Greek Easter in Chios

For Greek Easter last year a sizable Fulbright group got together to go to Chios, Greece- an island which is 45 minutes away from Cesme, Turkey by ferry. Cesme is like Bodrum lite. There are beautiful sailboats, a fortress, and a vague insinuation of tourism, but generally speaking not much is going on. There are fairly frequent buses from Izmir to Cesme, although some of them don't stop at the main otogar/buyuk otogar in Izmir, so ask around. Chios is perhaps not the most beautiful of Greek islands, but it does boast windmills and sakiz (a sort of tasty tree resin flavoring which is hard to describe if you haven't tasted it).

What, I haven't convinced you to buy your tickets yet? Well, there is one incredibly important reason to go to Chios: the Greek Easter Rocket Battle. The origins and history of this battle are foggy, but the important thing to know about it is that every year, on Orthodox Easter, thousands upon thousands of homemade rockets are fired between two “warring” churches for hours on end. You, the spectator, stand in the middle of it all and try not to get set aflame by a rogue rocket. As our cab driver explained in an adorable Greek accent, “You go up-a the hill, you see the church on the left...it's gonna be dangerous you a-gonna see.” Once you arrive in the churchyard, rockets begin to ping off the chicken wire which protects the courtyard. Rockets make hail-like tapping sounds on the roof of the bombarded church. Rockets get lodged in trees and shrubs still spurting sparks. Rockets light up the night sky in truly stunning arcs of flying fire hazards. “A good year for this festival,” commented one of my friends, “is when like only 10 people are hurt, and none seriously.” The whole evening is fun, dangerous, and spiritual, all at once. What more can you ask for?

Please enjoy these blurry pictures, or better yet, try using “the Google” to find videos of this.

Looking back, looking forward

Where...where are all the pictures of Ataturk? Why is there blue on these flags? Yes, there is a little bit of reverse culture shock being back in America, but the word "shock" makes it sound so unpleasant. Rather, I'm just reminded that old habits die hard. Case in point: I'm in a cafe drinking a big old 12 ounce mug of coffee right now, not sipping from a dainty porcelain fincan. I'm wearing a tank top, and since I'm sitting down, my just-above-knee-length skirt is exposing my knees ever so lasciviously to the other cafe patrons, who are paying me absolutely no attention whatsoever.

There are benefits to being back in the good ol' US of A.

I feel that amongst the people who bother to pay attention to Turkey these days (that's not an accusation; there are a lot of countries worth paying attention to in the world), there is almost no grey area between love and hate. I am of the loving opinion; I heartily enjoyed Turkey despite all its foibles. Others I have recently sparked conversations with claim to hate Turkey despite all of its finer points. One such person from the latter group told me they don't think Turkey will ever "catch up" to the West, or modernize, or develop, or whatever buzzword is being used to describe going from where Turkey is to where it needs to be in its economic, political, and social realms. From my seat here in America, I can see more clearly that Turkey does have a very long road ahead. Then again, our republic is more than 200 years old, and Turkey's republican centennial is in 2023. So ask me again in another hundred years, I guess.

OK, that's more than enough vague generalizing for now. I still have some Turkish travel yarns I've yet to spin for this blog, so I'm going to keep posting, even though I'm no longer in that bewildering wilderness called Turkey. But while I've got you here- thanks for reading!

A raised eyebrow

A while back I went to Kaş, part of which is pictured above with a Lydian tomb visible at the end of the street. There is a sunken Lydian city off of its shores, near Kekova island, so this harbor town is a favorite of scuba divers. Kaş is "eyebrow" in Turkish...I believe the name comes from the shape of the coastline.

On the way to Kaş from Antalya (it's about three hours west of Antalya), one goes through Demre, a town noteworthy for being chock full of Russians, kind of depressing by comparison to its neighbor Kaş, and for having the remains of St. Nicolas.
That's right, dear old "Noel Baba", is buried in his eponymous church. The author of my guidebook took particular delight in explaining that you can later "tell children you have visited Santa Claus's grave".

In any case, the waters in this region of Turkey's "Turquoise Coast" (aka The Turkish Riviera) are true to their name. They are pristine, clear, and most of all, blue. I could not wait to swim in them, and lo, swim I did. I opted for a boat tour which did not include diving...unless you count my numerous eager dives off the side of the boat. Boat tours from Kaş to Kekova Island generally take the better part of a day, include lunch, and stop in several coves where you can swim. Sometimes you end up anchored in a cove near other tour boats, a fact which was lamented on many a travel blog. I didn't particularly mind, as I had no illusions of being the only person who wanted to visit to a mystic Mediterranean wonderland where I could frolic with sea turtles amongst sunken ruins. This is Turkey after all, where tourist spots are almost always exploited to their utmost (not necessarily a bad thing--sometimes you want to be able to have tea at the bottom of a canyon, right?). At one point our boat drifted slowly but dangerously towards a nearby anchored boat, which caused a delightful groan of "Allahallahallahallahallahallahallahallahallah" from the other captain as he gingerly kicked our boat away from his. "Allahallah" ("Allah Allah", 'God God'), is what Turks say when we might say "Oh, for crying out loud!" or when Brits would say "Good lord!", and is separated usually as Al-lah-hal-lahhhh. The other captain, however, being a linguistic champion and particularly surprised by events as they unfolded, somehow made this exclamation last about 15 seconds. Brilliant.I had one of the top five meals of my life on this boat trip, which featured balık köftesi (fish meatballs, grilled on the diving platform of the boat), bulgur, and two kinds of incredibly fresh salad. The crowning glory was when another tiny boat approached us soon after the meal--the ice cream BOAT. It's basically a dingy with a freezer onboard. Turknology at its finest.

Kaş is a town I would consider retiring in (since that is a thing I consider from time to time, being a 50-year-old teze [Turkish for "maternal aunt," also a general term of endearment for older women] at heart). My cat and I will run a tourist shop that sells hamam-related goods...wait, dang it, it's already been done!


A hearty thank you to the Fulbrighter who accompanied me on this adventure, not only for being a great travel companion but also for taking all of the pictures I posted.

Van is the cat's pjamas

Van has a short list of things it is famous for, in order of appearance: the Van Lake Monster, breakfast, a castle, and white cats with one blue and one yellow eye. No one may believe me, but I could have sworn that in the dawn hours of our overnight bus ride from Mardin to Van, I saw the shifty shape of a sea monster slowly swimming alongside our bus. Van was the only place on our tour to have a Fulbright teacher, which meant we had a local guide who spoke impeccable English. This particular teacher is a tall blonde chap from Arkansas, so needless to say he attracts a lot of attention on the streets of Van. The restaurants, grocery stores, and dolmuş routes he frequents are filled with people who recognize him. He also had such insider knowledge as how to easily to avoid the 3TL entrance fee to the grounds of Van Castle. Van Castle usually has an admission fee, but not if you're a Van insider...

Van Lake at sunset as seen from the castle.

Unsatisfied with only Van, however, again we took the better part of an afternoon after our Van kahvaltı to take a 3 hour jaunt yet further east, to Doğubayazıt. This jaunt was worthwhile for so many reasons: one, Ishak Pasha Palace is beautiful, two, we were able to see Mt. Ararat, that famous mountain of Biblical lore, and three, we were able to marvel at the Turkish military presence near the border of Iran. Many of the mountainsides around the town have Ataturk quotes emblazoned upon them in towering letters, “Ne multu Türküm diyene” being the most common and famous (“What happiness to be a Turk”). We were told that this is to “inspire” the many troops there, but the quote I mentioned especially is often used as a conversational ultimatum by way of answering The Kurdish Question (to simplify: it sometimes is seen as calling out Kurds in their dogged determination to not embrace a Turkish identity). Generally the East is both distressing and beautiful.
The former dining room of Ishak Pasha Palace was one of my favorite parts, but the mosque was also stunning.


The next morning after a rest in Van we headed to the island in Van Lake which boasts an Armenian church and stunning views. Due to happenstance and warmer weather, a large group of Fulbright teachers had descended on Van (9 to be exact), and we had an impromptu picnic of sorts on the island. Usually the ferries don't leave the dock until they have what the captain deems to be a profitable number of people on board, and in this case the sudden presence of 9 Americans and a handful of Turks meant that we didn't have to wait long for departure.


The carvings on the church are remarkable. It was an excellent end to the weekend and a picturesque last glance at Van Lake before the assembled Fulbright crew all headed back to their respective Turkish hometowns.

Sacred Fish

From Kahta it was on to Şanlıurfa, or Urfa for short, famous for aptly named Urfa Kebabs and the “Balıklı Gol”, which literally means “Lake with fish”. Upon arrival at the bus station, my three companions and I were in the midst of deciding what to see first when an elderly couple began beckoning us. “Where are you going?” they asked, not quite waiting for an answer before shuffling us into the backseat of their tiny car. “We want to see the lake with fish!” we replied, earnestly. Before we knew it, we were whisked away in the car with the now-familiar stop-and-start jerkiness of a driver who is still not completely comfortable with the necessary act of changing gears manually. While exchanging pleasantries and being complimented on our Turkish, we learned that our chauffeur and his wife had two daughters who were about our age and that they wished we were staying longer so they could treat us to a home-cooked meal. Ah well, we had other fish to fry.

Urfa has more character than most of the Turkish cities I've seen in my time here. It has charm. It has a lake, with fish. Sacred fish! They are sacred because apparently they are made of the ashes of Abraham (the story behind it is unclear as per usual, and we deduced that it probably comes only from the Koran and is not featured in other holy books, because otherwise one of us might have remembered that one time Abraham was engulfed in flames and then his ashes turned into fish). The lake is more of a pond on the grounds of a mosque, but there is a whole park nearby which unites it with Urfa Castle and a small bazar. The whole area is reminiscent of what one probably imagines when one thinks of Turkey, based on Hollywood notions of “The Orient” and the like. It is beautiful nonetheless.

This trip, much like a Russian nesting doll, also involved an inner jaunt to Mardin, a mere three hour bus ride away from Urfa. Mardin is a tiny, tiny city on a hill, and it is famous for its brilliant panoramas, a former monastery, and I believe the type of stone used in building the majority of its buildings. Here in Mardin the Turkishness of the story continues, since again in our quest for our next bus we were offered a tour of the city from a native. This time the native in question was a cab driver, so he requested a nominal fee. Still, we felt looked after. Our driver was very gentlemanly, patiently smoking by the car while we took pictures and even stopping at an ATM so we could all replenish our cash reserves. He spoke a mixture of Turkish, Kurdish, and Arabic, as most people do in that part of Turkey, which sounded very interesting as he chatted on the phone.
After a whirlwind hour and a half in Mardin, we headed all the way back to Urfa in order to catch our next bus to Van.

Two new words

arbiturkey [ˈɑːbɪtɜːki] adjective : 1. Turkish citing of historical 'facts' which are subject to individual will or judgment without restriction, e.g., He made the arbiturkey statement, "In Mevlana's time, people were two meters tall." 2. bureaucratic regulations which seem random at best, e.g., I can't understand the seemingly arbiturkey and ever-fluctuating rules surrounding the proper handling of residence permits.

turknology [tɜːkˈnɒlədʒɪ] noun : jumbled balls of exposed wiring, house walls propped up with old olive oil cans, or other such innovative solutions to everyday problems of modernity

Eastern Adventures

The week after I gave my first exams I had another first...I took my first trip towards the east of Turkey. In fact, I ended up going almost as far east as one can possibly go before winding up in Iran (Doğubayazıt, Turkey). I visited not one, but two famous mountains, I went to churches built before America was even discovered, and I saw both sacred fish and a famous breed of cat (not in the same city, however). But I get ahead of myself. Even though this trip was only five days long (the week after midterms, students have what they call a "head vacation", or a week when they just ditch classes to go home and let their mothers do their laundry), it it was so jam-packed that it will take a couple of posts to do it justice. Without further ado...

Kahta and Mt. Nemrut
Mt. Nemrut is a darling of the Turkish tourism bureau. They simply love putting pictures of the ancient stone heads of uncertain origins on various propaganda. As a result, tourists such as myself are drawn to the top of this mountain they would probably otherwise not pay any heed to. One of the starting points for the ascent is the town of Kahta, which, I was later informed, is known as the “rip-off capital of Turkey” or somesuch by the guidebooks. My companions and I did not really get ripped off there, but Kahta, in mild terms, was not a favorable introduction to the East for me. (Happily other cities would prove better.) It is a man-dominated town and with a pervasive aura of utter depression. It wasn't long, though, before we were in a dolmuş speeding towards the base camp of Mt. Nemrut, with several stops to see ancient things in between. The countryside surrounding Mt. Nemrut is absolutely gorgeous (as is the east in general, as I would learn).

Possibly the sketchiest ferry I've ever seen. Possibly. For a few minutes I lived in fear that we were going to try to drive on to it.

This is the approach to Mt. Nemrut. You have to hire a driver to get even close to the mountain because it is so far away from the nearest towns. In any case, right before we got to this hill we were stopped by local gendarmes for a routine roadside ID check. Our driver, however, had no ID, no money, and no registration for the bus. He got out of our bus and slowly approached the gendarmes' van with a wry look in his eye as we all watched anxiously from within. Eventually we saw him laughing, and decided that this was probably not a good sign. He sauntered back to the bus and explained: "I used to be a firefighter in town. I would bring the water to the men. I told them, are you remembering me? I was bringing you the water. Maybe I don't bring you water any more. So they say to me, 'Yes, we remember, you can go.' Ha ha ha. Maybe I not bring them water, ha ha." So...our driver quite literally carried a lot of water in that town. He told us that story triumphantly about four more times during the day.

There they are, all majestic and whatnot. They were really cool but the climb was a bit snowy (i.e. treacherous). Also there is a chain in front of them so you can no longer get right up next to them, unlike what pictures of past tourists might have you believe.


Stay tuned for more Eastern Adventures!