Think of the Children

Each time I see a map of Turkey my heart skips a beat. Take a look.

Map of Turkey

Now think of all those little Turkish school children struggling to reproduce a hand-drawn image of the map for their notebooks on Turkish history, and you can understand why seeing a map of Turkey causes me unrest.

In elementary school I used to wish I were from one of those states that had maps with lots of straight lines like Colorado, Wyoming, or Utah instead of from Texas because drawing maps of Texas was just hard.  


I started looking at state flags.  The Texas flag wasn't so bad.  The lone star on the Texas flag always gave me fits, but the nice tri-color background with straight lines was easily reproduced. That means a lot. If I couldn't draw a picture of our state map, at least I could draw one of the flag.  Those poor kids in Wyoming will never, never be able to draw their flag, and it is plain sad.

State Flag of Texas

In fifth grade the big project was for the students to select a state, write a letter (using our newly learned letter-writing and envelope-addressing skills) to that state's department of tourism asking for pamphlets and maps, and use what we received in the mail to create an elaborate notebook about the state.

State Flag of Wyoming

It was so exciting to receive the big packet of information, and we all brought our packets to school to show them to our friends. The poor kid who choose Wyoming acted like he'd won a prize or something when his packet arrived, but I knew the ugly truth—we'd all have to include a hand-drawn map of the state we chose. And with the buffalo image and the state seal right there in the middle of Wyoming's map, well, not even a new box of map colors could save the day.

Think about this. If trying to reproduce the state flag of Wyoming could bring a strong fifth grade Texas boy to his knees, what must be happening in the elementary schools all across Turkey? 

Sobering thought, isn't it?

Hotel Karia Princess--Bodrum's Gem on the Aegean

You drink 3 cups of coffee a day, get a haircut, meet friends for lunch, mail some Valentine's Day presents, and another week has flown. If I am not more careful, life will pass me by and I'll still be trying to decide on paint colors. 

This week I've thought a lot about our January trip to Turkey, especially seeing the wonderful pictures the students are posting on Facebook. They inspire me to tell some tales. Especially before dementia sets in or I need more coffee.

When we began planning the trip we made to Turkey in 2008, we told the travel agent that we wanted to include several days in the city of Bodrum. “Bodrum? Why Bodrum?” he replied. Why Bodrum???

Look at this map of Turkey with close attention to the YELLOW arrow.  That is Bodrum.  See it?  (By the way, the red arrows indicate our route in January beginning in Ankara.)

 

What do you notice about Bodrum? Here's a hint. Look at the blue area on the left. Exactly. Bodrum is on the Aegean Sea! Now look at some photos of Bodrum.

Bodrum Castle built by 15th C Crusaders

 

Ruins of the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World (This looked considerably better before the Crusaders robbed the stones to build Bodrum Castle--well, at least they recycled!)

 

Bodrum architecture is white, white, white

 

Bodrum waters are blue, blue, blue--and a little green

Now you understand our concern when the travel agent asked, “Why Bodrum?” when he should have been asking, “Why anywhere else?” That was three years ago. We changed agents.  We were obviously dealing with a lunatic.

We arrived in Bodrum four weeks ago in the early evening and entered a world which is hard to imagine outside the confines of Turkey, the world of Hotel Karia Princess. Oh my. How to begin?

Which to choose?  Which to choose?

 

The hotel staff welcomed us with handshakes and smiles and plates and plates of savory and sweet cookies and crackers. And cups and cups of hot tea and hot coffee. We ate. We drank. Our luggage was whisked to our rooms.

Grand lobby of Hotel Karia Princess
Pink and white marble floors, Turkish rugs,
comfortable seating, and a wood burning stove

 

I finally tore myself away from the merrymaking and made my way to our room to discover a visual delight. Our bed was strewn with flowers and petals, and in the center of the bed were towels folded into the shapes of swans and hearts! It was terribly romantic!

 

 


Next up:  a glorious buffet supper. 

A few of the nightly salad offerings

More salads

 

Volcan describes the evening's selections of 
hot items to the students

 

Each evening the chefs grilled something
special for us in the garden

 

Adana Kebab--WONDERFUL!

When Hunt and I arrived in the dining room the chef emerged from the kitchen to shake hands and welcome the group.  He then did an astounding thing.  He offered to hold a cooking class for the group. Would we enjoy that? What foods would we like to learn how to cook? When would we like to schedule the class?  Be still my heart!

That was only the beginning as it turns out.  Four glorious nights at Hotel Karia Princess and three grand days in Bodrum.  I will post more pictures soon.  Right now I need more coffee.  

Hotel Karia Princess.  Book your reservations today.

Hotel Karia Princess

With Apologies for the Pants

I forgot to pack my swim suit which is really a shame, because the only suitable thing I was able to purchase here in Turkey were Islamic-style swimming pants. Read: knees to waist, functional, unattractive. But when we arrived in the ancient Roman city of Hierapolis, I was sure glad to have them, because I would have hated to miss swimming in the Antique Pool.

The Antique Pool
Hierapolis

One of the sources of the pool

Adnan came, he swam, he conquered!

The Antique Pool, right in the center of Hieropolis, is warmed by hot springs, and the crystal-clear water remains around 100ºF (37.78ºC). People have been taking healing cures there for centuries ever since the Romans established Hieropolis as a health spa. These healing waters are supposed to aid in healing such ailments as heart disease, high blood pressure, rickets, nervous disorders, skin diseases, digestive maladies, and rheumatism.

Our (nearly) private pool

In the 7^th century a great earthquake caused the marble portico to fall into the springs, and there they remain today, a pool littered with fragments of an ancient past. Nothing quite prepares you for the experience of sitting on and swimming under these marble columns. Nothing quite prepares you for the feel of the hot, bubbling water or the smell of the rich minerals. And nothing will ever prepare you for the experience of leaving the silky warm pool and changing clothes in a 38ºF dressing room! 

Yes, they are truly horrible....My pants, not the students!

If one swim is supposed to extend your life by 10 years, surely the shock of seeing me in Islamic swimming pants lessens it by seven!  


For this I am sorry.

Lunch and So Much More

Today we stopped for lunch in the town of Didim, site of the ancient ruins of Didyma. The meal was a wonderful buffet of fried sea bass, chicken stew, rice, fresh salads, and cooked vegetables.

Ruins of Didyma

After we'd eaten our fill, the owner's wife went from table to table to collect the 10 Turkish Lira (about $6.75) from each one in the group. She was clearly agitated as she did so, and when she finished she declared—rather angrily—that 9 people had not paid.

So, after much discussion (with our guide translating) I paid the final amount she claimed she was short: 60 lira. I hated losing 60 lira, especially since I knew all of us had paid, but such things happen in every country. But I hated even more that the students had come away from this delicious meal with negative feelings. The sun was shining on the ancient ruins across the street, the restaurant windows were open, two friendly cats roamed the dining room, and the sea bass was perfect!  But all this magic was gone in a flash with her harsh accusations.

About 10 minutes after leaving the restaurant, a student held out a hat, and inside the hat was 57 lira that the group had collected. They had actually “passed the hat" for me.  They really are quite marvelous, these Austin College students. And I really am happy I get to travel with them.

Next Week Istanbul

So many thrills, so few regrets. And though you cannot include everything in Turkey on a 3-week trip, how I wish we could have stayed just one more day in Cappadocia. Just one.

When Jay called ahead to ascertain if the hotel was ready for us, he was asked, “Are you with the press?” Jay replied, “There are 30 of us. How can we be with the press?”

We arrived at the hotel to learn the press were there as well as many others in preparation for the arrival of Nicholas Cage and Eva Mendes who were flying to Turkey to film “Ghost Rider 2”. A group of stunt people were already in Cappadocia setting up scenes and shooting, and a team was there rewriting. Two days later our hotel was absolutely awash with cast and crew. And yet, no Nicholas Cage. He arrived the day we departed.

So to you, Mr. Cage, if you are reading I'd like to say, “We missed each other by just a few hours in Cappadocia, but I'll be in Istanbul all next week. There's no need to bring Eva."

A Turkish Roller Coaster

Well, Hunt got a second haircut yesterday in Bodrum, and I thought, my, I haven't blogged since his last haircut.  I haven't blogged since his last haircut???

I feel like I am on a high-speed Turkish roller coaster, and I am just trying to hang on.  Every day is another adventure which includes great museums, great meals, great bus rides, great sites.  I have never been on a trip quite like it.  Full-steam from dawn to dusk and sometimes later.  Take today:

8:00 Breakfast
9:30 Depart hotel for walk to Underwater Archeology Museum
12:15 Break for a quick lunch
1:00 Meet at dock to depart for 3-hour Aegean cruise (and optional swim)
4:30 Return to dock (optional trip to city market)
7:30 Dinner at hotel
9:30 Farewell to Bodrum Party (dancing by the pool, I think)


Now here I am with 10 days to describe, and only 23 minutes until today's craziness begins.  

Volcan, Guide Extraordinaire

Our guide, Volcan Yazici, is quite marvelous. He is funny and smart and absolutely on top of every situation. I mention this because a guide can make or break a trip. Our last trip to Turkey ended with the guide being fired—about 14 days too late—after the students begged and begged us to shut him up. People from that trip still quote the guide and mimic him, and, in retrospect, he probably provided a group bonding experience.

Quintessential Jay

 
We are also traveling with a very nice young man, Caner Jay Baykal, who is a representative of GlobTur, the extraordinary travel company arranging things in Turkey. Jay has a dry wit and extensive international travel experience which combine to make him an interesting and fun travel companion.  

Both men find no question we ask without merit, no problem we pose unsolvable. What a Dynamic Duo!  The students adore them.

 
And my 23 minutes are up.  No tales, just a framework.  We are in good hands.  More to follow when this roller coaster slows a bit.  I promise.

Ear Torching 101

When Hunt travels abroad where his language skills are limited, he generally looks up a few key phrases in advance like “Is this a ukulele free zone?” or “I do not wish to donate a kidney.” I, on the other hand, never look anything up in advance and rely heavily on increased voice levels and my incredible pantomime skills.

Sometimes this backfires like when I needed to purchase ground beef at a butcher shop in Germany and did not know how to ask. I won't describe what happened next, but for the following 7 months the proprietress “moo'ed” every time I walked in, then turned to the other customers and said something in rapid-fire German as she made little “horns” with her index fingers, a gesture that is apparently NOT the universal sign for ground beef.

It took us just over 25 hours to get from our home in Sherman, TX, to our hotel in Ankara, Turkey. And in 25 hours you'd think Hunt would have taken the time to look up all the phrases he might need for our first evening in Ankara. 

But he didn't. So when we stopped at a late-night barbershop for a Turkish haircut, was it fair to expect me to pantomime “just a little off the sides”? I think not. Those things have to be looked up. I was, however, able to communicate “May I take pictures of your cutting my husband's hair?” and “Yes, I would enjoy a cup of tea as I watch Turkish television.” I do have resources. If you ask the right questions.

So Hunt simply got the haircut he got. And because this is Turkey, and because Turkish barbers are artists, Hunt got a terrific haircut, no thanks to me. The barber used 4 different clippers, a blow dryer, 2 round brushes, a comb, scissors, a razor, and lighter fluid. (I am not kidding about the lighter fluid.) The barber also combed cotton balls into tufts, sprayed them with water, and used them to collect all errant hair. VERY cool. But the pièce de resistance was the unusual process of burning the hair from inside Hunt's ears. I like to call this process Ear Torching. And you may quote me.

Ear Torching is fun to watch, both the delicate burning process and Hunt's delicate facial expressions.

Step One: Wrap a cotton ball around the tips of a pair of scissors.

Step Two: Drench cotton with lighter fluid or other incendiary.

Step Three: Light the cotton.

Step Four: Briefly place burning scissors next to ear canal.

Step Five: Remove scissors and pat ears with palm of hand to snuff out errant burning ear hair.

Step Six: Repeat Steps Four and Five until all hair is gone or customer is unconscious.

Step Seven: Wipe outside of ears with cotton ball dampened with alcohol to remove soot.

Step Eight: Replenish Karen's tea. Revive Hunt.

What a first evening. Beautiful hotel. Delicious, warm Turkish meal. Brisk stroll in the capital city. And a haircut. Next time, though, I will take my phrase book because pantomiming “a little off the sides and torch the ears” is harder than it sounds. But it is possible.

On the Road Again

Well, it seems like only seven weeks ago that I last blogged. Oh yeah, it was. My, how time flies once Halloween arrives. Before you know it you are putting away the Christmas ornaments and saying how dreary the house looks without all the hoopla. And it does.

Our holidays were fantastic--and fast.  And now Hunt and I sit at Washington Dulles Airport waiting for out flight to MUNICH!  I love Munich. Schnitzel, yodeling, men wearing leather shorts. What's not to like? The bad news is that we're only in Munich for a layover. The good news is that from Munich we head to TURKEY! Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus! 

The blog begins...again

This trip, which is three weeks long, will be a little different from our last one. This time we are traveling with 28 of Austin College's finest. There are 12 men and 16 women, mostly seniors and juniors. Our son, Harris, is among the mix. The students are taking the trip for course credit, so there won't be an option to sleep in one day and see the museum the next. We have a schedule to keep and little room for spontaneity. I guess that is the biggest difference. Well, that and counting 28 heads again and again.

Getting to Turkey is never easy for us, and this time is no different. We have 3 flights and hope to land sometime tomorrow in the capital city of Ankara. During the first flight the students were so happy and upbeat. They had a lively discussion about plane crashes and chances of survival. And that brings up the...

QUOTE OF THE DAY

If your father dies in a plane crash, and the people sitting in the exit aisle get out safely, you can sue the people who were seated in the aisle.

I found this discussion inspiring, and I have vowed never again to sit by an exit.  It also made me happy to be here—and not smoldering in some rubble with my family getting ready to sue.

This past June Hunt and I took a rather unsettling flight from NYC to Istanbul. After an hour the pilot announced that we had to return to New York because our two altimeters didn't agree (a bad thing) but first we'd have to dump our fuel into the Atlantic (a bad thing) so the plane wouldn't burst into flames (a really bad thing) when we landed. The pilot didn't actually say we might explode, but we did dump the fuel, and this added another hour to our flight back. The landing at JFK was pretty hard but extremely exciting since the runway was lined with emergency vehicles. I have only seen such a thing in action movies. Of course we were in the wrong city (a bad thing) but we were extremely happy to be alive (a very good thing!)

And I am happy to be alive today and eager to help introduce this group of students to a country I love so dearly. Turkey. Just typing the word makes me smile.

Flying High

Karen, Hunt (sporting that
devil-may-care smile), Orell, and Tracy

We had dinner last night with our traveling buddies and discussed how great our recent trip was. Orell had created a fabulous and artistic photo book of our time abroad, and she managed to make us all look pretty good, except for the shot of Hunt wearing his white salt mine coveralls which he refused to close properly, giving the impression that his fly was open about 14 inches. I believe this was all part of some cunning plan, though for the life of me I cannot figure it out.

The four of us reminisced about the trip from start to finish, we talked about our experiences getting through customs, we moved on to discuss the new airport security measures, and then we hit upon the real highlight of international travel--unlimited and personalized movie-watching!

I absolutely adore the in-flight entertainment (IFE) available today where passengers can view movies, television shows, and documentaries using their own personal systems. All flights do not have these. Some only offer the cheaper IFE option of looking out the window. But all international flights today provide movies, and the best flights make these available to passengers on their own little screens. That means you can stop your film anytime and head to the galley to get a candy bar or some cookies to enhance your movie-viewing pleasure. Wow! This even beats watching movies at home where your family and friends might complain if you stop the movie to take a walk around the room to stretch your legs.

Our family loves movies. Being fairly weird people, we've never owned a real television capable of showing real television. We just watch movies on various monitors. Well, except in 1999 when we were offered free cable for two weeks when the Texas Rangers were playing in the American League championship series. Boy, did we watch non-stop television those two glorious weeks! Before we knew it the cables were pulled, the Rangers lost, and all we had left were happy memories and 843 cable holes. 

Maybe because we don't have a TV or maybe because we are, indeed, weird, we take our movie-viewing seriously. Lights out and no talking. When the boys were growing up they'd never let their friends talk when they watched movies with us. I mean no talking, not even during the opening credits. When their friends cried, "Musicals melt children's brains!", my kids turned a deaf ear. I'd later hear from the parents about how traumatized their kids were by this behavior--and also by the amount of ice cream we piled into each bowl--but they kept watching movies with us. And our kids never budged.

Being movie-purists, as we fondly call our idiosyncrasy, we can never just "go to a movie." No. It takes precision planning. No weekday afternoons when retirees fill the audience, retirees who have an aversion to whispering. Never on Friday or Saturday nights which are date nights when people try to get to know each other better. (We once sat in front of a couple on their first date who were saying things like "How many sisters do you have?" and "Do you like pizza?" During the movie!) Never on Sunday afternoons which seem to attract loud curly-haired children. Never at premiers or on holiday weekends. You simply cannot keep a theater full of people quiet. We know. We have tried. Once when I was trying to shush a dozen gang members--they certainly looked like gang members--I was called a very bad name and told to shut up. I did. Now I generally choose to watch movies at home where no one ever calls me bad names (except maybe under their breaths.)

Even better than watching movies at home, though, is watching movies 50,000 feet above the ground. No one talks. Food arrives, trash disappears. No sharing the remote control. Film after film after film, all guilt free. Yes, having my own in-flight entertainment is the best. And getting there is pretty fun, too. 

With Apologies to the Germans

Driving to Paris I finally did it—I exceeded 100 mph! What a feeling! My need to do this disturbs me some, and I wish I understood it. I fear it has something to do with living with a pig for 2 weeks, but I am not sure.

I miss our little rental car. I really enjoyed driving a standard shift because it made me feel as though I had achieved something by just arriving. And I suppose I had. I also liked driving a red car which matched most of my travel clothes and was easy to find in parking lots. But what I really liked most about that car was the wonderful “D” sticker on the back.

Back in 1969 officials in Europe were finding it harder and harder to determine a car's origin because there were so many languages involved and so many countries involved. After a particularly difficult day when he had to ask in Finnish, Portuguese, and Irish, “No, where is your CAR from?” a border guard threw up his hands in despair and shouted, “Too many languages. Too many countries.” Luckily for him—and us—a United Nations official was nearby and heard his anguish and took this plea for help straight to the the UN General Assembly. An emergency session was held, and, after a heated debate, the UN came up with the idea of adding a sticker to the vehicles with a country code so officials could know, without asking, from whence the vehicle came.

Or something like that.

The Sticker on the Back

Our sticker, which we fondly called The Sticker on the Back, was invaluable because it identified us as Germans, the “D” representing Deutschland. It was not so much that we wanted to be identified as Germans as it was that we didn't want to be known as Americans. Do not get me wrong. I love America and am fiercely patriotic—so much so that I worry that I will tarnish America's reputation while I am abroad.

Once at a West End play in London, as soon as the lights dimmed and the overture began, our family did what every dedicated theatre-going family does: we rushed forward to grab better seats. In this case the prized seats were in the middle of the fifth row and we each had to step across about a dozen pairs of legs to get to them. Thinking quickly, and fearful we'd be discovered to be Americans, I simply whispered my apologies to each person as we passed using my handy Australian accent, “Crikey, mate. Sorry, mate. Cheers, mate.” No doubt I single-handedly prevented an international incident right then and there between us and a few bruised-toe Brits because who can yell at an Australian with that great accent?

Guten Tag. Ich bin ein Deutscher.

Driving last month with our handy “D” on the back, we felt immune to the stares and jeers sent our way in Stresa, Italy, when we accidentally went the wrong direction on a one-way street. And as heinous as this act might seem, at least we didn't mean to do it. You'd have thought, however, that we'd damaged some priceless artifact by the reactions of the other drivers with their frantic arm waving and yelling. Two police officers joined in the mayhem and, I fear, added some name-calling. But guess what? All those people thought they were yelling at Germans! Ha!

Later in Perpignan, France, we took a little too long to walk across a lane in a parking lot, which made a driver mad enough to stop, roll down his car window, and yell at us. I smiled and yelled back, “Bonjour Monsieur,” and toasted him in a friendly way with my McDonald's coffee cup. This made him really mad, and a tirade began which I cannot repeat here, mainly because I didn't understand the French. But I can say this: a happy Frenchman he was not! So, assessing the situation at hand, I dashed for the car and stood by The Sticker on the Back and began speaking German in a loud voice. I truly hated to sacrifice the reputation of Germany to protect the reputation of America, but you sometimes do what you have to do.

I sure miss that “D”.