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Date:
October 21, 2002
Hello from Faralya, Turkey !
I hope this email finds you all well. I hope you can
also read this email. I had some problems with Turkish
keyboards in the past.
I thought that I enjoyed Greece. Then I arrived in
Istanbul. The city enamored me with it's spacious
feel, amazing architecture, abundant color and
acommidating people.
Istanbul began it's reign of glory in the 4th century
AD when the Roman emporer Constantine declared it the
capital of the Western Roman Empire. Thus the city's
former name Constantinople. It's strategic position on
the Bosphorus Straights, which connect the Black Sea
and the Aegean Sea, made Istanbul a prize for many an
invading army. The countless sieges and occupations
have created a unique mix of influences evident in
Istanbul's character.
A short walk from my hostel in the Sultanahmet section
of the city took me past the stunning Blue Mosque.
Across the plaza where Byzantine emporers raced
chariots stands the equally remarkable Aya Sophia or
Red Mosque. Sophia was constructed on the ruins of a
prior structure that was destroyed in rioting. It's
blood red hue was a warning from the emporer to any
revolutionary that might have contemplated Sophia's
destruction. Opened as St. Sophia it served as a
church until the Ottomans converted it into a mosque.
Today it is a museum. Behind Sophia through a gate in
the massive fortified city walls towers Topkapi
Palace. The imposing structure is an oppulant
testament to the power and the glory of the Ottoman
Empire. Just west of the palace are the Egyptian and
the Grand Bazaars. The displays of spices,jewelry,
clothing,candy, fruits and vegetables are artfully
crafted and burst with color. The back alleyways
outside the bazaars overflow with the clamour of daily
life. Dealers and customers vehemently bargain over
price and horns blare as cars struggle to get through
the crowded streets. I love this city !
During my stay in Istanbul I met a Danish man named
Dennis. Dennis is not his real name. His Turkish
friends could not pronounce the word Danish. So they
started calling him Dennis. In his retirement Dennis
sits on a wooden crate in front of the local store. He
spends most of his time drinking beer. He is over
weight and chain smokes. Initially his loud aggressive
manner revolted me. Then I listened to some of his
stories. He has lived or worked in over 100 countries,
owned an advertising agency, operated a motorcycle
shop, raised both pigs and children and designed an
automated system for growing marajana plants. He has
fled a civil war in Liberia and the law in Denmark. He
even knew why it was more dangerous to collide with a
Scandinavian moose as opposed to a North American
moose. The Scandinavian moose has longer legs and in
the event of a collision with a car the moose's body
peels the roof off the car like a can of sardines.
Cliff Clavin has nothing on this man. I spent a few
evenings talking with Dennis and found him to be a
very kind and helpful man.
Dennis introduced me to Monte. Monte is a gaunt 61
year old , chain smoking man that recently remarried.
He complained often about his new wife's 5 children.
As I spoke to Monte he shot paranoid glances up and
down the street. Then he walked over to a flower pot,
unwrapped a bottle and poured himself a drink.
Afterwards he rewrapped the bottle, placed the bottle
back in the flower pot and returned to our
conversation. Monte claimed he worried about the
police fining him for drinking in public. Monte was a
regular every night. A few days later I was stunned
when Dennis showed me a poster proclaiming Monte's bid
for the office of mayor of Istanbul. The sad political
state of affairs in Turkey is that a candidate for
mayor spends his evenings in the street drinking out
of a flower pot. No wonder they can not get into the
EU.
After a few days in Istanbul I took a grueling 16 hour
bus ride south to Turkey's Mediterranean coast. Give
me a bicycle any day. In the town of Oludeniz I found
a beautiful beach and a German invasion. Unknown to me
Oludeniz is famous for paragliding. A similar sport to
hang gliding but the pilots use a parachute. Local 4x4
vehicles shuttle the pilots up to a nearby 6000ft peak
where they take to flight. In the sky above the beach
there are sometimes hundreds of gliders. Oblivious to
the town's claim for fame I walked down to the beach.
All I desired was that content stupor that a sunset
elicits. When I arrived at the water's edge I was
shocked to see ground crews shouting in German into
their walkie talkies and parachutes landing
everywhere. The paratroopers had landed. The spectical
lasted for an hour.
Disgusted by what I thought was more Venice Beach than
Turkey I left Oludeniz. I jumped onto a minibus and on
the advice of another traveler I ventured south along
the coast to George's House. One mile south of
Oludeniz the pavement ended and the bus continued down
a dirt road that clung to the edge of a cliff. I soon
disembarked in a tiny village. The cloud of dust
created by the departing bus blew past and a chicken
darted across my path. The smell of suntan lotion had
been replaced by the sweet smell of wood smoke. Not a
tourist in sight. I was a traveler again. This time
without my bicycle. In a minute I was at George's
House which is small family run hotel. The owner's son
showed me to my bungalow and suggested I enjoy the
sunset before dinner. Behind their house I watched as
the rugged Turkish coastline faded into a deep pink
evening light that lingered over the Mediterranean
Sea.
A cowbell announced dinner. I removed my shoes and
entered the communal dinning room. I seated myself on
the floor with the other guests. Before me was a white
metal circular tray filled with smaller dishes. Each
contained a different type of Turkish food prepared by
the family's daughter. On the side sat a basket of
Turkish bread. I ate lentils, eggplants, green beans,
chicken, stuffed peppers, rice and cucumbers. Desert
was fruit, yogurt and pudding. All were sweetened with
the local honey. The food was delicious. There is no
greater gift to this traveler than an unexpected home
cooked meal.
I will be traveling alone for the next week. I said a
too brief farewell to my friend Scott. The minibus in
Oludeniz barely came to a stop. As I jumped on the bus
I managed little more than a handshake. Scott is
continuing on to India. I do not envy him. Yet I also
anticipate that a desire to travel will renew itself
in me. One of my goals on my return home is to create
a life where travel and home can strike a balance. I
do not foresee myself using a bicycle in my future
journeys. Too many time this extreme mode of transport
has left me isolated and lonely. I envision myself
working over sea where I can hopefully be part of a
community.
So Scott my friend have faith in the power of
friendship to necessitate our paths to cross again. I
wish you well and will keep you in my thoughts.
Recently you have spoken much about learning how to
love. I encourage you to locate a modern translation
of the bible and read I Corinthians chapter 13. In
this passage Paul defines unconditional love. I have
been privileged in life to receive this kind of love.
With this knowledge in my heart no matter how bad my
circumstances I will always have a basis to build a
better life. I will see you soon.
I will also see the rest of you soon. I miss you all.
Dennis
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