Blue Cruise: Highlights & Lowlights

While we were in Olympos we booked a 3 night/4 day cruise to Fethiye, a town about 5 hours or so up the coast. These "blue cruises" are a popular way to explore the Mediterranean coastline and there are many cruise companies to choose from.

We had done some research and picked one of the companies that the Lonely Planet guidebook recommends. We felt pretty confident about our decision when we parted with a good chunk of lira for this excursion.

But that's pretty much where our confidence ended and the red flags started to pop up.

The bus transfer that took us to the dock (about an hour and a half away from Olympos) was disorganized. We made stops for no apparent reason, we backtracked, and the driver gave the impression he was improvising the whole affair. First red flag.

During the ride we were told that we now had to buy our own drinks to bring on the boat AND we had to pay an extra 20 TL each for ice to keep our drinks cold. We exchanged disgruntled looks with the other passengers and I told Shane that I think this is what is meant by the term"fleecing." Shane joked that with the driver collecting the equivalent of 160 Euros for 4 days worth of cubes the boat darn well better be carved out of ice. Second red flag.

Next we were dropped off at a dock and abandoned for 45 mins. Eventually someone came and picked us up in a dingy and brought out to the yacht we would be sharing with 14 other passengers. Our yacht was blaring obnoxious techno music and a young shirtless crew member with his underwear half out of his shorts asked if any of us in the group were the passenger names scrawled on a ripped looseleaf piece of paper he was holding. Nope. We weren't. Third red flag.

At this point, I stopped counting.

He went down into the galley for a bit and left us all on the deck with our luggage. A young Russian man in the group remarked the whole thing was like the beginning of an Agatha Christie novel.

Eventually shirtless underwear guy came back and showed us to our cabin.

I would like to tell you that this is the part of the story were everything started to go smoothly, but unfortunately, things were just getting worse.

Firstly, our room smelled. If you mixed one part moldy, one part musty and one part sewage-y, you'd get the idea.

Secondly, it was dirty. The whole boat had a shoes-off rule so I was not too excited about walking barefoot into our dirty room for four days. Parts of the floor were rotting away and the bathroom was in bad need of repair and some serious scrubbing.

Thirdly, it leaked. Every time the boat traveled our room would fill up with 2 inches of water and we would have to wade shoeless through the stagnant water and some unidentifiable floaties to navigate the cabin.

At this point we realized the boat may actually be sinking faster than our hearts.

No one on the boat ever wanted to go down to the cabins therefore we spent as much time as possible on the top deck, even at night. Everyone slept on the sunbeds, which is customary on this type of cruise anyway. But in our case, it was kind of a necessity. One of the other passengers on the boat took the sheet off their bed to use on the sunbed and revealed a black mold-covered mattress.

But we could still enjoy a nice ice cold beverage in the sun right? Nope. As it turns out, there was no ice on the boat. There was freezer for drinks but it was only turned on once a day so that the drinks were warm or lukewarm most of the time.

The cruise turned out to be more green than blue for poor Shane. Shane experienced the ultimate in unfortunate trifectas when he had food-poisoning, sunstroke, and motion sickness for 2 days. He was in a terrible state and I even considered hiring another boat to take us back to the mainland to see a doctor.

But there were highlights too. The water was amazing. It was wonderful to be able to jump off the side of the boat anytime for a swim and a snorkle. We enjoyed being free of the beach crowds.






The idea for the people on this yellow-banana thing is to hang on.


The idea for the people driving the boat is to try and knock off the people on the banana thing.


As it turns out, we were in good company on the boat. Shane played chess with the Russian and we bonded with our fellow Canadians on board. I talked design with an Industrial Designer from Spain and we had many late night chats with Efe from Izmir who had a strong interest in paranormal and occult topics. We discussed everything from ghosts and reincarnation to astral projection.

Efe also had a background in Marine biology and assuaged one of the Canadian's fear of shark attacks in the surrounding waters. Sharks were around in these waters but they were quite small and fearful of humans. He said that his diving friends told him that if you stick your nose in the water and it smells like watermelon, that means there are sharks nearby. Apparently shark oil smells like watermelon, but I couldn't get past the whole smelling underwater thing.



While we adored the swimming and the sun, we were more than happy when our boat finally docked in Fethiye. The cruise was actually cut a few hours short because the boat was taking on too much water - in our room - so it had to go in for repairs.

Shane was still sick and we were both feeling grubby. A Turkish bath was actually sounding like a really good idea...

Olympos: Night Swimming and Turkish Friends

Onward to the coast. The Mediterranean coast that is!

We took an overnight bus from Göreme to Olympos. We stepped off the coach and waved a weary, squinty, hello to the blazing hot sun of the south coast.

Olympos is a beach town. Well, not really a town per se. It's really just a single dirt road lined with budget pensions, bungalows and treehouse accommodations.

The beach in Olympos was beautiful, but very, very crowded during our peak season visit. We rented a scooter and explored the beaches a few towns over and found this piece of heaven.



The water was bathwater warm and so salty there was no need to even swim. Just float in the water so blue it looks like someone was waaaay overzealous in Photoshop. But they weren't. It really just is THAT blue.

Scooting around Olympus from katie lapi on Vimeo.

We stumbled through the overgrown ancient ruins nestled in among the forested valley leading to the Olympos beach.





At night we explored Chimera, a geological phenomena where fires are scattered across rocky terrain. An unknown mixture of gases is emitted from rocky crevices that burns and will apparently reignite if you try and extinguish the flames.



But the best thing about Olympos was none of the above. The best thing about Olympos was the friends we made. The chilled out common area at our pension, filled with comfy sitting lofts and hammocks was the perfect place to meet people. It was here that we met Umut and Emre from Istanbul and Kamal, Serkan, and Furkan from Bursa.



We had two wonderful nights of moonlit swimming, fires, dancing, and singing. Lots of singing. Each night the ring of people around our beach fire would grow bigger and bigger as people joined the group. Our new Turkish friends passionately sang traditional songs about Turkey with a level of patriotism I have never seen before. Everyone seemed to know all the words to every song.

Turkish people LOVE Turkey. And it's infectious. Shane and I hummed along and tried our best to mimic the word sounds so we could be a part of the gigantic sing-a-long.

Olympos Sing-a-Long from katie lapi on Vimeo.

At one point Shane and I were asked to sing a Canadian song. Like a traditional one. Like one that every Canadian would know. Hmmmmm.....

Knowing that there was no way I could get through the entire national anthem (yah, I don't watch hockey, okay?) I quickly struggled to remember all the words to the land-of-the-silver-birch-home-of-the-beaver song but Shane had never even heard of it. I joked that we both knew the chorus to Crash Test Dummies "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm" but we knew that wasn't a strong pick. We both felt a bit - I don't know - culture-less. We weren't able to represent our country as tunefully as our Turkish friends.

Luckily, by night two, a large British contingent joined the group so together we were able to think of some English songs to sing. We contributed stirring renditions of Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody and Pink Floyd's Another Brick in the Wall to the evening's entertainment.

Olympus Fire Dancing from katie lapi on Vimeo.

Göreme: Land of the Fairy Chimneys

The bus ride to Göreme was remarkable for two reasons.

Reason 1: I had a breakthrough with my Turkish. I had been trying to use simple phrases from our Turkish language book but had been failing miserably. Single words were no problem but every time I tried to speak like an adult in full sentences my attempt at communication was met with a blank stare. I had to resort to phrasebook pointing, my least favorite and most shameful form of communication.

But at a stopover in Ankara I met a young Turkish man with great English so I got him to repeat a few of the phrases I had been trying to say and realized my problem. I was speaking waaaay too slowly. The secret seems to be slurring all those syllables that are so clearly delineated in the phrasebook together into a nice mush. The first time I tried it and was understood (meaning someone responded back to me in Turkish with three sentences that I didn't understand) I was giddy. Giddy with language power (well, just a little bit of power). It felt good and I was encouraged to lean farther outside the safety net of the English language that so many Turks use to speak to us.

Reason 2: This baby.




A mother was traveling alone with her wee babe. To my surprise, the mother happily passed off the baby to be entertained by fellow passengers on the bus, including us, the foreigners. We played with the baby for at least 2 hours of the 5 hour bus trip before the little one fell asleep on our laps. It was nice to see that kind of trust and it's fair to say it made an impression on me.

I would be remiss if I didn't spend at least one paragraph describing the comfort and near luxury of Turkish buses. Turkish buses have the conveniences of modern commercial airplanes, just with pit stops along the way. Most of the better buses have Wifi and personal screens with radio, movies, and TV. There is a bow-tied attendant who patrols the aisle with ice cream, pastries, and drinks. He even doles out lemon cologne to keep us all smelling like a refreshing citrus breeze. It's all very civilized and lovely!

And just where did we end up after this journey?

Göreme! Göreme is in the Cappadocia region, known widely for its rock formations known as "fairy chimneys." This strange other-worldly landscape is the result of erosion and volcanic ash. Inside these "chimneys" are centuries old rock-cut houses, churches, monasteries, and - wait for it - pigeon lofts. Pigeon excrement was once a valuable fertilizer so the lofts were built so it could be easily collected.



It's a fascinating landscape that we found was best explored via scooter. We were able to explore many of the amazing valleys of these formations and the surrounding historical sites and towns on our own.






Now for the dramatic introduction of the video portion of this blog: flying high in a hot air balloon over Cappadocia!

It really just looks like I'm doing a slow pan over a still photo but I assure you, we are balloon cruisin' at sunrise.

Göreme Balloon Ride 1 from katie lapi on Vimeo.

Göreme Balloon 2 from katie lapi on Vimeo.

One of the most memorable experiences we had in Cappadocia was meeting this family.




We were on the outskirts of a small town and saw two ladies making something on a rug outside of tents. We pulled over on our scooter to see what they were doing and were invited for tea. We had many, many cups of tea with this family (who spoke no English) and Shane and I exhausted our Turkish vocabulary visiting with the mother, grandmother, and three children.

A few locals we met along the way.




New contender for cuteoverload.com found napping in Göreme.

Safranbolu Bonus: The Haman Bath Experience

One of the things we were excited about experiencing in Turkey was the Haman baths.

In Safranbolu they recently restored the 300-year-old Cinci Haman so we decided it was the opportune time to take a dip in a Turkish bath.

The Haman had separate sections for men and women so Shane and I entered our respective sides and that is where the adventure began.

My host led me to a change room and gave me a cloth to wrap myself in. Next she led me though a series of double doors, down a steamy corridor, and into a main room with several rooms shooting off its perimeter. The room we entered had many sinks atop of low marble benches. In the centre of the room was a large table. Looking up I could see the afternoon light streaming in the high windows in the ceiling dome.

She escorted me to a sink and handed me a small plastic basin, indicating I was to start dousing myself in the warm water that was slowly filling the basin.

Then she left. I was alone in the echoey chamber.

I started to timidly rinse myself. Attempting to be a tidy bather I tried to get all the water back in the basin. Now thoroughly rinsed and starting to sweat in the hot room I peeked my head out the entrance. One of the rooms was a sauna and there were a few other small rooms with sinks, just like the one I was in. All of them were empty.

I had read the Haman bath section of the Lonely Planet guidebook several times but I had been hoping someone else would be in the bathhouse so I could see exactly what I should be doing.

Unsure of what to do, I sat. And sat. Was I supposed to go into the other rooms? Was I supposed to go get my host to tell her I was sufficiently rinsed? And wait, was I supposed to keep my cloth thingy dry for after my bath? Hmmmmmmmm.

20 minutes later my host returned, no longer clothed but instead wrapped in a cloth and with her hair pulled back. At this point I could see her strong stout build and her arms, so very thick with muscles.

She gestured for me to lie on the table and then started to rinse me again. At this point I realized there had been no point to me trying to contain all the water in the basin. Water was being flung around the room until the marble floor was awash in a warm sea.

Next, she donned a rough mitt and began to scrub. She scrubbed with an even pressure over my whole body, being no less gentle on the tender area around my eyes than on the rough soles of my feet.

These were not cursory scrubs. She scrubbed me harder than I scrubbed my beautiful Le Creuset pot that I boiled dry once (okay, maybe twice). She scrubbed so hard I could see bits of the mitt crumbling off all over my skin. She scrubbed so hard it hurt.

I braced myself because I thought for sure my ribcage was about to collapse from the pressure. I could almost hear the slow hiss of air escaping my punctured lungs and the snap of my collarbone shattering like peanut brittle all over the table.

I was reminded of the time I once helped Shane refinish a 50-year-old hardwood floor. But this time, instead of yielding the sander, I was the hardwood floor. Once worn, scratched, and marred with age, she was shearing off my dull layers and the dirty crust of daily life to return my dermis to its former glory. She scrubbed away so many layers that I wondered if I would have any skin left at all and if I would end up looking like one of those preserved skinless humans in the Bodyworlds exhibit.

Next came the soap. Frothy mountains of suds became the sea foam floating on the warm marble-lined sea.

This woman was strong. Strong as an ox. Between the powerful scrubs and suds I felt like I might slide right off the platform and tried desperately to get a hold on the slippery soapy edges of the table. Perhaps there was someone else I could be paired with, someone with a similar body type to mine. I mean really, would you send Muhammad Ali into the ring against a boxer with the build of Woody Allen?

And then there was more pain. The pain of the mitt was one thing, but along with the sudsing process came a new battery of pain affliction. When she cleaned each hand she weaved her fingers into mine right at the base, squeezed them hard together and then pulled her way up to my fingertips. Bone against bone. I can only compare the experience to stripping an electrical wire with the inner blade on a pair of needle nose pliers. I tried to open my mouth to call out in pain, but no sound came out. Who knew handwashing could be a such a taxing experience? This was some serious clean.

When the whole affair was over we were both hot and exhausted. She retreated back to the main area to smoke a cigarette and I went back to my room to get dressed.

Shane and I both felt like we had never been so clean in our lives. We looked red and felt raw but inside we were renewed and with baby soft skin to boot. When the sun beat down on us I was sure people were blinded by the glare of our freshly burnished epidermises, shining like diamonds all the way back to the pension.

Safranbolu: Town with a Sweet Tooth

Safranbolu is known for its fine collection of Ottoman houses, many of which have been lovingly restored.




We stayed in the nicest pension yet! Bastoncu Pension is in a 300-year-old Ottoman house. The owner is a woodworker who did the restoration himself. He showed us his tools and he and Shane "talked shop." His wife cooked us amazing home-cooked dinners.

Our room. We slept like sultans for 3 nights.


Self-portrait.

The owners' son was a musician and we were lucky enough to be in town for one of his concerts.

Shane even got to try his hand at the bağlama.


We went to another small town near Safranbolu and met this lady. Apparently she is quite a famous town character. People come from Istanbul just to meet her. She teases all the tourists. She tried unsuccessfully to arrange a trade for our new friend Jeremy's Ray-Bans.



Old Ottoman-era aqueduct that you can walk across. Look Ma! No handrails! The experience was dizzying.



More caving in Safranbolu at Bulak Menciris Cave. This giant cave is the 4th largest in Turkey and runs 6.5 km in length. However, after only 400 m I became claustrophobic and anxious about how far I had to walk to see sunlight again.



I think it's time to mention a few more Turkish food highlights.

Gözleme: Gözleme has become a close personal friend of Shane and mine. Kind of like a quesadilla made with two thin rotis, but filled with potato, cheese or spinach. Perfect afternoon snack.

Notice the shout-out to St. Louis on the napkin holder!



Salep: We hit a few rainy days in Safranbolu where the temperature dropped. This meant we got to sample a hot drink that is usually only served in the winter. It's made with milk and crushed tapioca with lots of spice.

Not salep but a beautiful tea and coffee service.


Turkish delight and halva: My sweet tooth has been in decline for the last 6 months so Safranbolu was a great place to nurse it back to health. The town takes its name from saffron and on every corner there is a sweetshop welcoming you to sample their wares, including saffron flavoured Turkish delight. We also ate a gigantic puck of the creamiest halva I've ever had in my life.

It's been at least a entry or so since we've had an animal shot so let's end this post with one.
I like to call it, "the pup with intoxicating eyes."

Amasra: Rockstars and Flaming Hair Cuts

After 3 nights in Istanbul we headed to Amasra (population 7,000) on the Black Sea coast.

We knew we were in for an adventure when we told one of the hotel staff at our pension in Istanbul where we were going and she said "Amasra? Why? (long pause)... No tourists go there."

What I think she meant to say was no English tourists go there, because when we rolled into town it was chock full of Turkish tourists.

We arrived on the last day of a festival. There was a Ferris wheel set up and a band was playing on a giant stage (complete with video screen and dry ice). Everyone in the crowd was singing along to the music and waving giant black and white posters of a young man.

What we managed to piece together after a few hours of walking around is that the man on the posters was Baris Akarsu, a famous Turkish rockstar/actor who grew up in Amasra. Sadly, Baris died of complications from a car crash when he was only 28.

Every year Amasra holds a music festival in his honour.

Along the harbour there is a giant statue of him and his beloved motorbike is encased in glass along with portraits of him. Night and day, tourists flock to this shrine to have their photo taken.



While in Amasra we hired a boat to take us out to some of the local beaches outside of town. This was a fabulous idea. While the guidebook warned about the cold ocean temperature of the Black Sea, I am happy to report that they meant "Turkey-in-July-cold" not "Vancouver-in-December-cold."

Shane takes a plunge.









Before we left for our trip I made sure to get my hair cut. I figure only the truly adventurous would try and get their haircut in a country where they don't speak the language. Women I know seem to have a hard enough time getting a haircut they like when both parties speak the same language, so why complicate it further when all you have to work with is phrasebook Turkish?

However, my husband, being much more adventurous than I, decided it was time to have his locks chopped. After a brief exchange of gesturing (on the barber's part) and poorly pronounced Turkish (on Shane's part) the young man started cutting Shane's hair. Shane got all relaxed and started to fall asleep.

When the haircut was complete, the barber started working on Shane's "other" hair. Apparently, Turkish haircuts include cutting all the hair above your neck (read: nose and ear hair trim with electric clippers). I found this portion of the procedure interesting enough, but it wasn't until the barber dipped an oversized q-tip in a pink liquid and lit it on fire that things really got interesting.

I started to laugh nervously and Shane sprung into a fully alert state as the barber started wafting the giant flame in and out of Shane's ears! A complimentary ear-hair singe! Vancouver salons better be steppin' it up!

Pretty, pretty Amasra.




Lunch from the market.


Ataturk sculpture competes with Shane's bulging biceps.