Joe’s Trip to Turkey 2001 (Part 5 of 5)

Joe’s Trip to Turkey 2001 (Part 5 of 5)
Turkey

We were in the north, the top, right-hand side of the country. This area looks like British Columbia or Washington, it is lush and green. Douglas Firs grow here. Tea is grown here, as are hazelnuts. This is not the Turkey that your Mother warned you about. Our van took us to Ayder, a tiny town that, I swear, looks just like someplace in Switzerland. This is a tourist town for locals, those that are seeking to get away from the urban pressures in cities such as Trabzon. The town has not much except for trout farms, log cabin rentals and big ol’ trees. Highly recommended if you are in the neighborhood, says I. We stayed in the Hilton. (It was not that Hilton, it was another Hilton.) I didn’t get air miles for staying there, but I did have plenty of fresh trout.

The other good reason to go to Ayder is for the hot springs. The municipality runs a modern complex of hot spring pools, indoors, very clean. Sexes are segregated, so I was not able to offer my lathering talents to any bathing lasses. The pool was hot. Very hot. I am a wimp, as those of you that have kept notes surely know. However, I survived. There were maybe a dozen of us guys, myself and a Canadian being the only non-Turkish speaking dudes there. I looked snazzy in my Supplex nylon rafting shorts and the loaner pair of mismatched plastic shoes that I was wearing. Everybody was friendly, I would go back. Cost was only a couple of bucks.

The rest of the trip was mostly unremarkable, other than the fact that half of us stopped speaking to the other half of the passengers. The main poopy-head passenger (and no, it wasn’t me) fled the bus in Trabzon. Take it from me: Three weeks spent with the wrong bunch sucks big time. But! We went to Safranbolu. This town, tucked well away from Western tourists, is a UNESCO heritage site, whatever that means. (I suppose that they can charge more for Kodak film there or something) Safranbolu is cool because they have an unusual amount of Ottoman houses. Ottoman houses are wood-framed big houses, very nice, very old, much character. If they were in California, they would be turned into lovely bed & breakfasts. Since they are in Safranbolu, largely the same thing is being done to them, except for only a few dollars a night, not a few hundred.

I have misgivings about B&B’s, too much character gives me he willies. Creaks in the night, lamp switches in unfamiliar places, dodgy toilet tank handles. I’m a ‘Days Inn’ sort of person in regards to hotels. There was none of this. I needn’t have worried. It was the most beautiful, friendly, relaxing place that I had been to in Turkey. I could have (and should have) stayed a month. The owners are a retired couple who have nothing better to do than fuss over the (maximum six) guests. The wife prepares an excess of homemade turnovers served with homemade jam, honey from their own hives, fresh eggs, vegetables from a massive garden. The husband tends to the garden and livestock, interrupting his chores only to make sure that your tea cup is refilled. Some of the guests relaxed in the hammocks underneath the fruit trees, I busied myself by inspecting his dahlia garden. Rows and rows or dahlias, all carefully staked and labeled. I showed him a few tomato-growing tricks. He promised to send me seeds that he saves, he was delighted to have another gardener around.

Back to Istanbul. Exotic as it sounds, this is a city worth getting out of as soon as you arrive. So I did. I got back onto the Fez Bus and headed down the coast. Stayed for a couple of days in Selcuk at the newest and best hostel (The Getaway – “Attila’s Place”) never straying far from the pool. I didn’t work on my tan, I merely improved my freckles. My private room was only 10,000,000 a night (less than $10.00) but included two home-cooked meals.

A couple of days spent in Oludeniz at my favorite hotel, Ayg�l (means “seagull”) where I continued my quest for added freckles. Room with A/C and breakfast was only 15,000,000 a night. Nice pool too! I hightailed it back to Goreme, from where I am writing this. No pool, but I have a room in a cave, so it is cool during the day when I nap. I am napping twice a day, so a cool cave room is key. This is the land of caves built into the tufa, a soft, easily carved rock-like substance perfect for building my room with and ensuring good naps. The town is in a valley, one can hear the call to prayer quite well. One can also hear roosters crowing (”The crow to prayer”) and a donkey braying (”The call to bray”). Hot during the day, quite pleasant at night, the bar of choice (”Fat Boys”) doesn’t even start ‘happy hour’ until 10:30 pm. Looking at my watch, I see that we are jus past the beginning of said hour of happiness. I am hearing the “Call to Beer”.

I am still hanging about in Goreme. I was planning on being here awhile, I was also planning on not being here awhile. I was not planning, really. I cleverly left my passport in Oludeniz about a week ago. My bad. The place where I am staying (Shoestring Pension) worried on my behalf, called the hotel in Oludeniz and made arrangements to get it here. The plan was that they would put it on the bus from Fetiye to Goreme. Said plan failed. Hotel decided to send it registered mail instead, but I got it today. I wasn’t going anywhere anyway, but it’s, like, my passport you know?

My lodging is in a cave, $7.00 a night including double bed (all to myself, you wags!), a shower with hot water and plenty of Turkish rugs for decoration. The other guests are a variety of nationalities: Aussies, Brits, South Africans, Polish, Spanish and me. Tonight’s dinner is trout with a side of cous cous for 2,000,000 Turkish lira. Today’s rate: US$1 = 1,350,000 Lira.

Today I found out that the Van kilims that I bought in Van cost me twice as much as if I had bought them here. Poop! Still, we are only talking a $20 difference. I have been hanging out at my favorite carpet shop, Sultan with Mehmet, the owner. I have been here long enough that I am allowed to be present when the wholesalers come though. The guys show up in a van or station wagon with plates from the east, unload hundreds of rugs, and Mehmet says “yay” or “nay”. After watching this occur several times, I think that I know his taste and also what should be my taste. Free lessons.

Yesterday, the man and his assistant, a teenager, came through with plenty to sell. Mehmet explained that he has been doing business with this guy for over ten years. The man buys in Turkmenistan, Iran and Afghanistan, then brings them to Goreme to sell. I love the carpets from Turkmenistan the most. Though what caught my eye as hundreds of carpets were being inspected was one from Afghanistan. Instead of the usual designs, this motif was weapons: AK-47’s, tanks, grenades, bullets, rocket launchers. I have seen zillions of carpets over the years, but never seen one like this. It is so bad that it is good. I bought it instantly.

Read about all of Joe’s adventures in Turkey!
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five

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