Wednesday, March 30, 2005

The Lowdown



I had grandiose plans to write a big long description of the last week and a half, but time is limited and internet cafe funds are short. No chance for grandeur.

Right now I am surrounded by Greek men on a little island of the coast of Turkey. I can't understand a word being said and I can't read a single sign in the place. Time to bust out the Greek flashcards.

The last 10 days or so in Turkey were great. Lots of friendly Canadians. Met up with the McClure's again. Sang songs on the roof with Lily. Helped Morgan choose knitting yarn. Cooked pumpkin pie. Had all my food stolen. Got it back again. No time to eat said food because Oya, the wonderful woman at Homeros pension (where I wasn't even staying), fed me like a long lost sister. May her olive trees always bear fruit and her cows always give milk....

Saw the ancient ruins of Hierapolis and Ephesus. Visited the Grotto of the Seven Sleepers just like Mark Twain did 150 years ago. Got scrubbed to death in the Turkish bath at Bodrum. There really is no need to have butt cheeks exfoliated. Further tortured by a Turkish oil massage. Ouch. Saw the ruins of Mausolus's mausoleum. Tramped around a crusader's castle.

Tonight on the boat to Athens. Meeting Chris in three days!

Out of internet time... Bye!

2 Comments:

Blogger Ms. NOLA said...

I want to hear more about Turkish baths! I've only been to one in Paris at the Mosque.

April 12, 2005 2:20 PM  
Blogger Jennifer P. said...

I'm gonna quote Mark Twain's account of his Turkish bath experience in 1867. It hasn't changed much.

"The prison was filled with hot air. When I had got warmed up sufficiently to prepare me for a still warmer temperature, they took me where it was - into a marble room, wet, slippery, and steamy, and laid me out on a raised platform in the center. It was very warm. Presently my man sat me down by a tank of hot water, drenched me well, gloved his hand with a coarse mitten, and began to polish me all over with it. I began to smell disagreeably. The more he polished, the worse I smelled. It was alarming....

He went on scrubbing and paid no attention. I soon saw that he was reducing my size. He bore hard on his mitten, and from under it rolled little cylinders, like maccaroni. It could not be dirt for it was too white. He pared me down in this way for a long time....

After a while he brought a basin, some soap, and something that seemed to be the tail of a horse. He made up a prodigious quantity of soapsuds , deluged me with them from head to foot, without warning me to shut my eyes, and then swabbed me with the horsetail...."

My Turkish bath experience ended with a pain-filled massage. Mark Twain got to skip that.

April 14, 2005 10:48 AM  

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