Turkey with Toldinstone 2024
10-3-24
Nine days, four hotels, two flights, and a whole lot of history – the Turkey TrovaTrip was always going to be busy. It could easily have been exhausting. But thanks to Alp, our fantastic guide, and the unflagging enthusiasm of the 17 travelers, everyone left wanting more.
On the first evening, energized by an hour-long Q&A session about Byzantium, we walked across the Galata Bridge for the welcome dinner. It was a beautiful evening; the domes and minarets of the old city were brilliantly illuminated, and fisherman were working the currents of the Golden Horn, rods twisting and dipping into twilight. Dinner was served at a long communal table beneath a trellis heavy with vines. I seem to recall an unconscionable amount of talk about Roman history…
10-4
We had only one full day in Istanbul, and we made the most of it. Alp and I decided to start with Hagia Sophia. There were practical reasons: it was Friday, and the mosque would be closed for prayers in the early afternoon. But Hagia Sophia was also a symbolic point of departure – the epicenter of Byzantine of history, the model for every church and mosque that came after it, etc. etc. I told the group as much at length as we waited in the line that snaked from the new tourist entrance to parts unknown.
It was worth the wait. Although visitors are now restricted to the galleries, we were able to tour the mosaics and look down over the majestic nave. Alp and I spoke, but the building was more eloquent.
Hustled out of Hagia Sophia before Friday prayers, we made our way to the Hippodrome, where I enthused about obelisks and chariot collisions. After lunch at a heroically busy kofte restaurant, we joined the line for the Blue Mosque. I had not been inside since my first visit to Istanbul, back in 2007, and I had forgotten how spectacular it all was. Light streamed through the tulip-patterned stained-glass windows and played over the delicate patterns of countless Iznik tiles, turquoise and aquamarine and every color of spring. Despite the crowds, it felt serene.
The Grand Bazaar did not. Alp took the lead here, driving a way through milling mobs, mopeds, and other mayhem. Onward we went, past tat of every description and dazzling displays of what purported to gold. We scattered, we straggled; but in the end, none were lost.
At last, near the aromatic confines of the Spice Bazaar, we climbed a flight of weathered steps and emerged in the placid courtyard of the Rustem Pasha Mosque. We sat on stone benches under a cloudless sky, waiting for the end of afternoon prayers. As the worshippers filed out, we filed in. There were only a few people inside. As in the Blue Mosque, I was struck by the effects of light on the blues and greens of Iznik tiles. The sun was lower now, and rays shafted through the westward windows, forming brilliant patterns on the carpets.
The hotel was a short walk away. After a brief break there, most of the group joined me and Alp for a nighttime visit to the Archaeological Museum, open late thanks to a cultural festival. We – or at least I – spent a pleasant hour and a half among the exhibits before emerging, footsore but content, into the warm evening.
10-5
After breakfast, we boarded the 26-seat bus that would shuttle us around for the next three days. Escaping the gravitational pull of Istanbul took hours. We encountered traffic in the old city, around the Ataturk Bridge, and again in the endless Asian suburbs.
Alp and I had changed the itinerary, adding a stop at Iznik, ancient Nicaea. For the past seventeen centuries, Iznik has been defined by its walls. These were and are magnificent – great cliffs of Roman brick that anticipate (and may have inspired) the famous Theodosian walls of Constantinople. We stopped at the Lefke Gate, where the impact of my lecture was somewhat diminished by a trio of kittens that played around my feet and tried to climb my legs as I spoke.
From the walls, we walked to Hagia Sophia, an early Christian church recently restored and reopened as a mosque. It was here, almost certainly, that the Seventh Ecumenical Council was held, and I spoke on the topic while standing by the base of the altar. The group seemed to enjoy the sense of history.
After a late lunch, we returned to the bus for the long drive to Ayvalik, a formerly Greek coastal village that has become a popular summer vacation. We walked around some of the old Greek buildings, then descended on a seafood place perched on piers over the harbor. I enjoyed a bream caught a few hours before in the harbor.
10-6
This morning, just after breakfast, I waked out to the pier behind the hotel for a view of the harbor, brilliant beneath a cloudless sky. A few fishing boats bobbed picturesquely in the middle distance. Then it was back to the bus for the short ride to Kucukoyuk, another Greek village turned resort. The group enjoyed wandering along the streets and playing with the usual assortment of not-quite-stray cats and dogs.
Then onward to Ephesus, Turkey’s premier archaeological site. Nothing and everything had changed since my last visit: new excavations, new theories; but the same slippery pavement underfoot and the same crowds pressing on every side. As we slid our way down the Street of the Curetes, I talked about Greek inscriptions, Roman baths, and other things of the ilk. Alp provided the rest.
For an unfathomable reason, a fashion show was being held on the plaza in front of the Library of Celsus. We were able, however, to take a group photo a short distance away.
10-7
Since Pamukkale is almost three hours from Ephesus, we spent much of the day driving. With this group, however, long drives are part of the fun. Sitting up front across from Alp, I could hear the hum of half a dozen conversations behind me. The back of the bus was especially animated; geopolitics seemed to be the favorite topic.
At last, the white scar of the travertine terraces appeared through the umber hills. We entered the site from the north, through the necropolis, and had the long, bleached ranks of tombs to ourselves. It was as evocative as I remembered: weighty sarcophagi and ponderous mausolea arrayed, row on silent row, along the ancient road.
After a group photo at the Gate of Frontinus and a detour to admire the terraces, we made our way to the antique baths, where visitors can splash in warm spring water over the ruins of the agora. There the group dispersed. I spent the next two and a half hours filming, working from one end of the site to the other. The highlight was the Plutonion, where archaeologists had recently cleared a boiling spring believed to be an entrance to the underworld. The spring was spectacular; but every time I tried to film, a flight-seeing helicopter would swoop in low over the site and ruin my audio.
Up the hill, at the theater, I joined a few members of the group in admiring the view of the ruins and the valley beyond. I filmed here, I filmed there, and finally I jogged back to rejoin Alp by the south entrance. A late lunch (the group preferred the term “drunch” to “linner”) on a shady patio wrapped up our visit to Pamukkale.
10-8
This morning, we were supposed to fly from Izmir to Kayseri. Thanks, however, to the sort of last-minute changes that seem to always enliven my tours, we were diverted to Konya, nearly four hours from Cappadocia. Although I was less than thrilled by this development, it allowed us to incorporate a visit to the shrine of Rumi into the itinerary. Alp explained the significance of the Mevlana; I stood by, nodding and smiling.
We had a late lunch across the street from the museum, then embarked on the long, long ride over the tedium of the Anatolian Plateau. I was reminded of the American High Plains – arid, windy, and empty. The conical summit of Mount Hassan loomed in the distance, then faded into the sunset. Night fell long before we reached Urgup, our base in Cappadocia. Most of the group stayed at a recently-opened cave hotel run by a friendly family. For reasons of space, I was diverted to a somewhat less cheerful hotel a short distance downhill.
After dropping my bags, I took an evening stroll down streets lined by beetling stone walls and crooked doors. As I made my way back up toward the hotel, a puppy followed me, nipping playfully at my hand when I rubbed him.
10-9
After a relaxing breakfast on the terrace of the main hotel, we launched into a busy day. The first stop was Ozkonak underground city. Although I had never visited, the basic layout was familiar from my 2017 trip to Derinkuyu. Here, as there, the chambers and passages probably assumed their definitive shape in the Middle Byzantine period, though parts may date back to the Bronze Age.
We scrambled through the narrow tunnels, single-file and stooped. The taller members of our group began ducking reflexively whenever we entered a new room. At the visit’s end, about half of us squeezed through a tufa tube to a final isolated chamber.
The bus brought us to Avanos, where I was the lucky volunteer at a pottery demonstration. I molded what I think was a reasonably shapely vase, but proceeded to mangle the rim as the distraught craftsman wrung his hands and exclaimed “no, no – pinch, pinch!”
Next up was a short hike among the famous “fairy chimneys” of Goreme. As so often on this trip, our group accumulated a small pack of dogs, including a puppy that scampered along behind us for a half-hour. The hike ended at a ridge ringed by chimneys. We dispersed among them – exploring, taking pictures, and (in my case) working on a YouTube promo. My gym shoes slipped and scuffed on the dusty slopes.
We ate lunch at Fat Boys, Alp’s favorite restaurant in Goreme. I ordered the testi (pot) kebab; it was delicious, though I was drenched with gravy during the ceremonious opening.
Although the Goreme Open Air Museum was more crowded than I remembered, the cave churches were still impressive. Once Alp and I had provided some orientation, the group dispersed. As I climbed up to a refectory with a spectacular view of the mesas and canyons below, an Eastern European tourist walked up to me. “My friend, perhaps you have a YouTube channel?”
That evening, I joined Alp and about two-thirds of the group at a whirling dervish performance in a medieval Han. The ceremony lasted about 45 minutes. Despite a coughing fit during the plaintive flute solo at the beginning (and deep-seated skepticism about cultural performances for tourists), I was impressed by how music and motion combined into something I half-understood.
Emerging into the cool evening, a crescent moon overhead, we made our way to Urgup’s main drag for a late dinner at a family-run place. I ordered what turned to be an excellent lamb and potato dish, and enjoyed the even rarer pleasure of talking Roman history over the meal.
10-10
Up an hour before dawn, I joined six group members on the bumpy ride to a field outside Goreme. There we watched as nearly 150 hot air balloons were inflated on the hills around us. Dragon-like tongues of flame filled the air. Our own balloon was relatively small, with a basket capacity of only 20. We were among the last to launch, which meant that we missed the sunrise but had a spectacular view of the balloons ahead.
Our pilot brought the balloon to 8,000 feet – the legal maximum – and an impressive panorama opened, dominated by the distant sunlit summit of Mount Erciyes. After a while, we descended toward the spidery web of gulleys around Goreme, and rosy ranks of fairy chimneys leapt into focus. During the last part of the flight, the balloon was only 30 or 40 feet above the ground, and the pinnacles seemed close enough to touch.
One of the group members dared the pilot to land the balloon directly on its trailer, and he did so with gusto. Since there was no place nearby to actually deflate the balloon, we stood in the basket, balloon hovering above, as the trailer was towed to a convenient field. The stares and laughter of the other pilots led us to believe that this sort of thing is not standard operating procedure.
After breakfast back at the hotel terrace, the bus brought us to the Kayseri Airport. We flew to Istanbul’s Asian airport, but ended up in the same hotel – albeit only after expert maneuvering on the part of the bus driver, who nearly pulverized some street carts in the process.
I had organized a final walk through Istanbul, emphasizing the continuity of the city’s history. We passed a neglected Byzantine cistern, walked up a weathered street of 18th century shops, went by the old fire tower (backlit blue to indicate that the weather would be fair the following day), and finally entered the terrace of the Suleymaniye Mosque. It was just after sunset, and lights were coming on in the city below. We took our pictures of Istanbul, old and new, then trooped down toward the Golden Horn for the farewell dinner.
