KR and I spent 11 days in Turkey in September and October 2004. This is an edited transcription of my travel journal from that trip, our fourth time to Turkey. Some photos can be found here.

Thu, Sept 30, 2004

For all my worries and anxiety, we had an easy, uneventful trip from Pittsburgh through New York to Istanbul. This was the fourth trip for KR and me. Our fourth trip with a group organized by a supplier of KR's shop.

We were met at the airport by the hotel driver, who we recognized from past trips. As he ran off to get the car, we stood on the taxi curb and breathed the Turkish air and watched the Turkish pedestrians dodge the Turkish drivers. It was a familiar drive in to town, past the military base - a copter buzzed close over the road - past the ruined ancient city walls, the massive tanker ships in the Bosphorus, overhead walkways built into fragments of the ancient walls, and finally we turned up a narrow cobblestoned road that ended directly behind Aya Sofya, with her rosy red angles, and drove around to her front, where a busload of tourists was blocking the street. Then we headed up the street to Kybele Hotel, our home in Istanbul.

After checking in at the hotel, we walked back down the street to Aya Sofya. This was the most beautiful church in Christendom, then when the Turks took the city, it became the most beautiful mosque in Islam. Now it is a museum. Scaffolding still blocks a quarter of the central space, but there has been substantial work finished. Much has been repainted. It's also been museum-ized more. Labels are fixed to the walls pointing out items of interest. On the upper level there is now a gallery of photographs of the surrounding architectural elements.

We were hungry when we got back to the hotel, so we went to the little take-out deli across the street from the hotel. KR ordered tost with the words she had been practicing: "Iki tana tost, lütfen." We mimed that we wanted egg, cheese, and tomato on our tost. While we waited and looked around the tiny shop, fascinated by the giant bottles of water, the man broke a couple eggs onto the hinged grill. A boy came in and bought a handful of eggs. The shelves behind the counter held little packages of cookies and sweets labeled with words we could not understand. The man sliced a loaf of crusty bread lengthwise and widthwise, and arranged cheese and tomato on the open faces. The boy returned with one of the eggs, broken and raw. Our chef exchanged a few words with him, then replaced the egg with another from the case. The same case held a variety of meats and cheeses. The man scraped the eggs from the grill and arranged each on its piece of bread. The finished sandwiches then went back on the grill, which was closed, smashing the sandwiches. The boy came back with his egg, raw. He shook its replacement at his ear before leaving again. We took our sandwiches across the street to the hotel before the boy could come back. We ate them in the garden in the back of the hotel and speculated about those eggs. Were they supposed to be hard-boiled? We thought that must have been the case.

The hotel is owned and run by three brothers. Mike is the artiste brother, a collector of textiles, carpets, and such. He has a room above the hotel where he keeps his treasures and entertains his guests. The rest of the day was spent in Mike's room.

Fri, Oct 1, 2004

KR reminded me that I had been looking forward to our first morning's breakfast since our last time here, two years ago. She was right, and it was worth the wait. Delicious tart yogurt drizzled with honey. Hard-boiled eggs. A fresh fresh dried fig. Fresh-squeezed orange juice ordered special from the juice man across the street (ordinary orange juice is Tang). We were asked if we wanted tost. We didn't, but we got it anyway. We ate in the garden under blue skies. We met the other group members at this time. Eight people, all women except George and me.

For every group, Mike gives a rug lesson to kick off the trip. He explains with humor and vulgarities what makes a good rug. (Hint: it's the quality of the wool and dyes, not the knot-count.) After the lesson and lunch in the garden (pide, a sort of cheese pizza), we walked to an antique carpet shop full of beautiful old pieces. The view from there was terrific, over the Blue Mosque to the Golden Horn, Bosphorus, and beyond.

We then walked to the Grand Bazaar, at the Nuruosmaniye Camii. The group split up a couple times so there were only four of us together as we arrived at a shop that sold boots and shoes made of susanis (Uzbek embroidered textiles). KR ordered a pair of high-heeled boots - she got to pick her susani from a large pile.

Then we went to Osman's shop. Osman is a Kurdish textile dealer who we visit on every trip. KR was trying to learn the phrase "ne kadar" ("how much does this cost?") so she tried it on him and he answered in Turkish: "uç yüz dollar." The lesson there: if you ask a question in Turkish, you'll get your answer in Turkish.

We ate dinner on the third floor of Hamdi, with its glass walls and ceiling. It was too late to see the sun set, but just in time to see the moon rise. From our table we saw three mosques, the Golden Horn, and Galata Bridge and Tower. We sat just inside an open door in a breezy corner. The waiters draped shawls over the shoulders of all the ladies.

Sat Oct 2, 2004

We checked out of Kybele in the morning, and spent most of the day in the Grand Bazaar. I saw a man smoking a cigarette sitting on a wooden crate next to an antique saddle. Abdula, the Uzbek textile merchant, invited us to Uzbekistan. He has a car, he said. Family. Home. He will take good care of us and drive us around.

Back in Osman's shop he clowned with us while our guide won $5 from his assistant in a card game. Lunch was at a nice Ottoman place in the bazaar. Dessert was honey-soaked cake topped with kaymak - water buffalo cream.

We piled into taxis, made the ferry, and boarded the train to Konya. We ate well—cheeses (including an interesting stringy Kurdish cheese), breads (including simit), and wine. One of the group provided a $100 tin of caviar. It wasn't bad, but I didn't enjoy it enough to be worth the money.

We occupied an entire car, except for two berths. The man in one of them kept his door closed and we saw very little of him. The man in the other berth, the one next to KR and me, was accompanied by an old saddle. Odd to see two antique saddles in one day, I thought. KR was fascinated by it and walked past his open door several times trying to get a good look at it. At one point I was standing in the aisle watching the scenery out the window and the man spoke to me. "Come," he said. "I want to show you something." I stepped into his doorway. He showed me how to block the sink drain in the berth with a wet paper towel to keep out much of the train noise. He invited me to sit down. He explained that he was a retired English teacher from Konya who had recently gotten into the rug business. He showed me his saddle and told me that he tried selling it at the Grand Bazaar for $700, but was going home with it. Is it odder to see two antique saddles in one day, or to see the same one twice?

I slept little that night. I got up at one point to visit the bathroom at the end of the car. Out the windows was a grey landscape, colorless in the moonlight. It looked like snow. Tall thin trees, like cypress. The gibbous moon was high on the other side of the train. The stars of the summer triangle were sharp, hung near the horizon.

Sun, Oct 3, 2004

In the morning daylight we saw the brown, dry farmland all around. In the squash fields the vines were dried and withered, leaving just the orange and green squash lying on the dry dirt. We passed a walled cemetary. A flock of white turkeys chased through a village. We saw several flocks of sheep, each accompanied by a shepherd, a donkey, and a dog. Horses wore burlap feedbags. A few irrigated patches of field were green. A grimy white dog stood at the edge of a ditch, its front feet lower than its hind, looking into it. Another dog lay still on the opposite slope of the ditch. Dead?

A van met us at the Konya train station and took us directly to the Hotel Balikçilar. We then went to Karavan, a nice rug shop that acts as our home base when we are in Konya. Karavan is owned by Huseyin, who took such good care of me and my companions on our last trip. One of his employees, Nadir, knew me right away and called me Abi everytime he spoke to me. Abi is a term of respect and affection for older men. It means "big brother." I liked it.

On our walk to lunch, a woman shuffled after us, calling, "Abi! Abi!" A boy clung to her. She caught up with Huseyin and he talked to her a bit. I noticed one of her feet was folded under, so that she wwas walking on its top. She wore a pair of sandals, the one on her shriveled foot faced backward. After he sent her away, Huseyin told us that she occasionally came to his shop to demand money from him, accusing him of neglecting his children. Huseyin has no children.

On the walk back to Karavan, we were passed by a honking van. People, both men and women, were hanging from the windows. People were on the roof of the van, and a young boy was right in front, above the windshield, wearing a colorful prince outfit. We were told that the boy was on his way to his circumcision ceremony.

That afternoon KR was scheduled for her first hamam. That is, she was in for her first Turkish bath and massage.

George and I were scheduled to have healing massages by a man who, we were told, was known throughout Turkey. An hour after George went for his appointment, Nadir walked me two doors down from Karavan and through a doorway between two storefronts. I met the old healer there, and he directed me down some steps. As I drew aside the curtain at the bottom, I saw George lying on the floor with two men working him over. The larger one, who looked like Tony Soprano in a wife-beater undershirt, motioned for me to come in and sit.

I sat on the bench that lined three of the walls. The room was warm, wood-paneled, and smelled like cigarette smoke. Two pipes crossed the ceiling; a towel hung on one of them. A row of pegs ran along the walls, a few inches below the ceiling. Three pegs already held clothes. One set of clothes was George's. I wondered where the other naked men had disappeared to.

George lay on a layer of brown newsprint paper that crinkled as the two men rubbed him. They were being rough with him, and he was howling in pain. After several minutes of this, the two stood. They motioned that I should get undressed. As I did they laid a vinyl mat on the floor and covered it with newsprint. I lay on it wearing nothing but boxers, and the two started massaging me. The big one worked my legs, and the smaller, younger one - perhaps an apprentice - worked my arms and shoulders. I didn't find it unpleasant at all. They were rough, but it wasn't too painful.

While they were working on me, the old healer came in and began running his fingers along George's legs, working them deep into the muscles. I tried not to listen, tried not to get too worked up by George's screams of pain. Finally George was done and everyone left the room. George got dressed and was saying things like "That man has tremendous energy in his hands." Then he left too. I lay there, staring at the pipes along the ceiling, getting more chilled and nervous by the minute.

The old man returned and said, in his thick accent, "That was not me causing the pain in your friend. That was someone else. I will not hurt you. Do you trust me?" What else could I say? "Okay."

He kneeled at my feet and ran each thumb from my knee up to my hip. It hurt like nothing I had ever felt before. He repeated that, plowing a furrow along the length of my thigh muscles. He worked his way to my inner thighs, and I experienced a new kind of pain there. I tensed, I breathed heavy, I cried out. He said, "Just relax and breathe slowly." I said through clenched teeth, "I'm trying!"

After fifteen minutes or hours he moved to my arms and hands, and finished by giving me the most painful head massage ever. When he was done, my hands and head tingled like I was hooked up to a car battery. He told me that it was energy coming to the surface of my skin. I believed him, though now I think it may have been an excess of adrenaline-enriched blood rushing to my extremities. By the time he finished with me, another man had come in and was lying next to me on the floor, and fresh newsprint paper. The healer said to me, "You stay and watch. I will take the blood from him." Take the blood from him? That must be a metaphor for something. But he held up a set of four small needles for me to see. "No," I said, "I can't watch that." "Is not for you. Is for him," he said. "I know. But I can't watch." And I pushed through the curtain, buckling my belt.

In the small waiting room he and I sat as an assistant brought us glasses of hot honey-water on a tray. The healer then spent several minutes telling me how he had traveled the world and studied the world's religions and healing techniques in order to create his own technique. He then told me that the man lying in the massage room was being taught a lesson. "He told me he was in a hurry, so I am here drinking with you, teaching him patience."

Finally I got up and went back to Karavan, where everyone was waiting to go to dinner. George was describing his session, and telling people what an incredible healing experience it was. I was silent most of the evening, still in intense pain. Later that night KR found thumb-sized bruises on my arms and legs. I found red, swollen scratches from his fingernails all up my arms and legs.

KR loved her hamam. She got washed, steamed, and scrubbed until she was as soft as the day she was born. She couldn't stop touching herself.

Mon, Oct 4, 2004

In the morning we visited Mevlana's tomb and museum, and got photos of our two favorite Korans. We all had lunch back at Karavan - lamb cooked for 14 hours. The best meal ever.

On our way to Beyshehir we stopped at a mosque. As we pulled up to the front of the building a band of women in traditional dress and headscarves ran to the bus, appearing from nowhere. As soon as the van's side door opened they swarmed us, tossing knitted things into our laps - socks, gloves, slippers - and demanding money. KR said, "Boy did their day brighten when we arrived." We pushed our way off the bus, but could not get to the mosque through the commotion. Huseyin convinced the ladies to wait until we were done looking around inside. They let us pass.

This was a beautiful mosque. Its interior was all unfinished wood - pillars, rafters, floor, and other elements. A gap in the ceiling was covered with a new wooden addition and skylight. In the floor, beneath the gap, there was a large stone-lined pit. For years before the addition was built, snow and rain fell through the hole in the ceiling and collected in the pit. This moisture kept the humidity at a level that preserved the wood. I can only imagine the beauty of snow falling in the middle of the room, in the middle of a religious service.

Huseyin was speaking with a well-dressed Turkish man who suddenly began singing beautifully. KR cried. I nearly did. It was one of those moments when you sense the nearness of God.

Then we walked out the doors into the feeding frenzy of women with their knit mittens and slippers. Huseyin did his best to negotiate with the women for us, and our driver negotiated the sale of a pair of knit slippers for KR, who didn't want them.

We visited a warehouse owned by a man named Yusef (one of eight of his warehouses) overflowing with everything - pots, carts, stills, weaving equipment, and dogs. One dog lived outside the gate, two were just inside, three others were here and there, and there were three big puppies in a pen, all with their ears and tails freshly chopped off, left raw and red and swollen. It was upsetting, especially to some others in the group. Apparently the vet had recommended it since dogs attack the ears and tails when they get into fights. This vet used anesthesia - unusual in Turkey. We were given fruit and tea before we left.

Our room that night was a funny little corner room with no shower stall - just a shower hose and drain next to the toilet. We walked out to the lake in the dark, then went to the hotel bar and had whiskey with Elizabeth, Huseyin, and the driver. We sat outside next to a portion of the lake that had been drained. Then we had a fish dinner with great baked potatoes - no butter needed.

Tue Oct 5, 2004

We left the Beyshehir hotel directly after a walk to the lake. We had breakfast at Yusef's warehouse - hash hash (toasted poppyseeds), jellies, honeycomb, bread, tomatoes and cucumbers, cheese, and more - all prepared by Mrs. Yusef.

We drove from Beyshehir past Konya to Güzelyürt. I was fascinated by the dust devils, little swirls of dust on the plains. One reached all the way to the sky, swaying like a cobra, turning more brown as it touched the earth. I was nervous that we were so close to it. At what point does a dust devil become a tornado? Nearby, farmers walked their fields with flaming pots, setting the dried stalks on fire.

On our way to Güzelyürt, we stopped at a karavansarayi at Sultanhani. A karavansarayi is a refuge for caravans. This one was built in 1229. It was simple and beautiful, a large stone enclosure, split in two. Half of it was open, and had a small mosque in its middle. The other half was covered, with a dome and a lot of pigeons.

The landscape became unbelievably lovely as we got near Kapadokya. Rock formations, yellow fields of hay stubble, mountains, valleys, vistas.

Güzelyürt is a village on top of a mountain on the outskirts of Kapadokya. The Hotel Karballa was once a Greek monestary with arched stone ceilings and lots of woodwork. We visited the home of a German man named Udo. He was involved in the World Wildlife Fund, he wrote a book on oriental carpets, he is restoring his home, and he is trying to rediscover old wine-making techniques.

We then walked around the village and down into a valley full of crumbling caves, many with carved fronts. Donkeys. Cows with blue-beaded collars. Dust-covered boys. Steep cobblestone streets. "Shit of donkey," Huseyin says, in the road. A fine dust that coated our eyes and teeth.

Wed, Oct 6, 2004

Udo had breakfast with us, and recommended that we visit a little church on our way out of town. We drove into the next valley and there it was, in the middle of a flat valley, a beautiful little church in ruins. Fifth century? Back in the day, the Greek bishop lived there, and villages from all around came to visit him in this desolate valley.

A boy came to collect a few cattle nearby. On the way out the dirt track, we stopped to photograph a man and his donkey. The man had few teeth, and the donkey was laden with sticks so that it looked like a giant hedgehog.

On to Nevshehir, where we ate at a place among auto repair shops. The restaurant owner greeted us enthusiatically. It seemed that he didn't very often see a bus full of tourists unload in front of his place. Then we went on to the hotel. It was a beautiful place, situated up against a cliff full of caves and pigeon holes. We began with drinks on a rooftop terrace overlooking the valley. The rooms were all carved from the rock, and in our case, built up with local stone. Our room was a suite - it was unbelievable. We had a sitting area, a bedroom, and a marble-lined bathroom, which had a jacuzzi and a glass-enclosed shower.

We visited Ortahisar, where I climbed to the top of Ortahisar Castle with one of the ladies in the group. This was a huge rock sticking out of the relatively flat surroundings, that had been carved into, but now had partially crumbled. There were metal steps and handrails installed all the way up, but it was still hard going at times.

We then went on to Üçhisar, where a few of us climbed the Üçhisar Castle, a similar carved rock. This one was easier. We stood on its top, leaning against the stiff wind.

Back in our room we had a jacuzzi before drinking raki outside with the group. Then we went in the restaurant for dinner.

Thu, Oct 7, 2004

In the dining room they served a very good breakfast. Though there was a huge selection, I stuck with yogurt and honey, and a hard-boiled egg. Plus a fresh fig, nearly as big as a fist.

Our guide had hired us a surrogate guide for the day while she and Huseyin did some other business. He met us at 10, and we were off in our van. We visited some of the same things as I saw on my last trip there. We took a quick trip through the underground city, spent a few minutes at the Göreme valley overlook, then went to the Göreme Open Air Museum. As we pulled up, we saw two camels along the road. As everyone headed for the entrance, KR went the other way, down to the camels. She took a ride on a camel, something she had been determined to do on this trip, then we walked up to the museum gate where the irritated guide had our tickets waiting for us. He took us to only three of the cave-churches, though there were many more, and many more beautiful than what we saw.

We had lunch at a restaurant called Shömine, a place I had been to on my last time in Göreme. It confused me since it had moved to the space next door and had upscaled. We had a great lunch. We were served a stew cooked in clay pots, each sealed with a blob of bread dough. I broke the first open with a hefty cleaver while the waiter held it horizontally with gloved hands. Others from the group busted open two other pots.

After lunch we stopped in the Derent Valley before going to Avanos, where we were pushed into a ceramics workshop and rushed through a tour of the place. We saw throwing on an electric wheel and on a kick wheel, and we saw people painting plates before we ended up in a store where we could pay inflated prices for the stuff. This was a different place than I had seen on my last trip, but it was exactly the same spiel. Nobody in the group appreciated it, and we left quickly.

Huseyin then drove us all to the airport, where we said our goodbyes to the two Huseyins. It was 5:00. Our flight was at 6:00. At 8:30 we boarded the plane. While we waited we enjoyed seeing young Western-looking Turks after seeing so many headscarved women and haci-hatted men.

There was a couple there, an attractive young woman and a round man, who wore a suit with the pants pulled up over his belly and a permanent frown. He looked like he had escaped from a Laurel and Hardy movie. They had a little boy with his father's too-old face. A young headscarved woman across the room gave the boy something - candy or raisins - so he was determined to cross the crowded room to get to her again and again. We met up with the headscarved woman as we got on the plane. She was Australian. I wanted to ask about being a traditional Muslim in Australia, though it's probably not much different from being one in the US.

When we arrived at Kybele, we had a warm welcome. There was a feast waiting for us: cheese pide, cheese and olives, fruit, corn nuts, and drinks of all kinds - they even got the whisky out of the liquor cabinet for us. It was a wonderful welcome. We were exhausted and full of stories. It was a terrific, celebrative night.

It had been raining in Istanbul while we were away - flooding, even.

Fri, Oct 8, 2004

We went to the Bazaar in the morning, and hit Afghan Alley and the guy who made shoes from ikat fabrics. KR had him custom-make a pair of boots for her, and when we saw them we loved them. We had lunch at Paydeli in the Spice Bazaar. This restaurant was decorated all in blue tile. Elizabeth told us that AtatŸrk ate there. According to the photos and letters on the walls, so did Audrey Hepburn and Roman Polanski.

We did some other Spice Bazaar business, then found the Evil Eye King and visited Rustempasha Camii, which is now on my list of favorite mosques.

That evening a Turkish couple came to the hotel to deliver a piece of artwork to George - he called it a miniature. They also brought a portfolio of their work that they showed to anyone else interested. They were so intriguing and beautiful that after a while we wanted one. We finally decided on a piece split into eight small "windows" with Suleyman, Aya Sofya, horses, the Bosphorus, and so forth. Beautiful work.

Sat, Oct 9, 2004

In the morning I went with KR and some others to Arasta Bazaar. We walked through the Mosaic Museum. It was beneath the Bazaar, on the site of a Grand Palace. The centerpiece was the mosaic floor of the palace, and other mosaic pieces were mounted on the walls.

Sun Oct 10, 2004 Pittsburgh

Sunday was a full day of travel. We had no real delays, and no problems. We just had an exhausting day in airplanes and airports.