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.

MacGyver would be proud

While the overall intent of this blog is to provide some informative observations on Turkish culture and a way for people at home to keep track of me, I must take a brief moment for self-congratulation. (It's actually couched in a story about how things in Turkey are not always perfect, so I guess it is still blog-worthy without my disclaimer.)

Last night when I returned to my room at about 10PM, none of the lights or electrical outlets were functioning. Since it was late and I was lazy, I decided that, rather than ask the front desk or somesuch for help, I would play it by ear. Now, the bathroom is a separate room into which no light from the outside world penetrates when the door is closed. How could I bathe in abject darkness? Simple: I took Lil' Brudda into the bathroom (normally a terrible idea, but you know what they say about desperate times), turned his screen up to its full brightness, opened a blank word processing document so the screen would be white, and voila! -a bathroom with enough light to bathe by.

Hopefully I can bring this kind of resourcefulness into the classroom when the time comes...and that time could be as early as Monday. I have my bus ticket to Uşak in my purse already. Heyecanlıyım!

Soaking it up

Recently I had the privilege of going to a hamam, or Turkish bath, with some of my fellow Fulbrighters. There is a cafe in the Bachelievler neighborhood (where the hotel is) called Chadır Cafe, and some intrepid members of our band managed to befriend the owner through bumbling, pantomime, and trading a Turkish/English dictionary back and forth. After spending hours there and adding some people to the group including yours truly, we had formed a bond that led to him invite us back to the cafe to watch the big futbol game (Beşiktaş v. Fenerbache) that evening. We did, and after the game he had tea with lemon with us and chatted about America, English, and a tiny bit of politics. We somehow mentioned that we wanted to go to the hamam, and his eyes lit up and, knowing the best one of course, he offered to take us the next day at 6:30PM, after our classes.

So six thirty arrived and 9 of us (4 guys, 5 girls) headed over to the cafe. The owner decided to drive the ladies and make the guys follow us in a cab. On the way, we were treated to Turkish driving the likes of which I have yet to see (I love the way they drive here...), and eventually started spiraling down in a parking garage. One girl has studied Turkish extensively, so she functioned as our translator and ambassador, and I was able to understand bits of the conversation myself. This is relevant because as we entered the parking garage, he started to "joke" that he was kidnapping us, that we couldn't get cell phone reception underground, and have we ever seen movies like this? I eeked out a half-joking Turkish phrase, "My father doesn't have any money!" Luckily, it soon appeared, three stories underground- a real Turkish hamam.

After he fetched the boys from the surface world we each entered our respective gender's half of the bath. After gesticulating and translating, we were led to small changing rooms. For women, typically wearing your underwear (just bottoms) is de rigueur in hamams, although some women wear swimsuit bottoms- it's your preference (or whatever you have). After undressing, you wrap yourself in a thin towel and head to a large bath room with many spigots and basins. You douse yourself with water in this steamy, incredibly hot main room and more often than not socialize with the other women present (if you speak their language, of course). You may also find a future mother-in-law in this way, but that is less common these days.

After this, you move into a sauna to really open your pores. Once you cannot take the heat of the sauna any longer, you are led to a large marble slab and the best parts begin. A woman uses a kese to scrub you to the utmost, sloughing off more dead skin and grime than you thought your body could ever possibly contain. After your whole body is rigorously scrubbed, you rinse. At this point one can choose to have a massage or other services, or to to lather and leave. For us, we opted to have both a Turkish coffee massage AND a bubble massage, what with Fulbright moneys burning holes in all our pockets.

Coffee massage. Just think about this. I am in a country where people spend part of their lives more or less BATHING in coffee. The masseuse rubs a mixture of seltzer water and coffee grounds into your freshly exfoliated skin, including on your face and neck. If you know me, you also know that this is quite possibly my favorite experience ever. I think that this massage alone made me smarter, faster, better at sports, cured me of all known diseases, and cleansed my heart of all prejudices and anger. I only exaggerate slightly.

This is followed by the soapy massage which included some stretching the legs and wrist and arms, and a shampooing that made me think I was drowning, and then a rinse and ta-da, I had been to a hamam. At some point the woman doing all this to me introduced herself, and when I responded "I'm Emily, nice to meet you" in Turkish, she said "Ooooo!" and gave me a soapy kiss on both cheeks, as is customary between Turkish friends (minus the soap). The whole thing feels great, and your skin is the softest it could conceivably be afterward.

After all this pampering, we paid the ludicrously low price of 25 TL (30 with tip). The women masseuses donned their headscarves and trench coats, becoming very agitated that our wet hair would make us catch cold in the 80F Ankara evening. We left the hamam glowing and got back into the car that had brought us, the gentlemen having finished with their hamam experience as well. We headed back to the cafe, talked about American pop music a little, had another meal there and more tea, and after a few games of backgammon we eventually came back to the hotel with a good story and good feelings.