Turkey- don’t you like… eat that???
From left: Two Frogs, Antoine and Max; Two Kiwis, Benji and Mark.
Istanbul felt good. Us kiwi’s found it so refreshing to be in a seaside city again with a view of the water. We were lucky enough to stay on the hillside of Bengoglu. Under the stifling heat we explored the area of Taksim on the hill, weaving through the narrow alleys of shops, restaurants, fresh fish on ice, and fruit stalls. Shopkeepers and restaurateurs were always offering a free bottle of wine, or cheap kebab. It was a non-stop ride of smells, sounds and sights, and we felt we had been absorbed by this living bustling city. We were looking forward to what we thought would be a cheap exploration of the wonder of Turkish food, but it turns out Taksim, or Istanbul in general is not the place where good food and cheap prices go hand in hand… a beer would cost you $8, we would have to wait for the Anatalya (Asian-Turkey) for that.
An entire shop dedicated to Turkish delight…a sweet tooth’s heaven.
Getting slapped by a big fat sweaty man.
It was stinking hot and we had now been sweating solidly since 8am and hadn’t showered since Bulgaria. Off to the Hammam! (Turkish bath). A cool 20euro later we were shown to our little room armed with a scrubber and a tartan tea towel, and told to come out just in the tea towel. We gingerly walked across to the marble partitions in constant fear we’d make a scene and our little tea towels might show some white cheek, and were ushered into the steam room. I thought I’d already lost a couple of Kg in sweat alone that day… and after a couple of minutes I wondered whether I’d walk out looking like a deflated doll. So amongst some sweaty beasts we lie on the huge marble slab as the sweat drips off the slab, looking up at the small porthole windows to outside, the same view bathers had 400 years ago. Occasional baths of hot and cold water were taken depending on mood till the fat moustached Turk said it was my turn. Lying down on the edge of the slab next to where he stood, he promptly ‘tucked in’ my little tea towel, so I could tell we were already friends. A lot of beating later, he even cracked my chest and back (was he a licensed chiropractor too??) I was ready for soaping. Big Kayla (the ‘stached turk) was quite thorough and the amount of filth that came off after 2 months on the road was quite disgusting. Feeling very lazy and relaxed we were told to shower off and go back to our rooms for a nap or some tea. We took both, and for the rest of the day just walked round goofily in ultimate relaxation. Highly recommended, if not a little expensive for a fat man beating the crap out if you.
Antoine figuring out how to cover everything with just a tea towel
Back in our little rooms, chilling out and acting goofy after sweating out the days energy…
What a Bazaar challenge…
Our next little cultural challenge was planned to take place in the grand bazaar in Istanbul. With images of thin lines of stalls stocked to the hilt with carpets, glassware, food and clothes, we weren’t far off. We had met up with two blond haired/blue eyed Danes in Istanbul who we’d met on a Bulgarian train, and they had warned us we’d drink literally about 20 glasses of Turkish tea with shopkeepers as we passed each stall. Well crap, maybe we should have shaved, because the only tea we had we paid 1.50 lire for (usual street price 0.50 lire).
The challenge- Frogs vs Kiwis, 5 lire (about $5) to spend on some kind of clothing, 10 minutes, best costume wins. Pre challenge recce showed that bargaining was difficult, and we soon realised this had become a lot more of a tourist trap than a local market for Istanbulians. It was Challenge time, but the frogs needed convincing of basically throwing away 5 lire. Tight bastards. Anyhow, we set off and the result turned out to be fairly contestable. The cheese munchers came back (apparently) after 17 minutes with a red fez and muslim style hat. We arrived a cool 35 mins later with Benji in quite a flash muslim style hat, and mark in a pink jangly coined veil. We certainly had the BEST garments (the goal), they had time on their side. We thought we’d settle on a draw, but again, the cock is a proud animal, so the third umpire has been called. The now veiled and quite attractive Mark still didn’t receive any free tea.
Although a bit quick, we’d managed to squeeze in a swim in the Bosphorus, stuff ourselves full of kebab most days, visit the blue mosque, and check out the Topaki palace and the Harem where the Sultan’s ‘ladies’ were kept in Istanbul. Next stop was a bit special for us Kiwis- Gallipoli and Anzac cove. For our full experience check out our special ANZAC blog.
SPQR’s eastern jewel.
After walking the fields of our ANZAC fathers we heading south towards the Mediterranean stopping of in a little town called Selcuk for one of the most impressive and well preserved Roman cities we’d ever seen. We were told Ephesus was only a couple of kms up the road, so like the budget travellers we are we headed out of town on foot. A kilometer up the tree lined highway we came across some metal structures that resembled playground equipment. We deduced that it was a fitness circuit, so decided it was only fitting to try out the Turkish apparatuses. With Benj jumping straight on what can only be described as some kind of torso-twister and Max with his long gangly legs on the cross trainer we thought leapfrog was just about ready to make its move into the realm of morning TV aerobics. With that out of our system we moved on to the real highlight – although the morning exercise was inspiring. Ephesus, a major port city during the Roman empire had our jaws in the dust. The 40,000 seat amphitheatre, where Sting among others have played, was unbelievably spectacular, even given the recent restoration of some of the seats and addition of contemporary lighting. The view from the top of the arena down what was the main stone boulevard to the port was only the start. We headed around into the valley that cradled the city and were met by the Main Avenue of Ephesus. With the façade of the massive four storey library still almost completely intact it is the first time we have actually felt inside an ancient city, rather than just meandering through ruins. The aqueducts and street paving are all still in place as well as the brothel and public toilets, one service Tonito enjoyed a little too much. PHOTO.
With our appetites filled by this most real dose of ancient antiquity we headed back to our Hotel for an early night with the hope that we would be able to get up bright eyed and bushy tailed to watch the All Blacks crush the Springboks… we should have stayed in bed. Luaki must have had the bar of soap in his hands from the mornings shower because he averaged one knock on every 30 seconds from his 10 mins on the field. We felt we had been robbed of 80mins of our lives… and along with every other Kiwi, wanted to dive into a hole and hope what we’d seen was a bad dream. But like the die-hard fans we are – well at least us kiwis are – we have faith… I think… onwards and upwards they say. So with that behind us we headed for one of Turkey’s most famous sites, the white terraces of Pammukale.
Turkey’s own Pink and White Terraces…
We’d seen amazing photos of the white pools of Pamukkale. They were supposed to be very similar to the Pink and White terraces destroyed by Mt Tarawera in NZ, so it would be interesting to experience what they might have been like. Ironically this natural wonder was nearly destroyed too, but by a hotel above, people driving motorbikes to the pools, and people wearing shoes on the brilliant chalk pools. Luckily UNESCO stepped in and saved what was left. Surrounded by a sun-burnt green valley and dusty mountains in the distance, the bright white terraces and aqua blue pools of Pamukkale seem so out of place. Caused by chalk deposits from the springs that poor from the hillside, we couldn’t wait to relax in the cool waters with such a beautiful view below. It seemed kinda surreal sitting there in the heat surrounded by a bright white you’d usually only have amongst snowy slopes.
In need of a little bit of beach therapy, we had been told the tourist town of Olympos would be a great place to relax by the deep blue Mediterranean, and stay in the local ‘tree house’ accommodation. Although very relaxing, this didn’t prove to be the cool off the radar cultural hotspot we’ hoped for. Apart from being made from trees (wood), the tree houses weren’t really tree houses. The closest you got to being in a tree was in the shaky second storey of the cabin. One ‘hostel’ had over 600 beds! The good people and friends we made there made up for the tourist overkill.
Shit happens….
You always have small challenges when travelling. Sometimes you mess up, sometimes shit happens. Travelling to Cappadocia from Olympos wasn’t an easy task. You had to catch one mini bus up the hill cafe behind the bay, wait for another to Anatalya 90 minutes away, and then catch another 12 hour monster to beautiful Cappadocia. The mini buses were typically full so I jumped on the first alone, and waited for the others at the roadside café. 40 minutes later the Frogs turned up, asking where Mark was, and said they just had to go. Well, cock! I had to make the decision that somehow Mark was ok, somewhere, with no money (I had it), and take the very next bus. Arriving in Anatalya at 8:33 for the 8:30 bus expecting the boys to be waiting… tumbleweeds! Cock again! I walked from stop to stop asking for the capadoccia bus wondering what would become of me with 12 lire ($NZ12) and no passport (Mark was holding that for me). About 8:45 I heard Mark calling me from somewhere on a platform loaded with 10 buses and 500 people. Phew… but the bus had just left. Cock again! The frogs had gone on, and Mark had volunteered to stay behind.
The circus was to continue. The bus company offered to hold the bus at the next stop. 45 minutes later we were pulling into Turkey’s version of bum-fuck-middle-o-nowhere tumbleweed town, with our bus already gone again. Bugger! Back to Analtaya (this time we have to pay).Arriving back at the station just after midnight, we chose to catch the bus the next night, turning down the morning bus as the All Blacks were playing Australia in the morning. Bedtime.
Unwilling to look for a cheap hotel at this hour we stumbled into the park behind the bus station, pulled out the sleeping bags among the prickles hiding us from the view of the road, and wondered where that awful smell was coming from. Despite the sleeping bag up to our faces, and my beard and eyebrows covering 90% of my face, we were getting eaten alive by mosquitoes. I have never been bit on the nose before, but the little buggers got me 4 times. That was the last straw, so we strained to breath with our insecticide coated flea net draped over our faces.
Waking with the sun, and the discovery of the pile of rotten fruit and fleas about 2 metres from our heads, we went directly into town to sort out a pub for the game. 6 pubs later (one I went through 800 channels with the owner) we ended up listening to it on internet radio. The win over the wallabies made all the previous day’s issues fade away. All Blacks 36, Australia 19. We could now go to Cappadocia happy little kiwis.
The Fairy chimneys of Cappadocia.
We were promised stunning scenery in Cappadocia and our first site certainly set the scene. Arriving by overnight bus at 6am, we neared the edge of the Goreme valley below to see large rock towers and the sky filled with hot air balloons. Called ‘fairy chimneys’, these natural rock forms got there name when outsiders came upon them for the first time and saw the smoke billowing from their tops and lights from the inhabitants living inside – hence, there must be fairies inside!
With only a couple of days left in Turkey, we decided to blow a days budget worth on a ‘real’ Cappadocian Turkish evening experience. We hadn’t seen the famous ‘twirling dervishes’, a local dance performed by men spinning a lot wearing white dresses and renowned fez hats. The show was a companied by a fair amount of local wine, beer and vodka… needless to say it wasn’t long before they had us up doing our own versions, with Max being the proud team member to receive a very public belly-dance lesson… Since the rake that is Max doesn’t actually have a belly to roll, he struggled initially but made it up with his enthusiasm and showmanship.
Note to all women (and only women) – Belly dancing is hot! Although our belly dancer wasn’t amazing looking, the skimpy outfit, dangly jingly coins, belly rolling and body shaking proved to be quite attractive. Our night was finished off in true Cappadocian style at the rightly named Flintstone’s bar… Only in a town built into rock and as comical in form as Goreme, can you legitimately name a bar after the most famous of cavemen and although we didn’t finish partying to the B52’s, it was a fitting end to our Turkish experience, for our next adventure was one of endurance…
Turkish buses and the bow-tied menace…
Our last few days in Turkey have been marked by a bit of a mega journey, but it won’t be the last. Because we are cheap we decided to hang around the cave hostel (not actually a cave, just as cold, dark and damp as one) all day for the midnight bus to Ankara. All of the buses we’d taken in Turkey had a bow tied ‘waiter’ offering tea, biscuits and cake. Once on this bus, completely knackered and ready for sleep, it wasn’t long before the ‘devil in bow tie’ was haunting us again. Rolling around searching for anything to purchase our heavy heads, we’d just drop off into the lightest of sleeps only to be pulled back to hell. The itinerary went like this: 12:10am: Bus arrives. No changing rake of seat until 1am. Dropping off to sleep… 1:30am: Coffee and cake. (Benji woken with a mini cake slapped on his chest). 2:30 am: Pick- up more passengers- get 5 shoulders direct to the noggin as they pass. 3:30 am: Lights go on, announcement over loudspeakers we have arrived at some refreshments/souvenir joint. (why the F*** do I or any of the locals want souvenirs at 330am????) 4am: Lights out- we’re back on the road in our ‘sleeper’ bus. 4:30am: Coffee time- woken again to see whether we want caffeine to help us stay awake (we were sleeping you little pr***). 5:20am: Bus arrives in Ankara. If you thought we are usually grumpy in the morning- wow- I would have taken on The Ultimate Warrior in that mood.
Ultimate Warrior…. Bring it!
A mini bus later we were at Ankara train station, a sesame bagel thing and chocolate cake for breakfast, and then we were on our 60 hour train ride to Tehran. We’re 20 hours in and the toilets don’t smell half as bad as in Bulgaria.. there’s hope yet.
