Turkey

April 11-13, 2006: Selcuk/Ephesus

Mother Mary’s home

One of the owners of our hotel gave us a lift to the house where it is purported that the Mother Mary spent her last years, cared for by Jesus’ beloved disciple, John. The foundations of the house were discovered in the hills near Ephesus in the 19^th century, guided by the remarkably accurate visions of Catherine Emmerich, a cloistered German nun who never left her convent. Further support for these findings is the fact that the disciple John, in whom Jesus, while dying on the cross, entrusted the care of his mother, lived in this region in the latter part of his life. As we approached the little stone house, there was no question for any of us that this was a sacred place. As we entered the house, now a lovely, little chapel, we were filled with a sense of peace and a desire to fall to our knees and pray for peace. As others filed in and out, we remained in this sacred chamber, along with the resident priest, and prayed and allowed this sacred stillness to penetrate our very being. I didn’t want to leave, riveted by the painting of the Virgin Mary and candles flickering in the diffused light of the interior of the stone structure. In another chamber of the house was a lovely fresco on the wall that looks like an antiquated apparition of the Virgin Mary but is actually a fairly recent painting created by an inspired American visitor to the site. In the interpretive displays in the house, we were once again reminded that Mary is an important figure for Muslims as well. Mary is “Meryemana,” the Virgin Mary, who bore, “Isa Peygamber,” the prophet Jesus. The priest standing vigil at the house talked to us outside about the house. Only the foundation of the house was found, and Mary’s house was indeed quite humble—only the altar section of the chapel is part of the original house. Paul and I walked to the natural springs that were found near the house, probably Mary’s source of water, and blessed ourselves with the refreshing water. Further down the path, we also came to a prayer wall and tied our lilac potpourri cloth bag to it, along with thousands of other bands of fabric, a tradition from Christian peasants of the region, each tie representing a fervid wish.

Land of the Ephesians

With great anticipation, mainly because this is the land that the apostle Paul walked while preaching the good news to the Gentiles, we arrived at the gates of Ephesus, what is considered the best preserved classical city in the eastern Mediterranean. During its heyday as a thriving harbor, Roman Ephesus boasted a population of close to 250,000, was the capital of Asia Minor and was often referred to as the “first and greatest metropolis of Asia,” though I’m still trying to figure out how Constantinople fits into the line-up. By the 6^th century when its waterfront real estate silted up, Ephesus lost its wealth and shriveled up.

Walking down the promenade past the remnants of grand bath houses, temples and tombs, however, it is not difficult to imagine this city as a trading and religious hub. It was first the center for the cult of Artemis and later, when Paul preached here for 3 years in 60 AD, it became a leading Christian community. Paul was so inspired by his time preaching among the Ephesians that he wrote one of his most profound epistles to the community here in Ephesus.

Our entrance eventually intersected with Harbor Street, the grandest street in Ephesus. It was a beautiful marble-paved street with streetlights, lamp posts, and triumphal columns, and a fountain and pool at the entrance to the great theatre, and though none of the special effects are functioning, the impact of this power esplanade, laden in still brilliant white marble and lined in majestic columns, is none-the-less impressive.

Harbor Street ends in the great theatre, a vast Roman amphitheatre built right into the surrounding hillside with a capacity of 25,000! We tried to convince Paul to sing “Eye of the Tiger,” the song he has been perfecting since our tiger encounter in India, but he refused to perform the number. We did climb high in the upper seats to check out the acoustics from what is commonly referred to in modern-day stadiums as “nosebleed territory,” and the acoustics were remarkably good. We could hear other would-be performers debuting in the stage with remarkable clarity. Apparently, each row is pitched ever more steeply to improve the view and acoustics in the higher levels. From our seat in the upper chambers, we could overlook the ancient town of Ephesus in its mountainous setting and the now distant sea and envision it in its glory days, bustling with commercial and social activity. Lying around the stage were masks of carved stone used for performances. This was also the site of the riot where Paul and his companions were targeted by an angry mob because of the negative impact their preaching was having on the Artemis cult. Of course, the demonstration was organized by Demetrius, the silversmith, who was motivated by less than noble intentions. It turns out that his trade in religious artifacts for the goddess Artemis had dropped off precipitously since the arrival of Christianity and his intent was to drive Paul out of town before he had the opportunity to incur even more damage on his business with all his converts. Demetrius managed to whip the crowd into a frenzy, chanting “Artemis lives, Artemis lives!” and it took some expert mediating on the part of the town mayor to rescue Paul and his followers from the potentially violent situation and diffuse the mounting tensions. As we recounted this story, we could envision the drama unfolding in this public arena, at the heart of this pulsing metropolis.

From the theatre, we traveled along Sacred Way that led to one of the main commercial plazas in the town. Once again, there was evidence of this street being a busy thoroughfare: You could see the ruts in the road caused by wheeled vehicles and the remains of a sewer and water system beneath the road. At the end of Sacred Way was the impressive Library of Celsus, built in honor of Emperor Celsus by his son in 114 AD. On the façade stand statues of Arete (goodness), Ennoia (thought), Episteme (knowledge), and Sophia (wisdom), as a sort of indoctrination to all that passed to edify the mind with the 12,000 scrolls that were contained in these hallowed halls. Just outside the library is the Gate of Augustus that leads into the marketplace from the foyer to the library. Also inscribed on this well-known and apparently well-used landmark is the ancient graffiti, “Those who piss here,” as a kind of irreverent christening of sorts!

Turning left, we merged onto Curetes Way toward the gate of Hercules. The public toilets for men were located just off this boulevard in a central location, near the two commercial districts in the town. Arranged on the outer perimeter of a square configuration, there were these ancient urinals or toilets, carved out of marble into elegant seats. In the center of the square was a pond decorated with priapus statues. Apparently, live music was also provided as the men sat and took care of business. Women were not however allowed to use these restrooms, but rather had to go home to use the facilities.

In the complex at the end of Curetes Way is the Temple of Hadrian, marked by the head of Medusa. I found another statue of a lovely maiden or goddess without a head and gladly supplied one for the photograph. Of course this required that I scale the marble base and clutch precariously to my faux torso. Also, a winged angel marble carving that once donned one of the buildings in this complex lay fallen on the perimeter of the plaza. From the top of one temple we could see the expanse of this district, as well as another tortoise. He was dangerously near the edge of the roof so we moved him further away from this ledge. Another small theatre, Odeum, was used for town council meetings and other public gatherings. Here, when there was no one else at the theatre, Paul performed “Eye of the Tiger” on the stage of this ancient theatre! He’s a real rock and roll artist at heart, sprinting from side to side on the stage and performing splits and other stunts!

The tomb of the beloved disciple

We arrived in Selcuk, modern-day Ephesus, in the late afternoon, got settled at Jimmy’s guest house near the town center, recommended by several travelers recently, and set out to explore the small community where St. John, the beloved disciple came at the end of his life to write his gospel. On our way, we asked several locals how to get to St. John Basilica and I was surprised that they had no idea what we were talking about. Though I didn’t expect them to speak English, I thought they might at least recognize “St. John Basilica,” as it is a common tourist attraction in this otherwise small town. Still, though the area is filled with ancient relics of early Christianity and many of the visitors that come to this area are Christians on a kind of pilgrimage, it is very obvious that you are in a Muslim country. As throughout Turkey, Mosques are on every street corner and the calls to prayer are proclaimed from the minarets several times a day. Up the hill, we suddenly came upon it, this once grand basilica built by Emperor Justinian in the 6^th century above the site where John is presumably buried, now reduced by earthquake and looting to rubble and ruin. From Ayasoluk Hill where the basilica is located, we could admire the city’s hilltop citadel, originally constructed also in the 6^th century by the Byzantines, still bestowing an unmistakable grandeur upon the city below.

April 9-10, 2006: Fethiye

A beach on a spit

We returned to Kayakoy to take the 8-km hike to Oludeniz. The beginning of the trail travels through the ghost town but since we were only passing through, we were hoping to avoid paying the admission fee for the ghost town again. Peter took up the challenge and forged an alternative route up into the ghost town that bypassed the two check points. It was rather steep and obviously not an official path but we managed to intersect the main path well beyond the admission gates and wind our way up and over the mountain. This area reminded us of the Pacific Northwest, especially the high desert with its scrubland terrain and evergreens, decorated with ornate cones. In one part of the trail, we brushed against the dense brush and within minutes, my legs started burning and I began jumping around and slapping my legs wildly. It felt like some sort of poison oak or ivy, though I have never been afflicted with it and I began furtively looking around for the culprit. Steve had a similar reaction but not quite so severe and was more restrained in his response. The kids of course thought my antics were hilarious and began recounting tales of my episodes of panic throughout the trip! The allergic reaction subsided a little and I was able to begin effectively defending myself and my actions, especially when Peter began itching as well and complaining about the mysterious contagion. From the summit high on the ridge, we ate our lunch of feta cheese, bread, olives and apple while overlooking the jagged limestone cliffs, striated with white highlights, which plunge into the blue of the sea, and reflecting on the dreams that this trip and these kinds of inspirational settings have spawned. Over and over again, we find that our sojourns into nature and more rural environs have been our most rewarding experiences, causing our spirits to soar. Well fortified of body and spirit, we continued on our way, losing the trail for awhile along the rocky ridge but eventually relocating it as we began our steep descent. About 1/3 of the way down, we could make out the mirage of a stunning cove. The panorama was painted with smooth strokes of white-sand beaches and sharp ebony black lines outlining the rock formations jutting from the reef, all against the backdrop of the aquamarine sea of the shallow cove and navy blue of the deeper water. Oludeniz is a national park at the end of a spit and, once we had descended to the beach, we walked out all the way to the tip, surrounded on either side by pristine waters. We opted for the open sea side, though it was windier, and lay out on the beach to bask in the warm sun. We lingered there for most of the afternoon people watching and trying to guess where all the Northern Europeans, in search of sun and surf during spring holidays, were from. In the late afternoon, we were lured by the thrill of watching the hang gliders soar off the nearby cliffs and land on the beach near us. One of the more unnerving tricks they performed was free-falling, pell mell toward the earth, and then pulling out of the dive to resume their peaceful soaring high above us. Not realizing this was part of the ride the first time we saw this I said, “Holy shit, he’s out of control and is pummeling to his death!” Of course, every time we saw this maneuver from there on out, Peter and Paul could be heard mimicking their mother’s panic. Still, I tracked each glider as they dove off the cliff, willing them to safely land in the beach nearby. One spent a long time being buffeted by the strong winds at the top of the cliff and I was concerned that he had been caught in a funnel of wind. It took him a long time to re-emerge but he did finally glide over our stretch of beach and eventually land in the designated area.

Ghost town in Turkey

Boarding another dolmuses we set off for the ruins of Kayakoy, a ghost town created by the massive Greek/Turk population exchange of 1925 after WWI and the Turkish war of independence. Orchestrated by the League of Nations, thousands of Ottoman Greeks abandoned over 2,000 stone houses here in Kayakoy and were re-established in a community in Greece. However, the number of Greek Muslims that were relocated to Kayakoy was not enough to repopulate the town so it was eventually abandoned. Now, only a few homes on the periphery are occupied; otherwise, the town consists of two churches, gutted by what looks like the ravages of war, and many stone houses in remarkably good condition, their doors and windows boarded, splayed across a dramatic mountainside but is largely overrun with goats and cows grazing in and among the abodes. Paul and I also found some other inhabitants—several turtles were seeking refuge in the rubble and we recorded their amblings on Paul’s video camera. At one of the churches in the low-lying area of town were two orange trees. I gave Paul a boost and he scaled the wall that surrounded the church and picked oranges. We were eager to try them. Unfortunately, they were quite sour but, since Paul and I have a high tolerance for bitter food, we persisted, delighted with our well-earned snack. As we explored the tiny winding path through the town, scrambling over the debris that littered the surrounding countryside, Peter tracked us from various hiding places, staying incognito for much of our forays. He eventually revealed himself, only to launch out on a solo expedition to the soldier’s look-out at the top of one trail. From our perch near the bell tower of the low-lying church, we were able to film him triumphant in his ascent! Steve arrived shortly thereafter and Paul and I later joined the ranks of the few and the mighty and made the ascent as well. At the top, we met a couple from British Columbia, who were staying at our hotel in Fethiye and briefed us on Selcuk and Ephesus as they had just visited these sites.

Fethiye rebuilt

Upon arriving in Fethiye at the bus station 2 km outside of town, we caught a dolmuses to the center of this seaside city on the Aegean Sea. After an extensive search for cheap pensions or hostels, we finally found a pension in a residential neighborhood overlooking the harbor with a pool! Unfortunately, it was NOT heated and this is spring in the Mediterranean. The pool was frighteningly cold. On a dare, both Peter and Paul did actually jump in and came up gasping from the shock of the cold! That evening we walked back into town and found a restaurant with dozens of traditional dishes to choose from. We each created our own platter and enjoyed the local Turkish fare, for Paul and me, an assortment of vegetarian dishes, stuffed eggplant and grape leaves, vegetable casseroles, rice and beans. We returned to this restaurant a few times over the course of our stay, visiting our friend, the waiter, and collecting the wine corks he began saving for Peter for his new collection while in Mediterranean Europe.

Walking along the waterfront and through the cobblestone streets, there is evidence of new construction everywhere. This region of Turkey is one of the most earthquake-prone areas in the world, and Fethiye was leveled in 1958 by an earthquake and subsequently rebuilt. Over the centuries, this ancient city, called Telmessos in 400 BC, has been shaped and reshaped by the dramatic forces of nature, leaving only a few relics of its ancient past in tact, one being the Roman theatre in the center of town where children now congregate for pick up ball games.

April 7-8, 2006:

Home of the real Santa Claus

Steve’s birthday was spent enroute to Demra, the town where the real Santa Claus (or Noel Baba in Turkish) is from. After lingering with Zeynep over another bountiful Turkish breakfast, we arrived in Demre only an hour before the Church of St. Nicholas was scheduled to close. This large Byzantine church reduced to ruins, but St. Nicholas, the generous saint on whom the legend of the jolly, rosy-cheeked Santa Claus is based, was buried at this site when he died in 343 and his presence in this town and once grand church, built in his honor, bestows a compelling aura on the grounds. As we read the interpretive signage about St. Nicholas’ life at this site and walked around the town, where there were pictures and statues of Santa Claus everywhere, we were swept away by the unparalleled notoriety this 4^th-century Christian bishop, who anonymously deposited bags of coins down the chimneys of the homes of poor village girls, achieved in the secular as well as religious worlds. His deeds in Demre initially earned him the title of the patron saint of virgins, but his reputation spread and he went on to become the patron saint of children, Holy Russia, sailors and others, as well as to inspire the legend of the gift-totaling Santa Claus form the North Pole! As it was Steve’s birthday, we all, according to the custom of St. Nicholas, left a shoe outside the main entrance to the church as we explored the grounds while visions of kindly ol’ Father Christmas danced in our heads. When Steve returned escorted by paparazzi Paul who videotaped him emerging from the series of archways to the church’s inner courtyard, his shoe was brimming with treats from ol’ St. Nick himself! While he was admiring his sweet loot, a local man approached us and invited us to his pension. We agreed and he drove us to his home just a few meters down the road in Myra in between the rows and rows of greenhouses that make up this small town. Upon our request, he drove us to the beach where we celebrated Steve’s birthday with a simple picnic dinner complemented by a mug of Turkish Efes beer and a glass of wine for the other adults (with a few sips dispensed to the eager minors!). Each of us inscribed our wish or blessing for him on a rock from this Mediterranean beach, just as we read in Jeremiah God writes His Law of Love upon our hearts. When we returned to the pension, Peter presented Steve with some of his favorite recipes from the trip and then he went in search of the gifts that had been hidden in Paul and Grandma’s room for him—all spices from this and other parts of the world we have traveled. Aah, such lovely aromas of cumin, cardamom, chili, red pepper, oregano, and mint emanated from these plump packets!

The next morning, Steve and I set off to visit the nearby ruins of Myra—remnants of the Lycian republic. When we arrived, the admissions office was closed and we could only gaze from the entrance at the impressive ruins of a Roman theatre, tombs and cave dwellings, hewn from the side of the mountain. Fortunately for us, a surveying crew arrived just as we were leaving. They climbed over the gate and turnstiles and when they saw us watching, they invited us to do the same! We scrambled up the side of the cliff and admired the impressive remains of this Lycian village. Over the centuries, this fiercely independent and resilient people endured attacks by one invader after another—the Persians, Athenians, Ptolemies, Romans, Rhodians, and even Alexander the Great—and only succumb after the 4^th century AD to the Arab and Turkish armies. The pathways through the site, as well as the base of the tombs and theatre, were lined with large boulders decorated with ornate reliefs, many of them sarcophagi depicting the deity of this ancient, matrilineal tribe and others the remains of masks used in theatrical productions. Overlooking the theatre, which was used as a performance hall as well as a strategic “war” room, I imagined the grand assemblies of the Lycian Federation convening to make their communal decisions about domestic and foreign affairs, as well as, the jovial, raucous throngs coming to be entertained by talented Lycian thespians.

April 3-6, 2006:

Living in Antalya

For five days, we settled into a very comfortable, natural rhythm of life in a Turkish neighborhood in the Mediterranean city of Antalya with Zeynep, friend of our friend Beryl in Eugene. Zeynep met us at the train station after our all-night bus ride from Cappadocia and welcomed us into her home, surrendering her room to Steve and me, setting up my mother-in-law in her guest room, devoting her living room to Peter and Paul, and lavishing us all with Turkish feasts for breakfast, lunch and dinner and excursions all around this charming seaside city! When we arrived, she immediately set about preparing a wonderful Turkish breakfast. Peter accompanied her to get bread at the corner bakery, the finishing touch, and out came the delicious spread into her living room—fried eggs sprinkled with mint, oregano and chili, fresh cucumber, tomatoes and olives, soft Turkish cheese, carrot jam, home-made by her friend, a mild chili-garlic paste, butter, and of course, bread in abundant quantities! After we had had our fill, we caught a dolmus to the center of town in search of a Christian church service. We found a Protestant church community called “St. Paul’s Place.” Unfortunately we had just missed the service in English but we decided to return for the Turkish service at 1 p.m. because one misguided parishioner told us that there would be some English translation at the service. About all we caught were a few references to America and Turkey, and, though we were curious about what the preacher was saying, after two hours of indecipherable gibberish, we were glad to make our exit. There was Zeynep waiting for us in the courtyard and out we embarked on our explorations of the waterfront of Antalya.

Mediterranean blue

Nearly the entire coastline is park land or historic sites, with the exception of one stretch of wall-to-wall hotels. Dramatic cliffs meet water of a deep blue and the shore in these areas was outlined in brilliant white from the spray of waves crashing against the solid cliffs. The cliffs also intermittently gave way to stretches of beaches of pebble and sand varieties, as well as, a quaint harbor nestled in a natural cove. Also along the coastline were reminders of the ancient roots of the city, remnants of the ancient wall that encloses the city, a stone lighthouse which dates from the 1^st century, and ruins of Roman temples and Byzantine churches. It reminded me of the Algarve in Portugal and I was struck by the similarities between these Mediterranean destinations on opposite sides of this alluring body of water. It was Sunday and again, as in Istanbul, throngs of people were strolling the esplanades, relaxing at the many sidewalk cafes and restaurants, or gazing at the sea from a dramatic cliffside perch. As we followed the coastline, we were riveted by the sea again and again and also found ourselves entranced, all looking out across the expanse of cobalt blue, glistening like sapphires in the radiant sunshine of that warm afternoon, comfortably cooled by the ever-present sea breezes. We walked to the restored Roman harbor, Antalya’s commercial lifeline from the 2^nd century BC through the late 20^th century when a new port was constructed about 12 km west of the city. From the harbor, we walked up the cobblestone streets, dodging touts and retailers hawking their wares and boat cruises to the steady flow of tourists.

In the neighborhood

We spent portions of every day updating our website at a local Internet café we found, Metro Café, and otherwise taking care of business in this all-Turkish neighborhood where very few people spoke English but all were very welcoming of our presence. With the help of Zeynep, I got a haircut and Carrol got a perm. We negotiated the perennially busy post office with the help of a young woman who had married an American man but was now estranged from him and her 4-year-old daughter because his Catholic, mid-west family never accepted this open-minded, charismatic Muslim woman. We were greeted constantly by passersby, and one time a middle-aged woman stopped us and asked “Deutschland??” We told her, no, that we were from America. She asked in very broken English, “You like Turkey?” and when I responded enthusiastically in the affirmative, she was so overjoyed that she seized me and kissed me on both cheeks, the traditional Turkish greeting. Steve also found out from our young friend at the post office that men do NOT kiss women but should just shake hands and incline slightly only! She very emphatically said that if he kissed a woman in greeting he might very well incur the wrath of the Turkish man in her company!

Every day, Steve reported on the number of young people playing video games for hours on end at Metro Café, even during school hours! It seems this global trend has smitten the young people of Turkey hard. Since many middle-class families still do not have computers in the home, the young people flock to the Internet cafes to play brain-numbing, virtual direct combat. As in the U.S., it is a disturbing to see the hold and influence this medium has on young people.

Zeynep’s neighbors across the street, the family of her ex-boyfriend, also befriended us and came over to visit us at Zeynep’s house one evening and invited us over their house for tea one night and dinner another. This friendly family, Jamal and Guldane, their children and extended family, is part of a Muslim sect that follows the teachings of the uncle of Mohammed, Ali. They played the balama, a traditional Turkish guitar, for us, and Mehmet, a local musician in town of considerable notoriety, even performed a private concert for us on our last evening in Antalya. Peter and Paul played futbol and a street ball game with some of the younger members of the family, as well as, other kids from the neighborhood. Jamal, the father of the family, liked to watch National Geographic, and knew some English. We showed our best of the trip slide show, and Jamal was especially delighted as he recognized some of the national parks we had visited as well as some of the animals we has seen. Paul and Bunyamin, the middle son, swapped card tricks and played backgammon, a game that we discovered originates in Turkey and is played all over the country along sidewalks and in most homes, as well as, several modifications on the game.

When we went to their house for dinner, Zekiye, Guldane’s mother, kept poking me (and she was strong!) in the ribs and referring to me as “Skel-ee-toon!” and urging me to eat more food and drink more tea. One time she squeezed me so hard in the ribs she tweaked a nerve and pain shot through my shoulder blade! In an effort to appease her, I ate several helpings, as I made eye contact with her and she nodded in approval, and drank several rounds of tea, and by the time I waddled out of their house, my bladder and belly felt like they were about to implode!

During our first visit with the family, Zeynep was talking to us, while Bunyamin was hanging close by her. At some point in the conversation, she said, “Shut up,” and Bunyamin started parroting, “Shut up.” As she continued to talk, he kept saying intermittently, “Shut up.” Initially she ignored him, but finally slugged him on the shoulder and retorted, “No, YOU shut up,” right back at him. It was hilarious. Later she told us that “Shut up” is an easy phrase for Turks because it sounds so much like “wine” in Turkish, “sarap,” pronounced “Shar up!” Ironically, just that afternoon, while reviewing our Turkish language CD, Peter, Paul and I had noted this similarity ourselves! It also sounds like the name of the friend of the family that was visiting from Istanbul, Serap!

Another funny exchange was between Paul and Zeynep. Paul liked the ring of “Tesekkur ederim” (“Thank you very much” in Turkish) and kept saying it over and over again, trying to master its pronunciation set the record for saying it as fast and smoothly as possible (for a Westerner, anyway!). So, he would just frequently spit it out at random throughout the day. At first Zeynep would look around to find out what he was thanking her for and finally realized he was just saying it for no particular reason. and she began responding also at record speed, “Rica ederim, Paul” (“You’re welcome, Paul”) right back at him and it became their routine during our stay!

By the time we left Antalya, it had become like home. We will carry Zeynep and all the friends we made in Antalya close to our hearts and pray that we meet again one day soon. We bid them a heartfelt Allahsmarladik (Go with Allah).

April 2, 2006

Land of the fairy chimneys

Our last day was spent hiking through rolling valley upon valley of this mystical volcanic terrain in search of the valley of the fairy chimneys. Along the way, we discovered and explored yet more churches and dwellings hewn out of this soft volcanic substance, interspersed with cultivated vineyards and farms. One family was busy preparing their field for planting. Suddenly, the tractor began heading our way, and we realized that the operator was yelling and wildly gesticulating at us to get off his field as we were apparently trudging directly through his newly tilled land. We thought we were following the trail but quickly found another path. Satisfied but still grumbling, no doubt about these imbecile tourists, he went back to his work. In the small sleepy village of Cavusin, we were hailed by a family and stopped to have tea at their restaurant. Just beyond the village, we could see the valley of the fairy chimneys in the distance, a fanciful sight of thousands of slender tuff columns all topped with flat dark stones that resemble chimneys. These formations were created by a process known as differential erosion, where the boulders at the pinnacle of the columns received the brunt of the erosion and protected the column beneath from further erosion. Peter “sand-boarded” down the side of one of the sand cliffs, plummeting several meters in a wake of dust.

April 1, 2006

Troglodyte terrain

We traveled through the Cappadocia Valley to the underground city of Derenkuyu, one of an estimated 36 cities dating back to 2000 BC, the times of the Hittites. These were the ancient communities of the troglodytes or cave dwellers. In times of peace, the people lived and farmed the fertile soil above ground, but when the many invaders that passed through these lands threatened the well-being of their communities, tens of thousands of people retreated to these underground dwellings, where they could live up to six months at a time. It is thought that communities up to 10 kilometers away were connected through a vast network of tunnels. We descended 8 floors deep, unhindered by any claustrophobic sensations I might add (!), and peered up through one of the ventilation shafts that wound its way all the way back up to the surface and a shard of natural light. There was a group of students from the Netherlands studying the air quality and communications systems in this underground city. We asked them about their findings so far and they reported that, though the ventilation systems in the underground cities when fully operational appeared to be quite sophisticated, the air quality in these excavated segments is extremely poor as many of the original air shafts have been blocked off and the ventilation systems are not working as they were originally designed. Apparently the air quality is so poor that if the number of people, i.e. visitors, reached a critical mass as it might during peak tourist season, the carbon dioxide levels could reach toxic levels and cause asphyxiation and even death! These students of architectural physics plan to share the results of their studies with the government of Turkey so that precautions can be made to limit the number of visitors who can explore the underground city at one time. Other students from this group were researching the communications systems in the underground cities, and, as with the ventilation systems, these were apparently quite efficient, allowing pods of people to communicate with each other across a considerable distance.

Off the winding staircase were vast chambers, comprised of living quarters, community halls and churches. In the dining halls were long stone tables and we imagined large assemblies clambering around to share a communal meal. What a din this gathering must have caused, their voices producing millions of echoes in the deep recesses of the cave. In the kitchens, blackened by the smoke of centuries of cooking, were cool storage slots for jars of wine, oil and water, as well as grindstones, cooking pits, and shelves. Some of the kitchens were also equipped with a wine cellar. I can imagine that a ready source of spirits was probably important in preserving the sanity of the inhabitants of these underground dwellings. Also off the kitchens were deep wells to supply the community with life-giving water. Some of the caverns were reserved for domestic animals, and we found one of these stables with a manger off one kitchen.

Mushroom valley

On our way back to Goreme, Steve, Peter, Paul and I stopped at Uchisar to walk the trail through Pigeon Valley back to Goreme. In the middle of this small village is an enormous kale, a tall volcanic outcropping riddled with tunnels and windows and visible for miles around. Now we walked among this impressive volcanic structure and marveled at the homes being re-made out of long abandoned dwellings in this picturesque setting. As we walked by current residences and businesses hewn out of the cave, now insulated with modern materials and equipped with modern conveniences, it was easy to imagine how many of these cozy cave homes and villages in the area had been inhabited by the descendents of the early settlers of this area right up to 1923 when the massive population exchange occurred between Turkey and Greece in the aftermath of the collapse of the Ottoman Empire.

Out through the back of this village was the trail to Pigeon Valley. Thinking we were on the right trail, we climbed to a plateau and followed the trail until the plateau ended in a steep cliff at which point we hooked up with a trail at a lower rung in the valley. As we continued along the path, we met up with an English couple who had just followed our trail until it disappeared at the edge of another and apparently final cliff. They had searched for the continuation of the trail to no avail until they met a local man who was leading them to the correct Pigeon Valley trail on the other side of this canyon. We joined up with them and found our way into another enchanting valley. These tuffs, protected by the large canyons weaving in and out of the region, were less eroded than the conical formations we have seen elsewhere. Their thick stalks were interconnected and topped with a plump, mushroom-like cap. Again, it was a surreal experience walking among these towering cliffs with a large overhang of mushroom clouds! The valley wall was also riddled with hundreds of small, precisely-cut holes, as well as the occasional cave dwelling. Apparently, the small holes served as pigeon houses in the days when villagers attracted the birds for their valuable droppings, a rich fertilizer. At the base of this valley was a small stream which created a verdant riparian corridor through the otherwise dry, desert scrubland, and the bank of rich green grass was a striking visual contrast against the backdrop of golden sand and rock.

March 30, 2006

Ancient Christian community

At the Goreme Open Air Museum, we visited an ancient Christian community among the golden rock, one of Turkey’s world heritage sites. Here, we were able to walk into the caves and explore this vast network of abodes with various rooms, fixtures, and implements, and churches from the 11^th and 12^th centuries, as well as the tunnels and stairways that interconnected these close-knit early Christian communities. In these elaborate labyrinths, the early Christians kept the seed of faith alive, despite persecution from successive invaders. In even the most dilapidated of churches were elaborate frescoes depicting Jesus, Mary, and various saints and scenes of Christianity in colors from natural dyes—indigo blue, gold, and red. Many of these churches were reserved for tombs, the dead resting in eternal repose amidst splendid icons of the faith. At one church, we met a group of students from Long Island studying comparative religions in a learning community in Turkey for the past six months, and we explored one church with these young people, discerning the scenes and images depicted on this dome of clean, classical lines. We piggy-backed on to their guide, slyly interjecting our questions when there were lulls in the inquiries from the students, and their guide, a local Muslim man, eagerly answered our questions as well as theirs. Many of the faces on the frescoes were erased, and the guide explained that when the Ottoman Empire and Islam prevailed, these artifacts of Christianity fell into disrepair or were looted by the new Muslim inhabitants of the region. Because Muslims believe that only God and his prophets should be revered, they obscured the faces of many of the religious figures in the churches; however, since they consider Jesus a prophet, his image was generally not defamed. After we exited this church, the guide continued to expound on the differences and similarities between Islam and Christianity, and I nonchalantly loitered on the periphery and continued to listen-in on this interesting discussion. As we have learned from our Muslim international exchange students who have lived with us in Eugene, Muslims actually believe that Jesus was a prophet born of the Virgin Mary; they just don’t believe that he was the son of God or that he died on the cross. They believe that it was someone else who died on the cross and that Jesus died of natural causes. This guide firmly believes that we of the major world religions must find common ground from the many fundamental similarities our faiths share, pointing out that all religions call their followers to lead an upright, holy life and treat their fellow human beings with kindness and charity. He also believes that faithful from all the major religions seek the same end, a deeper relationship with God, and will ultimately arrive at the same destination, call it nirvana, heaven, or paradise, having traveled different courses. We bid our new friends farewell, wished them well in the remainder of their course, and continued to move deeper into the complex of caves, walking among succulent desert shrubs and delicate blossom trees. As we climbed through the intricate caverns, we saw long tables where communal meals were served, kitchens, blackened by smoke, contained cooking pits, counters for preparing food and shelves for cooking supplies and food, and bedrooms, small sleeping chambers and lofts. In one house, we found a loft up steep stairs and through a small cubby hole and wondered if it was the secluded residence of the family’s teenager. I gave Peter and Paul a boost to the cool, isolated cave and they hung out and imagined life for their counterparts nearly a century ago. Peter had a box of matches and was lighting matches to better see the walls, cracks and crevices of this unusual den. When two visitors entered the lower chamber below Peter and Paul’s hang-out, one remarked, “Gee, you can still smell the smoke!” while the other said, “No, that’s the smell of a match!” Peter, Paul and I didn’t say a word!

In the Karalik Kilise or “Dark Church,” we marveled at the frescoes, restored to their original grandeur, with vivid depictions of Christ in a pose of blessing and Judas’ betrayal of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. This church was dubbed the Dark Church because there were very few windows, and, as a result, the frescoes in this church were well-preserved, making more precise restoration possible. Outside the cave complex was another large church, the Tokali Kilise or Buckle Church. Its main apse was in the shape of a cross and each of the three top points ended in bulbous domes. The church was covered in wall-to-wall frescoes, most were of scenes depicting the life of Jesus. On one side of the altar in a large concave setting was a particularly lovely fresco of Mother Mary and the baby Jesus; her expression is so compelling, full of warmth and palpable emotion. Using a map of the church’s frescoes, we found many of our favorite stories from the bible—the wedding feast at Cana, the multiplication of the fishes and the loaves, the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River by John the Baptist, etc. We were disappointed that Pentecost and the ascension, the pinnacles of Christian faith, had been destroyed.

Fairy-tale village

On the other side of the street of the open air museum was a trail that led to Swords valley, yet another valley full of abandoned cave dwellings, churches and volcanic tuffs. From the top of this ridge unfolded this nearly untouched valley, layers of soft, rolling volcanic tuff interspersed by homes and churches carved from the stone walls. It was an unnerving drop-off and I shooed Peter and Paul away from the ledge, beckoning them to explore some of the cliffside residences shielded by railings and windows too small to fall through! As we squatted in one cliffside dwelling, they fed on my fears by taking a running start and hurling stones at targets down the hill or into the valley. Always the master of diversion, I led them on yet another adventure to explore several other viewpoints framed by unusual stone-sculptured archways. At one of the viewpoints we posed, looking as though we were holding up the stone columns now disconnected from their foundations. Enroute to one of these look-outs, we spotted a little tortoise and followed his laborious treading through the dry brush. Once he was aware we were in pursuit of him, he rather dexterously maneuvered deep into a thicket to hide himself away from these human interlopers! As we descended into the valley, we continued to explore several cave dwellings on the side of the cliff. There were a couple of impressive properties with beautiful views of the valley below. One larger cavern looked like a grand community center with a long table for community meals and more intimate niches for small group socializing or recreational activities, resembling a cabaret environment, all overlooking the valley through an expansive picture window!

Peter and I got caught up exploring these ridgeline properties while Paul went on ahead into the valley. When we caught up with him, he was recording his surreal surroundings walking through “Main Street,” the path that wound through this gnome-like village. Off the path we discovered yet another church and remnants of frescoes but its entrance was barred by a small thick wooden door with iron latches, and we could only peer in through cracks and crevices in the surrounding walls and we could see water had collected on the floor of the church. Peter, Paul and I followed the winding sand path, lined with blossom trees and desert shrubs until the cliff walls completely closed in on the path and we could no longer squeeze our way through. As the walls closed in on us, we could see how malleable this soft volcanic stone is, crumbling as we clutched and grasped at the sides of the walls. Peter tried to climb one cliff wall but it was impossible to get a foothold as the stone/sand just gave way under his weight, making “rock” climbing impossible and the area impassable.

March 29, 2006

Cosmic dance

We arrived in Cappadocia, found accommodations in one of the many stone dwellings along the side of these enchanting hills, ate lunch and literally headed for the hills to catch an engagement with the sun and moon! As we climbed the steep hill to the top of the cliffs overlooking the town of Goreme, we monitored the progress of the eclipse with our solar glasses. By the time we found ourselves a spot nestled in a protective hollow along the ridge to lie down and watch the cosmic show, the moon had taken a significant bite out of the sun. Over the course of the next 45 minutes or so, we huddled close together as the temperature noticeably dropped and we watched twilight fall over the valley and the sun fade until it was completely obscured by the moon. Just before the eclipse, there seemed to be an audible hush as the humans of this earthly realm reveled in awe-filled unison before this surreal phenomenon, but, when the sun’s rays created the brilliant spectacle of a halo around the sun, we all burst into joyous, appreciative applause and hoots to the heavens! It was a good thing I was laying next to Peter because I was initially reluctant to remove my glasses and look directly at the sun but Peter very assertively assured me it was O.K. and ordered me to look! Paul was so infused by the awesomeness of the experience that he began dancing on the ridge and joyfully proclaiming the glory of God with great exuberance! When the sun re-emerged, we welcomed it back with more shouts of joy and extended our arms to invite in its gloriously warm rays! As a second sun rise unfolded, I closed my eyes and allowed the warmth of the sun and the overwhelming feelings of witnessing this incredible phenomenon gently wash over me. I am astounded by the many amazing sights we have encountered and continue to encounter on this trip.

Phallic Forest

Still in awe of the eclipse, we descended into yet another surreal experience, appropriately called the Valley of Love on the other side of the ridge from the town of Goreme. Towering before us was a forest of phallic symbols, cylindrical rock formations topped with a conical “head.” These whimsical formations were formed when wind, water and sand eroded the volcanic ash, hardened into a soft, porous stone called “tuff” (similar to what we know as pumice in the Pacific Northwest), exposing boulders of stone imbedded in the tuff (the conical caps or fairy chimneys), that protected the tuff beneath from further erosion. As if this natural magic wasn’t enough, early inhabitants, the Hittites from thousands of years before Christ and later the early Christians, carved fairy-like dwellings out of this soft porous stone and there are signs of these enchanting excavations everywhere. We tried to reach the door of one of these dwellings but it was inaccessible through this crumbling rock terrain. Still there was evidence of ancient and more recent human life at every turn in the path—hundreds of windows etched in the towers of stone, revealing hidden chambers deep within the rock, pathways crawling among the many stone residences, patios carved from the mountainside, creating inviting entranceways to the cave dwellings, and cultivated fields and groves of blossom trees in the interconnecting valleys. By nature, a barren, almost moonscape setting, this land is made captivating by a dramatic geography shaped by massive volcanoes, wind, water and other geological processes over the eons. From these fearsome forces emerged colonies of honey-colored rock structures and tremendous canyons of striated pink and gold rock, strewn across a grand desert vista. In recent centuries, humans cultivated this extremely fertile, mineral-rich volcanic soil, and fruit trees, now in spring covered in brilliant pink and white blossoms, vineyards with their character-full, gnarled grape plants, and small farms dot the panorama. We meandered through this landscape, utterly enthralled by our surroundings.

March 28, 2006

A picnic in an ancient neighborhood

Scheduled to leave that evening on an overnight bus to Cappadocia, we set off that morning on another adventure in Istanbul. Once again, we headed to Taxsim, hoping to catch a service at San Antoine. Unfortunately, once again we were late, but we watched a few Stations of the Cross in Turkish and then began our explorations of Beyoglu, which was the center of European influence during the Ottoman Empire. It was here that Genoese traders and other European émigrés flocked and where modern, western customs were showcased, while the Old City across the strait continued to live according to traditional Muslim values and lifestyle in its oriental bazaars, grand mosques, narrow streets, and age-old, unmechanized way of life. Ultimately, however, the sultans were seduced by these modern ways, building opulent European-style palaces along the shore of the Bosphorus and generally adopting a philosophy of modernization in the empire. Off the main esplanade were several embassies and churches, many of them a few hundred years old. All of the embassies were closed to the public, but through the gates, you could see the beautifully manicured grounds and gardens and grand stone buildings, and many of them were off of the quaint cobblestone streets typical of Istanbul and that showcased the characteristic ethnicity of this district. One Greek Orthodox church was tucked in a section of the district that used to be the Russian quarter of the city. Next door was a restaurant that was started by two Russian dancing girls who fled the Russian Revolution and is still run by Russian-speaking descendents! At the top of the hill is Taxsim square, a large urban plaza and park and we bought bread, cheese, and olives and had ourselves a lovely picnic lunch in the park. An older woman on a neighboring bench had been stealing glimpses at us for quite some time and finally came over to greet us. Poor thing, her false teeth kept rattling as she carried on an animated conversation with us in Turkish. We shared a few olives and cheese with her and she eventually bid us farewell.

Walking down to the strait of Bosphorus, we stopped at the Ritz Carlton, a rather unattractive towering modern monolith, walked through the security check point and had the pleasure of using the very fancy restrooms! At the base of the busy boulevard was the grand Dolmabahce Palace, where the last Ottoman sultans lived and Ataturk, Turkey’s liberator and founder of the new republic, died on 10 November 1938.

A pathway to the Black Sea

For only 1 lira per person, we caught the ferry and crossed the historic Bosphorus strait, which connects the Black Sea and the Sea of Marmara and separates Istanbul into its European (western) and Asian (eastern) halves. The strait, only 32 km long, has served for centuries as a maritime highway as well as a military strategic defense. Its name is derived from Greek legend: After carrying on an affair with Io, Zeus turned his former lover into a cow and his wife Hera crowned the punishment by stinging Io on the rump with a horsefly and driving her across the strait. Thus, in ancient Greek, “bous” is cow and “poros” is crossing place! We crossed to the Asian side of the city and then, passing by the mouth of the Golden Horn, another of Istanbul’s historic waterways, crossed the sea again back to Sultanamet. From the ferry, you could see the picturesque, but colossal, stone walls that encase the city as well as the prominent Dolmabahce Palace that lines the western shores of the Bosphorus strait, and the skyline punctuated by the bulbous domes and slender minarets of the many mosques of Istanbul, as well as the modern skyscrapers and apartment dwellings. Built in the 5^th century, the city walls still look impressive, having only been breached twice—the first time during the crusades in the 13^th century and the last when Mehmet the Conqueror and the Ottomans ultimately gained control of the city. Looking out across this panorama of fantastic geography and built environment, you can easily imagine the great kingdoms of Constantinople and the Ottoman Empire flourishing in this magnificent setting. From our vantage on the ferry, it was easy to see why we have fallen in love with Istanbul, formerly the grand Constantinople: Across this dramatic panorama, rich geography, history and architecture of east and west converge in one metropolis, the gateway to the Mediterranean.

Cathedral or mosque?

Back in Sultanamet, ever present is the Aya Sofya, the imposing pink cathedral of the Roman Empire. A local carpet merchant walked with us by the church and told us about its fascinating history. Built by Emperor Justinian in 537, it reigned for nearly 1,000 years as the greatest church in Christendom until the Ottoman Empire came into power in 1453. A wall was built around the grand church and minarets installed, and it was converted into a mosque! Inside, brilliant Christian mosaics are juxtaposed with writings from the Koran. In 1935 when Turkey became a republic, the Christian community wanted it back but Ataturk pronounced it a museum. Because the dome was constructed without any apparent lack of support, much to the marvel of the Byzantines, it has been rebuilt several times as it has succumbed to earthquakes and sheer gravity over the course of the centuries.

March 26-27, 2006: Istanbul

Brrrrr! It was cold when we arrived in Istanbul. After spending the night on a United Emirates flight, eating dinner at 2 a.m. and watching movies for most of the remainder of the night, we were eager to make a quick decision and get settled in a warm bed! We were glad when we found just the ticket at Star Hotel, a well-maintained pension in the Sultanamet district, in the middle of many of the major sites.

Historic streets of Istanbul

We awoke to the sun streaming into the windows and beckoning us to enter the magic and grandeur of Istanbul. Sure enough, outside our room an enchanting panorama unfolded. The cobblestone streets below were lined with buildings of European architecture and tidy, picturesque shops, sporting colorful textiles, carpets, scarves and other weavings, baskets full of vivid oranges at fresh fruit juice stands, and posters of Turkey’s exotic destinations at the many travel agencies. On the red-tiled rooftops were quaint restaurants and private balconies, many of them bedecked with patio gardens, spilling over with bougainvillea of vivid pink, purple and white. And, in the distance, the Sea of Marmara glistened like a field of diamonds in the brilliant sunshine. It was Sunday, and, as soon as we finished our free Turkish breakfast, a delicious feast of bread, feta cheese, olives, tomatoes, cucumber, and an egg, we set off for Taxsim, where the Catholic church of San Antoine is located. (While in Istanbul, we ate our free breakfasts and other meals at Kosk restaurant and it became a favorite dining place. Even though the main waiter spoke little English, we grew very fond of this gentle, congenial young man who served us with such humility and attentiveness.) Following the instructions from our friends at Star Hotel, we walked toward the sea, crossed the first bridge we encountered, and, after a few inquiries, found the tunnel, a short underground railway built by French engineers in 1875, and caught the cable car up the steep hill to the base of Taxsim square. Unfortunately, masses were over when we arrived, but we meandered along the historic esplanade of Istiklal Caddesi, soaking up the sights and sounds of contemporary Istanbul with its backdrop of ancient churches, mosques, grand residences, and other cultural vestiges from this mainly European quarter of the city. We purchased a braided bread roll, sprinkled with sesame seeds, from a street vendor. This is a very common snack throughout Istanbul, often as people are headed to or from work. These sidewalk vendors selling their bread from their attractive glass carts trimmed in red are plentiful, as well as others who carry the bread in plump wicker baskets and sell them in shops and cafes. As we walked back toward the water, we stopped at a few music shops to look at guitars. On this trip, Peter has become intrigued with learning to play the guitar. We found it interesting that many of the less expensive guitars for sale were made, surprise, surprise (!) in China. Our stomachs had just begun to grumble when we were lured by the tantalizing aromas emanating from a little, family-run Turkish pizza shop, tucked in one side street in this traditional neighborhood. The father, mother and son, working together this Sunday afternoon, greeted us enthusiastically and invited us to sit down at one of the few tables in the small shop. Our ability to communicate was limited as their English was very scant and our Turkish non-existent, but we enjoyed our broken banter and exchange of enthusiastic smiles, handshakes and thumbs-up sign language! Made fresh to order, Peter had gozleme, a potato calzone, and the rest of us had the typical, oblong Turkish pizzas with vegetarian and minced meat topping. At the base of the small winding road, I couldn’t resist buying some freshly squeezed orange juice from a sidewalk vendor for only 1 lira ($0.75). A couple of other tourists had also stopped at the stand and we began talking as we waited for our juice. Their names were David and Marika and they were both from New York. David had worked for Sony also and I introduced him to Steve, and they immediately began chatting about their experiences at Sony and critiquing its corporate culture. David subleases his Manhattan apartment to subsidize his travels, and Marika is a medical resident in upstate New York. They were traveling in Turkey now mainly because of the eclipse which was scheduled to occur in just a few days. This was the first we had heard of the eclipse and we got all the details as we continued to walk with our new friends. Traveling across the busy Galata Bridge again, we once again peered in the buckets of all the people fishing off the bridge to admire the many beautiful silver specimens. Hundreds of fishing poles trimmed the bridge and plenty of fish were being caught! Paul was ready to rent a pole and join the ranks! We visited the Yeni Cami, a large mosque just on the other side of the bridge. Paul was admonished by one older man because he stepped with his bare feet on the ground before entering the mosque as he was taking off his shoes! This central mosque is enormous. Lined in Turkish carpet of intricate Arabic design in rich reds, blues and golds from wall to wall and decorated with tiles of similar colors and designs, you could only imagine this vacuous house of the Muslim faith swelling with prayer when filled to capacity. We kneeled on one of the prayer blocks and breathed in the peacefulness of this quiet place of worship.

Blue mosque on the skyline

On our way back to Sultanamet, we took a detour to lose ourselves in the winding cobblestone streets and explore the shops open on this late Sunday afternoon. We thought the Blue Mosque would be an effective landmark but there are so many mosques in this city that it wasn’t necessarily the most obvious of beacons, and we were weary when we finally stumbled back to the vicinity of our hotel. We checked out a couple of Internet cafes and found one that seemed to have the capacity to upload photographs and arranged to return the next day. Selo, the cousin of the owner of the Internet café, had helped us sort out our Internet connectivity issues, and, as we were leaving, he invited us to visit the Blue Mosque with him in this twilight hour. We enjoyed his knowledgeable commentary about the mosque, as well as political affairs, especially between Turkey and the United States. He is currently studying tourism at university in Istanbul and is very interested in improving relations between the two countries to promote tourism but is very discouraged with Bush and his lack of foreign policy and relations. We assured him that we share his grave consternation with the current U.S. administration, and he said that most American tourists who make it to Turkey seem to be of the same political persuasion. Selo was right: The Blue Mosque is especially stunning in the evening as the diffused light streams through its 216 stain glassed windows, making it one of the most elegant mosques I have ever seen. The blue in its name comes from the luminous blue aura that emanates from the tiled walls and painted dome of the interior. Apparently, Ahmet I, the Ottoman sultan who contracted to build this grandiose mosque in the early 1600s, requested gold (“altin” in Turkish) minarets but the architect, Mehmet Aga, misunderstood and constructed six (“alti” in Turkish) minarets. Ahmet was severely chastised for overstepping his bounds and daring to rival the mosque at Mecca, the center of the Islamic faith. To make amends, he paid for another minaret to be added to the main mosque at Mecca. We also found out that in a cage suspended from the highest point of the mosque’s main dome are three ostrich eggs. Apparently these eggs emanate a chemical that humans can’t detect but wards away spiders and other bugs and keeps the less accessible windows in the upper chambers of the mosque clean.

Across the street from the Blue Mosque is the Hippodrome, a large arena where chariot races and other public gatherings used to take place. According to Selo, the obelisks and stone columns that decorate the Hippodrome represent the many different cultures and historical traditions that make up Turkey. One is inscribed with Egyptian hieroglyphs, another once stood at the temple of Apollo at Delphi, and the last was repaired by Constantine VII when its bronze plates were ripped off during the Fourth Crusade.

On our way back to the hotel, Selo invited us to his uncle’s carpet store. We drank Turkish and apple tea while his uncle, who has traveled extensively in the U.S. on business, told us about the beautiful, but extremely costly, carpets produced in Turkey. This collection of carpets reflects the diversity of cultures, as well as fine artistry found in Turkey.