Excerpts from the Journal

OK I have had a few people ask me about Turkey and tell me to write about it on my blog. (Man I have a lot of blog work to catch up on.) So I thought that there would be no better way to tell you all about Turkey then to select some pieces from my journal for your reading pleasure.

Day 1:
Slept in today after being woken up by the 5:00 call to prayer, followed by roosters. Amy (my cousins friend who we stayed with in Istanbul) took us to the sultanhamet area on the European side via train, ferry and tram. There we saw the Aya Sofya, a church built in 500 A.D. The stone work of the church was amazing with layers upon layers of other work done - beautiful tile mosaics, strange Islamic medallions (which were so huge that it almost seemed like they were over compensating for the fact that this was once a church), painted ceiling, arious displays. I wish that I could have seen the church in is original splendour instead of with the confusing and contradicting layers.

Day 3:
Today, Sunday was s true blessing. We went to church with Amy. Her shurch was very diverse - many accents and colours and languages. The church had an intensity to it that must come from believers who are on the edge of persecution. One of the pastors mentioned being evicted from his appartment because he was a christian.
Turks have a strange view of Christianity. They think that it is a CIA plot and that they pay people to take a Bible by putting money in it. being a Christian in Turkey is hard. That is why it felt like such a privilege to worship with the ex-pat community and to have communion with them. It was an extra bonus to see a Turkish man being baptized. The highligh was when the Turkish believers broke out into a Turkish praise song. Very moving.

Day 4:
Today was the day of our Bosphorus ferry ride, herein known as "the cruise". I am not really sure why I was so xcited about this since I have been on at least two ferries every day since arriving in Istanbul. Since Istanbul is built along a strait connecting the Sea of Mamara with the Black Sea and along an inlet called the Golden Horn, it is split into sections by water. There are bridges connecting each section, but by far, the easiest way to get aboud is by taking the ferry and trains. Transprtation here is an adjustment to say the least. THe rules are lax and line ups are non-exstent - meaning that people do not line up but rather move their way to the front through whatever space is available. Often on the train, passangers will prop the doors open in order to get a cool breeze. This would be a major faux pas in Canada.

Day 5:
After our Bosphorus cruise, we caught the night train to Ankara, the capital city of Turkey, where we went to a museum full of ancient artifacts from the Hittites and other civilisations. We also relaxed in a park and visited an ancient citadel.

At this point, my communication ability broke down. I hate being only being able to communicate my name, where I am from and that I want two tickets. It is not allowing me to learn about the Turkish people at all. However, I have had Christina to have deep conversations with. But gradually I have completely lost my voice and now I can only speak in a croaking whisper. Speaking takes too much energy for deep conversation and makes communicating the few Turkish words I know impossible. It is hard to get foreign sounds out when you can make no sound at all. It is very frustrating.

Day 6:
After Ankara we headed to Cappadocia on the bus.

Canadian airlines have some things to learn about Turkish buses. First the seats are comfy with ample leg room. Second, we have been offered water, tea or coffee and cake by the host of the bus, who hardly gets to sit down. After a stop at a station with stores, restaurants and washroms, the bus started to smell of BO, since the air conditioner was turned off. So the attendant offered all passengers lemon cologne for their hands and necks and sprayed the floor with air freshner and now the bus smells sweet again. Very nice. Way better than Greyhound and even Air Canada.

Day 7:
My afternoon of relaxation/errands. First - the PTT to mail my postcards. I searched and searched but could not find it. Then I saw the sign - phone cards, stamps etc. I tried the door. Locked. Then some people started talking to me from next door. Apparently I had the wrong place anyways. The two gentlemen gave me directions but only after I had a cup of tea with them. Afterwords I headed to the bank machine to get cas. I arrived, looked at the # pad and pancked. There were only numbers and no letters. I use the letters to remember my PIN number. I tried a few combinations but they were rejected. I ran through my options - ask Christina for help, phone mydad or look at a telephone number pad. As I was walking to the bank of telephones, I realized that Turks have a different alhabet than us so our phones probably wouldn't be the same. Well I was in luck. It was the same as the Canadian number pad. This is such a typical Jen story. I never thought that maybe I should pay attention to the numbers in my code and learn them. After all I have only been usng them for about 10 years now.

Day 8:
Today we took one of our only paid and guided tours. We went to an underground city, a gorge and various look out points.

The tour was an English tour but in reality Christina and I were the only native English speakers in the van. There was a couple from France, the girls from Germany, a couple from Italy, another couple from Slovenia, a Turkish man and other nationalities represented. It made conversation and connections a bit difficult. We are so lucky to be English speakers because there is always an English translation at museums and the first language spoken in the tourism world is English.

Day 9:
We spent the day hikng and then caught the night bus to Pammukale where we had to have faith past language barriers.

Our bus did not appear to be coming so I went to talk to the bus company tout. He took one look at my tcket, said "Come with me.", took me to another company, where my ticket was ripped up and substituted for another one. No attempted explanation given. We just followed along, trustingly blind.

It was ridiculously early when we arrved in Denzili. All the people going to Pammukale had to get off the bus - not one of us understanding waht was going on r where we should go. Finally, we understood that we had to transfer to a mini bus that would be here in ten minutes. In the meantime they offered us tea and gave me a Turkish donut.

Sure enough, a man did load us into a small van. Then we waited and waited and waited for more passengers. About half an hour later the new passengers arrived and we were off. Five minutes later we had turned around and were back at the otogar. Our driver ran off towards another bus and we waited and waited some more. One more passenger arrived but this time our bus would not start. "But no problem OK. I have trick." He slipped it into neutral and we started going backwards until the engine caught.

When we arrived in Pammukale, the sales pitch started. Our bus driver knew someone who had a hotel with a pool and air-conditioner and breakfast . . . "Come check it out. OK. No problem. You no like. I bring you back." We went to check it out and decided to stay which was good because our backpacks had been deposited in the lobby and our bus driver had disappeared (and the lady of the house had just upped the price by 5 liras but we brought her down again.)

Day 10 and on will appear later. I am bored typing this and hope that you aren't bored reading it.