Take me down.....

Olympos. It seems like every girl here is pretty, and that all the grass is green. It's a city.... and a little slice of paradise. As I look around here, I can't help but wonder....

whatever happened to Axl Rose?



I'm off on a short 4-day cruise in the Mediterranean, on my way to Fetiye. I'm not sure if I'll have web access, so I might not be able to update this for a few days.

Hope everyone is doing great!

Like a Donkey in the Night

I spent last night on a mountain, in the dark, with several Turks and just as many flashlights. We were walking up to see the Chimaera, or Eternal Flames. Basically, there are spots on the top of this moutain where flames come out of cracks in the rock at all times. They have been there, burning, since ancient times-- like Nature's Perpetual Barbeque. Plus, it was a great place to see more stars than I've seen in a while.

But it wasn't the flames or the stars that entertained me most.

I was walking up the path to the flames with two Turkish women in their fifties, and one Turkish guy about my age. The guy served as a kind of translator, since he spoke some English. He was also, apparently, a commando in the army. But that was awhile ago ("See, look at my belly. You can not drink the bira and be a commando." Duly noted.)

The two women were sisters, and I walked with one of them up the path. We spent the time noticing things along the path, and then cross-translating them into Turkish and English for each other. Toilet. Step. Flat. It was a great way to pass the time, if not a particularly practical language lesson.

After a certain point, the woman was breathing heavily. The words she wished to translate were changing. Tired. Sweat. Long. I tried to remember any of the CPR I may or may not have learned sometime in my life, as my new Turkish friend was not built for mountain climbing. She was built more for smoking cigarettes and sitting.

We continued to translate, and now moved to more common words and phrases. She taught me how to say "How are you?". I then, in turn, asked her how she was.

She mumbled something. I asked the guy for a translation. "Like a Donkey. She says she is like a donkey."

Donkey? I asked.

Donkey, she answered. Donkey-Donkey.

My new friend was like a donkey. I nodded, and we walked now, silent, just listening to the crickets and the clack of our sandals against the stones, two donkeys in the night.

Timeless, Old, and the Now

How does the old saying go? "Nothing heals the sting of a Turkish bee and the weariness of life on the road like the waters of the Mediterranean."?

Sage words. I'm sitting in Olympos, on the Mediterranean coast. My skin has that sun-and-sea feel, and I'm content. I'm staying at a pension about 100 yards from the beach, overlooked on three sides by steep-sided and rocky mountains. My walk to the beach takes me past old European dudes in speedos. But it also takes me past something a little less off-putting.

It's a narrow dirt path, but before long, there are stones buried in the dirt. I get to a small stream, that I walk through easily-- kind like a temperature preview for the awaiting sea. Then, I look up from my wet sandals and see that I'm surrounded by ancient ruins-- the ruins of Olympos (not the really famous one -- there are apparently quite a few Olympos, kind of like Springfield). No one is exactly sure how old they are, but the civilization itself can be dated to the first century BC. I walk through the ruins all the way to the beach, and then I can see the old citadel walls right up on the mountains. I can also see the tombs of old Olypian sea captains, etched with art and inscribed with poems describing their heroism. Nothing says "day at the beach" like the sarcophagi of ancient sea captains. At least to me.

I make it to the beach, and I head straight for the water. Ahhhhhh. It's intermittently cool and warm, refreshing and comforting. The sky's blue. The clouds are white. The sun is out. The water can't decide if it's blue or green. Ahhhhhhhhhhh.....

I lay on my back and float. I see the mountains in the distance, the ruins right in front of me, and then look at my feet just bobbing in the water. Mountains, Ruins, Me.

Timeless, Old, and Loving-the-right-now.


ps. I added some pictures to some of the postings from a couple of weeks ago... haven't gotten the most recent ones downloaded to disc yet, so I'm always a little behind.

Rocky vs. Gandhi in Turkey

And there I was in a mini-van, during a tour of the finer parts of Cappadocia, still staring in awe. I was enjoying all of the natural beauty, minding my own, looking out the window. I felt something on my head, but thought it was the wind or maybe a fly. I found out too late that it was not.

I yelped at the buring pain I hadn't felt in years. I had been stung by a bee. Right on my left eyebrow. Ouch. Oww-wwuu-cch. It hurt. I was grimacing, but when the others in the tour asked if I was alright, I grunted that I was fine. And then I saw the bee.

He was still flying around, directionless. Now, here's what I don't understand. Instead of killing the bee, instead of an-eye-for-an-eye justice, I OPENED THE WINDOW TO LET THE BEE OUT. What is wrong with me? It's like I was turning the other eyebrow for this bee. Who am I, the Bee Gandhi???

These questions have been burned into my head the last couple of days, as my eye swelled up to the size of a ping pong ball. I looked like Rocky during his fight with Apollo Creed. When he tells Mick "Cut me, Mick." That's what my eye looked like. Every bit the picture of Elephant Man beauty.

I went to the doctor, got a shot and some pills, and thankfully my eye is almost back to normal. I can see quite clearly out of it now, and I'm looking for another bee to step to me. If one does, Gandhi's taking the kid gloves off. Eye of the Tiger..... Eye of the Tiger.

Interesting Factoid: Your Brother's Keeper

One of the stops I made in Istanbul was at Topkapi Palace. This was basically the center of the Ottoman Empire from the 15th century onward... as expected, it was big and it was pretty impressive.

One interesting little factoid from Topkapi was about the "Cage". The Cage was a collection of apartments in the palace where the Sultan's brothers lived. Once the Sultan ascended to the throne, his brothers were sent to live here, with the finest furniture, foods, and dozens of concubines. The catch with the Cage was this: they couldn't leave. The idea was to avoid having to kill the brothers, which was done in the past to avoid a fratricidal power-grab. They had to stay in there until they were called upon to be sultan themselves, which was sometimes more than 20 years.

So, basically, when these guys got out, they were paranoid and crazy. Bonkers. Bananas. One guy would only practice his bow and arrow by shooting at a live target, preferably one of his pages. Another killed all of his concubines--all 300 of them--based upon hearing one rumor that one of them was up to no good.

I didn't say it was a nice factoid. Just an interesting one.