Monday, November 13, 2006
Fethiye
Arriving in Fethiye I had this idea that I was going to take a 3 day "blue cruise" along the Turkish Mediterranean on a yacht. I ended up getting a bad feeling about it and backed out. Sure enough, the next 3 1/2 days all of Turkey was drenched in an incredible storm. I mostly read, but I did meet an interesting Turk (depending on which of his 5 passports you looked at.) They call him "The Bear." I'm assuming because he looks like one. A huge Turkish kick-boxer who would knock back the booze like I'm sure he could knock out anyone in the ring. Unbelievably, this man offered me his Internet cafe/ bar/ home to stay in while he was gone on "business." He even offered his motorbike! Even though it was very generous, he didn't know when he would be back, and the idea of waking up to this man lurking over me while I slept crept me out to the point that I declined the offer.
Turkish Delight
Harems, hookahs and hamams. Turkey has taken me under it's spell and left me wishing for more. I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but I've been pleasantly surprised by the natural beauty and warm hospitality of this country. Right from the start, Turkey inundated me with the exotic: smells of tattered prayer rugs and apple tobacco. Sounds of hooves on cobblestone streets and calls to prayer. Visions of whirling Dervishes, ancient ruins and turquoise waters. And OH the food!!! What does Turkey taste like? (Tastes like chicken?) Juicy lamb kebaps wrapped in hand rolled crepes. Skewered eggplant, beef and chillies. Stuffed tomatoes, salty olives and cucumber yogurt. Figs stuffed with walnuts and syrupy-sweet baklava topped with nutty pistachio. Turkish Delight!!! Speaking of food, it's been Ramadan all month. Like my travel agent said, Turkey is "Islam-Lite," so the fasting holiday hasn't been too hampering on my travels. Many people actually gain weight during this month of fasting. Having witnessed plenty of picnics, parties and gorging on sweets after sundown I can see how. The only downfall of the Islamic holiday was being repeatedly woken at 4 AM by a procession of drums reminding the faithful to wake and eat before the sun rose. Ramadan- a- ding-dong. I started my trip in Istanbul, a city straddling two continents, both geographically and culturally. Nowhere is Turkey's identity crisis more apparent than here, mixing aspects of Europe, Asia and the Middle East. The range of Turks reaches as far as the Ottoman Empire once did. Exotic Mediterranean goddesses shop the markets next to Moustached matrons whose cups runith way over. Sleek handsome salesmen try to lure tourists into a carpet shop, or into bed. Old weathered men gather in the afternoon sun to play backgammon and drink round after round of chai. Slightly hooked noses and piercing green eyes peek out of carefully pinned veils or over moustaches so thick you could scrub a floor with them. My favorite was seeing a young women covered head to toe in conservative black robes with a "Jackass" Tee shirt over top. Istanbul's Grand Bazaar is one of the world's oldest and biggest markets, with over 4,000 shops selling intricate carpets, sparkling jewels, and belly dancing bras. I immediately bought two necessities. First, dark sunglasses to avoid unwanted eye-contact. Second, a fake wedding ring to prove my fake marriage to my fake husband who is always "sick at the hotel." Poor guy has an eternal case of Turkey tummy! The only guys that line doesn't work with are the hostel owners who not only know that you came alone, but also know where you sleep! Overall the men have been pretty well behaved. Of course there have been plenty of cheesy come-ons, rude noises and lewd grins, but none of them made me feel uncomfortable, laid a hand on me, or followed me too long. I met a French woman who had made Turkey her home for the past 6 years. She claimed the real Turkish Delight was the kind on two legs. I think I prefer mine with marshmallow.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
My World in a Bag
One year, more or less. Eight countries, give or take. I've set off with no reservations, guides or packaged tours. Not even a traveling companion. Turkey, Egypt, Jordan, Israel, Nepal, India, Bangladesh and Burma is the plan, but plans change. Especially mine. Maybe I'll get tired of living out of a bag all the time, get malaria or fall for a Turkish carpet salesman. You never know! There are a million horrible things that could happen to me to cut my trip short, but more than likely I will run out of money before I get kidnapped by terrorists (fingers crossed.)
Months of planning, and I still don't have a plan. It took ages just select an itinerary, do my research, and keep abreast with current political conditions, terrorist plots and just plain war (had to strike Lebanon from the list.)
Then there were vaccinations, visas, finance, insurance and air tickets to take care of. All this while sadly saying goodbye to my life in Tokyo (4 amazing years!) and returning to the States for a month for my little sister's wedding.
But by far the most challenging part was, and still is the packing. I needed to outfit myself from the modest mosques, to bare-all beaches. I had to prepare for the heat of the desert, the damp of the jungle and the chill of the Himalayas. To top it all off, I had to be able to pack it all on my back and carry it around without worsening my back and neck, still sensitive after I was hit by a car over a year ago (That's another story altogether.)
I can hardly decide what to wear in the morning, let alone what to pack for any and every possibillity I might encounter on this trip. Creature comforts gave way to the practical. Only items that could compress, absorb, wick, shield, support, secure, stow, clean, prevent or protect made the cut. High-tech and Lo- weight was the rule of thumb. Of course, any Alaskan knows the virtues of a good ol' roll of duct tape! It's already come in handy a number of times.
The last 48 hours before the flight was a flurry of mad packing. I was so absorbed with getting it all together that I didn't have time to worry, or admit to myself how nervous and scared I was. The gravity of this challenge that I had taken on for myself didn't quite hit me until I first glimpsed the parade of graceful domes and towering minaretes that characterize the skyline of Istanbul...
Months of planning, and I still don't have a plan. It took ages just select an itinerary, do my research, and keep abreast with current political conditions, terrorist plots and just plain war (had to strike Lebanon from the list.)
Then there were vaccinations, visas, finance, insurance and air tickets to take care of. All this while sadly saying goodbye to my life in Tokyo (4 amazing years!) and returning to the States for a month for my little sister's wedding.
But by far the most challenging part was, and still is the packing. I needed to outfit myself from the modest mosques, to bare-all beaches. I had to prepare for the heat of the desert, the damp of the jungle and the chill of the Himalayas. To top it all off, I had to be able to pack it all on my back and carry it around without worsening my back and neck, still sensitive after I was hit by a car over a year ago (That's another story altogether.)
I can hardly decide what to wear in the morning, let alone what to pack for any and every possibillity I might encounter on this trip. Creature comforts gave way to the practical. Only items that could compress, absorb, wick, shield, support, secure, stow, clean, prevent or protect made the cut. High-tech and Lo- weight was the rule of thumb. Of course, any Alaskan knows the virtues of a good ol' roll of duct tape! It's already come in handy a number of times.
The last 48 hours before the flight was a flurry of mad packing. I was so absorbed with getting it all together that I didn't have time to worry, or admit to myself how nervous and scared I was. The gravity of this challenge that I had taken on for myself didn't quite hit me until I first glimpsed the parade of graceful domes and towering minaretes that characterize the skyline of Istanbul...
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