Turkish Delight

After the hassle in Morocco, we were a bit timid to show up on the doorstep of yet another Islamic country after such a glorious month toodling easily around clean, sexy, cosmopolitan westernized European countries. Things had been running smoothly, most people spoke English, the food was excellent, the beer was consistently good and cheap. Let's just say we weren't really looking forward to Turkey, but were we in for a surprise. That country welcomed us with open arms. What a friendly and amazing culture they've got brewing over there! We were sadly wrong in our assumptions, and you know what they say about assuming anything. We won't make that mistake again.

Arranging a flight from Eastern Europe wasn't as easy as we thought. Well, let me rephrase that: It was easy, it just wasn't cheap. But that's another funny story in istelf. We visited several travel agencies in Budapest and had an interesting discussion at one in particular. We sat down and told this young Hungarian guy where we wanted to go. He asked if we were teachers. We said no. He then quoted us a one-way fare of $400 per person to get from Budapest to Istanbul--a measly two-hour flight. A simple hop, skip, not even a jump. $400! We freaked. We tried other airlines. We talked about other countries. We considered taking a train for two days through Romania and Bulgaria and Greece. Then the agent asked again, "Are you teachers?" We said no--again. He then told us if we were teachers, he could give us the Malev Airlines teacher discount of only $200 per person. Quite a deal brewing there for educational professionals. We looked at him perplexed, wondering why he would share this seemingly useless information that did nothing but rub salt in our already wounded wallets.

He then told us we could become teachers. How do we do that, we asked? He said we pay him $6 each and he issues us a teacher card; we just need to provide a passport-sized photo. Easy as pie, this teacher credential thing. So the long and short of it is, we became teachers on that sunny day in Budapest. :-) We forgot to bring the passport photos we carry with us for visas on the day we went to get our tickets, but never fear. We stored digital files of said photos on our camera's memory chip for just such an occasion. It wasn't hard to locate a photo shop in Budapest, where we printed out a sheet of each of us for less than $1. Then back to the travel agent, where we then had to answer the next $64,000 question: Where do you teach? David and I looked at each other in amusement, a bit puzzled by the level of deception in which we were about to engage. A university felt too prestigious, a high school too mundane. David suggested we use the name of the private elementary/grade school I'd attended for nine years. It was, after all, a very prestigious learning institution.

So there you have it: We are both teachers at The Carey School in San Mateo, California, and $400 the richer for our achievement. Granted, neither of us feels great about abusing the system that way, but then again, we've vowed to only do it that one time. (Wait, weren't we just at the entry to Luxor Temple in Egypt inquiring about their teacher discount? Of course I jest.)

Deception aside, we arrived in Istanbul in the early afternoon and were pleased to see a very modern slick airport with public transportation to the city center. We hopped on the metro, then transferred to the local tram to get to Sultanahmet, where David had lined up a great hotel/hostel just a few blocks behind the Blue Mosque...and it didn't cost a fortune, go figure! Of course, weary from being constantly on guard in Morocco just over a month ago, we immediately distrusted the first Turk who overheard us talking about where to find the tram and offered to show us the way. No thank you, we politely replied. He insisted; we politely resisted again. He gently smiled at me and said, "Come, this way. Come, come," and we obligingly followed, expecting to have to shell out some change for his expert guide services. But no, he was simply being kind. What a concept! He showed us the tram entrance, gave us a big smile, and disappeared before we could say "thanks" or toss him a few coins. Something told us we were going to like this city...a lot.

A nasty cold overtook me on day two, but we still managed to cram in the best Istanbul has to offer. We visited the Blue Mosque several times and were awed by the enormity of it all, and in the evenings, the silence and beauty of being two of only a handful of tourists taking it in. That was pure magic. Aya Sofia was even more impressive and kept us enthralled for almost two hours. My daily return to the hotel for a long afternoon nap gave David the chance to sketch mosques for hours, meeting tons of locals as he drew to his heart's content.

The rest of the time in the city we just walked and trammed to different neighborhoods, taking in the local comings and goings. We indulged in tasty cheap doner and killer Koska baklava, played backgammon in the evenings at cozy cafes, dipped into the Grand Bazaar although we weren't in the buying mode, and spent time hanging out with the awesome couple who ran our hotel. Their rooftop terrace offered close-up views of the Blue Mosque's minarets and the Sea of Marmara in the distance. We knew we'd stumbled onto something really special.

We treated ourselves to an all-day cruise up the Bosphorus, arriving at lunchtime at a small village on the Asian side at the mouth of the Black Sea. We hiked up to an old castle ruin that provided amazing views in all directions. We watched tankers stream out toward Russia and played with stray dogs. It was a neat escape from the city and great chance to see more of the area surrounding Istanbul.

For our last three days in the wonderful world of Turkey, we flew south 45 minutes to Izmir, then went by road an hour south to the small town of Selcuk, our base for exploring the ruins at Ephesus. That journey south was an experience in itself. Our Selcuk hotel had told David there was either a train or bus that we could take upon arrival at the airport. They were somewhat correct in their advice but omitted the tiny details. You know, like informing us we'd miss the train by only two minutes and the next one wasn't until three hours after we arrived, or that to catch a bus to Selcuk, you have to take a $50 cab ride to the main bus station way outside Izmir and then still buy onward bus tickets.

So there we were, pathetically wondering how we were going to get to this town, when two policemen took mercy on our pitiful selves and offered assistance. Only rub was, their English wasn't too great. We managed to explain that we needed to get to Selcuk, and as luck would have it, another one of their Turkish cop buddies on airport duty lived in Selcuk, commuted to Izmir, and would of course know how to advise us on getting there.

A few minutes later said Selcuk-residing cop arrives, and as more luck would have it, he doesn't speak much English but he is married to a French woman, hence he and I set off in rapid French regarding our options. What about the train, I inquire? "Ah, yes, there is a train...oh, but look, you won't make it," he says. We turn in the direction of his pointing finger to see our train whizzing past the airport station on its way to...yeah, you guessed it...Selcuk. So Plan B. We will take a cab four kilometers to the town of something-I-can't-remember-in-Turkish, and from there, we'll wait in front of a supermarket at a bus stop he knows is there, which will at some time present us with a bus to Selcuk. This option sounds a bit sketchy to us but we have no other choices at this point, it's pouring rain, and we're not not about to shell out 50 bones to get ourselves to a random bus station where we'd have to take yet another form of haphazard public transportation in Turkey.

So what about that taxi for those four kilometers? Seems no cab drivers want to waste their time on such a skimpy fare. But wait, do not dispair, in comes Turkish curbside skycap kid who speaks great English. He sees us surrounded by airport cops and asks if he can help. He then proceeds to convince the third cabbie who arrives to transport us to the bus stop in the town of something-I-can't-remember-in-Turkish for the low, low price of $8. We agree and jump in.

The ride is a bit crazy in the rain but after about 15 minutes, I excitedly see the supermarket, and yes, there is a bus stop outside. All seems well in the world, until David gets locked in his seatbelt and can't get out, and the driver is yelling at me to vacate his cab but I can't budge because I'm trapped by David's heavy pack, which I can't lift on my own (remember, I'm still nursing that nasty cold from Istanbul), and it's pouring down rain. The driver finally gets what I'm trying to tell him about David and runs around to the other side of the cab to jab something in the lock. My husband is free (with his backpack in tow), I am free, we are both free in the town of something-I-can't-remember-in-Turkish. Now, for that bus to Selcuk.

I turn to a young-looking Turkish woman and ask if she speaks English. Only a little, she says. I do my best pantomime of "Bus to Selcuk," at which point she turns to the 30+ Turks congregating in the rain, and an explosion of Turkish erupts, at which point the woman replies, "Yes, here." Okay, we're at least in the right place. Now, where is that bus?

For every bus that approaches, David makes the bold leap into traffic over a rushing gutter of water to find out if it's our lucky ride to Selcuk. Repeatedly he's turned down, as driver after driver shakes his head, mumbles something in Turkish, points behind himself, and speeds off. Countless Turks board buses for destinations unknown, leaving us to ponder our fate in the rain in front of a suburban supermarket. After 20 minutes or so of this routine, I'm beginning to give up and try to concoct Plan C, although I'm at a loss for inspiration in the town of something-I-can't-remember-in-Turkish.

But then something magical happens. Like a gift from above, a small woman taps me on the shoulder. I whip around, expecting to be mugged or hassled. "Selcuk?" she asks timidly. "Yes," I reply eagerly. She points behind me, and like a nomad stumbling upon an oasis after 30 days in the desert, I feel our luck has changed. A tiny dolmus (that's Turkish for minibus) bearing a Selcuk sign pulls up at the curb. We have been saved! We gladly board and wave goodbye to the shoulder-tapping angel from the town of something-I-can't-remember-in-Turkish.

We're greeted by a dolmus "flight attendant" who stows our packs in the back, offers us lemon-scented hand gel, and pours us each a cold glass of bottled mineral water. This is better service than Southwest Airlines! And to think we're crammed into a little van with 15+ Turks on the way to who knows where (hopefully Selcuk). We marvel at this system, which includes stops along the road to pick up locals on their way to somewhere, or sometimes, just exchanges of packets or boxes from men standing by the side of a highway. It's a seemingly random system of transportation that appears to operate more smoothly than anything I've seen in the U.S. We befriend a Turkish female tour guide who speaks fluent English on the hour-long ride. She takes us under her wing and even gets the dolmus to stop just a few hundred yards from our hotel. Ah, we have arrived in Selcuk, and we are alive to tell about it. Pure paradise.

Selcuk's main draw are the ruins of Ephesus, which lie literally in the town's backyard. Our trip there was inspiring, but much of this historical site is in ruin (literally) and overrun by tour buses, as was to be expected. It was really hot the day we were there, so we breezed through in about two hours and felt very satisfied. Afterwards we walked a few kilometers to the Seven Sleepers ruin and ate awesome guzleme (Turkish pancakes) for lunch from a local restaurant under the trees. Our Selcuk hotel picked us up in the minivan once finished (a great free service they offer) and drove us the short five minutes back to town.

That's the benefit of staying in Selcuk. Despite the comedy of errors involved in getting there, it offered great proximity to several amazing ruins and a cozier vibe than neighboring Kusadasi, where the mammoth cruise ships dock. We spent one afternoon in a traditional Turkish village eight kilometers away called Siringe, high on the hills amid grape vines and an ancient church. Back in Selcuk, we really enjoyed the chilled-out "downtown" and spent our evenings safely wandering the tiny streets, watching storks nurse their babies from nests built atop the ancient aquaduct, eating homemade ice cream, and playing backgammon while drinking Turkish tea. Selcuk offered other great slices of history such as a 14th-century mosque and the ruins of St. John the Baptist's home and church (all right across the street from our hotel!).

Sure, we'd go back to Selcuk in a heartbeat...but make sure to catch that train from the airport next time around.