26 Sunday Aug 2012
Posted in Photo of My Day
Tags
I snapped a photo with my phone and started speed walking towards the little spot of shore we saw from the alley.
This is what our first evening in Ayvalik really began with.
21 Tuesday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations, Travel Musings
Tags
 |
| The men’s statue group. On the left, the young intellectual, on the right the soldier, and behind, the farmer. |
 |
| Women’s statue group. The women’s determined expressions represents the strength of Turkish women, despite Ataturk’s death (the woman in the back is weeping in grief). The wreath they are holding shows the abundance of the country. |
 |
| A lion from the Road of Lions. These flank the road on the way to the tomb itself. |
 |
| The flowers all over the grounds of Anitkabir were beautiful and perfectly tended. |
 |
| Ceremonial Plaza with the Hall of Honor, where the tomb is placed. |
 |
| The symbolic sarcophagus. The real one is down below, and there is a live-feed video of it in the museum. |
 |
| Two of the “towers” |
 |
| Ataturk’s ceremonial car |
 |
| Ataturk’s boat |
20 Monday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations, Photo of My Day
Tags
 |
| Black swans at the park |
19 Sunday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations, Photo of My Day
Tags
 |
| Looking across the bridge as we walked through Kizilay |
18 Saturday Aug 2012
Posted in Travel Musings
Tags
I’m going to come right out and say it: I love pop music. I used to claim it was a “guilty pleasure” and that I was a “closeted” pop music lover. Well, folks, it’s time for me to come out of the closet. I love pop. I have no problem with Justin Bieber. I sing along to Ke$ha. I adore “Call Me Maybe.” That being said, the insane number of pop hits kept me busy for the better part of our 6-hour bus trip…I’ll regale you with 10 selections. Judge me as you will, but we rocked out in our luxury-bus seats all the way to Ankara.
Empire State of Mind: Jay-Z featuring Alicia Keys. This song was my anthem in the summer of 2010, and every time I hear it it reminds me that I would love to live in New York for awhile…
My Lady D’Arbonville: Cat Stevens. This is to add some class to the mix and to give Boris some solid representation, as he adores this song and Cat Stevens.
17 Friday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations, Travel Musings
Tags
 |
| Look how many buses! So many buses! Leaving the Istanbul otogar… |
We took the 83O bus from Taksim Square, and after about an hour ended up at the main bus station for Istanbul, which services the entire country and then some. I had done some research on Turkey Travel Planner (a really helpful website if you ever plan to travel or live in Turkey), and Boris’ friend recommended the bus company, Pamukkale. The cost was 50 TL apiece, which is on the higher end of things, but is only $27 with the exchange and we were looking at a 6-7 hour bus ride (remember: Turkey is BIG). Not bad, considering a Greyhound bus of the same duration is WAY less comfortable/reliable and more expensive.
Boris had told me about the buses he rode in Turkey a few years ago, but his description did not match the awesome reality that I would experience.
Sign #1 that this would be much different from my trips on the Greyhound in southern Oregon was when I got a luggage tag for my bag. Perhaps in the northeast they do this, but on none of the buses I’ve been on in the States, or in Spain, or in Italy, or in Greece, have I gotten a luggage tag with a claim number and everything.
Sign #2 (and this is a biggie): there was a bus attendant. Yes, much like a flight attendant, only there was only one. A young man, in a dapper red bow tie and pressed white button-down long-sleeve with immaculate slacks–very reminiscent of a barkeep from the 1920’s at a fancy hotel–came around multiple times to offer snacks, water, tea & coffee, and soft drinks. This was awesome, and the bow tie really made my day.
Sign #3: each seat had its own LCD mini-screen, just like on airplanes. There were movies, TV, INTERNET (albeit a slow connection, but whatever), loads of music, and a virtual map to show where we were.
The only disadvantage was that there was no bathroom on the bus. Although, come to think of it, having used bus bathrooms, it’s probably a lot more sanitary not to have one…they really stink.
Ever ridden a sweet bus? Where was it and what made it comfy?
16 Thursday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations, Photo of My Day
 |
| Love the starkness of the Turkish flag waving above the city of Ankara from the old castle. |
15 Wednesday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations, Photo of My Day
 |
| We left the castle and had to drive through the marketplace. People were walking in front of the car, not heeding the horn. |
 |
| My view from the back seat. |
15 Wednesday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations, Travel Musings
Tags
I may not have mentioned that Kat & I were getting around Scotland without a car. Public transport all the way, baby! This wouldn’t have been a problem, if we had known not to trust the very convincing internet.
 |
| Kat while hitchhiking down the road in Glen Brittle |
We had our fancy (and totally worth it) Explorer Passes for CityLink. These passes allowed us to travel on CityLink buses, the main company in Scotland, for 5 out of 8 days. It turned out being a very good investment, because we a) didn’t plan our trip, and the flexibility to hop on to any CityLink bus was comforting and b) almost none of the drivers’ marked the pass, even when presented to them, so we probably got a lot more out of the pass than we were supposed to. Ah, Scotland.
But I digress. We had arrived in Portree with the intention of staying for a few nights and using it as a home base of sorts to visit Old Man of Storr and a few other possible hikes. We really liked Bayfield Backpackers, the hostel where we stayed, and it was there that we ended up meeting some truly wonderful travelers and making friends. Again, though, I digress.
Portree. So, our lovely hostel didn’t have room for us for 3 nights in a row, and we really wanted to stay put. We wandered around town for awhile knocking on doors of B & B’s in the hopes that there’d be a room that wouldn’t charge 30 quid for each of us a night, which would equate to $60. Stupid exchange rate.
Alas, we had no luck. But everything happens for a reason, and so on to the internetz we went. Our next stop that we had wanted to make was Glen Brittle, which was where the Fairy Pools were, and a bunch of other hikes. Was there a way to get there?
Yes! said the Internet. Bus 53 leaves from Portree to Glen Brittle twice a day during the summers! Lovely, we said. Let’s do that!
So we booked the hostel in Glen Brittle, and the receptionist at the hostel said he’d look up the bus times, as we couldn’t seem to find when it actually left.
Foreshadowing!
We returned from watching the Olympic opening ceremonies to find a note to us from the hostel reception. “Couldn’t seem to find the bus schedule. Try Tourist Info tomorrow a.m.”
No problem, we said. We rose early, did some grocery shopping, and ate some yogurt while loitering outside the Info office. At 9:00 sharp they opened the doors and in we marched, determined to make it to Glen Brittle, armed with the knowledge of the Internet. Bus 53. (See!? This looks like a relatively legit source of info, right?!)
Us: We’d like to get to Glen Brittle.
Them: Do you have a car?
Us: Nope. But we have Explorer Passes! (insert expectant and optimistic smiles here)
Them: Well, there is no bus that goes to Glen Brittle.
Us: Oh, really? We read online that Bus 53 goes right there from here…
Them: You must be mistaken. That bus does not exist.
Us: Are you sure? It said it only ran in the summer, perhaps… (insert initial fade of our smiles)
Them: Sorry, there’s no bus to Glen Brittle. You can take a bus to Carbost. That’s about 8 miles from Glen Brittle.
Us: Okay…well, what are the rates for renting a car?
Them: The guy who runs the cheap place is in Glasgow for the weekend, so that’s out.
Them: 60 pounds.
Us: (insert furrowed brows) Hmmm…that’s a bit pricey for us. Do you think we can call the hostel? We already have reservations to stay there, perhaps they can pick us up or something.
Them: Probably not, but we can call.
Louise, Glen Brittle Hostel Co-Manager: Hello! I hear you’re having some trouble getting to us.
Us: Yes! What’s your advice?
Louise: Are you experienced walkers? Do you have packs?
Us: Sort of…
Louise: You can walk from Sligahan, but it’s quite a trek and I don’t recommend it. Take a bus to Sligahan Hotel and hitchhike from there. Many travelers get here that way.
Us: Okay.
And so my first hitchhiking experience began. We took the bus to Sligahan Hotel. The weather was overcast, as Scotland weather is wont to be, and after situating our bags, we started walking. I converted my pack into a backpack rather than rolling it, and as the rain started to fall, we pulled on our ponchos and trudged along the road.
Maybe 10 cars passed us, some of them looking more remorseful than others. A handful of cars were full up, but some just kept going. I can’t really blame them, although we were definitely not very threatening-looking, with our wet hair. I wished so much that I had Hermione Granger there with me to apply that water repelling spell on my glasses.
The eleventh car drove by and passed us, too, and I wondered, as it disappeared around the curve, whether we’d end up walking the many miles to Glen Brittle after all. We had heard hitchhiking in Scotland, and particularly in the islands, was easy and very safe. Lo and behold, the bright red tail lights of the car illuminated and it maneuvered slowly backwards towards us. We had a winner!
Of course, we got picked up by a Russian. Maybe I smell like borscht or something, because man, after I started dating a Russian they seemed to come out of all sorts of woodwork in my life. Yet again, I digress.
Sergei was a PhD neuroscience student studying in Cambridge, on the Isle of Skye to camp and kayak. He was on his way to the Talisker Distillery in Carbost, and the turn-off for Glen Brittle was on the way. We assured him that it was fine if he dropped us there. The backseat of his car was down and replaced with camping gear. A kayak graced the roof rack. We made small talk until the turn off, and he even got out of the car to help us with our bags, apologizing that he wouldn’t take us to Glen Brittle proper.
We parted ways and again started walking, still with a number of miles left, but at least much closer than we were.
Only about 10 minutes or so passed when another car pulled over; a Czech couple on vacation were on their way to a trail that happened to be across from the hostel, so we got a ride all the way to our final destination.
Total travel time: approximately 1.75 hours, maybe 2.
We arrived at the hostel just before Louise was finished cleaning; the kitchen and rooms close from 10:30ish to 5, and so we left our gear in the common area and waited for some of the weather to improve.
We managed to squeeze in 2 hikes that day, including one with another Russian who was staying at our hostel. My sweat must smell like borscht or something…
13 Monday Aug 2012
Posted in Destinations
Tags
 |
| Ready for my first Turkish bath! Note the sweet wooden footwear. |
A traditional Turkish bath consists of a sauna/steam, an exfoliation and a soapy bath, all while lying down on a marble slab in the middle of a room. Other services available depend on the hamam, but you can usually get an oil massage and, on the ladies’ side, sometimes waxing or other spa treatments. We (a Turkish friend and I) opted for the basic steam/scrub/bath option, which sort of includes a mini-massage when you’re being soaped up, but not really.
The hamam we went to did a great job with online marketing, making it look like the masseuses were all these toned, attractive folk and that people regularly play music and eat while in the bath house. My friend had also heard that it was a hamam where people like John Travolta would rent out the whole thing; it was famous. That wasn’t quite the experience we had…
We walked in to the ladies’ entrance–hamams are segregated by gender–and there was a room with changing stalls that had windows (so no real privacy existed in the place, period). Prices were listed in Turkish Lire, which was probably a better sign than some of the hamams that straight up list them in euro and know the clientele they’re working with are all foreigners. Prices, though, were a bit steep (85 Lire–$47– for a basic service).
The women who were running the place were older, probably in their 60s, and were basically just wearing underwear. Gravity had definitely worked its natural magic and the rather well endowed women were completely blase about hanging out at work half-naked. Cool.
We were shown to a changing room that we shared, and were given these wooden sandal things that were more an accident waiting to happen than any kind of proper footwear, since they didn’t fit and the wood was heavy. It was easier to slide along the floor like a skier than pick up my feet and walk, so I kind of did that until we got into the bathhouse part, and then stopped using the shoes altogether.
We changed into our towels, and walked into the steam room. The room itself had high ceilings and it only took about 10 minutes for us to break a healthy sweat. The point of the steam part is to open your pores and get the sweat going, so that when you get exfoliated, more of the grime and gunk that has built up in your skin will come out.
I think even 5 years ago, I would have been a lot more uncomfortable with all the nudity in the bathhouse; it’s optional whether you want to keep your bikini on or go the way the Lord made ya. Maybe it’s maturity, or confidence, or just the fact that women of all ages and races and shapes were willing to let it all hang out, but I was totally unfazed by the skin, and I rolled how most of the other chicas in the place were rolling, too. And I’m glad about that.
Back to the bath. My friend and I chatted for awhile, getting in some valuable girl talk time that, although I love him to death, Boris cannot provide. Maybe after about 20 minutes, the scrubber lady (kecesi) summoned me to the block. See, in the middle of the room, which on all sides has water basins for washing, there is a big block of marble where the massage/scrub takes place. About 4 women could fit on this block, one on each side.
She gestured for me to start lying face down, and donned a special exfoliating mitten thing. She proceeded to scrub every part of me, front and back, with the rough mitten (called a kese) until there were huge, grody rolls of dead skin all over the place. In my defense, I’ve never had a full body skin exfoliation done, so there was a lot of grit to get rid of.
My friend told me as I was lying there, “You should have her do your face, too!” and instructed the woman to do so in Turkish. I was compliant, although I have to say that I tried really hard not to laugh when she gave me no warning and clobbered my face with her huge, mitten-covered hand to scrub it.
I was sat up and got scrubbed some more, then led to one of the water basins and doused with water to get off all the dead skin that had accumulated during the exfoliation.
Next came the soaping. Again, face down on the marble, but this time she had a soapy bag that got frothed up and lathered all over. Its aroma was sweet without being overpowering, and we definitely smelled nice afterwards.
Again, I had no notice when not only the mitten-covered hand but a soap-lathered one descended onto my tiny face. In that moment, and later, too, when she rinsed it with a bucket of water, I was grateful for the childhood games of “Let’s Hold Our Breath As We Pass By The Cemetery,” because it must have built up my lung capacity for moments like these in a Turkish bath when my keseci is possibly trying to drown me. Who knew.
Soaping over, I was again rinsed at the water tubs and told I was all done. I felt cleaner, for sure. We were given new towels to dry off as we exited. Somewhere on the price board it had said there were free teas and coffees, but we were ready for dinner and didn’t take advantage of it.
Overall, I’m really glad I went. There are upsides and downsides to going to more touristed hamams. One upside is that the staff are used to dealing with tourists who have no idea what the frack is going on, and if I hadn’t had my Turkish friend with me I would have been a lot more intimidated to do it alone.
A huge downside is just price; the really nice places, ones that actually have nice architecture to admire, are even more expensive than where we were, meaning you’d pay maybe 100 TL for what we got. We were told about another hamam where they give you a bag of your own stuff–soap, sandals, shampoo–but that place was 70 euro, not even in lire.
In 2008, Boris went to a hamam in the countryside. He paid something like 10 TL for all of what we got and a massage, and has a pretty funny story to tell about the whole experience (ask him sometime, he’ll surely share with you), but did say that the hamam was pretty dingy.
I’m still unsure as to how many Turks really frequent these places. Obviously the ones in Sultanahmet are mostly for tourists, but I’ve heard mixed things.
Have you ever been to a hamam, or another kind of bath house? What did you think?
Bumblings Of Miss Button 