There weren't many people waiting for the ferry, so it was easy to spot the three twenty-something USC students doing the "take a semester off and backpack through Europe" thing. And thus it finally happened--the inevitable "small world" meeting that is required for every overseas trip. After talking briefly, I discovered that one of these students was Cantor L.'s son! Who is Cantor L, you might ask. Well, he performed my confirmation and the bar mitzvahs of all four of my brothers. His son Adam seemed cool and the hydrofoil ride was made pleasant by the conversation. ]]> Sat, 15 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13160 0 36.855 28.2741667 Izmir, both of which were fairly unimpressive. As for archeology, the small museum in Selcuk had far more impact and nothing in the ethnology museum (traditional costumes, furniture, etc.), was particularly interesting. In fact, for me, the only things of interest were some pillars in the garden of the archeology museum that had Hebrew carved on them. Unfortunately, when I asked where they were from, what they meant, and how old they were, I just got blank stares from the caretakers. They were in the museum, so they were important, and that is all they knew.

After the museums we returned to the bazaar one last time where, lo and behold, Mustafa found us yet again. He didn't try to sell us anything this time, but rather invited us to join him for a beer at one of the small cafes hidden inside the bazaar. Mustafa, we learned, is a Kurd and this was the first time we got "the other side" of the story. Every other Turk we talked to about the Kurdish uprising generally told us, "Yes, it was bad for them, but now they can vote, and they can speak their own language (which was previously prohibited), and they have their own newspapers and tv stations, so what are they complaining about?" Mustafa, on the other hand, went to the heart of the matter. "Yes, I can rent a flat, but I can't get a job to pay for it." Besides politics, we also talked about education (Mustafa has no formal education but speaks at least four languages and is quite intelligent), travel, religion, etc. All in all, a good three hours.

From the bazaar is was back to the hotel to pack and grab a quick lunch at one of the outdoor cafes on the water. Then it was off to our second favorite haunt, the otogar, to catch a bus to Marmaris. ]]> Fri, 14 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13159 0 38.4072222 27.1502778
So, instead of the planned trek, our hotel owner drove us (for a small fee, of course) to Ishan, a small village high in the mountains, to visit a partially-ruined 11th Century Georgian church. Like the rest of this place, both the drive and the church were beautiful. Remarkably, many of the church's frescos remained vibrant and while the walls had crumbled, the carved pillars had withstood the test of time and continued to support the painted dome ceiling.

Right next to the church is a school and as soon as we arrived in the village (on foot . . . the drivable road ends about a mile from the village), we were surrounded by kids of all ages. They kept begging that we take their pictures -- and were disappointed to discover that we did not have Polaroid cameras. But we took their pictures anyway and promised to send them to the hotel owner, who promised to bring them back to the village. [p>
Given our finds in Kutayha and here, I've come to wonder why some sites, such as Pergamon (more on that later) and Knossos (in Crete), get so much attention while others are completely unknown. What Mark and I saw in these little towns was far more impressive, better preserved, and more interesting than the huge sites. But, of course, I'm glad it is this way. No other tourists to jostle you, to make you embarrassed to be an American ("Herb, there are no toilets in the bathrooms--just holes in the floor. Don't they understand hygiene here?"), to interfere with the real pleasure that comes from exploring these places.

Anyway, after Ishan it was back to Yusufeli for our afternoon siesta before an attempt was made to get to the church at Dortkilisie, supposedly larger and in even better shape than the one at Ishan. But it is also more remote, and can be reached only after a 6 km hike from the road. Well, Mark and I clearly started out too late in the day; the trail was steeper than we expected and so our progress was slowed considerably. That we couldn't make it before dark was eventually confirmed by a girl of about 14 who spoke impeccable French as she led her pet goat into his pen. So after about two hours, we turned around without seeing the church. Still, it was a beautiful shaded hike through tiny villages, along a rushing creek and besides small planted fields.

On the way back down the mountain, Mark and I had our first (and only) fight of the trip. It had nothing to do with traveling, of course, but was substantial nonetheless. So Mark took off down the mountain, allowing me to take my time returning to the road . . . picking berries off of trees, making small talk as best I could with a few people here and there. But I didn't take too long because I was certain that Mark would be waiting in Takke, the village at the road, so we could catch a dolmus back to Yusufeli.

Well, I was wrong; Mark was apparently quite mad because I arrived a Takke only to be told that my husband (the assumed relationship) had already left, walking the road to Yusufeli (a good 10 km) in what was now becoming darkness. This, of course, made me even angrier because I would not have left him alone on a mountain, no matter how upset I was. Anyway, I waited a short time for a dolmus before also heading down the road on foot. Eventually, an already full taxi drove by and stopped for me; I squeezed in for the ride, thinking to myself that Mark must have done the same thing by now. But within a few minutes we passed Mark on the road. Fine, I thought. Let him walk it alone.

When I got back to Yusufeli, I went to watch the rafting video made the day before, which was not bad. It was edited well, and included of the rafting trip, as well as video of the two women from Austin walking on a trail somewhere, the restaurant by the river, a fortress on a hill, and a few other worthwhile sites. From watching the tape you would think that Yusufeli was a regular Yosemite with all the conveniences. Then I waited for Mark. And waited. And walked around the town looking for him. And went to the hotel looking for him. By now it was, of course, pretty dark outside and I was worried. So I found the hotel owner (not difficult, of course, as he was in one of the tea houses watching a soccer match) and had him to drive with me up the road. We stopped several times to ask villagers if they had seen him; all said yes, that he had passed through some time ago. We eventually returned to Yusufeli to find Mark sitting in front of the hotel. He said he went right back to the hotel, so I really can't figure out how we missed each other. In any event, we had it out -- I told him that I was going to go my own way after Yusufeli. He said that was fine with him.

Just as we were finishing up this conversation, however, there was a knock at the door. Our rafting guide (who decided to leave a day later) and a friend of his had come to talk. And we spent over two hours discussing economics and politics, both Turkish and American. And of course, by the time it was over, Mark and I were no longer angry with one another.
]]> Mon, 10 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13158 0 40.8166667 41.55 Yusufeli for a great vacation"-type of video to be sent god knows where), we began the drive further into the mountains on a dirt road that offered yet more incredible views of the mountains, farmers plowing rice patties with oxen, donkeys laden with hay, and old men hunched over walking sticks. After about three hours we got out and proceeded to inflate the Russian-made six-person raft . . . with a hand pump . . . slowly . . . discovering a host of leaks as the raft inflated. No question, this raft had not touched water in quite a while and the patch kit got plenty of use. But eventually the raft was ready and we took off down the river.

Although the river was somewhat low and thus the rapids not as challenging as I had hoped, it was still a great day. Rafting through gorges in the mountains of Eastern Turkey--what more could one want out of life? We stopped twice at small villages for tea and so it took us about six hours before we arrived back in Yusufeli. Best of all, Mark, who had dreaded this part of the trip (rough and tumble Mark is not), had a blast. We hadn't even pulled the raft out of the river before he started asking the guide if there was any way to do the other river the next day. Alas, it was not to be.

After a brief early evening nap, the standard trout dinner by the river, and the familiar stroll up and down the main street eating ice cream and saying our names and where we came from over and over again, we called it a very satisfying day.
]]> Sun, 09 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13157 0 40.8166667 41.55
The ruins themselves were mostly set in an open field and coming upon them was amazing, somewhat like the photos one sees of Stonehedge. The closer we got, the more apparent it became that these ruins were very well-preserved. The main ruin, a Temple of Zeus, is set on a small hill, dominating everything around it. Virtually every column remains standing. In the gymnasium, the delicately carved marble moldings seem to have lost none of their depth and the chiseled writing on the pillars in the arena and stadium can be clearly read (if one understood the language, of course).

Wandering around these ruins in silence -- no other tourists, no one at all -- made the entire experience almost mystical. Eventually we were joined by a rather elderly caretaker, who walked with us back through the ruins to the road, explaining each of the different sites as we passed by and unlocking the gate which led to the cavern, formerly a swimming pool dedicated to Diana, underneath the Temple.

As we reached the road, the caretaker urged us to walk through the nearby village to see even more ruins, and we took his advice. The village was a small one, consisting entirely of mud and brick homes, thatched roofs, wandering chickens and dirt streets. And, just as the caretaker promised, every so often, a small ruin . . . the remains of a temple squeezed between two houses, a fountain around a corner, or an old column in the middle of the street. A wonderful experience.

Back in Kutayha by about 2 p.m., we had a quick lunch and then did what we (Mark actually) had come to Kutayha for -- porcelain and ceramics shopping. (Mark was looking for tiles for a house he has been building for almost four years now). Kutayha is known for its hand-painted tiles and porcelain and we wandered through shop after shop of some truly beautiful items. Unfortunately, none of the shops would ship anything and the pieces we were looking at were simply too heavy and breakable to carry with us. And besides, we really didn't see anything that demanded to be bought. As a result, we ended up at the actual ceramic factories just outside of town, which was a big mistake because we bought stuff . . . lots of stuff . . . tiles for my garden, bowls, vases, plates . . . well, you get the idea. Of course, even the factory at first said it couldn't ship -- until they brought in Hassan. Hassan, an executive who spoke perfect English (having studied at Berkeley and the University of New Mexico), is in charge of exports for the company (meaning bulk exports which our load, while "bulk" to us, was peanuts to the factory). Although it took about two and a half hours, with Hassan's help we finally arranged to have our purchases trucked to Izmir on the coast and then transported by DHL here to Philly.

Afterward the shopping was completed, Hassan invited us back to his home for dinner. Other visitors included a student from Hong Kong who was studying at the local university, a professor from the university with his son and daughter, and a few of their friends, turning the quiet meal into a large and jovial gathering. As a result, Mark and I stayed much longer than we had planned, enjoying the company and the food. However, as our bus to Ankara didn't leave until 1:30 a.m., we didn't mind at all
]]> Fri, 07 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13156 0 39.4241667 29.9833333 Bursa on my own. I spent a few hours wandering through the market area, watching the shop-keepers set up their stalls of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and flowers -- a bounty like I've never seen before. (Apparently, Turkey is one of only three or four countries that actually exports food). Eventually, I found my way to the main mosque, Ulu Camii, and the bazaar, where I picked up some camel-hide shadow puppets -- a well-known local art form. I then returned to the hotel for Mark and returned once again to the bazaar for his wandering pleasure.

From the center of town we went to Uludag, a suburb of Bursa, and took the cable car up to the top of the local Mt. Olympus. Although it was June, there was plenty of snow to be seen among the grassy valleys and pine-tree covered peaks. At the top of the cable car were several small outdoor eateries featuring mostly lamb kabobs grilled tableside. Mark and I selected one for lunch and then took a short hike through the woods before catching the last cable car back into town.
Mark then went back to the bazaar (practicing his "Kash pura?" all the way) while I checked out two more mosques. By this time I was, of course, about as mosqued-out as possible, but the small Green Mosque was definitely worth seeing for the tile work alone, as was the Green Mausoleum nearby which houses the tomb of Mehmet I and his children.
]]> Thu, 06 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13155 0 40.1916667 29.0611111 Arriving in Bursa late in the afternoon, we found a nice little hotel right in the center of things. After dropping off our bags, we immediately high-tailed it to the famous thermal baths in the suburb of Cekirge; the mineral water in Bursa is rumored to have healing powers and people allegedly make pilgrimages to Bursa as they do to Bathe in England. To make sure that we got the full benefit of the springs, we decided to go to the oldest Turkish baths, known as hamams, around -- well, at least Mark did. The hamam for men was built in 1555 for Suleyman the Magnificent (a name that crops up all the time in Turkey, almost as often as Ataturk's) and, according to Mark, was beautifully marbled. The hamam for women was just down the street; it was not built in 1555, nor did it contain much marble. Still, the experience was wonderful.

Hamams (at least the ones I've visited in Morocco and Turkey) have at least three rooms. Generally, the room at the farthest end is the sauna, where hot, hot water bubbles up from the center of the room. Small holes in the domed roof let some of the heat out, but on the whole these rooms are almost unbearable if you're not used to it. Some hamams also have pools in the hot room for dunking and relaxing, which this one in Bursa did. The room which adjoins the hot room has lukewarm water and pools, and here is where the serious bathing goes on. Although some people wash themselves, most people have friends or family wash them. A third alternative is to pay a professional to do it, which is what I did in Bursa. The process begins with a real scruffing off of all the dirt and dead skin cells that have accumulated since the last bath . . . and I mean scruffing, like until your skin is almost raw. Then the soap is lathered on and a serious deep tissue massaging takes place. Finally, your hair is washed, rinsed and combed. The last room is the cool room, which is used mostly for relaxing, sipping tea, and talking.

In Mark's case, he used the last room for falling asleep. Although I was done in a little over an hour and a half, I found myself sitting outside the men's hamam for another hour before a policeman hanging out across the street offered to go inside and find Mark for me. The policeman came out a few seconds later and made the international "sleep" sign (head tilted on hands pressed together), and shortly after that a rather groggy Mark emerged. By this time it was rather late and we were relaxed, so we simply headed back to the hotel for the night.
]]> Wed, 05 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13154 0 40.1916667 29.0611111 Our final morning in Istanbul was spent touring the Dolmabahce Palace, which was just down the road from our hotel. Also an old Ottoman palace, this place was spectacular, by far the most beautiful and impressive sight we had seen thus far into the trip. Room after room was decorated with Baccarat crystal chandeliers, Limoges fireplaces and incredible painted ceilings. The gardens were also spectacular and proved to be a wonderful place to wander and relax.

Unfortunately, we couldn't relax for too long as we had a bus to catch to our next destination, the town of Bursa, a capital of the Ottoman Empire. ]]> Wed, 05 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13150 0 41.0186111 28.9647222
The afternoon took us back to the old city, this time for a visit to Hagia Sophia, the most famous mosque in Turkey. To be honest, however, I'm not quite sure why. It is impressive in size to be sure, and the few remaining bits of mosaic on the walls in the upper galleries were splendid, but otherwise I found the building entirely forgettable. Of course, this could be in some measure due to the huge scaffolding that was present and obscuring the view of about half of the main dome but, truth be told, the other half of the dome didn't look all that exciting so I didn't feel really cheated.

From Hagia Sofia we made the long walk cross town to the Fatih Mosque. To get there we walked through some of the oldest parts of the city, including a trip past the fairly well-preserved remains of a Roman aqueduct. And because our walk took us away from the most frequently visited tourist sites, we found ourselves in the most conservative part of the city. So, while I wore a skirt the came down below my calves and a scarf on my head, the fact that the neckline of my dress was something other than a turtleneck attracted attention, making me a bit uncomfortable.

The approach to the Fatih Mosque is a lovely, tree-lined pathway, and the mosque itself has some impressive tilework. In the adjoining cemetery is a tomb which houses the body of a dead sultan's tomb, which was interesting enough.

After Fatih Mosque, we moved on to the largest mosque in Istanbul, Sultanahmet. Along the way we meandered up and down (Istanbul is rather hilly) small streets, each of which had a different specialty -- fabric shops all on one block, pots and pans on another, appliances on a third. This was clearly the area where the residents shopped, avoiding the overly touristic bazaars. The big mosque was, well, a big mosque with more and bigger tombs. 'Nuff said.

Next we visited Economou, the wharf area from which most of the ferries which travel across and up the Bosphorus depart, and where the spice, or Egyptian, market is located. Here there was lots of activity, more great views, interesting wandering. Of course, the day would not be complete without another trip back to the Grand Bazaar where, after a bit of haggling and lots of tea, Mark finally broke down and purchased what was to become the first carpet of the trip (a 6x9 silk number), as well as another miniature painting.

Dinner that evening was in Kumkapi, otherwise known as Istanbul's outdoor restaurant row. Walking down the street involves dodging the constant barrage of "Come and sit down?" and "Please look at the menu," so much so that one could literally lose their appetite trying to shake these guys off. As a result, Mark and I decided to sit at the first restaurant where we weren't assaulted which, to be honest, turned out to be a mistake, as the food was mediocre at best.]]> Tue, 04 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13149 0 41.0186111 28.9647222
From Taksim it was down the hill to the main part of old Istanbul, the one featured in all the pictures of the many-domed mosques cascading down into the ocean. We began our sightseeing at Topkapi Palace, a several acre site of your basic old palace-type stuff, similar in many ways to the Alhambra in Spain. To be honest, not much held our attention until we came to the section where the wealth of the Ottoman empire was displayed -- room after room of ruby and diamond encrusted jewelry, arms, and furniture, and a dagger with an emerald handle that was stunning.

From Topkapi we walked down a block for our first of many mosque visits -- the Blue Mosque. The mosque had stunning stained-glass windows and hand-painted tiles, making the quick visit definitely worthwhile.

After the Blue Mosque, Mark and I did what we would do over and over again on this trip -- we shopped, of course. In Turkey, as in most middle-eastern countries, this means wandering through bazaars, being convinced by a tout to enter a store, and then sitting for hours sipping tea and watching hundreds of beautiful carpets unfold before your eyes, or stacks of miniature paintings being sorted through, or piece after piece of jewelry displayed. It takes a strong will to walk away without buying anything, but there is wealth to be gained, not just spent, in these visits. Carpet talk almost always includes learning about politics ("This carpet comes from near Lake Van, which you can't get anymore because of the Kurd problem." "Really? And what is your view of the Kurdish rebellion?" and so on) and lifestyles (what our houses look like, what their homes look like, etc). Of course, Mark and I did not come away from Istanbul's Grand, or Covered, Bazaar empty-handed; a few miniature paintings somehow found their way into our daypacks.[p>
As the shops in the bazaar closed down, Mark and I wandered through a few neighborhoods and eventually found a small restaurant in the old city where we had a quiet dinner before returning to the hotel.
]]> Mon, 03 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13148 0 41.0186111 28.9647222 On the way back to Rhodes proper we made one final sight-seeing stop, to Tsampika Monastery. The monastery (a small one to be sure) is set atop what appears to be the highest promontory on the coast, visible from the road as only a tiny white dot at the top of a craggy peak. To get there one must first drive a few kilometers of a steep, narrow switchback road which ends roughly 1 km below the monastery. The last little bit on foot, while a short distance, is a good little hike up -- seriously *up*, the paved "trail" even having handrails to keep one from being blown off the mountain and onto the rocks below. And the reward for all of this? Not the monastery actually but the view . . . an incredible panorama of the entire east coast of the island from Lindos to Ladiko.

Our final dinner is at a small taverna near our pension, recommended by the pension owners, with excellent fish and even reasonable prices. We then made good use of the Suzuki, driving around the walls of the old city at night, beautifully lit with flickering lanterns (and some help from modern spotlights strategically placed).
]]> Mon, 17 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13147 0 36.4408333 28.2225 Harbor through the two pillars where the Colossus once stood is really a sight to see. When we arrived, we realized that not only did we not have any place to stay, we also didn't have a guidebook for Greece or any clue as to where to look for decent lodgings. Fortunately, as luck would have it, two Australian women who were heading out on a ferry for Crete told us about a wonderful little pension about five minutes walk from the old city.

After settling into the pension, we walked about a block to a small neighborhood restaurant recommended by the pension owner, a wonderful woman, and had a great meal -- my first real tzatziki in three years. I love tzatziki, and could live on it if given a chance. Then it was a stroll through the old city of Rhodes window shopping . . . a tourist destination to be sure, but somehow less aggressive and offensive than most. In fact, it reminded me somewhat of the old part of Santa Fe . . . many, many shops and cafes that somehow didn't ruin the experience.
]]> Sat, 15 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13145 0 36.4408333 28.2225 It was all a sham, however, as Marmaris was the pits. The Tijuana of Turkey, no question about it. The first hotel we tried seemed deserted, so we opted for something a bit more upscale. This didn't last long, however, as no sooner had I ducked into the shower when, apparently, fire broke out in a room three doors away. How did we know this? Not because any smoke alarm went off; not because any fire alarm sounded; not because anyone knocked on our door. No, while I was in the shower, guests at the hotel next door rushed onto their patios yelling and screaming. It took Mark a while to figure out what they were saying, but he eventually got the message and got me out of the shower. We grabbed some of our stuff (hey, I was not going to leave that rug behind[g>) and headed into the hallway where hotel staff members were running our way with fire extinguishers. We could smell the smoke and thus looked in earnest for the fire exits but could find none. Meanwhile, the staff completely ignored the actual guests . . . no one knocked on doors or pointed out the exits. Mark and I headed toward the elevators (the only exit we knew), knocking on doors as we went along, as did an Israeli couple staying in the room next door. We were surprised to find that they were still working--aren't they supposed to shut off so you don't get trapped? In any event, seeing no other way down, we took one. In the lobby, everything seemed normal, and when we asked for our money back, the staff was surprised. "Why? The fire will be put out soon." Sure . . . so it could smolder overnight and begin afresh, with no fire protection in the hotel at all? Not for me. And although the fire was put out within a half-hour, when we returned to our room to get the rest of our belongings, it was clear that the fire was a tad more serious than they let on . . . not only was everything smoke-filled, but you could see the black soot on the walls near the room that was ablaze.

At this point, rather desperate and tired, we cabbed it to a "resort" somewhat further up the coast, thinking that it had to be a decent place. Well, not quite. The room was small and dingy, the price exorbitant; what we got for our $2.00 in Yusufeli was far superior. In any event, after showings and eating the dinner which was included in the room rate, we walked down the boardwalk back into the main section of Marmaris. As I said, it was like being in Tijuana . . . loud music, touts that wouldn't leave you alone, boat trip salesmen that followed you, ugh! The truly sad thing, however, is that most people who come to Marmaris do it as a day or two trip from Rhodes because it is only a 45 minute hydrofoil ride. I shudder to think that Marmaris is their only impression of Turkey . . .
]]> Fri, 14 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13144 0 36.855 28.2741667 At the suggestion of the guide book, at dusk we climbed to the fortress on the top of the hill which overlooks Izmir and listened to the sounds of the muezzins calling the faithful to prayer. Because each mosque has a muezzin, and because there are so many mosques, it sounds like an echo rising up from the city, over the hill and into the heavens--a very spiritual experience, not unlike hearing the same haunting melody rising from the mist over the lakes near Srinigar. And, according to the British couple who were at least 80 years old and sitting at the cafe table next to us, it is also very romantic.
]]> Thu, 13 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13143 0 38.4072222 27.1502778 Izmir by 1 p.m. and back at the bazaar by 2:30 p.m.]]> Thu, 13 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13142 0 39.1169444 27.1838889 But Mustafa was particularly charming, so I didn't protest all that much as we followed him first to the jewelry shop and eventually to the carpet shop. And then I did what I promised myself I simply would not ever, ever, ever do again on any trip . . . I bought a carpet. A pretty stunning 9x11 wool number from Anatolia which now sits somewhat awkwardly on my bedroom floor. (Hey, I didn't come prepared with dimensions or anything!) And to make matters worse, Mark also bought a carpet, his second of the trip.

Tired and worn from our day at the ruins and the bazaar, and full of way too much apple tea, Mark and I had dinner at a mediocre restaurant on the Harbor and called it a day
]]> Wed, 12 Jun 1996 00:00:00 GMT http://www.blogabond.com/TripView.aspx?tripID=1725 http://www.blogabond.com/CommentView.aspx?commentID=13141 0 38.4072222 27.1502778