so how does it feel to be back?

I think that question, along with "so, how was your trip?!?!", should be banned from ever being asked. AGH! I feel like ripping my hair out just thinking about how many times i've been asked that question...

Maybe in an effort to thwart people from asking, I'll just try and give an answer here:

Well, it’s been just over a month since I’ve been back. Getting ready to come back was such a whirlwind, I barely remember the return. The flights were fine, though changing terminals at Heathrow was a mess. I kinda really despise that place:

I had an early flight from Ankara to London and I wasn’t feeling well, so lugging my over-packed carry-ons to the other side of Heathrow was not exactly something I looked forward to doing. But, the transition was pretty easy…until I got into the security area of the new terminal. At the entrance to security, a man was posted to tell all incoming people that they were only allowed one carry-on, so those with more bags had to either a) fit them all together in one or b) check one of the bags.

Well, given that I was coming back from nine months away and I had already checked three overweight bags, I had multiple carry-ons. I spent much too much time trying to fit them together; it was really a futile task. And then, oh, and then! I had the most genius of plans:

I tied the two bags together by their handles to create—ta-da—one bag! And it fit into the little bin that sizes carry-on bags. So, all huzzah-like, I walked over to security, put my "bag" on the conveyor, and successfully made it through. In my excitement, however, I nearly left my laptop behind on the belt. Whoops. But, then, in full view of all the security guys, I just untied the bags and continued my walk with two. Hoorah.

But so much for my genius…

I got to JFK and stood around the baggage carousel for an extra 45-minutes waiting for my last bag. Of course, I can never get away with traveling easily…I have a nasty history of either being stuck with excessive delays or losing my baggage.

At that point, it was 10 pm [5 am Turkey time] and I hadn't slept a wink. So, I gave up and went to report my lost bag. I wasn’t too concerned about it until a few days later when it still hadn’t shown up and I realized that I had put all my photos and all my negatives in that bag. Of course, the things I most desperately wanted and needed were lost lost LOST! Egad.

Well, after a week of constantly calling the USAir baggage peeps, they finally located the bag. Apparently, the bag was so heavy that the router tag got stuck on something and was ripped off [you thought that glue was infallible didn’t you].

Consequently, my bag hadn’t even made it out of Ankara. Then, to top it off, USAir located the bag but had to wait for British Airways to acknowledge that they had it. Part of the problem was that they kept reading the contact info wrongly and kept calling the wrong number. They found it while I was visiting the Brother and left a message with Psticker when she was dogsitting. Apparently, the guy told her that he was going to file a complaint about the utter stupidity of the people dealing with it.

Anyhow, for three or four days there was no new news as we waited for British Airways. Eventually, after a week had passed, I was referred to another fella who, lo and behold, still had nothing to tell me. And then, all of a sudden, the phone rang and he said

“oh, well, turns out your bag’s at JFK now. Nobody told us. But, cool.”

So a few days later, circa midnight, some guy comes to the door with his arm nearly ripped out of its socket, dragging my uberheavy duffel bag behind him. Even dad had trouble bringing it up the stairs [you should have seen my cousin Ebru in her high heels trying to walk with it through the airport in Ankara, poor gal].

In the end, I am happy to report that the bag made it [though it was pretty well destroyed] and my pictures are all in good health. The only thing I found missing was my Singing in the Rain DVD. Odd.

And now it’s back to the grind of my “old” life. While it may be comparatively unexciting, I have to say that overall it’s been good to be back. Busy. The days flit by and I don’t exactly know where they go. It’s not like I’m waking up late—6:45 am is not late, at least according to mother dearest—so I should have lots of time to fill up. I mean, I should be bored sometimes, with nothing to do.

Somehow, though, this just isn’t the case. My days are inexplicably full. Until this morning, I didn’t even realize that the last time I posted was in October. It feels like I came home just yesterday.

I guess I just haven’t had a lot of time for lollygagging around:

Two days after my return to home I was back in the car with the parental units on our way to visit the Brother for the weekend. The ride was nice, unlike down back home the leaves had changed color and the woods along the route flooded us with a pretty fall palette.

It was great to see the Brother; he was definitely surprised to see me. He’s so happy and comfortable living his own life, having fun, working hard, and making friends. Nowadays, he’s all too ready for us to leave and to get back to his own life. Ironically, it’s nice to see. It’s such a different experience from when he’d go to summer camp…you’d think mum and dad had abandoned him in some prison! Actually, those were his words, so perhaps I’m biased.

Upon returning, it was time to unpack…not so much fun as it was time consuming. And that is when the great purge began! All of my clothes when out the door to the thrift store. I regret that I didn’t just get rid of them in Turkey and I don’t know why I didn’t. There were plenty of needy people and I would have had a lot more space to bring things back for people…I didn’t even bring back most of the stuff I wanted for myself…and the one thing I did bring back for myself ended up breaking. Gah!

After the great purge, I was literally left with a few ratty gym shirts, some skirts, jeans, and a couple of sweaters. It felt good to get rid of all the stuff I couldn’t bear to look at another day…that is, it felt good until the next morning when I realized I had absolutely nothing to wear. So, filling up various days through the month has been the requisite clothes buying and returning…a pain when you go to the faraway/always trafficked mall at the beginning of the holiday season.

At least now, to everyone’s delight and sighs of relief, I am re-clothed. Hooray hooray.

Other bits of my time have been spent grocery shopping and cooking, which has resulted in two new and very delicious recipes. The first, apple cider and pomegranate sorbet, was a big hit at the impromptu cake-and-ice cream Halloween party Psticker and I threw.

Here are some party pictures [alas, none of Psticker and me as "bees" or our guests...maybe someone else has some?], followed by the recipe:

Even the Pupster is dressed for the occasion! She's officially won the "super original design" award by wearing this fantastic dog ear get-up:

As for the cakes, Psticker and I are fabulous Icing Appliers [real job title]:

Superb Halloween-themed icing by Psticker.

The Paleobotanist sent me a skull shaped cake pan, so it had to get used! Icing by Ay. Plastic rat placed cleverly by Psticker [with love from Target].

Apple Cider and Pomegranate Sorbet

for the simple syrup:
1 c water
1 1/4 c sugar
peel of one orange, cut into strips
2 cinnamon sticks broken in half
1 tsp whole clove

6 c apple cider [unspiced]
juice of 1 pomegranate*
1/3 c simple syrup

1. make the simple syrup:

a. place water and sugar in a saucepan. over medium-low heat, dissolve sugar. when sugar is dissolved, raise the heat and boil for one minute.

b. add orange peel, cinnamon sticks, and cloves to the syrup. boil another 3-5 minutes. set aside.


2. make sorbet:

a. place apple cider, pomegranate juice, and 1/3 c of the simple syrup in a saucepan. over medium-high heat, bring the mixture to a boil and boil down to approximately 4 cups of liquid.

b. let liquid cool to room temperature.


3. process and freeze:

a. put mixture into an ice cream maker and process according to manufacturer's instructions and then put in the freezer for a few hours before serving.

or

b. pour the mixture into a large square cake pan and place in the freezer. leave in freezer for 2 hours. after 2 hours, mix the mush with a fork or whisk every hour until icy and chunky in consistency.

*pomegranates are easy to juice--you can do it just like a lemon! cut it in half then, using a lemon juicer, juice each half. if you don't have a lemon juicer, you can use a fork: place the fork in one section of the half and turn the pomegranate, keeping the fork still. repeat this with the fork in different sections until it's all juiced. strain the result to get the seeds out*

The second recipe was initially supposed to be a soup adapted from the Best American Recipes 2005-2006, but it ended up as a puree because I didn’t add enough liquid. Adding more water or broth after pureeing can make it into a soup, but mother dearest was so delighted by the puree that she insisted that it stay that way and then had me make it for Thanksgiving, too!

Puree of Butternut Squash, Sweet Potato, and Carrot

1 1/2 lbs of butternut squash, peeled and cubed
3 medium sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into large chunks
3 medium carrots, peeled and cut into large chunks
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
3 c chicken broth
1 tbsp heavy cream [optional]
salt and pepper
olive oil

1. preheat oven to 400 F. toss squash, potatoes, and carrots with olive oil and place in oven to roast until soft.

note: you may want to put the different vegetables in separate pans to roast as some cook faster than others. otherwise, keep an eye on them and pick out pieces as they are done and put them aside.

2. in a large pot, cook onions in olive oil until soft. do not brown them.

3. add bay leaf and thyme. cook, while stirring, 30 seconds. add roasted veggies and cook 2-3 minutes, taking care not to scorch the veggies.

4. add the chicken stock and simmer for approximately 15 minutes.

5. transfer the mixture to a food processor or blender and season with salt and pepper. if desired, add heavy cream while processing.

6. puree until smooth and thick.

7. if you want soup instead of a puree, return the mixture to the pot and add water or chicken broth until the desired consistency is achieved.

Let’s see, what else has been sucking up my life? Well, other than the trip to the Brother’s estate, there have been a couple of side vacays:

One, in early November, was to New York where I met up with dear Yvonne, visiting from California. That was yet another wonderful Yvonne + Ayla crazy day, filled with loads of fun and loads of food. Mmm cuban corn! It’s good that we can still manage to have nutso traveling experiences without being in a foreign country. I’ll put up pictures sometime soon.

Then there was the Boston trip with Psticker, another great time [though it may have involved too many headstones, jellyfish and penguins]. Again, pictures are forthcoming.

Oh, yeaaaaaah...there was also a Thanksgiving feast comprised of 46 people, 4 turkeys and 3 types of cheesecake. Usually we average in the 30s and have 3 turkeys and 1 cheesecake, but this was outta control! Definitely a record. Somehow, we still managed to have leftovers…ugh.

Whew!

When I think about it, I guess my time back has really been a bit of a whirlwind. I guess I’ve been reading a lot, too…like, I mean, a ridiculous lot. That can eat up a hearty chunk o' time. But, It’s been a long time since I’ve done really significant reading and picked up one book after another after another. Of course, I have always made sure I read a book [not schoolwork or articles or that kind of stuff, but an enjoyable book] before I go to bed, but the rate of getting through books has been pretty slow until now.

And I am quite happy about that little change in my life.

But, you know, I don’t think I’ve really had the chance…or maybe, I just haven’t allowed myself to take the time…to think and decompress from Turkey yet. I mean, I think about it a lot and, oftentimes, I still think in Turkish, continuing to have trouble conjuring up words in English [it’s really bad when I’m with a group of people, oddly enough]. There are also definite changes in my life, often subtle, that I don’t even notice sometimes.

There are a lot of things about Turkey and my time there that I never came to terms with. Hopefully, as I get back in to writing about my life there the process will force me to confront some of those things. Maybe now that I’m back in the groove I’ll finally sit down and hash out where the experience has actually affected me, why it has, and what role I want it to play in my life now…because I know that it is definitely affecting the way I’m thinking about my immediate future.

My my. I do sound awful floofy these days...

But, next post I promise to be better: back to Turkey travels!

my greatest accomplishment.

Here I am on my last day in Turkey. This morning I woke up early with the morning ezan. The sky was beautiful outside cousin’s apartment, where I spent the night.

Things feel peaceful and calm. I’m disconnected from the world—cell phone, home phone, and internet are kaput. It’s an amazing feeling to realize that if I’m not at my apartment, no one can find me.

It leaves one feeling quite alone, though.

I’m all packed. The apartment has been cleaned. I’ve read all my books. Bills are paid and my bank account is closed. My hair has been cut for the last time at the wonderful old timey Fon Kuafor.

In other words: all the necessary preparations for leaving are complete.

Now, all I can do is wait.

And while I’m waiting, with nothing else to do, I can’t help but reflect on these past nine months. It’s been quite a trip, I’ve done so much and the time has just flown by without giving me a chance to catch my breath. The weather in Ankara has turned from frigid to scorching to frigid again, seemingly overnight. The sky is gray and threatens of rain and snow—it makes the colors outside my window seem that much more vibrant.

It feels like the day I arrived.

Oh, reflection, reflection, reflection. One can’t help but ask “in these nine months, what was my greatest accomplishment?”

After much consideration, I am finally able to answer:

That’s right, my greatest accomplishment lies in this 1-lb box of Frango chocolate mints...

In nine months, I ate them all.

You may think that’s not a big deal. But wait!

I deem this my greatest accomplishment because I had the willpower to not eat the whole box in one sitting! It doesn’t look like a lot, but there were many many many of those little delicious morsels in that box. Somehow, I actually managed to stretch this box out for nine whole months, nearly forgetting the last lovely sweet [oh, how could I?!?] until cleaning out the freezer in final preparation for departure.

Big pat on the back.

Ok, ok. So, that’s an accomplishment—no doubt—but I can’t, in my right or wrong mind, deem it my greatest accomplishment.

That honor would go to this...

Do you remember this project I started at the beginning? My roadmap of Turkey? Here is the first picture of it that I posted.

I remember being so excited then, feeling like it was already packed with pictures, thinking I’d already seen so much. Little did I realize how important this map would become to my time here in Turkey. It has been the prime motivator in getting me out and exploring. Whenever I was bored I’d walk over to the map with my LP in hand and study all the places I hadn’t seen, making it my goal to go go go.

And, I have. I have conquered Turkey. No, that’s not right. I have discovered Turkey? No, not right again. I have learned Turkey.

I have traveled around nearly every region of the country and I’ve had some incredibly good and some incredibly bad experiences. I met and spoke with so many people, which additionally resulted in serious improvement in my Turkish. I learned the systems and tricks to getting around and the best ways to visit or be a tourist. I discovered the nuances of various regions, the social, economic, cultural, and political differences. I’ve made friends and connections; I’ve learned that Turkish hospitality actually does exist outside of guidebook stories. I also learned where and when to trust the guidebook and where and when to just go.

I finally feel like I can talk about Turkey. Moreover, I feel like I can talk about Turkey and have something to say. I feel like I understand Turkey—in all its many hypocrisies—and I can finally speak of it with real authority, with real knowledge to support my statements. So, ask me some questions and we’ll see how incredibly wrong I really am! Oh, fun.

I haven’t even written about all the places I’ve been and all the things I’ve done, but I plan to keep this blog going even after I get back. I still have a lot to say, especially now that things are really heating up in this country. I also have so many pictures, it’s not even funny.

It is, no surprise, a bittersweet day in the life of Ay. I haven’t been feeling well, which unfortunately resulted in canceling a trip to the southeast [with things as they are now, however, that was a good thing in retrospect], and that’s a sad way to end my time here. Nonetheless, in getting ready to leave I’ve gotten to spend more time with my family and it’s been much fun…of course, that just results in making me not want to leave.

Yet, all good things must come to an end—perhaps this is how we can really realize how good it was?—and it’ll be good to start on my next life adventure [booming voice, booming voice].

And, it's not so bad because I know I’ll come back to Turkey. I have family here now—sure, I always had family here but I didn’t know them—and I do, really, truly, deeply love this country.

Sometime in these nine months I started calling Turkey “home.”

sugar high.

It’s Seker Bayram [sugar festival] or Eid ul-Fitr in Arabic.

That means there’s sugar sugar everywhere!

Seker bayram marks the end of the Ramazan holiday [the Islamic month of fast]. It lasts for three days and is marked by many traditions. It’s different in different countries, but some traditions in Turkey include:

1. Everyone puts on fancy shmancy clothes—also known as the bayram outfit—that are bought especially for the occasion.

2. After getting all dressed up, people go visit their relatives and have a big delicious meal…in broad daylight [the first time in a month]!

3. Kids go from door to door visiting their elders, kissing their hands and touching it to their forehead. In return, they are given sweets—hard candies, lokum [Turkish delight], baklava. Think trick-or-treating sans tricks.

4. Traditional sweets are doled out everywhere—lokum, baklava, and Jordan almonds [chocolate and candy coated almonds, oftentimes brightly colored] are particularly characteristic.

5. People go on trips—some go back to their villages to visit family, others [like my cousins] go on a vacation to the beach or Cappadocia—drastically emptying the big cities.

The border between Turkey and Syria is actually opened for 48 hours to let people pass through and visit family on the holiday. Now that is pretty intense!

Yesterday was the first day of seker bayram. I forgot that this meant absolutely everything would be closed, including grocery stores, and that there would be no weekly produce pazar. Consequently, around noon I went out to go to the pazar and was greeted by a wonderful emptiness and silence throughout the streets.

Forgetting the fact that it meant I couldn’t get any food to eat, it was nice to experience the city blanketed by a quiet calm. Very few people were out-and-about so I was free to walk in the middle of the street without getting funny stares or being killed by idiot drivers.

This was all a drastic change from the previous day, when I went to the store to buy lemons and scallions and ended up standing in the check-out line for 20 minutes. Everyone was doing their holiday shopping, with the focus being on candy. Piles and piles of it filled the market and, along the street, every pastry shop was dripping with syrup-soaked baklavas and overflowing with boxes and boxes of hard candies for sale.

Later in the afternoon, I headed to my aunt Nurten’s house for a bayram lunch with her and my cousins. After lunch together we went to visit my aunt Nebahat, who was just released from the hospital after having the battery in her pacemaker replaced. Yeah, bayraminiz kutlu olsun to you Nebahat.

My aunt Nebahat is loved by everyone and it’s not hard to see why. She’s got some crazy infectious laughter and a truly atypical approach to life [by Turkish standards]—heaven’s me, the woman keeps her windows and curtains open because she likes the sun and fresh air! She’s very cute and loves it when people come up to her window and chat with her. If she wants or needs anything someone will come to the window and happily do her bidding. She’s 85 and the most jovial woman I know. Really, all of my aunts love to laugh and are just generally delighted by life; you can’t help but feel good when you’re around them.

Many people came to visit my aunt Nebahat because, as I said, everyone loves her. She’s the mother, grandmother, and aunt of the whole neighborhood. So, there was a nice big group at her house. Of course, we are an opinionated and loud family, so the sitting room quite literally shook with people shouting and speaking over each other. But, there was lots of laughing, too. Lots of laughing...and, as it should be, lots of sweets and sweetness. Come now, can there be a better celebration of the sugar festival?

Of course, it wasn't all sweetness. I mean, my aunt had just returned from the hospital. Additionally, as the greater proportion of people at Nebahat's were in the upper range of the age spectrum, the conversation tended towards aches, pains, and illnesses. Consequently, I spent a lot of time daydreaming about how cool it would be to say:

Sekeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!

in place of

Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!


Or, maybe,

Seker, dude! That's totally seker!

instead of

Sweet, dude! That's totally sweet!


Wouldn't that be fantastic?
Come on, anyone with me here? Anyone...?

Fine, don't agree.
I can handle it.
Nothing, and I mean nothing, can ruin a sugar festival!

a trip to the dark sea of the world [part V]

Day 8: Sunday July 22, 2007

There is only one phrase I can think of that can do justice to the Trabzon-Sinop bus ride: complete and utter misery.

The ride started out fine. Tiffin and I were both wonking tired and I assumed I would fall right asleep.

But, no.

No matter what I did, I just could not get remotely close to even a mere dozing state! Hours and hours passed and, though my eyes were closed, there was absolutely no sleeping going on.

Then, around 1:30 am a man boarded the bus and sat down behind us. He was loud and he’d prop himself up to stare at us over the top of our seat. He started talking with the guys in the seat next to him, mostly about the coming day’s election. And my goodness, he was loud. I was livid.

The guy’s next to him were also trying to sleep and yet they didn’t discourage Obnoxious Man from talking. The attendant wouldn’t do anything either. Tiffin and I tried listening to music...that definitely didn’t work.

Eventually, the guy’s sitting next to Obnoxious Man got off, but that didn’t stop him talking. He picked up his cell phone and proceeded to have a heated discussion with someone. And the staring continued…and it was incredibly creepy. There was nothing we could do. It was truly miserable.

Eventually, the man got off the bus. Whew! What a relief, right? Another four hours, surely I would be able to sleep!

And then…the bus pulled into the Samsun otogar.

Remember how I mentioned that there was some confusion about where the bus was going? The attendant had said Samsun but we were told we’d get to Sinop?

Yeah? Well, here’s where the confusion played out.

So, we got to the Samsun otogar and the attendant told everyone to get off the bus. This was the last stop for the bus. It was over. Grab your bags and get out!

It was 4 am.

What?!?!?!

As it turns out, we had to catch another bus to Sinop at 7 am. It was paid for on our ticket but we did have to switch buses.

So, it’s 4 am and we’re in the Middle-of-Nowhere, Black Sea. The otogar was nearly deserted and we were a couple of very tired unhappy campers. The bus company was kind enough to let us sleep on their office chairs, but it was like sleeping in an airport. In other words, it was entirely unsatisfying. Tiffin managed to get a decent rest but I didn’t. I was also having trouble reading my watch and thought it was 7 o’clock when it was really only 6 o’clock. Yeah, that made me feel really really great.

So, again, I was pretty miserable.

Finally, it was time to go again and we boarded the bus to Sinop. It was a windy road through some beautiful terrain, but the sleepiness had me rather unenthused. Additionally, the driver turned the television on to watch the news and some soap operas, which are truly annoying things to have blaring in your ears when you’re tired but can’t sleep. Let’s just say Turkish is not exactly the most soothing of languages.

Finally, around 10 o’clock, we arrived in Sinop. We hopped on the servis into town and managed to get to our hotel. We checked in and took showers; it felt oh-so good to get all the gunk off. Thankfully, our room also air conditioning--the weather was hot and humid as all heck [i.e. not my favorite].

After having a little relax time, we decided to go for a walk and get some foodstuffs for a picnic at the beach. There didn’t appear to be much else going on in Sinop, so it seemed a good plan.

Walking around, we saw that most stores were closed. Oh yes, election day! It was much calmer than I’d expected it to be--with all the hubbub surrounding the vote--but I’m glad I wasn’t in Ankara or Istanbul. The only evidence we saw of the election even happening in Sinop was a large crowd of people around the local school where voting was being held.

Sinop was pretty and easy to get around. We wandered awhile and found a produce Pazar and picked up some tomatoes, cucumbers, and a watermelon. Heading back towards the shore, we stopped by a grocery store for some napkins and utensils, then made our way to the coastal promenade.

We were on the hunt for the black sand beach mentioned in the LP. We came across a small one near a playground, so we sat down on the grass and ate. Unfortunately, for all our lugging, the watermelon was a bad one.

After lunch, we decided to go a bit further--the book said the beach was a kilometer away and the playground one seemed too close and too small. The weather was really nasty and I was looking forward to getting in the water.

We walked quite a ways and eventually gave up. We saw some people laying on towels and hammocks in a pine covered rocky cliff. We decided to join them, thinking we could get down to the water…

I can not tell you how treacherous trying to walk down that cliff was. Slipping and sliding on loads of dried pine needles in flip-flops leaves much to be desired. The slope was steep, very steep, and I have no idea how some of the old ladies made it down.

Finally, we got to a place where we felt stable enough to sit down--there was no beach, that’s for sure. From our post we could see the black sand beach further down the coast with nice little pagodas set up. Obviously, you had to pay to get in, which is why none of the folks on the pine hill decided to go there. We sighed, spread out our stuff and had a seat. It was hot and not so comfortable; I kept sliding down the hill. Tiffin fell asleep and I dozed a little, but in the end we only made it about an hour before we decided to go back.

The walk back wasn’t too bad. We stopped for a bit at an internet café, but I have little patience for those places. Eventually, we went back to the hotel and I took yet another shower--I was just too miserable, I admit it was wasteful!

After a short nap, we decided to head out again. That’s when I realized that I couldn’t find my watch. I was pretty upset as I am pretty attached to that watch. We had to go back to the bus station to figure out how to get to our next location the following day, so Tiffin suggested that while we were there I could ask if anyone had found my it. It was a long shot but worth a try.

We decided to walk along the coastal promenade in the opposite direction that we’d taken earlier. It brought us to a pretty little port where there were loads of cay bahcesi packed with people enjoying tea by the sea.



We decided to join in and sat down at a little table wonderfully shaded by trees. Some young boys selling simit walked through, so we also grabbed one of those. The epitome of Turkishness: simit and a cay.

We people-watched for awhile; for some reason we were dead tired and it was nice to just laze about staring at people.



After regaining some strength, we got back to walking and followed the promenade around the city walls. We crossed through a park and I loved how all the little ledges were lined with large tin cans--emptied of their olives, tomatoes, oil or beans and filled with herbs or flowering plants.





Eventually, we arrived at the bus station. We went back to the bus company from the previous morning and asked about my watch:

Me: Did anyone turn in a watch from the morning bus from Samsun
Guy: Hmm. No, nothing here.
Me: Shucks!
Guy: The bus returned to Samsun this afternoon and should be arriving back in Sinop in the next few hours. I can ask them when they get here. Give me your cell phone number and I will call you if we find it.
Me: That would be wonderful, thank you so much!

How wonderfully kind is that?

Then we asked about a bus to Amasra and the driver told us that if we came in the morning, circa 9 am, there’d be a bus and he’d get us where we needed to go. Fantastic!



After resolving that, we made our way back to town. Crossing the busy street--an area we’d not explored before--we came upon some ruins of walls and towers. Walking towards them we suddenly saw an absolutely gorgeous white sand beach. We were furious! How could the LP not have mentioned a single word about the beach?!?! All they could do was talk about the black sand beach! All we had wanted was a nice day at the beach, but instead we had pine needles stuck in our rumps!

GAH! Tiffin and I decided that the people at LP must not have visited Sinop. We reckon that they called the local tourist bureau, asked about the beaches and some recommended restaurants, and then they just wrote what they’d been told. We were disappointed.

But, at least we got to see it at all. Now, when we go back in the future we’ll know better. The view from the tower was fabulous. There were dark clouds rolling in and a mist covering the city. We could see a peninsula of the town jutting into the water. It looked quite spooky, enveloped in gray mist. The water was dark and violent and the sun looked like a full moon. It was fantastic.



We walked back through the town using a different route than before. The town was very small, but we never even realized that certain parts of it existed--sections filled with old Ottoman houses all run down.



Passing one apartment we saw a humongous pile of gigantic pine cones. It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen; what they were used for I have absolutely no idea. I stopped to take a picture and a young woman walked out on her balcony, suspicious and entirely confused as to what I was doing. We said hello and quickly left before she got pissed off. She must have been looking out the window to have seen me at all, but come on, it was a pretty strange sight to see, no?

Walking, walking, walking, we got back to the main square. The LP had mentioned that the place was full of model boat shops and we found a bunch. They were strange and out of place, but pretty cool.

Eventually, we started getting hungry for dinner and decided to try the Sinop manti we’d seen around the town. Now, I always knew Kayseri was known for it’s manti, but I’d never heard of Sinop manti. Of course, the LP said nothing about it--though they didn’t even mention manti in the section about Kayseri [where it’s the most famous]!

We found a little place and sat down. The waiter described that they had the traditional manti--with yogurt and garlic sauce--or another type with walnuts and butter. We couldn’t decide what to get, so he gave us plates of half-and-half.


The manti was delicious. Much larger than the Kayseri manti [rumor has it you can fit 40 Kayseri manti on one spoon], the meat filling in the Sinop manti was palpable. I much preferred them to the Kayseri manti and, while the traditional sauce was delicious [as always], I quite liked the walnut type as well. Great choice! Another strike for LP!




Throughout dinner, I had my phone on but it never rang. I gave up on the watch being found and turned off the phone to save the battery. I was a bit down, so after a brief stop at the hotel after dinner, we went out for some dessert. That was satisfying.

It was only 9:30 by the time we went back to the hotel and went to bed. We were tired--it was a long, if not exactly successful, day. I quite enjoyed Sinop, though; it was a delightfully relaxing town to spend the day in…I could understand why so many Turks used it as a vacation spot. It was quiet, though I’m not sure how much of that was a result of people going home for the elections.

Election day was actually surprisingly uneventful--after all the hype I expected so much more! However, we did find out that campaign banners must be taken down the day before the election, so that may have limited rallying or any other raucousness. It was pretty much like a regular old Sunday. Perhaps it was worse in Ankara and Istanbul.

Either way, it’s a nice place and I’d go back for sure!



Day 9: Tuesday July 23, 2007

The new day came and we were ready to get to our last stop. Though we were having a good time, I think we were both ready to stop the constant moving. After Barhal, we didn’t stay in one place for long and that just gets tiring.

So, we got a taxi to the bus station, planning to catch the 9 am bus like the guy had told us. We arrived at the otogar—if you can really call an enlarged parking lot an otogar—and headed to the bus company’s office to buy tickets.

All of a sudden, the man I’d spoken with about the watch the previous night came running up to me.

“I tried to call you,” he said. “We have your watch!”

What?!?!?!?!

How amazing is that?! They actually found my watch--it went all the way from Samsun to Sinop back to Samsun and back to Sinop! Honesty like that…something rarely found these days back home. I was beside myself with happiness. Tiffin was shocked. We were both sure that it was a sign for a good day to come.

We had some time before the bus left, so we went and walked along the nice white sand beach. I found tons of perfectly weathered sea glass and the weather was beautiful. It would have been hot to sit on the beach in the afternoon, but walking along it was great. In the end, our wish was fulfilled--we got to spend some time on a nice beach on the Black Sea!

Back at the station, Helper Guy went on to help us get tickets and get settled on the bus. He kept insisting that there were seats closer to the front that were open, saying we should move up, but we were satisfied in the back. Since then I have been told that women usually sit in the front if it’s possible.

The bus attendant asked us where we were getting off. “Safranbolu,” I said. That’s where we’d transfer to a bus to Amasra. He was intrigued by us and for most of the ride insisted on talking to us, a bit annoying.

The ride was fine, though the two little girls in the seats next to us just couldn’t stop moving around. About four hours into it, we got to Safranbolu. We didn’t go to the otogar, however, so I was confused. I asked the attendant about it and he said “no, no, this isn’t your stop! This is for workers!”

So, we stayed on the bus. The attendant laughed at us.

About 15 minutes later, the attendant came up to us--he was a young guy--and tried to clarify what we had been talking about. I had told him that we said we were getting off in Safranbolu:

Him: No you didn’t! You said xyzabc!
Me: No, I said Safranbolu!
Him: No, you didn’t! You’re stupid and American!

It was obvious that he was trying to compensate for making the mistake…because he did. But, that didn’t help us with our problem. What were we supposed to do now?

The bus driver and another attendant decided that we would get off further down the road--another two hours--and it would be “so much safer” and from there we could catch another bus.

Uugghhhhhhhh! Ok.

So, another two hours. It was miserable and we were antsy.


Finally, the bus stopped at some random hole-in-the-world town and lets us off. The attendant talked to a guy in a shop who brought us across the street and told some other guy to flag the bus for us. So, we gave the guy our money for tickets and he said it would be about 15 minutes. He then offered us bottled water and cigarettes. Hoorah.

Great.





So, here we were standing outside a convenience store in, apparently, Yenicaga [yeneechaah].











I gotta say, on first glance [and hopefully only glance], Yenicaga was a bit of a dump and people drive old fogey cars.





All was not lost, however, as one car pulled up and Tiffin pointed at the gas tank cover: Yes, that’s a boy with his pants down sucking his thumb.

Where the hell were we?!




Finally, about 45 minutes later the bus showed up. We got on and it was packed to the brim--vacationers from Istanbul. It was hot and stuffy; they were showing School of Rock dubbed in Turkish.

The bus started moving, turned, and promptly stopped at a rest stop for half-an-hour. Great. We were never going to get to Amasra!

Back on the bus, finally we got going again. It was a treacherous road and the bus driver was the opposite of conservative--he sped, he passed illegally and on blind curves. It was a harrowing experience and the attendant was crazy. It was obvious he did not want to be there and he looked like some weird card dealer at a blackjack table in Las Vegas.

And finally, we got to Amasra.
Or so we thought.

Turned out, we had to take a service to the center of town and from there get a dolmus to Amasra.

Where was this place?!?! We didn’t even have a place to stay lined up and we started to think that maybe we should just go back to Ankara. When we got to the center of town, we actually asked at the ticket stations, but the only buses were at midnight and 1 am. Bleh.

So, we went to Amasra. IT was a pretty drive and the sun was setting--yes, it was an incredibly long day. We got to town about half-an-hour later and upon getting off the bus we were immediately accosted by a woman. “Room for rent,” she said. We took it.

She walked us to her house and showed us around. Only 20 ytl for the night, not too bad. We took showers and then got to thinking…

The room was not air-conditioned and the weather was horrid. Neither of us really wanted to stay. So, we decided that we’d go get dinner—the requisite fish dinner on the Black Sea [the main motivator of the trip and one reason for going to Amasra]--and then decide if we’d stay the night.

So, we went a walking and found a good restaurant. We got a slad and some grilled fish to share—neither of us actually likes fish, but we felt we had to do it. The salad was great and the fish was decent, too. The setting was nice, right on the water, and we could tell that Amasra was definitely a pretty town…but it would be ok if we didn’t stay.

The waiter then brought out the signature dessert--a large block of thick yogurt covered in honey and hazelnuts [another regional crop]. It was cold and delicious and totally hit the spot. It was a great way to end our trip. Entirely satisfying.

After dinner, we went to find bus tickets--we’d resolved to going back. Tiffin thought she’d go straight to Istanbul [she’d be flying from there, so it’d be easier], but the buses were all sold out. So, she came with me to Ankara. After buying the tickets, we had 20 minutes to get our stuff and get back to the office to catch the servis to the otogar. We had a while before our bus—it left at midnight--but there was only one servis at 10:30, so we had to take it.

We scrambled around and made it back in time, with a little room to spare and have a conversation with the guys sitting outside. Then, it was back to the otogar.

At the otogar we both made some phone calls home and tried to avoid the drunk bus driver sitting near us. At one point, one of the military guys said to him “they don’t speak Turkish!” to which I replied, in Turkish, “yes we do.” He shut up and the drunk guy laughed. Then, they all left us alone.

The buses to Istanbul came and went--they were absolutely packed. Then it was our turn. We got on the bus and I promptly fell asleep. That last night ride was the best we’d taken—it was quiet, comfortable, and I actually slept. Also, instead of taking the usual five hours it only took four-and-a-half. Back at the station, we got Tiffin a bus ticket to Istanbul and parted ways.

I took a taxi home. By the time I was on my way, it was about 5:45 am. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that’s still considered “nighttime” which means the rate is doubled. Consequently, a typically 7 ytl ride turned into 20 ytl. That was a bit of a shocker…

But, it was nice to be home.

Despite all the mishaps, I did love my trip to the Black Sea. It’s a beautiful area with great food, beaches, fantastic historical sights, and relaxing atmosphere. Barhal was definitely the highlight, but I’d love to visit the region again. If nothing else, the local hazelnuts rock my world!

sidenote: did you know that 90% of the world’s hazelnuts are supplied by Turkey?

a trip to the dark sea of the world [part IV]

Day 6: Friday July 20, 2007

Time to leave Barhal. Up at 6, breakfast at 6:30, out the door by 7. No surprise, it was a bittersweet feeling to be leaving.

Everyone had said that it only took an our to get to Yusufeli—an experience we had not had in coming—and we planned to catch the only direct bus to Trabzon at 9 o’clock.

As we drove through Barhal, we picked up a number of people, including the three that had caused the 30-45 minute detour around Sarigol 1 the first time! Uh-oh, were we going to have to do that again? Funny how the whole trip turned into a number of big circles.

We were on our way but upon reaching Sarigol 1, surprise surprise, we turned and took the detour into nowhereness. The Rafting Guide was in the van with us, heading to his Lord of the River office in Yusufeli. “This is not our usual road,” he said. Yeah, we know.

The rest of the road was winding and beautiful, though without the rain this time it looked a bit dustier. The driver went fast and there were a few close calls, but we made it to Yusufeli at 8:45, let out a sigh of relief, and plopped onto our next bus. The dolmus driver helped us with that and then asked me:

“were you here two years ago?”

What’s with it?! That’s two times I’d been “recognized.” I must have a spectacular doppelganger if she’d traveled out there.

On the bus, a scraggly, dreaded, dirty, redheaded hippy boy got on and sat in front of me—alert alert, NOT A TURK. We started on our way towards Artvin, and the boy started to fall asleep. He fell this way and that, creeping out all the people around him. Finally, he woke up. The disgusted faces of the people nearby were hilarious. They seemed to actually fear him.

At Artvin he talked to us briefly—a poor lost Israeli kid, I felt bad for him—then he got off because it seemed there was a break. All of a sudden, though, the bus started moving again!
Umm, what should we do? His sweater was still on the bus, he must have been freaking out as he didn’t know a speck of Turkish!

We started laughing—that laugh you get when you panic, unsure of what to do. Then the bus went up a hill and stopped…at an otogar. Then, it turned around…and we went back! What a relief.

Artvin was a gross place, scarred by recent works on the dam project. The evidence of it continued as we moved through the valley—the water was no longer a clear blue but had taken on a murky brown color.

All of a sudden, the landscape changed and it began to feel like rainforest country again. Tiffin pointed out a low growing bushy plant covering the hillsides and we spent a long time considering what it could be—boxwood? a nut? an herb? There was so much of it! Alas, we couldn't figure it out.

All of a sudden Tiffin turned and said “there’s the sea!” Ah, the Black Sea! And, then we spotted a seagull. It was incredible how quickly we moved out of the mountains and hit the sea.

We had arrived...in Hopa. The last town before entering Georgia, Hopa is undeniably a border town with nothing to offer. Passing quickly through, we started to follow the sea road. Some minutes later, we passed our first CAYKUR factory of the trip and stopped at a little town lined with fish merchants.

We stood up to get off the bus and a woman behind me told me to pull down the back of my shirt—oy vey, were we entering a conservative world? I wasn’t ready.

We stepped outside. GROSS! It was hot and muggy, the humidity was out of control, hitting you like a wet sock. We went to the bathroom where the water was running inessently, then it was back to the bus. Waiting around outside, we looked at the little store nearby where I noticed they sold cay scented kolonya!

Then Hippy Boy came to talk to us:

Him: Where were you?
Us: Barhal
Him: So, you’re not Italian?
Me: No, we’re American

He nodded his head and walked away.

Tiffin: Ayla, he asked us if we’d ever been to Ayder. What did you think he said?

I guess he didn’t ask if we were Italian…haha…oops.

Hippy Boy was going to Pazar and from Pazar to Ayder. He was kind of paranoid about it, but I would be too if I were him. The kid had a strange attitude, though, and we decided that we were glad we didn’t go to Ayder after all—it was a popular place for the trekking tourists and there were probably lots of bizarre people there.

And we went on, very…very…very…slowly. All of a sudden, I realized what those bushes were—they were TEA. DUH?! How’d we miss that?!? After all the CAYKUR factories and the knowledge that we were in tea country, how stupid could we be?!

We stopped at little towns on the way, picking up and dropping off. The road was actually a bit desolate. At Pazar, the driver stopped in the middle of the highway, at a most deserted and random intersection, and told Hippy Boy to get off. Poor kid. He could apparently get a dolmus to Ayder from there. I really felt for the guy, I’d be freaking out.

And then, continuing onwards, we came upon a promenade of, at least, 100 cars honking and waving Ak Parti flags. Goodness! Of course I couldn't get my camera out fast enough.

The trip seemed to take forever. In Rize—cay capital of Turkey-slash-the World—we saw the mother of all Caykur factories. Other than that, it was just views of industry on the left and the wide open Black Sea on the right.

From Rize it was another 1.5 hours to Trabzon. We looked in the guidebook and decided to try Hotel Nur for the night. The plan was to go to the Sumela Monestary the next morning and then perhaps head on to Sinop, with a stop in Giresun.

Arriving in Trabzon, we were overwhelmed by bustling people and busy traffic. I was already stressed again—so much for holding on to that mellow Barhal attitude. At the otogar, we asked the driver how to get a dolmus downtown:

“I’m going there, I’ll take you.”

Sweet. We hopped back on the bus, but there was so much traffic, so he quickly stuck us on another servis. The guy put our bags in the trunk and we got on while the bus was moving.

Downtown, we saw a lot of commotion. OH NO! Recep Tayyip Erdogan decided to make July 20th his day to campaign in Trabzon. Why oh why?!

We got off the bus at the city center but it started leaving with our bags still in the trunk. We rushed to jump back on, the closing door almost crushed Tiffin to bits. I asked the guy what he heck was going on and he said

“I forgot about your bags!”

No, really?

We were lost. I asked a woman on the street how to get where we needed to go and she showed us some stairs. We walked down them.

We were lost. We asked a store guard and he said:

“I’m from Trabzon. Tell me where you want to go. I know Trabzon.”

And he did. He gave us directions and we followed them…right into the heart of the rally.

We were lost. We went to ask some policemen for help:

“I’m sorry, you can’t enter the rally with your bags.”

(Yeah, we don’t want to!) “Do you know where Hotel Nur is?”

A policeman got up and directed us:

“You walk through there—where that big crowd is—take a left and you’ll see it.”

Great, thanks.

So, we walked towards the big crowd which, of course, was an area cordoned off by police who weren’t going to let us through with our bags. We managed to maneuver around it but couldn’t figure a way to the hotel without going through the crowd. Then we saw a bunch of skeevie men staring at us and, in an effort to get away, spotted another hotel. There was a slim chance the administrators there would help, but I asked them how to get to Nur anyway. Of course, the only option, they said, was to wade through the throngs of people. Dang it!

I wasn’t keen on paying $100 a night at the Otel Sarioglu, whose logo was the same as the Sheraton...but this was no Sheraton. I was stressed out, so we hastily left. Outside, though, the place was still full of people and Tiffin suggested that may it would be a good idea to see if that hotel had a room available.

So, we did. And yes, they did have a room. And yes, they did have a student price. That was nice enough. It was a place to stay with AC and a hot shower.

We went upstairs. I was pooped. My brain was killing me. After the adrenaline slowed down a bit, I went to take a shower. Two problems occurred:

1. I couldn’t get the water to go from bath to shower
2. There didn’t seem to be any kind of drain

Tiffin solved the first problem, but the drain eluded us. Neither of us could see one and assumed there must be some secondary mechanism working…like magic or something. As it turned out, my soap box was covering the drain. Go figure. Two university educated girls…meh, we were tired.

And there we were, in Trabzon, home of the oh-so famous Trabzon Ekmegi [special sourdough bread made, often as gigantic loaves, in Trabzon]

Post-freshening up, we decided to go explore. I needed to use the internet so we went looking for an internet café. Streets were busy and it took us forever to find one. It was in the basement of a building and the room was so hot and humid that neither of us could handle it for long. Additionally, typing with a Turkish keyboard is beyond annoying and my tolerance for such things is always limited.

We decided to find a place for dinner and finally settled on a basic kebap salonu. I had an Adana Kebap, which was tasty as usual, and Tiffin had a Domatesli Kebap [unexpectedly enormous] that came wrapped in tinfoil.

Afterwards, we walked around some more. We stopped by an old timey helva place where we got ourselves a delicious Dondurmali Kagit Helvasi [dondoormahleu kyat helvaseu; wafer helva with ice cream]. I was surprised at the quality of the ice cream [being from an ice cream snob filled family, I have high standards which Turkish ice cream rarely meets...it's just a bit too chewy]. It was the perfect treat after a long and trying day.

We walked back to the hotel as we ate dessert and hit the sack at the raucous hour of…9:30 pm. Meh, we were tired.

Day 7—Saturday July 21, 2007

We woke up and had a surprisingly decent breakfast at the hotel—it was the first time I’d had coffee instead of tea since the start of the trip! Afterwards, we packed our bags, dropped them at the lobby and checked out. Then, we got tickets for a 10 o’clock bus to the Sumela Monestary and headed to the Old Bazaar to while away the time.

It was a nice morning—not too busy—and we had the streets virtually to ourselves. Passing a bakery, we picked up a Laz Boregi—a regional Black Sea specialty—and headed into the bazaar. No surprise, it wasn’t much different than other bazaars in Turkey, selling cheap knock-off clothes and lots of junk.

There was one shop, though, selling farm supplies. So, I picked up a few sheep bells because Tiffin reminded me how lovely the sound was when the sheep came home in the village. It was a dusty little shop with all sorts of neat things stuffed into every nook and cranny.

Around 10 o’clock we headed back and caught our bus. The weather was nasty—incredibly humid—and we were praying that at the monastery it would be better. The car filled up with some interesting characters: a group of young Turks, a Scandinavian couple, two Arabic speaking men, a married Turkish couple including a man who spoke English, and an Arabic speaking family—the woman was wearing a brown burqa, covering her from head-to-toe. Quite a mix, the number of Arabic speaking tourists came as a bit of a surprise.

The drive to Sumela took ~1 hour and I slept part of the way. Upon arriving we entered a serene forest, not unlike Barhal but with souvenir shops, restaurants, and humidity.

We started the walk up, the walk that constitutes the the hardest hike I’ve taken in ages. It was long and had a seemingly near vertical incline to it—according to the sign, it's a dangerous route! I don’t think I’ve sweated so much since springtime soccer games. It was out of control. It wasn't until much later that we discovered that that route was the "shortcut"...not that anyone could legitimately call that a shortcut!

We somehow managed to make it to the top and with some strange luck I finagled us a student admission price. The Sumela Monestary is quite old, built originally in 395 AD, and has been protected/attacked/destroyed by a number of groups until 1923 when Ataturk declared it a protected site.

Inside was pretty but not particularly interesting at first glance. There were no signs indicating what the different rooms were. There were some interesting features, however:

Ceilings made of stones sticking straight up and down.

Some seriously short doors.

And other doors floating in mid-air.

What this all adds up to: these people must have been pretty magical-slash-short!

And then…we arrived...

at the most epic and remarkable part of the monastery...

the frescoed Church of the Virgin Mary.

The entire church, every inch of every wall, was plastered with paint.

Many of the frescoes had been destroyed over the centuries by cultural or religious groups who disagreed with the Christian theology. Little holes riddled the walls, inside and out.

Other figures of people had the faces completely dug out. Tiffin said they did that because it was easier to get rid of the face than getting rid of everything; since the frescoes were so prolific, the work would have gone faster this way.

But, despite all the battles people of disagreeing ideologies waged on the place, the frescoes remain remarkable.

On the way back down, we stopped and had our lunch of laz boregi, dried mulberries, and mixed nuts. Hit all the food groups, right? Yeah, we were eatin' healthy.

The laz boregi was sweeter than we expected, filled with a delicious custard. Unfortunately, it wasn’t really what I was looking for at the time. It was, however, undeniably delicious and I will go great distances to eat one again before I leave Turkey. Luckily, I discovered today that the pastry shop down the street sells them during Ramazan. Huzzah!

We thought the walk down would be better after a rest, but it wasn’t. It was steep and my knees were really ready to give out. But, we made it to the bottom and refreshed ourselves with some tea, killing time until 2 o’clock when our return bus came.

The ride back was interesting because we went through a long dark tunnel that neither Tiffin nor I remembered going through on the ride in. Befuddled, we were.

Back in Trabzon, we went to the tourist office to see if they had any information on getting to Sinop. The LP had said there was one bus that left at 8 pm, but we didn’t know anything about it. Unfortunately, the office was closed so we sat on the stairs, deciding what to do. All of a sudden the owner of Hotel Nur, located conveniently next door, came out and asked if we needed help. We told him our predicament and he though didn’t know about the bus he said he’d help us find out. So, we went inside, he called the otogar, and we got the connections—one direct at 9 am and one through Samsun at 11:30 pm.

He gave us the address of the ticket vendor down the street and we went. We decided to take the night bus as it would get us to Sinop early and we could avoid paying for another hotel that night. A good plan…?

At that point it was about 3 o’clock. We had a lot of hours to kill. The weather was nasty, gloomy, and uberhumid. Trabzon is a key port town along the Black Sea, so it has a nice walkway along the ocean. We decided to go down there and bumble around.

As we reached the port we noticed a boat with lots of passengers and music luring us in. Tiffin suggested we go check it out and though I was intimidated by all the Turkish families, Tiffin convinced me to go—hey, it was something to kill an hour and it was only 2 ytl!

We got on and sat down. In front of us was a young posh couple—a man wearing a bright turquoise shirt and a headscarved woman with high-heeled open-toed sandals—and a family consisting of two young kids and two women, one scarved, one uncovered.

The trip was an hour cruise down the Black Sea towards Rize, replete with blaring Turkish pop music that stopped when the call to prayer began. It wasn’t exactly a beautiful sight, all the urban sprawl, but it was a relaxing cruise. Plus, we got to see the big TRABZON sign [someone please tell me why Trabzon needs a Hollywood sign].

It was relaxing, save for all the stares we got. The posh headscarved woman kept turning around to look at us in a not-so-sly manner. So did the uncovered woman in the family group. The other headscarved woman, at some point, just blatantly turned around and stared at us. We weren’t talking particularly loudly, but I guess they heard English and were intrigued. Plus, Turks have no qualms about staring, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when you catch someone in action.

The two groups of people actually served to be quite good for people watching and inspired some interesting discussion concerning the subject of headscarf culture in Turkey:

The first time I came to Turkey, four years ago, I was shocked at the number of headscarves I saw. I think my dad was, too—he hadn’t been back for 15 years but, he said, it seemed there were more headscarves than before.

Now, here’s [some of] the deal with headscarves in Turkey:

1. It is illegal to wear them in public governmental and educational institutions. Consequently, you can not wear them in the Presidential Mansion or on any university campus.

To get around this, women will wear wigs and hats.

2. All levels of dress code are followed amongst covered women: headscarf with jeans and long-sleeved shirt; headscarf a long-sleeved shirt, and a long jacket covering pants/a skirt; headscarf with half- or full-length skirts; a full black burqa covering all but face, nose and eyes, or eyes; high heels, open-toed shoes, stockings, socks, flip-flops...

3. Some women seem to care about the fashion—matching styles and patterns of scarf and dress—but many ignore it.

4. Out East and in small villages, some girls start wearing headscarves at an incredibly young age, i.e. <10>

5. There are religious wearers and there are those who just wear a scarf on their heads—the latter tend to be older women, like my aunt Nebahat, or village women working in the fields. Sometimes there is religious reason behind this, sometimes it’s habit.

6. Many covered women in big cities like Ankara and Istanbul do date, hold hands, and kiss in public.

7. It is acceptable for a covered woman to smoke. I've seen many serious chain smokers.

I find it fascinating to watch covered women, to see what they do and what they don't do. To me it seems there is no consistent way in which people observe, which means I'm always seeing something different or unexpected.

In the rural regions, it’s not surprising in any way to see women wearing headscarves. I’m not sure how much of it is an actual reflection of religious conservativism and how much is just traditional. In Barhal and Sahmuratli, I never felt like I was stared at for not wearing one, but then again both places were used to having uncovered women around.

The women on this boat in Trabzon, though, were intriguing…particularly the Posh One in the couple:

About the Posh Woman [and other stuff]

She was kind of obnoxious, very snobby, and smoked like a chimney. Tiffin says that in Egypt, the women don’t smoke as it’s considered a bad thing. And, indeed, it does seem a bit hypocritical to me. Cover yourself but engage in vices like smoking.

She was wearing a nice patterned headscarf and tight clothes with open-toed high-heeled sandals and no stockings. How does that work? Isn’t the point of wearing a headscarf to detract from leering eyes?

She was in public with a man who, while he might be incredibly pious, seemed quite the opposite. But, I admit, that is an unfair assumption. I've never gained a real grasp on religiosity in this country.

I guess my main question is: how religious are these women? What is their motivation for wearing the headscarf? Why would a woman make herself suffer to the nth degree in the sun-heat-humidity if she isn’t a particularly religious person. I am all for freedom, that’s not my problem. I’m not offended by headscarves or those who choose to wear them. I’m just curious because I really don’t understand and I really don’t know. It’s an especially big question for me in Turkey, a nation that prides itself so much on its secularist background.

I also don’t know how they handle it in the summer! Turks love polyester and denim. Covering yourself in head-to-toe polyester or long denim coats and skirts, never ever rolling up your sleeves…How?! Why?! I could never do it.

The question of the heascarf was a key part of the drama over the recent presidential election here. Abudullah Gul is married to a woman who wears a headscarf. As a result, to become the president and move into the presidential mansion would be entirely unacceptable. While the President in Turkey has limited power and influence, it is a symbolically huge position: Ataturk was the first president of the Republic.

Conversing about these issues consumed most of our trip, though photo phones also had their place. In Turkey, people constantly take photographs with their phones, but you rarely see a regular digital camera.

The kids and women in front of us were involved much of the trip in taking photos. The uncovered woman refused to smile but later we discovered why—she had quite a bad rack of teeth. Nonetheless, it seemed her intention was to look entirely nonplussed and too-cool-for-school. Why am I mentioning this? Merely because we spent a lot of time watching these people because they were hilarious.

After the boat ride we walked around the park a bit but we were so tired that it was hard to move. We stopped and watched some break-dance practice before deciding to hunt for presents in the bazaar.

We trekked back up the hill, a difficult task after the morning hike, and stopped by the hotel to pick up our bags. It was nice and air-conditioned in the lobby, so I didn’t’ mind it much when the deskman invited us to sit and talk a few minutes. Eventually, we left, dropped our bags at the bus stop, and headed back to the bazaar.

As we were lazily walking down the streets, a guy started following us quite closely. WE dodged and weaved, but he was hard to lose. Eventually, we did, but it was kinda creepy.

The weather was nasty—not sunny, but incredibly humid. Crowds swarmed the market and we walked in circles, not finding much except a store with nifty copper pots hanging outside. Eventually, a bit discouraged by the poor selection, Tiffin bought her friend a cowbell from our farm supply store man.

Suddenly, I needed water. I was feeling frighteningly dizzy, so we left the bazaar and got some. We people watched for awhile, still unable to understand how in the world Turkish people never seemed to look sweaty and how the covered women managed not to faint.

At that point, we still had a long time before our bus. Planning to have our dinner late, we tried to waste time by walking around even more. We thought about visiting the Aya Sofya Cami but by the time we thought about it it was too late. Shucks.

The election was the next day and we weren’t sure if grocery stores would be open, so when we came upon a produce pazar we strolled through thinking we might get some emergency tomatoes and cucumbers. We didn’t get anything, but it’s always fun to walk the pazars. I’m not sure if this was a daily or weekly one, but it was pretty extensive, with cheese, meat, and chicken shops in addition to produce.

Upon reaching the end of the produce pazar, we turned right and eventually found ourselves wrestling through the regular bazaar again. Ugh. We had walked the same three streets 15 times by that point. So, we passed quickly through and headed to the big plaza in the middle of Ataturk Alani [basically, the center of social Trabzon] to drink an ayran [yogurt drink]. We sipped slowly and relished in the refreshing coolness of the drink. That kind of weather is what ayran was invented for. After an hour, we finally decided it was high time for dinner.

LP doesn’t do justice to the food choices in Trabzon. They stick to the regulars like pide, lahmacun, and kebap places. There is, in fact, a wide assortment of places and many with more than the typical doner and kebap. In my opinion, the best places are the ones that have cafeteria style ana yemek, which offer homemade foods like dolma, fasulye, and fish. They often look a bit shady, typically filled with men, but many have an upper room designated for women and families. We searched for one like that, one with an aile salonu [ayeeley salonoo; family room], and went upstairs.

Now, we were nervous and so we headed straight to the upper room. What we didn’t realize was that we were supposed choose our food first, from the dishes downstairs, and then go sit down—they would bring it too you. So, the waiter came up looking a tad confused and asked us what we wanted. I ordered ezogelin soup and taze fasulye [Ezo the Bride’s soup and fresh green bean dish], Tiffin had biber dolma [stuffed peppers].

It was so so good, especially compared with Turkish fast food—kebap, pide, and the like. We had time, so we savored our food, coming out quite satisfied. There was also a good window to people watch from and after a long day of trolling around, it was nice to just sit down, have a glass of tea, and watch people.

We finished dinner but still had time to waste, so we decided to go somewhere else for dessert. Earlier, I’d seen a pastahane selling cold chocolate pudding, which I had been craing, so we tried going there.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t find it and all the shops were closing. It was odd, 9:30 pm on a Saturday night! We were surprised and as we realized that only men seemed to be out walking, we turned around and went back to the strip of restaurants we’d been at before. Eventually, we found a restaurant with Hamsikoy Sutlac [a special Hamsikoy version of rice pudding].

The sutlac was good and it hit the spot, though I’m not sure why it’s famous because it didn’t seem particularly different from any other sutlac I’d had. The restaurant, though, was a bit strange. At one point, I asked if there was a bathroom:

Me: “Excuse me, is there a bathroom here?”
Waiter: “No, I’m sorry, we don’t have any chocolate desserts.”
Me: “No, no, is there a toilet?”

This went on for a few more minutes before he understood. I had to say it so loudly that everyone around stopped what they were doing and looked at me funny.

Luckily, though, they had one and the guy escorted me to it…all the way down to the basement, past the kitchens. My presence startled the people working in the kitchen and the bathroom left much to be desired. The guy had to turn on some loud machine before I went in and it was anything but clean. Ah, bathroom adventures.

After the sutlac, we couldn’t think of anywhere to go, so we went back to the ticket office and checked the LP for accommodation suggestion in Sinop. We called and made a reservation at one, which brought us to a 45-minute countdown before our service bus to the otogar would leave. Trying to whittle away the time, I talked to the guy at the ticket desk.

At the otogar, we had a little more time to wait. Another woman traveling alone called me over to talk to her for awhile. She was from Adana, taught in Erzurum, and was taking a holiday to Trabzon. She was wonderfully sweet and said that, like all the other wonderful people we had met along the way, she was our yardimci, our helper.

Our bus came, I said goodbye to the woman, and we went to board. I asked if it went to Sinop, to make sure it was ours, and the young attendant had such an attitude:

“This goes to Samsun.”

That’s it, that’s all I got. I was confused as all hell—I knew we weren’t taking a direct bus, but I thought it only stopped in Samsun before going on. It was like pulling teeth to get anything out of him and I was not in the mood to be dealing with his obnoxious condescending attitude.

Eventually, though, we were assured that it was our bus, so we settled in for what would become a most awful night ride.