A Great Day for Bread

 Today was our first hike: 10AM start to Olympos.  Olympos was a Lycian city of great wealth and influence.  The Lycians, in general, it seems, were not interested in war.  They were interested in selling their regular massive crops of grain and wine.  Usually this meant aligning with whoever the big dog on the med was (Alexander the Great, Rome, Byzantium, etc.) and selling them their food under imperial protection.  This was a sweet gig, and they got really wealthy.  Another thing made Olympos special compared even to other rich Lycian cities was its location in the shadow of Mt. Olympos.  There are 29 mountains named Mt. Olympos across the ancient world, but this Mt. Olympos has FIRE COMING OUT OF ITS SIDE DUE TO THE SLAIN CHIMERA UNDERNEATH.  That was enough to make it interesting to all kinds of visitors.  At later points, of course, the Romans had about as much belief in corporeal gods as we do, but still, due to its wealth and location, Olympos managed to be a sort of spiritual center into the late empire.  Strangely enough, philosophers in this town were very wealthy men, as evidenced by this tomb, which is perhaps the finest in Lycia, and belonged to a philosopher.  Also quite impressive (and unique, but I won’t go into that) is this tomb a man had made for his uncle who was a sea captain.  The inscription in Lycian is translated (one presumes badly) in the sign.

After Olympos we had lunch on the beach.  You know, no big thing, just grilled bread with fresh cheese, potatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, and beer.  AND RAD. 

After that, the real hike.  This was up a mountainside to see chimera’s fearsome fire-tongue.  Up the mountain side (a seriously long climb on stone-cut steps), there were the ruins of a temple complex and several spots where fire came straight out of the ground.  Pretty cool.  Later on, at the “upper flames” there were some more, smaller chimera flames, but also a goatherd and a herd of goats!  That was cool.  Herds of goats really are quite fun to watch.

Down the other side and across a river, we had good views of Mt. Olympos, which is quite impressive.  A REAL mountain.  Then we had dinner at a trout farm.

Dinner started with 4 meze, which are Turkish simple cold appetizers.  Ours were yogurt with dill and mint, red pepper salsa, shepherd’s salad with tomato, onion, cucumber and field greens, eggplant stew, and green stuff that was really good.  John told us food was gonna keep coming out, that it wasn’t a race situation.  But we ate hard anyway, getting fresh hard sheep cheese with walnuts, mushrooms stuffed with goat cheese, flat roasted bread with cheese, wine, and the piece de resistance, wood-oven roasted trout.   The trout was divine.  Ultra-simple food, but preferred with perfection.  And the dessert:  Tahini, sweetened with honey, and roasted on top.  This was served with a tray of bananas, oranges (We spent most of the day seeing and smelling orange trees.) and apples that you dip in the tahini.  Tahini?  Once the stupid, hard-to-find second ingredient in hummus, now elevated to these levels?  The first person to market this as a health-food dessert is going to make a zillion dollars.

The restaurant, as I mentioned, is an adjunct business to a trout farm.  Their kitchen is interesting.  Some people in the area still practice a nomadic lifestyle, following their herds from the high country to the low country between summer and winter.  They would have, to assist these journeys, set up stone oven houses at strategic points, so they wouldn’t have to carry cooking stuff.  They could just pick some veggies, catch a fish, make a fire in the fire building and have dinner.  The kitchen of the restaurant was one of these things, where they then built a restaurant next to it.  Thus the simple shepherd food, but these shepherds WIN HANDS DOWN for good cooking.

Raise your head, for today it rains

It poured rain in Istanbul for our last morning there, limiting the goings on.  We made it to the spice bazaar, which was cool.  I had the sneaking suspicion, though, that all the stalls were supplied by identical suppliers.  But anyhow, how can you resist that atmosphere?  I bought Urfa pepper (it’s purple and has a very earthy flavor) and some other pepper that is oily and salty.  I also bought some dubious Iranian saffron.  Then we made our way back through the rain to the hotel, and thence to the airport.  The airport for domestic flights was no problem at all.  The cool thing was that there was this guy with a pet parrot he was carrying around.  When he was getting his shoes shined Katy asked if she could pet it, and ended up getting her picture taken with the parrot on her shoulder.  Turks are very nice people.  Flight to Antalya was 1 hour.  In Antalya where, it should be said, the weather was 70 degrees and sunny, we met John of jonnyturk.com, and drove to our new digs.

Cat du jour

Spice Bazaar

Spice Bazaar

Katy with a parrot

Imagine your dad, and now imagine your dad as a rugby-type person.  Imagine him and his powerful wife directing great circles of activity to the whim of a couple dozen British pensioners.  That’s pretty much the scene.  Fun people.  Anyhow, dinner is homemade, here, and we were in bed before we knew it.  Oh yeah, first check out the view of Adrasan Bay from our balcony.

Adrasan Bay, as seen from the Ottoman Palace

Hamam is Hamazing

Sunday.  Oops, it’s Sunday.  I forgot that matters a lot of places.  So the Grand Bazaar and the Spice Bazaar are closed.  Like I said, oops.  Anyhow, hotel breakfast is a fine Turkish buffet.  Let me explain:  All cold, included in price of hotel.  4 kinds of cheese, ranging from crumbly-salty sheep milk, to fresh mozzarella.  Dill with yogurt, mint with yogurt.  Plain yogurt.  Tomatoes on the vine, figs, olives, basil.  Juice in colors normal and otherwise.  Bread, preserves, eggs.  Coffee (European, yuck), pomegranates, yellow mystery fruits, capers.  I could go on, but I forgot the other stuff.  A fine way to start the day.  From there, into Aya Sophia first thing to beat the crowds.  For reference, this is worth it.  The crowds in these places become massive by lunch.  Anyhow, as amazing as we remembered the Blue Mosque to be, and as wrong as we were, we were 10 times wronger about Aya Sophia.  It is no longer being restored.  It be restored, yo.  Glittery Byzantine Christian mosaics everywhere, in a stone-arched building that is about the size of a blimp hanger.  Islamic additions.  Drillwork capitals and arcades all around, handmade almost 1500 years ago.  Those cool stairs that are worn into a ‘U’ shape because they’re so old.  A cat walking around soliciting attention.

Aya Sophia Interior

Drill-work Capital

Mosaic

After St. Sophia, the never-a-real-person sainted incarnation of sacred wisdom, we went to what was pretty much a jail for royal people, Topkapi Palace, which is right next door.  I’ve never been to Iraq (obviously), but it seems pretty likely that Saddam modeled the Green Zone on this place.  It’s like a big park… surrounded by layers of great-wall-thickness walls… full of people who lived at the Sultan’s whim.  Chock full.  The most interesting part of this place was the harem.  Apparently, at one time it housed 300 women.  It was posh, no doubt, and these people had strict traditions, a social ladder, the ability to become nobility or even royalty, but still… We went through a lot of rooms and none of them had an out door that wasn’t “just for the Sultan.”  You might say, as about half the signs in Topkapi Palace are eager to, “but the Sultan was really a prisoner, too, with every part of his day governed by ceremonies ad strict customs.  The first Sultan to travel abroad only did so in the mid 19^th century.”  True, but that first Sultan to travel abroad?  He was like “this is awesome.  I want some Italians.”  And brought back a bunch of Italian painters to make portraits of all the Sultans going back to The Conqueror.  So, basically, if he felt like it, he could just change all those rules and customs.  Pretty much like in Aladdin.  It must be said these portraits I mentioned are remarkable.  Since the bespoke Italians were not constrained by something like, say, an ugly ruler with brain damage widely hated by his subjects (it should be noted that the Ottoman’s never bought into the Eldest Son thing), but just some guy who had been dead for hundreds of years, and was known to be strong.  Yes strong, and handsome, probably.  And did we mention wise?  A brilliant scholar, too…  They could pretty much paint the old Sultans however they wanted.  Those are some good looking paintings.  If you want to know how to get old, or grow fat, or grow a mustache and still look like you could conquer Gibraltar, learn from these portraits.  Anhow, that palace is cool, but it is a palace, and Americans get tired in palaces, so we moved on.  That was when I found out the bazaars were closed.

Inside a room of the Harem at Topkapi Palace

We ate lunch at a place with great grilled fish, but terrible service.

Then, we decided to Hamam.  That is the Turkish bath.  Wow.  Famous for a reason.  We opted to go to the old Hamam that is relatively tourist friendly (they’ll charge a lot and be willing to tell you when you do something stupid).  It was designed in the 16^th century by the most famous Muslim architect, Sinan, so in the US you wouldn’t be bathing in it, so much a repatriating the remains buried in it.  Katy convinced me to do it full-on, with attendant wash and massage.  I’ve never had a massage before.  Anyhow, Hamam.  There are two identical ones in the same building, one for men and one for women, who are never supposed to mix.  On the men’s side, this is how it went down.  They gave me three pieces of plastic with words on them, and a little packet with a new wash mit, and told me to “go up, to right.”  I did that, and some men took one of the plastic chits, gave me a key and a towel, and told me to go into this little cell and change.  I new I was supposed to change into the towel and some flip-flops.  I had done my homework, after all.  I did this, and they were like “Go back, now.”  So I left my stuff in the cell, and went down, to the lobby, dressed in a towel and flip-flops.  The lobby was full of people sitting around doing the usual things: drinking juice, reading newspapers, having tea, talking to their friends, wearing clothes… you know.  So that was weird, BUT I DID IT RIGHT.  THIS IS, after all, PUBLIC BATHING.  No, more than that.  Act cool. This is THE MANLY ART OF PUBLIC BATHING.  Stand up straight, you represent your country, Matt, and those Scottish dudes are FAT.  So then I went into the bath proper, ready to be the BEST of ALL Turkish bathers, and pretty much didn’t know how to do anything.

So what did Sinan design?  Well, the changing rooms part is kind of like a three level courtyard hotel, with lots of those changing cells on each level, and a tea house on the bottom and the top.  My room was mine, and it was okay to just lock it with camera, cash, whatnot in it.  You carry the key on a wristband (Sinan didn’t design that).  The bath itself is remarkable.  It reminded me of either Weathertop, from Lord of the Rings, with a colander made of adobe on top, or maybe the Jefferson Memorial with a bunch of holes punched in the roof for light.  It is marble, round, columned and arcaded, and with faucets pouring into marble basins all around, and the adobe colander for a roof.  In the center is a giant polygonal stone table, maybe big enough for 20 people to lay on without touching, and it is all warmed by steam.  After looking like a moron for awhile, one of the attendants, a wiry guy about 50-60 years old sighed and was like, “fine, I’ll babysit the fool.” And told me to lay on the stone.  So I layed on the stone on my back and looked at the holes in the ceiling.  It was surprisingly comfortable, for being a flat rock, and the ceiling was pretty with all the holes in it.  I felt like a professional.  Eventually, my attendant came back and told me to “move over here.”  To one of the sides of the octagon/decagon/whatever and lay along it.  That was how it worked.  If it’s your turn, you get a side.  They are a little short for modern people, but work alright because everybody is getting cleaned.  If it’s not your turn, you lay in the middle, or go into one of the little marble houses (?!) around the edge. 

Then the scrubbing starts.  This is what the Turkish bath is about.  A little bit of soap, and a 60 year old belt sander wearing a towel.  They scrub you with the mitt.  All over (no, not in the butt), and hard.  Some little, dark-colored snakes of soft grit start to collect on you.  Realization hits: “Is that my skin coming off?”  “Yes! Yes!” Says the belt sander, emphatically, “Is YOU!” pointing to you.  “Is good, no?”  It is, in fact, kind of awesome.  Like a snake, or a bug.  Or a god.  Then there is rinsing, which is pretty normal.  Since Katy had insisted (I was easy to convince) that we get the full treatment, I was handed off to someone with real muscles for the oil massage.  This guy was huge, like a wrestler, with bulging muscles.  He said, “Where you from?”  Then later, “Relax, friend!”  And inbetween he pretty much just tried to kill me starting with all the muscles I misuse horribly when I bicycle.  I’m looking at you, tensor fascia lata, plantaris, soleus, and umm… fibialis?  Did I just make that up?  Maybe.  That was painful.  The kind of pain where you jump even though you try not to.  But good in the long run.  American steel being forged in Vulcan’s furnace… No.  Not that, but still, you know, worth it.  After that, it was back to the attendant.  I survived the wrestler dude!  It turns out that the wrestler dude was not the final boss.  The 60 year old attendant was.  The soap massage was 10 times harder.  One thing that was cool was that they would take a cloth bag, dip it in soapy water, and then fill it with air.  They would then squish the air-filled bag against you, forcing the air through the weave of the cloth.  This makes a ton of bubbles, and you can pretty much make a bubble bath with no tub.  Sweet! But since this is MANLY PUBLIC BATHING they massage you so hard you want to cry.

The end.  Shower, and wait for Katy.  Katy had the same experience, but with less brutality, and Jacuzzi deep enough to stand in up to your neck. 

IF IN TURKEY, THIS IS NOT TO BE MISSED.  Cemberlitas Hamami is the one we went to.  It’s like a waterslide in the Guggenheim.

After the Hamam, we walked down to the Golden Horn and had FINEST KABOB, Turkish wine, and semolina ice cream dessert.  And… cut.  Tomorrow hopefully we’ll get to go to the SPICE BAZAAR before leaving for the Mediterranean coast.

On the Banks of the Mighty Bosphorus

Katy and I made it to Turkey just fine!  An overnight flight to Paris (in “Premium Voyageur” on Air France), an easy, quick connection in Paris, and we were in Istanbul Saturday evening, where a driver took us to the hotel.  Our hotel is in Sultanamet in the thick of (tourist) things, so we set out for some evening adventures.  In the old city of Istanbul, which is roughly the part that used to be Constantinople (Constantinopopolis, according to the driver), things are squished onto a peninsula that is bounded by the Sea of Marmara to the south, the Golden Horn (like a skinny harbor) to the north, and the mouth of the Bosphorus straits proper on the east.  The western frontier of the city was defended by the famous walls (still standing, mostly) that were breached with a titanic gun when the place got the works.  We saw the walls, this time, is basically my point.  They are huge.  I cannot properly imagine a gun that could even dent them.

Setting out from the hotel, pretty near the end of this peninsula, we were immediately confronted by three things.  First, a cat.  Katy said, “I sure hope we see a cat every day on this trip.”  I said, “I don’t think that’s gonna happ… look, a cat.”  There are a lot of cats.  Second, we saw the Famous (according to the Lonely Planet) Kefta restaurant near our hotel.  Third, we saw the Aya Sophia, a monument amongst monuments.  That building is huge.  It was built in the 6^th century CE, when Constantinople was being run by the costar of Prince Valiant, Emperor Justinian I.  He was the last of what might be called the real Roman emperors, in that he very nearly succeeded in making the Mediterranean sea a pond, controlled on all shores by Rome… Byzantium… whatever.  Aya Sophia is toe-to-toe with another building of truly epic proportions, the Blue Mosque.  This was built by the Ottoman sultan in the early 17^th century to rival Sophia in size and beauty.  It does this.  You’ll have to decide for yourself which one won in the long run.  It is a close one.  It turns out that at night you can go into the Blue Mosque at will, as long as it isn’t a prayer hour.  So we did that.  From our previous trip to Istanbul, 11 years ago, we remembered it being beautiful, stunning, but our memories were pretty pathetic, considering that it is IMMODESTLY BEAUTIFUL, LITERALLY STUNNING.  Scarce to be believed.

A cat

Aya Sophia

Blue Mosque

Blue Mosque

We tired out, of course, and after our spicy kefta, we retired to the hotel bar, which has a bird’s eye view of Sophia.  No kidding.  Turkish wine and “Turkish Liqueur.”  What is Turkish Liqueur?  Well it tastes like almonds.  Not like sweet with a splash of Kroger brand almond flavor, but like really fresh, really intense almonds.  Good stuff.  Sleep.

Relaunch

This blog was intended to cover the travels and adventures of Matthew and Katy Pennington as we traveled around the country and world. Unfortunately, I never really updated it while we were in India and a few other places. On Friday, however, we set off for Turkey, where we will spend 2 weeks hiking, touring, eating, and finding things to talk about. This is where it will be recorded. After that, things get real and in fairly short order we move to Seattle.