Complications in Kusadasi
Here is the first of my much-delayed catch-up posts. The executive summary: after a week traipsing around Istanbul and Cappadocia in a group of seven, and another few days lounging on a cruise as a quartet, the final three (Paul, Ambika and I) capped off our Turkey adventures in Kusadasi, a resort town on the western coast. I normally give this kind of place (think big beachfront hotels crowded with Brits on holiday) a wide berth, but the wedding that occasioned the whole trip (that of Paul and Ambika's friends Basak and Catagay) took place here, and it was also within striking distance of Ephesus and other ruins. And, reluctant as I am to admit it, our resort hotel, though characterless, did have its charms (three: copious breakfast/dinner buffets; excellent air conditioning; and a pristine pool).
Our first couple days were not exactly smooth sailing (relative to the gulet, anyway; I will not invite scorn by complaining, since we were still on vacation in Turkey, after all):
Fortunately, Paul and Ambika were even more patient and nurturing (and lira-lending) than usual (even if I did have to make myself scarce on occasion!). Things improved further once the wedding festivities began. Basak and Cagatay and their
families provided yet another example of Turkish hospitality (in the middle of pre-wedding hubbub, Cagatay actually came to take me to see a doctor -- his father!!), and due in part to their urgings I delayed my flight to stay for the wedding (and an additional day of recuperation under P/A's watch). I was also delighted to meet two of Paul and Ambika's other friends attending the wedding, Yoko and Aleyn, especially since they proved amenable to taking silly pictures during our visit to the wonderfully uncrowded, non-Ephesian ruins at Priene (the first grid city, strewn with column rubble for us to clamber around), Miletus (former grand port) and Didim (a spectacular temple that even Paul, a.k.a. Mr. "I'd rather sit and read my Economist", admitted to enjoying).
The wedding unfolded poolside at the plush Kismet Hotel, the sun setting gloriously over the Mediterranean and the couple dramatically traversing a red-carpeted walkway across the pool to reach the raised platform where the (brief) ceremony was held. Apart from the coastal setting, the basic Western attire of the bride and groom and the near-continuous music and dancing throughout the evening, this wedding was nothing like the one we'd lucked into in Demre, and very much like a Western wedding reception (e.g., no detailed announcement of wedding presents!). We did our best to acquit ourselves on the dance floor; yet another wedding video to cringe at someday.
My departure from Turkey presented a final set of (minor) hurdles. The baggage checker at the Izmir airport had such difficulty distinguishing me from Yoko (we do all look the same, after all...) that I was sure my backpack would end up in Tokyo. I then got stopped at security, leading to a comic vignette that had me literally running all over the airport, back and forth between counters and up and down staircases -- all the time clutching a pair of scissors. I'm not exactly the picture of a threat, at least to anyone but myself, but it still didn't seem advisable, somehow. Scissors safely stowed (in my Istanbul-bound backpack, yay!), we made it to rainy Istanbul with no further incident; there I said farewell, finally, to all my traveling companions and spent my last lira... only to find myself lira-less (and still ATM-card-less) for a very uncomfortable extended delay of my flight to Karachi. I was reduced to gnawing on turkey (!) jerky as I coughed through several hours in the smoky departure lounge and attempted to drown out an irritating Mandarin-duet-singing couple with a crash course in Urdu on my iPod: not the most glorious goodbye, but a fittingly surreal prelude to Pakistan...
On a more sober note: a couple weeks later, a tourist bus in Kusadasi was the target of a terrorist bombing (apparently by the Kurdish separatist PKK). Along with the London tube bombings on 7/7, this may have been the closest I've ever come to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And to think -- my pre-trip fears had been focused wholly on Karachi; you just never know.
Our first couple days were not exactly smooth sailing (relative to the gulet, anyway; I will not invite scorn by complaining, since we were still on vacation in Turkey, after all):
- It was really hot.
- I was sick. (Cough from Cappadocia much worse, decreased lung capacity -- both exacerbated by (1).)
- I lost my ATM card! (I plead weakness/stupidity due to (1) and (2).)
[After the requisite "hello/how are you?/you speak Turkish?/a little/where are you from?" pleasantries...]That unsolicited (though good-natured) scolding wasn't the only low point. After I shifted the topic to his own progeny, he made what I took to be the not-quite-universal sign for "female" while describing one of his grandchildren: he pointed to the left, then right side of his chest (all while saying the word for "girl"). But then, apparently unsure whether I understood, he reached out to demonstrate likewise in my general direction -- at which point I hastily assured him that I understood just fine ("OK, I understand, girl girl girl!!") and that no further gestural communication would be necessary.
Gentleman: Are you married?
NC: No, I'm not married.
Gentleman: No husband?
NC: No husband.
Gentleman: Married good! Not married not good!
NC: [ambiguous murmur of not-exactly-agreement-but-what-the-heck]
Gentleman: Children good! Children good!
NC: Yes, good!
Gentleman: [hollowing cheeks and stretching eye sockets to make universal sign of aging; pointing wombward with disapproval] Too old! Not good!
Fortunately, Paul and Ambika were even more patient and nurturing (and lira-lending) than usual (even if I did have to make myself scarce on occasion!). Things improved further once the wedding festivities began. Basak and Cagatay and their
families provided yet another example of Turkish hospitality (in the middle of pre-wedding hubbub, Cagatay actually came to take me to see a doctor -- his father!!), and due in part to their urgings I delayed my flight to stay for the wedding (and an additional day of recuperation under P/A's watch). I was also delighted to meet two of Paul and Ambika's other friends attending the wedding, Yoko and Aleyn, especially since they proved amenable to taking silly pictures during our visit to the wonderfully uncrowded, non-Ephesian ruins at Priene (the first grid city, strewn with column rubble for us to clamber around), Miletus (former grand port) and Didim (a spectacular temple that even Paul, a.k.a. Mr. "I'd rather sit and read my Economist", admitted to enjoying).
The wedding unfolded poolside at the plush Kismet Hotel, the sun setting gloriously over the Mediterranean and the couple dramatically traversing a red-carpeted walkway across the pool to reach the raised platform where the (brief) ceremony was held. Apart from the coastal setting, the basic Western attire of the bride and groom and the near-continuous music and dancing throughout the evening, this wedding was nothing like the one we'd lucked into in Demre, and very much like a Western wedding reception (e.g., no detailed announcement of wedding presents!). We did our best to acquit ourselves on the dance floor; yet another wedding video to cringe at someday.My departure from Turkey presented a final set of (minor) hurdles. The baggage checker at the Izmir airport had such difficulty distinguishing me from Yoko (we do all look the same, after all...) that I was sure my backpack would end up in Tokyo. I then got stopped at security, leading to a comic vignette that had me literally running all over the airport, back and forth between counters and up and down staircases -- all the time clutching a pair of scissors. I'm not exactly the picture of a threat, at least to anyone but myself, but it still didn't seem advisable, somehow. Scissors safely stowed (in my Istanbul-bound backpack, yay!), we made it to rainy Istanbul with no further incident; there I said farewell, finally, to all my traveling companions and spent my last lira... only to find myself lira-less (and still ATM-card-less) for a very uncomfortable extended delay of my flight to Karachi. I was reduced to gnawing on turkey (!) jerky as I coughed through several hours in the smoky departure lounge and attempted to drown out an irritating Mandarin-duet-singing couple with a crash course in Urdu on my iPod: not the most glorious goodbye, but a fittingly surreal prelude to Pakistan...
On a more sober note: a couple weeks later, a tourist bus in Kusadasi was the target of a terrorist bombing (apparently by the Kurdish separatist PKK). Along with the London tube bombings on 7/7, this may have been the closest I've ever come to being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And to think -- my pre-trip fears had been focused wholly on Karachi; you just never know.
posted by nchang @ 10:57 AM
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