In the footsteps of gods and heroes

Yesterday, Julie and I rented a motor scooter to further explore the island of Naxos, home of Dionysis, land of olive groves and beaches, site of what could have been the grandest temple to Apollo ever built (they never finished; probably got distracted by the nude sunbathers like we did). My prediction that we would both die in a fiery scooter crash thankfully did not come to pass and instead we traveled inland to Chalki. There, we visited a very old distillery which makes kitron, ouzo, and banana liqueur. Kitron is made by processing high-grade alcohol with the leaves of the kitron tree, a citrus tree with completely inedible fruit. Let the alcohol soak up the oils and essences of the leaves however, and you get a very delightful citrus liqueur which provides a nice break from the perils of riding on the back of a scooter (Julie: "maybe you should have a couple shots when we get there so that you'll relax a little"). The distillery has been in use since the mid-1800s and we were given a delightful introduction to the business by a 4th generation kitron master. He also showed us how ouzo was made - I didn't realize that the famous drink was the result of alcohol processed with anise seed, fennel and coriander. Following our scootercapades, we spent a last windy hour at the beach. The beaches in Naxos could really be beaches anywhere, except for the Zorba-like character hawking sea sponges from his basket as he walked down the sand, or the amazing clear warm water, or the large pink men in little speedos (I swear, only in Europe), or the beachside bars offering all matter of cold fruity drinks, or the completely relaxed come-what-may attitude that must surely exist in its pure form only in Greece. A few words about the food. I haven't eaten a single thing on a stick since arriving in Istanbul almost two weeks ago. Given that sis kebab and souvlaki are both typically cooked on sticks, I was a little surprised. There are a lot of similarities between Greek and Turkish food, just like their culture, and the result of many years of power and cultural exchanges between the two (in fact, Istanbul was the capital of Greece for years and as recently as the 1920s, Greeks experienced mass relocations from their Turkish homes). The foods from both countries emphasize fresh ingredients, flame grilling, local products (lots of feta, honey, olives, etc), astounding stews, and lots and lots of sweets. I was pretty sceptical of one of those sweets, Turkish Delight, until Julie and I happened into the Istanbul Spice Market where we were invited into one of the booths, given apple tea and plied with Turkish Delight, a lovely, not-too-sweet, almost caramelly concoctious of nouget and nut that's bound to make you loose any resolve. (I've developed a new appreciation for poor Edmund in The Lion, The Witch... I'm not sure I wouldn't trade my brothers for more of that sweet treat.) Tonight in Athens we visited an ouzeri, just below the Acropolis. There, we had our pick of a number of tapas-like dishes: fried calimari, meatballs, greek salad, fried eggplant, stuffed vine leaves, stuffed peppers, fried fish, etc. In theory, the palate should be cleared between each bite with a dash of ouzo. In practice, beer works just fine too. Yum. So we did leave our island paradise for a couple of quick days in Athens. We've both been pretty overwhelmed by the amount of history, philosophy, religion, language, science, mythology and more at our feet in this place. Everywhere you turn there are all sorts of stones and markers signifying the place of this momentous contest (Athena and Poseidon on the Acropolis, vying for the right to name the city), and that famous speech (Socrates expounding his theories in the Agora). It's also interesting to contrast the ancient heroes and the present-day Paraolympics which began a few days ago. We'll marvel all those things tomorrow as we scale the Acropolis and wander around the Parthenon.


Look, it's the Parthenon! See it?

a squared plus b squared

The ferry ride from Turkey to Greece was like going from 60 to 0 in 2 hours. Julie and I have left our crazy Turkey pace behind (we didn't have a choice really, I think you get kicked off the island if you're too ambitious) and settled for the blue Agean, warm sun, cool breeze, and all the olives and honey you can eat (not together). We first stopped in Samos, just 2 hours from Ephesus, home to Pythagorus. The first day we were there lying on our sunbeds by the clear blue water, I drowsily wondered if Aesop sat on the same pebbly beach while concocting his fables or whatever could have prompted Pythagorus to pull out his protractor in the first place. But the thought passed as I started thinking about the type of cold drink I should order next. Seriously, since we got here, I think the only thing I've done with any discipline is apply sunscreen, hence the lack of emails (no Dad, I'm not with "some hardbody"). I really can't fathom how the Greeks could have been so prolific in arts, culture, philosophy, etc when there are so many more leisurely ways to spend your time here. Yesterday, we traveled from Samos to Naxos, the largest of the Cycladic Islands and a place where Zeus liked to spend time. We'll be logging in more beach hours today and tomorrow plan to rent mopeds to buzz around the island and check out some other towns, churches, archeologic sites, and of course, beaches. The following day, we head into Athens for trips to the Parthenon and Delphi and reluctantly home.


Umm, octopus. After sitting out in the sun for 5 hours, it becomes a local specialty. Yum?

Finally - off to Samos!

A castle. Or a large grey block of swiss cheese. Your choice.

Fairy chimneys. You can see why George Lucas considered filming some of Star Wars here in Cappadocia.

Just when you think you know what the world looks like

Thousands of years ago volcanoes erupted in central Turkey, covering the land with volcanic ash and basalt. Over time, erosion swept away some of the soft rock and created the geological amazement that is Cappadocchia. The guide books alternatively describe the rock formations as a Salvadore Dali painting, an acid trip, or Salvadore Dali on acid. The rock mounds look like mushrooms or pyramids or shark teeth or weapons depots or...youll just have to see my pictures to appreciate how positively unlike anything else this place is. George Lucas reportedly wanted to film part of the Star Wars movies in Cappadocchia, though it didnt work out.
Anyhow, well before 1200BC the Hittites settled in the area and carved their homes and fortresses into the rock hills or underground - some of the underground cities are 8 stories deep and could house 2,000 people. Then the early Christians came along and expanded existing cave cities and added churches, monasteries and convents; next the Byzantines took up residence and added their castles and expansions and finally the tourism industry added hotels carved into the stone. I hope I have that in the right order. This human intervention took an already unusual landscape and added a swiss cheese element to it - there are over 40,000 homes carved into the rocks in the region.
Julie and I stayed in a cave hotel and enjoyed two full days of guided tours around the area and got to enjoy a smaller town - a nice change from the bustle of Istanbul. All of our scrambling, crawling, climbing, burrowing, and hiking has left us a little tired and dusty, so we plan to head posthaste to a beach in Greece. We stopped for the day outside of Ephasus and checked out the old town - very ruined, very fascinating - and tomorrow we bid this country and all its rug salesmen gule gule.

Gotta love a volcano for what it'll do to your landscape.

Inside a church. Check out the bendy column on the left...

Our cave hotel. Looks a lot nicer than it sounds.

Inventory

Here's an abbreviated list of the treasures found at the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul:
Partial skull of John the Baptist, rod of Moses, turban of Joseph, hair of Muhammed, sword of David, an 86 carat diamond - note to self, buy a lotto ticket, hair from Muhammed's beard, emeralds the size of your fist, saucepan of Abraham. The buildings and grounds were nice as well.
This all raises a number of questions: was DNA analysis conducted on the turban to confirm it did indeed belong to Joseph? Does the sword belong to David of sling-shot and giant fame or some other David? It is a common name. Moses' rod looked pristine - I'd expect some wear and tear due to parting rivers, turning into a serpant, etc. Did he have more than one? Did Abraham moonlight as cook? And for god's sake, did they PLUCK poor Muhammed before putting him in his tomb?
We've left Istanbul and are now in a region called Cappadocia, which is about 4 hours south of Ankara by bus and and 2 hours from Bagdad by plane (an interesting thought). The draw here is the landscape which must have been copied from a Salvadore Dali painting, but that deserves its own email.
This morning I left early to get some pictures in the dawn light; the pinkish light makes the rocks that are around, over, under and beside us positively glow. I ran out of film quickly and was lollygagging around when I was asked if I'd like a coffee by an older Turkish man sitting at an outdoor rug market. I accepted (you really have to, which is a little annoying. As our rug man pointed out, "you walk down the street and it's 'would you like a tea', 'have a coffee,' 'can I get you something to drink'. What do they think I am, a f**king camel?"). A short time later I was sipping my first Nescafe (can't wait for my welcome home latte) and learning to play backgammon with a man who's lived in this little town his whole life. We discussed his kids and my parents and he invited us to his cave for dinner - which sounds funny but you'll understand with my next email - while watching the village wake up.
Time for dinner - I'm off for a kebab.

Inside the spice market.

The Blue Mosque (my first mosque!).

"But it does have an amusing anecdote about a kebap."

Magic carpet ride

Julie and I have been discovering Istanbul and just stopped for a few minutes to send email between breakfast on the terrace (olives, cheese, cucumber...) and a visit to the Topkapi Palace.

Breakfast!

Yesterday we went to the three Istanbul establishments that best seem to represent the crazy history of this country - a mosque, a church, and the bazaars. This email's about the latter, so the seemingly unsupported dome, beautiful tilework and my first mihrab get short shrift for now. Americans and their malls have nothing on the Turks. The old silk road and its associated caravans have arrived in Istanbul with evil eye pendants, hookahs, brassieres dripping with gold coins, designer bags, knock-off bags, tea sets, tapestries and the obligatory rug. The only thing more overwhelming than the selection are the hawkers who can pick a tourist from a crowd 100 yards away and use enough English for these now-familiar phrases: "You want to buy a rug?" "I will help you spend money." "You are my lover in my dreams." "Where are you from?" "Have you bought a rug yet?" Don't be fooled, these people want to make a deal, but they're also pretty serious about their craft. Julie was inspecting a painted tile and innocently remarked to me that she was interested in finding some coasters. She was subsequently treated to a 5 minute lecture about how terribly inappropriate it would be to use the tile for that purpose and how appreciating a tile does not involve placing beverages on them.

Julie's developed quite a posse here in Istanbul in the two days she was here before me (someone actually shouted "hey Minnesota" as we were walking down the street), which includes some very helpful folks at a travel agency. Yesterday while we were making arrangements for our next leg, one of the travel agents offered to take us to the "best rug expert in Istanbul" for a lecture. We returned at the designated time and were led to an upper room in a hotel (you enter via the rug shop by ducking up a stairway that's hidden by a hanging rug) which looked exactly like I imagined a harem to be. Hundreds of tassels hung from the ceiling, there were mounds of carpets surrounding us and curtains draped strategically around the room as we sat at a low table, drank beer, and learned how to appreciate a quality rug. The rug expert knew his stuff and shared some valuable tips about how to pick out a good rug. His advice included trying to light the rug on fire to check the material (wool and silk don't burn - "the house can burn down, but the carpets will remain"), picking out simple patterns ("you see that rug? It looks like aliens are landing on it. If you hate someone you don't have to hire a killer, you could give them that rug and their life would be ruined"), and finding rugs that only use natural dyes ("that color doesn't exist in nature. Yuck. It makes me sick. This rug, you see this blue? This green? These are real colors"). He also warned us not to be fooled by a pretty design (good material, good color first) or by the number or type of knots used ("fuck the knots"). And then he lit up a joint. If you had asked me to describe what I expected Turkey to be like before I left Seattle, I might have come close to our rug excursion last night. We left knowing a little bit more about rugs, a lot about Turkish hospitality, and a real desire to buy rugs.

The lucky column - if you're thumb emerges wet, your wish comes true