From the Archives: My 225th Post

This blog is about one of my most soothing wanderings… I wandered in the Sahyadris in Konkan… for about 15 days… from Mumbai to Goa… I strayed into a place called Jaitapur, where I met Rohidas Gaekwad… this blog is about my meeting with him (Part 2 of the 3 Part blog)…

For the first and the third part… please look into my archives, these blogs were written in July 2007.

On Rohidas Gaekwad: Part Two- Meeting Rohidas

By the time, I reached Jaitapur it was already dark…this was the month of December and it used to get dark by 5-6 pm itself. I was worried about where to stay.

Jaitapur is a small village, with a row of houses tightly hugging the arterial lane. There are a few lanes and by-lanes, but hardly much otherwise. Seeing it, my first reaction was- can there possibly be any hotel in this small village. I was right, this place had no hotel... and the place that Muslim boy referred was actually a small restaurant that used to lend a table and a mat in its premises at night for sleeping to wandering souls… but last year due to some theft, he had stopped doing it. The owner of that place regretted but promised me to give some place- outside his restaurant in the street, in case I am not able to find anywhere to sleep.

I wandered in the by-lanes of the village- I saw a mosque that had a madarassa in its premises. I wondered if I can find a place to stay over there. I was about to ask for shelter, when something stopped me from doing so… after all I was a non-Muslim, having hardly any knowledge of the customs- and what if I hurt their feeling?.

I wandered further… asked somebody if there was a temple in the village, where I can sleep. As it turned out, Jaitapur has a temple of Betal (the deity of ghosts, often used in tantric Hinduism). I went to the temple, with a hope of finding a shelter. The chief priest of the temple allowed me to stay in the temple for the night. I was both happy and worried. Happy, for I finally had a shelter and worried that the shelter is actually a temple of ghosts. Imagine growing up hearing stories about ghosts, and how they live in villages and then imagine spending a night in temple of ghosts. But then I thought, if the priest is sleeping here in the night, I hardly have anything to be worried about.

Though, the biggest surprise came when at around 9 in the night; the priest himself started packing his wares with intent of going off. I realized that the priest spends only the day in the temple and goes off to his house in the village for the night. This sounded ominous to me… howsoever rational I may be, but spending a night in the temple of ghosts was unacceptable… and a frightening proposition. After a moment of thought, I decided and left the place with the priest and rushed to the restaurant, where I was promised a place to sleep outside the shop. But as luck would have it, the restaurant owner has closed the shop for the day and had gone to his house.

Now here I was, in the dread of night, wondering where to go. I caught hold of a village man and asked if there is any police station or a bank or a post office or a forest office or a Panchayat office or even a school in the vicinity, where I can find a place to stay. There was none. Jaitapur was devoid of any presence of government. And when I was about to loose hope, the village man said something that was music to my ears- Jaitapur village has a Custom Outpost.

Apparently Musakazi is a port and some boats carrying wares from high seas come over to the port. They have to necessarily interact with Custom officials before landing their goods, who levy some customs charges as per the law of the land. To avoid any leakage in this practice, the custom department also maintains an outpost to counter illegal trafficking of wares. There are two such outposts, one in the Musakazi Bandar and the other here in Jaitapur.

My last hope was to get a place to stay in the Jaitapur Custom Outpost, otherwise I had resigned to the fact that I may have to spend the night sitting somewhere in the lanes of Jaitapur. Walking towards the Custom Outpost that is located in the outer edges of the village, I passed through the mosque- it was also closed by now.

The Outpost was a big hall-like structure, with a small lawn in front and then the creek. It had a very few seating arrangements, indicating that there are very few personnel working in this Outpost. On the backside of the Outpost building, there were residential quarters for the personnel working over there.

I entered the building and walked towards the seat, where there was the biggest table and pile of paper. In governance, it means the head of the office. I took out my IIT Bombay identity card and expressed my problem. To my bewilderment, this was not the first time he had encountered a person like me- in fact he kept on bumping people who got stuck at Jaitapur and asked for help. He recounted that last year around Christmas time, a white couple came cycling to Jaitapur and slept in the Custom Outpost before embarking on their journey further. He told me that he will make some arrangements for me. Later after a while, he gave me a bench and a cushion to sleep.

Half my worries were over, I had a place to stay for the night- but it was since the evening I hadn’t had anything to eat… I was feeling hungry. I checked my bag for anything edible… and could only locate a pack of Parle-G. (I always carry a few packs of Parle-G with me; they are cheap, nutritious and safe to eat). Though I have had enough of biscuits during the last few days and wanted to eat something tastier. I shoved the pack back into my bag and cribbed over the state I am into.

And then I heard a voice calling- "Aapne Khana Khaya" (Have you eaten food). I looked back… to find a smiling dark complexioned fair built person…

He was Rohidas Gaekwad.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Fifteen: Art of Traveling.

His name was Steve… he and his friends, some 5-6 of them had been cycling in Eastern Europe, Middle East and Central Asia for last 2-3 years… like migratory birds… when summers start to descend, they start cycling from South to North towards Eastern Europe… and when winters start to engulf them… they cycle from North to South.

These were the winters and they were cycling from North to South… they were heading towards Syria, where they proposed to stay on… for the winters, or probably go even south to Jordan… and then from March move back to North…

They are, what I call, true vagabonds… unlike me, who sees vagabonding as once in a year activity…

Vagabonds have a very frugal lifestyle… as frugal as it can be… Steve, for instance, had one of the most minimal backpack… 3 Cargo Pants, 4 Tees, some common medicine, and some wee bits to eat… he said- I cannot afford to carry more, as I myself would have to slog around with it…

I coaxed him further… and then he related to many incidents about his travels… on how he was stuck between Armenian and Azerbaijani borders for almost a week, how he was stuck at Syrian border for 4 days because Syrian authorities suspected that he had visited Israel… all of them, he maintained, were amazing experiences… which seemed exasperating, when they occurred… and now when they are gone, he is left with bewilderment that he did survive that litmus test… and has stories to tell to the posterity. He echoed almost my sentiments…

When I look back… I am almost bewildered as to how I have survived some difficult moments while traveling… being rendered homeless at Jaitapur in Konkan, interrogation by Syrian immigration authorities at Aleppo, or by Egyptian security officials at El Arish, problems while crossing West Bank to enter Israel… and many others… and each of them would give me a story to be told to my posterity… it would give me a sense of confidence while traveling…

Steve also gave me a number of inputs about packing the backpack… he maintained that at every place in this world… there are two ways of living- the expensive way and the cheap way… ordinary locals, know how to live the cheap way… and if we try imitating them, we get a real local flavor in our travels (I, also, subscribe to his view)… we transcend from being tourists to travelers.

This, for him, holds the key of traveling for long stretches at relatively cheap costs- he guesstimated that his daily expenditure in Turkey is less than 10 Euros… and it plummets to about 5 Euros in Levant and Central Asia… and overshoots it by a bit in Eastern Europe…

A travelers incurs three types of costs- travel cost (which, in case, of Steve was zero… when I was in Jamnagar, two of my friends invited me to join them on a cycling expedition from Jamnagar-Dwarka- Diu and back… it was a ten days expedition… however I backed out because I doubted if my body can endure it)… lodging cost (which, in case of Steve is very low... because they stay in shoestring places…. Carry a small camp and camp wherever they can)… and sustenance cost (which Steve tries to minimize, by adopting local way of living… by cooking for himself… by doing more of free sight-seeing than paid sight-seeing)…

So, according to Steve, he keeps on buying local breads and jams, wherever it’s cheap… like I could have bought, pickled olives and citrus near Selcuk… it actually would have made my experience even better… then he told me that if I eventually plan to reach Kars… I must not forget to purchase Honey from Kars… it is the best honey for money.

While, we were talking … one from his group approached us… and they talked with each other in French for a while… later I gathered that two of the group wanted to go to Iran… and are having a lot of problems in getting a Visa… and have been told that it was easier to get visa from Iranian Consulate in Trabzon… and they were leaving for Trabzon next morning… I was zapped to see their resolve… Trabzon, I was told, would be at least 10 days trip… Steve hugged them Good-Bye… and they promised to meet each other at Gaziantep in South Turkey, after two months…. Steve and his remaining group were leaving for Sanliurfa next morning… and further into Syria.

It was 1 am… I took leave from Steve… worked on internet for a while and went to sleep… the day next was a long day… I had to wake up in the early morning to go for a walk… then join the Cappadocia tour…. And then come back, pack and move to my next spot… Kahta, on the way to the Nemrut Dagi. I checked the Zaman site once again… the streets of South East Turkey were still on boil… the Kurdish riots were still on… but they didn’t look menacing.

Cappadocia was form by the lava of Mount Hassan, which exploded last – almost millions of years ago… these igneous rocks, were very porous… and therefore, when the early Christians were being prosecuted by the Byzantine Kings… they sought refuge in Cappadocian region… dry, harsh, desert-like… they learnt to survive in these harsh climates… making houses by carving houses inside these rocks… and then they did something even more astounding, they made underground cities… going down a dozen levels… they discovered underground rivers, which provided them water… in times of danger (mostly summer times) they used to seek shelter in these underground cities… trying to survive…

Their struggle is almost of an epic level… their constructions are straight from a fairytale… one is mesmerized to see their vitality, their fight to survive…

It is very strange that Christianity has come to be recognized as the religion of the West… whereas the early Christians struggled and lived in the Middle East… in Turkey and Levant… in Egypt.

I came to Cappadocia from Konya… a place that reminds of Sufi benevolence… and now I was standing at a place… which has a bloody history, where religious persecution forced humans to live like rats… inside underground caves.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Fourteen: A Turkish Folkloric Night.

The route to Goreme is very scenic… beg, borrow, or steal a window seat… it passes through gentle hills, plains with golden colored grass… as if you are traveling on a path of gold…

When you are nearing Aksaray… faraway, you can see Mount Hassan… the extinct volcano, which gave birth to Cappadocia. The sight is ethereal… the day was cloudy and one could see sun-rays falling over the Mount… I thought I have missed a beautiful photo-op… but didn’t know that I would get to see it again, more closely and from more uninhibited confines.

Aksaray is called Detroit of Turkey… it has a Mercedes Benz plant, and a couple of other automobile plants… the bus stopped at Aksaray Otogar for almost half hour… I saw a marriage procession… people dancing with the groom… and then boarding a bus to go towards the marriage destination- quite like India.

The journey from Aksaray to Goreme goes downhill… it was dusk… and therefore I couldn’t get to see good panoramic views of Goreme… but I am told that when the bus goes downhill- the views are mesmerizing…

I alighted at Goreme Otogar at around 6 pm…. All around, I could see the famed Cappadocia caves- some turned into hotels, some into offices, some into houses and some into cattle sheds… it was already dark and they were lightened… the scene was surreal.

A day ago- I had called up Shoestring Pension in Goreme… and booked a dorm bed for myself… he asked me when I would be coming… I told him that I would arrive there in the evening time… he asked me to come before 7 pm, so that I can get to see Turkish Carnival Night at Nevshehir. He said that it is delightful.

I rushed to Shoestring Pension… and checked into the place… and asked the owner about the Turkish Carnival… he offered me a place in the carnival for 50 Turkish Lira… including to and fro transport, sumptuous dinner with lots of local beer/wine. I wasn’t sure whether I should be spending such a big amount… but then a sumptuous dinner was a tempting offer… for last few days, I had been surviving on Doner sandwich and needed something different for my taste buds.

I also booked an excursion trip for the next day… I planned to leave Cappadocia next day evening for Kahta or Karadut. And a well-planned excursion would have allowed me to see the snapshot of Cappadocia… as the Pension owner told me… Cappadocia is huge- full of trails and treks and therefore, even months together may not be enough to cover entire Cappadocia… the tour, according to him, offered a trek, an Underground City a Rock-Cut monastery, and beautiful vantages- including sumptuous lunch.

I took a quick shower and got ready for the Turkish Carnival Night… I checked out my dormitory room… my room-mates were a Swiss cyclist group, who were not present… I caught up with them later in the night… and what an eye-opening meeting it was for me.

Nevshehir is situated at the banks of Red River… known as Kizilirmak in the local language… it is much better managed, well-planned town that Goreme. Most of the upscale tourists stay in Nevshehir and not in Goreme… facilities in Nevshehir are better.

At the Turkish Night, I met an Indian couple- who was working in Oman… an American guy… but the majority of tourists were Japanese, part of some tourist group.

The performance venue was a circular underground gave… and I realized that for 50 Turkish Lira, I had got a seat in the dress circle… so far away that I am not able to see much… same was the predicament of the Indian couple and the American guy… though they had purchased their tickets for 70 Liras each… we went and argued with the manager over their… and finally got our seats changed… my words did a wonder- brother, we are coming all the way from India to see Turkey… is this the way you treat us! His heart melted… and suddenly we found ourselves in the first row…

The Turkish folkloric night was least Turkish… and was pretty generic… the same whirling dervish, belly dance and few folkloric dance that I had already seen in Egypt… in fact some of the items bore an uncanny resemblance to the Egyptian Folkloric night that I saw in Cairo, two years ago... for a new person, it could have made a lot of sense… but I felt rather bored by the program… the only saving grace was when I was invited over the star belly dancer to dance along with her… and had a wonderful time trying to copy some steps with her- surrounded by bunch of laughing Japanese. The belly dancer, though, wasn’t Turk… she was a Ukrainian.

The food was good… and I relished it thoroughly… last few days of surviving on Doner sandwiches, had made me very hungry… and I ate like there was no tomorrow… All in all, it was a good decision to come to the Folkloric night…

After the program, I took a short walk by the Red River… while waiting for others to come… it was refreshing… I looked around, the Cappadocia and its valley with thousands of twinkling light invited me… I was eagerly waiting for the next day when I would be able to explore all of them…

Back to the hotel… where I met the Swiss cyclist for the first time… we sat in the garden and talked over a cup of coffee that he offered me… he was impressed with my plans to go over to east… he was headed south.

He told me a few quick pointers to make the best of my Cappadocia trip… told me to wake up early and go for a walk- north… he said in the early morning time… there is not a soul and I can relish the beauty of the place all by myself… and the taking a deep breath, cautioned me… beware of Turkish dogs… they are ferocious…

And then he slided over his chair and told me about his travels… and it was my turn to get impressed with him.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Thirteen: On Maulana, Ayran and Cultures.

I roamed on the streets of Konya… and located a street side vendor, who sold Doner Sandwich for just 1 Turkish Lira… he asked me to relish the taste of the sandwiches with the national drink of Turkey… Ayran, which is yoghurt, mixed with water and salt… something like Doogh in Afghanistan, and Chhaachh/Salted Lassi in India.

Relishing the taste of Ayran… I wondered about the cultural assimilation between various civilizations.

Take for example Ayran- it is no coincidence that variants of this drink are found all over the place- from India, Central Asia, Levant (Arab territories of Syria-Jordan-Lebanon-Palestine), Khorasan (or greater Persia, which includes Iran-Afghanistan-Turkmenistan-Uzbekistan-Azerbaijan), Turkey and even East Europe… this prevalence tells the story of cultural transactions between all the societies.

It is very difficult to predict, which society or civilization invented Ayran… in fact, to even try to predict is ethnocentrism- the same way, when we Indians tend to congratulate ourselves for invention decimal numeric system... these inventions are borne out of collective human needs and cannot be attributed to one society or the other…

It is, however, predictable, how Ayran would have traveled from India and Central Asia to Turkey and East Europe… along the Silk Route… with the linking pins of Persian Empire and then Ottoman Empire. It adopted variants in different places… like in Afghanistan, they invented Doogh- a bitter and fermented variant (which incidentally is one of my favorite drinks… just gulp a glass of it and you feel drowsy for hours together… the Russians termed it as Afghan Beer)… or in India, they invented Lassi- a sweet and scented variant.

What it tells that long before globalization took over… there was a cultural assimilation going on… catalyzed by people and not corporations… (Though of course, a huge subset of this catalyst were the traders- Silk traders and Sea-farers).

Another quick example… I saw in Kandahar finely chopped vegetables pickled in Vinegar… it was an art learned from Iran… in fact, Iranian pickles are famous in Kandahar- the Pakistani pickles (which, like Indian pickles, are pickled in oil and not in vinegar) have very few takers. Now when I was in Egypt… I had seen similar pickles called Torshi- finely chopped vegetables, pickled in vinegar.

In fact, Egyptian culture and Persian culture have a lot in common… the celebration of Prophet’s birthday… Sugar Dolls… pickled fishes… Sham-e-nessim or navroz… traits of Sufism… one of my Iranian friends in Egypt said that though Egypt is Sunni- most of the traits of Egyptians are that of Shias.

This, perhaps, was due to centuries of rule of Fatimid Caliphs… who were basically from Iran, Shias. They ruled from Cairo and incorporated a number of Persian traits in Egyptian society…

So much food for thought… over a glass of Ayran that costed half a Lira.

Ulusan was a comfortable hotel… it had central heating. As I was heading more and more towards hinterland, I could feel the chill… Yusuf was right- he had told me to go from West to East, so that I keep on getting attuned and accustomed to the weather slowly. I had a good night sleep.

The day next, after taking a quick shower, I was headed straight towards the Maulana Mausoleum… alongside the road, I saw various stores selling white candies- called Mevlana Candies (in Turkish, Maulana is written as Mevlana)… the candies are very tasty- the core of the candies is soft and has a distinct taste, which can only be felt and not described… buy a pack, when in Konya.

The Maulana Mausoleum is a serene sight… it has a distinct architecture, very different from any other building that I had seen in Turkey or elsewhere… the minaret over the Maulana’s tomb is cylindrical with a big diameter- with a cone atop… green in color.

The atmosphere was serene… almost like a pilgrimage. People come to the place with lot of devotion… most of them are locals, with sprinkling of Iranians and foreigners like me. I entered the shrine… stood before Maulana’s tomb and said Hindu prayers. I had tears in my eyes… it was a dream come true… I equate the spiritual experience with that of any Hindu pilgrimage… God and his blessings, after all, are to bind us and not divide us.

The precinct of the Mausoleum is full of tombs… of the disciples of Maulana… and stone inscriptions, in which Maulana’s poetries are written.

The hall… in which Maulana’s tomb was located was full of sound of Reed… a musical instrument, which was invented by Maulana… while in market, I bought few cassettes of Reed Music.

It was time to visit other parts of Konya before pushing for Cappadocia. Konya doesn’t have many other places of tourist interest… there is Inche Mosque- with its own distinct architecture… Aladdin Tepesi, which is more of an artificial hillock made for local picnickers…

It was time to say good bye to Konya, visiting which was a long standing dream of mine… Maulana has said….

Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving — it doesn't matter,
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come, even if you have broken your vow a hundred times,
Come, come again, come.

A wanderer had come to Maulana… and I am sure, must have left with his blessing…

I boarded Tram to reach Otogar… and then at 1 pm… boarded a bus to Cappadocia- Goreme to be precise.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Twelve: Egirdir, a tranquil town by the lake

I checked into Artemis Yoruk Hotel… paid 15 Turkish Lira for a beautiful room… Pamukkale doesn’t get too many overnight tourists and therefore the local hotels tend to offer very good value for money for overnight tourists. I met the two Japanese girls over the dinner there… they were staying in the same hotel… we had our dinner together… they told me that they are off to Istanbul the very next day… and wished me for the rest of my journey.

After the dinner, I checked my mails on the internet… and found my wife online… she gave me the good news that my elder brother has been blessed with a baby girl… it was a great news… the day next was my younger son’s birthday.

I also checked the website of Turkish Zaman, which is the largest selling English newspaper in Turkey… it had the bad news of Kurdish riots spreading all over the South-East Turkey… Diyarbakir, Van, and Sanliurfa… places I was headed to. I had goose-pimples… I wondered if I should change my trajectory and head towards Mediterranean… but then decided that I would go till Cappadocia and decide there- if I should proceed further in the East of turn towards Ankara and safer places.

I searched my wallet, my Turkish liras were dwindling… and I needed more of them… I asked the hotel owner if he can exchange some for me… he offered me a rate of 1.45 and told me that dollar is falling… I exchanged 100 dollars for 145 Liras. The next few days I saw the topsy-turvy ride of dollar versus Lira.

It was time to take a hot shower and go to sleep… I was going to start my day early in the morning… catching the municipal bus from Pamukkale to Denizili at 7 am… days were getting shorter.

The next day, I woke up… gave a call to India… where my younger son was having his second birthday. I haven’t been able to be with him a lot… I was in Egypt when he was born in India… and then after a few months of stay with him in India… I stood transferred to Afghanistan… but from what my wife tells me- he is very fond of me- God bless him.

The municipal bus charges 1 Turkish Lira for the ride to Denizili… it drops you to the main Denizili Otogar (Bus stand)… and infront of the Otogar… one can find a number of Dolmus waiting for passengers to various destinations. It is a bit difficult to find Dolmus to Isparta… I took about half an hour to find it…

Isparta is a small town; famed for its University… it is often dubbed as the city of students… in my Dolmus, for instance, everyone –except me- was a student. I was told that some 15-20 kilometers from Isparta, there are few good Greco-Roman ruins… At Isparta, it was even more difficult to find a Dolmus to Egirdir… nobody knew about it… I was in a fix… but then I eventually found it…

The journey from Denizili to Isparta was uneventful… and so was large part of my journey from Isparta to Egirdir… but then when I was about to doze… I saw Egirdir for the first time… and was mesmerized by its beauty.

Egirdir is located in a bowl shaped valley … the road to Egirdir goes uphill… from where one can get fabulous panoramic views of the lake city… and then descends sharply.

Egirdir is located by a tranquil lake… surrounded by hills… very little population… clean and peaceful city… miles and miles of walkways alongside the lake… it has to be a magical place.

Luckily enough it is not yet on the tourist map of Turkey… not many know about it and therefore its one of the few off beat tourist spots. When I got down at Egirdir… I made up my mind that if I do not get a bus/dolmus to Konya in half an hour, I am going to stay here… I even checked out a cheap pension for myself… Lale Pension. I was told that one can go for hiking, fishing, boat rides, rock-climbing… everything in Egirdir at very little costs… the person at Lale Pension told me that if I choose to stay back… I would be most delighted… and might spend my entire vacation over here… he said that Egirdir is a family vacation spot.

I don’t know whether I was lucky or not… I found a bus to Konya within a few minutes… it was one of the buses from Denizili… from which a few passengers had alighted at Egirdir… generating a few seats… I bid adieu to this most beautiful city and promised that I would be back- with my family.

I reached Konya at around 6 pm… 2 hours before the 1 pm would have allowed me to reach Konya… I saved two hours and saw a very beautiful town of Egirdir, which would be forever etched in my heart for its enchanting beauty.

Konya is one of the three towns in Turkey that has tramway… I alighted at Konya Otogar, and took a Tram to Aladdin Tepesi (literally Aladdin Hills), the closest tram-station to the Maulana Rumi’s mausoleum… and checked into Hotel Ulusan.

Konya is often said to be the third largest city of Turkey… after Istanbul and Ankara… it is bustling, with big markets but very few foreign tourists… at Konya Otogar, I had a trouble finding an English speaking person… I tried Arabic, but met a tout… who tried to dissuade me from using Tram and instead offered me a taxi drive to Hotel Ulusan… then, finally, at the tramway station I met a girl who could speak a few words of English… she guided me to Aladdin Tepesi.

Konya Tramways doesn’t sell single ticket… it sells either two ride ticket or a five rides ticket… from anywhere to anywhere… it’s fast, timely and efficient… I wondered why don’t Indian cities have tramways… why tramways in most of the Indian cities ended in 1960s, when due to advent of cheap automobiles there was a anti-tram wave throughout the world… some experts feel that automobile industries sponsored papers after papers against the viability of trams… ending this very beautiful way of public transport.

After checking at Ulusan, it was time to have a quick dinner and then go to sleep… the next day I had to visit Konya city and push towards Cappadocia.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Eleven: Sultan, the Kurd

(NOTE: Sultan's name has been changed to protect his identity)

Sultan was quietly sipping tea on one of the tables of the restaurant that I entered to have my lunch.

I tried to strike a conversation with a really pretty girl, who apparently ran the restaurant… she couldn’t comprehend… and tried seeking help from Sultan.

“Come here brother. She doesn’t know English… she is not even the regular attendant at this restaurant, her father is ill… and she is replacing him for a day or two”

I joined Sultan… He instinctively ordered a tea for me… and asked me – where I was from… India, ah such a beautiful country, I long to be there…

“Thanks! I think Turkey is beautiful too…”

Sultan… I came to know was an ethnic Kurd… he was the first Kurd that I had met in Turkey… I had met a few of them in Syria in 2007, when I visited the northern Syrian town of Aleppo and its outskirts. He worked in Antalya… as a tourist guide… he told me most of the Kurdish youth are jobless and many of them migrate to Turkish tourist towns of Istanbul, and Mediterranean coasts in search of jobs. Right now… this was a lean tourist season in Antalya and he was in Pamukkale to search for additional jobs.

“You know… we face tough times” … pointing towards the television… there were news about riots all over Turkey… between the ethnic Kurds and Turks… “Our leader Abdullah Ocalan is in the prison… they are killing him slowly. They treat him like a common prisoner and now sending him to a smaller prison cell… very inhumane”.

I had heard about Kurdish problem for many years… and was advised to not to talk about it while in Turkey… the ears of Turkish Mukhabaraat (Intelligence Department) is everywhere… but as I realized later… the Kurdish question is unavoidable… somewhere or the other, someone, A Turk or a Kurd would draw you into conversations regarding it and you are coaxed to believe his or her stand on the issue. The issue is very emotive. Abdullah Ocalan is termed as Osama Bin Laden by Turks and Gandhi by the Kurds… such is the sharp divide.

We gradually shifted towards mundane issues… “Pamukkale is beautiful… but yes you are right, there is nothing much to keep you at this town beyond travertines. But why do you want to go to Konya… why not Antalya or Olympios”

It took me some while to tell him about… how I have been hearing of Maulana Rumi, ever since I have started learning Persian… how he was the greatest Sufi to ever walked the face of earth… how he is equated sometimes to the Prophet, himself. It was a pilgrimage for me… Konya.

“Let me see… it would be very difficult to get a bus to Konya right now… there can be a few buses from Denizili… but I guess around this time… they would also be full… your best bus, therefore, is a Dolmus”

Dolmus are minibuses plying all over the face of Turkey… between short to medium distances of up to three hour journey. One doesn’t need to book a Dolmus beforehand… one just hitches on to a vacant one… it carries up 15-20 passengers. Something like- Trax running in Indian countryside. Most of the people who travel on Dolmus are locals and therefore, according to Sultan, I might also get a local flavor during my journey.

He drew a plan for me… a minibus to Denizili… Dolmus to Isparta (not to be confused with its famed namesake in Greece)… Isparta to Egirdir… and then Egirdir to Konya… he said that if I start early morning… I might reach Konya by the evening time… same as the 1 pm bus, which waits for me… but then the experience would be superlative, albeit a wee bit more expensive.

It was time to bid him farewell… while I was walking away… he said something interesting… “A few days ago a beautiful Indian actress came to Pamukkale for movie… She was the most beautiful women I have ever seen”… She was Katrina Kaif, shooting for a song in the movie ‘Ajab Prem ki Gajab Kahani’… the song eventually was a chartbuster and one of my most favorite songs- ‘Kaise batayein kyun tujhko chahe’.

Travetines and Hierapolis are side by side… once you buy a ticket to Travetines… you can walk further ahead and see Hierapolis. Travetines is a most surreal site… it needs to be seen to be believed… especially the calcium carbonate terraces, which deposit blue colored water… the sight is divine… but for the crowd.

Pamukkale is visited by hordes of crowds… both Turks and foreigner… I remember Yusuf telling me that I might be disappointed with the atmosphere in Pamukkale… he was partially correct… Travertines is a very small area and imagine thousands of tourists trying to get foothold within that small area… it spells chaos… and not time to relish the divinity of this beautiful place.

Further ahead is a museum and a resort, where one can actually bathe in a pool of mineral water… however the entry to the resort is steep. It is said that bathing in that mineral water is good for skin diseases.

Still further ahead Hierapolis… spread over acres and acres of land… the prime sights though are limited… a beautiful amphitheatre, which is a bigger marvel than the one I saw in Selcuk… with a capacity of 18000, but with a steeper gradient… it was a delight to see… and then the necropolis… where one can see different types of tombs of Greco-Roman times…. One can see how tomb-making changed over time… as also the stratification viz tomb assigned.

I roamed in Hierapolis till evening time… the place has many trails and one can follow them to while his time away… they all take you to different ruins… as also give you an opportunity to walk and be with yourself… away from the maddening crowd at Travertines… some places give you wonderful panoramic views of Pamukkale City…

It was the sunset time… and I started retracing my steps back to the city.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Ten: Stuck in Pamukkale

A couple of blocks away from Isa Bey Mosque is the Saint John’s Basilica… it is an important historical site. It is believed that Saint John spent his last days in Selcuk and was buried at the site… it is also believed that Saint John wrote his gospel at this very site.

Turkey… though predominantly Muslim… has a plethora of sites, which tell the story of its Christian past… the more I traveled around… the more did I realize that Turkey’s past is linked more with Christianity than Islam… take the case of Cappadocia… the early Christians created fabulous underground cities therein, to escape the wrath of pagans.

A brief walk within the ruins of basilica led me to this spot from where I got panoramic view of Selcuk city… Selcuk is a very green and peaceful city… with a slow pace of life… gentle and friendly people. Far way I could also see the Selcuk citadel… which is out of bounds today due to its crumbling walls. The views were mesmerizing, so much that I lost my sense of time and bearing and slept on one of the walls of basilica.

I stayed back there till evening… surviving on few gulps of water from the water bottle I had carried for the day. It was getting darker and I was getting famished… I got down from the ruin and walked down towards the market place… walking past a few doner kebab shops… looking where I can find the best bargain. And finally, I found a road side café which sold the doner sandwich only for 2 Turkish Lira. I ordered 2 sandwiches. The owner, a chubby fellow, was surprised- I hadn’t order a tea with it… and then offered me a tea-pot for free… he said something in broken English… how can you have doner sandwich without tea… be my guest.

I reached the guest house at around 8 pm… most of my friends had gone for dinner… I planned to sleep early and leave early morning by 5 am bus to my next destination- Pamukkale. I left a note for Hoda… wishing her all the best. Hoda was soon heading to Aleppo, wherein she would be working with a German NGO for preservation of historic buildings. It was nice time spent with her…

I woke up in the morning… at around 4 am… took a shower and headed straight for breakfast… I was joined by the owner of the Guest House, Harry… he asked me where I am headed to… I told Pamukkale and then to Konya… I asked him if I can complete Pamukkale in the afternoon and head for Konya the same day… He told me that it would be a bit difficult… but then said something prophetic… travelers find ways to travel and I am sure that you too would find your way…

He told me about a Guest House in Konya… and asked me to check it out… he also told me that if I carry his pamphlet to this guest house… he would give me a discount of 2.5 Turkish Lira… I jumped on to the offer… I surely am on the path of becoming a true, hard-nosed traveler.

On the bus to Pamukkale- I met two Japanese girls… they were my co-passengers on Istanbul-Selcuk bus, too. They smiled and I smiled back… we started chatting for a while… they were from Tokyo… had just finished their graduation and were traveling in Eastern Europe and Turkey… they wanted to go to Pamukkale and then fly back to Istanbul and then to Eastern Europe…

Looking out from window… I could see a number of road side stores that were selling pickled olives and oranges… Harry told me that they are local delicacies and I should buy one bottle if it’s possible… the pickled Mediterranean delights… sadly as a backpacker it wasn’t possible, or so did I think till I met a cyclist in Cappadocia.

The bus reached Pamukkale at around 11 am… my plans were to see Pamukkale as fast as possible… and then take an evening bus to Konya… it was ambitious, especially amidst Bairam holidays… the buses are packed, booked weeks ago…

When the bus stopped… the steward asked, who wants to leave Pamukkale today itself… I jumped at the offer… and raised my hands… to my astonishment an American, and three Spanish tourists also wanted to see Pamukkale in few hours time and leave for other destinations.

Pamukkale is a small town, it literally means ‘Cotton Castle’ in Turkish… and the only reason as to why it is famous is because of Travertines. Travertines is a natural phenomenon... calcium deposits all over… creating pools of water here and there… the scene is surreal and unbelievable… one feels that he is in some different land… perhaps the polar ice caps… or may be some other planet. Further ahead from the Travertines are the ruins of Heirapolis.

Beyond the two… Pamukkale doesn’t have much to offer. And therefore a number of tourists think of it as a small stop in their itinerary… one day… and sometimes few hours… before proceeding to other spots- Antalya, Ankara and in my case Konya.

The steward took us to different travel agencies to find whether there are seats available for any of the above destinations. He confided that Konya is not a regular tourist spot and therefore I may get a seat to Konya… but Ankara, Cappadocia and Antalya would be a difficult case.

But as we realized later… there was absolutely no seat to any of the places… and we for all practical purpose stuck in Pamukkale. One travel agent, however, offered me a seat to Konya at 1 pm the next day… I told him to hold on… till I have exhausted all my options.

The Spanish planned to see Pamukkale and leave for Denizli a near-by big town… he was taking a calculated risk. If he was stuck in Denizli, he might have to come back to Pamukkale… The American was is no hurry, he booked a ticket to Antalya by a bus leaving after two days… and that left me to devise my own strategy.

I dumped my backpack in one travel agents shop, and went out to eat something… I was famished… and before I could strategize… I needed to eat something…

I met Sultan there… he was answer to all my questions.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Nine: Meeting Imam Mustafa

The site of Artemis Temple is unremarkable… if one was not to be told that it was one of the greatest monuments of the ancient world… one would think that it was just another ruin.

The only remarkable thing, which can remind of the glorious past of this place… is a tall pillar… the only visible remnant of the great Artemis temple.

When I reached the place… I was flocked by a number of knick-knack sellers, who were selling replicas of erstwhile Artemis Temple, as also fake coins from the yesteryears. I also met a old Chinese couple, who was visiting the place.

During my travels to distant lands- I have found Koreans, Japanese as the most voracious travelers… however, now Chinese are also joining the band-wagon. This, to my mind, indicates two things- one, the disposable incomes of Chinese is on the rise… commensurate to their rising economic status… and two, they want to reach out to the world. Both ways, this phenomenon is indicative to the rising power of China.

After taking a few photographs of the place… I bid adieu to this one of the seven wonders of the old world… this brought my count to three- after Giza, Alexandria. It was a poignant feeling, despite the fact that I didn’t see anything but a pillar.

The town of Selcuk is only a couple of meters away from the site… in fact it is said that when the ruins of Artemis Temple were discovered they were standing the danger of being engulfed by the town. Even today, not many in the town know or understand the real greatness of this monument… it hardly brings in tourists, it hardly finds much of mention in the tourist catalogues.

Selcuk… I realized… was a beautiful town… clean, gentle… almost picture perfect… the sidewalks of the town are full of citrus trees, and one just needs to reach out to pluck one of them to relish. People are very nice… it feels like a home-coming after the hurly burly of Istanbul. It was after-all a very nice decision to make Selcuk my next stop after Istanbul.

I was lost in my thoughts, when I was beckoned by three pretty girls. They must all have been in their early teens. The eldest one of them- Gulistan was her name was strikingly pretty. I wondered what they wanted from me. And as I realized later on… the object of their attention was the digital camera, which I was carrying… I complied… taking their photographs after photographs… and they kept on posing for me… it was a wonderful interaction… I felt like some fashion photographer… the youngest one of them… Gulnaz was particularly demanding… she chose to pose in very many ways… and ordered me to take photographs… at one point of time… she literally ordered me to stand on the bench and take photograph from a top-down angle…

The three sisters- Gulistan, Gulfam and Gulnaz- asked me how they can get a copy of these photos… I asked them if they have an email… they were sad… they had none… so I took their address and promised that I would post these photographs. A promise- still to be fulfilled.

At some distance, I saw a massive mosque like structure… it beckoned me… It was Isa Bey Mosque… Bey is a term of respect… something like brother or Mister. So this place translated into Brother Isa’s mosque.

The mosque is an impressive piece of architecture… it was different from other Seljuk dynasty mosque as in- the mosque precinct has a huge courtyard… I later found out that the mosque was not a typical Seljuk mosque. Its builders were Beyliks, small-time emirs of Seljuk area, who succeeded the declining Seljuk dynasty.

The court yard of the mosque is lush green; it could easily pass on as a park. I sat there for a while… and was planning to enter the mosque… when the tragedy struck.

Before starting this journey, I looked at my sneakers… they were quite old. So I thought that I would buy a new pair… and purchased a new pair from Kandahar… perhaps of Chinese origin… the shop-keeper assured me that the shoes were of high quality… and I gave 30 dollars to purchase it… but as it turned out at the Isa Bey mosque… the sole of one of the shoes were coming out… I was aghast. And then I told myself- well now that tragedy has struck find ways to get out of it… but only after you have seen the mosque.

I came out of the mosque… and started looking for a cobbler… I could find none… and then in one of the nearby shops, I saw a smiling gentleman… his smile was magnetic. I approached him and showed him my shoe… and asked if I can find some help nearby.

He was Imam Mustafa. The Imam of Isa Bey mosque… he told me not to worry and pulled out a packet of glue from one of his drawer and started working on my shoes… and within minutes he had mended my shoes. He was happy to hear that I was from Hindistan… and asked me to have a cup of black tea with him. He told me that he has learnt Arabic from Istanbul… and we started conversation in broken Arabic.

Arabic, I have realized, is close to the heart of every Muslim. It is his or her spiritual language… so no matter how much some Muslims may hate Arabs (Iranians, Kurds and Turks have no love or labor lost for the Arabs), they respect people who speak Arabic, especially when he or she is not an Arab…

Imam Mustafa was very happy to know that I knew Arabic… he almost assumed that I must be a Muslim… before parting he gave me a greeting card in which he wrote Bismillah Ar-Rahman Ar-Rahim, and then my name… he asked me to come again… next time with my family… and stay with him…

It was a numbing feeling to meet Mustafa Imam… Islam, today is identified with a lot of evils… terror, fanaticism… but if I had to spell out one, just one, over whelming feeling that I associate with Islam… it has to be brotherhood.

I wish that one day the fanatics would understand that the brotherhood in Islam is not only for Muslims… but for the entire humanity… whether he is a believer or not… Allah is most merciful… and so is his message.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Eight: Routes to serendipity

A few kilometers away from Ephesus is the site of Seven Sleepers’ Cave… It has a legend attached to it… Seven Sleepers were local saints, who slept for many years in the Seven Sleepers Cave and when they woke they found that the world around them has changed a lot… like Rip Wan Winkle… though of course, like many other sites, the legend is different from the reality… as somebody told me, Seven Sleeper cell was perhaps a Byzantine monastery in the era gone by.

What however was more exciting was the walk towards the site… meandering through the orange orchards and cotton fields… the walk itself was very relaxing and full of breathtaking vantages… afar, one could see marvelous views of Selcuk town… sometimes I stopped to pick an orange from the orchards and relish the sweet taste of Mediterranean citrus.

After a couple of kilometers of walk, I saw an old local man riding a scooter… he offered me a lift to the Sleepers site and then when at its gate offered me an orange from his bagful.

The Seven Sleepers site is not very popular among the foreign tourists, but a popular picnic place for the locals… who come here on droves and droves. Close by, there is a wish-tree and it is said that if one ties a white ribbon on the tree… his or her wish comes true. I tied a ribbon and wished something that is close to my heart.

The legend of Seven Sleepers dates back in time, when the early Christians were being persecuted… the seven sleepers were one of the earliest adherents of Christianity and were persecuted by the then pagan emperor…. One day the seven sleepers went inside their cave, which was also their makeshift Church… and slept. The pagan emperor ordered the mouth of the cave to be sealed, which was opened only after 200 years… and there people found the sleeping seven sleepers, who woke up and came out to see Christianity in full flourish.

The story reminded me of Rip Van Winkle... who slept for 20 years and when he came back… the world has changed. This paradigm is an amazing paradigm to mull… what if one slept in 1990 and woke in 2010… wouldn’t he find that India has changed beyond recognition… big malls, flyovers, ubiquitous internet and media… everything has changed.

It also reminds me of the first time I saw satellite TV in Delhi in 1990… and I sighed… would I, a person sitting in a small town of Allahabad, would ever get to see it. And lo! By 2010, there is practically no home in India which doesn’t have a satellite TV… television and satellite TV connections have become natural corollary to each other…

I saw internet for the first time in 1997… and wondered if I would ever be able to access or master this new found technology. And lo! By 2010, I live, eat and drink internet… there is no day, when I do not use the net for at least 2-3 hours.

Like I said, 20 years paradigm is a significant paradigm… I shudder to think what is in store for this country in 2030…

While returning towards Selcuk… I met a guy who was staying in ANZ Guest House… he was walking towards Seven Sleepers… he told me about an alternative route to the town… that passed through the orchards, opened in a local Muslim cemetery… he said that the cemetery is a beautiful and serene place... and I can meet a number of ever welcoming locals over there… and that this alternative route would cut down my walk by half.

The walk, as promised by him, was another little serendipity. It meandered through the orchards… one needed to just extend the hand and pluck a ripe citrus and relish its sweet and tangy taste… the air was so clean… the orchard owners smiled at you and showed which citrus was riper, and should have been plucked instead.

Back in Istanbul, Yusuf had told me something profound. Turks are a very proud race… they have a very high opinion about themselves… that they, for all practical purpose, ruled the world twice- as Byzantines (well they weren’t the Turks of today) and as Ottomans. They also see themselves as the chain that connects the medieval to the modern… and without them the transformation wouldn’t have been as easy. According to Yusuf, Turks want others to believe it too. They go extra mile to be nice to a guest… and therefore, I wouldn’t have any problem while traveling anywhere in Turkey… I would always find someone to hear and help me out.

The walk ended into a cemetery, serene and peaceful. It was still the Bairam holiday time… and I could see a lots of local family picnicking in the cemetery. I sat down on one of the bench and relished the serenity of the place…

A local family sitting nearby beckoned me and asked where I was from… Hindistani… they were pleased to meet me. I asked them the route to Artemis temple. They said it’s nearby… and they would be pleased to offer me a lift… but I might have to wait for a few minutes… in fact join them for picnic. I did… it was a pleasant experience.

World is a safer, cheaper and cosier place to travel around… than we ever imagine while sitting in the confines of our comfort zones.

The family dropped me at Artemis temple…. One of the wonders of ancient world.

Artemis was a pagan God… his temple in Selcuk was widely revered and build of marbles… it was huge… lending it the status of one of the seven wonders of ancient world. The temple, if miniatures are to be believed, was astoundingly beautiful. It followed typical Greek architecture, only its scale was huge.

It was built over 120 years, by the leading architects of 6th century BC… but was destroyed in just one night of arson in 4th century BC… its ruins were discovered in 19th century… today only a pillar and some rubbles lie there.

It has to be a poignant sight.