A few years ago, my mother discovered that she hugely enjoyed caves. I don’t recall exactly which cave cemented this opinion in her mind, but it now sits quite firmly, and it’s something she seems to think of whenever she thinks of going anywhere. I believe I feel the same way about hills. I may have mentioned the hills of bath, of which I climbed as many as I could. I’ve never been sorry to climb a hill, even if, sticky and lugging my jacket I reach the top only to find the view mostly obscured by buildings, or really not that good anyway, or that it’s not so much a hill as a rise, or that there was a free tram that I could have taken, or any number of other potentially disappointing things, it’s always worthwhile.And this trip has shown me that the nations of Europe and it’s surrounds have a significant edge over Canada in this regard. At home, hills within cities are very often mostly colonized by wealthy people, who build upon them flashy modern homes composed mostly of glass. There are many exceptions of course, but these are almost universally parks, which often have good views, but are basically just grass and some trees. Pleasant, but not inspiring.

But here.

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Real cold, the kind that means you need to cover skin after a few minutes lest you feel the sting, and which makes buying proper mitts today’s priority. Thick fog everywhere. A friendly taxi driver, who’d lived in Denver for years, until his lack of greencard sent him home to Plovdiv. Cobble streets, all in darkness, streetlights few and far between. Searching for the light of a café. Crunch of ice patch. Church by the main street, bathed in artificial orange and wrapped in the mist. Found a yet-to-open café, hollered ‘til someone came and motioned me to sit. Spent two hours drinking a coffee and mouthing Bulgarian to myself, owners nowhere to be seen save two trips to buy ingredients. Their warm goodbye makes me think they only let me in because I was cold, not expecting to sell me a breakfast which didn’t seem to exist. Grey light of morning finds me warm in a solid bunk beside a heater, and falling into a doze despite the caffeine.

At first, with the view of rooftops all around, and the city beyond lighting up the night, I was convinced that all clubs should be on the top story of whatever building they’re in. I understand that the sound probably travels like crazy, which doesn’t really jive with quiet Canadian sensibilities. And actually, for all I go clubbing at home, maybe there are clubs on every other rooftop. Anyway, the genius of this plan was set somewhat in perspective when we were confronted with the task of clambering down five flights of winding steps at the end of a long evening of dancing. But this was doable, and no ankles were broken (thanks boots!).

So, thanks to my university student couchhosts, I got an excellent taste of Istanbul nightlife, music like nothing you’d find in Canada and a great crowd. But before any of that happened, I spent another day wandering the sites of the city. First stop was the Beyazit Mosque, built by Turkey’s apparently greatest architect of this sort of thing. It was a hugely pleasing building (see many photos) set on a hill above the grand bazaar, and I passed a pleasant hour in the courtyard waiting for prayers to end. Slipped inside just before the end of the service (not sure if this word applies to mosques, but whatever). The airy nature of these big imperial mosques is so different from the various stripes of churches I’ve seen, full of columns and icons and *stuff*. Hard not to like.

Wanders then took me through the grand bazaar, and the central avenues of that place are beautiful in a chaotic way. Ancient roofs above the glitter and the smoke from the food stands and chestnut roasters and the press of people and the constant but not strident calling. Certainly nothing like a stereotypically middle eastern bazaar, but perfectly Istanbul in its mix of reserved, polite, pressure, it’s meeting of traditions and absolute 21st century reality. A most excellent path to take to the very ancient, and somewhat unfortunately thronged by hordes of field-tripping school children, basilica cistern. To be fair, the kids came in excited but orderly waves, and each passed quite quickly through the site. Anyway, this thing is a beautiful excavation of the underground reservoir that served the city for many centuries, keeping the place in clean water via an aquaduct through drought and siege. It still has water in it, and fish, for some reason, though now it’s just a tourist attraction. But what a lovely one. Many dozen columns support the massive space, now lit by upward facing floods, and the roof still drips water constantly. A suspended walkway takes you through and site, offering many angles on the ceaselessly beautiful columns Between the fish and the tranquil water all around, It managed to be halfway peaceful, despite the crowd. A personal highlight.

What next.. Istanbul Modern, well worth a stop and the low ticket price, with great views across the Golden Horn towards the Hagia Sofia. And that brings us about up to speed.

I can’t do it. Too much to sort through. I’m including one shot from the island today, but I’ll tackle the rest… later. I know this is a dangerous habit, but so it goes. Anyway, lately:

The pattern of only managing an update every-other location continues. Today’s neglected wonder – Safranbolu. A lovely extremely well-preserved Ottoman town, just down the valley from a modern university town, which is itself just down a larger valley from an Ataturk-created steeltown. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a smelter before, but somehow I recognized it on the way by (heaps of coal laying around was a hint). The complex was huge, most of it in rust-covered corrogated steel siding connected by sketchy looking covered walkways, and all of it belching various colours of smoke/steam/something. Stark. But once past that, the towns were lovely. I enjoyed my time there, and extended my stay, though not as much as a Korean girl I met in the hostel. She wasn’t exact about how long she’d been in town, but weeks at least. She’d fallen so in love with the place that she couldn’t leave, though her time abroad was limited. It was heartening to meet someone so thoroughly taken with their current residence.

Also of note: Beautiful restored aquaduct, a ride from a friendly Turkish tourist/ mechanical inspector, lots and lots and lots of cheap turkish univeristy food, and of course more tea.

But now, now is Istanbul. I’m surfing with a delightful man on an island in the Marmara sea, and my previous host was in a suburb quite out of town, so I actually haven’t managed that much of the city proper. My first moments were perfect, though. My bus arrived in the mini-downtown area of Kadikoy, a hub on the Asian side of the bosphorus. The place was alive with neon and people and store-owners calling out and buskers and this fantastic energy. Kadikoy is full of cafes (Starbucks included), bars, restaraunts, but also cheap market-like stalls selling everything from fish to bracelets. It’s a wonderful mix of what I might think of as classic Turkish vendors and tiny kebap stands and modern glitz. I returned here several times, to take ferries or just eat and drink and wander.

My surf had been unexpectedly detained, and so was not at our meeting point. After trying repeatedly to decipher the Turkish payphone system, I asked a fellow waiitng-at-the-obvious-meeting-point-person, via hand gestures, if I could use his phone to call my friend. He obliged, my surf explained the situation, and then said I should take a cab. After he explained to the gentleman who’s phone I borrowed where he wanted me to go, the guy walked me to the cab stall, gave complicated directions to the confused-sounding cabbie, and sent me on my way. All of this without looking the slightest put out or even surprised. It was perhaps the best first interaction with a stranger in a massive city (god it’s big. The view from teh island shows most of the coastal length, vanishing on both sides into the haze) that I’ve had.

So that worked out nicely. The neighborhood of my first host could have been lifted directly out of Vancouver’s downtown. Pretty christmas lights, condo buildings of a very similar style, dozens of huge expensive clothing stores, wide sidewalks and big trees,  ludicrous fashion and shoe-stores dedicated to small children,and a Starbucks on nearly every corner. The only nod to Turkey are the simit (like german pretzel, kinda) stands and folks selling some manner of lottery ticket from small wooden tables. It was strangely comforting in it’s total familiarity, for a moment, though I obviously didn’t spend much time there.

Did the touristy thing one day, and the Hagia Sofia is indeed worthy of its reputation. something about the place is just innately peaceful. It’s beautiful, and though I hesitate to use the word, I think I can safely call it sublime. The blue mosque was also worth a stop, but that was almost all I managed that day. From the island where I’m now camped, it seems a long way into town, so I spent today walking around and generally lazing. It’s sleepy here, though summer brings tens of thousands of people every day, which sounds entirely hellish. Tomorrow it’s off to a surf near the university, which should be an interesting perspective on this interesting city.

Hopefully one day I’ll get around to detailing Olympos, where I had a great and relaxing few days, clambered beautiful ruins, breathed the gas of the eternal flame, met some good folks, and tried to stay dry in the road-closing, power-cutting downpour. But not today. Today we’re jumping ahead (and we’re still behind) to central Anatolia, and the balloon-monitored unusualness that is Cappadocia.

Cappadcia has apparently become of the world’s most popular tourism spots, which helps explain why it managed to feel somewhat busy even in the depths of low season. Makes sense though – while it bears some resemblance to the badlands of Alberta, the landscape is like nowhere else, nevermind the huge ancient settlements carved into the sides of the valleys and the rock spires scattered everywhere you look. As usual, the most interesting and rewarding day was farthest from the most touristed spots, involving long hikes down isolated valleys and a romp up what appears to be the last un-touristified old village spire in the area. After many hours of walking, we (we being myself and a Czech couple I met when we disembarked from the same bus in the early morning) came to Çavuşin on a whim between valley hikes, and after tea, started wandering up the massive stone spire at the end of the village, beside a small gorge. We made it about halfway up, and, having decided not to brave a very rickety ladder barely perched on a small ledge, were about to head down in search of another path when a Turkish teenager appeared above us. I asked him how to surmount the large ledge in front of us, and he explained, in serviceable English, that we could either go down and around, or he could help us scramble up the face. Obviously we went with the latter, and a few moments later he was showing us to the ancient church cut into the face of the cliff. The frescoes weren’t as well preserved as some of the other churches we’d found, but the isolation combined with its size and the adventure of reaching it (a narrow ledge with large gaps) made it easily the most memorable. The rest of the old cave city was equally rewarding, full of connecting passages and beautiful views of the town on one side and the plain on the other. From here we walked ridges back to town, and ended another day in the fabulous Göreme teahouse.

The food in Göreme left much to be desired, being a very dissatisfying combination of unappetizing and expensive, but the teahouse was perfect. We actually asked our hostel-owners if they’d make us dinner the second night, after the first day had been so disappointing, but they demurred, and we later bumped into the chef playing cards with his buddies at the teahouse, which explains the reticence. I approve of his priorities. Anyway, the teahouse. Windows permanently steamed, it was full at all hours, although we always managed to snag a (often the last) table. It was exactly what you’d imagine a teahouse to be in a country where drinking is uncommon – full of (mostly older) men talking, playing backgammon or cards or some extra-complicated cross between rummy and dominoes. The tea was cheap and delicious, and when we left the waiter never had any idea how many we’d had, which makes sense, as no one could keep track of so many tables and so many teas, and they didn’t bother to write things down. We stopped in at least half a dozen times in our three days, and always left happy and warm. It is a good place.

I could go on about the landscape, or upload some of the hundreds ( :s ) of photos I’ve taken, but Cappadocia is already long behind, so I’ll move things along momentarily. The one other standout moment came at the end of our last day. We’d watched the sunset with a busfull or three of asian tourists from a popular rock, and were taking the scenic route back to town in an attempt to use up all of the gas we’d put in the rental car. We stopped at a small town near Göreme to check out the castle (closed) and decided to have a nose around to see if we could find something edible and reasonably priced before returning to the culinary wasteland from whence we came. Juri was craving pide (turkish pizza) and there was a small, fluorescent-lit shop near the castle. We approached, saw no food or customers, and almost turned back, but decided to forge ahead. The proprietor was sweeping towards the back, and assured us he was open, though he only had cheese or meat pide today. We went for two cheese and a meat, and sat down at the only table, squeeze between the till and the drink/ingredient fridge, to wait. We proceeded to watch him roll out the dough before pausing to throw a single massive log into the huge brick oven at the back of the restaurant. It didn’t take long before our three long, skinny pizzas were sitting inside the red-glowing oven, toasting by the open fire. Turkish pizza, it transpires is very simple, but when freshly fire baked, very, very good. The cheese was basically just bread/dough wrapped around cheesy goodness, served with lemon, chilli, and cilantro. It was divine. On the way back to the car, we grabbed three doner ‘for the road’ and managed to be much better fed and much more full for much less than we’d spent in Göreme. A very successful end to a successful day (day also included underground city and canyon hike. City especially was very cool).

And then on to Ankara, and then on to Safranbolu, which is peaceful and pretty and between the new town and the old town, a great combination of small and sleepy and beautiful and cheap and just big enough. More on that later, though.

There are definite plusses and minuses to traveling in low season, and eventually the scales may shift, but for now I’m loving it. Today entailed a lazy breakfast in Kas, a long van/busride along the coast (sitting shotgun, because some Turkish dude gestured at me to do so.. meant great views (+). Also, no need to book anything in advance, apparently these busses fill up fast in summer (+)), and being deposited at a gravel road which I was assured led to Olympos, despite it differing significantly from Trusty Guidebook’s description. After asking for and loosely interpreting directions from a helpful Turkish woman, I figured I’d probably been set down on a little shortcut, and headed down the road. The clever busdriver had cut about 4 km off my 12 km trip to town from the highway, the disadvantage being that public transit was unlikely anywhere but the top of the road (-). The rain (-) was just starting, so I walked for about a kilometer. A dog barked at me, and when a man leaned out of what was signed as a restaurant to shush him, my ‘hello’ was greeted with an offer of tea. It was past lunch, so I headed in and asked if pancakes were an option (Turkish pancakes are sort of like big tortillas, and are for lunch). I sat with the family in their tiny restaurant while the mom rolled out dough and the daughter chopped, drinking tea and making abortive attempts at conversation (+) while the rain intensified. Eventually, full and happy, I decided that the rain was not going to let up, I headed back out. Another kilometer onward, two hung Turks holidaying in Olympos stopped for my thumb, and I had a ride to my pansion (and hiking buddies for the walk to Chimeara, the eternal flame, tonight). This place is lovely. I’m settled into a bungalow, which is basically a very fancy shack, real wood walls and floor, bathroom, big bed, heater, and just had a delicious and hearty dinner. It’s been pouring since I arrived, but I’m happy enough to sit under my heater trying to learn some more Turkish. Tomorrow will hopefully be beach weather, but considering I’m paying about $16 for my own bungalow, including breakfast and supper, I think I’ll just wait out the weather. It’s peaceful and pretty here, and while fellow travelers are rare (-), my Turkish ride told me of a relatively hoppin’ pansion just down the street, so when I get bored of luxuriating I’ll swing by there.

I was camera-less for my adventures in and around Munich, owing to my intractably poor memory, so I’m afraid that words will have to suffice. I surfed with a lovely crew headed up by Peter, a student a musician, in Munich’s innerish ring. We spent the first day hiking near a small village (Herrsching) outside the city,through a  stretch of fall forest along a ridge, with views of a large lake and the Alps in the distance; the hike was lovely by itself, and the reward at the top was spot-on. The ridge was crowned with an incredibly stereotypically Bavarian monastery-cum-beerhall/restaraunt, and dined on deliciously large chunks of glazed and roasted meat and tasty monkbeer.

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