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!

To Revisit a Moment in Time

Wikipidea image

He had a wrinkled, leathery face with his eyes shielded by the bill of a battered green baseball cap with "John Deere" embroidered on it. He clutched the front rail of his walker as he supported his frail body while peering up at the names on the wall. I watched his lips move amongst the stubble of gray as he read the names. Did the names on the wall represent shipmates or old friends? I could not bring myself to interrupt his moment of solitude to ask.  A shaft of light streaming through the memorial reflected off a tear slowly moving down his weathered cheek as the crowd of tourists silently moved me away from him. There were 1,177 names of the men who went down with the Arizona on that fateful day, December 7, 1941, listed on that wall.  A number had my surname, but to my knowledge we were not related.

I retraced my steps toward the entrance of the memorial where a naval launch was waiting to take me back to shore. Along the way I paused by a large opening in the floor of the memorial where you can see the vague outline of the ship below. The USS Arizona, BB-39, was a Pennsylvania class battleship of 30,000 tons.  Black oil bubbles to the surface from it as it has for the last seventy years.  This oil once fired the boilers of the warship, producing steam for the turbines which produced 31,500 horsepower for turning four twelve foot propellers.  Now the oil is called "black tears". She weeps for those she could not protect on that fateful day. The ship is 609 feet long with a width of ninety-seven feet.  The memorial is over one hundred feet long, since it covers the width of the sunken behemoth.  Off the starboard side is the USS Missouri, a larger battleship upon which the   Japanese surrender was signed.  The visit to the USS Arizona Memorial at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, was a very sobering experience.

Back aboard the tour bus the bus driver reminded us that there were two sunken ships at Pearl Harbor.

"How many ships are still on the bottom near Ford Island?"

There were several answers of one, two or three.

"Two.  The Arizona and the Utah.  We know 1,177 men went down with the Arizona."

The big Hawaiian's composure became more calm and he said, "Fifty-eight officers and men and..." his voice dropped to almost a whisper, "one baby girl."

The big man had our attention.

He continued his the story.  "The Utah was an old battleship used for target practice and had a fairly small compliment of men. Albert Wagner was a sailor aboard that ship who had a very special cargo. Do you know what that was?'

No one answers.

"He had in his locker the cremated remains of his infant daughter.  Earlier, Wagner's wife had given birth to twin daughters. Only one survived. Wagner's request to bury his daughter at sea had been approved by the Navy, but there was not a chaplain on board.  However, there was a chaplain scheduled to come aboard before the Utah would put to sea on Monday, the eighth of December, 1941. As you know, the Japanese sank the Utah on December 7th.  But that's not all of the story. Wagner and all but 58 men survived the attack.  The tiny burial urn was never recovered. But every year a woman appears on Ford Island to throw a lei into the water at the Utah's resting place. She says that she's never met her twin sister but sees her in every mirror she looks into. She is eternally grateful for the 58 brave officers and men that guard her little sister's crypt."

The big Hawaiian bus driver finished his story and all was quite.  Like the old man at the memorial  I felt a tear on my cheek.

FYI Burial at sea information for Naval veterans and dependents.

The Road to Hana and then some...

I remember the last time I was traveling by bus on a mountain road. It was quite a few years ago, and I was going from Manila to Olongapo City in the Philippine Islands.  It was a rather short bus filled with mostly native Filipinos jabbering in tagalog. There were a few chickens and a pig on board as well as a couple of tired U.S. military men.  The trip seemed to take forever over somewhat primitive roads.  We traveled through several villages most with the seemingly prerequisite Catholic church. We managed to get some warm beer at one stop, where the bus driver obligingly opened the bottles of San Miguel with his teeth.

We boarded the mini-bus at Lahaina, looking forward to a trip through the other Maui, the part not cluttered with souvenir shops and places hawking other things for tourists. As we left the urban area of  of the city we passed abandoned sugar mills, a reminder of when sugar was the number one industry in the islands.  We left highway 31 for highway 36, following the coast in a clockwise direction.  Highway 36 is known as the "Hana Highway". This road has quite a reputation. It is a mountain road built through the mountains by convict labor in 1926.  It was paved in 1962.  I use the term paved loosely because with the average traffic of one thousand cars per day there is considerable wear and tear on the road's surface. Actually, part of the road is so rough that certain rental car companies don't allow their cars to be driven on it. I was on the right side of the bus, or the oceanside.  This is the best side for those who aren't squeamish and those not afraid of heights. But the left side of the bus gets to hear and feel the constant brushing of foliage against the side of the bus. The first stop the bus makes before entering the rain forest is Hookipa Beach Park.  We stopped at a grassy knoll overlooking the beach. There were a number of surfers catching waves of an azure sea on this picture postcard morning. The sky was near cloudless, and a gentle breeze rippled the flag with the Union Jack in its corner.  A breath of salt tinged air was invigorating.

It's only 58 miles to Hana but due to the 600 turns or curves and 59 bridges it takes a while.Water falls seem to be everywhere and we stop at Wailua Falls,Puuohokomoa Falls and Waikani Falls. You can always tell when there is a waterfall ahead because of all the cars beside the road. The drive finds a place to park the bus on the roadside and we get off and elbow our way through the hordes of touristas to get a picture of the waterfall.  The waterfalls are best seen from the bridge.  The driver warns us to be aware of traffic across the one lane bridge. However, the bridges are always in the center of the hairpin turns  and vehicles must slow down. But the view is spectacular of a waterfall tumbling hundreds of feet down the mountainside in a tropical rain forest.  On much of this road 20 mph is the maximum. It is very narrow and vehicles almost come to a standstill when meeting. I peered down at an SUV with a young woman holding her steering wheel white-knuckled. And she was two feet from the edge of the road! Those would be the visitors. The natives hardly reduce speed at all. However, I did witness a rural mail carrier committing an illegal act  We were meeting a rural mail carrier in a turn and she had to back up to let us through. It's against carrier rules for them to back their vehicles up.  I was much concerned about our drivers ability. He never honked his horn when entering a blind turn. How was anyone to know that we were coming through?  They could not see us! I found while driving similar roads in the Pyrenees Mountains you need to let people know you are coming. On the road to Hana in one place I looked out my window and I could see nothing but the pounding surf hundreds of feet below. I am confident we were on the road although I could not see it. We were in a bus, not a plane. 

We stopped at a state park for a box lunch. It was a chance to relax a bit and enjoy lunch. Waves in this area can reach a height of 60 feet in winter making it a prime surfing spot.  We continue to Oheo Stream and Pools, sometimes called the Seven Sacred Pools. This gave us a chance to stretch our legs. The waterfalls cascade down the mountain to the sea creating seven pools along the way. The shoreline is either lava rock or vegetation here.  

On our way back to our hotel we stopped by a winery.  The tasting was very poorly administered, no cuspidor to spit in or no water to wash out the taste of each wine before sampling another. We bought of bottle of sweet wine and enjoyed it that night in the hotel. 

I'm not sure that I would refer to the road to Hana as an adventure but it certainly did show a part of Hawaii seldom seen.