Ephesus: Celsus Library

As we exited the Slope Houses we could see Ephesus’ crowning glory below us: the Celsus Library.

We merged with the tide of tourists flowing towards this magnificent building, spilling down a ramp that opened onto a wide courtyard. And there it was.

The crowds now swirling around me did not detract from the sight of this awe-inspiring edifice.

The facade is over-the-top impressive, two stories of columns topped with glorious Corinthian capitals and capped with curlicued pediments.

Niches tucked among the columns hold graceful female figures symbolizing (depending on which resource you believe) wisdom (Sophia), knowledge (Episteme), intelligence (Ennoia), and valor (Arete).

This building is something that grabs your gaze but you can’t quite comprehend what you’re seeing because it’s so astoundingly beautiful. As with Michelangelo’s statue of David in Florence, you see but can’t believe your eyes.

There it is peeking just over the top of this whimsical capital

Ephesus: The Slope Houses

In addition to the acres of ruins that roll out in front of you as you walk down the marble streets of Ephesus, you can visit the terrace houses, or “Houses on the Slope,” which extend up the hill of Mount Koressus. This was where the rich and famous of Ephesus lived.

Since we had arrived so early and the fact that the terrace houses required a separate fee, we were able to tour them completely unhindered by other groups of tourists.

Still an archaeological project much in the process, an enormous columned room was filled with large tables completely covered by what looked like ancient puzzles. Pieces of marble mosaics and frescoes that had decorated floors and walls were being painstakingly pieced back together to eventually display.

Working our way upwards on a network of stairs and sturdy ladders, we were able to peer down onto the mosaic floors and view internal walls filled with colorful frescoes.

I love this bird.

Think of the time it took to create this incredible mosaic scene.

These ancient houses actually had running water, brought in by a channel system. Some had either a cistern or a well. Almost all of the houses were heated from air conducted through earthenware pipes and vents.

And we think we’re so cutting edge.

Ephesus: Curetes Street

Leaving the Odeon, we continued down the main path of Ephesus: Curetes Street. Our adopted dog followed us.

Dogs and cats drift among the stones of Ephesus, peacefully coexisting.

Centuries after it was first established, Ephesus became one of the most important cities of the Roman Empire, home to 250,000 people. Walking this marble-dusted road, it was hard to imagine so many people living here.

Saint Paul arrived in 50 ACE and converted a handful of Ephesians to a new religion: Christianity. Bible lore states that Mary spent the final years of her life here at Ephesus, tended to by St. John the Evangelist. In fact, one of the ruins at the site is a humble stone house known as the House of Mary, where she is thought to have lived. It is a point of pilgrimage to this day.

Eventually, Ephesus completely relinquished its worship of Artemis and evolved into the center of Christianity of the Roman Empire.

In modern times, two popes (Pope Paul VI and Pope John Paul II) made their own pilgrimages to Ephesus in 1967 and 1979, respectively.

I contemplated this sad subjugation of Artemis as we ambled along Curetes Street. But glancing over at our dog, plodding alongside us like our personal shepherd, it felt clear to me that Ephesus still belongs to Artemis.

Ephesus: The Odeon

At 6:45 a.m., we were pulling away from the curb, heading towards Ephesus. Trying to beat the daily hordes that take over the site every day, Alp was determined that we would be the very first ones in. It turns out we were.

Ephesus is famous and overrun with tourists the same way that Pompeii is crowded and crazy with people. But, as with Pompeii, there is a very good reason.

Ephesus is truly a wonder, not only as one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, but as an amazing archaeological site of today. Originally founded 1,000 years BCE as a city and center dedicated to the worship of Anatolian Mother Goddess Artemis, it boasted the largest edifice of the ancient Greek world and first major structure made entirely of marble: the Temple of Artemis.

(It appears I am not the only one to have been enamored of Artemis)

At its cultural pinnacle, this temple was four times as large as the Parthenon in Athens. Sadly, and somewhat incredibly, nothing remains of this magnificent structure but a lone column.

Throughout the centuries, the shrine to the Greeks’ revered Artemis was sacked and plundered, bits and hunks carried off to construct other buildings and churches. The Hagia Sophia in Istanbul even sports some of its architectural elements.

Entrance to the Odeon

Our group had barely started down the marble road when we came to the Odeon. Constructed in 150 ACE as a council chamber for the senate, it later served as a concert hall accommodating 1400 spectators. Since the roof is long gone, it now looks like a small amphitheather.

The Odeon

We gathered around Alp, sitting on the shaded stone seats while he expounded upon the history of the Odeon.

A stray dog, like the ones that wander Pompeii, adopted our group here. He followed us onto the stone steps, plopping down contentedly to wait for Alp to finish his discourse.

At first he was listening intently

But he’d heard all this so many times before

I listened for awhile too, but the ancient stones were calling me. I drifted off with my camera.

From the Odeon, we returned to the main drag of Ephesus.
Our dog came with us.

Konak Square

It was dusk when we stumbled by accident onto Konak Square, the very heart of the city of Izmir. What a serendipitous time to arrive. The sky was completely clear and the full moon was pushing above the skyline back towards the city. The square seemed to be glowing.

Konak Square

We approached the plaza from behind the tiny Konak Mosque (Konak Camii) snuggled off to one side of the square.

Konak Camii (Konak Mosque)

Octagonal in shape and encrusted with exquisite tiles from Kütahya, it’s adorable, if that can be said of a mosque. Built in 1755 in classic Ottoman architectural style, its entrance is actually sunken a couple of steps below the surface of the rest of the plaza.

Pretty tiles decorated its exterior

I noticed shoes resting outside the partly open door, and people (mostly men) wandered in and out.

Konak Square’s Clock Tower

Off to the left, in the middle of this expansive plaza, sits the Ottoman clock tower, given to the city in 1901 by Sultan Abdülhamit II. It is very striking and easy to see why this is the symbol of Izmir.

People milled all around it, drawn by its central location as well as by the four fountains surrounding its ornate base.

Gino and I walked up and down this park-like plaza, stopping to rest and people watch from a bench. Everyone was in a festive mood, but maybe it’s often like that here in this square.

We paused in front of a statue of Hasan Tahsin Pasha, an Ottoman military officer from the early 1900′s. A wreath rested at its base. As we travelled throughout Turkey, many times I learned of scuffles and wars between the Greeks and the Turks. Now I have a deeper understanding of the lingering animosity the Greeks feel towards the Turks, even though I have no such personal feelings myself.

After dinner on our own, we wandered awhile along the waterfront before moseying back to the hotel. It would an early morning rise. The bus was set to leave promptly at 6:45 a.m.  We were headed for Ephesus.

Kemaralti — Izmir’s Bazaar

Before we could go shopping, though, we had to take care of important business. There was still that battery charger to find.

By now, Gino had been drastically curtailing his usual rampant video-taking. Knowing he was running on battery fumes, he had become extremely picky about what he filmed. We still had Ephesus coming up, and at the end, Bodrum.

A block from our hotel we found an actual Sony store. In creative sign language we explained what we needed.  No, sorry, they didn’t sell parts like that. But there was another store that surely would —  the Sony repair store. Perfect!

The friendly clerk drew us a map, wrote down the address, and described how to get there on foot. “But wait,” we said. “Would you mind calling them first to make sure they have what we need?”

They called. And called. Finally, they were told that this particular store is closed on Saturdays. Today was Saturday. They wouldn’t be open tomorrow either. We were done.

We resigned ourselves to having little and no video for the remainder of the trip and accepting this sad reality, walked off towards the market. What better way to lose our frustration than in the colorful tangles of a Turkish bazaar?

One of the things you’ll notice in Turkey is the proliferance of evil eyes (stop for a moment and click here to read my page on these prolific Mediterranean symbols).

Not surprisingly, one of the first things we saw as we entered the Kemeralti, Izmir’s smaller version of Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, was a small shop dedicated entirely to evil eyes. It was so small it was difficult to get inside to really look around so we lingered at the opening, looking at the different evil eye creations hanging there.

Before seriously devoting ourselves to Kemaralti, we stopped for lunch at a small cafe inside the market for a stuffed potato snack. The young fellow who waited on us was very sweet. He was quite intrigued when he learned we were from California.

“Very thank you!” he said, after I paid the bill.

I asked him where I might find the rice pudding I’d been searching for since the Galata Tower in Istanbul. He drew a little map showing us how to get to a pudding shop, then decided just to leave his post and lead us around the corner to point it out. The name of the shop was BHU, short for Bolulu Hasan Usta.

This rice pudding, called firinda sütlaç, was well worth the wait. A classic rice pudding from Ottoman cooking, it is moist and creamy and a bit burnt on the top, the same way that crème brûlée is. I ate every drop.

Now it was time to shop.  We admired the European style shoes in the windows, even trying some on. The ubiquitous carpet hawkers  tried to lure us into their shops. But by now, we were adept at avoiding them.

“Espanol!” they called out to Gino. “Australian!” they yelled. One queried, “Italian?” Not breaking my stride, I responded in Italian and was surprised when he answered back in perfect Italian. The man and I bantered back and forth for as long as we could hear each other’s words.

Gino and I came up with a giggly idea that would be a perfect come-back to the carpet hawkers. We would simply respond in a made-up language, gibberish, but spoken as though it were real. That would take them aback…at least for a second.

We passed a Turkish tea spot with characteristic low tables and chairs covered with carpets and colorful cloth. Tall narghiles sat next to the tea-making equipment. It all looked very enticing. We sat down.

What timing! Two musicians were seated at the table behind us, one playing a violin, and the other playing a doumbek and singing.  How much more Turkish could this get — sitting in a bazaar, having tea, with live music at the next table!

We continued exploring the bazaar which flowed outward into a warren of streets hiding swirls of treasures: brass and other metal items hanging from windows, clothing of every kind, jewelry, pottery, sparkly colored glass lamps, scarves, fabric, and food. It made me delightfully dizzy.

One food cart was filled with prickly pears. A man with a long knife was peeling off the spiky skin for passersby.

An old woman sat on the ground with a tarp spread with nuts for sale. On a corner, I spotted a mannequin of a young boy dressed in full regalia for his circumcision day, little king for a day.

At the outer edge of the market, we stumbled upon a bead store. It was filled with evil eyes of every size and metal findings of every design. I filled my hands with a mound of them, large and small, and when I paid, it amounted to practically nothing.

Finally, having had our fill of shopping, we wandered away from the market towards the seafront. Without even trying, we found ourselves in a huge open area which turned out to be Konak, the very heart of Izmir.

Introduction to Izmir

The day before Sardis, you may remember, we had arrived in Izmir, where we would spend the next two nights.

As we approached the outskirts, the bus had to slow to a crawl due to the crushing traffic. The city was in full swing. It was September 9th, an important holiday for Izmir: the 89th anniversary of its liberation, its day of independence from the Greeks, led by none other than the illustrious Ataturk.

As we slowly forged our way into the city, I noticed the flags. They were everywhere — huge flags draping equally huge buildings.

Izmir is the third largest and most western-leaning city in Turkey. The city, whose name used to be Smyrna, dates from 3000 BCE. Among its famous former citizens is the poet Homer, who lived here around 750 B.C.E. Izmir’s long history includes years of war and destruction. Today, it is a bustling port city buzzing with life.

Dramatically situated around a large bay and flanked by mountains, its wide, shady avenues lined by tall modern buildings, there is nothing “fishing village” about it. Despite its size, it was surprisingly easy to navigate, even on foot. I liked it here.

In addition to the liberation celebration, the International Fair was also happening. It was the 80th year of this event, the oldest trade show in Turkey, and our hotel wasn’t too far from the action. But before we let ourselves loose, we needed to settle into our rooms.

Our hotel was called the Ontur. Gino and I laughed at the name, an unintentional reference and nod to Deadheads “on tour,” something we were familiar with.

That night we all had dinner together at the Asude Restaurant. We all tried what looked like a sort of Turkish burrito.  The waiters brought out piles of square, naan-type bread along with plates of vegetables and meat (chicken and beef), which you could pile on and roll up.

After dinner, we walked together along the waterfront, following what seemed like miles of booming restaurants. People and cars were everywhere.  And all those flags.

Now, how about a bit of shopping?