Project Runaway

We started our Malaysia travels with a bus ride from Singapore to Melaka. I decided that along the way there should have been towns where the rules and regulations of strict Singapore slowly disappeared one by one, and the bus would stop at each one, allowing you some time to adjust.  Whereas in Singapore you feel as if you are being watched over by a strict but benign parent, in Malaysia, you feel as you are being grudingly babysat by the neighbours indifferent teenager.

As soon as we got off the bus the impact was felt. We were back  to the noise and chaos of Istanbul. To even cross the street here is a lot like being a gopher and trying to dodge across Highway 2 between Calgary and Edmonton. There are no doubts that we are in Asia now, not some squeaky clean amusement park city.  Our advice, take a big breath and just plunge in.

Melaka was our first stop. It was a Dutch town for many years and has been declared a UNESCO heritage site. It was charming and elegantly decayed/rundown and we loved it. We stayed in a guesthouse on the river in Chinatown. The building was once a shop or warehouse and is long and narrow with high ceilings and a terrace where you can watch boats go by and monitor lizards lounge. Our hosts Mani and Ray were exceptional and thoughtful and told us all the dishes we needed to try and where the best place to get them was.

Malaysia is a country that has Malay, Chinese and Indian people. The country is Muslim but there are many different religions here also and all seem to live in harmony with each other. Where in Turkey you did not see the women in the workforce, here Muslim women hold all manner of jobs. As a result of this diversity, the food is diverse. You can have Indian, Malay, or Chinese. So we did! Indian for breakfast (banana rotis, yum), Malay for lunch (Baba Laksa, double yum), and Chinese for dinner. We ate and ate in Melaka. And then… we ate some more!

One of the most interesting places we ate was Capitol Satay. There are huge boiling pots of spicy peanut sauce in the middle of the tables attached to propane tanks under the table. (Definitely would not fly in Canada!) Then you get a plate and fill it with skewers of raw meat, seafood, veggies, and (for the brave) all sorts of weird unidentifiable mystery foods. Then you cook your skewers in the peanut sauce. It is messy but very delicious and you can’t go to Melaka and not try this twist on fondue.

We wandered the streets soaking the smells and sights, getting our bearings on a place so different from our last. Now for those of you with a keen sense of smell this can be a good and bad experience. I have the nose of a bloodhound. I think many women have this blessing/curse. So for me it was like overload at times. The scent of a spice, then the hit of  raw sewage, a few more steps and the scent is mouthwatering, a few more and then a bizarre and horrible and unidentifiable reek. God lord what was that? It takes many days before I realize that the disgusting toe curling scent is durian fruit, the ‘king of fruits’.  I will not be able to avoid this smell, and even worse, yes, I will not be able to avoid trying it. But we will get to that later…

Sorry for the delay! Hard to post a blog from the middle of the jungle!

The streets are spotless. There is no graffiti on bridges, sides of buildings, fences, anywhere. Modern glass and steel buildings with spotless and hushed courtyards abound. People wait patiently and quietly to cross streets. Banners proclaim ‘Low Crime Doesn’t Mean No Crime’. In sleek modern underground stations people patiently wait to get on the MRT. Signs remind you to be gracious to others. Television monitors show videos asking that we all remain vigilant and look at our fellow passengers for suspicious behaviour and bulky bags. A soft female voice tells passengers to ‘Alight’ at stations, and ‘Mind the Gap’ between the train and platform. Public washrooms have signs depicting the proper and sanitary way to use the toilet. Food courts have signs reminding people of proper hygiene when working around food. Don’t pick your nose while cooking, do not double dip in shared dishes, do not spit on the floor. There are fines for littering, spitting, jaywalking, chewing gum, not flushing the toilet, farting ($50 small/$100 large), or voicing an opinion. Sound like a plot from a Sci-Fi movie? Expecting Harrison Ford and Sean Young to be running past you? Guess again, you are in Singapore.

But as sterile and as unappealing as that sounds, if you try hard enough you can find Singapore’s soul. And that would be their food. Singaporeans love to eat. Where football is the topic in Europe, food is the main topic here.

To find the best of the best you need to go to the hawker stalls. Large covered buildings which contain small individual stalls, each one specializing in specific dishes. The regulations for cleanliness are stringent here (no surprise there), and you will see ratings on the stall of A, B, C.  It is noisy and busy and the food rocks. The Maxwell Center has the best Hainanese chicken rice. The Newton Circus has the best chili crab and bbq sting ray. It is here where we got to know Singapore and see the best of her.

• 30+ trains
• 6 long haul bus rides
• 5 plane rides
• 3 ferries
• 2 car rentals
• 1 long ass taxi ride
• 15 Hotels/Pensions
• 6 Self Service Apartments

It is the halfway point in our journey. We have battled homesickness, language barriers, food poisoning, hair frustrations, the dreaded budget, and even each other. We have had to wrap our heads around 3 different currencies and navigate through 5 different ways of life. Along the way we have to understand and accept (sometimes grudingly) our strengths and weaknesses. We love, laugh, and fight with all we got, and when the dust settles we are always still standing.

We are in  London, Westminster to be exact, smack dab in the heart of it all. Our distinguished old hotel is next door to New Scotland Yard. Buckingham Palace is a 5 minute walk. Big Ben, the Thames, and the London Eye are a 10 minute stroll. Pubs abound everywhere, filled to overflowing with dark suited business persons discussing their work, football, and politics.

We have had several days of crisp clear fall weather, and we have walked through St James park kicking up leaves and laughing at its most famous resident, a large (and I mean LARGE) pink pelican. London is lovely in the fall and we have found that we have liked the city more than anticipated. We had given ourselves a strict daily budget while here and it has been fun watching the kids plot and budget their meals and split costs when they can.

Nicole’s eclectic fashion sense finally has a home and a name. It is pure London style. She fits in here like a glove and I think she has fallen for this city the hardest. She went out with a friend from Canada, Greer, who is going to school here. She had been under budget and used her allotment to go out partying London-style on Halloween.

The next morning Dwayne and I swung by their room to get the computer, and this is how it went:

I knock. Nic says ‘We are watching T.V.’ ‘So, I want the computer’ I respond. There is giggling and shuffling and then Luc opens the door a crack and slips me the laptop. I wedge a toe in. ‘I need the cord’, I say, getting suspicious. As he turns to get the cord, I manage to get my head in the door to have a look at what is going on. There are 2 heads popping from under the covers in Nicole’s bed, and one is not Luc. ‘There are two people in Nic’s bed.’ I say to Dwayne. He now thrusts his head through the door. Nic squeaks ‘This is Simon, he needed a place to go last night.’ Oh, well, of course. She is just being a good Samaritan. Dwayne asks Simon, who is still covered up to the neck in bed, in fact all 3 are like this now mainly because the room is as cold as a meat locker for some reason, where he is from. Simon tells us he is a good Victoria boy here visiting Greer. “Well, then that’s a relief’, Dwayne comments dryly, ‘I was worried you were from London.’

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Today, the lady I am staying with showed me something that smelled like my family. She then flipped it over and read off the back in a language I was not fully understanding, but the picture on the front was very nice. It really just sounded like ‘blah, blah, blah’ to me. She does this a lot. The only thing I really understand from her, is that if I sit on my bed she will feed me. So, I try to sit on my bed as much as possible in hopes of being fed.

I let the man come out with me a couple times a day, I am doing great with making him understand all the things I like – swimming is my favourite – but he is always pointing the camera at me – it is a little distracting and leaves me wondering what he is doing with all those pictures.

I have noticed that the lady is pretty clean, she is constantly at the man to pick up things and put them away. So I have been helping out around the house where possible. My favourite chore is helping clean the kitty litter. I am getting really good at this. I have even managed to learn to empty the back part.

I thought when I got to Spain that it would be a lot like Italy. In some ways it is, and but in many ways it is different. Spain has a more diverse ethnic community. Our area has Muslims from Turkey, North Africans, and South and Central Americans. In a way it makes me feel more at home as Canada is such a melting pot. In Italy it was fairly easy to pick out the Italians from the tourists and rarely was I ever mistaken for a local. But Spaniards do not really have a defined look. They are dark, they are fair, they are tall and slim, they are small and stocky. So everywhere we go here it is assumed you are Spanish and everyone speaks to us as we are locals. Often, I get a mix of French and Spanish spoken to me. Especially ‘Merci’. Flattered I assumed that I was being mistaken for a sophisticated Parisian, but it turns out that it is part of the Catalan tongue. Catalan was born from ‘vulgar’ latin and has influences of French and Italian. As long as I can get my beers and tapas ordered than it is all good.

Same-sex marriage has been legal here since July 3 2005, 17 days ahead of Canada. You can grow and smoke your own weed, but do not get caught selling it as Spain’s laws against trafficking are the most severe in Europe.

Wild Boar is king in Italy, in Spain, Pork rules with an iron trotter (term for the foot of the pig). The grocery stores have entire sections devoted to pork products. There are shops that only sell pork. You see rows and rows of cured legs of ham, trotter included. The best are from black Iberian pigs that are acorn fed and can fetch up to 200Euro or about 300CAD. Nothing else is wasted, they eat every bit of the pig even its snout. It has been said that pork became popular during the Inquisition to prove that one was as true Christian. And as Muslims were known to be big on bathing, the stinkier you were the more Christian you must be.

Driving here appears a bit saner than Italy, and definitely Turkey, but they do still lean on the horn. It is just not a continuous cacophony as it is in our previous travels. Scooters still rule here, but they are not obnoxious and do not have the habit of parking in the middle of the sidewalks.

But yet, Italy is still fervently Italian and I respect that as the south coast of Spain has become too touristy, catering to the, yes, dreaded UK tourists. [Author's Note: To all the lovely UK friends I have made, I know that this phenomenon has NOTHING to do with you!] Thus it has lost its Spanish identity in those areas. Both countries know how to enjoy life with their siestas and fiestas. The pace is easy to fall into. They do their living on park benches, at tables outside cafes, standing shoulder to shoulder with their neighbours at the bar. Everywhere the young and the old, children, parents, and grandparents, laugh, gossip, and debate on the streets. It makes me feel more alive being around it and with a twinge I realise we will be leaving all too soon.

Of all the things we North Americans could learn in our large homes with our large TVs and surround sound, all things we take for granted, it would be the sense of community that pervades every corner of these countries and makes me hunger to stay longer, to return, to never leave.

Thanksgiving Girona style

I know I said that I could live in Italy, then I said I could live in Istanbul, but ignore all that because Barcelona is where it is at. It is nestled between mountains and the sea, a perfect combo, and it is the cleanest city we have visited. The streets are broad with bike lanes in the center and are well laid out. The buildings are well maintained and architecturally interesting. There are green spaces everywhere, with sculptures, and even the lampposts are works of art.

Our apartment for 5 nights was a block from Antoni Gaudi’s bizarre cathedral, the Sagrada Familia, which has been under construction since 1882. Gaudi left his mark all over Barcelona designing parks, lampposts, and apartments. Barcelona was home to Joan Miro and Pablo Picasso, and modern art mixed with history is everywhere. We went to the Picasso Museum where we saw work from when he was 9 until his death. He was a genius and I must say a real horn dogger. He had produced many naughty ink drawings, which were..er…well..my favorite part. O.K., whatever, think what you want of me.

Barcelona also has a very good zoo and an aquarium. Tired of Roman ruins and dead guy stuff, we all headed to the latter for a fun afternoon. It is a very good aquarium. It is well thought out which seems to be par for the course for Barcelona. The cherry on the Barcelona sundae is the endless tapas bars. I love love love tapas. Whoever decided that closing shop at 2:00 pm and then going to a bar for drinks and savory little snacks for a few hours deserves a medal. And if that same person also invented sangria, then quite frankly they deserve a sainthood.

After 5 nights in Barcelona, we headed to Girona. The trains in Spain are in better shape than Italy, and seem to keep to a timetable as well. Girona is about 1.5 hr by the train and is bigger than Lucca. It is known as the place where many cycling pros come to train. Lance Armstrong even owns a house here. So it is Dwayne’s turn to be as happy as a pig in shit. There is plenty a good biking in them there hills! So far he has been on 2 big glorious rides, one of which was 7 hours and took him to the coast of Costa Brava.

Our apartment has no Internet or TV, so there is always a card game or several noses in novels. The community centre next door offers free wifi and Internet, we merely had to sign up with our passports. It has a little bar/cafe and I sit here sipping a beer and typing my blog. It is beyond civilised. As this is a working class neighbourhood, many do not own a computer and I observe many new immigrants and families using the computers.

Across the street is a gym owned by a couple who were a former Mr World and Miss Universe. For a really low fee Luc and I got one month unlimited, a personal trainer, and access to all the classes, like boxing and spinning. We have been there everyday. Reaching the keyboard is about as high as my arms go right now.

As Dwayne rides off to find Lance Armstrong, the rest of us are planning our next few weeks here. We plan on a few more trips to Barcelona, a trip to Cadaques to see Salvador Dali’s villa, and a bike trip to the Costa Brava to see the beaches. We took the train up to Figueres, where we spent an afternoon in the Dali Museum. It is almost unexplainable, except to say that if anyone is ever near the area, they must go. Genius? Yes. Nuts? Oh, yes! It is like one huge theatre of art and installations, a funhouse for all, a running commentary on the absurdness of life according to Dali. It is brilliant for those willing to open their minds. We all loved it. We can just imagine what his house will look like.

It is surprising how I find we all can settle into a routine so quickly and turn our current abodes into a home. I enjoy futzing around the apartment while Nic concocts yummy dishes in the teeny tiny kitchen, Dwayne plays with his bike and plans his routes, and Luc is back to being a voracious reader (to her credit, Nic is also a huge bookworm as well now). It is a cozy nest and I wonder if at the end of the month if we will be ready to be pushed out of it for the next adventure.

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When you read about Istanbul you learn things such as it is the 5th largest city, has over 12 million people, covers 7 hills, bridges Europe and Asia, covers 1800 sq km. What you don’t read is that you will fall in love with it the minute you arrive. You could spend weeks here exploring all that this city has to offer, but we had only 9 days.

We had rented 2 apartments, dividing our time between the Beyoglu and Sultanahmet areas. Our first apartment was at the base of the Galata Tower in Beyoglu. It is a historic flat, circa 1825ish, and has a charming old world shabby elegance. It was how I imagined a Paris flat would look like. The Beyoglu area is a bohemian spot said to be where the heart of Istanbul beats. The main avenue there is called İstiklal Avenue and it is famous for its boutiques, restaurants, cafes, bars, and shops. At night the side streets are filled with people eating, drinking, smoking, and listening to live music. There is a fish market called Balık pazarı off the main İstiklal Avenue, where we went and got some seafood and spices for a real home cooked meal.

Across the Galata Bridge, where you walk past dozens of men fishing off its railings, is Sultanahmet. This is the oldest part of the city and contains the Aya Sofya, Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, and the Grand Bazaar. Our apartment on this side was newly renovated and modern, but had the speaker for the call to prayer right outside our windows. Definitely wasn’t mentioned in the advertisement.

The first site we visited was a mosque that our cabbie had pointed at on the way in from the airport. We thought he said ‘Blue’. All mosques, other than the Aya Sofya, are active and visitors are limited to a certain area. We took off our shoes, us girls covered our head and shoulders, we walked in quietly and sat and gazed at the amazing blue tile work. We somehow thought though that it would be bigger. Hmm. 2 days later when I read the map properly, I realise we were in fact not at the Blue Mosque. The cabbie had said ‘New’. The New Mosque was completed in the 1600s, thus making it new compared to others. Oh well, it was still pretty cool.

The actual Blue Mosque, which we did get to, is large and impressive with columns and 20,000 handmade tiles. Due to Ramadan it was full of worshippers, and due to its touristic lure it was full of tourists who were taking photos and chatting and generally being insensitive. People can be such jerks. We didn’t stay as long at this mosque as it was hard to be still and contemplate with all that was going on.

The Grand Bazaar is a huge covered market with over 1000 shops and covers something like 58 streets. It is West Edmonton Mall on crack. There are sections for gold jewellery, silver jewellery, leather, rugs, and so on. It is packed with people, so if crowds are not your thing stay away. Everywhere you see the same thing over and over and there are shoppers haggling a price and shopkeepers looking oh so offended, how can they make a living if they sell it for that? It is a kaleidoscope of colour and sound and your head is spinning by the time you find a way out. I recommend going immediately for beer after a day at the Grand Bazaar. Just to take the edge off.

After the chaos of the bazaar, the Aya Sofya was sanctuary. Once a church, then a mosque, and now a museum, it is a bona fide ‘old’ site. Built in Roman times it is a wonder to see. The brilliance of the architect who hid the massive columns in the walls making the dome appear to float is fantastic. It is in desperate need of restoration, which they are in the process of, but still impressive in spite of the decay. I can’t help wonder what they are restoring it to? Church or Mosque? For under the Islamic designs are 1500 yr old Christian mosaics. With his Cheshire cat’s grin, we saw the infamous feline made celebrity after President Obama petted him, warming himself and stretching in the spotlight, literally. He seems to be nonchalant and slightly smug about his fame.

Next to the Aya Sofya is the Topkapi Palace. This was the Ottoman sultans digs for around 400 years. It covers several acres and consists of several buildings all flowing from one courtyard to another. Each courtyard allowed less and less people with the last one being just for the royal family. The sultan could have 4 wives and up to 300 concubines (if he could afford that). His mother (called Valide Sultan or Queen Mother) wielded immense power and helped rule the empire, if the sultan was incompetent or a child the Queen Mother basically ruled. As the firstborn son was not automatically the next sultan there was a lot of plotting, scheming, and murder amongst the wives, even the most famous Queen Mother was murdered. They all lived together in the Harem and no one but them, the sultan, and his eunuchs were allowed in the building. The palace is fasincating and the Treasury with all its wealth really shows that these guys had money and liked to show it. There is the famous Topkapi knife with it’s emeralds and the 86 carat Spoonmakers diamond. The sultan even had solid gold and jewel-encrusted water bottle which was carried around at all times by a servant. As the men read this and think that this guy had it made, just ponder this, at any given time how many of these women had PMS and/or were plotting to kill him. The latter often being brought on by the former.

One of the most best things I found in Istanbul was my girlfriend Gillian and her partner Jason. Gillian and Jason are on a journey of their own, traveling around the world and our dates miraculously linked up (www.one-giant-step.com). We met down at the ferry terminal and then went for the famous fish sandwiches that are cooked there. After that we wandered up to Beyoglu for beers and to show them the upgraded posh apartment we were in for our last 2 nights. Then we went up to the top of a hotel near the Galata Tower to watch the sunset and have some Raki. After that was a fun and noisy dinner. It was a great day and there is nothing like catching up with old friends and sharing adventures, especially while smoking apple smoked tobacco from a nargile.

This was the end of our time in Turkey. We had fallen down the rabbit hole and loved every minute of it.

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I had a very strong déjà vu the other day. When I mentioned it, Nicole looked at me and said that it meant I was on the right path. It was such a wise and beautiful statement and resonated strongly within me. More than once, one of us has commented that the flow of our travels seem to have a predestination, that we wonder if we are planning the trip, or if we are being subtly guided along it. There just seems to be too many coincidences and happy accidents to discount.

Like our trip to Çıralı. It is a small village on the Turquoise Coast, a stones throw from the ruins of Olympos. We stayed at the Hotel Canada, owned by Carrie, a Canadian, and her husband Saban. Carrie is from Calgary and went to the same high school as Dwayne. Yet another coincidence. The hotel is situated in a valley against beautiful rocky hills, and when you are lazing by the pool you can see wild goats on the narrow trails. After Ovacik, Çıralı is a breath of fresh air. It is low key, quiet, and slightly hippyish. The town itself is small, just a dirt road with some restaurants and pensions. The beach is long and stunning. At one end is the start of the Olympos ruins. The Loggerhead Sea Turtle (Caretta caretta) travels there every summer to lay their eggs. In the evening you can hike up a hill just past town to see the Chimaera, which are fires coming from the ground due to a still unknown combination of gases.

One day Dwayne and Luc went on a scuba diving excursion and got bitten by the diving bug. The boat was a wooden sailboat and the instructors were all handsome Turks with edgy dreadlocks. Hmmm….why did Nic and I not go? It was on this trip that the boys met Amelia, who is from the UK. Amelia and her husband Marcus helped seal the deal on the next phase of our travels. I am still not sure how it happened, just an off hand remark from one of the kids about Thailand, and a response from them that Southeast Asia is their favorite place in the world and that we really really should go. Turns out they are both travel consultants, who have extensive experience and knowledge in that region. So as we were enchanted by their 3 little girls, Millie, Poppy, and Leila, as they played in the pool, Amelia and Marcus spent 2 days writing out an itinerary for us. Given that they had promised a friend to read his screenplay, and had only got 3 pages in, it was extremely generous for them to do this for us. Again, just too much of a coincidence.

Now SE Asia had been on the table quietly for awhile, Europe is expensive and we want the Project to continue for as many months as possible. The kids have always had a fascination and a desire to go there and this new development, and confession on our part, has sent them over the moon. Luc even tears up about it, he is so excited (Probably best we do not tell him I mentioned that). 

But this is still about Turkey, and Cirali, and our amazing hosts and fantastic dinners and sea kayaking and more old rocks, but this time wild with vegetation and very Indiana Jones. And  now it is time to hit the road again, this time inland to Göreme, in Cappadocia. We take a 9 hour day bus from Antayla to Göreme, this time we get to experience one of the large ones. The attendant serves us tea and snacks endlessly, and the trip is smooth, the scenery interesting, and the time slips by. 

Our bus stops midway in the city of Konya. As we pull in to the station nearly all passengers disembark except us. We stay on as the driver explains he is going to move the bus to another spot for 30 minutes, then we will continue on. As he drives across the parking lot of the large Otogar (bus terminal), an incident occurred between our bus and a midibus. We do not know what traffic faux pas transpired, but words ensue between the drivers. Apparently, our driver is gravely insulted, the age old slur regarding mothers, and he, wielding a bludgeon (that he just happened to have?), and the attendant give chase.

A huge brawl starts, with grown men, in dress shirts and slacks, from all corners of the Otogar getting involved. The other driver gets into his bus and narrowly misses running over our guys. then he turns around and comes careening back toward our bus, which contains 4 wide-eyed Canadians, who think he is going to ram the bus. He parks at the main terminal and immediately gets drop kicked by our attendant, who had chased the bus. More sticks appear, some are metal (OMG!), and 30-40 men appear to be trying to stop it while simultaneously joining in. At one point as the mob appears to be getting on our bus, as the door is open the entire time, Dwayne and I are both thinking he may just have to drive the bus to the terminal as I try to figure out how to close the f$#%ing door! Somehow the driver pops out of the mob to park the bus, and then he pops back into the melee. Eventually either the police or security manages to haul all the guilty men away and we sit there gobsmacked and driverless. A replacement is found we are sent on our way again, never to see our 2 guys again. We all feel slightly off balance, like the ground had shifted sharply for a moment, before levelling again. 

Once we arrive in the surreal town of Goreme, the violence we had witnessed is quickly set aside. Goreme is a Tim Burton meets Bedrock landscape of fairy chimneys, pink icecream cliffs, and phallic rock columns, all formed a millennia ago by a volcano eruption and Mother Nature. The town is quaint and has a nice main street with a canal down the middle. It is more traditional and almost all the women have their heads covers, some even have veils. The Ramaddan drummer is back and this one even sings to ensure we are all wide awake. Our favorite dish is Testi Kebap, where meat and veggies are sealed in a terracotta pot and cooked for hours, then broken at your table.

We toured the Goreme Open Air museum, which consists mainly of churches in the caves from an ancient monastery. Yes, more churches, but I the gimmick of being in a cave was too much too resist for my gang. And today we finished our trip off with a 2 hr horseback trip through the Rose and Red Canyons. The horses are wild horses that the local horse whisperer caught himself in the mountains. He often gets ones that need some medical aid and then releases them back in the wild. They are small and sure-footed and very smart. I am happy to be back in the saddle again. It is the best way to see the canyons, and I learned some new techniques going up and down steep paths. Tomorrow, we leave for Istanbul!

Here are pictures!!!

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(Faithful Readers: This post is a longer one than usual, but I am trying to catch up to the present, sometimes difficult, given my fascination with the past)

After Bodrum, we took a bus to Selçuk. The bus system in Turkey is extensive, efficient, clean, and comfortable, AND the seats are reserved and assigned. What a concept! The small local ones are called Dolmuşes, meaning stuffed, then Midibuses on short haul routes and the large buses for overnight or long routes. 

On our Midibus to Selçuk, a young man served us drinks and gave us sprinklings of ‘kolonya‘, a lemon cologne, to disinfect and refresh our hands and face. He quickly learned Nicole’s name and would come over and point out interesting view points. When Nicole would comment that a view was beautiful, the doe-eyed young man would reply that ‘Nicole beautiful’.

The MidiBus

In Selçuk, we stayed at the Hotel Bella, where the rooms are decorated in a charming traditional Ottoman style. On the rooftop, breakfast and dinner is served, and from there you can watch the storks who return to nest during the summer every year on top of the ancient Roman aqueduct. Just behind is the Basilica of St John the Apostle. St John was purported to have come to Ephesus with the Virgin Mary, where she is supposed to have lived out her days. His tomb is supposed to be under the basilica. The House of the Virgin Mary is not far and is a pilgrimage for both Christians and Muslims. 

The first night  there, I was awoken by the sound of drums outside the window. I lay there groggy, trying to decide if I was awake and attempting to recall how much I drank at dinner. The next day I remembered the drums and mentioned it to a Canadian couple on honeymoon, Tara and Robin. Tara told me that the drums are meant to wake up people to eat as it is Ramadan and they must eat before dawn. They are to tip the drummer  as a thank you for his service. Apparently, someone at the hotel tips to keep the drummer away from his house. Sort of a win-win situation for the drummer.

The main reason for going to Selçuk, is to visit Ephesus. Ephesus is reputed to be one of the best preserved ancient classical cities. My family, again, grudgingly followed me around in scorching heat to look at what they called ‘More old rocks’. The site was packed with tourists and it made the city come alive as in it’s time it would have had busy and bustling streets. I love looking at this kind of ’stuff”, I am so in my element. I feel I missed my calling as an archaeologist or historian. Apparently, I am as happy as a pig in s*@t.

All the Belleaus do agree though it was worth paying the extra 15 Turkish lira (TL) for the Yamaç Evleri or Terraced Houses. First, they are covered from the heat. Second, they are just really, really cool. No pun intended. They were the Roman luxury sea view ‘condos’ of the rich of Ephesus. The walls are covered in frescoes and the floors in detailed mosaics. Socrates was obviously a big celeb as his image is painted on many of the walls. Socrates had said, “The unexamined life is not worth living” , and I would like to think that he would approve of Project Runaway.

After our time at Ephesus, and near the Grotto of the Seven Sleepers, is a small kilim-covered place where you can sit on cushions in the shade and drink Ayran or cold Efes beer, and eat Gözleme. Ayran is a mixture of yoghurt, water, and sometimes salt, that outsells Coca-cola and juice in Turkey. Dwayne has become addicted to them. Gözleme is a thin hand-rolled pancake that is filled with minced meat and/or vegetables and then sealed and cooked on a sac, an iron dome shaped ‘pan’. For dessert, there is a banana, honey, and chocolate one that is to die for.

From Selçuk, we are back on a midibus to Fethiye in the south on the Turquoise coast. From there we went to Ovacik, where we stayed a week at Sunshine Resort. Ovacik is beside Ölüdeniz, which is one of the world’s most photographed beaches. Behind it is Baba Dağ, a mountain where para-gliders jump and land on the beach below. The beach and view is great, but the bedlam of para-gliders landing willy nilly everywhere turned me off. We decided as a family that we were going to skip the paragliding, our comfort levels not being where we would like them. 

Between the beach and our hotel is an area called Hisaronu, often referred to as ‘Blackpool’. It is a street filled with, well, quite frankly, horrible bars and restaurants all catering to UK travellers, with their advertisements of English breakfasts and beer. I recommend avoiding this area completely. Our hotel was O.K., but not a place I would return. The food was not good. One staff member kept telling us to ‘Give your daughter to me’. Ahhh…not likely my friend.

The one great thing about the resort was that we met some good folk. The kids especially took to a great young couple, Charlie and Steve, from the U.K. The four of them really hit it off and hung out at the pool and went quadding together to see more ‘old rocks’ and swim at a remote beach.

One afternoon, Luc and Steve went for a Turkish shave while the rest of us went to a Hamam, or Turkish bath (Turkish shaves are an experience unto themselves, I plan on writing about them separately). This was our first hamam. First is the sauna for 10-15 minutes. If you can last that long, as it was the hottest sauna I have ever been in. Sort of like being on Mars, or in Hell, if you believe in it. After the sauna, mud masks are applied and once dry you shower off and go into the bath. Oh, and I should mention that we are all in bathing suits.

It is a large room with a low domed ceiling, marble benches and sinks around the walls, and a large marble platform in the centre. You lay on the platform as a Turkish man in a towel first scrubs with a loofah mitt and then washes and  soap massages you by hand. Then you sit on on the bench near a sink where they shampoo your hair and throw alternating hot and cold water on you as you gasp and sputter.

The lovely Charlie got an especially good washing. He would scrub her arms, back, butt, legs, then scrub her butt, scrub her butt, scrub her butt…in between he would pour cold water down the front of his towel. Dwayne was also worked over, mainly as the attendant had a captive audience of us giggly girls. At one point we were laughing so hard we could not breathe as we watched Dwayne being contorted and tossed around into interesting positions while soap was running into his eyes. After all this cleanliness, we each had 45 minute massages. The end result of this being we all had skin that glowed for days. It was an excellent way to end our time in the Ölüdeniz region.

Now this tale ends much like the Greece one with one of us (me!) getting food poisoning and trying to get it together on check out day with another long journey ahead. Groan..I considered my options, none too appealing. In the end, it was our taxi driver to the bus station who presented the best option. How about he got a friend to drive us, it would be 2.5 hours versus 5-6 hours, the cost would be not much more than the combined taxi and 2 buses we were going to take, and….we could stop as much as needed, wherever the ‘mood’ struck me. I had been saved.

(Author’s note: You can now click on the pictures to get a larger image!! Only took me 3 months to figure out!)

From the moment we stepped off the boat in Bodrum, Turkey has been a surprise and a delight. Bodrum is nestled against hills and has 2 bays divided by a good sized fortress that was built by the Knights Templer and now houses an Underwater Archeology museum. The houses that dot the hills are square and white and the view as we approach gets us excited for what lays ahead. 

We stayed at a pansyion (pension) called Hotel Gulec. The pansyion is clean and simple and is situated in a nice Turkish neighbourhood minutes from the beach. We are awaken by the sounds of the call to prayer. Its haunting chant gives me goosebumps. We are truly in a different and fascinating culture.

There are lovely gardens and breakfast is served in the courtyard. Turkish breakfasts are brilliant. Eggs, cheese, olives, tomatoes, cucumbers, watermelon, and fresh bread. My first taste of soft bread in months. Turkish tea, or çay (pronounced chai), is served in small vase shaped glasses and the leaves are grown by the Black Sea. It is absolutely delicious. 

The owners and staff are friendly, happy, and kind. We soon learn that this is a trait of the Turkish people, but even so Kemal and his family exceed this. When we asked for a recommendation for dinner or lunch they would personally take us there, even if it was a bit of a walk. All our meals there exceeded our expectations and is among the best cuisine I have ever had, and that says a lot after eating in Italy all summer.

The kids and I went on a boat excursion and left poor wobbly Dwayne behind. We spent the day on a boat, stopping at various locations, swimming in the clearest turquoise waters. We even stopped and went into a cave with thermal waters and magic mud that Cleopatra was reported to have used.

Bodrum has one street that runs along the water that houses the Bazaar. Here shop after shop are filled with knock-offs. Knock-off watches, sunglasses, perfume, runners, jeans, you name it. Dwayne put his bartering skills to test and haggled for a pair of ‘RayBan’ sunglasses for Nic and an ‘Armani’ watch for Luc. At one point it appeared it would all be free if Nic was thrown into the deal. In the end, Dwayne paid exactly what he intended, and kept his daughter.

Spoils from the Bazaar barter

One of the things I enjoyed best in Bodrum was sitting in the front garden of the hotel chatting with the owner and his family and meeting other guests. Kemal is a retired mechanical engineer and his wife is a retired schoolteacher. Their son, Querem is off to Rome to complete his Masters in Economy. Kemal has extended to Luc an invitation to come back to Bodrum in November 2010 for an end-of-season all male (‘no mothers’, he states) sailing trip. Luc is flattered and excited and already talks of getting a part-time job to save from the trip.

It was in the front garden after our boating excursion, that we found Dwayne with a couple from Madrid, Jamie and Ines. Sometimes I reflect that it is funny that it took this trip to get us out meeting people. We look forward to seeing them again in Madrid this fall and plan on partying it up at his nightclub ‘El Perro’, and meeting their infamous beagle.

Too soon, it is time for us to go. The entire family comes to see us off and it is with great regret that we leave.