Living it up in Turkey

What do you call a guy who can speak Turkish, English, Russian and Bulgarian? Well, I can tell you what we called him and that's Mehmet. Mehmet was our guide for the last two days and an astoundingly educated and articulate Turkish man. We just love him. He seems to know just about everything there is to know about Turkish life, culture and history, and -- get this -- just about as much about American life, culture and history as we do -- sometimes more. He actually seemed to know things about the U.S.A. that I had long forgotten. I had to sort of slink down in my seat so he wouldn't call on me for the answers.

Anyway, after our usual breakfast on the ship's fantail this morning as the sun dawned red and orange over the harbor here in Kusadasi, Turkey, we loaded up the buses and headed for Aphrodisias some two and a half hours away. Now I'm sure you're going, "two and a half hours -- ugh!" But let me just tell you that the countryside in Turkey reminds me greatly of what southern California looked like when I was a kid there in the 1950s. Thirty-five percent of the natives (says Mehmet) are involved in small-farm agriculture. As you travel the highway north toward Aphrodisias, farm after farm growing olives, figs, oranges, grapes, strawberries, corn, and a host of other fruits and vegetables line the highway. Just to the west, is a small range of mountains much like California's San Gabriels. Right next to the highway runs a narrow-gauge railroad. As I sat there, gazing out the window at the passing countryside, I couldn't help but draw a parallel to California as I know it existed one hundred years ago when orange groves and grape vineyards covered the San Gabriel Valley. The tracks became those of California's Pacific Electric red streetcars that serviced the far flung communities in the L.A. basin. The many Turkish farms looked just like photos I've seen of their counterparts in California. It was almost surreal, like time traveling. All the serenity and beauty of old California is right here in living color in Turkey.

Speaking of living color, large parts of the country, even as it was in Greece, is covered in olive trees. They're everywhere. I'm sure you probably eat olive oil on a regular basis. Everyone does nowadays. Its health benefits are widely advertised. But on our ride yesterday our guide filled us in on some of added benefits of growing olive trees. First of all, our guide told us, the first pressing of the olives is used for the oil you find in your supermarket. Extra virgin, if you please, says Rachel Rae. But did you know that the second pressing, made predominately from the olive pits, is used here in Turkey for frying in restaurants and even at home? Yes, the guide said, this oil makes the most delicious fried potatoes in the world. And there's more. The pulp that is left from the second pressing is used as winter fuel, the burning of which produces a blue smoke and village after village that smells like fried potatoes.

The olive trees must be kept at a reasonable size to facilitate olive harvesting. So, the trimmings of young shoots that result from keeping the growth of the trees in check is used to feed the sheep and goats, which, the guide informed us, makes for a most delicious milk. The woody parts, that are left over from trimming or when trees must be cut down, are used for barbecuing, a process that makes for equally delicious lamb chops.

So, there you have it. I'm not sure that olive trees will grow in northern Nevada, but I'm sure going to check it out. If you see blue smoke coming from my chimney, you'll know I succeeded.

But more on our trip to Aphrodisias. Aphrodisias, as well as the site of Ephesus we visited yesterday, are absolutely FABULOUS archaeological sites. In most ways, they are on a par with Pompeii in Italy. In some ways, even better. First of all, the sites are huge, combining both outdoor and indoor displays, reconstructions, restorations, and ongoing digs. If you like towering marble pillars, hundreds of yards of marble walkways, and simply awesome frescoes and mosaics, you'll like these sites. I know without photos it's impossible to generate any enthusiasm for these Turkish treasures, but until I get off this boat and find a WiFi site, please look up the names and see what I'm talking about.

Today was extra special for our lunch stop. At just past 1:00 p.m. we were treated to a spectacular lunch at a roadside restaurant that encompassed many courses including Turkish beer, shiskabob, homemade pita bread, and prize-winning baklava and Turkish coffee. The meal took place under an arbor that featured drying peppers for decoration above our heads. Just a short distance away, green and purple ripened grapes hung from trellises and a strolling minstrel playing some sort of three-stringed instrument serenaded us while his pet parrot perched and danced on the instrument's neck.

We found our Turkish hosts to be extremely friendly and helpful and made our stay memorable. When it didn't look like the waiters would get enough Turkish coffee distributed before the buses started pulling out, I ventured back into the kitchen and the owner himself insisted on making me a custom Turkish coffee to order. I complimented him on his outstanding service and his outstanding coffee.

It's hard not to love it here. Let me tell you, I could easily see myself buying ten acres of olives and setting up a retirement retreat. And, if YOU'RE interested, foreigners are allowed to own real estate here in Turkey, though Mehmet tells me that that prices have definitely started to rise.

There was something else that made today's drive extra special. Some of you know that Concetta and I have been long-time Fiat owners. We purchased our first Fiat before we were even married back in 1977. The sedan Concetta drove to work for twenty some odd years still rests peacefully in the sanctuary of our garage. Other than that one example and the parts car in our back yard, seldom do we ever see an example in northern Nevada of a Fiat 131 Mira Fiori sedan. They are definitely on the endangered species list. But, much to our surprise, as we headed north out of Kusadasi this morning we immediately began to see numerous examples of our forty-year-old car. By the end of the day we had encountered perhaps more than a hundred. Now I know where all those Mira Fioris went to die. Except, they're not dead. They're alive and well and living in Turkey. Hooray!

At this moment, the Aegean Odyssey is gliding north through the "wine dark sea" as we make our way along the Turkish coast toward tomorrow's destination of Troy. At this point I have not done any reading on Troy so don't know what to expect. In fact, tonight's lecture on the subject is taking place without me as I type this blog. So, you and I will find out together what tomorrow brings. Until then, I bid you good night and good traveling. I don't know how to say any of that in Turkish, so you'll have to be content with boring old English. Ciao, tutti.