Thanks, Rick!

In 1992, a dear friend showed me a book.

“Have you ever heard of this guy?” she asked. “I think you’ll love him.”

It was a book called, Europe Through the Back Door, by Rick Steves. I was enthralled.

His message was that you could travel without trepidation to any European country, undaunted by irrational fears, overwhelming museums, or metro ticket machines. He showed you how.

His message was to travel close to the ground, becoming a temporary European, being  “part of the party — not part of the economy.”

“This way of travel,” he wrote, “is better because of — not in spite of — your budget.”

This I could relate to. But what really resonated with me, and does so even more every time I fly over to the other side, is his philosophy of traveling with an open mind.

“If you don’t enjoy a place,” he writes, “maybe you don’t know enough about it. Seek the truth.”

I don’t understand Americans (or anyone, really) who travel to another country to experience its differences and then complain about them. Rick states it perfectly: “If something’s not to your liking, change your liking.”

It wasn’t until 1996 when my life’s circumstances finally allowed me to make that first long-dreamed-for trip to Europe. Gino and I made it with confidence, our Rick Steves’ books in our packs. That trip, combined with several more since then, have been life changing.

Rick’s belief (and rightly so) is that travel destroys ethnocentricity. Even though we might disagree with a government, we can still be friends with its people.

And it goes both ways. Gino and I bravely continued to travel during the Bush years, wondering how we might be received across the sea. We needn’t have worried. Everywhere, people were as warm and welcoming as they ever had been (even with an occasional curious, “So what’s with your Mr. Bush? What were you all thinking?”  (Hey, it wasn’t me!)

This very first deviation from independent travel was an amazing experience. We met people and saw things we never would have had we not taken this tour.  We will cherish those memories forever.

It was Rick Steves who first gave us the courage and belief that yes, we could travel independently through Europe.  We still do prefer that mode of travel. So we will resume our journeys, independently, with Rick Steves once again in our packs, but with our own sense of discovery and wonder in our own hands.

Thanks, Rick!

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I dedicate this travel blog to my wonderful husband, Gino.

At the beginning of our first trip in 1996, I stood at the foot of a rather steep trail looking up at a castle perched way at the top. I could already imagine the dramatic view of the lake and town below, where my Italian grandmother was born. I was going up.

Gino, however, had other ideas.

“I think I’ll just wait for you right here by this bench,” he said.

I started up the path alone. But it wasn’t long before I heard footsteps crunching behind me. I turned and there was Gino, right on my heels.

The view was indeed indescribable. To this day, he is thankful he made the climb. And he’s been with me every step since then, no matter how high the tower, how dark the tunnel, how parched the throat.

Here’s to all the shared discoveries, Honey…and, of course, the wine. There are many more to come.

Gino and Melinda hope you enjoyed their trip as much as they did. Something is already brewing for September, 2012 — and I assure you it isn’t beer…

Last Night In Turkey

After our afternoon in Gümüslük, Gino and I returned to the El Vino Hotel where we spent the rest of the day lounging around the pool. A handful of our former tour members were also still there, relaxing until their departure time in the wee hours of the next morning, the same as ours.

Bob finds a clever way to keep from misplacing his bookmark

Gino savors our final hours in Turkey

Even I stop running around for one minute

This would be our last night in Turkey, at least for this trip.  Instead of rambling around Bodrum again, we decided to have dinner at the hotel’s rooftop terrace restaurant, having heard the sunset view was unsurpassed. It was.

As the sun faded behind the hills, the air turned a soft purple, and the white-washed buildings of Bodrum twinkled with tiny lights. We could glimpse the water stretched out in the distance past the small bay. It was a breathtaking scene.

We could even see the castle

And then…the call to prayer began. I stood up, walked over to the edge of the terrace, and leaned out. It was a magical, final goodbye, etched into my brain as one of those sublime trip moments that you never forget.

There were still several hours before 2:00 a.m. when our taxi would arrive to take us to the airport. Remember that we no longer had a hotel room.

Even though the proprietors of El Vino had graciously said we could hang out around the pool until our departure, we decided to spend our last bit of time in town. There was always something to see, and the place vibrates with energy until very late.

Just before 2:00 a.m., we were about to walk up and retrieve our bags from the office where we had stashed them earlier that day when we heard noises on the steps behind us. Two hotel workers were rolling our bags down to us.

“Your taxi is here,” they announced.

Early. But no problem. We were ready to get going.

But we weren’t quite ready for the sight that greeted us just outside the gate. Our ride was not just any old taxi. It was a small limousine. The inside was lined with blue lights that made us feel like we were in downtown Las Vegas rather than Bodrum.

We stepped into our neon chariot, and off we went, the final glimpses of Turkey a darkened blur through the window.

I was sad as we boarded the plane.  So I started thinking about our next trip and wondering where we might go.

Gino, on the other hand…

Some people just can’t keep up

(Don’t leave quite yet! There is one last post coming up!)

Gümüscafé

In search of lunch, we walked along the shore to the end of town, checking out the various restaurants lining the water.

I swear I was just taking a photo of
those interesting metal pots on the table…
I was! I was! I was!

See! I was telling the truth…

After perusing places to eat, we decided upon the Gümüscafé. A chalkboard placed near the outdoor seating area pronounced boldly: “We Are Probably The Best In The World!” I wouldn’t disagree.

I had an incredible meze dish of assorted fish, Gino a plate of delicious “spaghetties.” We shared a fresh green salad. For dessert, I couldn’t resist a creamy flan.

Gino, relaxed after that delicious lunch

Clearly, I was going to have a difficult time
tearing him away from this spot.

We had chosen well, learning later that the Gümüscafé is regarded as one of the best restaurants around, a discovery we had made all on our own.

If you’re ever in Gumusluk…

Gümüslük

Alp had told us about a little seaside village just a 20 minute ride away. It sounded like a beautiful spot and would be something different to see. From the bus station we could easily catch a dolmus to the village of Gümüslük (pronounced “goomooshlook”).

Finding the right dolmus was a snap since destination signs were well displayed on their fronts. We jumped on, only having to wait a few minutes for more riders before taking off. The small bus rumbled out of town and onto the gently winding road that meandered down the coast.

Along the way, we spotted an ancient amphitheater carved into the hill that overlooks Bodrum. I found out later it was built in 4 B.C.E. and still hosts concerts and various shows. I snapped a photo of it as we jiggled by.

The scenery went from this to rural in a few short minutes

Gumusluk

Gümüslük is a tiny town on the Bodrum peninsula, hugging the edge of a small round port. Fishing boats float in and out. Restaurants line the shore of the sheltered cove. People are clearly on vacation here, wandering around unselfconsciously in shorts and bathing suits. It was definitely not deserted, but everyone seemed very relaxed.

Rabbit Island, Gumusluk

At the tip of the town you can wade through knee-deep water out to a rocky outcrop called Rabbit Island. Further out, snorkelers are able to peer beneath the water at the remains of the foundations of the ancient city of Myndos.

Imagine these gourds twinkling with little lights, reflecting on the rippling water

The romantic, and best, time of day to be in this little village is evening when all the twinkly lights of each restaurant come on. Gourds hang everywhere, also containing little lights. But since we were here for lunch, we could only imagine the sparkly shoreline and its night-time charm.

These were also filled with little lights, we were told.

We were enchanted with this little place and enjoyed simply poking around. There wasn’t much to it in terms of buildings, but there were plenty of colorful flowers. Wisteria covered the tops of patios and pergolas and bright pink bougainvillea cascaded over whitewashed walls, sharing space with rich orange geraniums. It all looked very Greek.

Can you find the Evil Eye?

Spotting an upward path, of course I couldn’t resist. From the top, we gaped at the fantastic view of Rabbit Island and the entire coastline, relishing the solitude and beauty of this tranquil spot.

Rabbit Island from the top of the path

During our wandering, we came across a small market area. This occupied us for a good half hour admiring hand-painted ceramics, jangling jewelry, and evil eyes. Then we got hungry.

The Bodrum Hamam

This morning was the official ending of the tour. We were no longer a complete group since a few had already departed while we slept. Several others were packed and ready to take a boat to the Greek island of Rhodes, just a few miles off the coast, lucky to be continuing their vacation in Greece. Others had flights to make.

A few of us, Gino and me included, would have the rest of the day to hang out since our flight was scheduled to depart virtually in the middle of the night, several hours away.

Alp arranged with the hotel to let us leave our luggage at the front desk. It would be open all night anyway. The hotel people were so nice and accommodating, telling us that even though we weren’t officially guests, we could still use the pool and join in the 5:00 teatime. And they would be glad to call us a taxi at 2:00 a.m.

We ate our breakfast near the pool, bittersweet with goodbyes, trading email addresses and promises to share pictures. Alp stayed with us as we prepared to drift off our own ways. He had weathered through our tour with unfailing patience, astounding us with his wealth of knowledge. Such a great, unassuming guy, always smiling, he had made this experimental first tour of ours a great experience.

With the whole day before us, our first stop was to the Bodrum Hamam, a short walk from El Vino.

In the old Ottoman days, the hamam, or Turkish bath, played a very important role in society. It was a place where everyone, no matter their social or financial standing, met to mingle and discuss life.

Men and women typically are segregated. At the Bodrum Hamam, men and women who arrive together pay at the desk, then go separate ways.

First, you enter the changing area where you are given a key and a linen towel (called a pestemal) and shown to a small private room (more like a closet with a window.) Here you change out of your clothes and into your bathing suit if you’re very modest, or simply wrap your naked self up in the pestemal. If you need them, you are given slippers. I had my flip-flaps.

A woman who did not speak any English led me down into the hamam itself. I was the only person there, so I had the whole place to myself.

The walls and floor were made entirely of marble. Around the perimeter of the large room was a series of small marble basins with cold and hot spigots. The woman indicated that I was to sit next to the tub and dip a plastic bowl into the water, then pour it over my head and body. Then I was to go into the steam room to sweat several minutes. Afterwards, she would return for the scrub down.

She left me alone and I embarked on my Turkish bath experience. First, I adjusted the temperature of the water (I like it hot). Then I dipped the bowl into the marble basin and poured the warm water over my head until I felt sufficiently hydrated.

Carefully walking across the slippery, wet marble floor, I teetered into the steam room and lay down on the marble ledge on top of my pestemal. I do not care much for saunas, so after a few minutes, I was done with the steam and returned to the main room. The woman had not yet returned, so I poured water over myself a few more times, then walked around looking at everything, wishing I had my camera.

In the middle of the room there was a large, round marble platform raised about three feet. It was big enough to accommodate at least ten bodies if they were lined up side by side.

The woman returned and using hand signals, had me lie down on the slab. Since this center stone is positioned above the furnaces which heat the hamam, it was lusciously warm.

Dipping a rough, raw silk mitten, called a kese, into a tub of soapy scented water, she started scrubbing every inch of my body to exfoliate the dead skin. Next she lathered me up with rich olive oil soap, completely enveloping me in piles of soft, frothy bubbles that must have magical properties.

After she was done and rinsed me off with sparkling clean water, I was surprised I had any skin left, but what I had was baby soft.

Wrapped in my pestemal, I followed her back upstairs where  she gave me an invigorating, but relaxing massage.

I emerged into the lobby a few minutes before Gino. No one was at the desk, so I snooped around a bit.

On the other side of that curtain was the men’s waiting area.

This odd bubble on the floor is actually the domed room of the men’s hamam below.

Pretty tiles on the wall

Gino arrived and we compared experiences, both feeling completely renewed in our new skin.

Gino is sold
on the Turkish Bath

Since we had not yet formally relinquished our hotel room, we took showers to remove the excess oil from our skin and changed into fresh clothes. Then saying a last goodbye to our little apartment, we stashed our bags at the office and took off for our last adventure.

This time we were completely on our own: no one to meet and no deadlines to make.