Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends. ~Maya Angelou
Our time in Cappadocia is limited and the area is vast so we decided to take a guided tour today to see as much as possible of this beautiful land. Generally, I prefer to sightsee on my own time with a book to absorb knowledge at my own pace. The logistics of this trip would not allow us the luxury so, at the recommendation of our hotel proprietor, we boarded a small bus today for a one day tour of some exciting historical sites.
One highlight (or lowlight pardon the pun) of the guided tour was a visit to an ancient, underground city that was abandoned long, long ago. A city that was built beneath the surface of the earth with virtually no discernible structure above ground to give away it’s location to its enemies.
This particular city was 8 stories down, 8 subterranean levels of living quarters for humans and their animal livestock. There were rooms for schools, traps for enemies, deep wells to harvest water, long ventilation shafts, and rooms for worship. For lighting, small pockets were cut out of the rock which held oil that was burned. Gathering the amount of oil required to keep this city lit and keeping the flames burning must have been a full time job for many people.
We descended all the way down to the 8th level frequently bending because the ceilings were low. By trip end, my knees were sore and my quads ached from squatting as I navigated the passages. The longest descent composed of 110 steps, 110 steps of closed in walls. I tend to be a bit claustrophobic so had to calm my heart on more than one occasion.
The engineer in me was awed at this amazing world beneath the land, amazed at how skillful the people must have been to create this world, wondered how they were able to bore shafts with nothing more than hand tools, hand tools and a will to persevere despite the hardships.
I tried to imagine how challenging it must have been to live beneath the surface, away from the rays of the sun for days, weeks, perhaps even months at a time. How challenging it must have been to raise a family in the close confines. How challenging it would be to dwell beneath the surface of the earth. I don’t know if I could have lived that way and stayed sane.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Turkey Day #4 (Cappadocia)
May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. ~Edward Abbey
Are we in the same country today as we were yesterday? The signs are still in Turkish but all else bears little resemblance to Istanbul. It is as if during the hour long ride in the airplane and half hour jaunt by vehicle, we were transported not only to another world but to a different century. Time is slower here in Cappadocia, people move at a more leisurely pace, their is no hustle, no bustle, no vendors haranguing me to purchase their wares.
Cappadocia is a land of ephemeral beauty, a cross between my beloved Southern Utah and the Badlands of South Dakota with a flavor that accentuates the combination, a flavor that is still uniquely Turkish. The shapes of the land forms known as fairy chimneys seem derived from the Islamic script, the same flowing strokes, the same gentle angles adorn both the writing and the land.
The fairy chimneys are frequently hollowed out, hollowed out by human hands to create rooms, windows, doors, shelves, fireplaces, a city of rocks in the rocks. The were seemingly ubiquitous on our hike in and around the city in the rocks and we took a good measure of time exploring them on our hike, a hike cut short by rain. During the worst of the rain, we took respite in a chimney, a room about ten foot square, that protected us from the wet and the brisk winds. We sat in the doorway and looked over the city, the empty city where people once flourished.
It was quiet in that room. Quiet outside in the vast surroundings and quiet inside of me. I was still, still for the first time since this trip began. I was comfortably still, relaxed, enjoying the peacefulness that infuses my body when I am hiking in landscapes defined by the rock that creates these natural playgrounds, these holy grounds. We probably could have sat there for hours, hours in silence, hours as first man and first woman surveying our domain, had the temperature not dropped and a chill crept into our bones. However, there was to be another twist before we headed back to the trailhead.
While sitting in that rock cave isolated from all people except the lovely woman nestled in my arms, the Islamic call to prayer sounded. I did not understand the words, had no idea what the caller was saying to his people, only knew it was a call to prayer because of what I learned during my stay in Istanbul. Yet, the intonations, the syllables uttered in that lovely, lyrical mode felt mystical, felt reverent, felt holy.
I felt this way because, I believe, humans are designed by God to be spiritual beings, designed by God to long for him, designed by God to seek him. Are, by our very nature, incomplete without a solid connection to God, have a hole in our heart that can only be filled by God. The longing to fill that hole has defined man’s existence since the ancients worshipped for thousands of years in thousands of sacred places like Cappadocia.
When the rain finally abated, we braved the cool winds and headed back to the hotel to get some warmer clothing so our next round of exploration would be more comfortable. Walking out of the rock city, I realized that I felt at once at home, safe in familiar surroundings while fully aware that I had never before set foot on this ancient, hallowed ground.
Perhaps the familiarity was because I saw a fairy chimney that was a near exact match to Balanced Rock in Arches National Park, perhaps it was because I feel so comfortable in stark landscapes peppered with rock formations that seem more fantasy than real, perhaps it is because I am as comfortable in reality as I am in my fantasies, perhaps it is because I am more comfortable alone with my thoughts than I am surrounded by the teeming masses.
I’m not really sure why I felt so at home during the hike but, I do know, that I will be going hiking into the rock city again to enjoy God’s creation, to enjoy looking out at ethereal landscapes as the ancient did when they carved homes into these rocks under the power of their own hands, if, for nothing else, to enjoy the feeling of being at home though I have never before walked these lands.
Are we in the same country today as we were yesterday? The signs are still in Turkish but all else bears little resemblance to Istanbul. It is as if during the hour long ride in the airplane and half hour jaunt by vehicle, we were transported not only to another world but to a different century. Time is slower here in Cappadocia, people move at a more leisurely pace, their is no hustle, no bustle, no vendors haranguing me to purchase their wares.
Cappadocia is a land of ephemeral beauty, a cross between my beloved Southern Utah and the Badlands of South Dakota with a flavor that accentuates the combination, a flavor that is still uniquely Turkish. The shapes of the land forms known as fairy chimneys seem derived from the Islamic script, the same flowing strokes, the same gentle angles adorn both the writing and the land.
The fairy chimneys are frequently hollowed out, hollowed out by human hands to create rooms, windows, doors, shelves, fireplaces, a city of rocks in the rocks. The were seemingly ubiquitous on our hike in and around the city in the rocks and we took a good measure of time exploring them on our hike, a hike cut short by rain. During the worst of the rain, we took respite in a chimney, a room about ten foot square, that protected us from the wet and the brisk winds. We sat in the doorway and looked over the city, the empty city where people once flourished.
It was quiet in that room. Quiet outside in the vast surroundings and quiet inside of me. I was still, still for the first time since this trip began. I was comfortably still, relaxed, enjoying the peacefulness that infuses my body when I am hiking in landscapes defined by the rock that creates these natural playgrounds, these holy grounds. We probably could have sat there for hours, hours in silence, hours as first man and first woman surveying our domain, had the temperature not dropped and a chill crept into our bones. However, there was to be another twist before we headed back to the trailhead.
While sitting in that rock cave isolated from all people except the lovely woman nestled in my arms, the Islamic call to prayer sounded. I did not understand the words, had no idea what the caller was saying to his people, only knew it was a call to prayer because of what I learned during my stay in Istanbul. Yet, the intonations, the syllables uttered in that lovely, lyrical mode felt mystical, felt reverent, felt holy.
I felt this way because, I believe, humans are designed by God to be spiritual beings, designed by God to long for him, designed by God to seek him. Are, by our very nature, incomplete without a solid connection to God, have a hole in our heart that can only be filled by God. The longing to fill that hole has defined man’s existence since the ancients worshipped for thousands of years in thousands of sacred places like Cappadocia.
When the rain finally abated, we braved the cool winds and headed back to the hotel to get some warmer clothing so our next round of exploration would be more comfortable. Walking out of the rock city, I realized that I felt at once at home, safe in familiar surroundings while fully aware that I had never before set foot on this ancient, hallowed ground.
Perhaps the familiarity was because I saw a fairy chimney that was a near exact match to Balanced Rock in Arches National Park, perhaps it was because I feel so comfortable in stark landscapes peppered with rock formations that seem more fantasy than real, perhaps it is because I am as comfortable in reality as I am in my fantasies, perhaps it is because I am more comfortable alone with my thoughts than I am surrounded by the teeming masses.
I’m not really sure why I felt so at home during the hike but, I do know, that I will be going hiking into the rock city again to enjoy God’s creation, to enjoy looking out at ethereal landscapes as the ancient did when they carved homes into these rocks under the power of their own hands, if, for nothing else, to enjoy the feeling of being at home though I have never before walked these lands.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Turkey Day #3 (Istanbul With A Local)
People don’t take trips – trips take people. – John Steinbeck
There are many things an iPad is good for, tasks that are easier to perform on an iPad than on a bulky PC such as reading Kindle books and surfing the web and keeping in touch with friends via Facebook. One of the things the iPad is a wordprocessor substititute for my blog. Writing my blog is not a problem because I purchased an keyboard that doubles as a cover to protect the screen while it jiggles in my backpack next to my cameras and assorted items necessary for recording my travel experiences. The big problem I encounter is that I cannot move my pictures from my Canon cameras to my iPad for inclusion in my blog.
For me, pictures accent the written word thus are a valuable addition to expressing my experiences. So, I guess, a laptop purchase is in my future. Today’s first stop was Topkapi Palace, a very large, architecturally significant historic site just walking distance from our hotel. (Actually, anything can be walking distance when depending upon how long one desires to walk or on how far one underestimates the distance to get some place and refuses to part with cab fair because the destination must be just around the next bend in the road). We left to be there by opening time and beat the crowds but it seemed many others had the same idea and we had to wait in a few lines.
Upon entry to the Palace, we headed over to the harem, the place where the Sultan’s housed their many wives. Personally, I can’t think of why anyone would suffer more than one wife at any given time aside from a wide selection to satisfy the nuances of lust on any given day. From the layout, it seems they sultan was isolated from the harem allowing him relative domestic bliss.
While we were able to visit the harem with relative easy flow of movement, the remainder of palace became quite crowded and exhibits like the jewelry rooms required suffering long queues. We headed back to the hotel to check on our luggage to no avail. The promise of a drop off by 10 am did not happen, unless 10:00 am is written as 3:00 pm. We couldn’t wait because we had plans to meet a local near the new palace for a half day tour of Istanbul outside the tourist peninsula. This is where the long walk came in.
My best estimate is that we walked more than 5 miles because the destination was just ahead….again and again and again. We met Turksan and the local tour began. Having walked so many miles, it was nice to sit in an air conditioned car and relax while he gave us both the history of his country and a picture of life, joys and challenges, in modern Turkey. With him as our guide, we were able to visit all three of the local peninsulas traveling through both Europe and Asia.
Turksan was a great guide. He took a 1/2 day off of work at the behest of a Turkish friend I have in the US to take us on the tour. He was very personable and hospitable which, I am told, are traits the Turks exhibit to their guests. Turksan was the embodiment of hospitality. Sitting in uncrowded, local squares/plazas with contemplative views of the Bosphorous River, eating local sweets, and drinking Chai (Turkish Tea) or Turkish Coffee (mud like consistency with a bitter taste in my opinion) was a much needed relief from being continually accosted by vendors.
Of the most spectacular views, was looking across the Bosphorous to see the many amazing mosques in the distance. They dominated the view but not in a grotesque, garish, Disneyland way. Rather, they fit with the contours of the terrain with opulent, dignity. We were treated to dinner on the top floor or a restaurant high on a hill that gave a lovely view of the area, the mosques, the skylines, the brides, the river. As has been the case everywhere, the food was outstanding. We had a traditional Ottoman meal, lots of meat, (meat means lamb not chicken), yogurt, sauces, vegetables. This is faire I could feast on the rest of my life and be very, very happy.
The evening ended with a Ferry ride from the East to the West and Turksan driving us right to the door of our hotel. We thanked him profusely, exchanged pleasantries before calling it an evening. We had hoped to hit the bed early for the next day, we had a 7:00 am flight to Nevsehir, but, due to the glee of finally getting our luggage and a quick trip to a gift shop, sleep came a couple of hours later than planned.
There are many things an iPad is good for, tasks that are easier to perform on an iPad than on a bulky PC such as reading Kindle books and surfing the web and keeping in touch with friends via Facebook. One of the things the iPad is a wordprocessor substititute for my blog. Writing my blog is not a problem because I purchased an keyboard that doubles as a cover to protect the screen while it jiggles in my backpack next to my cameras and assorted items necessary for recording my travel experiences. The big problem I encounter is that I cannot move my pictures from my Canon cameras to my iPad for inclusion in my blog.
For me, pictures accent the written word thus are a valuable addition to expressing my experiences. So, I guess, a laptop purchase is in my future. Today’s first stop was Topkapi Palace, a very large, architecturally significant historic site just walking distance from our hotel. (Actually, anything can be walking distance when depending upon how long one desires to walk or on how far one underestimates the distance to get some place and refuses to part with cab fair because the destination must be just around the next bend in the road). We left to be there by opening time and beat the crowds but it seemed many others had the same idea and we had to wait in a few lines.
Upon entry to the Palace, we headed over to the harem, the place where the Sultan’s housed their many wives. Personally, I can’t think of why anyone would suffer more than one wife at any given time aside from a wide selection to satisfy the nuances of lust on any given day. From the layout, it seems they sultan was isolated from the harem allowing him relative domestic bliss.
While we were able to visit the harem with relative easy flow of movement, the remainder of palace became quite crowded and exhibits like the jewelry rooms required suffering long queues. We headed back to the hotel to check on our luggage to no avail. The promise of a drop off by 10 am did not happen, unless 10:00 am is written as 3:00 pm. We couldn’t wait because we had plans to meet a local near the new palace for a half day tour of Istanbul outside the tourist peninsula. This is where the long walk came in.
My best estimate is that we walked more than 5 miles because the destination was just ahead….again and again and again. We met Turksan and the local tour began. Having walked so many miles, it was nice to sit in an air conditioned car and relax while he gave us both the history of his country and a picture of life, joys and challenges, in modern Turkey. With him as our guide, we were able to visit all three of the local peninsulas traveling through both Europe and Asia.
Turksan was a great guide. He took a 1/2 day off of work at the behest of a Turkish friend I have in the US to take us on the tour. He was very personable and hospitable which, I am told, are traits the Turks exhibit to their guests. Turksan was the embodiment of hospitality. Sitting in uncrowded, local squares/plazas with contemplative views of the Bosphorous River, eating local sweets, and drinking Chai (Turkish Tea) or Turkish Coffee (mud like consistency with a bitter taste in my opinion) was a much needed relief from being continually accosted by vendors.
Of the most spectacular views, was looking across the Bosphorous to see the many amazing mosques in the distance. They dominated the view but not in a grotesque, garish, Disneyland way. Rather, they fit with the contours of the terrain with opulent, dignity. We were treated to dinner on the top floor or a restaurant high on a hill that gave a lovely view of the area, the mosques, the skylines, the brides, the river. As has been the case everywhere, the food was outstanding. We had a traditional Ottoman meal, lots of meat, (meat means lamb not chicken), yogurt, sauces, vegetables. This is faire I could feast on the rest of my life and be very, very happy.
The evening ended with a Ferry ride from the East to the West and Turksan driving us right to the door of our hotel. We thanked him profusely, exchanged pleasantries before calling it an evening. We had hoped to hit the bed early for the next day, we had a 7:00 am flight to Nevsehir, but, due to the glee of finally getting our luggage and a quick trip to a gift shop, sleep came a couple of hours later than planned.
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Turkey Day #2 (Istanbul)
Not all those who wander are lost. ~JRR Tolkein
What a day in Turkey. The weather was outstanding as were the sights. We visited the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sofia in the morning. Then we wandered for hours in the packed bazaars where the vendors hawking their wares pounced on anyone even glancing at thier items.
The Blue Mosque is the first Mosque I have ever entered. The architecture and the interior designs were sites to behold. Domes dominated the structure internally with the main prayer area being a cavernous entity beneath the main dome. Internally, arched walkways dominated the visuals.
The Hagia Sofia is a Mosque that was once also a Christian Church. There are mosaics of Christian entities that were covered up by Moslem paintings only later to be partly uncovered. The Mosque, which is now a museum, is decorated with both Moslem and Christian art. Here, too, were domes and arches. One entered through massive doors that were once only used by the Byzantine emperors. Today, I walked in the same places as the ancients who died centuries before I was conceived. That type of history is typical in this old part of Istanbul and the immensity of time can be overwhelming to imagine
We lunched near those main attractions and paid the tourist prices as a result. Out meal was twice the price of the previous evening. However, it was outstanding faire. We both had chicken dishes with mine prepared in the traditional Ottoman way. I simply cannot give enough praise to the quality of food. With our hunger satisfied, we headed out to the Grand Bazaar.
It seemed everywhere we walked in the Grand Bazaar and outside the bazaar was one huge shopping mall but nothing in comparison to malls in the US. The Grand Bazaar is in a massive building with business intertwined in a labyrinth and is more crowded than any mall at Christmas time. I can easily see one getting lost in there for hours just trying to figure out where they entered. The nearest description I can give to the place is that it is a series of narrow halls each with it’s own theme in regards to goods. To navigate easily, one would need to lay down Ariadne’s thread.
The streets outside the Grand Bazaars are Bazaars in their own rights. Streets are themed. There are streets with leather goods, streets with jewelry, street with T-shirts, streets with spices and candies, streets with animals, primarily birds for sale either as pets or food. I’m thinking the primary use is fresh food for I don’t see how one would keep a pheasant as a pet and the chickens looked plumped for the cooking pot
I had wanted to just browse the bazaars, study the wares without becoming entwined in the seller buyer arena. However, my luggage has yet to arrive and my clothes were getting a bit ripe so I thought it a good idea to at east get some clean underwear and a clean shirt so I could be a bit fresher as I meet up with a friend of a workmate for a tour of modern Istanbul. I also left my hat, a very cool hat on the airplane so had to purchase a new one to protect my head from the bright sun. It was the only item I debating pricing with the vendor and picked it up for 25% off the initially quoted price. I’m sure I still overspent but not as much as I would have had I not turned to walk away with his opening offer.
Amazingly, just about every street we waked teemed with people. Teemed in that it was difficult navigating because people were literally shoulder to shoulder to shoulder. People of all colors, shapes, and sizes. People in Western attire and many women in traditional Moslem attire. I have never seen so many headscarves in all my life. There were women in pencil cut, skin tight jeans leaving no curve to the imagination and women in full black Burkhas’ showing only the eyes. I guess that is the dichotomy of life in Istanbul, the modern living in harmony with the traditional, the place where West meets East.
The amazing thing to me, someone raised in the more or less homogenous Midwest and a Chicagoan used to definite dividing lines separating white from black from Latino from Asian, is that the meeting of West and East is not a collision, rather, a blending of many cultures, an intermingling of people raised in vastly different belief systems, a harmonious integration where diversity is embraced.
What a day in Turkey. The weather was outstanding as were the sights. We visited the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sofia in the morning. Then we wandered for hours in the packed bazaars where the vendors hawking their wares pounced on anyone even glancing at thier items.
The Blue Mosque is the first Mosque I have ever entered. The architecture and the interior designs were sites to behold. Domes dominated the structure internally with the main prayer area being a cavernous entity beneath the main dome. Internally, arched walkways dominated the visuals.
The Hagia Sofia is a Mosque that was once also a Christian Church. There are mosaics of Christian entities that were covered up by Moslem paintings only later to be partly uncovered. The Mosque, which is now a museum, is decorated with both Moslem and Christian art. Here, too, were domes and arches. One entered through massive doors that were once only used by the Byzantine emperors. Today, I walked in the same places as the ancients who died centuries before I was conceived. That type of history is typical in this old part of Istanbul and the immensity of time can be overwhelming to imagineWe lunched near those main attractions and paid the tourist prices as a result. Out meal was twice the price of the previous evening. However, it was outstanding faire. We both had chicken dishes with mine prepared in the traditional Ottoman way. I simply cannot give enough praise to the quality of food. With our hunger satisfied, we headed out to the Grand Bazaar.
It seemed everywhere we walked in the Grand Bazaar and outside the bazaar was one huge shopping mall but nothing in comparison to malls in the US. The Grand Bazaar is in a massive building with business intertwined in a labyrinth and is more crowded than any mall at Christmas time. I can easily see one getting lost in there for hours just trying to figure out where they entered. The nearest description I can give to the place is that it is a series of narrow halls each with it’s own theme in regards to goods. To navigate easily, one would need to lay down Ariadne’s thread.
The streets outside the Grand Bazaars are Bazaars in their own rights. Streets are themed. There are streets with leather goods, streets with jewelry, street with T-shirts, streets with spices and candies, streets with animals, primarily birds for sale either as pets or food. I’m thinking the primary use is fresh food for I don’t see how one would keep a pheasant as a pet and the chickens looked plumped for the cooking pot
I had wanted to just browse the bazaars, study the wares without becoming entwined in the seller buyer arena. However, my luggage has yet to arrive and my clothes were getting a bit ripe so I thought it a good idea to at east get some clean underwear and a clean shirt so I could be a bit fresher as I meet up with a friend of a workmate for a tour of modern Istanbul. I also left my hat, a very cool hat on the airplane so had to purchase a new one to protect my head from the bright sun. It was the only item I debating pricing with the vendor and picked it up for 25% off the initially quoted price. I’m sure I still overspent but not as much as I would have had I not turned to walk away with his opening offer.
Amazingly, just about every street we waked teemed with people. Teemed in that it was difficult navigating because people were literally shoulder to shoulder to shoulder. People of all colors, shapes, and sizes. People in Western attire and many women in traditional Moslem attire. I have never seen so many headscarves in all my life. There were women in pencil cut, skin tight jeans leaving no curve to the imagination and women in full black Burkhas’ showing only the eyes. I guess that is the dichotomy of life in Istanbul, the modern living in harmony with the traditional, the place where West meets East.
The amazing thing to me, someone raised in the more or less homogenous Midwest and a Chicagoan used to definite dividing lines separating white from black from Latino from Asian, is that the meeting of West and East is not a collision, rather, a blending of many cultures, an intermingling of people raised in vastly different belief systems, a harmonious integration where diversity is embraced.
Monday, May 7, 2012
Turkey Day #1 (Istanbul - Finally)
I had arrived at the airport one hour early so that, in accordance with airline procedures, I could stand around. ~Dave Barry
Travel plans didnt go neitherly as smooth as planned. After a relatively smooth trek through security (had to be record time for me), we discovered our plane was delayed by 5 hours then was cancelled all together. We hustled to the service desk where we had to wait an hour to reach the counter. Once we reached the counter, we spent another hour as they tried to get us on another flight. Because there was a problem with the computer system and we could not be unseated by United for another flight, we had to leave terminal one and go to terimnal 5 and visit Turkish air. Turkish air told us there was nothing they could do for us and that United had to give us a FIM. So, back to termianal one, back through the now very long security line, back to the service desk for the FIM then back to Terminal 5 with the FIM for a booked flight. All in all, the entire process from entering O’hare to finally getting on a flight saw us spending 9 hours at the airport. The fight cancellation was not the fault of the airlines as foul weather in Europe was the straw that broke the camels back for this trip. I must give credit to United as they busted their butts to get us an alternate flight. And they gave us $40 in food coupons to spend in the terminal. I am very glad I didnt have to pay my own money to eat because the food we purchased was barely edible. I would like to say everything went smoothly once we boarded the plane but that wouldn’t quite be true. Upon landing, our checkin bags were nowhere to be seen and as of midnight, there is still no words on their whereabouts. The best guess is the were still at O’Hare.
We reached our hotel, a hostel actually, around 7:30 pm Turkish time(GMT-2) on 07-May-2012. All told only lost about 5 hours of vacation time. However, we have tight plans which now must be adjusted so we can visit the old palace in Istanbul.
The Yakamov hostel is a very small room near the heart of old istanbul. We only plan to spend sleeping time here so a luxurious room was not something for which we felt the need to spend our cash. The hostile is ideally situated within walking distance of the grand attractions of old Istanbul and even closer to a myriad of restaurants that had us salivating on the cab ride up to our hostel.
We checked in and immediately went out for dinner. For some reason I cannot eat on airplanes, the smell of the food induces nausea, so I was quite hungry by this time. Right around the corner from our hostel was a restaurant called the “Sembol Meat House”. People that know me will understand why this place immediately attracted my attention. I am a meat lover. I consider anything green as what food eats and not something to be consumed by human beings, not unless there are copious amounts of meat for primary ingestion.
Our dinner consisted of the meat special, flat bread, wine by the glass, water by the bottle, chai (Turkish Tea), and, for desert, baklava. We ate on the patio and idyllic weather conditions. In the distance, the mosque sent out a call for prayers that could be heard quite distinctly. Hearing the call was a new experience for me. I am not Moslem, still, the call struck me with a sense of reverence.
The meal was outstanding. The flavors were rich and varied and the portions perfect of the two of us. The ambience was also rich in the multitude of languages spoken. We were the only two I heard speaking with a US English accent. THere were, however, quite a few British people eating at this restaurant.
I have noticed on my travels, that food outside of the US is much richer in flavors. I love American food, it’s what I grew up stuffing my face with and something I crave when returning from abroad. My travels have brought me to the conclusion that American food is dumbed down for the masses. The rich and varied flavors found the world over are somehow, to rich and varied for a generation raised on fast food to appreciate, to rich and varied and subtly exquisite to a people used to fat and grease and bland to understand the culinary joy they are missing. Food in America has become something to fill the void of a hungry stomach while in other parts of the world, food is an event unto itself
We took a nice long walk after dinner, We waked through the town, away from our hostel, and found the night life of Old Istanbul. Though we had just eaten and could not fit another morsel into our bellies, which is usually a time when i don’t even want to smell food, I was drawn to the scents of the many restaurants and found myself planning on which to try the remaining two evenings we are in Istanbul. I was only able to narrow it down to ALL of them.
We walked to the Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque, both places we will visit tomorrow, and admired their resplendent exterior beauty as highlighted by the lines shining upon their facades. The architectural glory, what I could see in the night, left me with a feeling of awe, awe at these marvelous architecture both contemplated and implemented by man, awe at the Engineering genius going into these ancient creations.
The vacation has just begun and I already feel that Istanbul has gotten under my skin, that Istanbul has touched my sense of adventure, that Istanbul is a city I could, one day, call home.
Travel plans didnt go neitherly as smooth as planned. After a relatively smooth trek through security (had to be record time for me), we discovered our plane was delayed by 5 hours then was cancelled all together. We hustled to the service desk where we had to wait an hour to reach the counter. Once we reached the counter, we spent another hour as they tried to get us on another flight. Because there was a problem with the computer system and we could not be unseated by United for another flight, we had to leave terminal one and go to terimnal 5 and visit Turkish air. Turkish air told us there was nothing they could do for us and that United had to give us a FIM. So, back to termianal one, back through the now very long security line, back to the service desk for the FIM then back to Terminal 5 with the FIM for a booked flight. All in all, the entire process from entering O’hare to finally getting on a flight saw us spending 9 hours at the airport. The fight cancellation was not the fault of the airlines as foul weather in Europe was the straw that broke the camels back for this trip. I must give credit to United as they busted their butts to get us an alternate flight. And they gave us $40 in food coupons to spend in the terminal. I am very glad I didnt have to pay my own money to eat because the food we purchased was barely edible. I would like to say everything went smoothly once we boarded the plane but that wouldn’t quite be true. Upon landing, our checkin bags were nowhere to be seen and as of midnight, there is still no words on their whereabouts. The best guess is the were still at O’Hare.
We reached our hotel, a hostel actually, around 7:30 pm Turkish time(GMT-2) on 07-May-2012. All told only lost about 5 hours of vacation time. However, we have tight plans which now must be adjusted so we can visit the old palace in Istanbul.
The Yakamov hostel is a very small room near the heart of old istanbul. We only plan to spend sleeping time here so a luxurious room was not something for which we felt the need to spend our cash. The hostile is ideally situated within walking distance of the grand attractions of old Istanbul and even closer to a myriad of restaurants that had us salivating on the cab ride up to our hostel.
We checked in and immediately went out for dinner. For some reason I cannot eat on airplanes, the smell of the food induces nausea, so I was quite hungry by this time. Right around the corner from our hostel was a restaurant called the “Sembol Meat House”. People that know me will understand why this place immediately attracted my attention. I am a meat lover. I consider anything green as what food eats and not something to be consumed by human beings, not unless there are copious amounts of meat for primary ingestion.
Our dinner consisted of the meat special, flat bread, wine by the glass, water by the bottle, chai (Turkish Tea), and, for desert, baklava. We ate on the patio and idyllic weather conditions. In the distance, the mosque sent out a call for prayers that could be heard quite distinctly. Hearing the call was a new experience for me. I am not Moslem, still, the call struck me with a sense of reverence.
The meal was outstanding. The flavors were rich and varied and the portions perfect of the two of us. The ambience was also rich in the multitude of languages spoken. We were the only two I heard speaking with a US English accent. THere were, however, quite a few British people eating at this restaurant.
I have noticed on my travels, that food outside of the US is much richer in flavors. I love American food, it’s what I grew up stuffing my face with and something I crave when returning from abroad. My travels have brought me to the conclusion that American food is dumbed down for the masses. The rich and varied flavors found the world over are somehow, to rich and varied for a generation raised on fast food to appreciate, to rich and varied and subtly exquisite to a people used to fat and grease and bland to understand the culinary joy they are missing. Food in America has become something to fill the void of a hungry stomach while in other parts of the world, food is an event unto itself
We took a nice long walk after dinner, We waked through the town, away from our hostel, and found the night life of Old Istanbul. Though we had just eaten and could not fit another morsel into our bellies, which is usually a time when i don’t even want to smell food, I was drawn to the scents of the many restaurants and found myself planning on which to try the remaining two evenings we are in Istanbul. I was only able to narrow it down to ALL of them.
We walked to the Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque, both places we will visit tomorrow, and admired their resplendent exterior beauty as highlighted by the lines shining upon their facades. The architectural glory, what I could see in the night, left me with a feeling of awe, awe at these marvelous architecture both contemplated and implemented by man, awe at the Engineering genius going into these ancient creations.
The vacation has just begun and I already feel that Istanbul has gotten under my skin, that Istanbul has touched my sense of adventure, that Istanbul is a city I could, one day, call home.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
A Touch of Culture
Poetry, plays, novels, music, they are the cry of the human spirit trying to understand itself and make sense of our world. ~Laura Malone Elliott
It's been over 30 years since I last went to a play. That play was Godspell , a musical put on by a High School in the neighborhood where I grew up. I went to the play because a good friend of mine had the lead. He later went on to be in a movie, My Bodyguard, in which he played one of the gang of bullies.
I typically don't attend 'cultural' events preferring rock concerts to pretty much any other 'cultural' type attraction. I was raised in a family where the arts were enjoyed but not pursued as a past time. However, when asked to attend a play in Chicago with my girlfriend, I figured it was time to try something new.
The play we saw was Freuds' Last Session, a two man show with the premise of an aging, atheist Sigmund Freud debating a young, Christian Clive Staples Lewis in the time before Lewis wrote his famous books. The debate was on the existence of God and touched on the related topics of love, sex, and the meaning of life. There's was a spirited debate. I found it interesting that Freud would degenerate into personal attacks during the debate while Lewis kept to reason and logic and to admitting when he simply did not have the answer.
My girlfriend is a trained counselor and is interested in Freud, one of the giant names in Psychology. I, on the other hand, have been a big fan of CS Lewis since I read his books arguing for the existence of God and other works on Christian apologetics. For me, his scariest book is the Screwtape Letters, a conversation between two demons discussing methods to draw people away from God. I find it is scary because I see my own susceptibility to wandering from the path in the plans of the demons, in the schemes of the demons.
I was captivated by the play for the story line and for the technique of the actors. The most fascinating aspect for me was that the two actors sustained dialog for a full 80 minutes. The dialog was deep, complex, verbose, and memorized. With just two of them on the stage, there was no one to pick up the slack in the event either stumbled over their lines. I am not smooth of speech so was also fascinated that the two men were able to talk, continually for the full 80 minutes without a stammer, a stutter or speaking at a rate that was unintelligible. The gift they have for speaking is one I have craved my entire life, a gift that has eluded me for almost 50 years.
Perhaps one of the most striking scenes was when Freud and Lewis discussed music. Though he liked music, Freud would not listen to music because it moved him emotionally in a way he could not understand intellectually and, if he could not wrap his mind around this condition intellectually, he simply turned the radio off when music was played to avoid the emotional entanglement. This, for me, was one of the saddest scenes in the play. I love music, love to sway to the rhythms, love to feel moved emotionally by the beats and rhythms. I can never see my life complete without music. It seems so shallow to avoid something so joyous, so sad just because you don't understand why it strikes a chord in one's heart.
During the play, I felt genuinely sorry for Freud, sorry he was so stubborn in his ways that he was unable to even entertain the notion of a higher power, unable to conceive that the world holds mystery outside of what can be seen or touched. I felt sorry for Freud because he saw suicide as the answer to his suffering. I felt sorry for Freud because his great intellect blinded him from seeing possibilities beyond the arrogance.
There was a time when I had the mindset of Freud as regards to religion. There was a time when I saw religion as a crutch for the weak of mind. There was a time when I saw organized religion as the enemy of reason. That was a time when I was as unhappy as Freud was portrayed in the play for I was as self centered as Freud was portrayed. Those times, ironically, were before I discovered the works of CS Lewis. Those time were before I delved deep into an intellectual apologetics for Christianity. Those were times before I became a believer in Jesus Christ. Those were times before I became a truly happy person.
It's been over 30 years since I last went to a play. That play was Godspell , a musical put on by a High School in the neighborhood where I grew up. I went to the play because a good friend of mine had the lead. He later went on to be in a movie, My Bodyguard, in which he played one of the gang of bullies.I typically don't attend 'cultural' events preferring rock concerts to pretty much any other 'cultural' type attraction. I was raised in a family where the arts were enjoyed but not pursued as a past time. However, when asked to attend a play in Chicago with my girlfriend, I figured it was time to try something new.
The play we saw was Freuds' Last Session, a two man show with the premise of an aging, atheist Sigmund Freud debating a young, Christian Clive Staples Lewis in the time before Lewis wrote his famous books. The debate was on the existence of God and touched on the related topics of love, sex, and the meaning of life. There's was a spirited debate. I found it interesting that Freud would degenerate into personal attacks during the debate while Lewis kept to reason and logic and to admitting when he simply did not have the answer.
My girlfriend is a trained counselor and is interested in Freud, one of the giant names in Psychology. I, on the other hand, have been a big fan of CS Lewis since I read his books arguing for the existence of God and other works on Christian apologetics. For me, his scariest book is the Screwtape Letters, a conversation between two demons discussing methods to draw people away from God. I find it is scary because I see my own susceptibility to wandering from the path in the plans of the demons, in the schemes of the demons.
I was captivated by the play for the story line and for the technique of the actors. The most fascinating aspect for me was that the two actors sustained dialog for a full 80 minutes. The dialog was deep, complex, verbose, and memorized. With just two of them on the stage, there was no one to pick up the slack in the event either stumbled over their lines. I am not smooth of speech so was also fascinated that the two men were able to talk, continually for the full 80 minutes without a stammer, a stutter or speaking at a rate that was unintelligible. The gift they have for speaking is one I have craved my entire life, a gift that has eluded me for almost 50 years.
Perhaps one of the most striking scenes was when Freud and Lewis discussed music. Though he liked music, Freud would not listen to music because it moved him emotionally in a way he could not understand intellectually and, if he could not wrap his mind around this condition intellectually, he simply turned the radio off when music was played to avoid the emotional entanglement. This, for me, was one of the saddest scenes in the play. I love music, love to sway to the rhythms, love to feel moved emotionally by the beats and rhythms. I can never see my life complete without music. It seems so shallow to avoid something so joyous, so sad just because you don't understand why it strikes a chord in one's heart.
During the play, I felt genuinely sorry for Freud, sorry he was so stubborn in his ways that he was unable to even entertain the notion of a higher power, unable to conceive that the world holds mystery outside of what can be seen or touched. I felt sorry for Freud because he saw suicide as the answer to his suffering. I felt sorry for Freud because his great intellect blinded him from seeing possibilities beyond the arrogance.
There was a time when I had the mindset of Freud as regards to religion. There was a time when I saw religion as a crutch for the weak of mind. There was a time when I saw organized religion as the enemy of reason. That was a time when I was as unhappy as Freud was portrayed in the play for I was as self centered as Freud was portrayed. Those times, ironically, were before I discovered the works of CS Lewis. Those time were before I delved deep into an intellectual apologetics for Christianity. Those were times before I became a believer in Jesus Christ. Those were times before I became a truly happy person.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Books: Harry Bosch Detective Series by Michael Connelly
A good book has no ending. ~R.D. Cumming
Ever since reading my first Harry Bosch novel, The Last Coyote, I have become a fan of the detective series. To date, I have read four of the eighteen novels with three of them consumed in the past ten days. The books tend to be faced paced, page turners that keep me captivated for hours on end to the exclusion of all other activities. In some respects, I curse the person that introduced me to the series because it has consumed virtually all my reading time at the expense of the many other books I have on my iPad.
Ever since reading my first Harry Bosch novel, The Last Coyote, I have become a fan of the detective series. To date, I have read four of the eighteen novels with three of them consumed in the past ten days. The books tend to be faced paced, page turners that keep me captivated for hours on end to the exclusion of all other activities. In some respects, I curse the person that introduced me to the series because it has consumed virtually all my reading time at the expense of the many other books I have on my iPad.
It has been many years since a series of books has captured my attention the way this series has consumed me. As a kid, there was the Hardy Boys series. As an adult there was anything written by Tony Hillerman and the first five of the ten book Jason Bourne series. I was originally turned on to the Bourne book series by my brother who said the written version of the stories were much better than the movies. I would have to agree. Knocking off Marie in the second movie did not do justice to the importance of her character in the novels.
One of things I enjoy about reading a series of novels is watching the character progress over time, seeing how the characters life grows (or stagnates) over a time period much wider than the days/weeks captured in the pages of a novel. This is, for me, one of the endearing aspects of the fictional Jim Chee / Joe Leaphorn characters portrayed in many of the Tony Hillerman novels. With Tony's novels, I was given a peak into the evolving lives of the characters as they experienced love and loss and the effects of age. I looked forward to each novel Tony wrote and hurried off to the book store to buy the hard cover versions as soon as they hit the shelf for as much as I enjoyed the stories on their own, I was also eager to see the next events unfold in the lives of my fictional friends.
While reading the Harry Bosch novels, I again found myself both enjoying the stories and watching the progression of Harry's life, how he was forced to deal with the characters in the police department that repeatedly attempted to undercut his mission to solve murders, the progression of his partners and the occasional return of someone from earlier novels.
After reading Trunk Music (Novel #5), The Closers (#11), and Echo Park (#12) and encountering characters whose introduction referenced past events, I felt like I was missing something, missing the foundation that would allow me to better understand the main and peripheral characters along with the incidents that helped form Harry into the person he become in the latter novels. What better way to do this than to circle back to the first Hieronymus "Harry" Bosch novel, The Black Echo.
In The Black Echo, I again encountered Eleanor Wish, a character I previously met in Trunk Music, and discovered how Harry and Eleanor met and the incident that caused her to spend time in jail as was referenced to in Trunk Music. For me, this was good knowledge and, looking back, puts my appreciation of the tandem in a different light, a more exposing light than I had when first read about them.
As much as I would love to start the next novel, The Black Ice, I have to put the reading on hold. I leave for a dream trip to Turkey on Sunday and there are many things I must do prior to departing. If I crack the novel (sounds strange for a Kindle book), I will likely not get everything complete before leaving on that jet plane.
One of things I enjoy about reading a series of novels is watching the character progress over time, seeing how the characters life grows (or stagnates) over a time period much wider than the days/weeks captured in the pages of a novel. This is, for me, one of the endearing aspects of the fictional Jim Chee / Joe Leaphorn characters portrayed in many of the Tony Hillerman novels. With Tony's novels, I was given a peak into the evolving lives of the characters as they experienced love and loss and the effects of age. I looked forward to each novel Tony wrote and hurried off to the book store to buy the hard cover versions as soon as they hit the shelf for as much as I enjoyed the stories on their own, I was also eager to see the next events unfold in the lives of my fictional friends.
While reading the Harry Bosch novels, I again found myself both enjoying the stories and watching the progression of Harry's life, how he was forced to deal with the characters in the police department that repeatedly attempted to undercut his mission to solve murders, the progression of his partners and the occasional return of someone from earlier novels.
After reading Trunk Music (Novel #5), The Closers (#11), and Echo Park (#12) and encountering characters whose introduction referenced past events, I felt like I was missing something, missing the foundation that would allow me to better understand the main and peripheral characters along with the incidents that helped form Harry into the person he become in the latter novels. What better way to do this than to circle back to the first Hieronymus "Harry" Bosch novel, The Black Echo.
In The Black Echo, I again encountered Eleanor Wish, a character I previously met in Trunk Music, and discovered how Harry and Eleanor met and the incident that caused her to spend time in jail as was referenced to in Trunk Music. For me, this was good knowledge and, looking back, puts my appreciation of the tandem in a different light, a more exposing light than I had when first read about them.
As much as I would love to start the next novel, The Black Ice, I have to put the reading on hold. I leave for a dream trip to Turkey on Sunday and there are many things I must do prior to departing. If I crack the novel (sounds strange for a Kindle book), I will likely not get everything complete before leaving on that jet plane.
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