Great party

Rug-a-dub-dub

Turkey is quite different to the Middle East. You notice a change in scenery immediately; the roads are better, there is more colour, better buildings, solar power, etc. Our independent memories of a previous journey here encouraged an expectation that Turkey would be easy-going compared with where we had just been. In my opinion, Turkey is one of the best travel destinations I have so far visited.

A night in Antakya did not tickle our fancy so we shot through to Cappadocia, roughly in the centre of modern Turkey. After more than 10 hours on a bus we finally alighted in magical Göreme. Truth be known, it was photos of Cappadocia's whimsical "fairy chimneys", rippling pink tufa valleys, and troglodyte accommodation that inspired me to start travelling back in 1998.




Cave No. 6 (below) of the Shoe String Pension was particularly hospitable. We bumped into Mark there, a great guy I went to law school with in Canberra. We became quite friendly over a few Efis beers and a backgammon board. Weisie and I also befriended one of the owners, Isa, who spent a considerable amount of time driving us all over Cappadocia in search of the perfect carpet.




We ended up purchasing two very special hand-made, woollen pieces: a traditional-looking rug (carpet) and something called a "suzzani", which apparently differs from the ubiquitous "kilim" in that it is woven on the floor without the aid of a loom. Both were naturally dyed and well-worn from domestic use. We dedicated three days to researching and haggling (over apple tea) and were pleased with the result - that is, until we had to carry them home (they added 12kgs to our already bulging luggage). Choosing just the right carpet is a daunting and time consuming endeavour.




The list of natural and man-made wonders in the region would make this a very long and potentially (even more) boring blog. I will therefore limit myself to a short tale about a long walk through "Pigeon Valley" in Göreme. We were guided by two friendly dogs, Bingo & Keno, who waited patiently by an unseen path every time I was sure of a short cut. The dogs probably saved us from spending a night out in the cold (although I secretly relished the possibility of having to rely on my well-honed survival skills). On this one day, we weathered four seasons (from sun to rain to snow), inspected colourful, old cave-churches, undertook some ad hoc archaeology, watched pigeons do back-flips, and paused under a number of trees growing mistletoe...

Below, Keno is pictured looking out over the so-called "Love Valley".




My journal (22/02/05):

We departed Göreme on a glorious day. Bought our last pide [Turkish pizza] from our favourite restaurant for the journey to Konya through the vast Anatolian steppes, flanked by distant snow-capped peaks. We were in the cradle of civilisation - I could feel it. Konya was not the conservative backwater we had expected. It was huge, green, had trams, trains and a real bus system... The walk to the hotel hurt - our bags were laden, but a kindly political refugee from Iran helped us carry them. Mark was staying at the same hotel! We dropped our bags intent on the museum but were accosted by a carpet salesman called Elvis who entertained us in his shop for 3 hours on various topics, especially Islam - he was well read and very objective.

We went to Konya primarily to visit nearby Çatalhöyük and see the remains of the oldest and largest Neolithic Age city yet found (dating from circa 6,500 BC). The effort to get to the site was monumental. We hitched a ride part of the way and the driver decided to check out the site with us. Together with the museum/site keeper we were an odd bunch (below, making our way to the main dig site) but we were the only people there and had the site to ourselves. You would have to be archaeology buffs to enjoy this place - we absolutely loved it.




Our penultimate destination in Turkey was Eğirdir - a place that is difficult to pronounce but lovely beyond words. On the way there, we witnessed a number of families sending their sons off to the military for compulsory service (there was music, much kissing of hands and foreheads, wailing and tears). When we finally arrived at the tranquil lake-side town of Eğirdir, Mark waved at us from a window in a hostel nestled high on the crowded peninsular. He kindly ran down to help us cart our bags up the hill. The hostel provided a marvellous panorama of the lake and nearby mountains.




Mark, Weisie and I spent a few days cooking, eating, drinking and playing backgammon (usually against the quick-tempered but likeable Muslem, who was a student living in the hostel). We spent one day trekking along part of St Paul's trail passing goats, flowers, springs and snow, to the top of the Mt Sivridaği pictured above. It was hard work but the views were magnificent. In a saddle near the summit were the ruins of a roman villa. Its relative inaccessibility meant that artefacts were still strewn all over the place - Mark and I found some wonderful fragments of plates and decorated jars.




We finally left Mark to finish his epic journey through Turkey. We made for Istanbul (12 hours on a bus) and stayed in the hotel district near the Topkapi Palace. Colette, who we first encountered in Jordan and later in Syria, paid a surprise visit and we shared a final meal together nearby. Unfortunately, my laptop computer died the next day (which is why it has taken so long to post this leg of our journey). But thankfully, after much money and messing about, it was fixed and our photos of Istanbul were salvaged.




One of the highlights of Istanbul was quite literally the highlights - the ones Weisie had put in her hair. We both tidied ourselves up for job interviews that were scheduled to take place the day after our return to London. But before that ordeal, we first passed through Athens, a city we have visited several times and adore. The Acropolis, however, did not hold us in awe as it once did. I suppose that happens to you after a couple of months on a road like the one behind us.

Halva great time

The old houses in Damascus were amazing. During both our stints in the capital, we stayed in a converted hostel called Al-Haramain, which had a traditional, tiled fountain in the atrium. It was noisy and had the world’s smallest toilet (you had to lift your knees to close the door – do not try to imagine it) but they served delicious halva for breakfast so all was forgiven.

The streets of Damascus were hectic but interesting - you could buy all manner of things (including kids, see below). The national museum was wonderful and the covered souq was most impressive. In the heart of the market was Beit Jabri, a house built in 1737 that featured an enclosed courtyard with balconies, orange trees, musicians and lots of locals smoking water pipes. This place, in our opinion, was the gem of Damascus.




We shared a wonderful evening with Peggy, Pár and Colette (apologies for any misspellings). We ate a banquet and watched a Whirling Dervish, who was so focussed and disciplined that he hardly faulted when he stopped to take his seat. We later swapped travellers anecdotes well past midnight over tea at Beit Jabri, but none of our stories could compare with the harrowing and inspiring tales of Pár in South America! We cannot wait to see all three of our new friends again soon.




After our second stay in Damascus (we visited Lebanon in the interim) we had an hour to fill before our bus departed for Palmyra. We returned quickly to the souq to bid for a lovely inlaid box that I had my eye on. We were prepared to haggle, but in spite of our preparations, we were surprised by what transpired. We engaged in our first “anti-haggle”, if that is what you call it. The shop owner was eating his lunch and was utterly disinterested in us (to his peril!):

Ben: “How much is this?”
Arab merchant: “£300 Syrian pounds.”
Weisie: “We’ll give £200.”
Merchant: “No.” Shovels kofta into his mouth. “£300. Last price.”
Weisie: “Okay, £280.”
Merchant: “No. £300.” Turns attention to his hummus.
Ben: “All right... £300 it is then.”
Merchant: “No! £250”.
Weisie: “It’s a deal!”.

There was virtually nothing to see en route to Palmyra from the bus to the hills on the horizon, apart from sandy orange desert and the occasional Bedouin tent settlement. We were later told by an Arab date farmer that the local Bedouin were particularly prosperous, due to their modest herds of sheep and camels (what their stock ate, or drank, I have no idea), but I am not sure whether this was ethnic jealously or an honest description of a traditional, hospitable people who have largely handled the distractions of the modern world.

We spent a couple of days in the oasis town of Palmyra, shuffling for hours amongst dusty ruins, sighting all sorts of artefacts such as flints, ancient Roman glass, bones and potsherds. The nights were very cold but the grand, old ruins were beautifully illuminated. From a vantage point high on a nearby hill during the day, you could survey the ruins and oasis in one direction (pictured below), and a line of watch-towers stretching into the distance in the other.




A microbus is a normal bus cut in half. You cannot fit many people in such a vehicle - unless of course you fill the aisles with plastic stack chairs and fit three people into seats designed for two. So it was that we travelled to the city of Homs, cheek by jowl with smoky locals (literally oozing campfire-cologne). It was a rare opportunity to be so close to the usually private Bedouin women, who had henna stained nails and wonderfully weather skin. Their babies were patient bundles of coloured rags, with looped string for earrings.

We passed quickly through Homs and on to the more agreeable Hama; a charming town with aged, squeaky waterwheels (known locally as norias). We had a highly politicised discussion with the manager of our hotel, before Weisie was nearly mugged by five youths on the way to the restaurant for dinner (they patted her down for valuables but she was on to them before they could get their grubby little hands on anything).

From Hama we visited the Orontes Valley and two fabulous Crusader castles, one of which is considered to be the finest in existence (Crac des Chevaliers).




Recently visited by a famous Knight of the Realm, Sir Sean Connery - according to a restaurant guest book - the Crac was quite a spectacle from afar and impressive from within. It had vaulted ceilings, a Gothic knights hall, 100-metre long stables, soaring watch-towers and (not so) secret passageways.




We had dinner with a retired classical, Arabic-language professor in his favourite chicken restaurant before meeting up with our good friend, José, from Chile, who we first met in Beirut. We spent many hours covering our favourite topic whilst referring to a giant wall-map of the world.

Our next stop was Aleppo, which featured a very old citadel and a sprawling souq. From there we day-tripped to some early Christian ruins, many of which were now home to Kurdish villagers. The highlight was undoubtedly St Simon’s Cathedral, surrounded by aromatic pines and the odd eucalyptus tree.




After a very full day, we took our chances with an Indian restaurant to celebrate Valentines Day. The food was fine but the evening ended sadly with the news of the bomb blast in Beirut (see earlier posting).

We were coming to the end of our trip, so as usual, we began planning our next one (our maxim: one must formulate a new itinerary before completing the present one). By the time we arrived in Turkey the following day, we had finalised our plans for Africa in January 2006.