Men watching the parade.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Rest stop on the way to the ring.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

The parade to the ring.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

This guy was particularly expressive.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Musicians serenading.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Man tending his camel after the match.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Woman making gozleme pancakes.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Photo opp.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Parading the ring.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Elaborate beadwork of Turkish flag.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Camel saliva. Everywhere.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Look at how close they are getting to the crowd.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Match in action.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Getting ready to rumble.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

A boy watches the spectacle.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

This guy was particularly huge.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

They claim these sausages are camel meat, but I don't buy it.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Camel Wrestling

I have a lot to say about this day, but after standing outside in beautiful sunny fresh air for six hours, dodging long white strands of camel saliva (not to mention other bodily substances), I don't have a lot of energy to write.

I consider myself very lucky to have been at the event in Tire -- I was the only tourist there (one policeman said he thought he might have seen a foreign couple early in the day)and my experience was memorable. The dolmus ride over was through beautiful olive groves and picked over cotton fields with mountains hovering above. (One amusing thing -- the other night the hotel proprietor was telling me about his friend who has an olive garden -- and I thought he meant the chain restaurant -- I started saying, no way! In Turkey? I was horrified at the encroachment of American chains. And the guy was looking at me like I was insane because most of the land around here is used to grow olives. A moment of cultural collison. When I realized my blunder and told him we both had a good laugh.)

Anyway, as we entered the limits of Tire one of the first things I saw were five or six camels! They were in elaborate costumes for battle -- high seats atop their humps with bright colors and patters, beadwork, and silky shiny fabric saddles. The dolmus kept rolling along so I asked some guys sitting next to me where the Deve Guresi was and they said they were going. So I followed them; soon after we got off the dolmus and were walking towards the grounds we encountered another camel and we followed it for the one km or so to the fairgrounds on the edge of town. He was wearing all sorts of bells so he made a lot of noise as he walked. He also frequently stopped to relieve himself in various ways, usually while flipping his tail up and down rapidly as the deed was done. Within the first hour I realized that must be the camel way to poop. By the time we were nearing the fairgrounds other camels and a whole line of people had joined us in following this one camel.

The fairgrounds were bustling although the official action had not begun. There was a large oblong ring in the center surrounded by wire fence, with a grandstand on one side and lots of flatbed trucks next to it filled with people sitting in chairs for a good view. To the other side of the ring was a terraced hillside that had been outfitted as an outdoor cafe of sorts with plastic chairs and tables for good raised seats. Between the hillside and the ring stood concessions -- foods ranging from supposed camel sausages (reportedly actually beef, fresh made gozleme crepes, seeds and nuts, and a lot of stands selling beer and raki (anise flavored liquor). I wandered around a bit and then took a spot right next to the fence and watched as the camel men paraded their beasts around the ring while the announcer barked loudly. Peppering the crowd and adding a lot of noise and audio color were men with reed flutes and drums, and a few with fiddles, playing music (folkish traditional music I suppose but really unlike anything I have heard here thus far.)

When the action begun I realized that my front row spot was a luxury -- behind me were men of all ages standing at least 10 deep. I felt a little awkward at first when I noticed that there were really no other women standing near the ring. The women had congregated in family groups high on the hillside; the hillside tables had filled up with gangs of boisterous men drinking raki from tall glasses and paying the musicians to play right at their tables (as the afternoon progressed and more raki was consumed the men began to dance). At this point though the men around the ring in particular were focused on the action.

Camel wrestling occurs at this time of year because it is camel mating season. These male camels have been specially bred for wrestling. But to get them in the mood for it the camel men parade a nubile slight young female camel past the males and then make them fight for her! The females are in heat too, so they were often yanking at their owners trying to get to the male camels. The male camels would bash into each other a few times and then interlock their necks, which looked really strange -- like an alien eight legged beast -- and then try to knock each other to the ground. TO give the complete picture you have to imagine that the all the excitement to mate causes the camels (male and female) to froth at the mouth with foamy stringy bright white saliva, which tended to fly off in all directions when they shook their heads. The parading camels tended to stop right in front of our area so I felt the need to dodge the stuff constantly. A lot of the camel men had it all over their backs and in their hair.

Inside the ring as the animals fought, about twenty men in pinafores over their clothes joined the camel men waiting to jump in if things got out of hand. Whenever the animals looked like they might actually hurt themselves or each other, the judge would start waving his hands and blowing a whistle at which point the men would all dive into the melee and try to pull the animals apart. Often this proved to be difficult considering the size of the animals.

The wrestling action itself looked surprisingly like human wrestling -- a good pinning to the ground on the knees elicited cheers and applause from the growing crowd. While two animals wrestled, others stood in the wings or paraded around the outside of the ring, stopping frequently to defecate. Whenever the animal got in the way of our view, the men behind me would start yelling like crazy for the camel man to move his beast out of the way.

On several occasions the camels in action worked their way closer and closer to the watching crowd -- and ended up thudding each other into the flimsy wire fence. Some people were knocked over but most stayed upright and picked up chairs which they held between them and the animals, yelling uproariously for the camel men to get the giants away. This happened three or four times, progressively closer to where I stood -- which gave me considerable pause. I decided that if one came on our side of the square field I would then move away!

One of the scariest things happened on the other side of the ring -- two camels being paraded charged at each other unexpectedly and got away from the men holding them. They started to bolt towards the crowd. Luckily the men caught them but not before they had come frighteningly close to trampling people. Another amusing incident happened when one camel man brought his beast in and the animal looked at the opposition and promptly turrned and bolted out of the ring. I found it all the more amusing because this camel man seemed to take things more seriously than the others as evidenced by his dress -- kind of a riding uniform look but with about 50 yards of rope (no exaggeration) hanging in coils off his waist.

Once two of the camels (Yagci Bey and Gelidonya) refused to fight each other. The camel men began to gently bump the camels into each other to try to spark a rivalry and when they finally did begin to wrestle that was one of the lengthiest and best matches -- I even started to get invested! But this was my last one from the front row, since the two animals ended up crashing into the fence about 10 feet from where I stood and I decided I was too close for comfort.

I pushed my way out of the dense thicket of capped men shouting and fidgeting with their prayer beads thinking I would have a chance to decompress -- but I was wrong. The scene outside of the ring-edge was even more lively. By this point (I had watched from the ring for about two hours, despite an awkward standing position on a small 45 degree ledge which did a job on my achilles tendons), the party had really started. Lots of raki and beer bottles where littering the trash bins and there were probably thousands of people milling about. Many of the men had donned orange kefiyeh (the kind of male headscarf that Arafat always wore)-- this is not something I have seen much of in Turkey and it gave the whole event a very middle eastern feel. Apparently that orange color has something to do with the match -- I think the men in the ring use it to wave off the camels -- but there were men selling them so all the guys were buying them and putting them on. The musicians were going wild, smoking and playing the flute at the same time and dancing around. The festivity was unlike anything I have seen in Turkey. Or anywhere for that matter -- a little bit of a wing bowl feel or large street party.

Meanwhile all the camels that were not waiting to wrestle where tethered or being led around through the crowd. Everyone walking along was eating something -- candy apples, meat of some kind, beer, or the ubiquitous Turkish sesame seed, tossing the hulls emphatically as they strolled along.

I decided to walk through the vendors and saw the woman making fresh gozleme -- these are thin pankakes fresh rolled from phyllo dough (called yufka here) -- it is fascinating to watch women roll it because they use a thin dowell rod and make the dough tissue paper thin and then sprinkle on spinach and cheese and maybe onions. Then she folds it up into a rectangle and hands it to a man nearby nd he bastes it with oil and grills it on an upsidedown wok-shaped pan. I got one and it was the best gozleme ever -- I have had them before and they were good but this was delicious.

I spent the next couple of hours wandering around, looking at the vendors, taking photos and watching the extravaganza from the hillside, which in some ways offered a more strategic view.

As the day began to wane, I decided that a lot of the men were getting a lot more drunk and it probably was not a good idea to be a straggler. I decided to leave in an hour or so and asked some police officers directions and began talking with them. I then wandered back up the hillside to get some photos of some of the raki drinkers and about ten minutes later the policemen appeared next to me. I kind of got a sense that they were watching out for me a bit because perhaps I strayed a bit too close to the hard core drunks! After another half an hour or so I decided to walk my way back into town. I felt spent but relatively blissful after having seen such an event. That was a once in a lifetime sight I think.

There was such a different feel to the whole event -- it felt very far from Europe, much more middle eastern. And that music and the dancing struck me as different too. All the men wearing the kefiyehs (sp?) really added to that feel and that seemed like a self-conscious action to me to affiliate with the more middle eastern aspects of Turkey. I don't know. That is certainly just supposition.

Anyway, I was glad that I left when I did because by the time I walked back into Tire, found the dolmus stop, waited for it, and drove back it was after dark. The whole dolmus was filled with others who had been there (evidenced by the givaway calendar posters we all had). The drive home was gorgeous -- nothing like the sun setting over rolling mountains and olive groves.

Selcuk Market.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

These women were doing brisk business in potatoes.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

People use these kinds of scales to weigh purchases.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Carrots and radishes.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Olives glistening.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Cheese, eggs, and olives for sale.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

This man sold the spices and spoons. He was extremely friendly and welcoming.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Spices and hand carved spoons.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Eggs for sale. Usually sold in plastic bags or they wrap the open trays in newspaper and string.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Sirince's homes are mostly white with red tile on top.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Window in the old ethnic Greek town of Sirince, near Selcuk.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

This woman insisted I come to her house to buy things she had made.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

A good reminder

Today was one of those days when I remember very vividly why I wanted to live in Turkey. My unexpected last minute trip to Selcuk has turned out to be a genuinely wonderful and relaxed time.

I slept late in my ultra cozy room and then wandered up to breakfast -- there I had a good chat with a British woman who is living in Fetihye about life in Turkey and actually her whole life story while I drank Nescafe and ate a truly delicious simple omlette dripping with very fresh olive oil. Eventually I made my way out into the unexpectedly sunny and warm day and headed over to the Saturday market which the hotel manager had suggested I might enjoy.

It had to be the best market I have been to here -- it filled the open square behind the bus station and stretched a whole block to one side. Aisle after aisle after aisle of all kinds of produce, fresh picked olives, grains, hand carved spoons, eggs, cheese of all sorts. Many of the sellers were gypsy or nomad women wrapped in bright colored headscarves and wearing baggy pantaloons. Everyone was exceptionally friendly and warm. I am always a bit hesitant to take photos of people and their products at first, so to break the ice I started buying something and then asking permission. Everyone was very willing to have me shoot, and some were very excited. I ended up buying so much food though -- and I had to buy a small shopping bag from a kid selling them in the aisle to hold everything (he seemed really taken aback to be talking with a foreigner and wanted to know if I was from Japan.) I got fresh olives, a hunk of homemade cheese that tastes like fresh mozzerella, oranges, sweet peppers, two spoons from an exceptionally nice older man, fresh honey, fresh produced olive oil in a reused water bottle, apples... some unfamiliar bread that turned out to be a huge loaf of cornbread! I have eaten some of the food for self catered lunch and dinner today and all in all it is good. Some of the fresh picked olives I do not like though. I think maybe they are meant to be cured or at least not eaten out of the bag. Very bitter.

I must have spent a few hours at the market just wandering around and talking to people -- I met two really nice women from Aydin who kept wanting me to take portraits of them selling their potatoes. They then gave me their address (or actually had a man write his address as they may not have been able to write) so I can send copies. It was really fun and relaxing and as I said a rejuvenating reminder of why I wanted to come to Turkey in the first place.

Afterwards I took the food back to the hotel and prepared to head out to catch the dolmus to Sirince a nearby town that was once greek but was abandoned during the population exchange in 1924. Muslims living in Greece replaced them. Anyway I was on my way to the dolmus when I encountered a street of tool sellers and people selling items to be used with horses such as embroidered bridles etc. I saw at the back of their stall a thick felt rug with brightly colored designs and I fell in love with it. Asked how much and was more than satisfied with the price for something so unusual and did not bother to bargain which is a big no-no since you really should but it was so inexpensive that I felt it would be pointless. So I bought it. It is about six feet long and made in Tire one of the last places in Turkey where they make felt. That is where I am going tomorrow for the camel wrestling extravaganza. The old man who sold it to me said that it was wool that they put in hot water and step on over and over again to make it stick together. They had other ones that were less adorned that go underneath saddles. I even saw one on a horse later.

I took it back to my hotel room (unfortunately it caused a bit of a stir with the local carpet dealers because it looked like I had bought a carpet when it was all rolled up and so that made me fair game for the come look, have tea lines). Luckily it fit into my grey duffel bag with room to spare. I have been traveling light so a little extra weight will not kill me.

Anyway then I headed off to Sirince. The dolmus ride was gorgeous -- up up up a winding road with switchbacks, olive trees heavy with fruit all around. The little town itself was fascinating -- cobblestone streets and mostly white buildings with orange tile roofs. It has become a popular stopping point for hour long visits from coach parties which brings along the subsequent commerce -- here the focus is on lace goods and wine. I got out of that area quickly and tried to lose myself on the back streets -- wandering among the cows, roosters and puppies that seemed to be everywhere.

An older woman approached me and wanted me to come to her house -- of course the guides mentioned this -- both Rough and LP said that these women take you to their homes and then try to sell you their home made stuff. She was extremely persistent even though I said I did not have money and then I decided what the heck, I might as well go and at least see the inside of her house.

She lived up a back alley and as usual I had to take off my shoes before going into the small living room with a burning stove that double functioned as heater and oven, a sink to one side and a tv in the corner. She beckoned me to sit on the floor on the cushions to one side and served me a plate of rice which I declined multiple times saying I was full (true) and then finally agreed to one bite.

Then, as per my expectation, she started bringing out her wares. I ended up buying two small crocheted things - not expensive and I figured she needed it more than I. She really wanted me to buy one of her knitted cats but I was not interested. Not something I need in my life right now.

Anyway we chatted a bit and then I headed out. I found it pretty fascinating to see inside one of the homes so that was worth it. Another woman later tried to do the same thing and I politely and firmly declined. All in all I was only there for about an hour and a half or so but I walked most of it. Lovely place.

One of the most enjoyable aspects of the steep ride back down was seeing the tractors pulling trailers overflowing with giant white bags of olives, usually with one or two men standing on the trailer to help hold the goods.

I checked out the dolmus schedules for tomorrow morning to Tire, bought a yogurt and talked to a nice guy in the store, and headed back to the hotel early to relax.

The common area here is so pleasant; the proprietors and their kids and some of the gang that works here are all hanging out around a fire watching TV and playing games. There is a great view of the castle and St. John the Evangelists grounds, which is also a popular park for neighborhood kids. I will probably stay here one more night and then head up to Akhisar first thing monday morning. I could go part way but honestly I just do not feel like making another tranfer when I am so nicely settled. The natural stopover point is described as having few options for accomodation so in Selcuk I stay. Oddly enough my one night just killing time here will expand to three!

But after all, that kind of unexpected experience is why I came here in the first place.

Near the bus station in rural Bergama.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

These women were sitting near me while I waited for the bus to Izmir.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Men tote carpets down the cobblestone streets of Bergama.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Typical men's tea house, Bergama.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Playing it by Ear

A strange day. I slept pretty late mostly because I was not sure where to go next. I had the wrong number for my student Nese, the planned next stop. In other circumstances I would have just stayed where I was, but I did not want to give the proprietor the idea that I was staying for him.

I tried to finalize the Jordan travel plans but things went badly (the agents do not want to book it for me because they think it is too expensive -- no matter what I say -- and besides it has taken three weeks to get minimal information! ARgh!!!!) Anyway that left me stressed out and actually in tears. I finally decided just to bail on Bergama and go to the bus station and take the first bus out.

First bus was to Izmir which is the 3rd biggest city and likely the best place for multiple transit options -- and it was leaving in 45 minutes. So I bought the ticket. I waited around and ran some errands and spent a lot of time smiling at the cutest old woman with the most wrinkled round face and her head all wrapped in a turban. As the bus arrived i finally asked to take her picture and she started laughing and grinning and kept patting me on the shoulder.

The bus ride was about 2 hours. It was a shame -- there was a totally nonverbal boy of about seven screaming much of the ride and I felt so bad for his father who was frustrated and powerless over him. Anyway the whole ride I studied my books and tried to see what to do next. I finally decided that I did not feel like dealing with a big city so instead chose to plow one hour further to Selcuk a town I visited four years ago and liked. I have already seen the sites here (namely Ephesus) but the Canadian couple recommended a pension highly and I felt like waiting out Nese in a chilled out locale.

I have never been treated so well at a bus station as at Izmir. Everyone was astoundingly friendly and the half hour I spent there was pleasant. About 20 minutes after the dolmus pulled away my cell rang and guess what -- Nese. Just missed her.

I told her I would call from Selcuk with my plans. I felt a little dumb for being on the road to Selcuk at that point but once I got here I was pretty happy -- there are hardly any tourists but this is a very family oriented pension so I feel relaxed -- lots of kids around. I mentioned to the proprietor that I am interested in seeing camel wrestling, a yearly event which happened here last weekend, and he said he would look into it. I headed off for a walk around town and lots looked familiar -- even saw the phone booth where I called AFSC trying to find out whether I had gotten a job with them (did not, obviously.) Got some dinner -- actually a really good meal -- at the proprietor's brother's place and then headed back here. When I arrived I ran into the guy as I was having a terrible bout of stomach distress (I am thinking now that it is stress not simit that causes these). So I said I would find him in a few minutes.

Things are shaping up-- camel wrestling sunday am in Tire (which is one of the last places in Turkey that they make felt although I doubt that will be happening during the festivities.) I will stay here tomorrow and go to market day in town and then to a neighboring smaller town Sırınce an old greek village that is supposed to be nice and quaint.

then camel wrestling sunday morning. The hotel manager here said that I should not stay in Tire because all the camel men will come into town the night before and start drinking. It could be a bawdy and wild event but something unique I am sure.

I finally was able to communicate well with Nese and made it clear to her that I am happy to come to her home town and she was absolutely thrilled. she kept saying I shouldgo to Izmir but I will see Izmir later in the year. But she was saying that because she did not want to say to me come to Akhisar. Her town is actually really pretty near Bergama so I am doubling back significantly -- probably a 3 or maybe 4 hour bus ride frm here but it will be good anyway to please her. And if I had not gone with my instinct to go to Selcuk then I would not have been able to work out this camel wrestling thing. Then after Akhisar I will double back again and go to Pamukkale and maybe a side trip to Aphrodesias and then head either straight back to Ankara or stop off in Afyon depending on where it is. So that will fill up my time nicely. The plan is to be back by friday to hopefully by the plane ticket and maybe get a session in with all the tutoring kids and pack for Egypt and try to see the superbowl! then if I am feeling so inspired hop another bus to a closer destination for a few day trip maybe Cappadocia or somewhere like that. Then be back in time for my flight. Alternatively I could spend the week in Ankara if I want to rest up.

So that is the plan -*- meanwhile trying to manage these trip logistics!
This is a pleasant place -- partly I came to Selcuk because I liked it a lot when I was here before. All the hotel folk are hanging out in the common balcony with a great view of the castle and the burial spot of Stç John the Evangelist. It is a nice place to recoup for a few days plus see camel wrestling!

View from my balcony at the pension. High on the hill you can see the Temple of Trajan.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Side street, Bergama. I was lost here trying to find the ruins of the Acropolis.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Pergamum ruins.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Ancient Pergamon, Temple of Trajan ruins.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

The 10,000 seat theater was dizzying at best; unfortunately due to the wind I didn't want to climb around and explore.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

I was not pleased to be walking around such precarious looking spindles of marble during a windstorm.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Rain, Wind and Ruins

Bergama is not the easiest town for tourism. I got a late start and squandered most of the non-rainy morning hours in bed, scavenging breakfast, and heading over to see the red basilica, one of the churches of the apocalypse in Revelations. Its ruins are mostly visible from the outside; I considered purchasing admission but then ended up talking to the man in the admissions booth, who invited me in for tea. Having had no caffeine yet that day, I decided to take him up on it.

Inside, he suggested that I not pay the admission for the basilica because there wasn’t much to see, and tried to give me instructions for walking the 5 kilometers up to the Acropolis rather than paying for a taxi. He also said there was a way to get in where you don’t even have to pay the 10 million admittance fee. I wasn’t clear on it, but I headed out anyway. A few blocks into my walk I decided it would be best to go get my guidebook and see if they had a map that would help at all. One book did, so I grabbed it and tried to follow their directions up from the pension. I wandered through the warren of narrow cobblestone streets across an old arched bridge from the pension. The houses lining the streets were brightly painted but in poor repair. Everything was falling down. I occasionally passed people walking along, and some children played in the streets.

The higher I climbed up the steep hillside the more confused I became. I began to get quietly annoyed at the guy at the pension, who was sleeping rather than giving his guest proper directions around the town. I passed an old man who tried to point me in the right direction, but I couldn’t understand him. The streets became even more narrow and run down, and eventually I saw the edge of the Acropolis site, but it was surrounded by a fence. In frustration I turned back.

I encountered a small boy who turned out to be a very young looking 13. He started chatting with me as we walked in pace back down the hill. I explained my problem and he said he would help me find a taxi. So I followed him along, listened when he said to wait for him outside a yarn store so he could buy two bundles of bright pink yarn for his mother. He was a sweet kid. He then walked me to a taxi stand and explained to a driver, very politely, where I wanted to go. The taxi driver, an older man, told me to get in and drove me up the hillside. The road itself wound all the way around the peak and the driver was careful to tell me that I shouldn’t follow the road if I walked down but I should cut through the site, stepping over the fence at a point where it was broken. He pointed it out and I realized that I had been only a few paces from there when I gave up walking and turned back down the hill.

By the time I got into the site of ancient Pergamum, the weather had turned for the worse. The storm front had rolled in and the wind was severe at best. Again, I had the site to myself for the first part of my visit, until I encountered a Turkish family of seven or eight wandering around. The site’s location – high on a peak above the city – struck me as incredibly dramatic – another place that would have a beautiful view if the weather were decent. But somehow the site and the weather suited each other. Dark clouds and wind gusts made a good backdrop for the columns and pediments remaining from the once great capital. I found the site a bit hard to understand – the signs were confusing. But the guidebook was somewhat helpful. The library at Pergamum was one of the great ones in the world and rivaled that of Alexandria in Egypt. The Egyptians were jealous and banned the export of papyrus, then the only way of writing and storing, in order to cut down the supply to Pergamum. Instead, the Pergamum library worked to develop writing on parchment of some kind instead and continued to grow their collection in the form of bound parchment, predecessors to books. Marc Antony plundered the library and gave the best things to Cleopatra as a gift.

The theater, built into a steep part of the hillside, was dramatic and dizzying. Unfortunately I couldn’t explore it much because the wind was so strong and the cliff steep enough that I just didn’t think it was safe. The wind actually knocked me to my knees once and was generally buffeting me violently.

As I wandered, as souvenir seller I had encountered on my way in approached me and started following me around. I couldn’t understand what he was doing; I told him that I didn’t have money, but he said he didn’t want anything, just wanted to walk with me. I was suspicious and at the same time guilty of being suspicious. I didn’t want to be rude if he wasn’t up to anything bad. But I am very wary after a few of these incidents. What does walking together in the ruins mean to this guy? What do I promise by saying sure? I kept asking why he was walking, and he kept insisting just so I wouldn’t be alone. He asked if I was married and I said yes, that my husband was working in Ankara and I had holiday so was traveling. He said that my husband should be traveling with me.

Finally I told him that I have had problems with men in Turkey and that I was sure that he was not bad but I had to be careful. He was nice about it, said he didn’t want to make me uncomfortable so eventually left. I felt really bad about the whole situation. I feel like I have to make a choice: 1) open myself up to potentially awkward situations and make myself vulnerable to some danger (i.e. walking through isolated deserted ruins with a strange man whose intentions I do not know) or 2) be pretty rude and cut people off without any friendliness. This isn’t a good choice; I suspect that people traveling in groups or couples do not have this kind of decision. It is the woman traveling alone factor. Also, according to all these guys, who tend to be in their mid twenties, I do not look my age. They think I am younger and therefore a bit more vulnerable I think.

Anyway, I noticed amidst the wind a group of students walking around. The weather was worsening by the minute, with rain pelting down and an increasing chill in the air. I decided I should walk down the peak to the town to save the cab fare and to avoid the souvenir salesmen near the ticket booth. As I made my way further down through the ruins, the rain and wind were hitting me bluntly in the face and I realized I was soaking wet. There was no way I could walk 2 miles into the town in this weather. From where I stood I could see the parking lot – no cabs, but the tour bus for the students was waiting. I saw some of them beginning to head back towards it. I decided to follow to see if I could hitch a ride down to the bottom.

By the time I got there, I looked a wreck – soaking wet, windblown and wet hair, rain-covered glasses. The three guys operating the tour couldn’t say no and told me to hop on. I chatted with them for a while in Turkish and they were really nice about the whole situation. I noticed out the window that they guy who had been following me was outside the bus trying to urge the students to buy postcards. I waved at him but felt his behavior confirmed my suspicion that he would have wanted some kind of compensation for showing me around the ruins.

Back in the town, the bus crew asked where I wanted to be let off, and then offered to take me with them to the other main site outside of town, the Asceplion, an ancient medical facility and spa where people slept in a temple to be visited in a dream by a medical god who would offer them a cure. I said sure, and so managed to get not only free transportation down the mountain but across town to another site and back again. The second site was interesting, but I wasn’t sure it was worth another 10 million. Besides, I am starting to get some fatigue of ancient ruins, as cool as they can be. I hope I don’t get that way in Egypt about the pyramids.

At the end of my hitching, they let me off in the center of town before they headed back to wherever the group was staying, probably in Izmir or some other city nearby.

I walked for a while in the drizzle and went to the Archeology museum. The collection was relatively small but it was a good chance to dry off and warm up. I also ran into Bonita and Jim, from Ankara, there! They were visiting on a day trip from Izmir. We talked for a few minutes then headed on our separate ways, but what a coincidence. Actually my favorite part of the museum was the display about the Altar of Zeus. Not much remains on the site of Pergamum of this huge monumental gift to the god, since most of it – particularly its famous frieze – has been in Berlin for a century. The Pergamum Museum in Berlin in fact holds most of the more valuable and unique relics from the city. The archeologist who originally unearthed most of the city was German and took it all away. This exhibit included photos of the frieze as displayed in Germany and also models and drawings of what Pergamum probably looked like in its heyday. I wished I had seen those images before I made my way up to the Acropolis so that I would have had that in my mind while looking at what remains.

I had late lunch at a friendly restaurant across from the museum and lingered there a while over tea. I am having trouble deciding what to do next and where to go. The weather will be a continuing problem, and many coastal resorts will be closed.

On my way back to the pension I wandered through some market streets and got myself completely lost. As I tried to find my way, my phone started ringing – it was Aydin saying I should come with him to his mother’s for dinner. I hesitated, and said I would call back when I knew where I was; I just didn’t want to give any wrong impressions…but also I felt it somehow would be terribly rude to say no. So after some calling back and forth eventually he picked me back up and we drove about ten minutes to the mother’s. The ride was really a disappointment, as I realized early on when he started suggesting that I stay in Bergama longer, then suggested he close the pensions and take me where I want to go in a tour by car, and then started saying, “I need a woman.” I turned my mood to a dark one quickly and tried to give very negative signals. I just don’t know – would it be more appropriate to be blunt and say, look, I’m not interested? My instinct is that to acknowledge it so plainly might spur more persistence. I don’t know. By the time we got to the mother’s for dinner it was actually very awkward, since he seemed to have gotten the idea I wasn’t looking for more and I felt despondent and not at all hungry because of having to play these games and deal with these hassles when all I am trying to do is see some of the country on my vacation.

We are now both in the livingroom of the hostel, me on the computer finishing up, and he’s on the sofa stretched out and very happy that his favorite TV show has just come on. I am going to head up to call my student from the ballet who is about an hour or so away and see if she is up for a visitor tomorrow. We will see where to go from here. I don’t want to be the only guest in these small male-run hotels anymore. They have too much time on their hands and I’m the only option so that gets really tiresome. I really need to try to find women-run or family run pensions or else start going to more expensive places? I don’t know. I refuse to be defeated by this issue, though.

Precarious arch at ancient Alexandra Troas, 300 BC
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Canadians Larry and Evelyn, with whom I took a scenic drive on the peninsula and visited Alexandra Troas.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Travel Day

I had another great night’s sleep at the pension – awoke naturally at 8 or so and stayed curled up in bed until I heard Larry and Evelyn, the Canadian couple, moving about. Only then did I mobilize; in a half an hour we were all sitting around the woodburner watching as Alican brought breakfast to us in waves.

As we ate, little Beste came smiling out of her room and of course wanted me to play again. I explained that I was leaving soon; she pouted a bit but was easily distracted by peach yogurt.

As we were getting ready to depart, Diana came out from her room and offered to call ahead for me to Bergama to her friend’s pension to make arrangements. She set it up so that he would come pick me up at the bus drop off; I was to call from the rest stop near a town about an hour away. That settled, we piled into Larry and Evelyn’s rented car and headed off through tiny Assos into the even more rural countryside.

What we saw as we drove was extraordinary – more of the “mythic” landscape as Larry called it that you could see around Behramkale but even more rural. We saw few people, only occasional women in brightly colored peasant garb; we saw one woman trotting along on a donkey. Again the weather was dreary but mild; the windstorm the night before was shaking the house but it wasn’t a chilly wind, more of a balmy one as strong as it was. The deep green and rock covered mountains rolled out in every direction we looked as we cruised along the ridge road.

A few times we needed to double back since the road wasn’t well marked. Eventually we passed through a few little towns, eliciting stares from the men in teahouses and children on the street as we passed. Each little town had a mosque and, it seemed, their own set of ancient greek ruins, such as a few columns from a defunct temple.

Outside one town we passed some hot springs; in another a lot of livestock grazing. At one vista we stopped to look at an old cobblestone roadway angling down the mountainside. The stones were well worn, and the pattern was interesting, big wide stones lining the outer margins and smaller more compact ones on the inside. Across the valley, we could see another donkey and rider clipping along on a similar cobblestone way.

Conversation with Larry and Evelyn was good – they had lots of anecdotes about their experiences and definitely reconfirmed my suspicions that living in Istanbul might be a bit too intense for me. They are very impressed that I am traveling around alone by dolmus and bus, as that seems much more difficult than renting a car. I would tend to agree. Around here the driving would be relatively easy; making dolmus connections can be a bit tedious though I think I find that experience far more colorful, especially since I am traveling solo.

On the way to Ezine we stopped off for a while at a place called Alexandria Troas, some old ruins from the 4th century b.c.e. that sit overgrown in an empty field. I am not quite sure what the place was other than an ancient city; but there was an impressively tall series of arches surrounding the footprint of a square building. We climbed around there a while despite more heavy wind.

We poked along a while more along the coast road and then, near the ferry terminal to Bozcaada, turned to follow the route that I had taken two days before to get to Ezine. We passed the garbage dump again….both Larry and Evelyn kept saying how sad it was, and Evelyn suggested that if Turkey joins the EU they will make them “take care of” problems like that. Who knows.

In Ezine we found the ototgar with little effort and they pulled the car into a nearby gas station to fill up. I hopped out and we said goodbye and exchanged email addresses. I enjoyed cruising around with them, and it gave me the opportunity to see some countryside that I wouldn’t have otherwise.

At the bus station I found that I would only have a half an hour wait until my bus to Bergama; but then I realized I had no money. Only a few million lire, definitely not enough for my bus ticket. The guy behind the counter seemed to find this amusing, and gave me directions to an Akbank about 5 minutes away. I tried to find out exactly what time the bus was leaving, but he misunderstood my badly asked question in Turkish and started laughing at the thought that it would take me a half an hour to get to the bank and back.

Ezine must not see many foreign tourists because I was getting some serious stares as I walked briskly down the busy street, past bakeries, meat stores hidden behind curtains of dangling sausages, and hardware stores overflowing their wares onto the sidewalk. Across the way, two horse carts stood parked with no riders in sight (probably inside the tea house next door). The horses munched food from bags tied around their necks.

I realized a few blocks in, when a boy stared directly at my belly with wide eyes, that my shirt had ridden up and was exposing my midriff under my open jacket. Quickly I zipped up my fleece and scolded myself a bit for being careless.

I had to wait a few minutes in line at the ATM, and then snapped a few pictures of a friendly vegetable vendor on my way back. A few peasant women in their mismatched bright prints squatted in a door way, eyeing me.

Back at the bus station I asked the attendant where I could get some food, and he walked me over to a small place around the corner. I chose some of the food they had steaming on hot trays; the one stew, heavy with thyme, was delicious, and I enjoyed the attention of the waitstaff who seemed very pleased to have a foreign tourist in their establishment. I gobbled as quickly as I could and then hurried back to the station. Unfortunately the bus was already there and appeared to be waiting for me. But I really needed the bathroom so I asked the guy if I could – he said one minute and waved me in that direction so I was off and running. These rural otogar bathrooms are pretty brutal.

The bus ride was initially just fine – I had a seat to myself and stared out the window at the passing scenery. Ironically we were heading back to Ayvacik, the next closest town to Assos, so I could have just gotten a dolmus to there and picked up the same bus. But I enjoyed the ride with Evelyn and Larry and the visit to Ezine. Anyway, at Ayvacik they needed me to move since they needed a seat for a man. They asked a boy to sit on his mother’s lap and squeezed me in next to them. He was a very sweet, well-behaved seven year old, and I talked with the mother a little bit at first. We really bonded though two hours later, when I stepped in to help her with her overheated son. I had already asked twice for the AC to be turned on because the bus was sweltering, but the attendant kept saying that we were about to stop (I unfortunately picked a bus that seemed to stop every ten minutes). As we drove along it got hotter and hotter to the point where I was really uncomfortable and starting to get mad. The mother started to fan her face and the boy was almost crying and she started to blow on his face to try to cool him (mind you the boy has no seat – he is basically standing up between his mother and me). I looked at her and asked about getting help – she nodded looking a bit desperate. I got up and stormed back to the attendant and said in Turkish with an exasperated tone: “It is very hot and very uncomfortable. Please….” He followed me up to the driver and sat and talked to him for a while and did nothing. Eventually when he came back down the aisle I asked if there was a problem and he said yes. Ugh.

That episode got conversation going between me and the mother although the boy was shy. She was really sweet – and spoke Turkish to me very slowly so that I could understand.

A while later we stopped at the rest stop and I called Aydin and told him I was on my way. There, the driver managed to fix the AC so for the final hour we were pleasantly cool.

The bus doesn’t go into Bergama proper – instead they drop you along the side of the road. I waited for Aydin at the Shell station, where the kind attendant insisted I sit in the empty managers office rather than out of the cold. Eventually I decided that perhaps I was supposed to call Aydin to tell him I was actually there. That was the case; so ten minutes later he picked me up.

My heart kind of sank when I saw he was a young guy obviously single. I asked right off the bat if he had any other people there; no, only two Turkish barmaids who were staying there and coming in late. [I found out the next day that these two barmaids are actually a little more than that; they work as girls at a club – they get paid to sit at tables and drink with men. A man’s drink for himself costs 2 million; her drink, if she sits at your table and flirts, is anywhere between 10 and 50 million for a beer. The men are willing to pay it because they expect more. So these “barmaids” that Aydin described are more like escorts, and make up to 2000 USD per month which is a lot for Turkey.]

I chose a room, one with the bathroom in the suite instead of across an open courtyard, and prepared to head out to dinner. When I got downstairs, Aydin’s mother had made some food and they both insisted I sit and eat. It was really good – a vegetarian dish of eggplant in a rich sauce with yogurt. At this pension you can for about 3USD get unlimited internet access on the host’s computer, so that’s why I have been able to catch up a bit.

I sat there writing and surfing the web, as well as downloading all my trip photos and burning them onto CD. Aydin was awfully comfortable, lying on the sofa, feet up, watching tv, etc. He made plenty of anti-American politics comments as he watched the news, and all in all I was a little weirded out by his overly comfortable behavior. But I chilled out and got a lot done. About 9 oclock Aydin said he was going out and asked if I could watch the place and call him if there were any new guests. He also said he usually sleeps until afternoon so I could help myself to breakfast in the kitchen.

I ended up staying up til midnight on the computer and watching tv. A terrible thunderstorm came up and there was pouring rain. On the news the next day, a lot of people all over the coastline have been injured by falling debris in the wind and a minaret even blew down. The weather really is not good. I wasn’t sure how good the next day would be for traveling around the ruins here in Bergama, by all accounts far around the outskirts of the town with expensive taxi rides.

Behramkale (Assos) (see Jan 25 post)

The town of Behramkale from the Temple of Athena.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Temple of Athena in dramatic weather.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Staggering view from the temple.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

At the Temple ruins. The views of the water and the islands in the distance was outstanding.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

From the Temple of Athena. This landscape grips me.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Eerie rock at the Temple ruins.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

Slippers. Mine are blue.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

This woman knitted the slippers I bought.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005

On the walk down to the harbor. There are shepherds and sheep everywhere.
© Kris Nesbitt 2005