They Don't Eat Turkey in Turkey.

That's true; I was there, and not a turkey was to be seen anywhere. You see, turkeys aren't from Turkey.  They originated in North America. When introduced to Europe they were considered exotic, and exotic birds were thought to come from Asian countries. So, they became known as turkeys.

Of course Porky Pig and all other "oinkers" are safe as well, since Turkey is a Moslem country, and Moslems don't eat pork. They do eat sheep though; shish-ka-bobs, sheep meat, or baby sheep meat grilled on skewers.  It's mighty tasty. The meat is from long-tailed sheep, although I'm not sure I can distinguish the difference between long-tailed and short-tailed sheep meat. Kinda like trying to tell if your burger was made of Herford or Santa Gertrudis beef.

Sheep meat is served in a lot of stews as well.  I don't know why the Turks eat a lot of stews.  Maybe it's because they have a limited number of cooking pots, I'm not sure. In some places you have fish, primarily near one of the five bodies of water that border Turkey. Fish is cooked with the head on. My dear wife refuses to eat a fish that is looking at her. However, most lovers of fish like me believe that the more intact a fish is when cooked the better the flavor.

What the Turks serve a lot of is vegetables, including many varieties of beans and squashes. There are zucchinis and pumpkins as well as others. They boil 'em, roast 'em, grill 'em, and of course put 'em in stews. Not any of these squashes are known for their robust flavor, but, the Turks excel in their use of spices.  Even the most boring slice of zucchini can be "kicked up a notch" (I got that from Emeril Lagasse.) with herbs and spices. Cumin, saffron, nutmeg, garlic, cinnamon, and others are for sale in large containers at the outdoor markets. I'll bet there are a hundred different ways to fix zucchini, and every one of them is tasty. We enjoyed a number of soups for lunch. A bowl of soup was usually about 4.5 Turkish Lira. But at one place they charged  

us 9.5 TL. (I guess they saw the big gold tour bus coming and hiked up the price.)  We had bulgar wheat, lentil, and chickpea soup.  I especially like the chickpeas cooked in olive oil and paprika. There were a great variety of breads as well, but, alas, no cornbread. You see, the Turks don't eat corn.  A French influence?  The pastries are delightful and too numerous to name, many with honey, figs, and dates.  At our hotels' breakfast buffets there would be over fifty different pastries, many the size ofhors d'oeuvres.  

I would be remiss, no, very remiss, if I did not mention Turkish yogurt. I like yogurt, and I hope this fact does not damage my "macho" image.  It's good for you, and and tastes good.  Even Jamie Lee Curtis agrees with me about this. Turkish yogurt is extremely thick and rich.  You can stick a spoon in it, and it will stand up straight.  Flip your plate upside down, and it won't fall off. Mix local honey straight from the comb with it, add some poppy seeds, and it is a treat fit for the gods. They eat a lot of good food in Turkish Asia-Minor, but don't look for turkey on the menu.

Afterthought: Beverages in Turkey usually consist of water (which you cannot drink), tea, and coffee. Tea is strong and sweet, and is usually served in a small glass for 2 TL. Bottled water is available.  Even though Turkey is a Moslem country, and drinking alcohol is against the teachings of Islam, beer and wine are available. I found "Efes" beer compatible with mainstream American lagers. The local high octane beverage is called raki.  It is a clear odorless liquid that I'm sure would burn with a pale blue flame. There is a reason they offer it accompanied with water. 

A Bit Off the Beaten Path

Hittite Vase

"Ankara" Yesim said accenting the first syllable and rolling the "r". "is the second largest city in Turkey."

We were now on a small twenty-passenger bus due to the narrow streets we would be traveling. Earlier in the day while still on our big bus we had visited the tomb of  Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the founder of modern Turkey. The area around the moseleum was extremely crowded.  The plaza in front of his tomb will hold 50,000 people. Our guide, Yisim, was adimate about the Turkish people's love for Ataturk. Incedently, Ataturk was a name bestowed on Mustafa by the Turkish parliament meaning " Father of the Turks".  However, she failed to mention Ataturk's involvement in the genocide of thousands of Armenians. Tensions were high in the area of the museuleum with increased security due the hundreds of protesters on hand. And now we were on mini-buses traveling the back streets of Ankara en route to the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations. The streets were crowded and in many places only one lane was available if indeed there had ever been two lanes.  The rugged gravel streets wove there way through the Atpazan area of Ankara. There were shops with canopies on either side with foodstuffs and other goods for sale stacked very close to the street. The dust was stiffling in the warm November afternoon as the buses tires crunched over the gravel street.

 Soon we reached the museum which is housed in a  old bazaar building. Displays are modern and well maintained.  The objects displayed date from 8000 B.C. to the Greek and Roman period. I find the ancient metal work very interesting. When copper was first mined and refined and cast some beautiful objects were created. Copper was also hammered or rather forged into various useful and decorative items. Then tin was mined and mixed with copper and the resultant metal , bronze, prompted the name, Bronze Age.  Gold is seen in some of the jewelry. Beautiful in design and execution. Perhaps one  of the most interesting of the objects presented was a small statue of a sitting female only 10 inches in height.   She is the Mother Goddess, Kybele, from the period 80000-5500 B.C. She a gross figure very overweight with ponderous breasts hanging to her waist. Looking closely I notice the the sitting figure is giving birth with the head of an infant emerging from between her legs. This is the mother goddess from which all mankind came. Every civilization needs a creation story. 

"Yesim," I asked, "Why is the mother goddess so grossly overweight?"

"Because, it was in those times that people got fat in the summer when food was plentiful. In winter food was not as plentiful." 

I got it: they lived off the fat just like many animals do.  

Across from Kybele is a seventh century B.C. wall painting depicting a volcanic eruption and next to it an ancient map. It is the first map I've seen created before the birth of Christ.   Perhaps, more attention is given to the Hittite period (1750-1200 B.C.) in this museum. And, indeed it is the largest collection of Hittite artifacts in the world.  One of the most interesting pieces on exhibit here is a letter.  It is written by the wife of Ranses II, Nefertari, to the Hittite queen, Puduhepa. Girl-talk. I asked Claudette what she thought two queens would talk about. She did not speculate. There are quite a few large carved stone lions about ten feet long. The lion is usually the symbol of the monarchy.But some of these lions are smiling and some are snarling. Why? Probably only the ancients could tell.  This was one of those places where I could have stayed a long time. But it was not to be.  Places to go and things to see.

We boarded the mini-buses and wound our way through the narrow streets reminiscent of Granada to our hotel. Tomorrow we would be on the road again. 

A Feeding Frenzy?

It was a chilly morning with threatening clouds as Claudette and I  got off the bus at Hierapolis. We moved through the gate, putting our tickets through the scanners before beginning a long road into the ruins of the city of  Hierapolis.  Founded in the second century B.C. it had always been a city famous for its spas.  The wide street was paved with stone, and the sewer ran beside it. The water still flowed in the ancient sewers, and you could see it where there were flat stones missing.  There were toppled columns on either side.

We entered the main part of the city through an arched gate of stone. The Romans were great stone cutters and engineers.  Many structures have no cement between the huge stone blocks. The clouds became more ominous, and the mist thickened. To our left were the travertines, large deposits of calcium.  The white deposits from the mineral water appeared as cooled lava would have appeared had it been white. The mineral water still flows, and one can walk barefoot in it as it flows over the calcium deposits. This was a city of 100,000 at its peak, and although it was not founded by the Romans it was rebuilt by them four many earthquakes.

We continued our walk by the Roman baths which are now the museum of Hierapolis. It is a vaulted structure of several buildings which  also contained a gymnasium and a library. When Emperor Constantine declared Christianity the religion of the  Roman Empire, the Christians closed the baths. Further along the way the street dead-ends in front of a modern structure; a place to get food and enter the hot springs. The water temperature is 98.6F to 134.6F.We do not bathe, but we watch others.  It is amusing to watch the clouds of steam rising from the pools.  Behind this spa is the theater, which is under restoration, and on the side of the hill  is the martyrium. This is the final resting place of the apostle Phillip who was crucified upside-down here about 56 A.D.. However, there is some question about which Phillip it was. There seems to have been several "Phillip the Apostles" around.

The rain began to fall harder, and we decided it was time to return to the big Mercedes-Benz tour bus. On our left opposite the museum is the necropolis. Did I mention that Hierapolis's major attraction was the mineral baths?  For that reason many migrated here to find a cure for their ills. Many died here, cured or not. Many graves are those of Christians and Jews. We found a bit of shelter under some trees as we turn the corner and watched the people barefoot in the mineral water flowing nearby. Finally, we returned to the entrance and decided on a glass of tea. There is a post office, several cafes, and souvenir shops there.  I bought a postage stamp for 2 lira  to paste in my sketchbook.  I'm sure there was a cheaper stamp, but I could not get the clerk to understand. Sometimes the language barrier is insurmountable. We ducked into a small cafe and asked for tea.  The proprietor was quick to offer cups of tea, but I said that I wanted a glass, or rather two glasses. Before he could tell me the price I put four lira on the counter. This is the normal price for a glass of tea, but some cafe operators are quick to double the price if you aren't careful. Turkish tea is strong and sweet.  I love it!

We left Hierapolis with our tour guide telling us about Russian vacationers causing a problem with the Turkish workers working on the city's restoration.  It seemed the Russian ladies preferred to enjoy the baths topless. Concentration on their tasks was difficult for the Turks, and some concessions in bathing attire was made by the Russians.

Little did we, Claudette and I, know that we were headed for a feeding frenzy at our hotel. Our hotel was a modern structure with many water features: swimming pool, thermal pool, and whirlpool. In this area marble abounds, on floors as well as walls.  There was also another kind of pool; the kind of pool you put your feet in and allow small fish to eat the dead skin from you feet. Naturally, I could not pass up such an opportunity.  This small fish, less than two inches long, gama rufa is sometimes called the "nibble" fish.  Its name is well deserved, because when you put your feet in the fish tank, the size of a small aquarium, the fish immediately begin to nibble on your feet. It's quite a sensation. There are dozens of these little buggers having a feeding frenzy on your feet. They are looking for food. They don't actually eat the dead skin but pull it off searching for food.

The day began and ended with rain, but it was quite a day in Hierapolis and Pamukkale. Wi-fi wasn't working, and there was nothing in English on television, and we were ready for a good night's sleep.  Besides, we needed to rest up for our next adventure.

A Morning Ride...

I reached for the phone in the dark.  It had interrupted a perfectly wonderful dream involving me and a bevy of south sea beauties.  "Hello," I said in a voice completely devoid of warmth.

"It's your morning wake-up call, Mr. Young," said the voice in heavily accented English.

"Is it four thirty in the morning?" asked Claudette drowsily.

"Hurry, I'm not going to shave.  We'll eat breakfast when we get back."

We dressed warmly and met our friends in the lobby of the hotel. Soon the van stopped by to pick us up.  The driver maneuvered the van quickly over the rough road to the launch site after stopping at the business office for us to sign some disclaimers. They had some hot coffee and pastries for us too.

The cloudless sky was filled with stars as first light approached.  There were probably one hundred hot air balloons in the process of being inflated. The sound of the small engines that powered the fans blowing up the giant balloons and murmurs of the crowd broke the silence of dawn. The propane burners spouted six foot flames into the balloons as the giants erected themselves like montrous mushrooms from the rough terrain of the Asia Minor landscape. We waited expectantly as our multicolored flying machine rose from the earth raising its gondola from its reclining position.  Twenty of us clamored into the basket.

"I am Muhammet, your pilot, " he said.  The voice came from the muscular young man with close cropped black hair.  He had a flat nose, bushy eyebrows, deep set very dark eyes, thick lips, and sparkling white teeth. Surrounding him in the center of the basket were a number of propane tanks.

The balloon towering above was filled with over 300,000 cubic feet of hot air. As Muhammet operated the controls the propane burners spit out six foot flames heating the air inside the balloon.

We began to move. We had lift-off. We became a lighter-than-air craft. Soon, the lunar appearing landscape of Goreme, Turkey, was below us as we overcame the bounds of gravity and rose in the chilly morning air.  The jagged peaks of cave dwellings slipped below us as we drifted away. We raised our voices in a chorus of "o-o-oh's" and "a-a-ah's"  as the sun illuminated the multi-colored spheres of the others in the mass ascension. It was quiet except for the occasional roar of the burners. The view below became a patchwork as we reached 2,000 feet.  A twenty-mile-per-hour wind moved us along briskly.

Muhammet watched his instruments, altimeter, rate-of-climb meter, and GPS indicator. The radio chattered in Turkish.  "What are they saying?" I asked Muhammet.

"I don't know," he said.  "I don't speak Turkish.  I'm Egyptian!"

We were higher than any of the other balloons. They flew in silence below us.  After flying an hour it was time to land. Muhammet pulled a control line that allowed hot air to escape from the balloon,  and we slowly descended.  I noticed radio chatter was now in English. Our pilot was told to follow "Number Two'" in landing. Muhammet told us to review the crash position.  A Canadian man asked if the landing would be rough.  Our pilot responded, " I don't know, it's my first landing!"

When we were about fifty feet off the ground I saw a Toyota Landcruiser with a trailer following us.
Our pilot and the ground crew communicated and the trailer was positioned directly beneath us. Our balloon pilot gently landed the balloon on the trailer, and our flight was over.

We disembarked the gondola and joined Muhammet around a small table with campagne flutes. He popped the cork on the champagne, and we ha the traditional celebratory drink for good landing.

This ride in the most primitive of aircraft will remain one of the highlights of our trip to Turkey.

Click Here to see a YouTube video of our ride!