Holland

Pictures

We rushed away from Cappadocia’s hail and snow only to plunge into the Dutch weather.  Well, plunge isn’t so much the correct term, as we spent most of our week or so in Rotterdam indoors and unmotivated.  Maybe it was the accumulated fatigue of nearly 7 months on the road, of the “hard” traveling, or just maybe the perpetual greyness.  Nearly every foray outside was greeted with some combination of face-biting wind, cold wetness, hail, or the entire trifecta.  I’ve never wanted to not leave the house so much.

The whole point was wind down a little.  So, thanks to my cousin Joanne, we were well-fed and well-slept.  The bouts of hibernation were otherwise interrupted by exotic activities like internet surfing sessions and old-fashioned blocks of time in front of the television.  My parents were in town and I even got to see my brother a few times. 

A daytrip to Antwerp delivered the other trifecta – frites with mayo, real Belgian waffles, and croquettes, just the right amount of starch, sugar, and fat to insulate against the weather (yes, I’m still on the weather…)

We weren’t off to anywhere and the backpacks were off our backs.  Ample time was passed at my childhood friend Paul’s house, in attempts to decimate his wine collection.  We even squeezed in a card game and an evening of basketball. 

Every place so far, we’ve stuck with local foods, but Rotterdam does have a few very good Chinese restaurants.  We had been looking forward to a few good meals with friends and family, but not even I had thought it possible, between Tai Wu and De Lange Muur, to go there six times in a week… 

And of course there was the sticker shock.  The metro ride cost 4 euros – ‘nuff said. 

We’re in search of warmer climes.  With the recent airline fares, I was sorely tempted to hop on a flight back to Bali.  Marrakesh sounds good too.

Pictures

Fairy Chimneys

Another 10-hour overnight bus ride nearly behind us, the approach into Goreme from nearby Uchisar revealed a surreal pre-dawn landscape.  There was snow on the ground and bizarre shapes rose out of the Earth, giving new meaning to “winter wonderland.”  The thin “fairy chimneys” were a dream.  A rock castle was carved into the tall cone, and below, little openings of cave dwellings dotted the face.  You’d half expect hobbits or smurfs to emerge from them.

 It was 5 AM and at least -2 Celsius when we dismebarked at the small bus station in the center of town.  The hobbits were still sleeping, but a guy at the adjacent tour agency offered to have us sit inside, where it was warm, until life emerged.  He fixed up a nice cup of tea and we just waited.  The emerging sun bathed the snow covered hils in a gentle glow.  Cave houses and hotels were carved into much of the rock, and behind them, the air balloons rose up.  At about 8, we found a warm hotel to lay our heads down for a couple of hours.

 Then it was time to explore the neighboring valleys, which all bore evidence of the amazing effects of erosion onto soft volcanic tuft.  And many of them used to be inhabited, first by early Christians, and later, the Seljuk Turks.  You could scramble up rough steps into the multi-level chambers, with some even having served as simple churches.  Every bend or hill gave way to visual feast.  At the Goreme Open Air Museum, a cluster of 1000-year old cave Churches provided insight into the life of those same early Christians.  A few beautiful frescoes remained, but much of the insides appeared very rudimentary.    

Suffice to mention that it was absolutely freezing as soon as daylight dwindled.  I’d never used an electric blanket before, but it was oh-so-warm.  At least I could keep my Diet Coke chilled, simply by leaving it out on the outside window ledge. 

For the next day, we joined a tour to check out the distant Ihlara Valley, where the river had cut a deep canyon into the soft Earth.  The poplars were barren and the skies grey.  A few flakes of snow accompanied our short hike, as it was bone-chilling cold, cold, cold.  Over a hundred underground cities lay scattered throughout the region.  Early Christians occupied these fully functional colonies and, supposedly, secret tunnels connected them all.  We visited the vast Derinkuyu – an amazing 14 levels below the ground, where it was just as cold.

That was more or less the story for the remaining day.  Hail ,snow, and ample cups of Turkish tea.  Hope we don't get snowed in.  I'm actually looking forward to the bus ride to Istanbul tonight.

Onwards to the Turkish Riviera

Turkey's been quite a friendly so far.  Of course some folks in the busy tourist centers have a jaded perception of relating to visitors, but we’ve experienced many random acts of kindness.  People have gladly shown us directions, offered snacks on the bus, helped out with stowing the backpacks, and exchanged friendly hellos, all without a sense of quid pro quo, or the uncomfortable feeling you get some places.

March clearly wasn’t the right time to visit parts of Turkey’s Mediterranean coast.  Normally a haven for sun-worshipping Europeans, many of the towns were in hibernation.  Sheets of rain accompanied our windy bus ride to Kas, but luckily there was a break in the weather, as we rolled into the gently sloped town, backed by steep mountains and facing the blue waters.  I missed the warm sun, but not the crowds – since when did I become such an agoraphobe? 

All the boats were in dry-dock and the customary water activities were on ice, so we “did” the town in a few hours.  There was a Friday market where the reddest vine-ripened tomatoes were on offer.  We picked up some fruit and a few savory cilantro, onion, and feta cheese gozleme (Turkish pancakes).  The locals were enjoying the quiet before the arrival of the warm weather and the tourists.

The weather is like a bellydancer we were told.  “One day like this and the next day sun!”  And so it was the next day– clear skies and shimmering blue waters.

We day-tripped east to Demre.  At first, and every subsequent glance, you’d think there was nothing but orange trees and tomato plants (and seemingly nobody picked the ripe fruit).  But there was a small church that used to be presided over by St.Nicholas, now called Noel Baba (or Santa Claus).  Located along the ancient Lycian Way, the hillside held a cluster of fantastically carved tombs.  Of course, there was the requisite amphitheater…  Other notable items:  more oranges, more tomatoes, and Santa’s image on many garbage receptacles (probably not any kind of social commentary though).  Freshly squeezed orange juice was 1 Iira (about $0.55), but given how many oranges were lying about, I thought it wasn’t that much of a bargain…

Another 3 ½ hours east lay Antalya, part of the “Turkish Riviera.”  Fairly large and affluent, the real estate stretched a wide arc on top of the Mediterranean.  You could easily see one end from the other, but the juxtaposition of snow-white mountains and impossibly blue waters was sublime.  Most of the atmospheric pensions and tourist stores were concentrated in the old quarter, behind the remaining Hadrian’s Gate.  It was back to restaurant touts and "want to see my store?" Many of the prices were quoted in Euros, so no deals could be expected.  Near the old castle and Roman harbor, it was bustling, even for a Sunday.

The Aegean and the Mediterranean

Having never really partaken in the “joys” of long distance bus travel before, we’ve been making up for a lifetime.  The last few days were no exception.  From Istanbul to Selcuk, it was a 10-hour overnight trip.  The bus was one of those big Mercedes coaches -- really nice and clean, with leather seats, and even cake and hot beverage service!  It was even mildly thrilling to have the big bus drive right onto the ferry, in order to cross the Sea of Marmara.  36 hours later, we traded a smaller local bus for the 4-hour ride to Pamukkale, and we just completed another butt-numbing 4-hour late night transfer to Fethiye.  Tomorrow, we’ll be heading to Kas, another 3 hours – the price you have to pay to get places…

We had decided to give Troy (apparently of Brad Pitt infamy) a miss, but were keen on seeing Ephesus, billed as one of Turkey’s more dramatic remains of the vast former Roman empire stretching all the way to Egypt.  For such a small place, the adjacent town of Selcuk laid claim to tremendous historical significance.  One of the 7 World Wonders of antiquity, the Temple of Artemis was located there, though nothing remained but one standing pillar, crowned by a giant stork nest.  Selcuk was also visited by St.John and Mary.  In fact, this is where he resided, and was later buried.  Then there was Ephesus, with the oft toured remains of the usual amphitheater, paved roads, and dwellings, but distinguished mostly by the marvelous façade fronting the Library of Celsus.

I had now visited enough amphitheatres for a while, so the town of Selcuk provided welcome diversion.  Despite surviving from tourism, it seemed a regular place.  Men gathered around the central square to hang out and discuss politics, and most of the businesses appeared to cater to locals. Without throngs of tourists, it was a quiet place to stroll. The cruise boats would arrive in the next month, but for now the storks were here.  2 Charming brothers ran Urzmek Hotel and made sure guests felt completely at home.  Many of the eateries were fairly low-key and offered good, cheap food.  The corner stand serving grilled kofte meatballs with roasted onions, peppers, bread, and fresh salad was spot on.

On postcards, the glistening travertines of Pamukkale looked picture-perfect with bathing tourists.  Pamukkale means “cotton castle,” the appearance of the terraced pools formed by the high calcium content of gently dripping spring water.  Alas, the shimmering waters were no more.  You couldn’t climb up, or even take a dip, for the terraces were completely dry.  Without water, the hill looked more like a snow mountain.  The site was ugli-fied with wooden ramps and some of the water was diverted to fill a shallow man-made lake at the bottom.  The pool at the top was filled with same 36-degree Celsius water, but ridiculous at 18 Lira (about $10).  There were more Roman ruins, a vast necropolis, and surprisingly, another amphitheater, all set amongst distant snow-capped mountains.  Below lay the town and the vast green valley.  In truth, the place was worth a visit, but they should stop selling those postcards…

We were the only guests at the nicely appointed and comfortable Melrose Allgau Hotel.  For $25, it was our “blow-out” stay (since when was that a splurge?).  Well, it came with a warm heater, plentiful hot water, good towels, and (for Steph) even a hair dryer.  The evening meal was extra, but the breakfast was over the top.  I’m not especially into homemade preserves, but I am curious how she made peach and orange jam so damn good. 

Arrival in Fethiye was late in the evening.  After walking a mile or two, we found a decent hotel, its one star proudly displayed on the front door.  For the same price, it was miles better than the ones close to the bus station.  Day broke with nothing but grey skies and rain, so we got on the next bus to Kas (but not before the kind lady at the hotel sent us off with the bus schedule and a hug for Steph).   

At Continental Crossroads

The name was enough to draw my interest. Istanbul, the former Constantinople and heart of Byzantine and Ottoman Empires, was a place I’ve always wanted to lay eyes on. 

After a smooth Royal Jordanian flight, we hopped onto the efficient light rail into Sultanahmet, the most visited heart of the city.  First impression was how modern it was.  Coming from Africa and the Middle East, we had now crossed the threshold into Europe.  In fact, sprawling Istanbul straddled 2 continents, with the Bosphorus Strait dividing Europe and Asia.

As expected, the weather ranged from cold and wet to dreary.  Fortunately that also indicated the “low season,” relatively devoid of the tourist crush.  Though I cannot imagine it being anymore crowded than at the obligatory Topkapi Palace, packed with tour hordes admiring all the uninteresting opulence (you can guess it wasn’t my favorite place).  Just nearby, lay the 1500-year old Hagia Sophia, Emperor Justinian’s effort to restore the greatness of Rome.  Huge scaffolds obstructed any sort of grandness that may have existed, but with so much peeling and flaking, the interior looked badly in need of restoration.

With so many significant Mosques and Roman ruins, the city oozed history.  The Blue Mosque looked utterly amazing, so much so that we returned for a second time to admire the stunning domed interior.  Favorites were the Keriye Muzesi with beautiful Biblical mosaics and frescoes and the highly interesting Istanbul Archaeological Museum.  The Alexander Sarcophagus was jaw-droppingly gorgeous, as were many others.  I hadn’t previously been exposed to Hittite, Sumerian, and other Near Eastern artifacts.  The place was so big we needed a nap break on the comfortable chairs.

We spent some time dwelling through the warren of alleys inside the 500-year old covered Grand Bazaar.  Much of it was geared mainly towards tourists, but there were some interesting lamps on offer, assuming you had enough patience to deal.  With the profusion of rug shops, the idle salespeople bombarded any passerby with attempts to lure them in “because looking is free.”  We regretted not picking up a rug in India, so we looked at a few places elsewhere, and walked out with one that was most certainly not close to free.    

 The Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara lay North and South, respectively.  So we boarded a public ferry up the Bosphorus Strait to appreciate the voluptuous Istanbul skyline, punctuated by the characteristic minaret and domed silhouettes.  The sun broke through the clouds and the city looked marvelous. 

 Between all the sightseeing, we did manage to have some meals – mostly the ubiquitous, but cheap and tasty doner sandwiches (chicken or lamb sliced off the rotating spit).  Other times, we dropped in some local restaurants for kebaps and bread, garnished with simple salads.  The tomatoes were properly ripe and the cucumbers distinctly flavorful.  Then there were more doner sandwiches, which I suspect we’ll be having more of, since the purchase of the rug.

Amman and Jerash

Aside from the freezing temperatures in Petra, the whiffs of horse and donkey manure throughout all the ruins rated as forgettable experiences.  After the early morning bus filled up, we were on the way to Amman for two days while waiting for our next flight to Turkey. 

The capitol was compactly settled over several hills.  The contrasts with Egypt were immediate.  Jordan was less populated and more developed, while Egypt seemed more conservative and religious.  In Amman, few women had their faces covered and no men had a callused bump on the forehead from prayers.  Things were orderly with much less shouting, little hassle, and no baksheesh to pay, but Egypt had that certain edge, and the amazing Pharaonic remnants.  Many people spoke English, but the higher prices were the biggest reminder that we were no longer in Cairo.  

Aside from the study in contrasts, there wasn’t much in the way of sights.  We spent some time with Dave, Sylvia, and Steve (whom we met along the way) soaking up the warmer sun around the Citadel ruins and the Roman amphitheatre.  The little museum held some Dead Sea Scrolls and a fair amount of pre-historic artifacts.  The best Roman ruins were in Jerash, which we visited the next day.  The gates and walls, hippodrome, marketplace, colonnaded thoroughfare, and temples were such that a vivid impression remained of a flourishing Roman outpost.  1600-year old Chariot tracks were still grooved into the paved road.

 

The Jordanians were friendly and a giving mood.  Hellos greeted us everywhere.  On the way out from the Roman ruins, Dave walked into a bakery and came out with a flat of pita bread, the guy wanted to no money.  Then we stepped into an adjacent bakery where I picked up 4 sesame cookies.  The cashier just waved me off.  Back at the market Sylvia was handed a free cucumber.  Then at the Ajlun castle, we joined a group of US armed forces personnel on the shuttle up, avoiding the steep walk.  When they said free, they apparently meant it.  

I also had a lot of falafel and I mean it – breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Petra - So cool, you have no idea...

There are only two kinds of visitors to Jordan – those who have been to Petra and those going there. Concealed behind a long narrow 1.2 km canyon, the first glimpse of the glorious Al-Khazneh (Treasury) was uplifting. Hewn from towering rock walls, the imposing facades of the ancient Nabataean temples and tombs were the stuff of imagination. The setting was stunning in its own right, with sheer cliffs, bizarre rock formations, and beautifully colored rock, in variegated maroon, pink, grey, and yellow swirls. It’s one of those places you just have to endeavor to see, and it required nearly an Indiana Jones adventure to get there…
We waited at the Dahab terminal at 9:30 AM. Predictably, the Nuweiba bound bus was late, but we arrived at the ferry terminal at noon. $80/person to cross was exorbitant. I had read some harrowing accounts of the ferry experience into Aqaba, Jordan, so we were expecting the worst.

The departure hall was filled with men, and the number of women could be counted on one hand. It was neither comfortable nor clean, but certainly not as disgusting as described (well, maybe the toilets came close). Every half hour or so, a crowd would noisily collect at the exit door on a rumor of imminent boarding, but wound up getting shouted back by the police.

The advertised 3 pm departure was pure fiction, as nothing happened for some time, when the doors opened to more commotion. After some more shouting, the police picked out the foreigners and let us through, before the scrum resumed. Then followed the bag drop-off, ferry boarding, and passport handling, all while the rest of the people were held back. We felt uncomfortable regarding the preferential treatment, but were glad not to have to jostle our way through. When was the last time, a foreigner was allowed to proceed to the front of the line back home?

The two-hour crossing wasn’t bad and it was dark upon disembarkation in Jordan. Not wanting to waste a night in Aqaba, we joined with two others to hire a taxi to take us to Petra straightaway. Only 2 more hours and we would be there.
I knew the weather had been inclement over the weekend, but a biting cold began as we gained altitude. Despite the thick fog and badly reduced visibility, the 6-inch layer of roadside white powder was unmistakable. Who made winter in the warm desert? The driver wasn’t feeling very comfortable anymore (neither did we), so he stopped at the hillside police station. “The road to Petra is closed.”

We could not turn back, so the police insisted we stay at the station until the morning. They had a spare room, heated and with a few beds. Outside it was freezing and wet, and we would be their guests. Sounded fine, but the commander later decided we had to move on to Ma’an, since we did have a car. 

 Ma’an was dark and shut. There was one rest house, but the driver didn’t think it was very good. He was a Bedouin, and we would stay at his parents’ home for the night. Okay…. Another 45 km later, we met a few of the brothers, all policemen. They poured tea and made us a few beds in the sitting room. It was a house, not a tent.

After a breakfast of tea, pita bread, cheese, and sesame, we drove to Petra. The blanketed hillsides were a veritable winter wonderland. It was a harrowing trip, but we had made it. Petra was beautiful, but I could not ever recall a few days so cold. Nights were freezing – we could see the vapor from our breath, inside the room. You guessed we weren’t staying at the Marriot or Crowne-Plaza, because they probably turned on the heater and the hot water…