Budapest Sorbet

A friend of mine on Facebook posted this beautiful video. Once upon a time in Budapest, it was winter and reaaaallly cold. x

http://vimeo.com/38817937

Lajos Csabai Ekés, Painter and Designer

  There is a multitude of treasures on display within the Great Synagogue of Budapest. Silver, bronze, bejeweled objects, beautifully detailed menorahs, delicate Torahs, all lovingly displayed....not to mention the synagogue itself which is among the most beautiful buildings in all of Europe.

  The museum inside the synagogue is small and unassuming. It would be easy to enter, spend half an hour enjoying the ornate religious objects wrought from metal, wood, and stone, and leave with a head full of bright and shiny memories. Good enough? No, absolutely not.

  It's worth the time and minimal effort to climb that last flight of stairs in the museum. For modern art lovers, the real treasure awaits. A small collection of cubist/expressionist works is on display up there, the art of one Lajos Csabai Ekés. 

  I did my best googling to find out more about this artist and found no biographies available. Csabai was born in Budapest in 1898 and was a well known movie poster artist. He died in 1944 in the city of his birth, beaten to death by Hungarian Nazis, known for despising and demonizing the best and brightest of Hungarian Jews. His legacy is a body of emotional and colorful work. Cut down before his time, the art he left behind continues to bring joy to the hearts and minds of art lovers world wide. Rest in peace, Csabai, and thank you so much.

                                                                                                self portrait

15 Március

   

                                                                                 pro Fidesz rally at Országház


     "I wouldn't be surprised if something bad happens on March 15," stated Magdi, one of Boone's colleagues, with more than a hint of grim Hungarian resignation.
  After hearing that, and knowing how delicate the political situation is here in Hungary, I rushed to get my family registered with the U.S. embassy, just in case. No, we did not do that upon our initial arrival in Hungary. Yes, I know, we are terrible procrastinators.
  As I said, and in case you haven't heard, we are living in Budapest as Hungary itself languishes at a crossroads, politically and economically, asking itself, do we want to be part of the European Union? Can we identify as Hungarian and European at the same time? Do  we need or want financial assistance from the Union and the IMF? If we disagree with the status quo in our country, what can we do about it, how do we make our voices heard?
  March 15 is a national holiday that belongs to every Hungarian. Its commemoration is particularly relevant of late. March 15 marks the day when, in 1848, the Hungarians sought independence from the Habsburg monarchy, seeking democracy, fair tax burden, and basic civil rights. Like most revolutions, the reasons for and beginnings of this one were complicated and the oppressor was all powerful.
  Many Hungarians today most likely see too many uncomfortable similarities between the causes of the 1848 revolution and what is taking place under the government of Orbán Viktor today.
  Given the Hungarian tendency to speak one's mind openly and honestly, combined with the history of revolution in the country (among numerous other things), Magdi's observation did not seem so outrageous. The radical right wing party Jobbik and its faithful have been known to cause a kerfuffle or two in the countryside, terrifying the Roma population with its nationalistic bravado. There had been a few demonstrations already this year and last, mainly against Fidesz and its flagrant use of the 2/3 majority it enjoys in Parliament as a way of securing its ideology and intentions for this country. This has been all over the international news so I will spare you my own overview which, interpreted via my American prespective, would not, I fear, be free of my own personal, political convictions. My views do have a way of sneaking into my writing, nonetheless. Surely a government which is quick to gerrymander voting districts in its favor, hastily rewrite the constitition, and silence radio stations known to be critical of the regime,  all in the name of erasing any trace of communism, would be troublesome to any believer in democracy, Hungarian or not.
  This year, March 15 was a gorgeous day, sunny, warm, cheerful. The Nicholsons were not going to stay inside. So, while Aidan and his good pal Mercede wandered around Buda and Pest, Boone and I headed down to Parliament, on our way to the Erzsébet bridge. Országház served as setting for a pro-Fidesz demonstration. Armed with our passports and loads of curiosity, we set out.

                                                                            televised speaker at pro-Fidesz rally

  

  I think it is only fair to mention that the organizers of the pro-Fidesz "peace" rally are not peaceful folks at all. Zsolt Bayer, out and proud anti-Semite and friend of Orbán, has been quoted as spewing hateful gems such as, "Anyone who runs over a Gypsy child in this country, would be best not think of stopping. If you run over a Gypsy, just step on the gas pedal." and "...the mere existence of Jewish journalists in Budapest is grounds enough for our anti-Semitism." Fellow Orbán associate, András Bencsik, has said equally offensive, anti-Semitic things and is a huge fan of the Russian autocrat, Vladimir Putin.   Read more about the organizers of this rally online at Hungarian Spectrum, March 17, 2012 http://esbalogh.typepad.com/. 

  And yet the rally was peaceful. The crowd was dense and multitudinous. From the many giant speakers we heard the echo of speeches in proud and determined Hungarian, the words "szabadság" (freedom) "magyarország" (Hungary) and "kommunista"(self-explanatory) most prominent (and certainly ironic) to our non-fluent ears.    Boone and I waded through, overcoming the slight claustrophobia that goes with being part of a crowd that seems to have no end. We escaped through the arches of the Museum of Ethnography, relieved that we were no longer part of the crowd.

                                                               conspiracy theories alive and well at the Fidesz rally

  Our next stop was the counter demonstration, near the Pest side of the Erzsébet bridge, organized by Milla (short for the organization One Million for the Freedom of Press in Hungary).  A proactive Fidesz did its best to prevent this rally by booking all possible demonstration sites prior to March 15. Milla succeeded in the end and the crowd on the bridge, as well as the one spilling into Ferenciek Tere,  was teeming and abuzz. The local greens (LMP) were out gathering signatures for their employment initiative , a young rep from the Roma NGO (non-governmental organization) gave a speech, as did teacher's representatives and even folks from the local LGBT community. Of course, not many events this big, with so many different NGOs, play out without a few snags. You can read about the squabbles among the NGOs here http://www.eurotrib.com/story/2012/3/15/165747/522. 

a clumsy but humorous anti-Orbán sign, referring to the visiting conservative Polish politicians, in Budapest to support Fidesz

                                                                       the Milla crowd, looking down Rákóczi ut

                                                      local rastas were ready to celebrate the 15th with some riddim

                          this sign reads something like, "Has Viktor seen a doctor already?" I could be very wrong.....

                                                                                               peaceful punk

    Predictably, Jobbik used March 15 for its own ends, gathering a smallish crowd of perhaps 1000 to shout about the evils of the EU, the Jews, liberals, homosexuals, and Roma. Speakers fired up their crowd with its nationalistic platitudes. On this day, the police, clad in riot gear,  wisely cordoned off the Jobbik crowd, ready for things to take an ugly turn. Thankfully, there was no violence, only violence in words, as the right-wing crowd shouted, "dirty Jews" to the bigger crowd,  who responded with "Nazi! Nazi!"  I felt proud of the Milla demonstrators for shouting down the racist rantings, especially one young woman who, red-faced and voice hoarse, kept responding on her own to everything the Jobbik speaker said. 

                                            cops mobilizing as the crowds exchange epithets...the banner says "No EU"

                                                    Jobbik shouting their nasty ideology, surrounded by riot police

    The crowd at the Milla demo seemed bigger to me, but I admit my perception could have been wishful thinking. This rally was indeed more diverse, more loose, easier to navigate then the tight Fidesz rally.  Hungry, tired, and wanting to meet up with Aidan and Mercede, we hopped the metro back home, both of us really glad we attended both rallies, happy that nothing physically violent had taken place.

  As I said, this holiday is a day for all Hungarians, regardless of their political leanings, and they each interpret the actions in 1848 accordingly.  Everyone wore their Hungarian cockades, nobody held a monopoly in their love for their country. The poets of 1848 would have been amazed to see this...and I wonder how the likes of Petőfi Sándor or Arany János, who expressed sympathy and solidarity with Hungarian Jews would have felt about Jobbik's ravings. I can't help but think these heroes of 1848 would have recoiled at the thought of their tribulations being co-opted by such a regressive and hateful group.

                                                                          view from Rákóczi ut toward the bridge

Apologies (Elnézését kérjük)

to the very few people who read my blog....I apologize for the sloppy appearance of the blog itself. The captions under the photos are not centered properly after I've posted the drafts to the blog. They are, however, centered in the draft, so I do not know what the fuck I am doing wrong. I intend to spend some time on the layout, try to figure out what is going on. I also want to apologize for my tendency to edit my posts only after I've posted them to the blog. I find all kinds of spelling, grammatical mistakes, awkward sentences. I'll work on that too.  

Lomtalanítás

                                                  browse at your convenience (own risk? peril?)

    I knew it was coming, I looked forward to it. Suddenly, it was here. Then it was gone.

  I should have known...that cluster of large, stubbly headed men, each chain-smoking Bond  ciggies, lingering on the corner of  Kádár  and Visegrádi utcas last Friday morning, acting as sentinels for an old Econoline van which was bursting at the rivets with broken furniture, clothing, boxes of all kinds...that was a hint.

  They were staking their ground. Quite successfully too. No one else claimed that corner.

 Later that day, I knew. As I ran down the last flight of stairs with Cosmo for our afternoon walk, I saw the big, metal, front doors to our building were held wide open by an upended box spring on one side and a heavy dresser on the other. A warm, early, spring breeze swept in, like a tease. Behind us on the stairs, men were hauling boxes from someone's apartment, destined for the curb outside.

  Aha. Lomtalanítás had come to the thirteenth district. 

    Lomtalanítás is kind of like a district wide seasonal house purging/sidewalk sale, which begins in March and lasts until October, district  by district. People are notified with a paper announcement, stuffed into letter boxes. So much paper gets stuffed into our letter box that we generally recycle most of it, without even looking, so this year,  Lomtalanítás came as a surprise. By Friday evening piles began to appear, piles of everything from half used bottles of detergent to dissasembled furniture to sheets of really old and very brittle wall paper. Headless dolls. Filthy rugs. I saw a confounding number of lucite cubes,  each about the size of a small aquarium, all lidless. Nothing is arranged attractively for passersby, it's all just dumped out there. It's a bounty, but it ain't free, make no mistake or you risk a scolding. There's always someone sitting close by, waiting to accept forint. But not until Saturday.  Friday evening is for browsing, eye-balling. I saw an unloved and unwatered houseplant that I was determined  to save. Friday night, the owners of the junk slept outside, in window recesses or in their cars, to make sure nobody made off with anything. 

  Saturday morning, and the piles had grown smaller by ten o'clock. DIYers had come by with their trucks and snatched up all of the crushed vanity tables and slats of moulding, others were sitting with their newly acquired purchases, waiting for friends with vehicles to haul the booty. The potted palm I wanted was gone by the time I made it outside. At that point, I was on my way to Lehel tér when I spotted something I would not have minded forking over a few hundred forint for...

                                     guess they finally decided they were completely over ol' V. I. Lenin. 

  Alas, the portrait had been claimed upon my return from the market. It may have served as someone's heating fuel later that evening, who knows.

  Last year, in Csillahegy, Lomtalanítás came upon us unawares. Suddenly, in our neighborhood and in the apartment blocks across the road, the piles appeared, and after them, several Roma families, who picked through the debris, left a representative to watch over the loot, then returned with trucks to haul it away. One woman sat on a new- to- her, black and red vinyl foot rest, all day long. She had to have that foot rest. She made sure that no one one else would, with her determined posture and stony expression.

  On one of our daily excursions through the blocks, we saw a few unattended piles, containing only what absolutely no one else wanted. I found a couple of left over treasures, snatched them just for the novelty.

      an old Christmas record, so brittle, the album broke into shards on our move to Pest. I still have the cover though!

  

     an old Russian record, which survived the move to Pest. says "made in the USSR" in English, lower right side

       The piles in the blocks were left to diminish on their own, some items dissolving into mud, some blown away by the winds. It took a good week for things to vanish completely. I suspect the waste management services were not dispatched for monetary reasons...perhaps the attitude the city took was  that the blocks do not need to look tidy, so let the piles of trash minimize on their own, with time. Not so here in the thriteenth district. By the time Saturday night arrived, most of the piles were gone. A few weather beaten bags had been gone through and thrown into the street or in the middle of the sidewalk. By Sunday, there was no indication that any sort of commerce took place down on the streets at all. Not even a single item was left. The only piles littering the streets of Újlipótváros after Lomtalanítás 2012 are those of dog shit, always in constant supply, happily deposited by the numerous canines of district thirteen.

  

                                                                 

Turkey's Turn

                                                
                                                Blue Mosque, from the roof of The Peninsula Hotel


 Is it time?  Yes, it's about time. High time I write about our fabulous trip to Turkey. Can't let too much time pass, can't let the memories languish and fade.
  It would be irresponsible of me not to first thank Harry and Kathie Nicholson for visiting us in December and for their help in making this trip happen. They were enjoyable traveling companions, cheers to them and much love.

  I had wanted to visit Turkey, specifically Istanbul, ever since I was bedazzled by photos of the city in a National Geographic back in the late eighties.  The pics were accompanied by a story which spun the tale of a city so very ancient and incredibly modern all at once...seemed like a great place to pine for, a seductively dangerous place bursting with intrigue and adventure.  Several viewings of "Midnight Express" did nothing to dampen my desire for the place.
  Terry Jones' excellent Crusades documentary also stoked the fires of my desire to visit Istanbul. A Greek, Christian city at the time just before the Crusades, its Emperor, Alexius, concerned about the Seljuk Turks closing in on him, appealed to Pope Urban II for support in keeping the forces of Islam at bay. The disasterous and brutal actions that followed became known as the First Crusade.
  Ever a religious studies geek, I've long desired to see the city whose emperor started the whole bloody mess, study the grave, mosaic, Byzantine face, immortalized upon the ancient walls of Aya Sofia, that I had seen on the documentary years ago.

                                                        Alexius, peering down at us from on high

  


  Watch these two clips for a rundown th the spark that lit the fire of the Crusades, and for a taste of humorously genius historic tale-telling:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mXed3tvR_-g

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tHO1P42p1HE&feature=related


  Budapest, of course, has its own, special history with Turkey. The Ottoman Empire, ruling from Istanbul, occupied Hungary for about 150 years, and its influence upon the culture still resonates here.  The public baths are the most apparent and beloved remnant of Ottoman rule, but there is a certain flourish to the general Hungarian aesthetic that seems vaguely mediterranean. There may also be a touch of Islamic "inshallah" (arabic, "god-willing") still lingering about Hungary as well, that idea that everything is up to God and we must resign ourselves to that fate. A couple of things seem evident as to outside influences upon Magyar culture....  the Habsburgs gave the Hungarians order and angst, the Turks gave them philosophy and art (as well as their indispensible staple, paprika), and there exists in the Hungarian psyche the tendency to indulge in all of those differing gifts.
  Gül Baba, whose works I have been unable to find online, was a dervish poet and Ottoman patron saint of Budapest.  He is buried in Buda on Rose Hill, where his spirit enjoys a sweet view of Parliament from a somber, stately mausoleum. The Turkish Republic now owns this site, the old Empire's small but prime patch of "Magyaristan".

                                                           Gül Baba's statue and mausoleum


   Several towns in Hungary, from Pecs in the south to Eger in the north, still contain standing minarets and a mosque or two, most of which are now churches. These tantalizing crumbs of Ottoman leftovers served only to drive home my desire to visit Istanbul, which had, by the end of this past summer, become a sort of mild obsession for Boone and me. It seemed silly that we would not visit Istanbul, as close as we are at the moment, and we decided that the Christmas break would be the perfect time to do so.

    The flight to Istanbul from Budapest was a cushy hour and a half. It was one of the most enjoyable flights I've ever been on. Turkish Air is, ahem, a "top flight" airline, complete with an inflight info movie  starring the freshly scrubbed lads of Manchester U, clowning around with the airplane emergency gear.  There is blessedly ample room between seats in which to squirm around and find a comfy position. They feed you and feed you well, with food you would not mind paying for, although it is all included in the price of the ticket, along with a decent selection of beverages.

  The Nicholsons, Boone, Aidan and I landed shortly before dusk, with just enough light to see the white caps on the Sea of Marmara below and a cityscape punctuated with minaret after minaret. The driver who whisked us to our panzio was a seasoned chauffeur, taking countless, narrow, cobblestone shortcuts, through passages that seemed to dead end but only continued at an acute angle, under low hanging over passes that threatened to damage the roof of the taxi, squeaking through dense traffic with nerve-wracking but expertly performed speed, explaining in broken English (when he was not arguing with the dispatcher whose voice piped in from the staticky radio every now and again) why he was taking this particular route ( to avoid even worse traffic).  We spilled out of the taxi after it arrived at our panzio, The Peninsula Hotel, which sits right next to a small neighborhood mosque. Happily preoccupied with figuring out where to find our next meal (dinner), we found a place (where I learned, the hard way, that when the server wrinkles his nose at the mention of the rosemary chicken, do not then order the rosemary chicken), ate and drank, then collapsed heavily onto our beds, resting up for the next day's ramble around the two massive mosques, just a short walk up the hill.  I could not wait to hear my first call to prayer.
  It came brutally early the next morning... a low, melodic, and surreal drone, calling the faithful...not sure anyone was quite up for that one. I certainly was not, and slept for an hour or two after the imam's amplified voice fell silent.

                                                                  our neighboring mosque


  The best district in which to hang your hat while you are in Istanbul, as we did, especially if you are visiting for just a few days, is Sultanahmet, close to the Golden Horn, along the coast of the Sea of Marmara. This neighborhood is the home of both the Aya Sofia and the Blue Mosque. as well as many other ancient attractions. What remains of the Hippodrome lies between the two mosques; the dank, darkly beautiful Basilica Cistern is in the neighborhood as well. Topkapi Palace is within walking distance from most of the hotels in the area, as is the Grand Bazaar.  The Spice Market and the ferry terminal is a short tram ride from Sultanahmet. This district is in the very old part of the city...it looks and feels every bit its age despite the modern amenities. That first morning after breakfast, Boone and I climbed up to the roof of our panzio and surveyed our surroundings...Blue Mosque to west, Aya Sofia to the east, Marmara gently undulating to the south, and a whole lotta antiquity going on.

                            
                                                                        TRUE BLUE

                                                             in praise of the Blue Mosque

                                                      The Blue Mosque or Sultan Ahmet Mosque


  With six minarets and eight, sensuous domes, the Blue Mosque, completed in 1616 under the rule of Ahmet I, looms with resolute splendor upon a hill in Sultanahmet. The grand motif of the structure compels the viewer to look up, look toward heaven and into the realm of God, as intended by the architect Sedefkar Mehmet Aga.  Any viewer, religious or not, might be tempted to raise his or her arms high and wide in adoration while standing before it.
  Of course, folks are selling things all around the mosque...one rug vendor attached himself to us, trying to be our tour guide, hoping that we would slip into his shop after touring the mosque. We politely declined, pleading practicality and poverty.
  The five of us entered at the northern door (the main entrance is reserved for worshippers only), removed our shoes, then padded and pondered around the mosque for a while.

                                                           looking up into Allah's sky garden

                                                                        prayer and meditation in the Blue Mosque

                                                                            plush pile carpet in the Blue Mosque


  It would be all too easy to slip into a blissful meditation inside the Blue Mosque.  Incredibly ornate yet not extravagant, the building feels airy, open, free of distractions but generous in its veneration of the beauty of creation.
 Several worshippers were present, gazing out into the grey winter sky toward Mecca, and some of the Muslim visitors knelt in prayer and performed ablutions, moved by the sanctity of the place.


                                                                     AYA SOFYA

       Whereas the Blue Mosque sets the stage for heavenly contemplation, its big sister, Aya Sofya, is all about the genius of mankind. It is oooolllld....dedicated to the Logos (Jesus) in 360 A.D. by the Emperor Justinian, the innovative design of its central dome alone is testament to the wonders that can spring from a partnership of scientific knowledge and spirituality. The structure is now a museum, standing frozen in time in its Islamic incarnation.
  If the Blue Mosque is a bit quieter, more controlled in its design and decor, Aya Sofya seems a bit more enthusiastic and lux. From the glorious, angelically adorned middle of its central dome to the multicolored, marbled floors, worn down by the shuffling of feet through the millennium, Aya Sofya is a mosaic tapestry of jeweled colors and swaths of gold. It must have positively radiated before its  gilt mosaics began to wear away. Detail is everywhere, mosaics of emperors and their wives, the adult Jesus Christ staring out at the world, with a gaze intense with holy wisdom.

 
                                                                                 central dome of the Aya Sofya

 
                                                                   every corner is decorative in the Aya Sofya

  
                                                                                     Deesis Mosaic, Aya Sofya

                                                                                        ancient marble floor

                                                                   mosque cat, warming himself in Aya Sofia





                                                                 CATS OF ISTANBUL

       A word about cats. It must be addressed. Kitties are all over the place in Istanbul, really, all over Turkey. It's where felines go after their nine lives are spent. These are not mangy, sickly little howlers skulking the neighborhoods at night, brutalized, in a feral state.  The cats of Istanbul are fat and plush, healthy but unneutered so each season brings in a fuzzy  crop of kittens. The peaceful face of the cat in the Aya Sofya is testament to the care the humans of Istanbul offer these creatures. Almost every shop places ouside its door a dish of cat kibble and a pan of water for the neighborhood felines.  All of this reminded me of a story I read back in college about the prophet Mohammed, who loved cats, kept one of his own named Muezza, who would sometimes sleep in the Prophet's lap as he gave sermons. The Prophet advised the faithful to treat all creatures with kindness, and his words are well heeded in this officially secular but spiritually Muslim country. Here, the cats roam without fear in a city full of people who care for their well-being. There are a few dogs too, who enjoy similar care, and share the streets peacefully with the kitties, bound by some solemn code of creature decorum. Istanbul, for all its roaming critters, is remarkably free of poopy sidewalks and parks.

                             Sultana, pure white with one green and one blue eye, and her babies inside the rug shop

                                                                          kitty garden

 

              
                                                             fuzzy pooch, sun-patching without a care in the square

  
                              cats and dogs are not the only creatures who enjoy the milk of human kindness in Istanbul


                                                                      HERE WE ARE,  GRAND BAZAAR

  A traveler to Istanbul will have no trouble parting with his or her money...one young vendor at the Grand Bazaar grinned openly and honestly at us, beseeching, "How can I get your money from you?" We all laughed because, of course, this is the purpose of the bazaar, no reason to be coy about it.
  We entered the old market through the Beyazit Gate, a fairly small portal which belies the size of this huge space. Finished in 1461, the bazaar's 22 entrances open up to 58 covered streets, 4000 shops, two mosques, and two hamams (turkish baths), and many, many restaurants. Photographs of this place could fill several coffee table volumes. I was overwhelmed by it...but I found, of course, what I was looking for, which was a hanging glass lamp. I could have come away with so much more.

                                 just one of the thousands of shops, bursting with merchandise, in the Grand Bazaar

                                                                               glass lamps in the Grand Bazaar

                        fresh squeezed pomegranate juice is cheap, delicious, and easy to come by in the Grand Bazaar

 vendor, selling delicious sahlep (warm milk flavored with vanilla and honey), setting himself away from the Grand Bazaar


   A person could spend a week in the Grand Bazaar alone.  If I ever return to Istanbul, I will spend more time there, focusing on the all there is to see there, limiting my purchases to a pomegranate juice or some tea. We found that the shop owners weren't so keen to haggle, as we had been told...many prices are fixed so, unless you are in for a big ticket item, like a rug or some jewelry, don't expect to talk anyone down too much.  Or maybe we were just not very good at it.


  
                                                                                      BOSPHORESCENCE

                                                                       my favorite color, warm and cool all at once 

                                                                        Galata Tower, overlooking the Golden Horn



 So blue so green, so aquamarine. That's the Bosphorus, the strait which divides Europe and Asia Minor, a slinky link between the Marmara and the Black Seas, whose name in ancient Greek means "ferry" or "ford".
  There are several charming, fishing villages on the Bosphorus Coast. On Christmas Day, we took the ferry from the Golden Horn (short tram ride from Sultanahmet) and cruised the foamy strait to Andalukovagi, enjoying the sunny but very windy day, sipping hot tea from dainty glass cups, ( elegant and shapely, but impractically scorching to the touch), gazing and amazing at the ancient sites along the way.  This day was one of my favorite days on the entire ten day visit. 
  The people of Andalukovagi, set apart as they are from the  bustle and congestion of Istanbul, are laid back, small town friendly. The vendors here are not nearly as enthusiastic about , as those in the big city. We were able to walk from the harbor, through the town, and up to the fortress ruins with nary a disturbance. It was lovely...of course, we met several friendly cats along the way. 
  For obvious reasons, sea food restaurants were plentiful, so we chose a place close to the harbor, with an eye of the time and the ferry, and enjoyed the fresh seafood.  I must say that food service, in every place we visited in Turkey, was with a smile (but not obsequious) and very quick.
  As we ferried back to Istanbul, the afternoon began to turn to dusk, and the cloudy sky was stitched with the gold of the sinking sun. I have never seen any city skyline as beautiful as that of Istanbul, viewed in the early evening from the Bosphorus.

                                                                                     Istanbul on the Bosphorus 

                                                                    Boone, with Rumeli Fortress in the background

                                                                                                Andalukovagi  

                                                                                   timid kitten in Andalukovagi  

                                                                                            scenic Anatolia

                                                                   Bosphorus flowing into the Black Sea beyond

                                                                       Anatolian kitty, begging for fish sandwich

                                                                              sweets for sale in Andalukovagi

                                                                                        end of a golden day

                                                                               

                                                                               Christmas night back in Istanbul


                              THE SPICE MARKET, BASILICA CISTERN, AND TOPKAPI PALACE

                                                                                  lucious and fragrant spices


  


    We had great luck with weather in Istanbul. All predictions warned of constant rain and clouds. Instead, we were blessed with party cloudy, rainless days illuminated by a cheerful sun.
  The Spice Market in Istanbul is in the same neighborhood as the ferry terminal, a short tram ride away from our hotel. The covered building is part of the Yeni Mosque, and rents from the shops within were used at one time to cover the cost of mosque upkeep. Here, the vendors are every bit as extroverted with their salesmanship, but the crowds were not as daunting. We were lured into one sweets shop with the promise of tea, which was kept, and we purchased boxes of delicious pistachio Turkish delight.

                                                                 the peppers and other dried treats sell themselves

                                                                                      dried rosebuds for tea

                                                                                      delightfully turkish

                                       daily ablutions outside the spice market mosque, never mind the cold breeze


  It took 7000 slaves to build the gorgeously utilitarian Basilica Cistern, which filtered water for the great buildings on The First Hill of Constantinople. This structure is a tribute to the beautiful marriage of function and form.

                                                            the illuminated, shallow waters of the Basilica Cistern

                                                      one of the dozens of handsome carp that call the Cistern home

                                                       one of two mysterious Medusa heads...their purpose unknown

                       

      Those fortunate Ottoman sultans of old...part of the job requirement was to reside in grand and gorgeous Topkapi Palace. At one point in time this royal residence was a small city, housing as many as 4000 people on its grounds. The spread is luxurious but not gaudy, organized but not rigid, with a grand view of the Bosphorus to the east. A person could spend a good chunk of the day here, strolling through tiled corridors and harem chambers over cold, glacier gray marble floors inside, through restful courtyards outside, paved with smooth rocks arranged in thoughtful, geometric designs. My focus was the fanciful tilework, painted in every rich shade of blue, a few green hues, or an occasional yellow or gold. Some rooms, particularly in the harem's chambers, were covered entirely in tile, some squares individually decorated, some part of a bigger design, a cypress tree, an intricate vine, or vaguely floral motif. I would love to have toured the gigantic palace bakeries, to have stood next to (what I assume to be) one of several  massive ovens, but this area was off limits and I had to be satisfied with staring up at the exterior oven vents, their own huge size offering an idea as to the proportions of the ovens beneath the roof.  Three hours, give yourself three hours, the guidebook advised. I think I'd like spend that time sprawled on the low-ridin' sofas in the Sultan's sitting room for a while, gazing out of the barred windows at the realm, if only someone had offered to bring me a spot of apple tea and maybe something from the palace ovens, covered in pistachios and dripping with honey. As if.

                                                                 Topkapi oven vents                   

                                                                 Topkapi Palace grounds

                                         

                                                          Topkapi apartments, inner palace

                                                           It's all about the tile at Topkapi

                                                                           fireplace in the concubines' apartments

                                                                                                 

                                                                                             Topkapi Blues

                                                                                         sultan's sitting room

                                                                       even the drains at Topkapi are lovely

                                                                                    

                                                                ON TO ASIA MINOR

    You know, when you travel to a place, it's a swell idea to carry a little book and a pen along. That's what they do in the movies, right? Some very organized, fastidious people do this, those who manage their time well.  An experienced travel writer might also remember to pack pen and paper, but I'm not one of those people, alas. I wish so much that I was and that I  had packed those things with me because the best way to recall such a visitation is to have something on hand at all times upon which to jot down the hundreds of impressions, smells, ordinary but somehow sublime observations. These days, an iPhone might serve the same purpose, but there's nothing like the physical act of writing and holding hard copy that makes the  act of documentation so much richer. 

  If I had carried pen and paper, I could have written down descriptions of the smart and entertaining young servers at a favored restaurant, the hotel host who loved American indie films and discussion of them (we chatted about "Paris, Texas"), the dense crowds in this city of 14 million souls, multitudinous felines and the love they were shown by the people of the city, the exotic, dreamy bubble of Sultanahmet,  the consistent offers of small vials of tea (on land or sea), the humble bliss of gazing into blue-green  Bosphorus and gradually noticing a school of translucent jellyfish rising gracefully to the water's surface.  These little moments really fine tune the experience of travelling, adding so much flavor and texture to the grander sights. I'm not sure how else to say it, if there is a less trite way to say it, but I am being sincere when I declare that I love Istanbul and would go back to spend much more time if ever I could. 

               the Star Hotel smoking room, where wasting time is practiced as an art form. my kinda place

        the Rumist, personally, my favorite restaurant in Istanbul. one of the few dinners at which I did not order kebab

                                                                           pigeons roosting in the old city wall

                                                                                             aya sofya at dusk

                                                  from rooftop of our hotel.  much of Turkish life is spent on rooftops. 

  

                                                                       early morning departure...farewell Istanbul

              

                                                                                                   ANATOLIA!

  Five days spent in Istanbul flew by and soon we were in another taxi cab winding our way through the city streets and congested traffic, back to the airport, to catch a flight to Izmir, over in Asia Minor.

   The flight was a quick one and soon we were on the ground, tightly packed into Osman's sport utility, speeding toward Selçuk, a small city in the Anatolian hills.  Osman is the owner and host of the Nazar Hotel, and a fine host he was indeed. He was almost, but not too much, like a mother hen (gracious hospitality is his art), toasting bread for our breakfast over a flame,  steadily and frequently offering vials of tea, preparing boiled potatoes for Aidan after he got a little stomach bug. A few of these ministrations featured a brief but expressive lecture  about their  many benefits. Osman was busy but never flustered, was as kind and sincere as he could possibly be. Really, a master of Turkish hospitality. When we arrived at the hotel, several members of his family were drinking tea in the breakfast area/lobby, including Osman's mother, who was lying still and silent upon the couch. She had recently suffered a stroke, but she acknowledged us kindly with a weak but sincere greeting. A cute little dog peered out of her doghouse on the backyard patio.

  We all took an afternoon stroll around Selçuk and soon became charmed by it. The same Turkish friendliness was evident here, the salesmanship slightly less aggressive, the way of life much more basic than what we witnessed on our peninsular haven in Istanbul. A basilica ruin sits upon a small hillside overlooking Selçuk; a Byzantine aquaduct, which serves as a nesting spot for storks, creates an ancient cross section of the town. There are plenty of cars passing through, but a lot of people get around on bikes or even tractors. As dusk began to settle and the chilly night air rose, folks began burning firewood and coke and soon the sky was dusty pink, a smog settled into the town, and the stench of burning coke stung our noses which, for the curious, is reminiscient of burning plastic.

                                                                                      sweet Alice, at the Nazar

                                                                                                baking bread

                                                                                     aquaduct with stork's nest

  

                                                                                               local mosque

                                                                                Selçuk, from St. John's basilica

                                                                                          basilica ruin pavers

                                                                                          chopping kindling

  

    Selçuk enjoys a healthy little tourism industry...it serves as a handy home base, a launching pad of sorts, to the incredible ancient attractions that are so close by. 

  Our first full day in Anatolia was spent on an excellent three site tour.  The guide was youngish and engaging, a local son, and his historic knowledge of Priene, Miletus, and Didyma, three Ionian cities in western Anatolia, was encyclopedic and fascinating. Priene, built in the mountains, was our first stop. This ruin was my favorite of the three. 

                                                                           PRIENE

I admit that I was not always rapt with attention during our guide's lectures, as I wandered over fallen columns and through primeval rooms, overgrown with aged, gorgeously gnarled olive trees. The climate here, the rocks, the vegetation...perfect. Mediterranean. Truly a land of plenty.

  Although Priene now sits a tad inland, at its height it was a coastal city, overlooking the Aegean from a series of terraces. This site (there was an older site, located closer to the sea) was completed in the 4th century BCE and was one of he wealthier cities of its time, complete with indoor plumbing and sewer system.

    Priene sleeps at the base of Mt. Mycale and for this reason among several, I fell hard for this ruin. I dreamt about it the evening of our tour...ever since I was very young, I have had reoccurring dreams about living in a steep city built into a mountainside and Priene seemed to have escaped from my dreams in that regard. The marble and limestone butte provides a dramatic backdrop for the stunning Temple of Athena. I  got delightfully lost in the fallen beauty of the place, hiking through old stands of olive groves, up narrow, marble staircases that led to views both serene and breathtaking. 

                                       fallen olives at Priene...again, it's the small things that tug at my heartstrings

                                              some embellishment or other, among many, at Priene

              I can't begin to guess what this is but I'd love to have it in my own ruin garden. I should have been listening.

                                                                             approaching the Temple of Athena

       the arresting sight of Athena's temple with Mt. Mycale behind. the perfect place to worship the goddess!

    

                                  one member of a small herd of free range cattle grazing in a tiny meadow at Priene

                                                                         MILETUS

                                                                                       the theatre at Miletus

  Once upon a time, Miletus was ancient Greece's wealthiest and most exceptional city. It was Isidore of Miletus' hometown; Isidore was the Aya Sofya's chief architect. Greek philosophical tradition is thought to have originated there. Miletus was where philosophers began toying with the idea that certain natural phenomena might also have natural causes as opposed to being a result of godly whim. Sixth century  B.C. in these parts was bursting with ideas and creativity, and Miletus was at the center of it all. Once a coastal city, it shared a large bay with Priene. Since then, the sea has receded (or something) and what's left of Miletus now sprawls across a gently sloping, rocky plain. We began our tour at the great theatre and followed the Sacred Way past the agora, the baths of Faustina, and lonely Ionic ruins. Unfortunately, my camera battery was low and I had to be conservative with usage. 

                                                                      modern settlement from the top of the theatre

                                                                  relief of a gladiator and bear, base of the theatre

    Almost immediately after stepping off the bus at Miletus, a mother dog, teats a-swingin', politely approached our small group with the hope of receving a small morsel or two. None of us had anything to give her, unfortunately, but she seemed to be a pro at the art of dignified begging and she knew another load of humans would arrive soon enough. We found her litter of adorable pups hiding among the nooks and crannies at the base of the theatre.

                                                        animals are always photo worthy, despite low camera battery

                                     horseman galloping along The Sacred Way, with Ionic stoa in the background

                                                                       Apollo Delphinios (Apollo of the Dolphins)

                                                                         DIDYMA

     We finally reached the Aegean coast on our third and final stop on the tour. Didyma was an Ionian sanctuary, home to the magnificent oracle of Apollo. It was part of Miletus'  considerable sprawl, and pilgrims to the sanctuary would follow the Sacred Way to reach it.  The name of the sanctuary, Didyma, refers to the twins, Apollo and Artemis;  the ruins of Artemis' temple, with only a couple of columns remaining, lie close to Ephesus, just outside Selcuk.

  The lawn around this Apollo's temple is lush, green, and spongy...the source of a sacred spring bubbles to the surface here, a spring which nourishes the holy laurel trees that populate the grounds around the oracle. 

  The family which had long administered the sanctuary at Didyma was sent away by the Persians, after Darius seized the site in the fifth B.C. He then burned the temple to the ground, making off with the bronze statue of Apollo. A couple of hundred years later, Alexander the Great overthrew Darius III and began the restoration and resanctification of Didyma.

  The site is certainly grand. The sheer size of the inner temple is awe inspiring. We were allowed to freely scale and scramble over the ruin, around and amongst random finials and discs, solemn in their fallen positions,  fastened there by time.

                                                             sad Medusa, surrounded by sacred laurels at Didyma

                                                                                   fanciful bas relief, Didyma

                                                                           open for exploration, temple of Apollo

                                                                       fallen finial, resting in the marshy grass

                                                                 subdued by centuries, once towering discs at rest

                                                                   handsome marble bull's head at the sanctuary

                                                            THE EPHESIAN WAY

    The outskirts of our little homebase of Selçuk brushes up against the outskirts of that ancient metropolis, Ephesus. From the Nazar, we all walked the half kilometer distance to the once magnificent Temple of Artemis (Apollo's twin), a lonely little ruin of a once grand sanctuary, whittled down to a single column that sits in the depression that used to be the foundation of the temple. Dozens of domestic geese filled the grassy depression and its borders were defended by an loyal canine who ran half the length of the border, barking his warning.

                                                                                      the Temple of Artemis

  Through the ages, Ephesus had seen it all. The first inhabitants set up household in 6000 B.C. and through the ages, the city was a major player economically, politically, and socially. A time lapse film of Ephesus over the years might look like a stop motion animation of rubble piles rising and diminishing, with clusters of humans scurrying about, as earthquakes and warfare periodically laid waste. The action ended in the 15th century, after the Turks dominated the region, and by that time the city's glory days were long behind her. What's left is pretty damn glorious still. 

  

                                                                                           fresh Ephesian figs

                                                                                                Curetes Street

  

                                                                                          

                                                                                         the Odeon of Ephesus

                                                                                                Hadrian's Arch

                                                                     peeking at the Library from around Town Hall

                                                                             sign directing shoppers to the agora

                                                                          sign directing patients to the physician

                                                                                           greek inscriptions

                                                                                         

                                                                                                 Curetes Street

   Curetes Street is one of the three main Streets in Ephesus. Homes of the wealthy were built along the slope of one side of Curetes, while shops, fountains, and galleries lined the other side. 

  

                                                                              fountain of Trajan,  Curetes Street

                                           Ephesian feline, crossing the floor of a private residence on Curetes Street

                                                                             Boone and Aidan at Hercules' Gate

                                                                           archway at the Baths of Scholastica

During the Roman period, a great library was built in Ephesus, the Celsus Library. Ionic and Corinthian columns are stacked two levels high...however, two more levels once stood above the remaining ones, making the library one of the most imposing buildings in the city. The library is connected to the Great Theatre, where the apostle Paul gave sermons to the Corinthian Christians, by the Marble Road, which was part of the Sacred Way to the Temple of Artemis a few kilometers away.

   Our tour of Ephesus ended at the theatre. The Arcadian Way, which leads from the theatre to where the harbor once was, is flanked by the remains of two gymnasiums and the lower agora. By this time, we were a little tired and also quite hungry so we left Ephesus via the northern entrance, satisfied with our time spent in the ancient city.

                                                                          the Marble Way, up close and personal

                                                                       Boone and I, in front of the Celsus Library

                                                                               second level of the Celsus Library

                                                         a view of the lower agora, from inside the Celsus Library

                                                                                  signs from the Lower Agora

                                                                              marble stairs of the Great Theatre

                                                                                 the Great Theatre of Ephesus

   After spending quality morning time with the ancient ruins, we still had half a day left to explore....something. Somewhere.

  Turkey is not generally known for its wine-making. There might be ample reason for that (one of them being that most of its citizens are Muslim), but the country produces wine nonetheless. In fact, Turkey is one of the oldest wine-making regions in the world. The climate is ideal, after all, for growing grapes of all varieties. The mountains above Selçuk grow some hardy vines and the village of Sirince is as charming, even more so, a hamlet as any in the Napa Valley.

  Sirinçe is a few kilometers up the mountainside, so we hopped one of the regular shuttle buses and wound our way up the dusty road. Remarkably, I did not get car sick.

  Sirinçe, whose name means "ugly town" is anything but. The old, Greek town still contains the remains of an old church, but the town is solidly Turkish nowadays. We spent about an hour or two exploring the village, munching on dried figs, making semi-educated wine purchases. 

                                                                              dormant vineyards around Sirinçe

                                                         the ubiquitous pomegranate, Sirinçe

                                                                                              dried delights

                                                      practically begging you, please,  take a load off, enjoy some tea

                                                                                          cat family in Sirinçe

                                                                        the Nazar are everywhere, watching you....

                                            dried fruit and nut vendor...we ate most of a big bag of figs within the hour

                                                                                                  alley snoop

                                                                                            repurposed shoes

                                                                                                purty (party?)  wagon

                                                               Sirince, a little sleeping beauty, taking a winter's rest

   We only spent a sliver of time in Sirinçe, but next to Andaluvagi, I thought that time was some of the best spent. Of course, when visiting a place like Turkey, tourists must visit the most famous antiquites. It would be ridiculous not to do so. However, it really does pay off to indulge a bit in spontaneity and whim. Sirinçe is a treasure, a place so precious, worth every jostle and bounce in the shuttle on the way up as well as the dangerously overcrowded conditions on the same shuttle coming back down the narrow mountain road. Tea and dinner were waiting to be served to us somewhere.

                                                                                       tea, at selçuk köftecisi

.

     There's really no better way to finish off a successful journey abroad, jam-packed full of amazing sights, new knowledge, and precious experience, than to spend the last day in town, with no specific agenda. And that's what we did on our last day in Turkey. Our big outing was a visit to the Ephesus museum in town. It's relatively small, as museums go, but full of beautifully displayed artifacts inside and out.

  

                                                                   eros riding a dolphin

                                                  floor of an Ephesian private residence, with popular dolphin motif

                                                                                     griffin, Ephesus museum

                                                                            restful vignette, Ephesus museum 

                adorable statuette...she's one of the things I would have made off with if I had been an antiquities thief

                                                                love these ancient glassworks too, amazing colors

    We spent the rest of the day just wanderin'. Which is what I would if I'm ever in Turkey again, having witnessed much of what must be seen the first time around. I loved Sultanahmet in Istanbul, and would definitely stay in that neighborhood again, but would spend more time outside that neighborhood, exploring the grittier parts of the city. We were told time and again how wonderful Cappadocia is....I think that region merits a trip of its own. It may be a cliché, but it sure rings true, that there is so much to do in this world and so little time. Best to savor the moments you are doled out and appreciate that you were able to experience them. That's how I will always feel about out trip to Istanbul, that it was a jewel of a time in my life.

                                           A FEW, DELICIOUS PICTORAL CRUMBS 

                                                                                                kindly imam

                                                                             contemplative mosque courtyard

                                                                                             beautiful shards

                                                                                                  bath ruin

                                                                                road marker, taking a cig break

                                                                                      lemon tree, very pretty

favorite restaurant in Selçuk...tiny but excellent, they inundate you with mezzas until you are too full for the excellent                   kebab, which you can watch being prepared

                                                           incredibly cute and friendly Turkish girls..."my name is?"

                                                                            the village from St. John's basilica

                                                                ruin of St. John's basilica, crusade pilgrimage site

                                                                                   mosque below the basilica

                                                                       optunia growing among the basilica ruin

                                                                            lantana with optunia, basilica ruin

                                                                                              

                                                                           St John's basilica...goodnight, Turkey