The legend of Kizkalesi - the Maiden's Castle - is, as we all know, that a king built a castle on an island in the Mediterranean for his daughter because a fortune teller predicted she would die from a snake bite. There were no snakes on the island so all was well until about her 17th birthday, when someone send a basket of grapes to the princess and the bad ol' snake jumped out and bit her. We were blessed to have romped at Kizkalesi back in the 1960s. The castles, built in the 13th century, are still there and looking pretty much the same. But the Turks have discovered life at the beach. There are hotels everywhere and Turks by the thousands cooling off in the Mediterranean waters. While Judy and Susie paddled out to the castle offshore, I hiked and waded over to the one on the mainland. Except for all the people, the stretch of beach we camped at over Easter vacation in 1964 looked pretty familiar. I'm not sure, but some of the beach may have washed away because the water seemed a little higher. At least there wasn't oil on the beach. We'd been joking about that possibility. We'd been warned about the hotels and the development so it didn't catch us by complete surprise. I saw a few fish as I waded to the castle, so the water is still healthy. I stood on the beach by the castle and tried to picture us all camped out there - boys sleeping on one side of the camp fire, girls on the other side and the chaperones in between. After lights out, we guys would crawl down to the water's edge and belly our way over to the girl's side. I imagined us dancing at night to Meet the Beatles - an album someone had received from stateside. The Fab Four had dazzled America long before we ever heard them on a battery-operated 78 rpm record player on the beach at Silifke. Like Ankara, Kizkalesi was a place we were happy to see getting smaller in the rear view mirror. I find it strange that in a country so old we had a pristine part of it just a few years ago. And now it's gone. The good news is that there are other nearly isolated beaches further west along the Turkish Mediterranean coast road. We stopped near another castle a few miles west where we swam and snorkeled. Our nearest neighbors were a quarter mile away in a van. It's a long and winding road, but a beautiful drive. It's right up there with Big Sur. The scenery is breathtaking.

Tractors are an acceptable mode of transportation in Turkey. We've frequently encountered them chugging down the road at a snail's pace. Sometimes, they'll be carrying cargo of some sort. Other times, Mom and the kids are piled aboard for what is probably a ride into town. The trucks crawl along not much faster than the tractors. Susie says the trucks all look like the Grinch's sleigh, piled twice as high as they are wide with whatever it is they are carrying. And, thank goodness, there is still the occasional donkey with rider. Ashak? Alongside the road, natives patiently wait for someone to buy whatever crop is ripe at the moment. We did potatoes yesterday. Bananas and pears were hot items today. We saw more single family homes than ever before, but still not many. The Turks seem married to the four-story apartment building. From Ankara to the small towns, they are everywhere. What else is everywhere are half completed four story apartment buildings. I remember them from Ankara. That's one thing that hasn't changed. We are on our third day of driving along the Turkish coast of the Mediterranean. In Antalya last night, a travel agent Judy worked with to set up this trip came by to see her. Judy had seen something on Turkish TV that morning in Kizkalesi about an explosion in Istanbul, she thought. The travel agent told her it had been an earthquake, a big earthquake. It sounds as though it hit hardest along the stretch we drove from Istanbul to the Black Sea to watch the eclipse. Istanbul, Bolu, Zonguldak - these were all familiar dots on a map to us. Ayetool, the psychologist wife of the physicist I talked with the night before the eclipse had family in Zonguldak. They were going back there after the eclipse. I hope they are OK. We were a week ahead of the earthquake. Back in 1987, I flew in a Pan Am jet over Scotland a month before the Lockerbie disaster. I lead a charmed life. Who said we led the lives of the children of millionaires as we grew up overseas? We sure did. I hope none of my Istanbul friends were hurt. We'll be back there in about a week to find out. The Turkish coastline is beautiful. From Kizkalesi, we drover to Anamur and spent the night. A half dozen Turkish children accosted the women at the hotel swimming pool in Anamur. The children wanted to know where Judy and Susie were from and how they felt about Ataturk. They also asked about Bill Clinton and wanted to know if they knew Monica Lewinsky. Later on, when I was trying to coax a beer from the unmanned pool bar, they surrounded me. They asked who I liked more - Bill Clinton or Ataturk. I told them it was Ataturk, hands down. At least he could keep is pants zipped. Or maybe not. Judy thinks he died of syphilis and I've been telling her she's thinking of Al Capone. Anyway, the kids didn't understand the part about the zipper. Since Istanbul, the best English we've encountered is broken. I've told everyone, though, their broken English is lots better than my broken Turkish. We got in an elevator yesterday, checking into the hotel, and the bellboy pushed the button and the elevator didn't do anything. "Just a minute," he said. I all of a sudden remembered the Turkish counterpart, "Bir Doka" and said it aloud. He started spewing many sentences in Turkish. I was embarrased to admit my Turkish was extremely limited.

In Anamur, we backtracked out of town to the east to check out Marmure Castle. The guidebook said it was open until 5 or 6 p.m. and we didn't get there until at least 7:30 p.m. But there were a couple Turks delighted to take our admission fee and show us around. It was a marvelous maze of ancient walls and stone stairways and shafts. I think it was built around the 12th century but it was occupied as recently as the Ottoman Empire - 1920, before Ataturk gave them all the bum's rush. Looking to the courtyard inside the castle, I was reminded of boot camp. I could imagine all the warriors getting up way too early every morning and doing exercises in the courtyard, followed by laps around the perimeter. A grown up Turk at the Anamur Hotel told us the Turkish coast got better as we traveled further west. But he was from Ankara and when I told him I used to live in Cankaya, he told me that was a very nice part of town. That made me wonder about his credibility but he was right about the coast. The scenery just got better and better. The snorkeling and swimming in the Med is wonderful. The roads have sometimes been long and winding but there are few potholes and the Turkish drivers are OK, once you learn to expect anything from them. And, my friends, I am here to tell you there ARE traffic laws in Turkey. I got a ticket today. Once in awhile, alongside the road, you come across Traffik Control. It's a Polis car and some cones out in the road. We've driven by many of them since we've been here. Judy said the other day she thought they were just flagging down vans filled with suspected terrorists. We've always just driven right on by with no problem. Not today, though.

Our rented 5-speed Renault is kind of gutless compared to my 5-speed RX-7, but the idea is the same. Judy gets irritated when I downshift through the gears to slow down, accelerate out of the turns and do all that other fun stick shift stuff. She wants me to drive it like she does - as if it's her Honda Accord, an automatic (snore). On these winding roads, chances to pass come and go quickly. You've got to be ready for them. I was driving behind some little car, looking for a way around, when I spotted a short straightaway, shifted down for more power and stomped on the accelerator. I was around him in a flash but suddenly there was a Traffik Control cop standing at the side of the road, waving for me to pull over. For a split second, I thought about just keeping on going. He wasn't even in his car. But, hey, this is Turkey. I pulled over. Maybe he just wanted to check the car registration. I gave him the papers from the glove box, my passport and Washington driver's license. He went across the highway to his polis car which was parked in the shade of a tree. He started filling out papers. The two guys I'd passed had been pulled over, too. I had to pay 11.3 million Turkish Lira on the spot. I gave him $20 U.S. and some TL and went on my way. I'm not sure whether I was ticketed for speeding, passing in a no passing zone or passing at an intersection. I mean, I know I did all of those things but everyone does it over here. Sometimes there are little kilometers per hour signs by the road but they seem to be a joke. Drive at those speeds and you'll be run over by slow moving trucks. The guys I passed got a ticket, too. Maybe they were driving too slow in a no passing zone. Remember what they said about Turkish law? If you're walking down the street and a car jumps the curb and hits you, it's partially your fault for being there. Sorry, guys.

Somewhere in the last couple days, we also saw our first Roman ruins. Don't hold me to this but I think it was called Perge. It was a city first built in the 12th or 13th century BC. We're talking more than 3,000 years ago. Alexander the Great conquered it around 334 BC. Centuries of earthquakes and just the toll of time have reduced it to mostly rubble, but there are still some magnificent structures - columns, walls, pedestals, capitals. I walked the stone road all the way through town to its end. The stones were worn smooth and grooved my centuries of feet. I took off my shoes, walked barefoot and imagined I might be putting my feet in the same place Alexander might have. At the far end of the road, part of a magnificent edifice still stands, with part of a statue of the River God reclining on a ledge. The River God edifice is uphill from the rest of the city and the instructional signs said water would be carried to the edifice and poured into a trough, where it would flow downhill through fountains in the middle of the street, "bringing water and coolness." It gives me the shivers to think how nice it must have been. If you want to come back to Turkey, you might want to skip August. The heat and humidity have been formidable.

We stopped by the Heaven Bar in Bodrum last night, looking for dinner. On the walk there, Judy asked me what I thought of Bodrum. I answered that it seemed like a wonderful town, very international. But it wasn't Turkey. American music blared from the bars and restaurants we passed. We'd spent a delightful day on the water, motoring around to various islands and beaches, where we could snorkel. At Camel Beach, Susie walked ashore and rode her first camel. I took a couple shots of her on the beast. After the 100 foot ride, we learned it would cost her 2 million TL. Heck the 7-hour boat ride only cost us 5 million TL each - about $11. And that included a pretty decent lunch. I've been on worse boat rides out of Maui and Key West for LOTS more money than that. The prices are great in Turkey. The Turks are wonderful hosts. But they had Cher belting out some numbers on the ship's sound system. For me, it just wasn't Turkey. Somehow, as we made the big right hand turn from the Mediterranean Sea up the Aegean (the Turks call it the Ege), we left Turkey behind and entered Vacationland. We could have been anywhere. I hadn't eaten Turkish food in two days. It turns out the Heaven Bar only serves drinks. We had our usual "uc tane bira". That's sort of been our theme for the trip. It's pronounced something like, "Ooch Tawney Beera" and it means something like, "three of them beers." Everywhere we go, we're always starting off with uc tane bira. Remember how pathetic Turkish beer tasted? Let me tell you, it's just wonderful after an entire day of high temperatures, high humidity, sun beating down on you and your pores washed clean from all the perspiration. Judy says one of her fears before this trip was going to be finding bathrooms while we were on the road. It hasn't been a problem because you sweat everything out. Even all the Ooch Tawney Biras. When the guy at the Heaven Bar told us he didn't serve food, he asked what sort of food we wanted and I blurted out, "Turkish food" before Judy and Susan had a chance to say anything. He told me there were no good Turkish restaurants on the road we were on. And it was the main road in Bodrum, right across the street from the harbor where a fleet of magnificent wooden ships were moored. Ours was the 16 meter Diggedey. I'm guessing at the spelling, because the boat didn't have a name painted on it. One of the crew told me the name is a Turkish word for something like, "Wow!" They said it was for sale at $45,000. Two cabins downstairs with room for a third. The Heaven Bar guy said he'd go ask a friend for the name of a good Turkish restaurant in town. He came back a few minutes later and said there were no good Turkish restaurants in the entire town. He had flyers for a Mexican/Indian/Chinese place in one direction on the main street, and an Indian/Chinese place in the other. He told us he could probably get us a free bottle of wine at the second place. And this is where the "amazing Turk" part starts to slip in. While we're chatting with him, it comes out that we used to live in Ankara, several years before he was born. His eyes light up when we toss out phrases like Cankaya and "Ataturk Boulevard." He's from Ankara, it turns out. And so is another waiter at the Heaven Bar. Pretty soon, we're all sitting around the table talking about Ankara. The waiter turns out to be his cousin. They are going to work in Bodrum until the fall, then return to Ankara for the off season. At some point, I try to convey the message that we are part of a group of a hundred or more A-people across America and that we stay in touch. He wanted to know if all the A-people were coming to Turkey. I said I'm sure some will. The Ankara bonding is instantaneous. When we've finished our beers, he personally escorts us a couple hundred meters down the street to the Chinese/Indian restaurant. He shouts out a few instructions in Turkish and we are led to the premier table - dead middle and farthest out on the sidewalk. We can watch everyone coming, going and passing by. The maitre d' at the restaurant is ALSO from Ankara! We get a free bottle of pretty good white wine and we are surrounded by friends. I think he was the Heaven Bar guy's cousin, too.

The Turks have huge families and they cater to each other. It started with the Grand Bazaar, where I was looking for a gold puzzle ring. If the store I was at didn't have it, they would offer me a seat, then call to some boy - about 8 or 9 years old - and shout some instructions to him. He'd dash out the door to some other store, probably a cousin's, and return with a better version of whatever it was I wanted. They do it in restaurants, too. We ordered our "uc tane bira" and fish at a restaurant next to Marmure Castle and we could see a boy running across the highway to fetch beers from another restaurant. These Turks are a very "can do" sort of people. They will always say they have what you need, even if they don't. They'll just send some kid out to get it. I am in awe of their entrepreneurial prowess. On our boat trip out of Bodrum yesterday, we'd motor to an island, drop anchor and everyone could get out and swim, snorkel, or just lay around. First, a couple Turks in a speed boat drove up trying to sell us ice cream out of a cooler on their craft - sort of a marine good humor man. Then, up drives a guy with a jet ski perched on his craft, asked if we want to rent the jet ski. Another couple guys come by offering rides on on their "banana boat." It holds eight people and they drag it around and try to make everyone fall off. I didn't do it but it looked like fun. There's also a peculiar way in which food is served. Everywhere, two people come out with the tray of food. One holds the tray while the other removes the plates and sets them on the table. Judy thinks it's a way to keep more people employed. I find it kind of classy. But I also figure the servers are probably cousins. I think I've already discussed the Turk approach to panhandling. It isn't done, except in the most desperate of cases. While America boasts on nearly any street corner a homeless vet willing to work for food (right), over here they at least find some service or product to sell you. Shoe shines, bags of nuts, mystery fruit by the side of the road. They'll even just sit around with a set of bathroom scales, hoping you'll give them 100,000TL just to find out how much weight you've gained recently. I saw one poor guy with a coffee can in his lap, or what was left of his lap, working his way up a street in Istanbul. Some Turk put some money in the can as he walked by, though the guy didn't appear to be begging. His legs had been amputated at what appeared to be his hips. Another time I saw a very sorry looking woman with a baby, laying on the sidewalk, reaching out for donations. Those were the only two "freeloaders" I've seen, if you could call them that. Everyone else has at least tried to offer something in return for your money.







Back        Next



        AnkaraFamily.Net Copyright ©