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Turkey Stuffing |
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 Jeremy
Head crams all he can into 10 days in Turkey - and all the cheap gear he can
fit into his suitcases too.
I'd expected Turkey to be hot. And parts of it were, even in early spring. I
certainly hadn't gone prepared for cold weather and the sight of snow on the
ground as we touched down in Istanbul came as quite a surprise. But then
Turkey is a country stuffed full of unexpected sites and experiences. And
that's half the fun of the place.
The undulating domes and stark minarets of the Blue Mosque looked magical
with clumps of snowy white drifting down around them. Inside the shadowy
expanses of its vast dome, set a-twinkle by myriad suspended lights drifting
down from the heights, I could feel my toes turning blue. A day spent
shivering inside the other great dome of the Aya Sofia, gawping at the
ridiculous wealth of the Sultans at the Topkapi palace (diamonds the size of
hen's eggs, gem and gold encrusted thrones so gaudy they look like kids'
toys) convinced me I'd have to start shopping early. Istanbul is one vast
bazaar. Every street corner has someone selling something perched upon it.
I'd come with an empty bag ready for filling with half a new wardrobe, but
my first purchases at the Russian market were purely practical. Within this
maze of winding streets in the old town every item of clothing imaginable is
on sale for next to nothing. My coat, gloves, scarf and hat came in at
around £9 in total. Hardly the heights of fashion, but perfect insulation.
And the next day I was happy to have them. The windswept coastline to the
west of Istanbul felt as unwelcoming as it must have done to the Australian,
New Zealand and British troops who came ashore on the Gallipoli peninsula
back in 1915. Many of my tour group were from Australia and New Zealand. We
were stunned to silent contemplation by the neat rows of gravestones, in
small, lonely cemeteries dotted along the tops of the fir-lined hills. The
place had a strange sense of peace and lonely desolation. The events in
neighbouring Iraq unfolding on TV wherever we stopped lent greater poignancy
to the tales of sacrifice we read in the small museum there made by
thousands of young men on both sides of the war many decades ago. The most
moving monument featured the words of Atatürk, founder of modern Turkey. He
first distinguished himself on these battlefields repelling the Allied
invasion: "There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets where
they lie side by side. Having lost their lives on this land far away… your
sons have become our sons as well."
 Our tour continued southwards down the eastern coast. This stretch of Turkey
holds a remarkable sequence of ancient ruins - places you'll vaguely
remember from school history lessons: Troy, Pergammon, Ephesus. Troy is but
a jumble of stones, the occasional forlorn pillar standing proud on the
horizon. It's hard to imagine the city where Helen the most beautiful woman
in the world once dwelt. Pergamum's delight is its setting. It clings to the
top of a huge stubby hill and provides immense views. A number of bright
white restored columns, adorned with a half pediment stand proudly facing
the distant sea. Just below are the remains of one of the oldest theatres
known to man built into the precipitous hillside.
"The evening culminated in free shots of Raki on the house and a toast to
peace and to returning tourists."
The long drive down to Kusadasi where we were due to spend the night before
surveying Ephesus provided all the variety of scenery you could hope for.
Long rolling groves of olive trees, their wind-ruffled leaves giving the
scene a changing, tactile vibe, green hillsides and always in the
background, mighty mountain peaks doused in snow. As we rounded headlands,
the sea would make a glittering appearance, sparkling in the white rays of
the early springtime sun.
The remains at Ephesus are Turkey's finest. More complete and rewarding than
Pergamum or Troy, a huge library building has had its ornate two storey
facade rebuilt and is a great backdrop for the obligatory group photo. On a
paving stone street nearby we found one of the earliest examples of
advertising - a picture of a woman's head, a footprint, an arrow left and
200 along with a banknote clearly signposted beautiful girls in the town
brothel nearby - but you have to pay for their company. What adds greater
semblance of solidity and permanence to the ruins here is the long paved
colonade down to the library. It was easy to imagine toga-bedecked ancient
locals strolling down past the houses and public baths to the library at the
foot of the hill.
Down town Kusadasi off season is quiet. Streets usually reeling with drunken
tourists seemed forlorn. I took advantage of our group buying power and
negotiated a sensible price for beer when a local bar owner begged us to
come into her empty bar. Will the tourist hoards return despite recent
problems in Istanbul? Certainly everyone in Turkey that relies on the
tourist trade is holding their breath. The evening culminated in free shots
of Raki on the house and a toast to peace and to returning tourists.
Slowly we began a long loop back towards Istanbul. Our next stop after a
long drive in the bus was Pammakule. The strange bright white crystalline
rock formations here have been written about since Biblical times. Some of
these strange saucer shaped terraces are drying up and going a mucky grey
due to overdevelopment, but we splashed our way down the grubby fragmented
path, shoes in hands to reach a plateau below which sparkled dazzling in the
bright sunshine. The heat was a joy after the cold of Istanbul and Gallipoli
just a few days earlier. We paddled around in the bright blue water to the
sound of constant trickling. It’s other worldly, a ski piste that's rock
hard and water-logged.
On then, we proceeded to the fairy kingdom of Cappadoccia. The road wound
round the still, massy steel blue waters of a huge inland lake. The scrabby
hands of cherry trees yet to blossom stretched upwards towards blue skies
and frosted mountain peaks. Ancient tractors pulling trailers-full of little
old ladies in head shawls and leather skinned men cranked along at a snail's
pace as we hurried past. Foothills with small bunkers of snow where the
sun's new heat had failed to penetrate punctuated endless kilometres of
rolling plains. The monotony was broken only by the occasional small town of
grubby kids and ramshackle markets. As we motored onwards, we played tag
with huge lumbering trucks their loads sweating under dirty tarpaulin.
Later that afternoon we wound our way down into a precipitous valley, the
sun already throwing vast shadows across its walls. Belisirma is a tiny
hamlet clinging to the sides of the steep valley. Here the villagers were
exuberantly friendly. Kids charged out to greet us wanting to practice their
English. A little old grandma clasped her grandson to her chest and gave me
a wrinkly grin. We took their picture and promised to send them copies. Life
here seemed a million miles away from cosmopolitan Istanbul. A shepherd
herded his flock to the tune of tinkling sheep bells and the bark of his
pack of dogs down the hill and into their shelter for the night as we sat
and drank tea with the villagers. A group of old ladies, hoes across
shoulders walked back home after a day on the vegetable plot.
"Ancient tractors pulling trailers-full of little old ladies in head shawls
cranked along at a snail's pace as we hurried past. Here cosmopolitan
Istanbul seemed far, far away."
Next day we hit Capadoccia with a vengeance. This area of inner Turkey,
exhibits some of the most alien rock formations. Successive volcanic
eruptions over millennia have left soil with a tough upper layer of basalt
and soft sandstone beneath. The eroding action of the wind and rain slowly
eats into the sandstone leaving lumps of the tougher basalt on top
untouched. The result is fairy chimneys. Strange, wigwam-shaped cones of
soft rock with a dollop of hard basalt on top. Dervent was a vast field of
these strange shapes. Nearby Uchisar was wilder still. Here the funnels of
rock were much larger so the locals cut dwellings into them to create homes.
Some go up several different storeys. Several are now comfortable little tea
houses. Inside you can sprawl on a Turkish carpet, drink tea surrounded by
spirals of cigarette smoke and listen to the strains of someone playing a
traditional old guitar. Elsewhere in the region, local inhabitants carved
down into the rock to create homes deep underground. At Ozkanak we twisted
and turned our way down claustrophobic passageways to find ourselves several
stories below ground. Whole cities of people lived here for months at a time
- these ancient bunkers had their own bakeries, wine presses and meeting
halls. The one thing no archaeologist has yet to work out is what they did
for their daily ablutions. Maybe they ventured briefly above ground?
And finally we were back to the bustle of Istanbul. Turkey's social capital
is a city of contrasts. Europe and Asia thrown together, shaken about and
scattered over 20 square kilometres and 12 million people. Some quarters are
strictly Muslim, others brash celebrations of Mammon, but there seems little
in the way of tension or conflict. We drank and danced in the trendy bars of
Taksim, took the old ferry boats across the Bosphorus and bargained the last
days away in the department stores and bazaars. The clothes shopping is
tremendous. I returned home laden with brand name jeans, T-shirts and shoes
- all at a fraction of the price in the UK. A pair of Levis for £15 sir?
That will do nicely indeed! And that cheap old coat I bought to ward off the
cold? It was strangely redundant just 10 days later in the warm spring
sunshine, but I've kept it anyway. Who knows? I might need it for next time.
Jeremy Head travelled around Turkey on Fez Travel's Magic Carpet Tour.
Jeremy Head is a freelance travel writer. A member of the British Guild of
Travel Writers, his travel writing and photography is regularly published in
the UK's mainstream press (The Guardian and The Times) and specialist travel
publications. To read more of his work log on to www.jeremyhead.com
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