Greetings Murat! So you're encouragine Adu too...OK...get ready for 1267 responses. The man is fueled by back patting!

stu

Today we found a shard of Hittite pottery that depicted Stu Tower flogging his book. While I was excited to discover that he invented book tours and shameless self-promotion 4,000 years ago, the tour guide said it was worthless because the pottery was found all over the known world.

Propertravel-
Are you at Esbelli now? There will be episode of Esin singing in the next entry which I am hopeful will be tomrrow.

Gaudamit Adu, get some sleep. We are relying on you to entertain us for a couple of weeks.

Sorry, Cold my insomnia follows me wherever I go.

adu;

"ProperTravel" is a native of Cap..he is a guide and I believe somewhat of an agent, too. Lives close to Esbelli...name is Murat. He posts here often and has valuable information for Turkey goers.

If anyone could uncover that dam, incriminating pottery shard, it would be you!! Maybe I shouldn't tell anyone that you're one of my 4 chosen U.S. previewers for Branko, who by the way is going to the Turkey of 1941 in Chapter 17. Quite different than the Turkey you are now visiting.

Anytime for A's water coloring? Vistas galore.

stu

Stu

Yes Andrea is working on her watercolors. The actual details will be incorporated into a future report.

As far as being a previewer of Brnako, I have never been outed in public before.

I am sure Suha knows Murat.

Get busy--the last installment was almost two days ago!

Days 3 and 4

We are standing high above the road in the old town of Soganli. It reminds me of a scene in a Laurel and Hardy movie where Stan and Ollie are fighting a gorilla that is pushing a piano balanced on a rope between two mountains in the Alps. It is not supposed to make sense but today I was the piano and Andrea was the gorilla. It is hot and sunny as she figuratively pushes me up the hill to inspect as many abandoned 13th cent. churches as close up as possible. The only other person we find is a young squatter with very few teeth living in one of the derelict structures who is wringing out his underwear. He invites in for tea. I know it is rude to say no, but no it tis. Dispite the snub, he tells us where the ruins of the ancient churches are located. This is very helpful as sketch of the area we were given is a cross between a ransom note and a map from a pirate movie. And there are no signs indicating which building is a church, let alone which church is which. The tourist propaganda states that there 6 or 7 churches within a few hundred meters of one another. Why were so many churches needed for such a small population? What was going on here? We tread lightly in fear of what created this great need for religion.

2,500 feet below us, the doors of the buses open and some tourists squeeze through the narrow passageway quickly and with ease. Then there are a some moments when nothing happens. This is interrupted by a few who make a slow and painful exit. This is repeated a few more times until there is obvious relief on the bus driver’s face when the last stragglers are finally discharged. It seems the bus movements have passed, at least for the moment.

We move to our next destination. While the rest of world was transfixed with the rescue of the 33 Chilean miners trapped 2,000 feet beneath the earth’s surface in an imposed hell,we descend into an underground city in Derinkuyu. This city was supposedly started by the Hittites, later inhabited by Romans and Christians. One obviously wonders how terrible life must have been above ground for them to live like mole rats. At its height the city supposedly held 10,000 inhabitants on twelve levels. It is designed for defense rather than comfort. One of the security guards volunteers to be our tour guide and leads us through a labyrinth of living quarters, bath rooms, churches, storage rooms, and stables. It is impossible to walk erect even if you are short. At one point we must ascend about thirty feet of stairs so constricted I lurch forward head down like the designers intended so that an invader could not stand to assume the battle position and must clamber into the certain death of the swords and arrows of the defenders. My knees almost touch my chest, as I head upward, my backpack scrapes the ceiling, my hiker’s headlamp illuminates my shoes, and my breath is so warm from the strain that I can see it in the cool of the cave. I crawl out of the underground city with a certain simian quality, as one eye and five of my knuckles drag on the ground. I enjoy being a role model for America.

Someone wrote that it is good to read a report from off the beaten track. Well, the beaten track often has cafes, elevators, wheel chairs, and nearby hospitals and they usually do not have a sign posted at the entrance warning people with heart conditions and asthma not to enter. This encouragement is akin to goading gladiators on to their deaths while they sit comfortably, eating the best of foods. Well, it is time for you do it yourself sports fans, we do not intend to die for your amusement.

One meal of note was at Ziggy’s Café (named after the owner’s dog) in Urgup. We ate a meze meal which consisted of:
Cucumbers in yoghurt
Potatoes in molasses and pomegranate juice
Cheese, nuts, and olives in a pepper sauce
Jerusalem artichokes in olive oil
Fava bean puree with dill
Grilled eggplant with yogurt
Bread with a pepper dip
Pastrami, cheese, and dill wrapped in something like an egg roll skin and deep fried
Skewered chicken with garlic
Dessert was a baked quince in honey with whipped cream (very dense not very sweet) and mint

Besides the pastrami sacrilege the meal was a wonderful cacophony of tastes and textures,

Esin entertained us one evening in the music room at Esbelli Evi. She changed from a dewy eyed, affable young woman into a serious vamp belting out standards and jazz classics. She has great range and is a student of American phrasing. Everyone is loud in their appreciation but when she sings “Let the Sunshine In” in Turkish she owns the song. Like a proud Papa, Suha gleefully videos the audience of about ten of Esin’s friends and admirers. One of Esin’s friends is a retired music teacher from West Virginia who encourages a sing-a-long. Her voice is so high pitched unidentifiable Turkish animals appear at the windows in search of a mate.

Andrea considers Suha’s inability to tell a joke as a major character flaw. She wants to transform the quiet, confident man of grace and erudition into Sheki Sheki, the Krazee Klown of Kappadocia. She tries to write jokes for him, “A Turk, an American, and a kangaroo walk into a bar.” I tell her it is a Muslim country and kangaroos are not allowed to drink and that Suha would a terrible opening act for Esin. He is more Mort Sahl before the Kennedy assissination than Borscht Belt. But she undeterred, “Good evening ladies and Germans.”
Fortunately we leave for Cirali tomorrow.

Are you leaving on your own free will?

is Andrea also going with you? why?

is cirali aware of what may hit them?

say hi to Carrie.

Have a nice trip, and sory about the rain.

now we all know that Andrea writes most of your stuff...and she's g-o-o-d. She probably does your previewing reports for you. It don't matter none!

Enjoying your report. A bit of advice about Cirali--no ATM machines, you might want to hit the cash machine before leaving Urgup.

Tower, i think you are trying hard to get a good preview for your new book, but you should be honest.

I find that the descriptive parts of the narrative are good, but character development is very poor. the character, aduchamp, just does not come through. he is so evidently a fictional character that it is difficult to empathize with him.

In addition to that, Andrea mostly appears as just an infrequent name. Is it because the author is a misogynist? Or is andrea a ghost or a play friend who accompanies aduchamp wherever he goes?

the only character who comes through bright and clear is esin the jazz singer (i wonder why) and she probably will not feature in the latter chapters.

I guess we will discover all of these and more as the narrative enfolds.

OC...what you don't realize is that Adu is a New York street kid, with all of the warts, scars and eroded psyche. His inner child has been exposed several times at very embarrassing moments. Andrea is his occasional muse and consequently she suffers immeasurably. So, I suggest we just let him be and see where that takes this report. At least he's building up a following and will probably demand a lot more $$$ for his questionable previews. You just can't win with this bloke! Ay, yi, yi!
stu

Thank tou Jaackie for the sane advice.

I have no idea what Tower and Other are talking about. It is like two men sitting in a corner wearing straight jackets and murmuring to one another.

We only had a bit of rain that one afternoon in Istanbul. In fact, I have a bit of a tan.

Days whatever

There wasn’t anyone to reclaim the rental car. Someone was supposed to meet us curbside. Nevsehir airport is one of those places where all three gates lead to the same plane, so they do not have car rental windows, kiosks, parking lots, or banners. A fellow with an official looking laminated credential tells me to move the car. I tell him it is a rental, that no one is here to retrieve it, and I wave the agreement as evidence which he asks to read. He calls the phone number on the contract than motions to accompany him and give him the key. After a perfunctory inspection, he drives the car away but not before some how assuring me that is all OK.

At Turkish airports, you go through security twice, once upon entering the building and then again before boarding and everyone seems to know the laminated manger. As I wait for our flight I go to the concession stand for a drink and the guy who just drove my car away greets me warmly from behind the counter. At least he did not drive far. Now I give him money and hope he is not the pilot but wonder if he will do my taxes.

We need two flights to get from Anatolia to Anatalya. You would think they would different names for everyone’s convenience. Turkish Airlines is about 30 years behind the times, as they provide plenty of leg room and offered a full meal on a short flight-a salad, a piece of almond cake and a turkey sandwich. Only Andrea and I find this ironic.

On the first leg I sit next to old man. He is both nervous and amazed on what appears to be his first flight. I motion to him to put on his seat belt. He opens his palms to indicate he does not have one. I try to get him to stand up since he is sitting on it. He does not understand my charades but is of wonderful humor and laughs. Finally I get him to lift his body and I pull the buckle out and show him how it operates. He pulls it across his waist. I try to tell him he needs another piece but he is quite happy with just the buckle. I summon the flight attendant. It takes a while to convince him that he needs a second piece but finally understands, stands, and retrieves the insert.

They then distribute lunch. He is confused and amused by the various items wrapped in all manner of cellophane. He motions to me to open his water which is a plastic cup with a tinsel top. When I splash it all over myself, he laughs like he is at the circus. He then gives me the wetnap to open. Every time I bend my head to do something for him, this slight man makes the food and drink disappear. When we descend into Istanbul, he becomes excited as a child but since we do not speak the same language, he unfortunately has no one with whom to share the experience.

We finally settle in Cirali, a summer escape with a pebble beach. There are many small hotels, pensions, and restaurants dedicated to families. Nothing is fancy and not one building rises more than two stories, although some places have tree house rooms. If I had known this sooner I would have stayed at the Cheeta Pavilion and make the room clerk do a back flip when we paid the bill.

We traipse over the nearby Roman ruins in what feels to be 90 degree heat. I imagine that this was a trading center and the Romans engineered an inlet from the sea to unload ships and built a fortification for the protection of the citizens and property. The grace and strength of the Roman arches still remain as does the embattlements and the temples. Wherever we walk people speak to us in German. There are many Germans here with oversized calves and undersized shorts.

Later we parade into the darkness of the night. Up a hill just a mere kilometer trek is the Chimaera. Everyone says it takes 15 minutes but it is torturous and takes an hour. There are steps built of rocks in between stretches of dirt. The stones reflect the light from a full moon and stare back at you like skeleton teeth. The craggy stairs make the walk that much tougher. We still need our hiker’s headlamps to illuminate the path which at times turns into a corridor on uneven stones, which bend your ankle and twist your knee. The Chimaera is not one bright flame but maybe 15 or twenty campfires sized fires fueled from a methane source. You can feel the warmth from twenty feet away. It was mystical to the Romans and many myths surround the flames including those that involve Vulcan and Pegasus. Supposedly ancient sailors saw the flames from the sea. The walk down takes only 30 minutes and there are only two more couples up the hill. After the come down we are sure they shut off the gas for the evening.

Thanks Adu.

You are right about the gas. it is imported from Iran, and the fires become miniscule when the price goes up.

You do not tell us what you are going to suffer after cirali.

the little old man sitting next to you on the flight is not turkish. THY always has a little irish guy on their flights for luck, but never the same one. Although it is possible that with the price of everything going up, small size illegal immigrants who can convince THY that they are Irish and willing to work for a pittance may be cornering the market.

How did the water colors come out from the dark room?

Did Andrea walk down from the Chimera or did she fly back on Pegasus? Have you read the John Barth book of that name? Highly recommended reading and definitely easier to read than the Sotweed Factor or Giles the Goat Boy.

Adu - this is very exciting for me as we were just in Nevsehir airport buying juice from that car rental guy. I sat down on the floor to drink the juice and forgot I was sitting under a pay phone. When I got up I hit my head very hard on the phone. That caused me to stumble around with some blood on my hand. The car rental guy asked me if I was okay. I think he is a doctor as well.

Cold, shame on you! Blaming a payphone for your strange posts!

<i>If I had known this sooner I would have stayed at the Cheeta Pavilion and make the room clerk do a back flip when we paid the bill.</i>

Finally, something funny...

<i>There are many Germans here with oversized calves and undersized shorts.</i>

...and something cerebrally graphic.

So for this, Adu, thank you...but no more yawns, please.

Stu

OtherC:
I suppose I should tell you, I was a supplier for the Turkish Air Force about 35 years ago. That's a whole other topic.
stu