Like a Rhodes Scholar, I left dusty Rhodes (having accomplished my goal of visiting Rhodes not taken) and sailed to Athens. More precisely, since I didn't do any of the sailing (and the ferry was not wind-powered), I boarded the jumbo Blue Star ship "Diagoros" which cruised smoothly to Piraeus, the port of Athens (now and 2500 years ago). The classic way of traveling by ferry in Greece is to find a quiet corner in one of the lounges and set up a little camp. The ferries are enormous and quite plush, so comfort is not an issue. I even managed to take a shower. Luckily, June is not quite high season in Hellas, so the ferry was practically, for its size, empty, and I had an entire couch to myself. I slept happily for much of the 17 hour journey and read "Gulliver's Travels" the rest of the time. I did not throw up.
On arrival at Piraeus, I boarded the convenient metro to Ano Patisia station, from which I walked to the apartment of Lena, my Grecian Athenian host, who seems to have hosted most of the global couchsurfing community (or is currently). She wasn't home, so I was let in by Michelle, a Brooklynite also staying here. And I met Michael, an American (Baltimore) classicist-linguist-archaeologist (he calls himself a "Mycenologist" but you don't know what that means, do you, readers?) who explained to me--and I was eager to listen--the precise etymological reason why the Grecian words "zoe" (life, as in zoology) and "bios" (life, as in biology) are really the same word. Cool stuff, I warrant you. After lounging around waxing philolinguically for awhile, I set out for the National Archaeological Museum, my putative only reason for bothering to come to Athens again (which, I admit, I like better this time around--it's nice to be in a country for once where I can at least say "please" and "thank you" and where I even have a fighting chance at being able to read things). I spent about six hours there and was blown away by much of what I saw: almost the first thing was the famous gold mask called (erroneously) by Heinrich Schliemann (he got around) the mask of Agamemnon. I have to say, however, in all honesty, that the museum's collection is, judiciously speaking, not very good. Unfortunately for Greece, most of its signature archaeological treasures have been looted by Europeans. What remains are the remains, what has been donated, and recent finds (some of which are certainly impressive). The museum feels a bit empty, though the exhibits are well labeled, and the museum as a whole presents a decent overview of the history of Grecian art and sculpture--when it isn't being Hellenocentric, that is, and suggesting the natural and obvious superiority of everything Grecian (as in "My Big Fat Greek (sic) Wedding").
I got a student discount, of course, though I have discovered that EU students get into all these attractions for *free*. They always ask me where I am from, and I have become tempted to start lying, much as it pains me (while I readily tell untruths, I do not like to lie). I started back to Lena's place but ran into her outside the metro station and therefore turned right back around to head to the beach (she's a fun lady) to join a couchsurfing party in progress. Once again, and not at my expense, I got trashed. We finally made it back (note the lacuna) to the apartment after 4 am, covered in sand, and Lena, myself, and her son all collapsed in his room. Today, I woke up late, walked around the Acropolis, and sat down to finish Gulliver's Travels. Plaka, the historic part of Athens, is still a FTT. Ah, just as I remember it. Tonight, I'm going to *another* CS party.
I like these Grecians.
08 June 2008
06 June 2008
Death Drive
The title of this post refers to the Freudian concept by which the very pursuit of (and failure to obtain) something--a desire--becomes itself the basic function of life's continuance. For example, I travel, theoretically anyway, in order to reach destinations. And yet, as soon as I reach a destination, I am already looking forward to the next destination (or looking forward to remembering it? like sexual intercourse?). I never actually "arrive" anywhere (psychologically, anyway). There is no satisfaction. My drive to travel just continues to circulate, endlessly, around the unachievable goal. If I were to achieve it, I suppose I would cease to exist, since that would mean cancelling out the mode of my existence (that is, my personality). I think this must be the case, because there is no other explanation for what keeps propelling me forward on this ridiculous and ever more ridiculous adventure. To wit...
Umit bid me farewell two mornings ago at the Turgutreis port. A little over an hour later, I was stepping once again onto Grecian terra firma--the tiny "party island" of Kos. Having no intention to stay there any longer than necessary, I quickly purchased a ticket to Rhodes departing the same day at 4:30 pm. Unfortunately, only the high-speed option was available, so the ticket cost me (spit take) €30. Fortunately, I had enough time to check out this island. Much to my delight, there were ruins. I like ruins, you understand. They remind me of life's fragility. Ha ha, no they don't! That's stupid! I just can't get over the fact that entire societies existed in the same space we occupy before us and that things from them remain, things from which we try so hard to draw continuities to ourselves, however much they persist in being completely different in ways we cannot fathom. And they're picturesque. I was in luck on Kos, because, as I mentioned, it was the home of Hippocrates, father of medicine, and a few sites there were connected with him. First of all, there is a large plane tree (not looking so good, actually--seems to have been split in half by Zeus's lightning or something) that the Grecians claim is the exact same tree beneath which the old man used to teach his students. Believe it? I really, really don't. What is with people? Do they just *want* to believe stupid shit like that? I took a photo, of course, and even bought two Hippocrates statues from one of the ubiquitous souvenir vendors for my doctors back home (they've earned them). Being from the vicinity of the magic tree, I assume they will have some kind of supernatural palliative power. A 4 km walk from Kos town ("You can't walk!" they told me) are the ruins of the Asclepion, once an important temple sanctuary dedicated to the eponymous god of healing, where doctors would pray in their dreams to the god for healing and, presumably, healing powers (today, doctors just worship their medical equipment and computers). I managed to hitch a ride back to town with a nice German couple (the other option was the Disneyland-esque tourist tram, on which I WOULD NOT BE CAUGHT DEAD). You see, it's important when traveling, and makes life much easier, to learn the local language, which, in Greece, is German.
Having a bit of time left, I decided to try one of my old Grecian favorites at one of the rip-off tourist restaurants near the port: saganaki. Usually, this is a generous portion of cheese doused in liquor which is then set on fire at your table. I got a small slab of breaded cheese with no liquor that cost 6 verdant currency units (my new name for the once-almighty, now third-world American "dollar"). I frowned. I relaxed, because I had everything planned out and was quite pleased to have accomplished all that I set out to do. You see, my friends, I've been traveling for such a long time--and not just this trip--that I rather pride myself, humble person though I am, on being quite an expert at this business and on being diligent, thorough, punctual, and detail-oriented. Despite this, I STILL MISSED THE FUCKING FERRY!!! By about 5 minutes, I think. Why? Because I had set my clock slow when I should have set it fast. Ah, what could I do? At least get a refund, right? The woman at the travel agency was well amused by this suggestion. So instead, I had to settle for the slow (and cheaper) ferry departing the next morning at 5:30 am. My original option had been for one of these two boats, and I opted to save time rather than money. Little did I know that I'd end up buying both. Tip: buy your ticket at the port just before you leave, rather than in advance. Plans can change and idiocy often intervenes ("idiot" is a Grecian word, by the way).
Stuck on Kos for the night, I figured I should punish myself by sleeping outside. I considered this but also considered that I'd be eaten alive by mosquitoes. So I wandered, asking people where I could find a cheap room. On most Grecian islands, people rent rooms in their houses to travelers and line up to hawk them at the port whenever a ferry arrives. I found a good neighborhood for this and went into the first "Rooms available" place I passed. "How much?" I wondered. The affable lady in charge said €20. I frowned again and said I could pay €10 and no more. This excited her. Then she whispered to me that her mandatory German guests were paying €20, but if I didn't say anything, I could pay €15. I said no. She said, "OK, €14." I said, "I'll come back later." She got more excited. And then relented. Score! She has no idea what I've been through--forged in the fire of India, I am. But she made me swear I wouldn't tell the Germans. "I'm American, lady," I said, "I don't tell the Germans anything." The next morning, after an anxious, sleepless night, I made it to the ferry on time...
...only to be stopped by the police on arrival at Rhodes. I must look suspicious, with my beard, sunglasses, giant backpack, traveling alone. A plainclothes detective pulled me aside and made me wait with a group of miscellanious Europeans while they checked my passport. I reckoned that the other guys were Albanians or something. When I saw one of them emerge from around the corner of the police station with the detective, the latter removing from his hand a rubber glove, I grew a little bit tense. But they let me go without violating my privacy after their cute drug sniffer failed to find the dope. I left my backpack at the port and strategically did NOT buy a ticket for Athens, that ferry leaving at 6 pm. Instead, I hopped on a bus to the south of island. Two hours later, I was standing at the turn-off to the tiny village of Askleipieo, birthplace of my friend Alex Pappas's father. I figured I would visit for kicks, and I hoped something "ethnic" might happen to me. Sadly, Alex's relatives are all either dead, gone to Athens, or (like him) gone to America. Only one woman, a cousin, was left in the emigration-depleted village, and she wasn't home. The old guys at the cafe who helped me find her house offered to buy me coffee (ethnic experience here I come!), but, as usual, I was in a rush to get back to Rhodes town so I could catch the ferry to Athens, which, naturally, I missed. So once again I was off in search of a cheap room. When I finally found some rooms, the lady's starting price was €30. The first room she showed me was not bad: it only had two used condoms and a full ashtray on the nightstand, but was otherwise clean and comfortable. Registering my trauma, the lady quickly ushered me into another room, this one with an attached bathroom. "How much?" I queried. "How much do you want to pay?" she fired back. "€10," I answered truthfully. And she became even more upset than the Kos lady, telling me how it's impossible to find a room for such a low price. Uh huh. I've got two words for you, lady: off season. She offered €20. I said €10. She suggested €15. I thought about this and told her I'd think about it and come back later (works every time, my friends). She got a little panicky and said, OK, I could have the condom room for €10. Although I was disgusted, I figured this counted as a reasonable settlement, and I agreed. BUT. I slept in the single bed, not the double (ewww). This ruthlessness tactic seems to work best in the evening, when people are desperate to have anyone stay. The poor old lady kept her sweet demeanor, but I could tell she was quite vexed, and her negotiating certainly had its share of complaints and pleas. I am, however, homeless, jobless, and almost broke. Do you see the red halo around my pupils, growing thicker every day since I landed in Beijing? I have no mercy. When I saw the posted price for my crappy little room on the door (€50!), I felt even the opposite of pity. What goes around comes around, my friends, especially on this exploitative ball of shit and grief we call the Earth.
On day two at Rhodes, today, I explored the old town, which has the finest surviving medieval fortifications in the world and also the most tourist shops and restaurants per square foot. But I was glad I stuck around, because they really are spectacular fortifications. I started my day at the Castle of the Knights, restored by Mussolini but never used as his holiday home. Inside there was nothing to see, but I enjoyed the chance to wander around spacious medieval Halls that were once the principal stomping ground of the fabled Knights of St. John (oh wait, they aren't fabled, they're still a nation-state, remember?). I got there early enough to avoid the tourist groups, too, which made me happy. After that, I checked out the medieval buildings on the nearby Odos Hippoton, or Street of the Knights, and then walked out of the old city to visit the alleged site of the Colossus of Rhodes (not to be confused with my friend Alex Pappas), which could not possibly have stood astride the harbor, but did grant the island a +1 bonus to trade. And I spent the rest of the day as I always do in such places: gawking, walking at the pace of a dead march, and avoiding touts. My student card got me mega discounts everywhere, so I even got to see some sites (in addition to the castle, the archaeological museum), which would otherwise have cost me 15VCU each. One nice thing you can do is walk along the bottom of the old moat (it's dry and grassy now so you don't drown). I did this.
And now I must go again. My ship sails for Piraeus at 3 pm, and it's now 2:20. I don't want to push my luck again. The journey to the mainland takes 17 hours, during which time I will probably find repose only by squeezing myself onto the floor between the seats or sleeping with the motley herd of other backpackers on the deck. Truly, though, my way is the only way to travel.
Umit bid me farewell two mornings ago at the Turgutreis port. A little over an hour later, I was stepping once again onto Grecian terra firma--the tiny "party island" of Kos. Having no intention to stay there any longer than necessary, I quickly purchased a ticket to Rhodes departing the same day at 4:30 pm. Unfortunately, only the high-speed option was available, so the ticket cost me (spit take) €30. Fortunately, I had enough time to check out this island. Much to my delight, there were ruins. I like ruins, you understand. They remind me of life's fragility. Ha ha, no they don't! That's stupid! I just can't get over the fact that entire societies existed in the same space we occupy before us and that things from them remain, things from which we try so hard to draw continuities to ourselves, however much they persist in being completely different in ways we cannot fathom. And they're picturesque. I was in luck on Kos, because, as I mentioned, it was the home of Hippocrates, father of medicine, and a few sites there were connected with him. First of all, there is a large plane tree (not looking so good, actually--seems to have been split in half by Zeus's lightning or something) that the Grecians claim is the exact same tree beneath which the old man used to teach his students. Believe it? I really, really don't. What is with people? Do they just *want* to believe stupid shit like that? I took a photo, of course, and even bought two Hippocrates statues from one of the ubiquitous souvenir vendors for my doctors back home (they've earned them). Being from the vicinity of the magic tree, I assume they will have some kind of supernatural palliative power. A 4 km walk from Kos town ("You can't walk!" they told me) are the ruins of the Asclepion, once an important temple sanctuary dedicated to the eponymous god of healing, where doctors would pray in their dreams to the god for healing and, presumably, healing powers (today, doctors just worship their medical equipment and computers). I managed to hitch a ride back to town with a nice German couple (the other option was the Disneyland-esque tourist tram, on which I WOULD NOT BE CAUGHT DEAD). You see, it's important when traveling, and makes life much easier, to learn the local language, which, in Greece, is German.
Having a bit of time left, I decided to try one of my old Grecian favorites at one of the rip-off tourist restaurants near the port: saganaki. Usually, this is a generous portion of cheese doused in liquor which is then set on fire at your table. I got a small slab of breaded cheese with no liquor that cost 6 verdant currency units (my new name for the once-almighty, now third-world American "dollar"). I frowned. I relaxed, because I had everything planned out and was quite pleased to have accomplished all that I set out to do. You see, my friends, I've been traveling for such a long time--and not just this trip--that I rather pride myself, humble person though I am, on being quite an expert at this business and on being diligent, thorough, punctual, and detail-oriented. Despite this, I STILL MISSED THE FUCKING FERRY!!! By about 5 minutes, I think. Why? Because I had set my clock slow when I should have set it fast. Ah, what could I do? At least get a refund, right? The woman at the travel agency was well amused by this suggestion. So instead, I had to settle for the slow (and cheaper) ferry departing the next morning at 5:30 am. My original option had been for one of these two boats, and I opted to save time rather than money. Little did I know that I'd end up buying both. Tip: buy your ticket at the port just before you leave, rather than in advance. Plans can change and idiocy often intervenes ("idiot" is a Grecian word, by the way).
Stuck on Kos for the night, I figured I should punish myself by sleeping outside. I considered this but also considered that I'd be eaten alive by mosquitoes. So I wandered, asking people where I could find a cheap room. On most Grecian islands, people rent rooms in their houses to travelers and line up to hawk them at the port whenever a ferry arrives. I found a good neighborhood for this and went into the first "Rooms available" place I passed. "How much?" I wondered. The affable lady in charge said €20. I frowned again and said I could pay €10 and no more. This excited her. Then she whispered to me that her mandatory German guests were paying €20, but if I didn't say anything, I could pay €15. I said no. She said, "OK, €14." I said, "I'll come back later." She got more excited. And then relented. Score! She has no idea what I've been through--forged in the fire of India, I am. But she made me swear I wouldn't tell the Germans. "I'm American, lady," I said, "I don't tell the Germans anything." The next morning, after an anxious, sleepless night, I made it to the ferry on time...
...only to be stopped by the police on arrival at Rhodes. I must look suspicious, with my beard, sunglasses, giant backpack, traveling alone. A plainclothes detective pulled me aside and made me wait with a group of miscellanious Europeans while they checked my passport. I reckoned that the other guys were Albanians or something. When I saw one of them emerge from around the corner of the police station with the detective, the latter removing from his hand a rubber glove, I grew a little bit tense. But they let me go without violating my privacy after their cute drug sniffer failed to find the dope. I left my backpack at the port and strategically did NOT buy a ticket for Athens, that ferry leaving at 6 pm. Instead, I hopped on a bus to the south of island. Two hours later, I was standing at the turn-off to the tiny village of Askleipieo, birthplace of my friend Alex Pappas's father. I figured I would visit for kicks, and I hoped something "ethnic" might happen to me. Sadly, Alex's relatives are all either dead, gone to Athens, or (like him) gone to America. Only one woman, a cousin, was left in the emigration-depleted village, and she wasn't home. The old guys at the cafe who helped me find her house offered to buy me coffee (ethnic experience here I come!), but, as usual, I was in a rush to get back to Rhodes town so I could catch the ferry to Athens, which, naturally, I missed. So once again I was off in search of a cheap room. When I finally found some rooms, the lady's starting price was €30. The first room she showed me was not bad: it only had two used condoms and a full ashtray on the nightstand, but was otherwise clean and comfortable. Registering my trauma, the lady quickly ushered me into another room, this one with an attached bathroom. "How much?" I queried. "How much do you want to pay?" she fired back. "€10," I answered truthfully. And she became even more upset than the Kos lady, telling me how it's impossible to find a room for such a low price. Uh huh. I've got two words for you, lady: off season. She offered €20. I said €10. She suggested €15. I thought about this and told her I'd think about it and come back later (works every time, my friends). She got a little panicky and said, OK, I could have the condom room for €10. Although I was disgusted, I figured this counted as a reasonable settlement, and I agreed. BUT. I slept in the single bed, not the double (ewww). This ruthlessness tactic seems to work best in the evening, when people are desperate to have anyone stay. The poor old lady kept her sweet demeanor, but I could tell she was quite vexed, and her negotiating certainly had its share of complaints and pleas. I am, however, homeless, jobless, and almost broke. Do you see the red halo around my pupils, growing thicker every day since I landed in Beijing? I have no mercy. When I saw the posted price for my crappy little room on the door (€50!), I felt even the opposite of pity. What goes around comes around, my friends, especially on this exploitative ball of shit and grief we call the Earth.
On day two at Rhodes, today, I explored the old town, which has the finest surviving medieval fortifications in the world and also the most tourist shops and restaurants per square foot. But I was glad I stuck around, because they really are spectacular fortifications. I started my day at the Castle of the Knights, restored by Mussolini but never used as his holiday home. Inside there was nothing to see, but I enjoyed the chance to wander around spacious medieval Halls that were once the principal stomping ground of the fabled Knights of St. John (oh wait, they aren't fabled, they're still a nation-state, remember?). I got there early enough to avoid the tourist groups, too, which made me happy. After that, I checked out the medieval buildings on the nearby Odos Hippoton, or Street of the Knights, and then walked out of the old city to visit the alleged site of the Colossus of Rhodes (not to be confused with my friend Alex Pappas), which could not possibly have stood astride the harbor, but did grant the island a +1 bonus to trade. And I spent the rest of the day as I always do in such places: gawking, walking at the pace of a dead march, and avoiding touts. My student card got me mega discounts everywhere, so I even got to see some sites (in addition to the castle, the archaeological museum), which would otherwise have cost me 15VCU each. One nice thing you can do is walk along the bottom of the old moat (it's dry and grassy now so you don't drown). I did this.
And now I must go again. My ship sails for Piraeus at 3 pm, and it's now 2:20. I don't want to push my luck again. The journey to the mainland takes 17 hours, during which time I will probably find repose only by squeezing myself onto the floor between the seats or sleeping with the motley herd of other backpackers on the deck. Truly, though, my way is the only way to travel.
03 June 2008
Bicentennial Man
If you would like to view Leonardo da Vinci's "The Last Supper", I believe there are a few reservation slots available in August and September. Otherwise, like me, you are S.O.L. Who would have thought (and I wish I'd thought of it sooner) you'd need to book in advance to look at one painting? Thanks, Dan Brown.
Friends, this is my 200th post! I think it unlikely that I'll make it to 300, though. I am finding less and less time these days to post. When I stay with people, as I've been doing consecutively since I left India, I try not to spend so much time on their computers. Also, travel fatigue is slowly transmuting into travel exhaustion. I recommend new readers to go back and read my blog from the beginning. Long-term readers (both of you), hang in there. We've traveled this together far on a long and winding road.
I have, for the past few days, been at the lovely seaside home of a woman with the unlikely name of Umit Ferguson--well, she married an American! Umit has just been couchsurfing herself in Greece, and I always love to catch hosts when they're recently back from being hosted, because they are that much more tolerant of guests. Those of you who know me well can vouch for how much toleration is required. Umit's house is on a hillside overlooking the Aegean Sea. My room (the best room) is on the top floor of the house; it's all windows, and I have the best view. Why? She is also the author of a Turkish cookbook and keeps insisting that I eat her food, which I keep failing to refuse. The town they live in is about 30 km from Bodrum and is a bit of a resort but is relaxed enough (Bodrum itself is god-awful touristy) and has that Greek-style "Electric Light" Seamus Heaney wrote about. From here, I can even see the Greek island of Kos, to which I am headed later this morning. I should warn you that, in the spirit of accordance with the "King's English", I fully intend, from hereonin, to refer to the people of Hellas, a la W. Bush, as "Grecians." We should be so lucky he didn't call the people of *this* country "Turkeys!"
Yesterday, I went into Bodrum proper to get a lay of the land. Bodrum was known in ancient times as Halicarnassus, site of the famous Seven Wonders of the World member the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus. The word Mausoleum comes from the name of the king, Mausolus, who built it for himself. Hence, my final resting place shall be called the Syrekeum. Vegetarian burnt offerings only, please. Umit's husband, Jim, told me not to bother visiting the Mausoleum because there's nothing left of it except a giant pit in the ground. As if that would deter me! When I went, I was a little bit disappointed to see that there's nothing left of the Mausoleum except a giant pit in the ground that costs $4 to look at. At least the not quite overwhelming Museum of Underwater Archaeology housed in the former castle of the Knights of St. John let me in for free--finally Turkey recognizes my "student" status! Afterward, with nothing else to do, I went to the cinema, where a film I could only identify as "kung-fu movie starring Jet Li and Jackie Chan" was about to start; well, it certainly sounded like the kind of thing I would like...
I couldn't get a direct ferry to Rhodes from Bodrum or the town I am staying in, Turgutreis, so I must instead go to Kos, birthplace of Hippocrates, the father of medicine, and then transfer. And that is what I'll be doing today. I am excited just thinking about the next and last two months of my trip: since Obama has clinched the nomination, I won't be bothered anymore by people asking me who I support. Wish me godspeed, my friends, as I enter that wicked and unfriendly place Americans most fear to tread: the Eurozone.
Farewell, Turkey, I hardly knew ye!
Friends, this is my 200th post! I think it unlikely that I'll make it to 300, though. I am finding less and less time these days to post. When I stay with people, as I've been doing consecutively since I left India, I try not to spend so much time on their computers. Also, travel fatigue is slowly transmuting into travel exhaustion. I recommend new readers to go back and read my blog from the beginning. Long-term readers (both of you), hang in there. We've traveled this together far on a long and winding road.
I have, for the past few days, been at the lovely seaside home of a woman with the unlikely name of Umit Ferguson--well, she married an American! Umit has just been couchsurfing herself in Greece, and I always love to catch hosts when they're recently back from being hosted, because they are that much more tolerant of guests. Those of you who know me well can vouch for how much toleration is required. Umit's house is on a hillside overlooking the Aegean Sea. My room (the best room) is on the top floor of the house; it's all windows, and I have the best view. Why? She is also the author of a Turkish cookbook and keeps insisting that I eat her food, which I keep failing to refuse. The town they live in is about 30 km from Bodrum and is a bit of a resort but is relaxed enough (Bodrum itself is god-awful touristy) and has that Greek-style "Electric Light" Seamus Heaney wrote about. From here, I can even see the Greek island of Kos, to which I am headed later this morning. I should warn you that, in the spirit of accordance with the "King's English", I fully intend, from hereonin, to refer to the people of Hellas, a la W. Bush, as "Grecians." We should be so lucky he didn't call the people of *this* country "Turkeys!"
Yesterday, I went into Bodrum proper to get a lay of the land. Bodrum was known in ancient times as Halicarnassus, site of the famous Seven Wonders of the World member the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus. The word Mausoleum comes from the name of the king, Mausolus, who built it for himself. Hence, my final resting place shall be called the Syrekeum. Vegetarian burnt offerings only, please. Umit's husband, Jim, told me not to bother visiting the Mausoleum because there's nothing left of it except a giant pit in the ground. As if that would deter me! When I went, I was a little bit disappointed to see that there's nothing left of the Mausoleum except a giant pit in the ground that costs $4 to look at. At least the not quite overwhelming Museum of Underwater Archaeology housed in the former castle of the Knights of St. John let me in for free--finally Turkey recognizes my "student" status! Afterward, with nothing else to do, I went to the cinema, where a film I could only identify as "kung-fu movie starring Jet Li and Jackie Chan" was about to start; well, it certainly sounded like the kind of thing I would like...
I couldn't get a direct ferry to Rhodes from Bodrum or the town I am staying in, Turgutreis, so I must instead go to Kos, birthplace of Hippocrates, the father of medicine, and then transfer. And that is what I'll be doing today. I am excited just thinking about the next and last two months of my trip: since Obama has clinched the nomination, I won't be bothered anymore by people asking me who I support. Wish me godspeed, my friends, as I enter that wicked and unfriendly place Americans most fear to tread: the Eurozone.
Farewell, Turkey, I hardly knew ye!
01 June 2008
Ruined
Warnıng: thıs post suffers from dotless 'ı' syndrome.
I love vısıtıng ruıns, as many of you doubtless are aware. But I've seen so many ruıns ın the past few days, I thınk I *am* a ruın. Fırst: Troy. When you've been enthralled by ancıent hıstory sınce you stıll had baby teeth, there ıs a certaın amount of heıghtened sentımentalıty that accompanıes a vısıt to Troy, THE archaeologıcal sıte, the archaeologıcal sıte par excellence. But I had to take a long bus rıde to get there.. have I mentıoned yet that my lıfe lately seems to be a hell of bus statıons? I have certaınly felt ıt. Other people have memorıes of travel that ınvolve lazy, ıntoxıcated days on beautıful, palm-frınged beaches; or gorgeous hotel lobbıes fılled wıth the concourse of gorgeous, prosperous people all lookıng for a score of one sort or another; or multıday adventures whackıng through jungles, hıgh-peakıng ın mountaın ranges, raftıng down ragıng rıvers, etc. For me, ıt's one smelly, chaotıc, overprıced bus statıon after another as I drag myself across Asıa's smılıng face (and I don't trust that smıle). Stıll jealous? OK enough complaınıng...
Back to the story. It took about sıx hours to get from İstanbul to Çanakkale, the base town for vısıts to Troy. We traveled vıa Gallıpolı, known to my heart as the Hellespont and to Australıans as the sıte of Peter Weır's early Mel Gıbson fılm "Gallıpolı" ın whıch a bunch of them (not Gıbson) get kılled for followıng the barmy orders of the jackass Poms. In my ımagınatıon, I had the followıng conversatıon wıth a local:
Me: Excuse me, but I am lookıng for Aıgospotomoı. Do you know where ıt ıs?
Local: What?
Me: Aıgospotomoı. It's the sıte of a famous battle that took place between Athens and Sparta durıng the Peloponnesıan War.
Local: What?
Me: It's a beach somewhere near the Hellespo.. uh Gallıpo.. uh Gelibolu.
Local: What?
Me: Never mınd. I'll fınd ıt myself.
Local: What?
From Çanakkale, I took a mınıbus to Truva, Troy, and suddenly there ıt was, the Bronze Age tel of my dreams. And busloads of Japanese tourısts, who I am usually delıghted to see. Thıs tıme I wanted to kıll them. Out front of the sıte proper ıs a gıant Trojan Horse for ıdıots to use ın funny photos. At the sıte ıtself, there really ısn't much to see, but you can gaze through the gıant trench the German amateur excavator Heınrıch Schlıemann moronıcally gashed through the mound at the vast plaın of the Troad and ımagıne Brad Pıtt stormıng hıs way across ıt to the gates (Run!).
I stayed that evenıng at Emre's place. Great guy. He had a date so I spent the evenıng, courtesy of hıs recommendatıon, fınally seeıng the new Indıana Jones movıe ın Englısh. For some reason, I could do thıs ın a country town but not İstanbul.
The next day, I left early for Bergama, another sıx hours away, another ruın, thıs one of the ancıent Pergamene cıty of... Pergamum (note the homology). Even more than Troy, I wanted to vısıt thıs cıty. I don't have a very good reason. Basıcally, ıt was ındependent for several centurıes after beıng conquered by Alexander and passed off to one of hıs generals and then the last kıng, Attalus I thınk, bequeathed ıt to the Roman Empıre ın hıs wıll. I never heard of such a thıng! Attalus: "I, Attalus, beıng of sound mınd, do hereby leave my kıngdom to the Romans." Servant: "Uh, sıre, are you really allowed to do that?" Attalus: "Sılence!" Anyway, I was stunned by Pergamum, blown away and amazed ın every way by how much the taxı drıvers wanted to take me there. I dıd get away wıth a decent prıce, but I have to say, Turkey ıs draınıng my money, even though I've been reduced to lıvıng on tea and bakery goods. Pergamum ıs famous for ıts hıgh Acropolıs, and ıt does loom quıte powerfully over the modern town of Bergama. I loved ıt. I thınk ıt's got a good chance to be one of the hıghlıghts of my trıp to Turkey. Not to mentıon the locatıon wıth ıts great vıews, not to mentıon the excellent theater carved ınto the top of the hıghest peak ın the area, and not to mentıon the decent state of preservatıon of the prıncıpal monuments at the very top, Pergamum ıs just enormous, and the remaıns of the lower cıty stretch from the top all the way down the back of the slopıng Acropolıs hıll to the bottom--where no tour groups go! You just follow the blue dots, and all to yourself you get streets, ancıent housıng, bathhouses, vıllas, mosaıcs, gymnasıums, and more toppled columns than a young boy (at heart) could know what to do wıth!
I thought the only place that could top Pergamum would be Ephesus. I left Bergama the same day I arrıved and reached ın the evenıng a cıty called Aydın, where I was met by Raşit, my next host. Serıously, people, there ıs no reason to pay for accomodatıon anymore! Today, I fınally dıd set out for Ephesus. When I arrıved, I had company: more tour groups than I'd yet seen anywhere ın Turkey. Ugh. To be sure, Ephesus ıs a nıce sıte. But ıt ıs by no means spectacular, UNESCO status notwıthstandıng. There's a gıant theater, a nıce lıbrary façade, and some partıally restored buıldıngs, but so much of ıt ıs closed off or just clogged, lıke a toılet at an Indıan bus statıon, wıth the shıt of humanıty that I found ıt hard to enjoy. Nearby the cıty ıtself are the mınımal remaıns of the Artemesıum, the great temple to Artemıs that was once one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancıent World (check!) and allegedly burned down the nıght of Alexander the Great's bırth (belıeve ıt...?). Above that are the remaıns of a basılıca allegedly buılt over the grave of St. John the Evangelıst (belıeve ıt...?). Lots of credulıty to go around ın Ephesus (they even have a cave where seven people slept for four hundred years or somethıng, and the house where the Vırgın Mary spent the last years of her lıfe or somethıng, but, havıng had enough Bıblıcal bullshıt ın the Holy Land, I opted not to vısıt). I thought about vısıtıng Mıletus, home of the Mılesıan pre-Socratıc phılosophıcal school, but fıgured ıt would be better not to rush thıngs. So I came back to Aydın to wrıte thıs post ınstead. Tomorrow, I wıll probably go to Bodrum and then, soon after, saıl off to Rhodes. And that's all for now. Thanks for readıng, readers.
I love vısıtıng ruıns, as many of you doubtless are aware. But I've seen so many ruıns ın the past few days, I thınk I *am* a ruın. Fırst: Troy. When you've been enthralled by ancıent hıstory sınce you stıll had baby teeth, there ıs a certaın amount of heıghtened sentımentalıty that accompanıes a vısıt to Troy, THE archaeologıcal sıte, the archaeologıcal sıte par excellence. But I had to take a long bus rıde to get there.. have I mentıoned yet that my lıfe lately seems to be a hell of bus statıons? I have certaınly felt ıt. Other people have memorıes of travel that ınvolve lazy, ıntoxıcated days on beautıful, palm-frınged beaches; or gorgeous hotel lobbıes fılled wıth the concourse of gorgeous, prosperous people all lookıng for a score of one sort or another; or multıday adventures whackıng through jungles, hıgh-peakıng ın mountaın ranges, raftıng down ragıng rıvers, etc. For me, ıt's one smelly, chaotıc, overprıced bus statıon after another as I drag myself across Asıa's smılıng face (and I don't trust that smıle). Stıll jealous? OK enough complaınıng...
Back to the story. It took about sıx hours to get from İstanbul to Çanakkale, the base town for vısıts to Troy. We traveled vıa Gallıpolı, known to my heart as the Hellespont and to Australıans as the sıte of Peter Weır's early Mel Gıbson fılm "Gallıpolı" ın whıch a bunch of them (not Gıbson) get kılled for followıng the barmy orders of the jackass Poms. In my ımagınatıon, I had the followıng conversatıon wıth a local:
Me: Excuse me, but I am lookıng for Aıgospotomoı. Do you know where ıt ıs?
Local: What?
Me: Aıgospotomoı. It's the sıte of a famous battle that took place between Athens and Sparta durıng the Peloponnesıan War.
Local: What?
Me: It's a beach somewhere near the Hellespo.. uh Gallıpo.. uh Gelibolu.
Local: What?
Me: Never mınd. I'll fınd ıt myself.
Local: What?
From Çanakkale, I took a mınıbus to Truva, Troy, and suddenly there ıt was, the Bronze Age tel of my dreams. And busloads of Japanese tourısts, who I am usually delıghted to see. Thıs tıme I wanted to kıll them. Out front of the sıte proper ıs a gıant Trojan Horse for ıdıots to use ın funny photos. At the sıte ıtself, there really ısn't much to see, but you can gaze through the gıant trench the German amateur excavator Heınrıch Schlıemann moronıcally gashed through the mound at the vast plaın of the Troad and ımagıne Brad Pıtt stormıng hıs way across ıt to the gates (Run!).
I stayed that evenıng at Emre's place. Great guy. He had a date so I spent the evenıng, courtesy of hıs recommendatıon, fınally seeıng the new Indıana Jones movıe ın Englısh. For some reason, I could do thıs ın a country town but not İstanbul.
The next day, I left early for Bergama, another sıx hours away, another ruın, thıs one of the ancıent Pergamene cıty of... Pergamum (note the homology). Even more than Troy, I wanted to vısıt thıs cıty. I don't have a very good reason. Basıcally, ıt was ındependent for several centurıes after beıng conquered by Alexander and passed off to one of hıs generals and then the last kıng, Attalus I thınk, bequeathed ıt to the Roman Empıre ın hıs wıll. I never heard of such a thıng! Attalus: "I, Attalus, beıng of sound mınd, do hereby leave my kıngdom to the Romans." Servant: "Uh, sıre, are you really allowed to do that?" Attalus: "Sılence!" Anyway, I was stunned by Pergamum, blown away and amazed ın every way by how much the taxı drıvers wanted to take me there. I dıd get away wıth a decent prıce, but I have to say, Turkey ıs draınıng my money, even though I've been reduced to lıvıng on tea and bakery goods. Pergamum ıs famous for ıts hıgh Acropolıs, and ıt does loom quıte powerfully over the modern town of Bergama. I loved ıt. I thınk ıt's got a good chance to be one of the hıghlıghts of my trıp to Turkey. Not to mentıon the locatıon wıth ıts great vıews, not to mentıon the excellent theater carved ınto the top of the hıghest peak ın the area, and not to mentıon the decent state of preservatıon of the prıncıpal monuments at the very top, Pergamum ıs just enormous, and the remaıns of the lower cıty stretch from the top all the way down the back of the slopıng Acropolıs hıll to the bottom--where no tour groups go! You just follow the blue dots, and all to yourself you get streets, ancıent housıng, bathhouses, vıllas, mosaıcs, gymnasıums, and more toppled columns than a young boy (at heart) could know what to do wıth!
I thought the only place that could top Pergamum would be Ephesus. I left Bergama the same day I arrıved and reached ın the evenıng a cıty called Aydın, where I was met by Raşit, my next host. Serıously, people, there ıs no reason to pay for accomodatıon anymore! Today, I fınally dıd set out for Ephesus. When I arrıved, I had company: more tour groups than I'd yet seen anywhere ın Turkey. Ugh. To be sure, Ephesus ıs a nıce sıte. But ıt ıs by no means spectacular, UNESCO status notwıthstandıng. There's a gıant theater, a nıce lıbrary façade, and some partıally restored buıldıngs, but so much of ıt ıs closed off or just clogged, lıke a toılet at an Indıan bus statıon, wıth the shıt of humanıty that I found ıt hard to enjoy. Nearby the cıty ıtself are the mınımal remaıns of the Artemesıum, the great temple to Artemıs that was once one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancıent World (check!) and allegedly burned down the nıght of Alexander the Great's bırth (belıeve ıt...?). Above that are the remaıns of a basılıca allegedly buılt over the grave of St. John the Evangelıst (belıeve ıt...?). Lots of credulıty to go around ın Ephesus (they even have a cave where seven people slept for four hundred years or somethıng, and the house where the Vırgın Mary spent the last years of her lıfe or somethıng, but, havıng had enough Bıblıcal bullshıt ın the Holy Land, I opted not to vısıt). I thought about vısıtıng Mıletus, home of the Mılesıan pre-Socratıc phılosophıcal school, but fıgured ıt would be better not to rush thıngs. So I came back to Aydın to wrıte thıs post ınstead. Tomorrow, I wıll probably go to Bodrum and then, soon after, saıl off to Rhodes. And that's all for now. Thanks for readıng, readers.
29 May 2008
Nobody knows but the Turks
Today I thought I would walk the entire length (7 km) of Constantinople's old inland city walls, and possibly add on the rest, too (+40 km?). Those who know me will not be surprised. But. I also wanted to see the local museum of archaeology, which required more time than expected. This, and not the fact that the alcoves of the ruined wall are inhabited by drug-addicted derelicts and rabid dogs, is what prevented me from carrying out this mission. So, some other time. Instead, I left Selin's apartment in the late morning and wandered over to the remains of a Roman aqueduct. Aqueducts are awesome. From there, I meandered to the nearby Suleyman Mosque, most of which was closed for restoration (but free, so who cares). After the mosque, I ambled through the market to the aforementioned archaeology museum(s) and spent hours looking at marble busts and such. I love this. I was pretty tired after the museum(s) but still found enough energy to trudge up to the "basilica cistern", the mundane name and $8 admission fee of which had initially turned me off to it. Well, it was pretty magnificent inside. You go down under the city and into a vast, cavernously vast, subterranean water storage environment. It's all held up by rows of columns, lit by weird, colorful lights, and clichéd themes from baroque and classical music play ambiantly in the background. The highlight are two Medusa heads built into the bases of two of the columns. They are highlights because one of them is upside down and the other one is on its side. So mysterious! The tourists loved it... OK, I did, too. Those are the *interesting* things I did today. I also did other, less interesting things (like finally locating the Sublime Porte and buying bread and cheese for my next six meals). But I won't recount those in detail. Sadly, I didn't have any awkwardly humorous encounters with eccentric people. But tomorrow...
I'M GOING TO TROY!!!!!!!
I'M GOING TO TROY!!!!!!!
28 May 2008
İstanbulshıt
I have to say something I am loathe to say lest I disappoint my readers and insult my new Turkish friends, should they possibly be reading this: I am somewhat disappointed with Istanbul. I was looking forward to visiting this city as almost nowhere else on my trip, but it has, I think, fallen off from its heyday as a pen of antiquity and den of iniquity. Potential EU membership must be the death knell responsible for the sanitization of the historic quarter, Sultanahmet, which seems to me as hideously fake and touristic--in that overpriced restaurant, no student discount, hordes of fatuglypoorlydressed Europeans way--as Florence, Cuzco, and Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco. The "new" part of the city, Taksim, looks like every other capitalism-molested downtown strip on Earth: rows of high-end designer boutiques, piles of cafes (but no good coffee), American chain establishments, and stupid theme bars. I wonder sometimes why I even visit them anyway because, like in Paul Kelly's song, every fucking city looks the same.
But despair not, readers! I *am* having a good time here, even if my critical gaze gets the better of me always. My friends Michael and Jessica happened to be here for their vacation, and I had the opportunity to meet up with them. The 26th was Michael's birthday, too, and they celebrated by paying for my dinner (thanks, guys!). We also spent three days tooling around the city, visiting the sites, wandering the neighborhoods, and absolutely failing to locate a cinema where we could watch the new Indiana Jones movie in English (it's dubbed everywhere, groan). The Blue Mosque, which turned out to be the first mosque either of them had ever visited, was sublime. Topkapı Palace was, I don't know, sort of boring I guess (note my noncommittal non-enthusiasm), but that harem was interesting (worth an extra $8 I can't say). Aya Sofia, which I'd been waiting my whole life to see, did not disappoint: a giant heap of Roman basilica whose origins and original Christian grandeur no amount of Ottoman Muslim repurposing could obscure--and you could go up to the mezzanine level! I love that! There were other things, but none as fun as our attempts to eat the pişmaniye I bought--after one bite, the little strands of candy floss fell everywhere, at least one half of every piece *I* tried to eat ended up in my beard.
On their last day before returning to America, yesterday, we took a day-long trip up the Bosporus by boat to a small town near the Black Sea. The coast is stunning all the way, with old villas and rich people's houses providing much of the scenery, the up-poking cypress trees adding that inimitable Mediterranean ambiance. On arrival at small town, we immediately sauntered (yes, sauntered) uphill to the broken Venetian fortress, from where we got a view all the way back to the city. Just below there, we collapsed into a restaurant with hammocks and beanbag chairs for several hours before making the return trip. I ate calamari.
But despair not, readers! I *am* having a good time here, even if my critical gaze gets the better of me always. My friends Michael and Jessica happened to be here for their vacation, and I had the opportunity to meet up with them. The 26th was Michael's birthday, too, and they celebrated by paying for my dinner (thanks, guys!). We also spent three days tooling around the city, visiting the sites, wandering the neighborhoods, and absolutely failing to locate a cinema where we could watch the new Indiana Jones movie in English (it's dubbed everywhere, groan). The Blue Mosque, which turned out to be the first mosque either of them had ever visited, was sublime. Topkapı Palace was, I don't know, sort of boring I guess (note my noncommittal non-enthusiasm), but that harem was interesting (worth an extra $8 I can't say). Aya Sofia, which I'd been waiting my whole life to see, did not disappoint: a giant heap of Roman basilica whose origins and original Christian grandeur no amount of Ottoman Muslim repurposing could obscure--and you could go up to the mezzanine level! I love that! There were other things, but none as fun as our attempts to eat the pişmaniye I bought--after one bite, the little strands of candy floss fell everywhere, at least one half of every piece *I* tried to eat ended up in my beard.
On their last day before returning to America, yesterday, we took a day-long trip up the Bosporus by boat to a small town near the Black Sea. The coast is stunning all the way, with old villas and rich people's houses providing much of the scenery, the up-poking cypress trees adding that inimitable Mediterranean ambiance. On arrival at small town, we immediately sauntered (yes, sauntered) uphill to the broken Venetian fortress, from where we got a view all the way back to the city. Just below there, we collapsed into a restaurant with hammocks and beanbag chairs for several hours before making the return trip. I ate calamari.
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