Why did we go?

Because of the ones who had gone before.

We swam in a crew of seven. Four of us called out instructions, warnings, advice. Two of us lagged behind, riding the waves on the strength of our fellows. One bobbed along in good cheer. Together, we bridged the moat and charged the castle.

We staggered over the seashore defenses, pricking our feet on the pebbles. We penetrated the walls unopposed. We scaled the battlements and admired the land that lay beyond, back from whence we came. We gathered together beneath the stars and rested there, in the serenity of a challenge well-met.

Why do we return?

For the ones who will follow.

We made friends with the Sphinx guardians of an ancient Hittite capital.

More photos to come, once we leave the mountains for better Internet access!  This image comes from our travels last Friday, May 16.

“How do Muslims believe they are saved?”

We had settled onto a raised dais that once contained the altar of a church. Turks had re-built it as a mosque. Unlike the Hagia Sophia, the queen of Turkey’s re-purposed churches, this structure had no other visitors save our tour group. We had entered a silent hall, we women wrapped in scarves and long skirts, everyone barefoot. Overhead, iron bars pierced the marble Byzantine columns, reinforcing the stone. Across the floor, two men knelt in prayer. At our side, Mehmet concluded his brief introduction to the religion of Islam and invited questions.

In the silence that followed, I clarified my query: “How do Muslims get to Paradise?” Read the rest of this entry →

“When I pull this string, you will lose a finger. Are you ready?”

 The carpet salesman looped a strand of silk around my index finger. He had graciously selected my left hand. I looked into his eyes and nodded.

 He grinned. “American women are very brave, yes?”

 Black belts are brave, too, I thought as I nodded again, grinning back at him.

 “Okay, then. One…

 “Two…

 “Three!”

Read the rest of this entry →

Losing four hours of sleep. Disturbing the locals. Exposing myself to long grass full of snakes, ticks, biting ants… Any number of difficulties might have dissuaded me. I even dreamed that the leader of our small expedition had appeared in my room in the earliest hours of the morning to cancel our expedition. Still, when 4:30am arrived, I awoke and forsook my bed.

We hiked west, out of our mountain hotel’s courtyard, down a dirt road, and into the hills. The call to prayer wailed at us, and the moonlight wept on us, but the hilltop beckoned us on. The clocks had not yet struck 5 am.

Read the rest of this entry →

Dinner in Ankara, May 15

Friday, May 16: I had allotted five minutes for riding to the third floor, collecting my suitcase, and boarding the bus. Clutching the remnants of my breakfast, I stared at the elevator numbers. Why weren’t they glowing? Why wasn’t I moving?

At our five-star hotel’s breakfast buffet, I had eaten fresh apricots, Brie on bread, smoked salmon, and five pieces of Turkish delight. The apricots baffled one of my classmates. “How do you eat it?” “It’s just like a peach,” I reassured her. She replied, “I’ve never eaten a peach before.”

Just as I was wondering whether I should go solicit that classmate for help, the elevator swung into motion. When the doors cracked open to reveal a young man with luggage in tow, I skipped out past him. Halfway down the hall, I paused.

This was the wrong floor. Read the rest of this entry →

Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar

This evening in the Grand Bazaar, we conducted a social experiment: First, I traveled in a group of four girls. There are three thousand vendors in the bazaar, and every other shopkeeper leaned out of his door to shower us with calls of “Hi, beautiful girls” and “Charming angels!” Then we asked Josh, one of our classmates, to accompany us. The heckling collapsed into “Welcome.”

 By then we had beat half an hour examining their stock of scarves, jewelry, candy, and leather. Too cagey to buy and too nervous to browse, we were wishing our guide had allowed us less time in the market. “If I offered that shopkeeper five lira,” one of us wondered, “would he let me sit on his stool for twenty minutes?” “Why don’t they have a store full of benches for rent?” “They have that in Italy.” “In America, you can pay to sit in a massage chair.” “In America,” I pointed out, “the malls have benches for free.”  The Turks expect more out of their shoppers.