For the best coffee in selcuk, come here:
www.stjohn316.net
It sounds biblical, but no one tries to sell me Jesus. That makes me very happy! And their coffee is delicious, as is their toast...
(I will make the toast when I get back to the States, I promise...)
Cheers!
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Friday, July 18, 2008
Sofia, Bulgaria
I just thought this was such a beautiful building! And look at those weeping willows...
Ummm...is it just me or is this guy distinctly NOT Bulgarian? Odd.
The fence reminds me of my i-pod. Kirtie calls it communist colored...now I know why! And the McDrive...that's advertisement!
The gold domes are the top of the Alexander Nevsky cathedral. It is not allowed to take pictures inside. And then, the most beautiful spot in Sofia. Well, in my humble opionion anyway. :)
More Alexander Nevsky views...
I saw alot of these little bracelets tied around Greece and Bulgaria. It has something to do with the Virgin Mary...just don't ask me what because I forgot to remember (sorry!).
More beautiful views and buildings.
Ah, look at that little church! I think it is the St. George, if I recall the sign. I started singing "Somewhere my Love" when I saw it. I don't know why it reminds me of Dr. Zhivago, but it does.
St. Sofia, the namesake of the city. And a cool sculpture, right on the building! Amazing.
As a side note, I didn't really care for Sofia. This is all in a generally small area. There is also a great museum there...but then just a bunch of posters all around for nightlife. I split and went to Veliko Turnovo (thanks, Sam, for the rescue!) instead, which I madly, madly loved...
The fence reminds me of my i-pod. Kirtie calls it communist colored...now I know why! And the McDrive...that's advertisement!
The gold domes are the top of the Alexander Nevsky cathedral. It is not allowed to take pictures inside. And then, the most beautiful spot in Sofia. Well, in my humble opionion anyway. :)
More Alexander Nevsky views...
I saw alot of these little bracelets tied around Greece and Bulgaria. It has something to do with the Virgin Mary...just don't ask me what because I forgot to remember (sorry!).
More beautiful views and buildings.
Ah, look at that little church! I think it is the St. George, if I recall the sign. I started singing "Somewhere my Love" when I saw it. I don't know why it reminds me of Dr. Zhivago, but it does.
St. Sofia, the namesake of the city. And a cool sculpture, right on the building! Amazing.
As a side note, I didn't really care for Sofia. This is all in a generally small area. There is also a great museum there...but then just a bunch of posters all around for nightlife. I split and went to Veliko Turnovo (thanks, Sam, for the rescue!) instead, which I madly, madly loved...
Thursday, July 17, 2008
My Life as a Turkish Employee (or how I came to the end of my adventure before it really began)...
Really, it is difficult to begin to describe my days as a hotel worker in little Selcuk, Turkey. In spending nearly three months there, I saw more strange and bizarre incidents than seen in my previous 31 years. It all started off so good: a job offer as a traveler, a quaint small town in the hotbed of history, a couple of Americans nearby so as to not go into culture shock, and even a small stipend to boot. Who would pass up such an opportunity? Well, I for one did not, and while I have no regrets, I have certainly learned a great deal about looking beyond the surface of things. Just because something looks pretty doesn’t mean it hasn’t been slathered in cosmetic cover-ups to get that way.
When I visited Selcuk as a backpacker, I loved it. I spent a rain-soaked day at the Basilica of St. Jean, meeting another American as we avoided the “antique” coin sellers. We went on to the Crisler Library, a fantastic place run by an even more fantastic woman, Janet Crisler. There we met an Austrian girl, and spent an afternoon avoiding the rain by drinking wine at a lovely café down the road. Good chats, great people, a marvelous way to spend one’s day. I visited the ruins of Efes, took the bus to Sirince and sampled local wine, walked by one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World (the Temple of Artemis) and enjoyed the spectacular views of the valley. Idyllic, I thought, a paradise, absolutely heaven on earth. When I was offered a job later in the evening over a glass of Jack Daniels, my initial response was “no.” I had just started traveling, after all, and had much more to see before stopping. But then I went to Greece…and found I missed Turkey. I had a great experience overall during the three weeks I spent in the country. After a trip to Bulgaria, I decided to go back. What is the point of spontaneous travel if you can’t spontaneously stop?
I went to work at a brand new hotel that wasn’t completely finished (and to be honest, still is not). But, the best was made of it, we opened the hotel, we got a few guests…and it began. I had a great time. The terrace had beautiful views of Selcuk, and the sun shone and I had free time during the day to read, relax, and have coffee with my neighbors. In the evening, when guests would return from days spent out touring the sites, we would relax on the terrace, have some wine or beer, and talk about their day, their lives, their homelands. It was an awesome job, and I really loved it. Of course there were bumps in the road: the never-ending presence of my boss’s family and their never-ending smoking in a non-smoking hotel, the lack of a real understanding of what “boutique hotel” means to western travelers, who it was essentially built for, and, that old chestnut, trying to get paid. That was a battle started early on, which I had a difficult time in winning. But eventually my boss and I shook hands, he agreed he owed me money…and he continued to not pay me. I was promised, assured, constantly reminded not to worry, I would get paid in July for money owed as June was a busy month. I agreed, trusting in people’s general goodness. And so my work continued, I made friends; I became a part of the community. Two weeks later I started getting paid on a normal basis, and I thought everything was going just great. I still didn’t have the back pay, but no worries, July wasn’t too far away.
I frequented a local pub called the Pink Bar with an American I became good friends with. We frequented so much, in fact, we got our very own Efes (the place AND the pilsner) t-shirts! Official local status happened the day we realized tourists get charged more than double for ice cream. Suddenly, we were in and paying 3 lira for two (yes, TWO) piece chocolate and banana dipped in chocolate and nuts handmade ice cream cones. I had a brief love affair with the most un-normal normal boy I could find in Selcuk. Life was good. Then the ball dropped. I had to change hotels (my boss had two hotels under his management) as my beautiful hotel was being rented out to some geophysics workers for two months. I was going to the budget hotel where I stayed as a backpacker, where I would be waitress, late night drinking companion, and early morning breakfast buddy. The days would be free, which seemed good to me, and it was only until mid-July. Plus, my boss said those guys were paying a lot of money to rent the hotel, so getting paid in July would be no problem. Great, I thought, and began my new gig with gusto.
It started off great. Again, I loved the travelers, I loved hearing their stories and it was fun to share mine. I had the daytime free to go to Pamucak, the local beach, and so had a lovely tan. The nights weren’t always long, and I was free to socialize with friends after work. But then strange things started happening. My boss and his wife were having problems, and she left him for a short stint. He was “entertaining the ladies,” if you will, during her absence, and drinking-a lot-and making uncomfortable comments to me. Then I noticed the propensity of hookers coming in and out of the hotel, and saw they were being escorted by policeman, local businessmen, and the Selcuk elite. Then I heard the beating of a prostitute in our hotel, and was told to mind my own business. The boss’s wife, when she came back, thought I should stop seeing the guy I was dating, so I could “hook up” with all of the good-looking backpackers passing through. Then her husband went away for business, and she “entertained the fellows” in his absence. It was like a garbage pit of morality. All of the bad morals that got dumped in the rubbish by normal folk were festering here, in a little 20 room hotel. My friends were not allowed to come to the hotel anymore, so they were told by my boss. He never told me, and denied it when I confronted him. It felt like I was trying to be psychologically isolated.
Is it possible to become like poison when you are living in it? If the only way to survive the onslaught of evil is to become evil yourself, well, I was a super-villain. I can’t say I have ever been hateful. Not even at the most miserable, low, self-hating periods in my life have I been that way. One month here was all it took. I was angry, loathsome, defiant, challenging...my bosses discriminated against guests, and expected the same from me. They told lies, about the most foolish things. I approached them with contempt almost daily as a result. This only lasted one week. It was all I could take. I hated myself for putting up with it. And then July came…
And then no money came. My good old boss decided he didn’t want to pay me. I had reminded him the week before, about his promise to pay in July, and he said he might not have the money. As it turns out, he just didn’t want to pay me. So, I quit. His response? Good-get out. Thankfully, I made some really good friends who took me in, as I was living at the hotel. The same day as my quitting, my lovely friend Denise, who also happens to be Turkish, took me to the police station to file a report about the situation.
Let’s end this tale, as it is going to be ten more paragraphs about the corruption in Selcuk. The policeman, who promised to help me, to speak to the ex-boss about payment before I filed the report, lied. He had a good laugh with the bugger about the situation, and then refused to see me or answer my calls. I went to another police station, and the same thing happened. I had to call the embassy (no small task here, believe me), get them to call the tourist police, and get THEM to call the regular police. I needed two witnesses to say I worked at the hotel: those witnesses, no lie, were threatened. Their families were threatened. I was offered jobs, but those businesses were threatened. I found new witnesses…but wait! The embassy sent me an email (I emailed first, and got no response, so I called) saying I would face a penalty of, oh, any amount the Turkish authorities want to fine me, if I file the report indicating I was an illegal employee. I withdrew my report, and will re-file it when I leave the country. Will I get paid? Probably not. Will I get back the money that was stolen from me (did I ever share that story with anyone besides mom?)? Again, probably not. Is there any recourse for the buggers who swindled me in Istanbul? No, I realized it too late, and honestly, nobody here really seems to care. I am American. I therefore have lots of money. My fate matters to no one. That sounds a bit dramatic, I suppose, but that’s how I am feeling.
The options now are this: stick around in Selcuk, and hope I get paid so I can continue my adventure (I need the money after swindling/robbing events); head to Syria for a few days, and try to get to Israel after for a few more days; if no money is paid, well, head to England, try to connect with some friends I made that live there, and use that return ticket back to New York that I have for September 10. To say I am disappointed is an understatement. However, I have learned a lot, I have all of my gear still, and nothing says there can’t be a next time. Maybe even next year! I am a foolish, foolish girl at times, much too trusting. Despite what I say out loud, that is the truth of me. I have always been more honest on paper than in life. I feel like I am twenty…and not in a good way.
Alas, the shoestring will most likely be taking a hiatus. Hope for some sort of miracle, kids…or better yet, a job (outside of Turkey)! I’ll keep you posted.
When I visited Selcuk as a backpacker, I loved it. I spent a rain-soaked day at the Basilica of St. Jean, meeting another American as we avoided the “antique” coin sellers. We went on to the Crisler Library, a fantastic place run by an even more fantastic woman, Janet Crisler. There we met an Austrian girl, and spent an afternoon avoiding the rain by drinking wine at a lovely café down the road. Good chats, great people, a marvelous way to spend one’s day. I visited the ruins of Efes, took the bus to Sirince and sampled local wine, walked by one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World (the Temple of Artemis) and enjoyed the spectacular views of the valley. Idyllic, I thought, a paradise, absolutely heaven on earth. When I was offered a job later in the evening over a glass of Jack Daniels, my initial response was “no.” I had just started traveling, after all, and had much more to see before stopping. But then I went to Greece…and found I missed Turkey. I had a great experience overall during the three weeks I spent in the country. After a trip to Bulgaria, I decided to go back. What is the point of spontaneous travel if you can’t spontaneously stop?
I went to work at a brand new hotel that wasn’t completely finished (and to be honest, still is not). But, the best was made of it, we opened the hotel, we got a few guests…and it began. I had a great time. The terrace had beautiful views of Selcuk, and the sun shone and I had free time during the day to read, relax, and have coffee with my neighbors. In the evening, when guests would return from days spent out touring the sites, we would relax on the terrace, have some wine or beer, and talk about their day, their lives, their homelands. It was an awesome job, and I really loved it. Of course there were bumps in the road: the never-ending presence of my boss’s family and their never-ending smoking in a non-smoking hotel, the lack of a real understanding of what “boutique hotel” means to western travelers, who it was essentially built for, and, that old chestnut, trying to get paid. That was a battle started early on, which I had a difficult time in winning. But eventually my boss and I shook hands, he agreed he owed me money…and he continued to not pay me. I was promised, assured, constantly reminded not to worry, I would get paid in July for money owed as June was a busy month. I agreed, trusting in people’s general goodness. And so my work continued, I made friends; I became a part of the community. Two weeks later I started getting paid on a normal basis, and I thought everything was going just great. I still didn’t have the back pay, but no worries, July wasn’t too far away.
I frequented a local pub called the Pink Bar with an American I became good friends with. We frequented so much, in fact, we got our very own Efes (the place AND the pilsner) t-shirts! Official local status happened the day we realized tourists get charged more than double for ice cream. Suddenly, we were in and paying 3 lira for two (yes, TWO) piece chocolate and banana dipped in chocolate and nuts handmade ice cream cones. I had a brief love affair with the most un-normal normal boy I could find in Selcuk. Life was good. Then the ball dropped. I had to change hotels (my boss had two hotels under his management) as my beautiful hotel was being rented out to some geophysics workers for two months. I was going to the budget hotel where I stayed as a backpacker, where I would be waitress, late night drinking companion, and early morning breakfast buddy. The days would be free, which seemed good to me, and it was only until mid-July. Plus, my boss said those guys were paying a lot of money to rent the hotel, so getting paid in July would be no problem. Great, I thought, and began my new gig with gusto.
It started off great. Again, I loved the travelers, I loved hearing their stories and it was fun to share mine. I had the daytime free to go to Pamucak, the local beach, and so had a lovely tan. The nights weren’t always long, and I was free to socialize with friends after work. But then strange things started happening. My boss and his wife were having problems, and she left him for a short stint. He was “entertaining the ladies,” if you will, during her absence, and drinking-a lot-and making uncomfortable comments to me. Then I noticed the propensity of hookers coming in and out of the hotel, and saw they were being escorted by policeman, local businessmen, and the Selcuk elite. Then I heard the beating of a prostitute in our hotel, and was told to mind my own business. The boss’s wife, when she came back, thought I should stop seeing the guy I was dating, so I could “hook up” with all of the good-looking backpackers passing through. Then her husband went away for business, and she “entertained the fellows” in his absence. It was like a garbage pit of morality. All of the bad morals that got dumped in the rubbish by normal folk were festering here, in a little 20 room hotel. My friends were not allowed to come to the hotel anymore, so they were told by my boss. He never told me, and denied it when I confronted him. It felt like I was trying to be psychologically isolated.
Is it possible to become like poison when you are living in it? If the only way to survive the onslaught of evil is to become evil yourself, well, I was a super-villain. I can’t say I have ever been hateful. Not even at the most miserable, low, self-hating periods in my life have I been that way. One month here was all it took. I was angry, loathsome, defiant, challenging...my bosses discriminated against guests, and expected the same from me. They told lies, about the most foolish things. I approached them with contempt almost daily as a result. This only lasted one week. It was all I could take. I hated myself for putting up with it. And then July came…
And then no money came. My good old boss decided he didn’t want to pay me. I had reminded him the week before, about his promise to pay in July, and he said he might not have the money. As it turns out, he just didn’t want to pay me. So, I quit. His response? Good-get out. Thankfully, I made some really good friends who took me in, as I was living at the hotel. The same day as my quitting, my lovely friend Denise, who also happens to be Turkish, took me to the police station to file a report about the situation.
Let’s end this tale, as it is going to be ten more paragraphs about the corruption in Selcuk. The policeman, who promised to help me, to speak to the ex-boss about payment before I filed the report, lied. He had a good laugh with the bugger about the situation, and then refused to see me or answer my calls. I went to another police station, and the same thing happened. I had to call the embassy (no small task here, believe me), get them to call the tourist police, and get THEM to call the regular police. I needed two witnesses to say I worked at the hotel: those witnesses, no lie, were threatened. Their families were threatened. I was offered jobs, but those businesses were threatened. I found new witnesses…but wait! The embassy sent me an email (I emailed first, and got no response, so I called) saying I would face a penalty of, oh, any amount the Turkish authorities want to fine me, if I file the report indicating I was an illegal employee. I withdrew my report, and will re-file it when I leave the country. Will I get paid? Probably not. Will I get back the money that was stolen from me (did I ever share that story with anyone besides mom?)? Again, probably not. Is there any recourse for the buggers who swindled me in Istanbul? No, I realized it too late, and honestly, nobody here really seems to care. I am American. I therefore have lots of money. My fate matters to no one. That sounds a bit dramatic, I suppose, but that’s how I am feeling.
The options now are this: stick around in Selcuk, and hope I get paid so I can continue my adventure (I need the money after swindling/robbing events); head to Syria for a few days, and try to get to Israel after for a few more days; if no money is paid, well, head to England, try to connect with some friends I made that live there, and use that return ticket back to New York that I have for September 10. To say I am disappointed is an understatement. However, I have learned a lot, I have all of my gear still, and nothing says there can’t be a next time. Maybe even next year! I am a foolish, foolish girl at times, much too trusting. Despite what I say out loud, that is the truth of me. I have always been more honest on paper than in life. I feel like I am twenty…and not in a good way.
Alas, the shoestring will most likely be taking a hiatus. Hope for some sort of miracle, kids…or better yet, a job (outside of Turkey)! I’ll keep you posted.
This one is for Amy
My dearest friend, Amy Denise D.K. (to preserve her privacy, as if the entire world doesn’t know who she is already!), is not a touchy-feely sort of girl. As I make friends with locals in Selcuk, I understand why.
I like giving hugs. Really! I think hugs are totally underrated, and sometimes I would like to have 7 per day. I got used to the “kiss on the cheek” greeting from years of living in New Jersey, though I can’t say it’s a habit I kept and brought back to North Dakota.
Well, here, it’s hugging. It’s kissing on the cheek (twice). And then…it’s hand-holding…and hands on thighs…and back rubbing… Are you freaked out yet? That’s what happens with WOMEN! Really, I was nervous that I was giving off a vibe. You know…a vibe!! I have no problems with that sort of thing, except I really do love boys. Of course they are buggers! But that’s just the way it is. Apparently, the same can be said for the ladies here. There is no fishy business going on, no quasi-lesbian come-ons. It is just a touchy-feely sort of culture. I noticed, then, as I’ve been thinking about this (as I am chronically disturbed and long for the safety of Amy’s home), that men walk down the street arm in arm, they hug each other, a perfunctory part of the day. So Amy, my advice is this: do not move to Turkey. You may get mauled and have your thigh rubbed because you’ve become such good friends with someone, they may spontaneously kiss you on the cheek and start to rub your back because they just plain old love you. Your discomfort level will skyrocket, as will your blood pressure. As you are my dearest friend, I wanted to give this information to you in a public forum, so others will know and stop any notions you have of moving here…and then getting robbed, swindled, and molested, like your old friend Kirsten. :)
I like giving hugs. Really! I think hugs are totally underrated, and sometimes I would like to have 7 per day. I got used to the “kiss on the cheek” greeting from years of living in New Jersey, though I can’t say it’s a habit I kept and brought back to North Dakota.
Well, here, it’s hugging. It’s kissing on the cheek (twice). And then…it’s hand-holding…and hands on thighs…and back rubbing… Are you freaked out yet? That’s what happens with WOMEN! Really, I was nervous that I was giving off a vibe. You know…a vibe!! I have no problems with that sort of thing, except I really do love boys. Of course they are buggers! But that’s just the way it is. Apparently, the same can be said for the ladies here. There is no fishy business going on, no quasi-lesbian come-ons. It is just a touchy-feely sort of culture. I noticed, then, as I’ve been thinking about this (as I am chronically disturbed and long for the safety of Amy’s home), that men walk down the street arm in arm, they hug each other, a perfunctory part of the day. So Amy, my advice is this: do not move to Turkey. You may get mauled and have your thigh rubbed because you’ve become such good friends with someone, they may spontaneously kiss you on the cheek and start to rub your back because they just plain old love you. Your discomfort level will skyrocket, as will your blood pressure. As you are my dearest friend, I wanted to give this information to you in a public forum, so others will know and stop any notions you have of moving here…and then getting robbed, swindled, and molested, like your old friend Kirsten. :)
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
A stupid fairy tale about Little Caesar's Pizza...
Once Upon a Time, in a far off land called Fargo, there lived two girls: one was small and pretty, the other, a giant wildebeest like creature. They worked together in a magical place called Pier 1. Every Thursday, as became tradition, after sweating profusely from hauling large pieces of furniture and moving around strange inventions known as pedestals, they would eat two very special dishes. The first was a beautiful, round, spicy thing called “pepperoni pizza.” The other, small, greasy, and doughy, was called “breadstick.” With this “breadstick,” there came a sauce. And the sauce was tomato-y and delicious. The girls would dip their breadsticks in the sauce, sigh, and think it was the most wonderful creation on earth. And to wash it all down, nectar from the heavens, a sweet and fruity concoction called Mountain Dew. It sounds earthy, of course, but it was truly something sent from the gods.
Ok, ok, enough of my stupid fairy tale. The point is this: today, the ravenous wildebeest known as me discovered something magical. By mixing the local yogurt with this pepper paste sold by the jar, and eating it with a loaf of bread, it almost, almost, tastes like the dipping sauce for Little Caesar’s breadsticks. Really! I just discovered it at dinner, as I was so hungry I thought I might actually eat the entire loaf of bread. Don’t ask me why I was so hungry! I’m a wildebeest, what do I know?
What is that Cat Power song? “Aretha, sing one for me.” Courtney, eat a breadstick for me. Wait… instead, eat a pepperoni pizza and wash it down with a mountain dew for me!
Ok, ok, enough of my stupid fairy tale. The point is this: today, the ravenous wildebeest known as me discovered something magical. By mixing the local yogurt with this pepper paste sold by the jar, and eating it with a loaf of bread, it almost, almost, tastes like the dipping sauce for Little Caesar’s breadsticks. Really! I just discovered it at dinner, as I was so hungry I thought I might actually eat the entire loaf of bread. Don’t ask me why I was so hungry! I’m a wildebeest, what do I know?
What is that Cat Power song? “Aretha, sing one for me.” Courtney, eat a breadstick for me. Wait… instead, eat a pepperoni pizza and wash it down with a mountain dew for me!
Friday, July 4, 2008
Hadrian's Gate, Antalya
Built by the Emperor Hadrian (honestly, this guy was everywhere!) during his reign...
It is in the old city of Antalya.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Side and the Temple of Apollo
Side (pronounced "see-day") is a small Mediterranean village in Turkey, famous only for its beautiful Temple. It is a small town, but becoming, like all towns on the coast of Western Turkey, resortish...
It was my first sighting of the Mediterranean. And it was windy. Again. :)
Pamukkale and Hieropolis
A little background information: the ruins at Hieropolis are located above and next to the calcite cliffs of Pamukkale, widely considered one of the 7 wonders of the natural world. Pretty cool to see both things for the price of one admission! The waters are supposed to have healing properties as well--so, if you've got a skin condition, it's the place to be.
My feet got a little soak...
photos, photos, everywhere
Thanks, Kirtie, for pointing out my complete lack of photos! I realize now that I have a whole catalog of fun to post, and I apologize for being a slacker. Having a bit of a slack job, I forget sometimes to be motivated...:)
Postings to follow, full of pictures.
Postings to follow, full of pictures.
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