Trip Notes – Turkey

December 7, 1975

Eight more days and we leave for Istanbul. This may be a bit early to start a “trip log,” but I am anxious for this vacation … I need it. Besides, from past experience, I know I probably won’t write anything worthwhile once we’re under way. My poor notes from Russia consist largeley of leadins like “Well, here we are on the bus again, waiting for stragglers so we can go see … (whatever).” and never get around to telling what whatever it was we saw was like once we got there. The next notation would begin, “Here we are on the bus again …”! Notes from Greece and London, likewise sketchy; pity, too, especially since I lost all (well, over 80 percent) of the pictures I took when my carryon bag was stolen in the hotel lobby.

So, this time I’ll try harder, Actually this should turn out to be more of a hodge podge of information, much of which will not be intended for anyone else to see. I think a large part of the trouble with note taking on the last two trips was that I was trying to be too selective, choosing ideas and phraseology for an audience (who, subsequently, never saw what I worte anyway) and therefore wound up putting things off until I could do it right … which I never got around to do.

In addition to recording sights and impressions, I definitely intend to keep track of ALL expenditures in this little book, the better to fill out that dreadful customs exercise on the way home. Also, a shopping list of things I need to get before we go, and a packing list, and of course a gift list; I’m going to be so damned organized for this trip, it won’t be funny.

To keep the lists separate from the narrative, I will turn the book over, upside down, and write the lists from the back.

The trip itself is pretty reasonable; $340 plus tax (total $411.53) includes airfare, bus to and from airport in Turkey, a welcome party for the group, seven nights at the Buyuk Tarabya Hotel, light breakfast each day, and a half day sightseeing tour of Istanbul. Not bad. Of course, the optional guided side tours give them a chance to gouge you a little. They offer: four days in Jerusalem ($200); an overnight to Troy ($68); a full day’s outing to Bursa (which sounds interesting … ferry across the Sea of Marmara to Bursa, which “nestles in the foot hills of the famous Mt. Olympus,” where you have lunch and see Turkish baths, the Green Mosque and Mausoleum and the twenty domed Grand Mosque and visit the bazaar for real Turkish towels, silks, embroideries, and old Ottoman relics … and even visit Hannibal’s grave ($28); two separate evenings on the town offering dancing and entertainment or an authentic Turkish feast (billed as “an evening of sensual satisfaction”) for only $18 and $16 respectively; tours of Topkapi and Saint Sophia, at $7 each.

We had originally decided to go for the Troy trip, figuring we could get around anyplace else on our own, armed with a copy of TURKEY ON $5 & $10 A DAY, but then heard from a friend of Katherine’s, who just got back from there and swears you can get to Troy and back by yourself a lot cheaper than $68. She even gave us the name of someone to contact there who will help us arrange it.

So, off we go to find our way. I’ll be interested to compare notes with somebody taking advantage of the guided oturs. They will (?), of course, be given more information than we may have about the various sights, but I’d really rather do things at our own pace and get involved in the arrangements rather than be herded like sheep in and out of places (remember “If It’s Tuesday, This Must be Belgium”?)

Another thing I like … the temperature should be in the forties (F); I hate going to places where it’s too hot.

My passport’s OK, I don’t need a visa; no shots.

I should have about $250 to carry; $50 cash and $200 American Express Travelers Checques. One dollar is equivalent to 15 TL (Turkish lira); 100 kurish is a TL. We’re allowed to leave with approximately $7 worth of Turkish lira, not that I’d want to, but I will want some representative currency for souvenirs.

Have to check out the Kapililarsi (bazaar) for good junk. In regard to bartering: “the true value of an article is seldom higher than 40 percent of the seller’s first price.” So, he will ask for more than twice its worth to begin with; I guess a good first bid, then (since it’s only worth half of what he’s asking) is to offer half of what it’s worth (i.e., 3/4 of first price). That’s going to be hard to do and still remember how much American money you’re talking about; maybe I should take my calculator.

USEFUL CONTACTS: Tourist Information Office (8:30 8:00), Entrance to Hilton on Cumhurivet Cad, 486864 or 456875; American Consulate, Beyogliu, 108 Mesrutiyet Cad, Terebasi; 453220; Buyuk Tarabya, 621000.

December 10, 1975 Another excellent reason for leaving the country at this time was brought home to me this morning. My clock radio woke me with the clangor of JINGLE BELL ROCK, which was followed by a medley of Christmas carols; we have already been treated to approximately five TV Christmas specials so far. I cannot take the American HARD sell of Christmas; it drives me right up the wall. As it is, I have to put up with five more days of this, but then we’ll be gone until the day before Christmas Eve. Hopefully, I’ll get away before they start pushing the “Little Drummer Boy” at us. Perhaps this way, getting away from all the red and green commercialization until just before the actual holiday, I will see Christmas from a different perspective this year, and parhaps be able to enjoy it for a change. I would like that.

December 12 Hooray! Just put in my last day at work for two weeks. Feel like a kid out of school for the summer. Timed it just right, too; thought at first I had blown it, having missed the big office move by a week. But then I guess it was better to have been there to pack my own stuff. Now we are in our new quarters; my desk is in order, and the job of unpacking the files and supplies is what I’ll be missing out on. Thank goodness.

Still don’t know how I’m going to get to the airport on Monday morning. No one has offered to drive me. Mother’s car is still indisposed. There’s a bus to Dulles that leaves 16th and K on the hour, but getting downtown with a suitcase at morning rush hour will be tricky. A bus leaves National airport for Dulles and stops near here at the Marriott on the half hour, which sounds OK … it will get me to Dulles by 10:15 and costs $3.25. I’ve lost the number to call for a reservation on the bus, but I can get it from the Statler.

December 14 Reservation made for airport bus. Will catch it at the Holiday Inn instead of Marriott.

December 15 THE DAY! I hate to start out saying I’m waiting for a bus (my Russia notes have that as a recurring phrase) but here I am at the Holiday Inn. The buss to Dulless will pick me up at 9:30. They better had, anyway; I made the reservation yesterday, and I’ve called twice this morning already to confirm it. They must think I’m crazy, but I’m sunk if they don’t come; (Rachel says Angela had a reservation for the bus to pick her up once, and it didn’t stop.)

My finances are in pretty good order. My last week’s spending money ran out (down to small change) yesterday, leaving me to start out today with the $300 I secured for the trip (plus 38 cents). I call that good timing. I have $250 in fifty dollar travelers cheques, and the rest in cash. Had planned to walk to the Holiday for the bus, but at the last minute decided that the suitcase was to heavy to lug. Oh, it’s well under the 44 pound limit for the flight (I think it’s around 30 pounds), but I really didn’t want to wear myself out before I got started; it’s going to be a LONG day; when we get to Istanbul (7:30 a.m. local time) it will be the equivalent of 1:30 a.m. D.C. time, and we will be just beginning a new day. I don’t really have the knack of sleeping on a flight, so by the time I turn in tomorrow night, I will have been up for approximately 31 hours. We have done it before, of course, but it takes a while to adjust.

I was a bad girl. I didn’t tip the taxi driver this morning. Was going to, but he stalled around in front of the Holiday until the meter clicked over again. That wasn’t necessary, and it only got him an extra dime … and cost him a quarter.

1:30 p.m. No trouble at check in; got seat assignment in smoking section (rear). Katherine and Darleen are way up front in nonsmoking. At first was next to fat old man and his fat old wife; don’t like sitting next to a pair; they talk to each other, not to you. Not that I don’t like a little privacy on a flight, but I like to have more of a choice. Moved to a row that had only one older lady by the window and took the aisle seat. Seems friendly, will chat, but also likes quiet to ready by. We are a half hour late taking off … control lost our flight plan, and it took a while to convince the computer to let us take off. Having quite a bit of turbulence right now; lunch will probably be delayed.

5:30 p.m. (still on DC time) We did eat on schedule, despite a great deal of turbulence; it seemed to calm down considerately for meal time. Then I actually managed to take a bit of a nap. Had previously been scheduled to touch down at Shannon airport in Ireland, but were rerouted for some reason, to stop in Amsterdam. Don’t know if the shops will be open this time, as it will be the middle of the night, but on the way back the timing will be better. Must check it out. Don’t remember the layout too clearly from the Russia trip, but may want to pic up some perfume or liquor.

6:15 You know how I was hoping to get away from Christmas songs? A couple of jokers three rows ahead of me are leading a singalong with all verses of Twelve Days of Christmas. Every time they get to “five goooooolden rings,” I feel like jumping out. Is there no escape.

Midnight Landing in Istanbul. It’s 7 a.m. and 43 degrees F and overcast. Amsterdam was fun. Ours was the only plane in. We found our way to the coffee bar, the only business that seemed not to be shut down and boarded up, but apparently they were unprepared for 250 people at that hour, and only one harried young man was on duty. One of the ladies on the tour volunteered for duty and served admirably, waiting on her fellow passengers. She was given a nice round of applause as she reboarded the plane.

2:15 p.m. (Istanbul time) It’s 7:15 at home. Seems the airport was not the only one unprepared for 250 people. The hotel expected 190 some time in the afternoon, and 150 showed up bright (?) and early in the a.m. Just now got into our rooms.

Cashed $100 in travelers cheques and got 1500 TL out of it; spent 30 TL for post cards and postage. Had excellent lunch for 66 TL plus 10 lira tip (about $5.00).

Too tired to make many general observations. The ride from the airport to hotel was, how shall I say, fairly unimpressive. So far, all of Istanbul looks like a slum; Even the buildings under construction look run down. The hotel is beautiful, however, and the view of the Bosphorous from our balcony is particularly romantic. We look down on the lapping blue water and seagulls swooping gracefully around and around. The other side of the Sea is not so far away, and we can see the Asian side of the town set against rolling mountains. There’s a steady traffic of boats (ships?) of all types, from ferries to tankers to gaily painted fishing vessels. To our far left is the Black Sea, and immediately to our right is a charming little marina with some regular pleasure craft and a couple of obviously expensive yachts. Behind the marina rises a steep hill that is dotted with a number of very interesting buildings, possibly residential, but something down there looks like a restaurant that we will have to check out.

The neighborhood is a quaint little village that we plan to make a walking tour of when we rest up.

A lot of places are closed up today for shopping because it is some kind of very religious (Moslem) holiday.

Wednesday, December 18, noon Just woke up from the first sleep I’ve had since I left home. Last night I was dog tired and had had to force myself to stay up until 7 or 8 so that I could get a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. Managed the bath and had just taken a sleeping pill to make sure, and Darleen burst in with some wild story about this guy going to the annual whirling Dervish festival in Konya, and he had tickets and hotel reservations and everything was all set, except the people supposed to go with him had backed out. She was eager to go along, and I was just punchy enough to go, too, but I kept asking “How do I get myself into these things!?” He picked us up at the hotel in a little red car and said he had to stop at home and change … and pick up a friend to help him drive. First we picked up the friend (Asaf) who doesn’t speak any English, then we went by Mehmet’s place for him to change. We were sent with the car actually while Asaf was instructed in Turkish to go get the gas tank filled and the oil changed. So while Mehmet changed, Osaf piloted the two of us round and round the streets of the Asian side of Istanbul looking for an open gas station.

No luck. Then we picked up another guy at a pool parlor (who Asaf introduced as “my brother,” so he can say a few words in English if he wants to) and dropped him off at an apartment building where he also picked up a tape recorder for the Dervish music. Then back for Mehmet, who was waiting for us in a coon skin cap (he just washed his hair) and then we did some more serious looking for gas and oil.

Found a BP station open and got gas. Spent a long time looking for the hood release so we could check the oil. Finally found it, and there was no oil … at all. I decided to take advantage of the tuvalet while the car preparations were in progress, and Mehment took Darleen and me around to the back of the station where the rest rooms were. The ladies room was dark and locked, so we had to use the men’s room, which had about an inch of water on the floor. The door didn’t secure too easily, either, so Darleen went in while I stood guard and then she stood guard for me. I had to walk on my heels with my toes in the air to keep the water on the floor from seeping into my boots. While I was in there, I heard Mehmet, who had gone back to see to the car, ask Darleen are you all right back there? which she answered yes, and he said OK, but stay where I can see you. Which I thought was pretty nice. If he was worried about our safety there, then obviously he wasn’t planning any funny business.

So, then we drove … and drove … into the mountains, through Ankara … very lovely snow covered scenery. We stopped for a break at some road side inn and had tea. I wasn’t very sociable, being extremely tired. Managed to sleep some on the last leg of the trip, which was just as well, as there was nothing to see but fog. Got to Konya and checked in to the Saray Oteli about 6 a.m. Got four hours sleep and then went out for brunch. Konya specialty is a terrific lamb kabob you eat with your fingers, served on chunks of flat bread, with half a red onion cut in quarters. Delicous.

Then we went to the Mevlana Museum, a holy place in the holiest of Moslem cities. The great Mohammed’s beard is enshrined there, as well as sultans’ graves dating from 1200 or so. Mevlana’s grave is set apart … bigger, draped with maroon velvets and gold embroidery, with two giant black turban like hats adorning the head of it. People come in a constant stream to kneel and pray and cry there … very emotional. Then we got some cognac and went back to hotel for spiked tea in the second floor sitting room until time for the Dervish festival, which will celebrate the 702nd anniversary of Mevlana’s death.

[ The performance itself was one of the most moving, magical, and mystical experiences I have ever experienced. Held in a gymnasium, with the audience on pulled out bleachers, the dancers filed in, twirling, until there were several rows of them snaking back and forth, until there must have been about thirty of them, led by the eldest. with their long gray beards, and arranged in age to the youngest, the last one a sweet looking smooth faced lad in his teens. I am writing this insert from the vantage point of almost 40 years later, and I can still close my eyes and picture myself there, sitting on one of the high, back rows of the bleachers. A Turkish family was sitting about three rows below us, and the little girl, who may have been seven, kept turning to look at us and she whispered to her daddy. Presently she got up and scurried off somewhere and, when she came back, she approached our group and handed me a program … written in English! She must have overheard us speaking and wanted us to be able to understand what was going on. That was so sweet. I still remember her dark hair and beautiful little face with the largest, brownest eyes I have ever seen; and I still have the program she gave me in a scrapbook. The music was hauntingly eerie, mostly flute and hand drum, and the dervishes all wearing the white garment which represents a shroud and the tall cone shaped hat representing a tomb stone, raised one hand palm up to heaven to receive heavenly blessings, the other hand lowered palm down to distribute those blessings toward earth and, at the signal of the dance master, closed their eyes and slowly began to twirl. The dance master, dressed in black, walks between the rows of dancers, presumably to keep them in line since their eyes are closed, and gives the signals for the phases of the dance. The twirling dervishes will all come to a stop simultaneously giving a small forward bow and crossing their arms over their chests, a hand on each shoulder, giving their long skirts time to wrap around their legs and, at another signal from the master, raise their arms and, eyes still closed, begin twirling again in the opposite direction, still channeling blessings from above which flow out from the downward palm to the layfolk. It took my breath away.]

After the dance, we attended a seance back at the hotel, held every year on the last evening of the celebration. There is a woman (American, expat, so did not need her Turkish interpreter to understand what she was saying) who, when hypnotized brings back the spirit of Mevlana (if you can imagine that). Personally, I didn’t think her performance was that good, but it was certainly interesting, and she does appear to have a following of believers.

Got to bed around 3 for five hours sleep and headed straight out (after stopping at a deli sort of place for carry out breakfast supplies to go see the underground cities at Kaymakli and Capadocia. Stopped to see a Karavanseri, sort of a 12th century motel for caravans. The villages we passed were very Turkish, with narrow streets and strange houses, not modern. At Kaymakli, we had to fix a car window that got stuck open (it was quite cold) and the curious children gathered around to watch the repairs and look at us. Must have been the most exciting thing to happen there in ages. Then they watched us while we bought wine and bread for the trip to Capadocia.

The Kaymakli underground city was dug several hundred years ago, possibly by early Christians escaping torture, etc. The site goes down for seven stories in winding narrow tunnels and cubby holes for living areas. It’s like a maze and would be very easy to get lost in, but we didn’t. Capadocia on the other hand, is more like caves dug into mountains, above ground, but same principle of digging out rock. These, unkike Kaymakli, are decorated with Christian symbols, some crude and some ornate (primitive, but multicolored and depicting figures, rather than the red geometric designs that decorate entrance ways. Many chapels had elaborate domes inside).

So Thursday (12/18) we had breakfast in Konya (on the road), lunch between Kaymakli and Capadocia, supper in Ankara, and spent the night in Abant. From Capadocia, it was about twelve hours back to Istanbul, and we wanted to travel some that night so as not to leave the whole distance for one day. Stopped at a hotel for tea and cognac before leaving Capadocia. Had a very exotic little room to ourselves with Turkish rugs and animal pelts on the wall. We sat on the floor cross legged around a low round table and discussed our plans. The owner of the hotel had a large collection of carpets in a back room and we spent an hour there while Darleen looked at about a dozen of them and wound up buying two, one about 2×3 feet in dark red and blue (she calls it the baby) and one 4×9 in gray, pink, and gold that is about 60 years old.

Our stop in Ankara was very short, just long enough for supper in fact. Just as well; looked too modern … traffic lights and highrises and a lot of advertising. Supper was good though, sis kebob and tea with cognac. And we visited a very interesting toilet while we were there. The john (european style) was lit only by a candle; Darleen had taken too long at her turn, and the candle went out while I was in there.

Mehmet had told me about a beautiful lake in Abant about four hours away from Istanbul, so we decided to carry on and spend the night there. Abant is about 10 kilometers off the highway, and the road goes through a forest. It was well after dark when we left Ankara and it had been snowing. The road to Abant was very eerie with the snow and the trees and the moonlight coming through the fog. We had to wake up the manager of the hotel when we got there, and he didn’t want to be bothered with us. He said he had no rooms; however, on further checking we discovered there were no guests checked in at all, so we had the place to ourselves.

We took two rooms on the second floor, with adjoining balconies overlooking the lake. It was late (about 3 a.m.) when we got settled in, and we decided to all have a little Chivas Regal before we turned in. The boys clambered over the balcony divider to join us in our room. Rather than bother room service (?), we plucked icicles off the balcony to put into each glass and poured the Chivas over it. We drank scotch, listened to Turkish music on the radio, and Darleen and I caught up on our postcard writing before sending the guys back to their room and turning in.

Slept until 11:00 a.m., pretty late for us (about seven hours) and then had breakfast and lunch in the dining room (which, as I recall, was spacious and homey; the walls were a pale yellow, the woodwork and table linens and gauzy curtains at the window were white). Of course, being the only guests in the hotel, we had the room to ourselves. There was soccer game on the radio, with teams I never heard of, and the boys wanted to bet on the game. The team I picked won, so everybody celebrated. Since we had talked long past breakfast and enjoyed the game, it turned into lunch time, and we had never even gotten up from the table. So we ordered our second meal of the day and enjoyed it just as much as the first, with convivial conversation, in the middle of a dining room to ourselves, except for the proprietor’s little white dog who visited with us and got a few treats from our table.

When we took off from there, the scenery was beautiful. On our way back to the highway, we drove around the lake and through the forest. We had passed a lot of lunber trucks on the highway, and this must have been the place it all came from. There was an area where a lot of trees had just been cut down, and there was a lot of greenery lying around on the road. We stopped the car and got out to “shop” around for a suitable Christmas tree to bring back to our hotel room in Tarabya. After choosing and rejecting a number of tree pieces, we settled on one and loaded it in the trunk. Before leaving, however, we took it out and dumped it down a ravine, because Mehmet was not sure if we would get in trouble for lifting state property; our tree never made it to the hotel. But we did get a picture of three of us beside the car, all the car doors open, and a couple of glasses sitting on the roof, and Mehmet displaying our Christmas tree for posterity.

Continuing on, we stopped again at our same little mountain view (when there was no fog, that is) inn for more tea and cognac that we had stopped at on the way to Konya. Took another bottle of cognac with us when we left and drank and sang all the way back to Istanbul

Had supper before we came back to Tarabya in a little restaurant that serves sort of a Turkish ravioli in yoghurt sauce with a drink similar to buttermilk. Darleen finished hers, but it was a bit too garlickey for me. Darleen is game to eat anything, even odd foreign quisine … we had read they eat sheeps’ eyeballs in Turkey. At one stop there were some small round unidentifiable things on our plates, which neither the Turkish boys we were with or I would touch, so Darleen got them all. I still do not know what they were (and don’t want to).

Katherine was very glad to see us when we got back; she had been expecting us since early that morning, and it was 10:30 at night … she had begun to be worried that we had been kidnaped by slave traders.

Saturday we had planned to go with the tour group to Bursa, but we had not signed up for the trip. Mehmet was to be guide on one of the buses and he expected to be able to get us in because he figured there would be vacancies, which there were not. So Darleen and I took ourselves downtown to the Hilton and met the man who runs the tours there. He treated us to a complementary bus ride around Istanbul and we got to see several notable sights; i.e. Saint Sophia, the Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, and the Grand Bazaar.

Kenan Tezcan is the man’s name; Darleen calls him Ken. Very nice, older, distinguished looking man. He invited me to take the Sunday afternoon Asiatic tour, since Darleen and Katherine were going to Izmir, but I didn’t go. I slept luuriously late and had a nice big breakfast (American) and went for a walk around the neighborhood. Found a souvenir store open and bought a few things. Then I came back and had my hair done at the hotel. Very disappointing … the best hair job I ever had was in London. I asked these people how much, and they said $10 (which I didn’t want to pay) but that includes extras like creme rinse, setting lotion and a manicure. I got them down to $7 for just shampoo, creme rinse and a set. I never use setting lotion at home, and I don’t have any nails to manicure. The creme rinse they use might just as well be water, for all the good it did in getting my hair painlessly untangled; she set my hair on rollers that were too large (so it came out straight) and set the heat in the dryer too high (my scalp got burned in several places and still hurts). Then the page boy style that she combed me into not only looked ridiculous, but kept falling in my eyes. So I came up to my room and used Darleen’s hair spray and the few rollers that I brought and am presently lying on the bed feeling sorry for myself. I brought my own shampoo, but I have no way to dry my hair, and the weather is too cold to run around with wet hair. At least now it’s clean and dry. Maybe later I’ll go down to the bar to drown my sorrows in cognac until Darleen and Katherine gat back.

She (Darleen) probably will go out with Mehmet tonight; they hit it off pretty good. The guys treated us like missionaries on our little three-day excursion, but he definitely likes her a lot.

On the way back to Istanbul Friday evening, Asaf got a little rambunctious with me in the back seat, and I finally had to get Mehmet to tell him in Turkish to cool it, so his feelings are probably hurt and I probably won’t get to see him before I go home. Too bad; he was nice.

It’s been snowing here all day, very heavy now, almost horizontal. Guess I’m glad to be inside.

Ken also invited us out to dinner Monday night, but I don’t want to go. I say he invited “us” but he was looking at Darleen when he asked, and I’m sure he only included me because he was being polite. She brought a dressy little black dress for such an occasion, but the only thing I have to wear besides slacks is a corduroy skirt, so not only would I feel like an ugly stepsistister, but very unnecessary as well. I don’t know if she’ll go if I don’t, but that’s his problem.

Tuesday December 23, 11 p.m. On plane enroute to Dulles. Must back track. Sunday night got dressed and waited for Katherine andd Darleen to gat back from Izmir. Sat on mezzanine and sipped cognac. They showed up around 8:00 with Mehmet in tow (he picked them up at the airport) and we all visited together for a while. Katherine really wanted to have a swordfish supper at a place down the street, so I went with her and Mehmet took Darleen out on the town.

Our dinner was good. Katherine was disappointed they did not have swordfish, but had a bluefish kebob anyway, and I had schnitzel. Katherine decided to try some Rakii (Turkish version of ouzo) and I had Efes (a Turkish beer).

On Monday morning, the three of us had to finish up our shopping, so we set out for the Grand Bazaar. It was harder to get there than we thought it would be; we waited ages for a bus (in freezing cold) and finally grabbed a taxi. After agreeing on a price (100 lira for all of us), we finally made it to our destination about noon. The bazaar is covered, but it was very cold inside. The shopkeepers, however, will invite you in to bargain over their wares and ply you with hot tea or Turkish coffee (which he orders by barking at little boys who run around with this hanging tea tray contraption) while you chat. It is hard to shop if you have to buy a lot of presents! (It would be easier if you could get only what strikes your fancy, but on any trip, you have a lot of gift obligations that can really be a pain, and this was for Christmas, as well.)

We all finally got something for everyone on our lists (except Katherine’s 5 year old nephew) and caught another taxi home.

Called Ken and begged off our date, but promised him dinner should he visit D.C.

Mehmet and Asaf picked us up that evening, and we went out (all 5 of us) for a last big night together. We went to a taverna that Mehmet had taken Darleen to the night before, way out in the sticks, down a dark alley and behind a high stone wall with only an old wooden door to show the place existed.

Inside is all candle light and filled with people; two musicians (a guitar and an accordian) play absolutely any kind of music you want to hear, and everybody sings along. They served an endless array of hot hors doeuvres (really mind boggling, and they keep on coming: deviled egg, black olives, salami, spiced beet, cheese, stuffed vine leaves, fried mashed potato sticks, sliced fish, whole smelt, lamb liver, and so on). When you can’t eat any more, they bring you a big platter of sliced fruits (apples, oranges, bananas, and tangerines). We all got a pretty good buzz on; Asaf (whose favorite American word is “Cheers!”) got sick. Had to keep stopping the car on the way back to Tarabya for him to get out and barf. Poor thing. I held his glasses, and he had his head on my shoulder all the way home.

Next morning, up early to pack and put the bags outside the door at 8:00. Had breakfast and picked up a couple of last minute items in the hotel shops (Katherine finally found a carved wooden flute for her nephew (and boarded bus for airport at 11:00. Mehmet was with us and we were herded through customs with no problem. Sit around and wait for plane; get cigarrettes and cognac (both Turkish) at duty free shop.

Ready to go. Smooth flight. Very sorry it’s over.