phone with a friend, who noticed that Lehman had just declared bankruptcy and whose stock was at US$0.18 a share.  While they were talking it jumped a penny, and this fellow said that even in the worst of times, you can make 6% (do the math).  So perhaps it’s time to buy, or will be soon.  Of course, it all depends on what happens with the U.S. bailout package – I hope the government takes equity from the banks and shareholders first, before writing any checks.  They did that in Sweden in the 90s and while that was a smaller-scale situation, it was analogous and it worked well.  We should not let urgency overtake intelligence in this race…

I walked off my lunch in the Grand Bazaar, a collection of some 4,000 stores under roofs and open air.  Certainly a huge tourist trap, although there are good deals to be had and locals participate as well.  I just bought a Pantene shampoo – what else do I really need?  Sometimes I think I miss the point of these places, but I just like walking around and looking at a few things, I don’t generally feel any need to buy and thus be bathed in retail therapy.

When I entered the Bazaar I took a quick photo.  A vendor came over and said, ‘one photo, one carpet.’  I said that I had no home and no place to put it – I was just a traveler.  He said ‘how can you fly without a carpet?’  Clever – I’ll bet these guys have a book of quips memorized.  I told him I’d come and buy a carpet when I bought a place to live.  Powerless by now, he smiled and agreed.  I walked on.

Bought and read the International Herald Tribune, my first newspaper in four months.  All bad news,except for the Red Sox’s decent play and impending playoff bid.  They’re unlikely to win the division, but they’re alive and kicking, and are probably as good as anyone in the American League.  Let’s see.  Playoffs start next week.

Checked out my emails – the Pension has wireless, hallelujah.  Accoms standards here in Istanbul seem quite good – value isn’t superb, but they know what foreigners want and provide it, for a cost.  More than you can say for Ukraine…

Am experiencing an odd software problem – sometimes Skype doesn’t open when I boot up, and even when I double-click on the icon.  I usually get it to start by opening the Control Panel – perhaps Skype thinks I’m about to uninstall it (and sometimes I have that in mind), then it opens.  Any ideas?  The same is often true of iTunes, if Skype isn’t open then iTunes won’t open either.  Something is holding them back – is my CPU too busy?  Something else?  Help, dear readers.

Was feeling the effects of the incredible food here, so went for a long run along the Golden Horn.  There’s a good sidewalk/promenade that goes on for a long ways – flat, but because of the rains there were massive puddles I had to get around.  Still, a good run, I was sweaty and exhausted when I got back to the pension.  Asi laughed when he saw me.

Of course, I only ran because I want to overeat, so I showered and walked up Divan Yolu Caddesi to a little sandwich shop that specializes in fish.  I got a calamari sandwich for a few lira, it was terrific and reminded me of cheap calamares sandwiches I’ve had at Café Ideal right off Madrid’s Plaza Major.  Then I went back to the Karadeniz café, and had an Iskander kebab.  I was now seriously full, but while walking near the Blue Mosque I came across loads of people feasting in Ramadan fashion, and I got a small plate of baklava to cap things off.  Delicious, and super-rich.

You’d think I could hold no more in my stomach, but I managed to waddle down to North Shield Pub, and had a couple beers.  I was trapped there for some time by major-league rains that came out of nowhere, and I was lacking an umbrella.  Didn’t mind too much getting stuck at a bar…

Saw a photo in the IHT of the Islamabad Marriott, which was bombed the other day.  The place was gutted – looks like a construction site and not a luxury hotel that was damaged.  Apparently the President and his team were supposed to have dinner there, but there was a change of plans and they barely missed getting torched.  Coincidence?  Pakistan is a scary place these days, even new friend Hartmut is giving it a miss after he leaves Iran and heads to India…

Next morning, had breakfast on the terrace again, was joined by an older French-Aussie woman who had just arrived.  I told her what I had enjoyed thus far (I skipped the previous night’s food porn), then went downstairs, where I was supposed to meet Hartmut for a coffee.  He didn’t show after a half-hour, so I took off and continued my sight-seeing.  Visited the Suleiyman Mosque, named after Suleiyman the Magnificent, who’s buried there and who was probably the greatest of the Ottomon sultans.  Nice place, but I was more impressed with the view from the Golden Horn that I was with the up-front experience.

Walked down to the water, and found a restaurant I’d read about called Hamdi Et Lokanasi, famed for mezes and kebabs.  It’s on the 3^rd floor – went up and the views across the Horn were brilliant.  I stood there and took photos till a waiter came and seated me, on the balcony next to a Western couple.  Turned out they live in Key West, and were another cool American couple.  They were expressly not on a cruise ship, they’re independent travelers, and have really been around.   Ellen has been to backwaters like Burma and Laos, and Courtney has seen his share of countries as well.  We sat there eating and talking for well over an hour – they told me what they liked in and around Istanbul, I gave them pointers on Vietnam.

They were staying in Sultanahmet as well, right across the street from my pension.  I felt lucky to have randomly met them, they were great travel discussions partners.  Made me feel a bit better about being a gringo to meet dynamite folks like them.  Am I starting to sound at all like Michelle Obama?  Anyway, it goes without saying that we seemed to be politically aligned, and economically as well – Courtney and I bitched about our Goldman shares – but I think we’re both cautiously optimistic that they’ll climb one of these days…

Ellen and Courtney were both done or nearly finished with books they’re reading about Jordan, which they’re visiting next, and told me they’d drop off the books at my pension.  Very nice of them – English books in Turkey are outrageously expensive.  And sure enough, when I got back to the pension that evening, Ellen had left her book for me, it’s by Queen Noor and is about her adjustment to life in Jordan and that country’s nature and development.  I plan to eventually visit Jordan and this book should give me some much-needed background.  They got my blogsite from me and I think they may check in and read this post at some point – I hope they do.

Views from the resto:

I also had a note from Hartmut, he’d overslept that morning and apologized profusely.  He proposed meeting next morning for breakfast, but that wouldn’t work for me, so I emailed him proposing a drink that night, hoping he’d check email.

During the day I also visited Rustem Pasha Mosque, noteworthy mostly because they give out free Korans to visitors.  I might try to read mine, but expect to fail miserably.  I tried to read the Old Testament years ago and didn’t get far.

Got a haircut at the barber down the street.  He did a good job, there were only two things to note.  One, he had dragon-breath and at times I nearly passed out as he hovered over me.  Two, he was a bit too thorough – he cut my nose hairs (which weren’t that bad, really), and pulled out a lighter and proceeded to burn my ear hairs.  I’m serious – I’ve seen people lightly burn off threads on shirts, but never ear hairs.  A Turkish customer in the next chair was laughing, probably provoked by my nervous laughter, and then the barber joined in, much like the episode in the tailor’s shop the day before.  What is it about being in Turkish shops that’s so damn funny??

Went for another run along the Horn.  Came back, showered, went out for something to eat, and ran into Hartmut down the street.  He’d read my email and was coming to look for me.  Good timing.  We looked for, and soon found, a rooftop bar to grab a beer.  We lucked out with Southern Cross, the rooftop was very much like the rooftop bars in Hampi, India – lots of mattresses, pillows and blankets.  We had a couple large Efes drafts apiece and talked for two hours – about all sorts of topics.  Hartmut’s a teacher, and we talked about the teacher-student relationship – staying in touch after moving on, sexual tensions, etc.  I told him about teachers and professors who influenced me.  Miss Gibson, my first grade teacher, for whom I painted a picture of a frog on a lilypad that she hung on her wall and maybe still has hanging there.  Mister James, a high school English teacher who said one day in class that while the act of intercourse has become commoditized and debased, the simple act of kissing has remained pure and exciting.  And Professor Cid Scallett from business school, of whom I wrote fairly extensively last April, after my 15^th business school reunion – Cid was a deeply influential figure in my life, and although we didn’t communicate for 15 years, we recently re-connected and I hope we become close again as years go by.

We went out for a late-night feed after the beers, and we out till 1 a.m. or so.  Then we said goodbye – Hartmut was likely to get his Iranian visa the next day, then head east towards that country.  Our paths wouldn’t converge anytime soon, but we’ll keep in touch and perhaps meet again this winter/next spring in India or SE Asia.  I had a blast sitting around chatting with him – I really can’t say that about too many people.  Hartmut, godspeed.

BTW, there’s a real German angle here.  Hartmut got his Turkish visa for free (mine cost US$20), and many Turks speak German.  Germany for decades has had a guest worker program aimed at Turks, and millions of Turks live or have lived in Germany, creating an interesting link between the two nations.  It’s not always a perfect bond, but it’s unique.

It’s now Thursday morning, I’m racing to blast out this entry before checking out of the Side Pension.  There was just a knock on the door – I cursed for a second, thinking that management was jumping the gun on getting me to check out.  But it wasn’t management, it was Courtney, whom I’d met at the Hamdi restaurant the day before – he was done with his “Live from Jordan” book and was giving it to me.  Cool.  This book was written by an American student of Arabic, who spent a stretch in Amman and then Cairo, and wrote about his experiences there.  I’ve now got this book and the one by Queen Noor, as well as the Hungarian ‘Book of Fathers’ that Bert gave me in Budapest.  Those will keep me busy during some long bus and train rides here.  I’d better devote some time to reading one of these days, or I’ll have to lug all these books around for weeks.  Not the worst problem to have.

Alright, now management should be barging in on me, so I’ll wrap this up.  Going to meet a classmate from b-school later today, that should be good fun.  Over and out.