Joe's Trip to Turkey 2001 (Part 2 of 5)

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Joe's Trip to Turkey 2001



The big, white van took us on a big, long and dull ride from Goreme. The journey was dull enough that rather than relive my boredom, I will tell you about Mehmet.

Lots of guys here are named Mehmet. And in small towns (like Goreme) everybody knows each other, sort of. How do you keep the Mehmets straight? Each Mehmet has a nickname. In Goreme, there is 'Big' Mehmet who runs a hostel, 'Without legs' Mehmet who runs a restaurant and 'Stinky' Mehmet (who I never got close enough to smell). Asking for 'Mehmet who works in the restaurant' won't get you very far. People don't know where each other works, so you must ask for 'Without legs' Mehmet. Oh, and by the way, don't feel sorry for him at all. He is not disabled and his legs were not amputated, he is just a lot shorter than the other Mehmets around town.

As you were reading about poor Mehmet, we finally made it to our destination, Mt. Nemrut. Our lodging for the night was a nice enough basic hotel near the summit. It sported a large, empty swimming pool.

It was dusk when we arrived and as we waited for dinner to be prepared, we drank cold Raki and smoked cigarettes. The electricity was not on, a common enough problem 'round these parts. However, electricity is usually needed for electric lamps and we worried. We needn't have done so, Kurdish ingenuity was working in our favor. Off in the distance, we heard a yelp as a young man fell off a power pole about 100 yards way. Luckily, he had connected the two errant wires before descending. We had lights again, and his sprained ankle does not look that bad.

At 0330 we were awakened by our tour guide. Since we had just gone to bed a few hours earlier, the Fez bunch was less chipper than usual. A Ford van hauled us close to the summit, it was still before dawn and we would have to walk the rest of the way.

Or at least THEY would have to walk. There was no way I was going up there on foot again. I had climbed (stumbled would be more accurate) up that bloody hill to see big stone heads on Mt. Nemrut once before and my feet had not forgotten that journey. This year, I hired a mule.

Short-term mule rental set me back 15,000,000 TL or about $13.50. It was a very good investment.

The Kurdish horseman (muleman?) was a sturdy man with a sturdy, brown mule. I didn't catch either of their names. The mule and I didn't have much to say to each other, but my trip up along the steep shale was painless for me in any case. Maybe not so for the mule.

Mule and I arrived at the top just in time to catch a fantastic sunrise and gawk at the stone head icons. It was chilly but beautiful, my Gore Windstopper(tm) fleece jacket kept me warm. A few photos, back on the mule and down the hill and then back to bed. What the hell was I doing up so early, anyway?

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We are in the south now, on our way to Urfa. Urfa is mostly Arab, it is on the border with Syria. I have been here before and I am looking forward to visiting again. It is hot. I am having trouble reading my book (Troublesome Words by Bill Bryson) because the road conditions are too funky. And it is hot, like I said.

Fortunately, it is not too far to Urfa. We arrive and immediately set out for lunch. The renowned 'Urfa kabob' is the dish of choice. It consists of the ubiquitous ground lamb kabob, extra spicy alternating with chucks of eggplant. Barbecued over mesquite. (Well, maybe not mesquite. Substitute the word 'hardwood' and stop being so picky)

After tucker time, we pile into the van and head over to the place that all of the other tourists go, the place with the sacred carp. I have seen the sacred carp before and I wish that I had a Mepps spinner with me. There are Carp Police just to ensure that some American idiot doesn't practice his casting in that pool.

After admiring the carp, we set off to visit the bazaar. This is where I ditch the bunch and set out on my own. I am a big boy and don't want to be in a group, unless I can do lead vocals. I knew exactly where I was going, and to prove it, I got lost almost immediately. I found my favorite carpet shop and picked up a small wool rug for about $20, then ventured off to 'tap-tap' alley where the metalwork is done. I found a very nice heavy copper tray with fish designs banged into it (fish seems to be a theme here) for about $25.

Then, I nearly tripped over a tobacco salesman. We are down in the south and tobacco is grown here. In the market, friendly men with huge bags of shredded tobacco beckon passersby (I can't believe I wrote that, sorry) to sample their wares. Who could resist free cigarettes? The man has a pack of papers and he rolls a lot better and faster than I do. He hands the smoke to me and produces a Bic lighter. I realize that all eyes of the other tobacco salesmen are watching intently, certainly they have taken bets on the outcome. The tobacco is much milder than I thought it would be, not bad at all. Now what? I realize that, while I am under no obligation to buy, US-Turkish relations are in jeopardy over my decision. I ask for a small amount. The smallest quantity sold is ½ kilo for about $2.50. I now own a lifetime supply of tobacco.

Read about all of Joe's adventures in Turkey!
Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five



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