return to Turkey

Greek habits

Nothing in Greece appears to be entirely smoke free. Only portions of dining rooms are  for nonsmokers -- which, predictably, works only if you're far from those in the other, smoking section.  And, unfortunately, here, like in so many European countries, smokers command the prime patio and partly enclosed spaces, pushing the nonsmokers inside, even in great weather. Ah well. With time things will shift, as they have in the States. (One can hope.) For now, we could not request a nonsmoking room at the hotel. To my relief, there wasn't a nicotine odor inside. Except when our neighbor smoked in the evening. A faint smell would tell me that he's at it again. In the end, I opened the balcony door wide for the night (it stays in the fifties here, round the clock) and it's a shame that I discovered only on the last night how wonderful it was to sleep listening to the waves outside.

A Greek inter-island ferry came in just before sunrise and I went outside to watch it move swiftly and loudly across the waters. And of course, the sky at this hour was stunning. These colors are not photoshopped. They're the real deal.






The balconies at the hotel are partitioned with tinted glass which made for a fantastic split viewing of the progression of sunlight and Greek ferry docking.






At breakfast...





... our waiter talked about someday visiting Chicago. His friend has family there. But he explained that he only has time off in the low season and his friend, who was in Chicago now, told him that it was -20C outside and our waiter just couldn't imagine that amount of cold! He hoped his friend would not bring it back with him to Kos.


Testing bones

Our ferry leaves for Bodrum at 4p.m. and so we have a few hours to kill in Kos town. We walk over to the main square and lo! What do you know -- the ice skating rink is open!

How much? I ask.
4 Euros for half hour and today there is a special because it's the next to last day that we have skating: you can choose a full hour, also for 4 Euro.
I wondered who would pick the half hour option. Not me!  
Why is this the next to last day? I ask this, but I know the answer: it's the end of winter for them. Skating is for winter. They're done with it.

So I put on the skates (an odd combination of hokey and figure, only without the little teeth that give you control) and the rink is really tiny and quite ripply and perhaps more significantly, I haven't skated since Ed and I found a rink on our travels to Quebec eight years ago (sigh...). So it takes a bit of concentration to get that confidence going.






And then that confidence surges and leads me to do risky things -- weaving in and out, dancing to music, silly twirls, fun things, until my blade catches on some chip in the ice and I wind up forcefully, very forcefully crashing on my rear end. On the sit bone part of it.

That knocked the wind out of me! But, testing movement this way and that leads me to think that I am sore but fine and I definitely want to finish my hour of skating. A sublime, music filled hour of skating. There's a lot you can do even in small spaces so long as you control your speed.






But, once off the ice, I note that I have one very sore tail bone.
You probably fractured it, Ed tells me reassuringly. It'll heal. He says as an afterthought.
Well now, surely this will test the strength of my bones! May I hope for a rapid mend?  
Give it two, three weeks.

We walk very slowly along the harbor (I felt less sore when skating) for one last look at the small fishing boats that come in, go out, come in...






One fisherman shared his bounty with a handful of Kos cats.  So it's not fair to say that the Greeks do not look out for their strays.






I think about how everyone on this island must know everyone else. How I'm starting to see the same faces appear on the square, at the harbor, around the corner. There are no secrets on an island this size. Not in the winter, not when the place is stripped of all except those who make this their home.


Finishing up the day on Kos

Our waiter had asked us why we don't come back when the weather is beautiful -- like in late spring. Ed says -- too many people then. Oh, indeed! Is that the only reason?
I think -- does it feel weird to know that you wont be back, ever? Of course, I probably wont be back either, but I leave open the possibility. I do not say -- no, never. Not your island. I've seen it, I'm done with islands.

We walk back to our hotel, pick up our bags and make our way back to the ferry. Slightly bigger than the one coming, slightly more people on it. To Bodrum.






The ride is smooth. The skies are misty, ephemeral, but the seas are calm.






At one point a handful of passengers cluster at the rail. What? What? Dolphins, I'm told. But I'm too late to see them.


In Bodrum now. Big yacht Bodrum.  Bill Gates keeps his boat here.






Then to the airport. The agent who helped me purchase online ferry tickets had her husband give us a ride. A British guy who married a Bodrum woman and stayed.
Miss the UK? -- I ask.
Not at all. I could never live there anymore. Too violent. Things like that -- the murders, the aggression -- they would never happen in Turkey.

We catch a flight to Istanbul where, late at night, we pull up to one of those highrise airport hotels (called the Titanic, of all things) that will leave no impression at all, but certainly has convenience written all over its tall glass face.

Dinner? I eat a hotel salad and we divvy up left over cold pizza slices from yesterday. Really.

Tomorrow morning we fly way to the east and a bit to the south of Turkey -- to Nevsehir. I'll write next from there.

Kos

To us overseas types, there is Athens and then there are the Greek islands. And those islands are all a blur. White houses, beaches, donkeys, windmills, some ruins, lots of tavernas with cheap Greek food. Isn't that the image?

And of course, the reality is much more complicated. And I'm not the one to tell you about it, because I don't speak Greek (yep, it's all Greek to me) and though I've been coming to some of the more popular islands since I was a teen and to the less popular islands since I've been with Ed, I haven't even scratched the surface.

But I do know this: each island feels uniquely different from all the others.

You'll have guessed that a Greek island is on our list for this trip. Which one? Well now, that's not hard! In January, if you want to take a ferry from Turkey (as opposed to fly back to Istanbul, then to Athens, then to your island of choice), your options are few. We covered two last year -- the further north islands of Chios and Lesvos. To my knowledge, the only other island with a regular year round ferry service from Turkey is Kos.

In many ways, Kos is prettier than its northern island cousins. It has mountains, it has an archeological presence. A significant one, in fact. This is where Hippocrates, the father of medicine, lived (and live he did! Must have been on the Mediterranean diet because he is said to have died at the ripe age of 104!). But Kos has suffered in recent decades: a sharp decline in tourism (blame tour companies, the big storm of 2000 and the crash of 2008). It's struggling now to rebuild and rebrand itself.

But that's not something we would notice. In January, it's lower than low season here. Just to give you an idea -- the one ferry operating today between Turkey and Kos had maybe ten people on it. At most four (and that includes Ed and me) were tourists.

So now you know that we were on that ferry. That is a minor miracle, because we almost missed it. How so? No! Did not oversleep! Not at all that!

We were up for breakfast in good time. Eight o'clock, just as planned.







...Watching the sun stream inside the little breakfast room in thin slivers (there are still some rain clouds out there somewhere)...






...and eying the cats, of course...






...including a more brazen one who climbs to the roof then jumps in through the window at the smell of cooked eggs. He is well treated by the hotel owner and by us.






The owner tells us we needn't get to our ferry too early. That seems right: I do have a prebooked passage after all (not because I thought it would sell out, but when you book, the agency keeps you informed of any changes or sailing cancellations). So we say our goodbyes and walk leisurely to the ferry boat landing, getting there just before 9 for a 9:30 crossing.

But there is no ferry.

Not today, a ferry person tells us.
Now how could that be?! I have my confirmation letter. Here, let me dig it out!
He looks over my shoulder. Ah, that's a ferry from a different port -- at the other side of Bodrum. From the Cruise Port.
How far is that?
Oh, about three kilometers.

There are many lessons to be learned from this. Here's mine for you: in travel, never, ever think you've got it all figured out! Something will always confound you, trick you, set you spinning. Or in this case -- running. Finding a taxi helped. (Had we known, we could have walked the shortcut along the shore. But honestly, who knew that there were two ports with Kos ferries running from them in Bodrum. I mean, who would have guessed!)

 Breathing a sigh of relief...






...we get on board. Or I do. Ed loves to wait until the last minute.











Weather, for me, is all important in a ferry crossing. You put me in a boat with waves slapping viciously at the sides and I'll be counting the seconds until I'm on solid ground again. But, today we are lucky. The seas are calm. Here's Bodrum, looking back:






The Turkish ferries are always such small fish in the big sea of Greek ferries and so I have a particular fondness for them. This one seats maybe one hundred and, as I said, it is quite empty.






It isn't an entirely sunny crossing. Despite the fact that it's a mere hour's ride, the weather keeps changing. First, Turkey is blessed with rainbows and a sky with patches of blue.






And Kos looks like it's suffering a deluge.






Then things flip: Kos is now the dazzling queen of the sea.






The sun has dried hills and beaches. Life looks idyllic. Though to the north (and in Turkey), the skies look varied.






Off the boat, we are reminded that travel (and commerce) between Greece and Turkey isn't as, say, it would be between neighboring countries in Europe. There are the passport rituals. And, too, we give the Greek customs officials something to do - they search our bags. Finding (what a surprise) no contraband, they wave us along.

The walk to the hotel is lovely...





...and brief. A mere ten minutes. We're staying at a place (the Kos Aktis Art Hotel) that is different from all our hotels thus far: this one is on the larger side: it's a four story box of a place, maybe forty rooms, built in the seventies and it is trying hard to bounce back. It describes itself as "seventies, renovated as minimalist" and I think that's a fair description.

At 95 Euros per night, it's on the upper end of what we would pay (though to be fair, this includes taxes and a breakfast buffet).

And the room is so pretty with its glass wall, looking straight out at the sea!





And I am so glad that it is this nice, because, as it turns out - we will have our longest stay of the trip here -- all of four nights. (Time to do laundry!)

Ed says - you didn't tell me it would have such a view!






I know not to over-sell a place. Especially when it hovers so close to our upper limit in price.

As we connect effortlessly to the internet, we marvel at how much things have changed for the computer dependent types in the years we've been traveling together! Not that we don't encounter headaches and glitches every now and then, but the "now and then" is getting to be "far and few between."


We go for a short walk to get a sense of the town. They say that Kos is tourist focused, but the island has also a solid agricultural base -- the saying goes: as many cows as there are people here! That's because it has a mountain chain and, therefore, water. It lacks that Greek island dry look. And in fact, the town of Kos is prettier than Mytilini on Lesvos and even the town of Chios. Though I suppose I'm a poor judge of things. In the winter, your feelings about a place are going to be colored by how much you like where you're staying and how easy it is to access the town's few open eateries and cafes. That was a lesson learned last year. No, it was not a good idea to stay five kilometers outside of town and to have no car to get us there and back.

Our walk isn't long because the clouds start forming to the west again. Still, we get a sense of the place.










Okay, these two last photos are actually a little bit on the unusual end here. Most buildings adhere to the color and tone of the island, but they're newer. The so called old town doesn't look very old.

The town is, of course, much smaller than Bodrum, maybe the size of Datca. And I think most would agree that Greece, even on the islands (with the exception of Crete which is a world onto itself), seems more European than Turkey. There are fewer mosques, more churches, people seem more connected to Athens (in Turkey, I never think that Istanbul or Ankara hold much meaning to the people who live far from either place).











Greece is an easy fling for the overseas tourist: a tad hard to get to, not so hard to fit into.  And in many ways, it causes me to think even more fondly of Turkey -- of the Datca lunch by the beach, and the Akyaka salad by the river, and the pair of socks I bought from the peddler in Bodrum.

But, Kos is comfortable and, of course, it is always exciting to visit another country all in the space of one short trip across the ocean.

We continue our walk: Old town, harbor, beach side -- we cover all that. And of course, I can't help but compare. It's the old game we play when we travel. What's the same, what's different. For instance,  I see that school is not closed here this week (as it is in Turkey).








So that's different. On the other hand, if you watch the fishermen out by the marina, you'll likely conclude that these guys feel themselves to be the most overworked underpaid segment of the population in any country. And they spend their free hours fixing nets and lines. Familiar sights the world over.






Oops. I'm feeling the first raindrop. It's time to turn back.
  

In the late afternoon I totally indulge myself and go down to the hotel cafe for a cappucino. That feels decadent! I'm surrounded by customers who are dressed more for the city than for schlepping around washed out muddy roads. And there are women alongside men. Well now, that's certainly less of a Turkey phenomenon.











Yes, I'm closer to Europe here. Just that much closer to home. No one here will pull me to her side and tell me to take more space on the bus seat.




In the evening, Ed falls asleep again. (Here's a photo of him, as reflected in the window looking out toward the sea... It's as if he were dreaming of being a sailor again!)


 


If I thought I'd broken his weird cycle last night, I was wrong. Still, he allows himself to be awakened for supper. Groggy and not at all hungry, he sets out with me to a local beloved pizzeria.

Except that it's closed for the season. My traveling companion has no oomph to search out the tavernas on the other side of the bay and so we return to the hotel, where you can get a pretty decent Greek salad at the hoppin' cafe-restaurant.






So we're in Greece now. And tomorrow, they say the rains will finally move away from the region. Though surely I have learned that in travel, there is no such thing as no surprises.

the Turkish coast

Whatever you might say about the unstable air that is passing through this region these final days of January, it surely has not caused us much trouble. And of course, everything is just a touch kinder, gentler, if it comes packaged in warm air. While Madison is battling the Arctic, we're battling Aegean air currents at near 60 degree temperatures.

But are we getting just a bit complacent? Ed looks at the weather maps and says -- most of the rain clouds have moved on. Have they? Judging by the view out the rooftop breakfast room, yes. The windows are thrown wide open and sure enough, there is sunshine, dappling the table, the room, my face!






That's a notable point about this breakfast: there is sunshine indeed!

Two other points have to be made as well: our breakfast is stupendous! The staff person (who speaks no English, but we get by) brings us our breakfast plates and I have to say, I cannot believe this hotel! All this? For the wee price that it charges?






And the second point -- this one isn't specific to breakfast -- this second point concerns the cats of Bodrum. They're numerous, they look like life is good to them, Ed loves them. And so if you see a disproportionate number of cat photos today, it's because we've encountered a mighty large number of cats in our ramblings.

Including at breakfast. Through the open window, I notice some felines out on the roofs...






And within minutes, one makes her way up, up to the clothesline outside our window.






Of course, Ed shares our foods. She's particularly keen on the meats, but feta cheese is also acceptable. She rejects the fried foods and we didn't save enough of the omlet to share.






What, no more? Well okay then, good bye...






After breakfast, we go out for a Bodrum walk. You may think this is tame, but Bodrum is a sprawling town. It goes on. And on. And on. Past the harbor. Past the small fish market.






...and shops with spices...






...even windmills. Yes, there are those, too.






And when you think surely there is no more, it turns out that there is more. White houses, multiplying like rabbits along the coast.





As we climb one hill, go down the next, we are assailed by an announcement over the loudspeaker system. Of course, loudspeakers sounding a call for prayer -- that's normal Turkish fare. But we are hearing a woman and she is saying something quite urgently. In Turkish.
Ed says -- maybe she is announcing some storms?
We look at the southern hills. Threatening skies!

So is that what it is? A statement about the coming of storms? Well that's just fine! We're at the city's edge. Not much going on here except for the occasional crossing of the road by a rooster.






Should we look for shelter? No matter. We're turning around now anyway. Heading back to the center of Bodrum. Surely we'll make it back! She must have given people time to seek shelter!

We are walking through Bodrum's older neighborhoods. With  numerous mosques, ancient water cisterns, people working in small shops, seemingly oblivious to the yachts and casinos of this town.





















The skies ahead still look dark, but so far, whatever is coming is holding back just a little.

One shop is visited by a peddler and I peek inside to watch the transactions. Woolen clothes, draped over his shoulder, for sale. Straight from the sheep's back?






I buy a pair of socks from him. He's happy. I like that he's happy.

In the meanwhile, Ed continues to be taken in by the cats.



a wee cat



a behind the bars cat




two cats


...and the clouds continue to roll in and the boats begin to whistle and  sing and now we really should head straight home.






Still, I can't help but ask a waiter, standing by the curb and listening to the same announcements, coming once again over the loudspeaker -- what is it? A storm warning? I'm picking up that it's something about Bodrum. And the not too distant city of Ismir. Also in the path of storms?
The waiter smiles: she is announcing a football match today. Bodrum against Ismir.
Oh.

No wonder everyone's so nonchalant about the whole thing. Chatting away, smoking a cigarette, sipping tea...





Okay, time to take a rest too. We head back to the hotel. And I take a nap! But a brief one.

It's after 4 now and I know that Ed will soon give in to sleep, except his sleep wont be of the nap kind. I ask him to go out for a short walk first and after mulling it over for a bit, he agrees to come along.

It had rained mighty heavily while we were in, but though the sidewalks are wet, the showers are now elsewhere. Behind those hills to the east. And the white buildings are bathed in western sunshine!






And in these minutes of twilight, people come out again. They brush off the water from the tables and set up the backgammon boards.






And one gentleman corners Ed into a conversation. Ed bends down to hear. Then his new friend steps up to meet him halfway.











And so the sun sets, brilliantly, over the Bodrum peninsula.





...and I tell Ed -- I'm ready for supper. And that's how we break the cycle of early sleep: without a plan, without intention. We pass a restaurant, study the menu, go inside.

And I have an eating companion again. Sure, a little bleary eyed, but there, across the table from me.






He eats mushrooms, I eat fish and the waiter hovers and in that hour of our meal the rains come down again. No matter. We are not far from home. And it's easy enough to run into a bakery for cover. And for a small bag of cookies.






P.S. Again, thank you, Ocean readers  for your thoughtful, wonderful, funny, kind comments! And yes, you're right. I should have caught that: the rain in Turkey stays mainly on the Muglian plain!