Some general observations left out of the original postings

See the photos of the trip. The links are in the Photo section to the left. You should be able to see all the photos, but the link takes you to a specific photo that has relevance to the label.

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In each country we purchased a SIM card for my phone. Before we left the US, I had contacted Cingular and found out how to unlock my GMS cell phone. By doing so, it became possible to convert the cell phone into a local phone in each country we visit. The price of the SIM was 5 euros in Greece and 10 liras in Turkey. In these countries, incoming calls do not use minutes (or units, as they are calculated). Outgoing calls are quite expensive, however, and we added some units to the phone in each country.

The phone came in quite handy. We were able to call hotels if we were lost. We were reachable by people with whom we were trying to be in touch, both locally and back in the States. And we looked officially native, carrying around a phone, after all.

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There was a lot to keep track of on a trip like this: flight confirmations, reservations, passports, cell phones, plug adapters, chargers, people's phone numbers that we had learned, maps, car keys,.... We had a few frights that accompanied lapses of memory during the 19 days we were away. What did I do with my wallet? Where did we put the tickets? Who has the boarding passes? Did we remember to lock the car?

Leaving the hotel one evening in Athens, Rosi was not familiar with the custom of leaving your key at the hotel desk when you go out. When asked, the clerk said that it is preferred to leave the key, but if she wanted to carry it with her, that would be all right, “just don't losing it.” (sic) He repeated his admonition as we were going out the door, “just don't losing it.” A few hours later, we returned and I asked for our key, which the clerk pulled from the box with our room number on it. Rosi also asked for her key, and the clerk reminded her that she had taken it with her. Rosi was insulted by the suggestion, and insisted that he produce her key. Yoyi and I then added to the discussion that she had, indeed, taken the key with her. Rosi was adamant that she had left the key. When Yoyi asked her to check her purse, she reluctantly looked for them, and found the keys in her purse.

We were in the Athens central market that morning, and I put my hand on my cell phone holster,... and the phone wasn't there! “OH, NO!” I exclaimed. (“Oh, no” became a catch phrase on our trip. Someone would say, “oh, no,” and everyone's stomach would tie in a knot.) Could I have dropped it in the market? Or maybe on the street before we entered the market. Oi vey; how am I going to find this phone? OK, here's what we'll do: You walk through the market with the phone holster, searching for the phone. Maybe the merchants will see you searching and might figure out that you're looking for something, and maybe someone would have found the phone. Meanwhile, I'll go back to the hotel and see if it's there or on the ground between here and there. So far, 3 minutes of anxious strategizing. Right; and we'll meet back at this entrance to the market. See you in about 15 minutes. Off I went, putting my hand in my pocket to make sure I had the key to the hotel room, and... ... there was the phone – in my pocket instead of the phone holster.

It became a caricature of me to lose track of something, but everyone had at least a few bouts of forgetfulness. Somewhere I wrote down examples of the things we forgot, but I can't remember where I wrote that list; in fact I had not remembered that I wrote the list until Rosi reminded me.

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Many hotels have roof patios, where you can enjoy the view, and take advantage of the sea breezes. We went up to the top of the hotel in Athens one evening, where a couple of other guests were sitting and chatting over a beer. We took the elevator to the top floor. (Short digression here: Almost all elevators in these countries are small, accommodating at most 3 or 4 people. You call the elevator with the button, but if the elevator is already in use, it won't respond to your button; you have to wait until it is available to call it. Then, when it arrives at your floor, there are no automatic doors; you pull the door open to enter the elevator.) After a few minutes on the roof terrace we called the elevator to take us down. After a short while, we pushed the button again, but nothing happened; the light showing that the elevator was “in use” did not go on. Hmm. Push it again; still no response. Not wanting to show panic, I walked around the roof to find the stairs; the door to the staircase was locked. Back to the elevator to try the call button again. Nothing. Maybe the other guests on the roof know what to do in this situation. One of them came over to the elevator to see what he could do. He pulled on the door, and the elevator was there, waiting.

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Our suitcases got heavier and heaver as we traveled. While we were getting more and more physically fit, we were adding to the weight of the suitcases faster than we were increasing our strength. But somehow, Rosi's baggage started out heavier and always was the heaviest. We discussed this phenomenon one day, and Rosi attributed it to the weight of the fabric of her suitcase. We had a good laugh at her expense, when she proposed that idea, and she suffered several times later in the trip when we conveniently brought up how heavy her fabric is.

Miami, Florida, June 22, 2007

Trying to sleep through the night in Voula on the eve of an all-day endurance flight, we were foiled by the heavy traffic on our street. All night long, the cars sped by – some sounding as if they were racing. Oh, and don't forget the motorcycles. We were up by 5:00 to make our 7:20 flight. The drive to the airport was even faster than we had anticipated and we ended up having breakfast in the VIP lounge of the airport, waiting for boarding time.

The so-called business class flight from Athens to Madrid was as uncomfortable coming as it had been going. But when we got to Madrid for our layover we hightailed it straight for the Iberia VIP lounge. We thought to ask if we could change our reservation for the earlier flight, and we were almost successful, but the attendant somehow lost the third seat. So she had to put us back on the original flight. In the intervening 3 minutes, someone had grabbed one of our seats on that flight, and that left us without enough places. We sweated for a minute, and decided to sit in the lounge and let her deal with it.

As we ate pastries and coffee, the attendant came back to us and advised us we were back to our originally scheduled flight. We joked among ourselves how happy it made us simply to be back to the starting point. We settled in for our 4-hour layover, eating smoked salmon, brie, and other delicacies, and drinking wine, espresso, and juices.

Wandering around the lounge, Rosi discovered after 3 hours that there is a darkened room with cots for people to nap. Nuts! If we had only known of this 3 hours ago! Well, now we know for the next time.

Finally, the plane to Miami, with the 2 crying babies and the elderly man who coughed continually, both keeping everyone up and worrying all of us that we might catch some horrible disease. Was it only an hour ago that I calculated it would be 4 more hours in flight? What's the converse of “time flies when you're having fun?”

Well, we arrived at Miami International Airport what seems like 2 days after we got on the plane in Madrid. Made it through passport check in about 2 minutes and we were at the luggage carousel before it even started. Our baggage, checked through from Greece with “priority” tags would be out soon. Or so we thought.

When we were the only ones still waiting, we concluded that there might be a problem. After reporting it to the official, who checked with his baggage department, he advised us that it would be in tomorrow, and that they would deliver it to Cooper City. Annoyed, we breezed through customs and met Rebecca, who came to pick us up. She had thoughtfully driven our van to work that day so that she could pick us up and have room for all the luggage. Oh, well.

After greeting all the pets and a light snack, we were all in bed before 9:00 (4:00 AM, Athens time).

Voula, Greece, June 21, 2007

This morning the girls knew that beach was in the schedule. Since all our plans had been made sight unseen, we asked whether the beaches here or nearer to Athens were better. A nearby beach was recommended.

Previously, we had discussed the asklepion of Epidavros, known for its amphitheater. Our hotel proprietor urged us to go, but Yoyi and Rosi had beach on the mind. It is only about 30 km to Epidavros from Nafplio, so we decided that I would drop them off at the local beach if we found it to be nice, and I would explore on my own.

We drove out in the direction of the beach, continually climbing. We thought it strange that the beach might be higher than the town, but we soon found that the beach lay on the other side of the mountain. As we crested the hill, the cove and the beach came into view and we gasped at its beauty. I left them scurrying to the umbrellas by the beach.

I drove off towards Epidavros. As I neared the area, there was a sign towards Paleo Epidavros one direction and the Theater of Epidavros in the other. I figured I should see both. I found the small amphitheater in the old city (now a beach town, but then a port), where several teams of government anthropologists were working, brooms, toothbrushes, and teaspoons in hand, as well as picks, scoops and shovels. One of the team spoke perfect English. I asked him about that, and he said that he watched a lot of TV as a kid; one of the few benefits, he said, of the TV.

I didn't understand, at first, why the famous large amphitheater of Epidavros was situated 12 km from the old town. It turns out that the site was an Asklepion (see the June 9) – a hospital or maybe more like a sanitorium or spa. In any case, remarkably, tens of thousands of people were available to attend theater performances in this amphitheater, several hours horse ride (or more importantly, a day's walk) distant from the town. The place was crawling with archaeologists, and many scaffolds were erected. They would fashion little huts out of large flat pieces of styrofoam, glued together, and they would move them around to shade themselves from the blistering sun.

The theater is used to this day for performances. Many people, including me, had climbed to the top of the theater, and someone would stand in the stage area (proscenium) and recite something in a normal voice. It was clearly audible at the top row. I can't say what it would be like if the audience were coughing or talking or otherwise misbehaving.

When I arrived at about 10:00 there were already tour buses, but by the time I left at about 11:00 there were more buses than I could count.

On the way to Epidavros, there were numerous sites marked, including a Mycenian tholos burial site, and several Mycenian bridges, still standing and some in use.

I met Rosi and Yoyi back at the beach, where they were enjoying themselves in the warm clear water. They forced me to change and to try the water. It was, indeed, nice. We stayed there until it got quite late, considering that we had to make it all the way to the other side of Athens today. Leaving the beach, Rosi spotted a crate of apricots and asked how much they cost. The fellow at the cafe said to take as many as we want for nothing. He then started to fill a shopping bag. We had to shout at him to stop, which he finally did after scooping up about 2 kilos.

I had figured that it would be convenient to stay south of Athens, closer to the airport. Since the airport hotels were 300 euros and more, that was out of the question. I found a hotel in the beach town of Voula, where I had originally assumed we would spend the afternoon at the water. (I think we did better near Nafplio.) It took us some time to find the hotel, as usual.

The hotel had no internet service, so we decided to go out and check email and eat dinner. We went to the center of the next small town, 2 km away. This upscale town hosts a huge number of tourist, and the main street had all the stores, and all manner of restaurants, including every American brand you can imagine. We couldn't find free service, so we went to the internet cafe and checked up on the home folks, before returning to the hotel.

Nafplio, Greece, June 20, 2007

Today we visited Delphi. The Greek gods had sent out messengers to find the center of knowledge and discovered the oracle at Delphi – here, at “the navel of the world.” If the oracle lived there today, his brain would be cooked. By the time we visited the site at 9:30 am, it was already about 90 degrees F. We didn't was to spend a lot of time at the site, but wanted to see the Tholos, the famous remains that everyone has seen in pictures and postcards of Delphi.

Shortly after leaving Delphi, we passed through a cute little town perched on a mountainside. It caters to the ski trade in the winter, but it was even busy at this time. The slopes look almost vertical to me. It's hard to imagine skiing in this heat.

Our next stop was to be Mycenea, the pre-classical city of Agamemnon. By now Yoyi and Rosi were tired of driving and tired of ruins and rebellling against my rigid scheduling. They decided to sit on a bench under a tree while I visited the site. This is the city that appears in all art history books, the “Lion's Gate” being the most famous icon. The civilization dates from around 1300 BCE, and considerable archaeological excavation and reconstruction is underway.

Imagine huge stone buildings, all having fallen down over centuries, and having been strewn about by the forces of nature and by people walking off with building materials to construct new buildings, which themselves have since fallen down. Then thousands of years later you come upon the scene and try to reassemble the puzzle – with missing pieces, of course – back into buildings. Remember: unlike a puzzle you buy in the store, there's no picture on the cover to tell you what the finished product is supposed to look like.

I ran through the ruins in 40-degree weather, as the girls allowed me a half hour. I took about 40 minutes. After we left the main site, we stopped on the way down the hill at the vaulted tomb of Agamemnon, another structure you may have seen in your art history classes.

On the way to our overnight destination, we passed citrus groves, almond groves, and apricot groves. We passed through more little towns with their narrow winding streets. In one of them, a local man seemed to be stationed at one of the narrow points helping to direct traffic through and avoid head-on collisions.

We arrived at Nafplio, at the south end of the Peloponese, fronting on the Mediterranean, where the Aegean meets the Adriatic. Looking for our hotel, we came upon a storekeeper who spoke no English or German, but did speak some French. So he directed us in French, but we must have missed one part of the instructions. We came back to the town square and located the tourist bureau, and the greeter gave us a map and directions. It has surely saved us a few times to be able to communicate in German and now French.

We drove up the hill behind the medieval castle and parked. We went down some steps and through an old Venetian city gate down some more steps and saw a sign for the bed and breakfast. The office was up a flight of stairs, where we arrived, winded. The proprietor showed us to our rooms. The establishment comprised a number of older refurbished buildings that followed the hillside down towards the town. Our rooms were a total of about 3 flights down, on a courtyard with lemon trees. Our balcony overlooked a house with an orange tree, and the street that led towards the town square.

Problem was that, whether we wanted to go to the car or to breakfast or to the town, there were hills or steps to climb. One of us complained about this in front of the proprietor, who offered, “People who want flat go to Holland. People come to Greece to see the beautiful mountains.”

Roast Lamb had sounded good earlier in the trip, so we asked for a recommendation from our hotelier. He pointed to the restaurant from his terrace. (Remember, we were high above the city at this point.) We walked down to the restaurant and ordered two dishes that were so large that we decided to share them, and we still couldn't finish the food. One was roasted lamb with potato; the other was lamb in a typical egg/lemon sauce with leeks and dill. I don't have to rub it in that it was delicious, do I?

After dinner and a walk through the tourist section, we settled in to have ice cream on the town square. We were reminded again how pleasant it is to spend time in the little towns of our travels. What a difference we enjoyed here, as compared to the crush of the big cities we have visited.

Thessaloniki, Greece, June 19, 2007

We didn't sleep well last night on the train. It's not that the accommodations were bad, but the interruptions ruin the continuity. After the passport checks and the customs checks, they changed engines from the Turkish engine to a Greek engine, and attached it at the other end of the train. We were off, clackety clacking down the rails towards Thessaloniki.

Going to the bathroom in the train is also like going back in time. The toilets don't exactly flush, they just open to the tracks below, and everything spills out of the bottom of the train. For the convenience of the mix of nationalities traveling on the train, there were two types of toilets. At one end of the rail car, there was a standard, western toilet. At the other end of the car, there was an eastern toilet: fundamentally nothing more than a hole in the floor with a place to put your feet while you squat over the hole.

The train was scheduled to arrive at 8:00. At 7:00, the conductor knocked on the door offering to sell us breakfast. We declined. About a half hour later, the other conductor came through to return our ticket stubs. We asked if we would arrive on time. He said, we would arrive at about 9:00.

We had previously contacted a Greek violin teacher, who had recently been hired by Georgia State University to teach in their Music Department. Coincidentally, he lives in Thessaloniki. We hoped to meet him during the trip, so Yoyi had emailed him previously to arrange a meeting. A couple of days earlier, we emailed him again regarding the train schedule, asking him to call us on our Greek cell phone after about 8:00, when the train was scheduled to arrive. He responded that he would.

In the morning, I re-inserted my Greek SIM card in my phone to activate my Greek phone number. It blinked “Enter PIN code.” “What PIN code,” I wondered. I looked at all the serial numbers and other ID numbers on the SIM card, and tried one. “Incorrect PIN; 2 attempts remaining.” Uh oh! Maybe there's something on the document I received when I bought the phone; where did I put it?? “Yoyi, did I give it to you?” No. Oh, gee, what am I going to do. I guess I'll have to look for a Vodafone office in Thessaloniki when we arrive, to see if there is any way that they can get around the PIN request. But what if he calls before I can do that? What if they can't override the PIN? Why had we not thought of asking Christos, the professor, for his phone number?

With our stomachs growling, 9:00 came and went. At about 9:45 we pulled into the Thessaloniki station. Our plan was that the girls would stay at the station with our luggage to eat breakfast while I 1) find a Vodafone office and see if they can make my phone work, and 2) find an internet cafe to email the professor that we are here – late – and that he should call us.

I set off down the street with my PC slung over my shoulder and happened upon a Vodafone store about 3 blocks from the station. I went in and found a very helpful clerk who not only found out how to override the PIN, but also changed the PIN to something that I could remember. One task down. I asked where I could find the nearest internet cafe. He explained that it was about 4 or 5 blocks.

Armed with my functioning telephone, off I went in search of the internet. When I couldn't find the cafe, I thought to myself that I might be able to attach to a wireless network in the street. I tried in a couple of places that were among office buildings, and soon I had found a network that allowed me to attach. I sent an email to Christos and walked back to the train station, mission accomplished.

I met the girls and got breakfast. While I ate, Yoyi called the Avis office, and asked them to bring the car to the train station. They would do that for 10 Euros, and would be there in a half hour. Indeed, they were there in only 50 minutes. We loaded up our stuff, and prepared to leave.

Our professor had not yet called. It would be a shame if we were in Thessaloniki and had not had a chance to meet with him. While driving around in circles, trying to figure out the one-way streets and to locate the road to the national highway, Christos called. Looking at a map, we agreed on a place to meet. It was already nearly noon, but it would take him almost an hour to get to our meeting place. We could walk on the waterfront, we figured, while we wait for him, since the location was only about 1 or 2 km from our present position.

We didn't have to bide our time waiting. 45 minutes later we had traveled the short linear distance and had arrived at our meeting point; we found a parking lot and Christos called us. He was only a block away and would meet us at the parking lot. The parking facility was a high-tech wonder. As we drove in, we received a ticket as you expect in any garage, but the ticket indicated a specific gate; ours was B-5. Luckily, there were people there to assist, since high-tech stuff is not our forte. We drove to B-5 and entered what looked like a turntable – and that's what it was. We drove onto the turntable until the wheel-stops, got out, collected everything we needed from the car, locked the car, pushed the mirrors in, and exited the area after stamping our ticket.

The turntable rotated 90 degrees to face an elevator which had opened in the meantime. Untouched by humans, the car entered the elevator and disappeared. We are told that the car is automatically placed into a parking spot on a lower level, and retrieved later when we present our ticket. A juke box comes to mind.

We exited from the parking facility and there was Christos to meet us. He reminded me of a student more than a professor from the way he was dressed. We exchanged greetings and went to have lunch together. He ordered a few Greek specialties and would not let us pay for lunch. During the meal, we discussed music, teaching philosophies and techniques, Atlanta, Greece, and the weather. He appears to be a conscientious teacher with good music credentials.

We got on the road pretty late, given the distance we had to make this day. When we were on our way, we called Rachel, a cousin of Aaron's mother who lives in the town of Larissa, on our way south. It seemed ironic to us that we would be able to visit people in Thessaloniki and Larissa, having learned of them long after making our travel arrangements, which would take us through both locations.

Just off the road, south of Thessaloniki, rises Mt. Olympus, home of the Greek gods, and famous in all the tales of Greek mythology. Even at this time, in these searing temperatures at sea level, there was some remaining snow on the peaks of the mountain. Today, I don't think any gods were in the office, as we saw no lightning nor heard any thunder. It's obvious why the Greeks might have thought that the gods lived on that mountain; it is a spectacular sight to see, massive and imposing over the surrounding valleys and other mountain ranges.

Finding addresses and locations has been the bane of our trip. Just about everything on this trip went like clockwork until we had to find a specific location or address. We got to Larissa with no more information than what Rachel's daughter, Mathilde, had told us: that she lives very close to the main square in the center of town. We followed the signs directing us towards the town center, “Kentpo” until we got to what appeared to be a town square. We asked a taxi driver to lead us to the address, which he did, for only a 2 euro fare. The address was very close to the town square, but without help, we would never have been able to figure out the combination of turns and one way streets that got us to the final destination.

Rachel was overjoyed to see us, and ushered us into her apartment on the first floor (that's “second” floor for us Americans) in a building without an elevator. She is 75 and her husband is 83, and they negotiate the steps all the time. She offered us refreshments, and was disappointed that we would not stay for dinner, as she was planning to take us for roast lamb. She also called Nike's daughter, her niece, who works only a couple of blocks away, and who speaks English.

We conversed for a long time in a mix of Ladino and Spanish, and the girls later commented on how well they communicate in the language, given that they probably have not used Ladino since they were children.

It became clear that in spite of several attempts at explanation, Rachel misunderstood the relationship, thinking that Rosi was part of her family. It was quite confusing to her how Rosi could be part of her family but Yoyi – Rosa's sister – not be part of the family. In fact, they commented on how Yoyi didn't resemble anyone in the family. It was only shortly before leaving that she finally understood that it was Aaron's mother who is her relative.

When it was time to go, she escorted us out and walked us down the street to show us the holocaust memorial statue in the middle of the square and the synagogue, just off the square. She does her own shopping, walking, and attends services with her husband regularly. In these societies, if you survived the childhood illnesses in the early part of the 20^th century, then the good food and exercise contributed to a long life that only wars and the maniac drivers might shorten. In fact, during WWII, Rachel's family fled to the mountains of central Greece to hide from the Nazis and were able to survive the madness.

It was about 6:30, and we had three hours of driving ahead of us to arrive in Delphi, in the mountains of central Greece. We left the superhighway shortly south of Larissa and began a long stretch of 2-lane driving in mountainous terrain, up, then down, then up, then down, then up again, and down again. The roads switched back and turned precariously over deep valleys and under soaring peaks with unbelievable vistas. We would get caught behind a truck lumbering up a hill at 7 mph or another downshifting to negotiate a 10% downgrade at 10 mph so that the truck would not run away. Those were the time that Yoyi was comfortable – when we were driving under about 40 kph (a little less than 30 mph).

Me? I love mountain driving. I love figuring out the acceleration and deceleration that each incline and curve requires. When it started to get dark, however, it became tedious. We didn't get to Delphi until about 10:00.

We had expected Delphi to be a quiet little backwater where they roll up the sidewalks at sundown. On the contrary, it was packed with young people listening to loud music in bars and tavernas “taβερνa” and filling the streets to the point that they were practically impassible. We found the hotel on the main street and wearily went to check in, only to be told that they were overbooked and had put one of us in another (inferior) hotel. We told them that such a condition would not be acceptable. The clerk/owner was somewhat surly, and not very helpful. Finally, after about a half hour, he arranged two rooms in a relative's hotel that turned out to be better accommodations than the originally reserved rooms.

After our meetings and considerable driving, not to mention the scheduling mixup and the phone disaster, we were at the end of our physical and emotional endurance. But we were proud of ourselves to have accomplished so much today.

Istanbul, Turkey, June 18, 2007

On our last day in Istanbul we would try to see several things that we had been unable to get to previously. First we went to the famous Blue Mosque, supposedly the only mosque in the world with six minarets. There is a special visitors' entrance, where everyone removes their shoes, and those dressed in shorts or sleeveless shirts are provided with a cover-up. The mosque is immense, with columns that must have been 20 feet in diameter. There are no paintings or statues in mosques, but the tiles, plasterwork, and stonework in Arabic caligraphy are used to decorate the interior.

By the way, there is a mosque on almost every corner, each with its muezin who calls the faithful to prayer 5 times a day. They wake you up at daybreak, before sunrise, several times during the day, and then at dark. Occasionally, one will start to call out, and another down the street will answer with a similar refrain. Sort of “duelling muezins.” These mosques are not insignificant edifices; they are substantial buildings with one, two, or 4 minerets, lavishly decorated, even with gold leaf in some cases. On practically every block!

Next we wanted to go to the major palace that pashas and government leaders through Ataturk lived in. The tour guide (uh... who would that be?) failed to remember that most such public buildings are closed on Mondays, so our trip out there was a waste of time.

Our next stop was the Egyptian Spice Market. En route we were waylaid by a baklava shop, where we decided to stop and have a snack and use the bathroom. We sat in a cafe upstairs overlooking the street, and while we shared a rice pudding (not as good as Abuela Belina's) we contemplated all the Islamic women passing by, covered up to varying degrees. Some wear all black and show nothing but nose and eyes. Others only wear a head scarf and modest clothing. A large number wear the head covering, and also wear an overcoat on top of their modest clothing. In 35-degree heat, it's hard to imagine how they stand it.

By the way, these are not only married women, but unmarried as well. Ironically, young women dressed in scarves and long sleeves walk with their boyfriends hand in hand, occasionally smooching and hugging. Ipods hang from many necks; one wonders what they are listening to. According to our Jewish friends, this is a new phenomenon.

We then entered the Spice Market. The first section, outdoors, was like 20 miniature Home Depot garden sections. Plants and seeds were for sale, along with manure, fertilizer, and flowers. Each booth was only about 10 feet by 20 feet, so it shouldn't be hard to imagine how packed they were.

Inside the covered market, the spice vendors, side by side, were selling every type of herb and spice, along with dried fruits, nuts, teas, and confections. The spices and teas were piled in high pyramids in the bins, and the colors were enchanting. They offered the finest Iranian saffron or if you wanted the inferior Turkish lineage, that was also available. There was paprika of various types, whole or ground coriander and cumin. “Come smell our teas.” “Take home some spices.”

One of the most impressive displays was the variety of huge blocks of hard jellies (similar to dulce de guayaba) made of fig, apricot, plums, and who knows what else, many of them with embedded pistachios or other delicious surprises. These were blocks the size of a 10-gallon paint can, from which the merchant would slice off portions for sale by the kilo. Most vendors also had dried fruits stuffed with nuts. One particular variety was figs stuffed with walnuts, which was labeled with some variety of the nomenclature, “Turkish Viagra.”

We could barely tear ourselves away, but we wanted to find a restaurant for lunch. It turns out that the restaurant we chose had no rest room. When we asked they were apologetic, but there were no facilities. A minute or two later, the son of the owner came to our table and signaled for Rosi to follow him. He led her down the block to another building and ushered her to the rest room in that establishment. Then he escorted her back to the restaurant.

My intent was to walk the length of Uzunçarsi Caddesi (Longmarket Street) to take in the many shops and the hustle and bustle of business in this genuine market district. We walked past shops that were what you might expect: hardware (this one sells plumbing supplies, and that one sells electrical), housewares, clothing stores, book stores, shoe stores, small groceries and cafes with 2 tables (selling döner for 2 YTL) – most of the shopkeepers standing in front of their stores. But there were also the specialty shops: stores that sell only buttons, those that sell only buckles, only wrapping paper, guns, labels, beads, knives, girdles.

Men pushing or pulling huge loads on carts or on handtrucks, up or down the hills, raced through the streets. Occasionally, when the carrier was having trouble making it up an incline, a storekeeper might step out to help by pushing. And the delivery trucks squeeze between the walkers and the carriers and the handcarts full of fruits or merchandise – all in a street that might be a total of 10 feet wide or less. The market area seemed to be never-ending. When you think you are coming out of the tangle of narrow streets, you enter a labyrinth of 4 more intersecting streets. It borders on overwhelming.

During our walk through Market Street, we detoured to see the Rüstem Pasha Mosque, not usually visited by strangers, up a nearly hidden staircase. This mosque is known for its beautiful tilework all over the outside of the building as well as inside.

We came out of the bustling market district straight into the Istanbul equivalent of Rodeo Drive or the Champs Elysee. Along a broad pedestrian mall, seriously Upscale shops on both sides sell all manner of expensive products, but mostly carpets and expensive jewelry. On the way back to the hotel, we sat in the park, next to a fountain for a long time, resting. We had walked about 5 miles by this time.

Back at the hotel, we chatted with the proprietor, learning a little about the Turkish culture. (He is Moroccan, married to a Turk.) During our chat, some friends of his showed up with a flat of organic cherries, which he shared with us. For breakfast the last two days, he has had organic butter and eggs. Breakfast here has been outstanding. We had yogurt with tahini and raisin syrup, hard boiled eggs, cheeses, dried fruits, bread and butter and jam, coffee, and a variety of juices.

At seven we called a taxi (taksi) to take us to the train station. We were to board the 8:00 train to travel overnight to Thessaloniki, in Greece. When we got there we learned that there was no dining car, so we rushed out and picked up a “take-away” dinner of lentil soup and döner with veggies in flat bread. We were back on the train in time and ate our repast while we were headed towards Greece.

I stayed up to write blog postings, but the girls tried to sleep. At 12:30 we were waked up for Turkish passport check at the international frontier. Then 20 minutes later, the Turkish customs agent came through. (Ours was the only compartment not inspected.) Then we left the station at about 1:15. At about 1:30 we stopped on the Greek side of the border and went through Greek passport check and customs as well. In both cases, everyone had to wake up to identify him/herself. We were finally off at about 1:45, all of us trying to get to sleep.

Büyükada, Turkey, June 17, 2007

Sarah had recommended that we start out at 9:00 to catch the 10:30 boat, suggesting that it would take us over an hour to get there. Of course, I figured out the best way to get to the boat terminal and about how long it would take, so we started out a little after 9:30, walked to the streetcar stop, and made it to the end of the line at the terminal with more than 15 minutes to spare.

We entered the turnstiles with our akbil, and boarded the boat. There were so many people already on the boat that all the shaded seats, and almost all the sunny seats were taken. We found 2 separated places and the family sitting on one of the benches squeezed together so that two of us could sit at that place. In the 15 minutes until the boat left, many more people boarded, and several hundred people stood or sat on the decks for the first part of the trip.

The boat serves as a crossing from European Istanbul to a major section of the Asian part of the city as well as access to the islands. I figured that many people would get off at the first stop, and I was right. Then we went on to the islands, having found shaded seats. We were to get off at the fifth stop.

After the second island, seagulls followed the boat, and passengers tossed them little morsels of bread, which the birds caught in mid-air, with great acrobatic finesse. It was a great show that everyone on board enjoyed for many minutes.

Either we all lost count, or they changed the itinerary, but we arrived at Büyükada sooner than we expected. Ida called us on our cell saying that she was at the dock and a boat was coming in; were we on that boat? We were met by her husband Josef and her daughter Leila.

We walked together up the street to their club, where they treated us to lunch; we wouldn't permit them to waste their money on too much food, so we demanded they stop with mezes. The club is housed in an old mansion on a beautiful property.

After lunch, they took us on a carriage ride around the island. No cars are permitted on the island except police, garbage trucks, and ambulances. The roads are practically choked with horse carriages and bicycles. It's like a trip backwards in time. We rode around the island and up the hill to a nice restaurant, where we stopped only to enjoy the view. Then the carriage dropped us off part way up the hill that leads to Ida's house, the road being too steep for the horses to negotiate.

We walked up the hill to their house, as they related that the island is nearly 90% Jewish. Other islands in the same small chain have majority populations of other minorities: Greeks, Armenians, and others. There is a synagogue on the island where Roberto attends regularly. At their house, we sat on their veranda hundreds of feet up, overlooking the water, enjoying the view, the relaxation, and the company. Robert and I talked about things Jewish, and Ida prepared a special börek, baked as a casserole, of filo, cheese, and sugar. While we talked we smelled it baking, and could hardly contain ourselves. In the meantime, we met their other daughter, who suffered severe injuries in an accident some 14 years prior. She still has not been able to regain all her faculties, and suffers greatly.

When the dessert was finished baking, we had warm börek with fresh fruit and ice cream. Describing how it tasted would not do it justice. The fruit was so amazingly good, that we could not believe it. Even Yoyi ate some watermelon. The apricots were sweeter and more perfect than any I had ever had previously. Then there were the cherries. Big sigh.

We showed pictures and soon it was time to catch the boat back to the city. We walked back down the hill to the port. On the way Ida bought some baklava. We got on the boat and grabbed seats before they were all gone. We found some inside seats, but soon learned that inside seats are hot and uncomfortable. Shortly it was in the upper 90's and we were suffering. But eventually we were back in the city and on our way back to the hotel. We stopped for a light supper, and broke open the box of baklava for dessert.

The day was beautiful and relaxing, but the two boat trips wore us out completely. Again we fell unconscious into bed.

Istanbul, Turkey, June 16, 2007

Since we would see Isaac's relatives in the afternoon, we dedicated our morning to shopping in the Grand Bazaar. This is a covered market – housed in a series of medieval buildings – larger than most large shopping centers in the U.S. Hundreds, if not thousands, of individual stores less than 10 feet across, and many much smaller, sell rugs, tapestry, jewelry, souvenirs, clothing, linens, antiques, music, costumes, leather goods, confections – competing shops next to each other, times 10.

We spent all day, from shortly after 9:00 until 2:00 perusing and browsing, haggling and buying – never at the asking price. We got what we think are pretty good bargains. We can only imagine the storekeepers chuckling after we left, “boy did we take those tourists,” or something similar in Turkish. The girls did the shopping; I was the camel, until they bought more than I could carry and they had to carry something, too.

After a quick lunch, we rushed back to the hotel to shower off all the sweat we worked up shopping, and to meet Roberto and Sara, Isaac's cousins. I greeted them when they got to the hotel, as the girls were not quite finished. They speak pretty good Spanish, mixed with Ladino words and phrases. The three of us and two of them chatted in the drawing room of our hotel for a few minutes until we left in their car. They would take us on a cruise up and down the Bosporus. The boat terminal is about 2 km from the hotel; it took us about an hour in the frustrating, crazy Instanbul traffic.

The day was gorgeous, and we enjoyed it on the top deck of the boat, as it cruised up the European coast of the Bosporus, under the two enormously high suspension bridges that connect Europe and Asia. The sea breezes made the 35-degree day (95 Farenheit) comfortably cool. We passed the Ottoman castle the was built by the Sultan who was planning to attack Constantinople in the 15^th Century. He built a fortress on each side of the straits and extended a chain the half-mile from one to the other to keep boats from the European Black Sea from being able to reinforce or to supply Constantinople. Finally, in about 1451 his armies were able to conquer the city.

If not for that victory, the Jews, who would be forced to leave Spain fewer than 50 years later, would never have been able to move to safety in Turkey.

The boat made a wide turn and came southward on the Asian side of the straits. We passed ancient palaces and newer luxury homes. During this time, plans were made to visit Sara's sister, Ida and her husband on the island where they live for 2 to 3 months every summer. They explained how to take the streetcar, and which stop to get off. They explained what time to get the boat, and which terminal to to. They were impressed that we had an akbil, the re-chargeable bus/streetcar pass for the city. The akbil was good for the boat trip to the island, as well.

When we returned to port, we sat for tea at one of the waterfront cafes. Then we wandered the artisans' market in the vicinity, and our hosts bought the girls trinkets from a couple of the vendors.

Back in the car at about 7:00, we started for the restaurant. Our hosts have a favorite fish restaurant where they would take us, in one of the northern neighborhoods of the city. Traffic was its usual horror, and we pulled up to the restaurant at about 8:45. The proprietor welcomed his familiar guest and showed us to a nice table overlooking the water. Appetizers started to appear, until we had sampled so many varieties of fish and vegetables, that we thought surely that this was the complete meal. The waiters must have changed our plates 4 or 5 times during this period, and after an hour of enjoying mezes, the waiters brought new plates and the main course of fish and salad. When we were finished with the main course, we were brought the dessert: The Volcano, a specialty of the house. It was a hot brownie-like cake with ground up nuts sprinkled around, powdered sugar and chocolate/strawberry syrup over the top, surrounded by ice creams. Four of us shared one, and could barely finish our portions, but Sara wanted one all to herself, so she ordered a second. (By the way, she is thinner than I am.)

At about midnight we were finished eating, and our hosts drove us back to our hotel. The three of us were so tired that we all felt uncomfortable that we were unable to maintain any intelligent conversation. We collapsed in bed, unconscious.

Istanbul, Turkey, Friday, June 15, 2007

We had to return the car today, but there was no way I was going to drive in this city. I called the rental agency and they sent someone over to pick it up. When he checked the car, he asked where the license plate was. He said he would have to charge me 60 YTL for the plate. I told him it was their fault that it is lost. If they had given me the car and failed to put oil in the engine and it had broken down or if they had failed to tighten the bolts on the wheels and the wheel had fallen off, it would be no different. Finally, he said they would be charging it to my charge card regardless of my protests.

When we had dispensed with the car, we set out for the train station, where we visited the tourist office to get a map, and where we bought our tickets for the overnight train to Thessaloniki for our departure the following Monday night. Our plan was to see a few sights today, but we were foiled. We walked to the Topkapi palace to see how the Sultans lived; you just can't see 500 rooms in a couple of hours.

First we strolled through the gardens, which are now public parks. Huge sycamore trees shaded the paths, and purple hydrangias were everywhere. Walking from courtyard to courtyard and pavillion to pavillion with our mouths hanging open, we could barely imagine the luxury in which these pashas lived. While the Europeans were inventing perfume to cover up the smells of their bodies, the pashas were bathing 2 and 3 times a day in their luxurious bath rooms. Well, “rooms” were actually bath wings. The bathing facilities took up multiple rooms.

The kitchens were very interesting. The palace staff cooked for the thousands that lived at court, and also from time to time for the returning soldiers. The story goes that the soldiers were paid 4 times a year, and offered dinner at the same time. If they were satisfied with their wages, then they ate their dinners with gusto. If they were dissatisfied, they might not eat anything, depending on the depth of their dissatisfaction. Thus, the hierarchy would know what the state of morale was, and whether they needed to negotiate new terms with the army commanders.

Then we visited the harem, where the Sultan and his – shall we call it – extended family lived. Hundreds of additional rooms, swimming pools, bathing facilities, bed rooms, guard rooms, drawing rooms, concert halls, and on and on.

It took us something like 4 hours to make it through the palace, after which we collapsed in a park for an hour to rest our weary bodies. We left for the train station by streetcar in time to grab a light dinner at one of the sidewalk restaurants that are around all such European rail stations. It must have been rush hour, since all the streetcars were packed to the point that people were pressed against the door. We finished just in time to get our tickets to see the whirling Dervish show.

The Dervishes are mystical members of the Sufi sect of Islam. They enter a trance and dance, twirling in pirouets, literally for hours at a time. The show we saw gave them time to whirl for no more than 30 minutes. How impressive that was!

Afterwards, we went back to the hotel, to try again for the gazillionth time to reach the relatives we had hoped to see in Istanbul. While waiting for the train to leave the station, one of them finally returned our call and Rosi made arrangements to see them the next day at 3:30. Back at the hotel we still couldn't reach anyone in the Mizrahi family.

We were determined to rest up for tomorrow, when we had a full morning planned in the Grand Bazaar.

Istanbul, Turkey, June 14, 2007

When we were having breakfast in Çanakkale, the desk clerk reported to us that he had checked on laundry services, as we had requested the night before. If we could give him the laundry now, the service could have it done in two or three hours. This was good news, as we were getting close to the end of our clean clothes.

Having a few hours to kill, we walked around after breakfast in this harbor town. We enjoyed the waterfront promenade and were impressed that the water even in the harbor was clear enough to see to the bottom. It was full of sea life, including a stingray that we saw in the sand, and scores of jellyfish. As we walked further, past a continuous array of patio restaurants, we came upon a model of the Trojan Horse of Homeric legend. Troy is only about 20 km from Çanakkale. Our walk took us through commercial streets where we saw all manner of businesses. In the barber shops, the men were being shaved; in the fruit markets housewives were being served; in the bakeries, the breads and sweets called out to us seductively.

An elderly shopkeeper accosted us on the street as we were eying the baked goods in the neighboring bakery, and directed us inside asking the baker woman to give us a sample. It is the local specialty, he explained: peynir helvasi. We had all heard of halvah, that special dessert made of sesame and sugar, but this was different. This is halvah (helvasi) baked with flour and cheese (no sesame). It was a new experience.

We asked the hotel to call us when the laundry was returned so that we could stay out and not waste time continually checking. We were sitting in a waterfront cafe drinking ayran, when the hotel called, so we rushed back so that we could catch the ferry and get on the road.

We had to take the ferry across the Dardanelles to the Gallipoli peninsula, where the famous battle from WWI was fought between the Turks and the joint British forces, made up primarily of New Zealand, Australian, and Canadian troops. We had to rush to meet the ferry, but we made it, driving our car onto the deck, and settling in for the half-hour trip.

Since the beginning of our trip, we had noticed the rear license plate rattling annoyingly. Lately we had not heard it, and noticed that the plate was GONE! We didn't know what to do, but we just ignored it, and so, apparently, did the highway police.

As we passed exit signs for roads that turned off towards Greece, I noticed that they were labeled “Yunanistan.” That's the name for Greece in Turkish. During the trip, we stopped in a grocery store for snacks and picked up yogurt. We can't seem to get enough! In the dairy department we found packages of yogurt-based food. There was absolutely no fruit yogurt or vanilla yogurt, but we found prepackaged cacik.

The trip to Istanbul was long and uneventful until we arrived in the outskirts of the city. That is, about 50 or 60 km from the city. Those familiar with the writer will understand that I was managing our gasoline so that I would not have to put more in the tank than necessary to return the car the following day. I was foiled in that intent, as the traffic jam started about that time, and we were in stop and go traffic for an hour or so. Finally, we got off the expressway to look for gasoline, just in case. Of course, we found no gas, but at least the traffic was moving. We drove through neighborhoods, past huge shopping malls, but not past any gas stations. While we knew we were going in the right general direction, we wanted to know 1) where there was a gas station, and 2) how to get to the city center without sitting in stop and go traffic – mostly stopped.

Nobody we asked could give us good directions, until we stopped on a back street in front of an internet cafe and asked a young person, who did not speak English, but quickly found somebody who knew at least a few hundred words. We asked for help to solve our two dilemmas, and a group of at least 8 or 10 people quickly formed around us, eager to help with advice and directions. Finally, they suggested that one of the youngsters go with us to guide us to the gas station and to direct us into town. How would he get back? He wants go go near the gas station, they said.

We shuffled things in the back seat, and he got in, having been briefed by his friend regarding “left” and “right,” as he spoke not one word of English. Off we went in search of the gas station. The boy signaled left and right and right and left, and even made us understand that we needed to turn around to get out of a traffic jam, and before we knew it we were pulling up to a Shell station. I ordered 10 YTL worth of gas, and there was what seemed to be a big argument among the young boy and two others at the gas station whether that would be enough to get us to the hotel. They all agreed that I needed to put in more gas.

When we finished, the boy got back in the car; we couldn't figure out why, but whatever.... He directed us around a traffic circle and down a street. Soon he shouted “dur.” At the same time, he signed with his hands in an ambiguous manner that I understood to mean “speed up” or “keep going.” He continued to shout “dur,” “dur,” “dur.” So I continued to continue. Again, “dur,” “dur,” “dur,” “dur,” “keep going.” Finally hand signs indicating turning off the ignition, “dur,” and pulling up the hand brake, “dur,” and again pulling up the handbrake, “dur,” until it finally dawned on us that he wanted us to stop. We stopped and he got out and we shook hands and parted company, the boy indicating to follow the street all the way into the center. Only then did we recall that on the hundreds of STOP signs we had seen while driving for 5 days was the message “DUR.” Did we feel dense?

It didn't take us long to lose confidence in our route again. We pulled up to a fancy restaurant and asked an employee for help. He didn't speak English, but he indicated for us to wait, and he went inside to fetch the host. After a few minutes, he came out and gave us very explicit instruction, which took us to within blocks of the hotel.

The problem then was that the hotel is in an historic district, with narrow winding streets and no street signs. It took a couple of turns around the block(s) until I finally gave the wheel to Yoyi so that I could read the map and the addresses. The girls were pretty impatient by that point, and wanted to find a taxi that would simply lead us to the hotel, but I would have no such thing, as I was sure that we were within 3 blocks. Sure enough, we turned around, drove 3 blocks and were almost there.

Then came the trepidation that we had picked another loser, as the historic district was, after all, historic, and there were no brightly lit streets nor wide avenues. But we pulled up to the hotel and it was clear that we were going to be OK. The hotel was in a renovated mansion that was very clean in appearance, and whose owner greeted us warmly, “I have been waiting for you; how was your trip?”

But we were way too hungry to skip dinner. We walked back the 3 blocks to the center of the historic district, looked for a restaurant and ordered mezes again. Sitting outside, we had stuffed eggplant, peppers, and tomatoes; humus, yaprakes, salad, and who remembers what other delicacies.

When we got back to the room, I noticed that the view from our window was the illuminated Blue Mosque, perhaps the most famous landmark of historic Istanbul.

Çanakkale, Turkey, June 13, 2007

This morning, in Bergama, we went up to visit the Akropole of the ancient city, known to moderns as “Pergamon.” I was especially eager to see this site, which is not known for its remarkable ruins, but more for its situation on an extremely high hill overlooking the lakes and plains below. It took us more than 5 minutes to drive up to the top, it is so high. The road is barely wide enough for a tour bus, not to mention two buses passing in opposite directions.

Those of you who know Yoyi and Rosi can imagine what the ascent was like – no guardrails and a breathtaking valley below. Luckily, we met only a couple of vehicles on the way up or down. At the top, the parking lot was right up to the drop-off, but I managed to find a spot where the girls accepted that I was not likely to drive off the edge when we pull in or out. It was impressive to see the buses park in the cramped lot, inches from falling over the edge.

My interest derives from my time in Berlin. In the mid 19^th century, German archaeologists excavated the site, and absconded with the best relics, back to Berlin. There is an entire museum in central Berlin called the Pergamon Museum, one of the best museums of classical art in the world.

In particular, the temple of Athena (under renovation when Bela and I visited in 2005, and the magnificent Pergamon Alter of Zeus, which occupies all by itself the largest museum room you have ever seen. The remains at the actual acropolis site is a pile of stones that made up its foundation.

We planned a half day at the beach today, and asked at the tourist office for suggestions. We had also discussed this with some of the guests at the hotel the night before last. We ended up looking for a beach called Sarmısakh. (That letter is “ı” not “i” and is pronounced “uh.”

On our way to the beach: We had talked about sunflowers and eaten a lot of sunflower seeds, but we weren't prepared for what we came upon. “There we have it!” I shouted, and I quickly pulled over to the side of the road, raising some alarm among the passengers, who were in varying stages of unconsciousness. There before us lay a huge patch of sunflowers in blossom. We could barely control ourselves as we leapt out of the car to walk among the flowers and to take our pictures. What a special experience for Rosi, who is so taken with sunflowers. We spent as much time in the sunflower field as we had spent in some of my visits to ruins. And it was worth every minute.

The beach was situated at a tiny resort town that had little more than hotels and a couple of stores. We rented lounges and umbrellas near the water, and settled in for a day of doing nothing. We had not brought beach towels with us, so while the girls lay out in the sun, I searched for a linen store. All I found was a tourist shop that sells, among other things, beach towels. They had nothing with Turkish on it, nothing with the name of the town or the region. So I bought 2 nondescript towels. The storekeeper asked 30 YTL (new Turkish Lire), but I eventually paid 20.

Even I went into the water here. It was pretty cold, but incredibly clear. We waded out to about 4 feet deep and you could see the bottom as if you were looking through a magnifying glass. But it was not like the Caribbean; it was cold.

The girls did not want to move from their chairs, but I was eager to do so (as my family knows). So, for lunch, I went to the grocery and bought fruit and yogurt. We ate peaches, apricots, banana, plums, and yogurt for lunch. And we drank 2 liters of water.

Late in the afternoon, we had stayed our limit, and we left for Çanakkale, just past the ancient city of Troy. We didn't even stop at the historical site.

We drove through the mountains near the Aegean on a road that was reminiscent of the Big Sur highway. We enjoyed beautiful views and white-knuckle hairpin turns. We stopped for dinner at a roadside restaurant where the patio overlooked the Aegean from a height of about 1000 feet. We ordered some of the usual, but Yoyi became adventurous, and ordered a “kuzu biftek.” We were pretty sure that this would be a piece of meat – but what kind? Certainly not domuz (pork), and the waiter emphatically confirmed. He pointed to a goat walking by. (Actually, I think that kuzu is lamb.) It's nice to travel in a country where we are unlikely to be served a meat that we would rather not eat. They roasted the meat over hot coals, and the smell was wonderful. The portions were big and we enjoyed our meal, along with several flies who discovered that we were eating.

We finally made it to Çanakkale at dark, after witnessing a beautiful sunset over the mountains on the other side of the Dardanells. The instructions from the hotel were to follow the signs to either the ferry (feribot) or the central market (merkezi). Trouble was that there were very few signs to either. We drove back and forth until we finally homed in on the ferry port, and there was the hotel.

But that wasn't the end of our search. We drove into the street, but the hotel was on the other side of a wide park dividing the two one-way sides of the street, and there was no place to stop on our side. I proceeded up the street looking for a turn-back, but the two sides diverged. When we got to a cross street, we started to turn back into a street that we thought might be the right one, but it was crowded full of students who were wearing caps and gowns, so we went on to the next street. But the next street did not permit return to where we wanted to go, and only after a dozen turns did we find our way back to the street we figured to be our target. We turned and there were hundreds more graduated students.

We supposed that students should know how to speak English; so we asked, but none did. They all wanted to be helpful, and one young girl signaled for us to wait while she raced off, apparently to find an English speaker. Soon she re-appeared, waving her hands for us to wait; she was accompanied by another student, who said hello to us and asked if she could help. That was about the extent of her English proficiency. But they looked at the paper that showed our reservation, and gestured to indicate that we should simply stay on the same road, and the hotel would be on the right. After 2 blocks of dodging the hoards of students, we made it.

The Turkish people are very hospitable and helpful, in case you didn't notice yet.

Bergama, Turkey, Tuesday, June 12, 2007

The day started beautifully in the Venus hotel. The weather was gorgeous; the breakfast was very nice, and the guests in the hotel were all very friendly.

We started out for our first destination, the ancient city of Sardis, situated at the Turkish city of Sart. We expected to see very few tourists at the site.

Driving through the back roads of Turkey, even during the hottest part of the day, people were out working in their fields. The women were in the fields hoeing or picking or planting. We assumed that the men were all praying – praying that their women don't get sick or injured, or die. The men work the machinery. That gives them enough time to sit in the taverns all day playing games and drinking tea.

We drove through miles upon miles of vineyards, with an occasional grove of olives, pomegranates (in blossom at this time of year), plums, apricots, and figs. Early in the day it was already getting quite hot. The A/C in the car barely cooled it off. We arrived at Sardis at about 12:30, and eventually found the ticket booth, tucked away down a narrow rural street. The official spoke no English, but I was able to make him understand that I wanted to see the ancient synagogue (some time between 100 and 200 CE) that is at the site.

He was able to make me understand that the admission to the park was in two parts: one where the temple of Aphrodite was found, and the other was the gymnasium and synagogue – each paid separately. We made our way to the other entrance of the park, the only car in the parking lot.

In the hour we were there, some more people showed up, and we had a nice conversation with a French couple (In French and in English, mind you). The site is relatively small, but we wanted specifically to see the synagogue. The first building to come into view, however is the gymnasium, complete with swimming pool. It's one of the largest buildings we have seen so far. It faces the town agora, and another building occupies an entire side of the agora. I entered the area and ran into the French couple, discussing the building. The were reading from a very thick guidebook. I confirmed with them that we were in the synagogue, and they also pointed out that there is an information sign at the other entrance to the space.

They said that they were looking for some independent marker that the building is indeed a synagogue, but couldn't find it. There is a big plaque on one of the walls recognizing the donors who made it possible to recover this ruin. All the names are Jewish. I consider this to be independent evidence that we were in the synagogue.

Aside from this, there was very little recognizable Jewish symbols. There is a high table with eagles on the sides. There are two statues of lions flanking the table. Although the entrance is on the eastern wall, there are two raised altar-like structures on the same wall. More obscure, but also more definitive: we found a mosaic, remains of which appear to depict a menorah. And a carving in a floor tile with a couple of Hebrew letters.

The remains of merchants' shops were built against the long side wall of the synagogue. They were the shops of primarily Jewish merchants. The day was incredibly, unseasonably hot. We were already tired when we got into the car.

We stopped for lunch at a roadside restaurant, and ate under the trees on their lawn. Again we had köfte (ground meat skewered and flame roasted) and şiş (skewered lamb chunks), along with a salad. We saw the next table have a yogurt drink that we had not yet tried, so we pointed and ordered one. Called ayran, it's yogurt, mixed with water and a little salt, and it's very refreshing.

When we finally got to Bergama, we had the darnedest time finding the hotel I had reserved, in spite of numerous signs showing the way. After asking the fifth or sixth person as we were homing in on the location, we found it on a dead-end street. The moment we entered, we knew that we had encountered the first serious problem with my hotel reservations. I made some lame excuse for not staying and we took off for better accommodations. Since we didn't know the town, we called the proprietor of the previous hotel to get a suggestion. Of the two suggestions we found one to be unacceptable and the other to be fine. The owner is an adorable little man who knows just enough English to check people in and out and to negotiate prices. The hotel has furniture from the 1940's, but the hotel was very clean and agreeable. Lucky to find it with such short notice.

We walked the streets of the town and ran across a spice shop, where we ogled the merchandise for a while. We bought saffron (asafran), which the storekeeper scooped into a bag with a shovel; needless to say, it was inexpensive compared to the US. Then we found another restaurant, evaluated again by 1) the number of native-looking people were eating there and 2) the relative cleanliness. We ordered variations on kebaps and köfte, with salad. We also ran into a mother-daughter pair at the restaurant whom we had seen at the previous hotel. They were also staying at the same hotel.

When dinner was over, and we had paid, the waiter came with a large bottle of liquid, which he poured generously over our open palms. The custom is apparently to rub Cologne water on your hands after dinner. It is refreshing and an agreeable custom.

We crossed the street and had dessert at a pastry shop – namely, baklava. Then we took a stroll through one of the local parks until we finally ended up at the hotel for the night.

Pamukkale, Turkey, Monday, June 11, 2007

The morning in Selçuk occupied us in several endeavors.

I had still not gotten a Turkish cell phone, since yesterday was Sunday, and just about everything is closed. We also had not been able to change much money. So I asked our hotel owner where to accomplish these tasks. He pointed from his terrace to the area of the bank and to the location of the cell phone vendor. I took off down the hill and first went to the bank, then made my way to the cell phone store. Changing money is easy, since all you have to do is plop the money on the teller's counter and present your passport.

Getting a chip from someone who spoke not one word of English was a little more challenging. She finally understood what I wanted but tried to tell me something that I ultimately understood to mean that I was to come back. The word iki (two) was used, and I couldn't figure out the context. So I thought maybe she would call someone who speaks English and I should come back in 2 minutes. A few minutes later, an employee of our hotel entered the store, and I asked him to help. Turns out that she wanted me to come back at 2:00, because, for some reason nobody could explain, the phone could not be activated until after 1:00. Since we were leaving as soon as possible, I got the chip and the instructions for activating it myself.

In the meantime, the girls had found their way into a carpet shop, and I knew my schedule was blown. They were looking at all sorts of beautiful tapestries, carpets, and wall hangings. They walked away with some gorgeous works of art, small and large.

We finally left town at about 11:30 or so, bound for the next pile of ancient rocks, Aphrodisias. This historical site is in a remote part of the country that not as many tourists visit. On the way, we passed through several small towns, one of which was holding its (probably) weekly market. The town was teeming with people. We could barely drive through. We stopped at a grocery in the town to buy picnic fixings. The proprietor didn't speak even one word of English, but we were able to buy yogurt, fruit, sunflower seeds, and some other things.

We arrived at the parking area for Aphrodisias, where there was a small canteen and a few vendors' stalls. The canteen sold only drinks, and they were out of just about everything, so we bought a water, and spread out our picnic on one of the tables. The wind was picking up, as a storm was approaching. While we ate, things were blowing around, and we occasionally lost something and had to chase it.

The site, the entire city of Aphrodisias, is probably bigger than Ephesus. It has fewer intact structures, but the sheer size is practically overwhelming. Restoration is proceeding at a slow pace, and there are some impressive completed structures. Much of the toppled material is still intact, having been maintained during the centuries of use, and then buried under 2 meters of dirt since. One immense, restored gate, for example, is 85% original pieces.

There are literally hundreds of thousands of fragments of column, statues, lintels, column capitals, wall blocks, friezes, paving stones (of marble), strewn about littering the grounds to the extent that there is almost nowhere to step. The best stuff is in the museum on the grounds, but we have not been so interested in going into museums.

After we had worn ourselves out, we left for our next destination. We drove through mountainous areas with beautiful vistas and imposing peaks, catching the clouds, and occasionally raining on us. We went from 90 degrees to 60 degrees and back again – a few times.

As we approached Pamukkale, we saw, in the distance, the signature white cliffs. But only as we entered the little town did we appreciate the immense mineral deposits, seeming to flow down the side of the mountain. The white travertine formed pools that spilled the thermal water from one to the next, and people waded in the warm water. It is an other-worldly sight to see.

Our hotel has a patio restaurant where we decided to eat. The selections were limited, but we were rewarded with a superb meal. We started with a tomato/rice/grains soup. Then there was a tomato/cucumber/lettuce salad with the tastiest, freshest local produce, followed by a plate of assorted vegetables (eggplant stuffed with a rice mixture, zuchini casserole, green beans with tomato, fava beans with potatoes). Then the main dishes: The fish was pan fried, fresh local trout with mildly hot pepper garnish, served with chips (french fries), rice pilaf, tomatoes, and cucumbers. The kebap dish was chicken roasted with tomatoes and exotic herbs and spices served around pilaf. The meal was amazing.

You might ask, why don't they ever drink wine? In fact, in Turkey there are several areas renowned for their good wines, and this is one of them. But Turkey's people are Moslems, albeit very liberal and secular, for the most part. But because of the point of view, wine is taxed very heavily, so that a glass of wine here costs more than in a fine restaurant in the States.

Posting to the blog became interesting in Turkey. When I started logging in through Turkish internet providers, all the instructions on the screen were displayed in Turkish! I couldn't understand a word. A little trial and error got one posting done, but I emailed Bela to ask her to look at the site in English and tell me where I had to click in order to change my language to English. This reminds me of the time when I got one of my first small cell phones, and Bela changed the language to Hebrew while playing with it. Since everything was then Hebrew, she couldn't figure out how to change it back to English.

The hotel is lovely, and newly refurbished. Even has a pool. There are plum trees and apricot trees hanging over the pool, with ripe delicious frut for the taking. We're the only Americans in these parts, except for the trekkers and college student types.

Ephesus, Turkey, Sunday, June 10, 2007

This morning the rain poured down again. We had reserved a car, but the weather was so bad that we could not make it to the rental agency, so our hotel called the agency, and they brought the car to the hotel. Breakfast at the hotel had been sparse, but not bad. The staff was very pleasant and helpful.

The major historical site in Bodrum is the Mausoleum. You read in yesterday's blog that Mausolus had been the ruler of the area. His burial site was named for him – hence “mausoleum.” This is the source for our current usage for the word. Although we use the word to mean any structure marking and enhancing a burial site, the original was specifically for Mausolus himself. There wasn't much to see at the site, but at least the rain let up for a half hour, almost until we finished touring the grounds.

We drove off in the direction of Selçuk, somewhat to the north. The rain had slowed us down considerably. By lunch time we were only about half way, so in the town of Milas we looked for a restaurant. We passed a place that had a lot of locals, including many families, so we decided to stop.

Among the three of us and the 50 people in the restaurant, I think we shared a knowledge of about 7 words in common. Luckily, the menu had some pictures on it. And we pointed to a couple of customers' dishes to learn what they were called.

We ended up ordering a bowl of lentil soup (Rosi), a bowl of lentil and tomato soup (Ed), both of which came with a pita-like bread with cheese melted on top, and a Turkish pizza, called pide (Yoyi). It was delicious, as you can imagine.

Eventually we made it to Selçuk to look for our hotel. We turned at the sign that pointed to the central market square of the little town, and they spotted us immediately: the tourists. We parked the car to look for directions, and before I could get out, someone was asking at the window if we had a place to stay. When I told him that we have reservations, he brought me across the street to his own pension to talk to his son, who speaks English. I told him where we have reservations, and he called the hotel, who then came over to the marketplace to lead us over to his hotel.

We drove a couple of blocks until we saw an attractive building with the hotel sign in front and checked in to the Hotel Bella, “where you come as a guest, but leave as a friend.” It is a cute little 14-room hotel a block from the town center and market, and immediately next to a bunch of important ruins, including the Basilica of St. John, and some old Roman ruins. In addition, right next to the hotel, rising to the level of the 4^th floor terrace, was a stork's nest, complete with stork.

The hotel welcomed us on their terrace with tea, while one of the owners introduced us to the city and the layout of the ruins at Ephesus. They would shuttle us to the far entrance and pick us up at the near entrance so that we don't have to pay for parking and so that we don't have to re-trace our steps back through the entire site to get back to our car. We were to enter one of the shops and let them know to call the hotel.

Our visit to Ephesus was as impressive as it was tiring. Luckily it had not rained much in this area, but it had gotten quite hot. Although late in the day, it remained hot.

The site encompassed the entire erstwhile city of Ephesus. There were not simply a couple of old buildings, but numerous temples, public buildings, individual homes and apartments, archways and gates, theaters, marketplaces, marble roads, colonnades, baths, and tombs – all in various stages of ruin and/or rehabilitation. From one end to the other was about a kilometer. No description here could do it justice.

When we got back to Selçuk, we took out the car to find a restaurant. We could have walked, but for some reason, we got in the car. We found a restaurant in a pedestrian mall area, where we had mezes (appetizers) for dinner. Besides the lentil soup that Yoyi wanted, we had cacik (yogurt/cucumber/garlic salad), fried vegetables (eggplant, potatoes, pepper, squash) with a yogurt sauce, yaprak (grape leaves stuffed with mostly rice), and a dish similar to humus, but made with fava beans. All served with a pita-like bread called lavash. Our favorite was the fava dish and the lavash. Rosi and I drank a different brand of beer, which was even better than what we had drunk the evening before.

While we were eating, we again heard the call to prayer that we hear every day at sunset, and occasionally at other times. While strolling after dinner, we passed a tiny mosque, and were able to see the men praying inside.

We were beat! And expected to sleep well tonight. We were almost frustrated in that respect, as there was rather loud music from what must have been a night club a few blocks away. But closing the windows and turning on the A/C blocked out the noise for the most part. Relaxing now, we were able to appreciate the attractiveness of the room, decorated with woven wall hangings; Turkish rugs on the floor; the towels folded in a decorative manner on the bed; a balcony overlooking the street. Time to go to sleep.

Kos, Saturday, June 9, 2007

We rented bikes again today to visit the Asklepeon, purportedly the first hospital in the world, built about 400 BCE, give or take a century. This is where Hippocrates worked, dedicated to the Greek god of medicine, Asklepios. Judging from the state of the site, insurance has not been paying well. The walls are falling down and all the patients seem to have checked out.

We bicycled the 4 kilometers to the site, most of the trip uphill. Luckily we left at about 9:30, when the temperature was still bearable. It took us almost an hour to climb the hill, but it was worth it. The site overlooks the Aegean and the setting is very dramatic. The doctor was “out” as far as I could tell, and you couldn't get an appointment for 2400 more years.

The trip down the hill was more comfortable. We barely pedaled going down. On the way we stopped at a bakery to get a bread for lunch. We ate bread, Greek salad, olives, a little bottle of wine, and the dessert. We are stuffed.

As we sat resting before lunch, Rosi noticed that she didn't have her glasses. She couldn't remember what might have happened. Maybe she dropped them while biking. Think, think, think.... Hmmm, maybe I laid them down on the counter at the bakery. The two girls quickly got back on their bicycles and returned to the bakery. When they returned, they had the glasses. Whew.

At 4:30 our ferry sets out for Bodrum, about an hour from here, in Turkey.

At the embarkation, we found that we had to purchase an exit permit for 3 euros each. We had just about spent down our stash, but among us we scraped together 9 euros, and got on the ferry. The trip across was beautiful. The day was sunny, but the breeze was up and the gals were cold on deck, so they went to the inside cabins. I stayed outside to enjoy the fresh air... with the smokers, mostly. Thank heaven for the wind.

Pulling into the harbor at Bodrum, we passed the crusader castle, an impressive hulk. Took a bunch of pictures from the boat. There are very few Americans traveling to Bodrum, Turkey. Rosi recalled an expression in Ladino about being stuck out in the remote countryside: “(Rosi: fill this in, please.“

The harbor at Bodrum is very picturesque, aside from the crusader fort. It is overlooked by hills, on which there are ancient windmills and an even more ancient tower built in about the 5^th century BCE. Even more impressive were the yachts parked in the harbor. I have never seen a collection of larger, more luxurious, beautiful yachts – anywhere.

In ancient times, Bodrum was Halicarnassas, the capital of Caria, ruled by a tyrant named Mausolus. Today, for some reason we have not been able to figure out, it's a vacation destination for Europeans. Note: when we entered the country, we had to buy a visa for $20 each. Of course, we didn't learn that it had to be purchased at a different window until we had stood in the Passport control line until we reached the guy with the stamp for entry.

We took a taxi to the hotel, winding through narrow, sometimes dusty streets, asking a neighbor or two for directions, until we reached the place. After a 10 minute cab ride we were about 3 blocks from the harbor. We checked into very sparse but clean rooms (except that the carpets were a little worn (well, a lot worn). But this is the first hotel we stay in that has a swimming pool! After check in, we found our way back to the harbor to choose a restaurant out of the scores that were available on the waterfront. They all showed their food in window coolers on the sidewalk: fresh bream or sea bass, kofta kebabs, lamb meat of various descriptions, and appetizers from tzaztiki to humus to egplant salads. The odors enticed us from all directions.

Tonight we had lamb kebabs, grilled fresh fish, more delicious fried potatoes, salad (not as good as Greek salad, but good enough), bread with olive oil, and fresh fruit. Rosi and I each drank a half liter bottle of Efes, the local beer. Not a bad supper, if a little overpriced.

Coming back to the hotel, after dark, I think I frightened Rosi out of her wits. Old Turkish towns (old cities from Jerulalem to Malaga) have narrow, poorly lit streets, that wind about until you think you are lost for sure. I led our troop up a street that went from lit and busy to dark and almost deserted in a few steps, and I think Rosi expected to be mugged and never heard from again in the civilized world she had left in order to travel with us crazy Jacobsons. I had previously asked about dangers in the city and in the neighborhood, and the fact that women and small children were on the street assured me, but Rosi's experiences are from deep dark Miami slums, where dark streets have a different meaning than they do here.

I felt badly all night after we dropped her off in her room, and I had time to contemplate how it must have felt for her. Tomorrow I'll apologize at least..

Kos, Friday, June 8, 2007

This morning at 5:00 we were awakened to disembark in an hour on the island of Kos. The sun was just rising, and the mountainous islands loomed in the distance as we slowly pulled into the port of Kos.

A taxi took us to the Yiorgos hotel, near the marina in town. In this small hotel there is no 24-hour reception, and all was dark inside, but since it was already well past 6:00 AM, we rang the bell. After all, the hotel would have to prepare breakfast shortly.

The proprietress leaned over her balcony and said she would be right down. She knew immediately who we were, even though we had not yet presented our documents. The beginning of June is still relative light, and the hotel has few guests at this time. She was able to give us our rooms at this early hour, and the girls went straight for a nap. I went to explore. Of course, nothing was open in this vacation mecca, as vacationers don't get up so early.

I woke everyone up at about 9:00 so that we could go to breakfast. At breakfast we met a Danish guest who was very animated in his recommendation of the hotel and of the island in general. He has come here twice a year for nearly 8 years for a total of about 6 weeks each year. “I come back to the same hotel every time.”

He suggested that we take the bus to the seaside town of Mastihari, about 35 kilometers away (about half the length of the island). He knew the bus schedule and told us when to catch the bus and when we would have to return not to miss the last bus back to town.

In the meantime we decided to rent bicycles. We pedaled around town seeing all sorts of commercial and historical sites as well as enjoying the picturesque setting by the sea. The city is full of Bougainvillias in blossom at this time of year. It is also apparently known for its hibiscus plants, which blossom earlier. The terrain is quite flat between the coast and the very high, steep mountain range that is the backbone of the island. Literally hundreds, if not thousands, of people were out bicycling today.

We saw an ancient ruin next to the square in which grows the Tree of Hippocrates. The tree is said to have been planted by the father of medicine more than 2 centuries ago. The tree is supported by a metal structure to keep it from collapsing under its own weight.

The girls did some shopping and then we rode to the bus terminal to catch the 1:00 bus, and where we locked the bikes and boarded the bus for Mastihari. We drove through the countryside dotted with vineyards and olive groves, arriving at our destination after only about a half hour. We parked ourselves on the beach and barely moved until 5:00. As the day progressed, the winds got stronger, until by the time we left, it was barely possible to stand the weather conditions at water's edge. It was about 80 degrees, and the wind was blowing at about 30 miles per hour. The dry air evaporates moisture quickly; therefore, it felt quite cold.

We sat at a taverna across from the bus stop, drank a local dry white wine, and waited for the bus.

At the beach, I had ventured out to find a grocery store to buy yogurt and fruit for a snack/lunch next to the water. I came back with some regular yogurt and some goats milk yogurt. But we had forgotten to bring spoons. Yoyi inventively fashioned spoons from a styrofoam cup that we had brought for water.

The goats milk yogurt was so good as to be impossible to describe.

We picked up our bikes when we returned and began to look for a restaurant on the water. Among the 3 of us we divided two “fixed price menus” and still had too much. At the Krabousanos Nikolaos restaurant, near the crusader castle we enjoyed fried cheese, tzatziki, and Greek salad to start. Then we had moussaka and chicken souvlaki. We shared a carafe of local red wine. By the time we were ready for dessert, we noticed the time. We had only 15 minutes until the deadline to return the bikes. We asked the waiter to pack up our leftover Greek salad and the dessert that was included with the meal, and we took off. What a nice meal, served by a nice waiter. Generally, the waiters, receptionists, and others have been very cordial and helpful.

After a hard day at the beach and bicycling, it's time to get a good night's rest.

Athens, Greece, Thursday, June 7, 2007

Thursday we would fill up the morning with last-minute sightseeing and then board the ferry for the island of Kos. But that was before Rosi called a distant relative of Aaron's with whom she had previously exchanged emails; her name is Mathilde. We were finally planning to change our itinerary to try to visit this relative who lives in Ioanina in the west of Greece near the north.

We called this morning to find out that the woman's mother is still alive and lives in the town of Larissa, exactly on the route we had previously planned to take. That gave us still another alternative to consider. Then a half hour later, Mathilde called to say that she forgot to tell us that her aunt lives in Athens.

This aunt, Aaron's distant cousin's name is Nike. Actually that's not her real name but that is what everyone calls her. Mathilde, who lives in Ioaninna, and with whom Rosi has been corresponding, is her niece. Her sister, Mathilde's mother, lives in Larissa. That should straighten out some of the relationships.

We learned all this on our way to recharge our minutes on the cell phone and to check out the subway station. The girls were not going to wheel their suitcases to the subway station if it was going to be too difficult. We got to the subway station, two blocks from the hotel, to find that they were working on the down escalator. Surely, I thought, they will be done 5 hours from now.

On the outing we discovered a huge, wonderful bakery, where we decided we would return to buy fixings for lunch.

When we got back to the hotel we called the aunt and arranged to visit today. Unfortunately, she did not know her Spanish/Ladino numbers, and I had trouble understanding her Greek address. So we called again from the lobby and asked the desk clerk to talk to her and figure out where she lives. We got in a taxi and went to her home, just a couple of kilometers away, and spent a couple of invigorating hours making new friendships and talking family.

For the longest time during the conversation, she could not nail down exactly what the relationship was, but eventually, everything became clear. Her Spanish/Ladino was rusty and limited, but we invented some words and gestures and made ourselves understood. Soon her husband showed up, and asked in Hebrew if we speak Hebrew. He speaks only Greek and enough Hebrew to navigate in Israel. Shortly thereafter, her husband's sister came to visit. I don't know if she came because she knew we were there, but she didn't seem surprised.

Pictures were passed around; addresses and phone numbers were traded, and soon we had to bid farewell, as our ferry was to leave in just a little over 3 hours. It was hard to find a taxi; drivers don't stop for fares; I don't get it. Finally, a taxi was stopped at a light and I went to the window to ask if we could get in. He would only take us once I told him our destination. He barely spoke English, and it was difficult to express exactly where we wanted to go, as our hotel is on a little known side street. Once he understood, by my hand-drawn map, he suggested we get out at the other side of the traffic circle. I think he was trying to save us money, as the route to the other side of the plaza was cut off; it wasn't really a circle.

On our way, we stopped at the bakery, bought lunch pastries, as well as a loaf of bread and baklavas and other sweets for later. The girls went back to the hotel to set up for lunch while I went to the Agora to buy tomatoes, peaches, cherries, and olives. On the way back I stopped at the cheese shop to purchase 3 different kinds of Greek cheeses – out of many options.

After lunch, we rolled our suitcases to the subway and the down escalator was not fixed. Oh, well. But we had the experience of the train ride to the port of Pireaus, from which the ferry was to depart. We got to the ferry in plenty of time and relaxed for the hour until departure. It was fascinating to see the precision with which they backed up huge semi trucks into the vehicle section of the ferry, “parallel parking” the trailers with inches between them.

We have a cabin as this is an overnight ferry, arriving at 5:00 AM at the island of Kos. We put our things in the cabin and brought our food to a table and had an enviable dinner of cheese, fruit, olives, and bread. Yum.

Well, it's time to go to bed if we are to get up in time to disembark at sunrise.

Athens, Wednesday, June 6, 2007

We started the day to see the rest of the Central Market (the Agora), where fruits, vegetables and eggs are sold. We wandered the market enjoying the eye appeal of the beautiful produce and marveling at the relatively low prices.

Red cherries: 1.99 / kilo
Peaches: 1.49 / kilo
Tomatoes: 0.50 / kilo
All sorts of olives; from 1.80 – 4.00 / kilo
Apricots: 1.49 / kilo
Grape leaves: 8.00 / stack
(All prices are in Euros – pronounced :evro” in Greece, spelled Evpo.)

Before we got to the market, we passed one of the many pet shops, where they sold pets, including exotic animals like tropical birds and chipmunks.

We decided to hop on a tourist tram to take us around the city. Saw some of the sights and drove through normal business and residential areas. Motorcycles are more numerous in Athens than in any other city I have visited.

We hopped off the tram at the Parliament Building in Syntagma Square, and strolled through the huge gardens to while away the time before the changing of the guard. The gardens are well-maintained and well laid out, resulting is a pleasing experience. For some reason, there was a large number of some specific plant flowering at this time that smelled really bad. I wonder why they planted so many of them....

Just before “the hour” we joined the other tourists around the guard area in front of the tomb of the unknown (soldier?). The guards, in traditional Greek regalia, including kilts and “pom-poms” on their shoes, went through a formal orchestrated ceremony to change the watch. It is similar to the ceremony in Arlington cemetery but much more stylized and choreographed.

Then the tourists all stood next to the guards for photos, but none of us was so inclined.

Lunch was pastries at tables outside a pastry shop. Spinach-cheese pie, feta pie, cheese pie, and a cream pastry for dessert. I call them “pies,” but they are either filo wrapped or similar to what we know as tapada. Delicious, of course. The girls drank “frappe” (ΦΡΑΠΠΕ), iced espresso with milk, beaten in a blender.

After resting at the hotel for a couple of hours, we went to the Keiramikos Cemetery historic site. Remarkably, very few people knew of it or where it is to be found. We had to convince the taxi driver to go where we thought is was, and then just to let us out of the cab, since he had no idea. Just then a drenching downpour began and we took refuge under the awning of a magazine kiosk. While we waited, we were talking about the cemetery, and a young man overheard us and told us where to find it. Since it was raining, he urged us not to miss it: “If you can't go today, then you must come back tomorrow; it is very important.”

When if finally stopped raining we walked over to the site with just an hour left until closing. It is one of the sites related to the Acropolis, and included in the overall admission, which we – after all – had not had to purchase. Admission to this one site was 2 euros. The site included large segments of the city wall of ancient Athens and foundations of forges and homes, but it again began to rain torrents. We scampered under a roof that protected an archaeological dig and waited 20 more minutes until the rain subsided.

Why is it raining in the dry season????

When we finally resumed our tour of the site, there was only about a half hour left before closing. The cemetery itself was located mostly outside the ancient city walls, and still contained many grave markers, although most of the markers were collected at the edge while the archaeologists decide where they are supposed to be located. Some of the gravestones were elaborately carved depicting, for example, the life of the warrior or the family setting of a head of family. It is said to be the largest and best-preserved cemetery from the period. We made it to the exit gate just as they were sliding it shut.

By the way, the Greek word for “exit” is “Εξοδος” or in capital letters: “ЁΞΟΔΟΣ.” All you college students should be able to read this.

We had decided to go the the Psiri section of town for music and dancing (spectators only, of course), so we started walking in that direction looking first for a place to eat dinner. After listening to the hawking of many restaurant promoters, we ended up at a restaurant overlooking the Roman Forum, with the Temple of Thission above us in one direction, and the Acropolis above us in the distance in the other direction. The promoter promised live music starting in just 15 minutes. Of course we didn't believe him, and told him so.

About 20 minutes later, the two musicians began playing (guitar and bouzouki) and singing mostly Greek but some popular songs. They were quite good, and we enjoyed their music through dinner.

We ordered stuffed grape leaves, called “dolmades” here, even though you Sephardim call them “yaprakes.” In addition, we had fried feta and a Greek salad (aren't all salads in Greece Greek?). The food was great.

An hour an a half later, the musicians were still playing and singing – NOT HAVING TAKEN A BREAK LONGER THAN 1 MINUTE TO DRINK SOMETHING. Iron men! As we left, I had to apologize to the guy hooking in the customers, telling him that I thought the musicians were great. We all thought that this dinner experience was the best so far.

We finally left to go to psiri, but we didn't feel the need to search out a music venue, since we were so satisfied with the music at dinner. But we wanted to scout out the neighborhood. The girls were hesitant to enter the narrow streets of the neighborhood, even though the literature assured them that the area is safe. If finally led them into a delightfully hip area of the city with numerous night clubs, cafes, and bars, some of which had music, all of which were full to overflowing with patrons.

A juggler was in the street, drawing a crowd, and just finishing his act as we walked up.

When we were ready to head back to the hotel, I started to lead the way through dark, narrow streets again, and I got complaints about who might save us if we were to run into trouble. I pointed out that the main street was no more than two blocks away, and everyone reluctantly followed me. Thirty seconds later we were on the main street, and two minutes later we were entering our hotel.

Time to turn in after a busy day.