Ephesus, the City of Cats

The final day of our excursion across Turkey brought us to Ephesus, the fabled Greek city, turned Roman city, turned ruin. Ephesus is situated in a small valley near Izmir, Turkey. Legend has it an oracle told Androklos, the Prince of Athens at the time, that a fish and a boar would lead him to a new settlement. Androklos (like any other sensible person) had no idea what that meant. However, one day as he was about to fry up a fish, the fish jumped from the pan and startled a boar, which took off running. The Prince followed the boar, which led him to the current site of Ephesus.

I saw no boars or fish at Ephesus, but that’s not to say the city was devoid of animals; Ephesus was teeming with cats. I happen to love cats, so naturally I had to pet each and every one of them. The cats were extremely friendly—even too friendly on occasion. A friend of mine had snuck some small sausages from breakfast and was feeding a few cats when one leapt from the ground and latched onto his chest. He was so taken aback that he dropped the sausage, and the cat jumped off after it. Since then he’s been a little more cautious about feeding the stray animals.

Ephesus was much more crowded with tourists than the other ruins we saw on our trip, which took away from the novelty of the city—it’s hard to marvel at the surrounding pillars, walls, and amphitheaters when you’re spending most of your energy weaving through tours and ducking under cameras. 

The most striking structure in Ephesus was the library, only the front of which is still standing. Ornately decorated with an impressive three floors, the façade stands high above the surrounding ruins. I spent a good half an hour sitting on the steps of the library petting some needy cats.

The last portion of the city that we visited was the theater, which supposedly used to be much bigger—only the bottom third remains today.

From an objective point of view, Ephesus was stunning and I would highly recommend seeing it if you’re ever in Turkey. However, after a week of seeing ruins, the novelty of walking among Roman pillars and sitting in Greek amphitheaters had worn off a bit (I know that sounds pretty bratty, but seeing so many ancient cities in close succession appeared to have this effect on all of us). This fact, coupled with the hundreds of tourists milling around, caused me to be a little underwhelmed by the city, especially since I had such high expectations for it.  

Wading Through Ruins

Who knew Turkey had mountains?

We arrived in Pamukkale, an area famous for its Roman ruins, on Tuesday night. Since it was dark when we drove in I didn’t have an opportunity to see our surroundings, so when we left our hotel Wednesday morning I was floored when I took a step outside and saw a series of white-capped behemoths guarding the horizon. I spent the next half an hour trying to get a picture that did them justice (I wasn’t successful). Seeing these mountains was slightly disconcerting because it seemed like I fell asleep in Turkey and woke up in Switzerland. Fortunately, the morning call to prayer reminded me where I was.

Hierapolis, now a pastoral Anatolian hillside checkered with freestanding Roman columns and dilapidated stone tombs, was once the home of 100,000 inhabitants. Our guide explained that most of these ancient remains would still be intact if it weren’t for Turkey’s propensity to attract devastating earthquakes (mom, I hope you’re not reading this). Fortunately, the city’s theater managed to survive the earthquakes so we were able to see it in its (almost) full glory. I found it fascinating how well sound carried inside this aging auditorium; despite the theater’s size, it was easy to hold a conversation with someone seated on the opposite end.

As if it wasn’t enough to walk among these ruins, you could pay 30 Turkish Lira (about $20) to swim among the ruins. But its February you say, surely it must be too cold to go swimming. That’s what I thought until I saw the steam coming out of the water, casting the submerged Hellenistic pillars in a hazy glow. Boy, do I love hot springs; best twenty bucks I’ve spent all trip.

We then experienced Pamukkale’s other claim to fame. The same hot springs we swam in also flow over a cliff and the water’s various minerals form a white, almost chalky sediment that coats the precipice in a snow-like film. The water pools along the cliffside in large puddles, which are excellent to wade through while trying to decide whether to focus your eyes on the stark, textured cliffside or the stunning mountains in the background.

After a lunch of chicken kebab and yogurt mixed with honey, we went to Aphrodisias, which houses the largest remaining Roman arena. It’s hard to tell in the pictures, but it’s close to the length of three football fields. The same site also has dozens of Roman marble statues, the likes of which populate high school history textbooks. 

Other various pictures from the day

Blowing Hot Air

Today marks day 4 of the weeklong excursion across Turkey I am taking with my study abroad group. Our party consists of 16 students, our professor/advisor/program director, our TA, our bus driver, and our intrepid tour guide. We began our trip by flying from Istanbul to Nevşehir, a city in the Cappadocia region. Since then we have driven close to 400 miles across southern Turkey.

A few of us have joked that our bus driver looks like he’s right out of a James Bond movie. He’s bald, he has a thick, dark mustache—big enough to rival the likes of Mark Twain, a solid frame, and occasionally wears a fez-like hat. Despite the irrefutable resemblance to an evil henchman, he turns out to be quite a friendly fellow.

Cappadocia is a region littered with phantasmagorical geologic formations, many of which look like tall, clay homes (aptly named ‘Fairy Chimneys’). There is a highly complex and detailed explanation for these formations, so I won’t bore you with the details. (In other words, I may not have been paying full attention to the tour guide during her explanation). Regardless, it gives the area an ethereal feel. My dad told me that Star Wars was almost filmed in this region, which makes perfect sense after walking around in what feels like an alien landscape. Supposedly, they decided not to shoot Star Wars here because of the… erm, let’s say male-esque nature of these Fairy Chimneys.  

The other phenomenon that makes the Cappadocia region famous is the prevalence of homes and even small cities that have been carved into rock. We explored three of these large cave settlements, each notably different.

The first was a fortress drilled into a protruding hunk of volcanic rock, positioned at the top of a large hill—unfortunately it was rather fragile, so we did not actually explore inside.

The second, a series of homes and churches carved into a mountainside, illustrated the predominance of Christianity in this people’s culture. There were ornate depictions of biblical scenes fully covering many of the church ceilings. It was a bizarre experience to enter a drab hole in a cliffside and have it open up into an area with rich, vivid paintings plastering the walls and ceiling. Unfortunately, we were not allowed to take photos inside these churches.

And finally, the third place we visited was a small city completely underground. We had to wriggle our way through passages 3 feet high and 2 feet wide, avoid holes dropping down to lower levels, and duck through doorways clearly designed for people much more vertically challenged than myself. This network of underground rooms and passageways was astounding and gave me a lot of appreciation for the tribulations ants must face. FYI, the pictures don’t do it any justice.

On Monday, we visited Çatalhöyük, a Neolithic village dating back 9,000 years. It is still an archeological dig site, but we were able to see the ancient stone walls and house foundations that have been uncovered. While the significance of this site was certainly stunning, its visual allure did not hold a candle to our previous sightseeing exploits. Nevertheless, it’s pretty cool to look back in time at the beginning of civilization.

While at this site, our tour guide pointed out a few hills that are known to have more of these villages buried underneath but have yet to be excavated. This seemed peculiar to me: if there are hills that are known to contain remnants of one of the oldest settlements ever discovered, why are archeologists not flocking to uncover these treasures? I guess once an archeological team discovers a site and lays claim, they have no incentive to expedite the process by allowing other archeological groups to come help. Still, it seems weird to me that these villages are just sitting here, waiting to be unearthed.

Despite all these fascinating sites, the highlight of our trip thus far was definitely the hot air balloon ride we took over Cappadocia. We woke up at five in the morning on Monday in order to get on the hot air balloon just as the sun was rising. Unfortunately, it was cloudy so we didn’t see the actual sunrise, but the balloon ride was plenty exciting on its own. After landing, the balloon pilot (driver, conductor? I have no idea what his title is) treated us to some champagne. I even got a certificate saying I survived my balloon ride—how considerate. Okay, that wasn’t the exact wording on the certificate. Anyway, hopefully the pictures will speak to the awesomeness of this experience.

Istanbul (not Constantinople)

I’ve received a variety of responses when I tell people I’m studying abroad in Istanbul this semester. I got a lot of “that’s unique," quite a few “I hear that’s a really fun city,” some “isn’t that dangerous?,” and even a couple “where’s that?." But I think by far the most common reply has been neither a statement nor a question, but instead the opening line to a song: Istanbul (not Constantinople) written by Jimmy Kennedy.

Hearing friends and acquaintances sing this song confused me at first. I have to admit I’d never heard the song, so when a friend of mine starting reciting the lyrics, I thought she was improvising a ditty about Istanbul and I was a little weirded out. After the next few instances of this I realized it must be a well-known song. This was an excellent discovery because it meant I no longer had to respond with a blank stare and a half-hearted chuckle, meanwhile thinking “I have the strangest friends…”; instead, I could simply say, “yeah, like the song!”

Since people kept bringing up this song, it began to pop into my head every time I heard the word Istanbul (now I know where my friends were coming from). First I thought it was sort of a stupid premise for a song—yes, Jimmy Kennedy you are correct, the city formerly known as Constantinople is now referred to as Istanbul. But then it occurred to me to be an interesting distinction. The name Constantinople connotes, at least for me, a medieval city steeped in ancient history and conflict. Istanbul, on the other hand, brings to mind a bustling, modern city teetering both physically and culturally between Europe and the Middle East. In other words, the two names mean different things for me; they evoke different emotions. One city is old and meaningful and has a wistful nature to it. The other city is new and exciting, with a touch of adventure and discovery.

            I have a lot of family history in this city, especially at the school where I will be studying—Bogazici University (University of the Bosporus). Bogazici University used to be called Robert College, which served as both a high school and a college. My dad went to high school here before heading off to Hamilton College. After graduating Hamilton, he returned to Robert College to teach English. My grandfather also attended Hamilton College and went to Istanbul to teach at Robert College, where he met my grandmother whose family had lived in Turkey for generations. Her father (my great-grandfather) taught at Robert College. That makes me the fourth generation to be at Bogazici University and the third generation at Hamilton College. Talk about legacy.

            After acknowledging the visceral difference I experience between the two names Constantinople and Istanbul, it occurred to me that this distinction is reminiscent of my own relationship to Istanbul. It’s not a perfect parallel, but I do have an almost misplaced nostalgia for my family history in Istanbul and that era; however, I’m also going to be having my own experience in this city decades after my father and my other various ancestors lived there. New meets old (no offense dad). Modernity intersects antiquity just the way the two names, Istanbul and Constantinople, overlap to combine histories and cultures.  

            What does this mean for me on a day-to-day basis? I have no idea. I guess we’ll have to wait and see. It gives me something to reflect on between mouthfuls of baklava.