“Karne” (Report Card

Btw Foça and Yeni Foça
Half-finished Prismacolor sketch of the sea, just north of Foça

Well, all the world’s school children are onto their summer holidays after getting their report cards for the year. In Turkey, the last day of school is the much-anticipated moment when your kids carry home their “karne” and parents celebrate the accomplishments of their offspring.

I have well passed the age when report cards were a thing of pride (mostly) or fear (math, usually). But last week, after all the world’s school children were already involved with swimming and soccer (or sowing and reaping, depending on your demographics), the thought crossed my mind that it might do to write myself my own report card, going back to my List of Ideas and checking to see how well the implemenation was going. Think of it as a mid-term “progress report” for 2017/2018, rather than an end-of-term final appraisal, because, as that great artist Yogi Berra once said, “It’s not over ’til it’s over.” ( Or as I said yesterday, “I’m not dead yet.”)

Report Card – Deborah Semel Demirtaş – 2017/2018

1. Sitting down in my studio and doing some more oil pastels of people in the water, using the photos I took in Georgia, Portugal, and the Turkish Mediterranean coast as sketches. NO PROGRESS. (Studio is a mess, greenhouse effect is making it more than a little unbearably hot… but I did manage to clear enough space to sew me up some summer clothing to make the heat a little less oppresive. As they say, “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the studio!”)

2. Writing and illustrating a children’s book about “The Adventures of Yellow Dog”. In it, the erstwhile Yaprak is transformed into a doggie who had to leave her home for reasons she is too young to understand, but ends up making friends with a chicken and learning to swim. AND 2a, the sequel, “Yellow Dog and Her Friends”, in which Yellow Dog and her chicken-friend, over much objection from their families, end up visiting one another at their respective homes – and nobody gets eaten. PROGRESS. (Okay, this is, admittedly, theoretical progress – meaning I’ve decided that Yellow Dog’s adventures might be more interesting as an animated film than in book form. That’s as far as I’ve got.)

3. Going back and doing some large (for me) oil-stick drawings like the ones in the “swimmer” series I had started a few years ago and then had to abandon because “the princesses” had taken over my “outdoor studio” so there was no room to work out there anymore. NO PROGRESS. (I’ve got a whole lot of paper cut to size, but this has been just another thing that I haven’t gotten around to. For the reason why, see No. 4 below.)

4. A “film project”. (I have this “wild hare” of an idea to organize a festival, or something, of films on “cultural heritage”… please don’t steal this one…) PROGRESS.  (If there’s a whole lot of “no progress” on anything else on my list, this must be the reason why.)

FFG LOGO web

5. Paint some more wooden furniture. (This is not as easy as it sounds – if you place the emphasis on “wooden” – because everything these days seems to be made of pressboard and the like. Boo-hoo.) PROGRESS. (I did one. For proof, see the  photo of the “Camouflage Table” below; bet you have a hard time finding the table leg… designed to blend in with the flagstone…)

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6. Continue making temporary trash sculptures. (This one should be pretty easy; there’s a lot of trash out there.) PROGRESS. (But since I can’t find any pictures, you’ll just have to take my word for it. And by the way, there’s still a lot of trash out there.)

7. Something to do with food! (I’m not there yet…) PROGRESS. (Still not there yet, but undoubtedly there will be some food-related cultural heritage at the 1st Foça International Archaeology and Cultural Heritage Film Days…)

8. An illustrated travel book… NO PROGRESS. (But today I’m going to Kos, with a box of Prismacolors in my backpack and a painter-friend, who might be a good influence on me… or maybe not; we’ll probably just drink a lot of frappes and eat pig.)

DSCN3126 - Copy.JPG
(By Yasemin the Art Teacher – who cannot be guaranteed to be a good influence.)

9. Painting a mural on the top row of kitchen cupboards. (This was agreed with my husband before we got new kitchen cupboards. The choice was not between whether to paint or not, but between what to paint: 1. Beach scene; 2. Abstract painting of the vastness of the universe, with lots of gold leaf and light blue; 3. Tropical paradise. And the winner is… “3, Tropical Paradise”! NO PROGRESS. (But white looks good, too… )

10. Two paintings (oil stick on plywood, 40x40cm, of flower blossoms on a mainly black background with a lot of line drawing done in gold leaf) “commissioned” by my husband in return for making him not hang a painting in a spot that I didn’t want it to be hung in. PROGRESS(One is finished and hung on the wall. One is progress, isn’t it?)

 

There.
A list of 10.
A nice, round number.
“Top 10 Ideas From Amongst Which At Least 1 Must Be Chosen Before Another Idea Is Had”

“Top 10 Ideas From Amongst Which At Least 1 Must Be Chosen Before Another Idea Is Had”

P2

You may have noticed that I haven’t written anything in a while, and that I haven’t posted any pictures of nice-and-shiny artwork, or even rough-and-tumble work-in-progress.

Of course, you may not have noticed, because you were busy doing things in the actual, three-dimensional world rather than (how shall I put this?) “spending time enjoying your vibrant, virtual community”.

Although you could be forgiven for assuming that my not posting can be chalked up to my “spending time enjoying my vibrant, virtual community”, you would be mistaken.

In fact, I have also been busy working.

And not just in the dosh-producing sense of the word, but also in the “production of creative material” sense of the word – although mostly, in the “travelling” and “thinking” senses of the word.

Yes, travelling counts as “creative work”, in the same sense that “research on background” and “sketching” count as creative work. In my case, I like to think that it especially counts, because in addition to just taking the opportunity to refresh the eyes and this sorry old brain with new sensory information, I use the time travelling to take photographs that I use the same way that some artists use sketches – and on occasion I even sit down and do some old-fashioned sketching myself.

Portugal - View from the restaurant 1

Thinking also belongs in the “creative work” box. Despite what some people think. (Here I must interject a memory: While visiting a friend at Hacettepe University one day many years ago, I got involved in a conversation that ended in a now-well-known contemporary Turkish conceptual artist explaining to me, “But Deborah, she (a now-well-known contemporary Turkish painter) isn’t a conceptual artist, so she doesn’t need to have an idea.”

On the other hand, even I sometimes “live too much in my head” and forget that just thinking about a thing doesn’t actually get the thing done. (In that way, “art” is a lot like doing laundry and cleaning the house…) So, when that lightbulb-reminder went off in my head again yesterday, I decided that I was not allowed to have any more ideas until I use up the ones I already have. These include:

1. Sitting down in my studio and doing some more oil pastels of people in the water, using the photos I took in Georgia, Portugal, and the Turkish Mediterranean coast as sketches.

more surfers

1a. “Shooting” some video interviews of people and their relationships to the water that I can edit to use in an installation with the above-mentioned drawings; interviews to include “individuals who attempted to migrate from Turkey to Greece by sea”.

2. Writing and illustrating a children’s book about “The Adventures of Yellow Dog”. In it, the erstwhile Yaprak is transformed into a doggie who had to leave her home for reasons she is too young to understand, but ends up making friends with a chicken and learning to swim.

2a. And then there’s the sequel, “Yellow Dog and Her Friends”, in which Yellow Dog and her chicken-friend, over much objection from their families, end up visiting one another at their respective homes – and nobody gets eaten.

3. Going back and doing some large (for me) oil-stick drawings like the ones in the “swimmer” series I had started a few years ago and then had to abandon because “the princesses” had taken over my “outdoor studio” so there was no room to work out there anymore.

4. A “film project”. (I have this “wild hare” of an idea to organize a festival, or something, of films on “cultural heritage”… please don’t steal this one…)

5. Paint some more wooden furniture. (This is not as easy as it sounds – if you place the emphasis on “wooden” – because everything these days seems to be made of pressboard and the like. Boo-hoo.)

6. Continue making temporary trash sculptures. (This one should be pretty easy; there’s a lot of trash out there.)

7. Something to do with food! (I’m not there yet…)

8. An illustrated travel book…

Portugal - View from the restaurant 2

9. Painting a mural on the top row of kitchen cupboards. (This was agreed with my husband before we got new kitchen cupboards. The choice was not between whether to paint or not, but between what to paint: 1. Beach scene; 2. Abstract painting of the vastness of the universe, with lots of gold leaf and light blue; 3. Tropical paradise. And the winner is… “3, Tropical Paradise”!

10. Two paintings (oil stick on plywood, 40x40cm, of flower blossoms on a mainly black background with a lot of line drawing done in gold leaf) “commissioned” by my husband in return for making him not hang a painting in a spot that I didn’t want it to be hung in.

There.
A list of 10.
A nice, round number.
“Top 10 Ideas From Amongst Which At Least 1 Must Be Chosen Before Another Idea Is Had”

Running with the Cows (or, “Til the Cows Come Home – Georgia Road Trip, Part 10)

For a long time I’ve been meaning to write about the Cows of Georgia. I’ve been meaning to write about them, because they were one of the ubiquitous features of our trip to Georgia last summer.  But that was a long time ago. So many ridiculous items (‘coups’, orange-haired presidents, dictatorial referendums, etc.) have taken their places on the daily agenda since then that the cows just sort of got left by the side of the road, so to speak.

In fact, during our trip, the cows were more often occupying the center of the road than the side of it. But since the time I decided to write about the Cows of Georgia and the time I actually got around to writing about them, I’ve had a lot of time to wonder why it is that I find cows so fascinating.

Picture: “Hanging out the Laundry” (it’s a box)

Box_ÇamasirOpen

I have an ex-boyfriend who grew up in a small town in Germany who once told me he had always wanted to have a cow for a pet. At the time, I thought that was sort of strange. Now, however, I can see the attraction. In addition to the side-benefit of daily dairy products, cows are definitely more human-friendly than cats, and while not quite as cuddly as doggies, they’ve got big, beautiful eyes that they obligingly turn in your direction the minute you point a camera at them – unlike doggies, who instinctually manage to look in the other direction the second you press the shutter (or tap your touch screen).

Picture: Collage with Cows

film-gibi

The cows in the collage above are photocopies of paintings I did of (duh) cows. They are actually pretty small (about 10x15cm), and I did them all in one sitting because I was tired of people looking at me like I had two heads when I didn’t nod yes when they asked, “So, you do oil on canvas?” I made a dozen or so, and hung them in a “3-person-exhibit” at the Gümüşlük Art House shortly after I had first moved to Bodrum. The other 2 ladies exhibiting were as suprised as I was when a French tourist came in and bought almost all of them. “What? Don’t you have cows where you come from?” asked one of the ladies. All I could do was pocket my cash and smile. “Actually, we do.”

But we don’t have them on the beach. At least not on Long Island.

Kadıkalesi is the first place I ever saw a cow wandering on the beach, and I was fascinated. It was not an uncommon occurrence, either. In the wintertime, when the beaches were empty of tourists, they’d be hanging out with their kankas, enjoying a bit of beach grub.

I never did see a cow on the beach during the summer tourist season, but I did get to wondering, and after a couple of cows made their way onto trays that formed a wall installation with a couple of naked Greek statues and some Ottoman women on their way to a hammam (and I am really sorry I don’t have a picture of that), I finally did a picture I called “Cows on the Beach”. It was inspired in part by the witty lady from the exhibit in Gümüşlük.

Picture: Cows on the Beach

Welcome to Turkey

But away from the cows of the Aegean and on to the cows of the Black Sea…

Picture: Cows in the Highlands

georgia-mitrala-cows-3191

Yes, there were cows hanging out by the sea in Georgia, and in “the lush Georgian highlands”, but like the ones in Turkey, they were solitary, or with at most a single friend or family member. The ones inland on the way from Üreki to Kutaisi were in herds.

Nothing wrong with that. Kinda makes sense. “Herd of cows”… (“Heard of cows?”… heh-heh-heh….)

But herd of cows on a highway? Well, no actually…

Returning from Kutaisi, we had apparently hit cow rush hour, and the traffic was horrendous. It was moving in a maddeningly slow pace, and what’s worse, in the wrong direction.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere, but I just don’t have the energy to tease it out. It’s bayram, and the heat wave from Libya has arrived at our doorstep and is expected to last until the end of the holiday.

And then there’s another national holiday coming up, I’m sure, in a few weeks, marking nearly a year since we started out on our Road Trip to Georgia. In fact, the anniversary is not to mark our road trip – but don’t get me started on that, because I don’t have the energy for that, either. Enough to say that last year, we had accidentally decided to take a holiday abroad at a very interesting time. This year, we’re doing it on purpose. And when we get back home, all I want is for everything to be normal again. And I don’t want to have to wait until the cows come home.

I hope you all have enjoyed joining me on this vicarious, virtual trip around Georgia and some of Turkey. I know I promised lots of things that I didn’t deliver on (like a description of Zafer and the Laz Beach Party at Limanköy, and more photoshopped bathers, for example), but like I said, and as you know, a lot of things have happened over the past 365 days. To keep up with me on this journey we call – well, this journey we call something or other –  feel free to sign up for my Blog, which, I promise, will from now on no longer engage in 10-part series of anything.

And for now, just a few more cows… 

Picture: Cows on the Highway

Cows

Picture: Cows Still on the Highway, Receiving a Good Talking To

Cows getting instructions from my husband

Picture: Cows on the Highway (but at least heading in the right direction now)

Cows in the right direction

Picture: A Smiling Cow on the Highway

Cow smiling

Picture: Cow in a Collage

Nature out of Balance

Picture: Another Cow in a Collage

Toredor

Georgia Underground (The Caves of Prometheus) (Georgia Road Trip, Part 9)

I have been in search of diversion since July of last year, if not longer. Considering that 2017 already looks like a year I’d rather skip altogether, I think I’ll just continue trying to secure a little more diversion – this time in color.

When we left Ureki (See Georgia Road Trip, Part 8), it was with some regret. Harun and I may not be what you’d call “beach people”, but we are certainly “coastal people” (heck, we’re even “bicoastal”: alternating between the west of Turkey and the east of the US), and there we were, about to head inland.

Literally.

Inside the land.

Underground.

The entrance to the Prometheus cave is rather  unassuming, and I imagine that it was discovered in the same way that many of the underground cities in Cappadocia were discovered – i.e., a farmer out in his field spies a crack, digs it open a bit, and: “surprise”!

Like the underground cities in Turkey, the Prometheus cave is now a national park site. Unlike the underground cities, you can only see the caves as part of a tour – a 2-km underground walking tour. For a little extra dosh, you are supposedly able to make part of that tour by boat, or so I had read, but the boat tours require a certain amount of water that was lacking while we there – the hottest and driest part of the summer – which is also the perfect time to spend some time in a cave.

(A literal cave. As far as figurative caves go, from now until 2020 sounds all too appealing.)

And now for your visual entertainment, may I introduce…

The Caves of Kutaisi

dscn3290An unobtrusive entrance…

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An immediate surprise…

dscn3296An underground tour route…

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Filled with ups and downs…

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Some subtle lighting…

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And some less subtle lighting…

dscn3327No photoshopping required…

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(For the lowdown on all things cavey, you can check out the website of the  Georgia National Parks Service. And FYI (given, I believe, that Georgia is relatively new to capitalism in general and tourism in particular), the park officials will let you camp out overnight within a stone’s throw of the ticket booth and the WC, as long as you wait until the official closing time to pitch your tent. Not taking them up on their offer was only our second-worst decision regarding accommodations in the Republic of Georgia. For our worst decision, stay tuned for Part 10 of the Georgia Road Trip.

Georgian Beaches (Georgia Road Trip, Part 8)

When Harun and I planned our Road Trip to the Republic of Georgia, well, as Lou Reed once said, “those were different times”. I know I promised (you and me both) that I’d keep up with the story of the road trip, including photos during and artwork after, but what with coups, bombs, witch hunts, elections, more bombs, even more bombs, and a few mass shootings for good measure, well, it really is hard to concentrate, whether we’re in Turkey or the United States. In an effort to wind up the Georgian Tale before it becomes just a vague memory, let’s move on from Kobuletti to Ureki.

And let me say this: Ureki is better than Kobuletti.

Ureki has magnificent magnetic black sand that is supposed to be good for you.

Ureki has an Azeri kebabci who has his sheep meat shipped in daily on a bus from Azerbaijan to Tbilisi (and who uses fresh coriander in his salad, which is good news for those of us who don’t have the “makes-coriander-taste-like-soap” gene).

Ureki has cheap and cheerful Georgian wine in plastic bottles sold on the street and outstanding wine in real glass bottles available at the corner markets, of which there are many.

Ureki has hotels where instead of a sign reading “no food or drink from outside allowed on premises”, you will most likely find a very large refrigerator where hotel guests are expected to store all the food and drink they’ve purchased from outside and brought onto the premises. (As the best of our hotel’s Georgian Cuisine consisted of what I can only call gruel – although it was damn good gruel – this is a very good thing. Another good thing was that in addition to gruel, our hotel came with a caretaker who spoke rudimentary Turkish from her erstwhile days taking care of old people in Ankara, and she came with a sister just a phone-call away with even better Turkish, since the phone call was to Ankara, where she was still taking care of old people.)

Ureki has touts on the main drag who will help you find a hotel. (This was helpful for us, considering we were among the masses of non-Georgian tourists for whom the Georgian alphabet is very curly – although it would have been more helpful if we had a better command of Russian, which is the language of Georgian tourism, which leans heavily on cars full of families from Russia and Armenia. We managed with “da”, “nyet”, finger-counting and a phone call to a Georgian health-care worker in Ankara.)

Ureki has a parking-area-cum-campgrounnd that is shaded by sweet-scented pines and is right on the edge of the beach. (I can recommend it highly for parking, but less so for camping. Let’s just say that when we decided to make use of its camping potential – along with a number of others with TR plates in amongst the RUSs and AMs – we were treated to a bit of all-night entertainment from a few friendly Georgians who managed to strategically place themselves next to our tent and endulge in a rather boisterous, vodka-fueled party; they were even more friendly in the morning, once they had taken up their hotel-touting positions on the strip – greeting us with a “Good morning, Turk! Perhaps you would like to stay in a hotel this evening?”)

So, now, here are a few lovely photos from the beach at Ureki. (You will notice, I took a few liberties… )

Photo 38 (Ureki No. 1): Green Umbrella

Gurcistan Beach 1 - green umbrella.jpg

Picture 39 (Ureki No. 2): Black Sand (and Parachute)

gurcistan-beach-2-black-sand-w-parachute

Picture 40 (Ureki No. 3): Beach Boy

Gurcistan Beach  3 - umbrella boy.jpg

 

 

 

 

Kobuleti, Kobuleti – It’s Better than Bodrum AND Antalya… (Georgia Road Trip, Part 7)

I hope you enjoy reading something that I can assure you is lighter and more uplifting than the current international bestseller, “Woe to Us: How I Learned to Survive the Elections and Love The Donald”….

To pick up the nearly lost thread of my Georgian Road Trip saga, I’d like to point out that the best thing I did before Harun and I hit the road for our marathon trek around Turkey and across the border to the northeast was to find this web site for what I guess is the Georgia National Parks Service. The site is a bit unwieldy, but that’s because it’s got so much information- places to stay, caves to explore, valleys to traverse…

Basically, I was looking for camping spots in the mountains, near the water and to the southeast of Tbilisi. It was up in the air as to whether or not we were going to make it as far as Tbilisi – if we could find enough to interest us without going so far afield, then we would avoid Tbilisi, even though it is the capital and even though we’d heard it was more interesting and less expensive than Batumi, which we had been told to avoid as being a typical “border town” – a sort of Georgian Tijuana, I suppose.

After studying the great Georgia National Parks Service website for clues to some kind of an itinerary, I came up with 2 possible first stops: either Mitrala National Park, or Kobuleti. The 4-hour wait on the Georgian side of the border while Harun was being alternately grilled and stalled by the Turkish border police (who I suppose were being extra careful because of “fleeing attempted-coup perpetrators”) decided it for me: Kobuleti.

There were two main reasons for this:

  1. A Turkish gentleman who also had a fellow-traveller ‘waiting’ in customs recommended Kobuleti as “better than Bodrum and Antalya”

  2. By the time Harun finished ‘waiting’, it was already evening, and it didn’t feel like a good idea to be driving up a mountain in Georgia in the dark, particularly when:

    a. we’d been warned about the poor conditions of roads in Georgia, and

    b. the Georgian alphabet looks like this: , ლ, etc.    (which, I think you can appreciate, is not something I expected to be particularly helpful in pointing me in the direction of either Mitrala or Kobuleti or anywhere else, for that matter).

In fact, as it turned out, Kobuleti was a big enough place (in the Georgian scheme of things) that the road signs marking the way to Kobuleti actually said ‘Kobuleti’ in addition to ‘ქობულეთი’ – which was rather helpful, indeed. What was rather less helpful was that, as we soon found out, the poor road conditions in Georgia were equally matched by poor road signs.

Please note that this does not necessarily mean there are no road signs; in fact, as we made our way down the (I must say, in this instance, well-paved) road to ‘Batumi -ბათუმი’, we began to see many signs for’ქობულეთი – Kobuleti. Unfortunately, none of signs appeared to be indicating anything that looked remotely like something that could be the road to ‘ქობულეთი – Kobuleti’ – which should have been the main road running up the Georgian Black Sea coastline – either because the signs had no arrows to point to a road, or because the arrows pointed to place where there were no roads. At least not that I could decipher.

(By the way: Harun is The Driver, I’m The Navigator. I’m always The Navigator. It’s my job. It’s been my job ever since I was old enough to read a map, because like Harun, my dad was always The Driver, and if my mom were The Navigator, we could find ourselves driving down the road to somwhere in the middle of Queens, instead of Manhattan, NYC – which for anyone not familiar with New York, would be sort of like finding yourself on the road to someplace in Indiana instead of NYC – not that I am intending here any slur against Indiana, it’s just that Indiana is on my mind today, thanks to a little hasty research on our new US Vice-President Elect… but I digress…).

Under the circumstances, I was able to find one sign that had an arrow that actually did (sort of) point to a road -which – are you surprised by this? – turned out not to be the road to ‘ქობულეთი – Kobuleti’, but to – who knows? – perhaps the Georgian equivalent of Howard Beach (which, by the way, is nothing like Bodrum or Antalya – or Kobuleti).

This is when my visual communication skills came in handy. Before the road took us completely away from any kind of civilization, we found ourselves driving past one solitary individual walking down the side of the road – perhaps the last guy out after locking up one of the darkened, deserted warehouses along what was not the road to Kobuleti. We pulled up alongside him, I offered him a drawing pad and a lead pencil, and in what could have passed for confusion in any language – eyebrows drawn together, hands waving in circles, rising tone on the final syllable: “Kobule-ti?”

In response, we got a reasonable lead-pencil facsimile of a traffic circle or intersection and a long road stretching out – need I say it? – in the opposite direction from where we were heading. “Madloba” – I might have said, had it been a few days later (other than Kobuleti and some other lovely place-names, “thank you” is the only Georgia word I was able to acquire), and thus we headed away from Howard Beach and through the dusty side roads of Batumi back towards the coastal highway and our first stop actually inside Georgia week after we first started out on this Georgia Road Trip.

As it turns out, Kobuleti is not nearly as big as Antalya. It is not nearly as big as Bodrum. It is not even as big as a lot of places that are not nearly as big as Bodrum. Had we blinked, we might have missed it.

Perhaps if I knew some Russian, I might have noticed the little cardboard signs tacked up in front of some houses that I later figured out translated into “Room to Let”. As it was, all I could do was tell Harun to “pull over” in front of a shop that was announcing itself as the ‘Istanbul Perdeci’ – or something or other. It really didn’t matter if the place was selling curtains (“perdeler”) or not, what was important was that somebody in there most likely had something to do with Istanbul and thus would most likely: a. speak Turkish and b. be willing to assist non-Georgian-speaking Turkish-speakers in finding a place to lay down their (our) weary bones in Kobuleti.

(Here I must pause to pat myself on the back for my skills as The Navigator, which involve being able to ‘read the cultural landscape’ in addition to being able to read a map.)

In the space of time it takes to make a single phone call, we had a room at the lovely ‘?? Hotel’. The ‘??’ was conveniently located 2 doors down from the Istanbul Perdeci, both of which were on the main road through Kobuleti, which we also learned from Our Man at the Istanbul was just a block away from the beach.

Our Man at the Istanbul also introduced us to a Georgian fast-food-cum-bakery that was conveniently located 2 doors down from the Istanbul Perdeci in the opposite direction of the ‘??’ So, after a little haggling with the proprietors of the ‘??’ – once again using drawing pad and pencil as facilitators – we dumped our bags in a clean and modest room just a block away from the beach and headed out to enjoy our first greasy-doughy-cheesy-Georgian fast-food delights, which we held in our hands and ate as we walked towards the beach in the dark.

To bring this little narrative to a close, I will just say that despite our initial referral to Kobuleti as the Bodrum or Antalya of Georgia, we did not enjoy a beach holiday here. We arrived in the dark, and the next day was clouded over, so we ended up driving back towards Batumi and checking out Mitrala National Park, where, unbeknownst to Harun, I was planning to engage in a little ‘zip-lining’ through the trees. In fact, just as we got up to the start of the ‘zipper’, it began to rain, and so we ended up heading back to the ‘??’ where we had left our bags, and the next morning, we decided to head north out of Kobuleti in search of an even better beach.

I am afraid you will have to wait for the next installment of the Georgia Road Trip to get a glimpse of a Georgian beach – but here are some pics of the beautiful Mitrala National Park on a foggy, rainy day…

Picture 31: Castle on the Way Back to Batumi georgia-castle-3142

 

 (I suppose I could have Photoshopped out the apartment blocs in the background, but then you might not get the sense of how much Georgia and Turkey have in common…)

Picture 32: Castle on the Way Back to Batumi, againgeorgia-outside-castle-3145

(You will notice the not-bright-blue sky. Just another day on the Black Sea…)

 

Picture 33: The Luscious Landscape of Mitrala National Park

georgia-mitrala-green-w-blue-sky-3161(Now admit it, isn’t a bright-blue Photoshop sky just the ticket?)

 

Picture 34: Resident Guide at Mitrala National Park

georgia-milli-park-guide-with-knife(Note the knife… a little bit of Photoshop and we’d’ve had that glinting…)

 

Picture 35: Resident Cows at Mitrala National Park

georgia-mitrala-cows-3191(Cows were a theme on this Road Trip.)

Picture 36: Resident Residence at Mitrala National Park

georgia-mitrala-for-rent-3190(Had we only known, we might have stayed here. Enlarge and you can read the tel. no…. Just sayin’…)

 

 Picture 37: Fog at Mitrala National Park

georgia-fog-3159No Photoshop here. But I promise you lots of Photoshopped beaches if you return for the next installment of the Georgia Road Trip… Just sayin’…

 

 

Across the Border, Finally. (Georgia Road Trip, Part 6)

Across the Border, Finally. (Georgia Road Trip, Part 6)

A horizontal line drawn from a point midway along a moon-shaped cove on the eastern end of the Black Sea represents the end of the Republic of Turkey and the beginning of the Republic of Georgia. To the north of the line, sunbathers are sprawled on the sand. To the south of the line, the beach is empty. Instead, there’s a crowd of people milling about in front of, next to and behind a line of vehicles – semi-trucks and tour busses, mainly – all with their motors turned off. Every 10 to 15 minutes, keys are turned in ignitions, motors rumble, and drivers move their vehicles forward a few meters. The process is repeated, again. And again. And again.

Picture 27 Sarp: The Bordergeorgia-border

On the occasion that we were participating in this exasperating bit of car choreography, the performance lasted about 8 hours!

Not that this is a border-crossing you’ll be breezing through on a normal day (the driver of the tour bus behind us said a couple of hours’ wait was normal); however, the Andy Warhol-John Cage proportions of this production can be attributed – as so many other things in Turkey are being attributed these days – to the ‘July 15 coup attempt’ – after which various and sundry perpetrators were found to have made their escape through – ta-daaa – this very same escape hatch.

If you’ve been paying attention, the ‘previous episode’ of this tale left off somewhere around Çorum, which is nowhere near the Georgian border. Thus, in the effort to speed up this virtual-border crossing (Would that I could have sped up the real-time event!), I’ll just present you with some higlights, in bullet-points, with a focus on highways, in case you ever find yourself in a car travelling along the Black-Sea coast of Turkey towards the Georgian border:

  • The highway from Central Anatolia (Çorum) to the Black Sea (Samsun) gets you there much quicker than you’d think.

  • Samsun has a confusing highway system, but once you find the shore (and a parking space nearby), it’s just as pleasant as walking along the Izmir Kordon, albeit (believe it or not) a little more humid.

  • The highway between Samsun and Ordu is one giant speed trap.

  • The sea looks lovely from the highway, but getting to it is nigh impossible, especially since heading east, by the time you spy a bit of sand or rock that makes you want to say ‘that looks like a nice place to stop’, you’re way past any exit (if there was one in the first place).

  • One of the easiest places to ‘get off the highway’ is Ünye. We got off the highway to go to the Social Security Office and get a print-out to show to the border guards (‘extraordinary times’, we are in) so that we could exit the country. While it turns out no one at the border showed any particular interest in these particular papers, it was worth stopping, as we chanced on a melon that was truly delicious.

Picture 28: Unye: The Melonunye-melon-3132

  • For a prettier (way prettier) drive, get off the new highway and onto the old highway that hugs the coast between Perşembe and Ordu.

  • There are some lovely places by the seaside east of Ordu all the way up to Georgia that cannot be seen from the highway. If you are not in a hurry, it might behoove you to pick an exit – any exit – and get off and back on the road again, heading west. Drive slowly in the right lane until something ineresting pops up.

  • Something interesting will pop up if you get off the highway around Limanköy, after Rize and before Artvin. (You will hear more about Limanköy on the return trip.)

Now, I have to admit, despite the fact that Harun and I had been romanticizing our ‘Trip to Georgia’ for around a year, sadly,  the banality of the new highway and the wait at Sarp/i made the actual ‘Crossing of the Border’ seem more like a denouement when it should have been a climax. Because everyone other than the chaufeur needs to get out and walk across, the pedestrian line is a lot longer than the line for cars, and since it’s my name on the registration of our Toyota (which is now even more well-travelled than our erstwhile Twingo), it was Harun who had to do the walking. This meant that 30% of my border-waiting was actually done on the other side.

I’d love to share with you my pictures of the lovely Orthodox church at Sarp, of the architecturally unique Georgian border installation (someone’s idea of an airborne submarine?), or even of the signs posting the exchange rates given by the shops servicing all those who wait (showing a correlation between the number of meters walked and the number of lari pocketed), but in fact – I have none. (Note to self: Possible title for next novel: ‘Dead Batteries’.)  Instead, you will have to make do with a few snaps of the lovely architecture of Batumi and some classic Black Sea Fog.

Picture 29: Batumi (1)batumi-arch-deco-2-3200

Picture 30: Batumi (2)batumi-arch-deco-3201

Picture 31: A Little Black Sea Foggeorgia-very-green-1-3155

And as an end note, I’d like to offer a little explanation as to what this attenuated ode-to-a-road-trip is doing in a blog ostensibly devoted to ‘process/progress’ (at least that’s what it says on the tab):

It’s that art/life, thing, ya know?
I mean, we can’t be in the studio all the time, now, can we?
Every once in a while we gotta get out there and take the pulse, see?

So, the road to Georgia – and back – was like holding a big long index finger tight over the national wrist-vein. It’s been a while processing the data, but things are not looking good.

 

 

Aphrodisias is for Lovers                      (Georgia Road Trip, Pt. 2)

Aphrodisias is for Lovers (Georgia Road Trip, Pt. 2)

Aphrodiasas was the first scheduled stop on our epic road trip. It’s not exactly close to Bodrum, and it’s not really on the way to anywhere, but I’d heard it was a great place (“10 best ancient cities in Turkey”), and had a sculpture studio that was famous in its day (5th century? I forget. I’m bad at dates, so I tend to just say “5th c” for everywhere in Turkey that’s pre-Modern and post-Hittite and not Byzantine, Selcuk or Ottoman).

And since we had to start someplace, Aphrodisias seemed as good a place as any. It fit nicely about half-way between Bodrum and Eğirdir – and Eğirdir was about halfway between Aphrodisias and Konya – which was about halfway between Eğridir and Avanos, according to various web-calculators. This meant 3-4 hour stints of driving for Harun – who doesn’t like to let me drive. (When we got to Avanos, my friend Hacı Ali upbraided him for this: “You think she doesn’t know how to drive? What do you think she did before she met you? You gotta get over this…”)

At Aphrodisias, Harun was hoping to find figs, as it was the season for figs, and Harun believes that the best places to gather figs, and olives, are at ancient Greek sites in Turkey. Although another of Hacı Ali’s rants was to be about people who pick things that don’t belong to them  (“they call it göz hakı ‘eye rights’, but it’s just plain hırsızlık ‘stealing’ “), whenever we start to contemplate a road trip, one of the first factors Harun takes into consideration is what’s in season.  I think this goes back to an earlier road trip to Tlos (up in the hills above Fethiye) when we ran into a little old man who insisted that the site that we had to pay to get onto was his land and the government had no right to take it from him and as far as he was concerned we had his permission to go ahead and pick as many olives as we liked.

Since then, we have made it a point to purchase “museum cards” good for a year’s worth of free entrance to most ancient sites in Turkey, and to make sure we go when the olives are ripe. This year we were expecting to hit ripe olives on our way back along the Mediterranean. Aphrodisias was supposed to be for figs (for Harun) and carob (for Me).

We were being somewhat well-behaved tourists, parking our car outside the site like the sign said (athough not following instructions to go to the paid parking that was unnecessarily far away and surrounded by souveneir shops). After that, we walked along the road heading into Aphrodisias. It was almost like a processional way, lined on one side by some very large and lovely carob trees as well as pistachios. (Unfortunately, there were no carobs on the trees, and – note – pistachios are related to the same trees that give us turpentine, which is why I don’t particularly like trying to eat unripe pistachios off the trees.)

As you have read this far without any visual stimulation, I suppose it is about time that I make two important confessions. One: Although I’ve gotten better about carrying my camera with me, I have a habit sometimes of just carrying it, and as a result, I have no pictures of these lovely carob trees, or of a lot of other people, places and things that we encountered during our trip. (But no worries, as I plan to be enlivening this modest little travelogue with some artistically enhanced photographs). Two: Although I’d love to be able to say “along with my sketches”, in fact, I ended up doing about as much sketching as Harun did fishing. My only excuse is that I was just too busy travelling).

With the exception of a group of what appeared to be international archeology and/or architect students, we had Aphrodisias entirely to ourselves. There were two reasons for this. One: Various and sundry bombs going off at assorted places in Turkey (the press likes to refer to it as “a spate of”). Two: The “darbe” – Turkish for “military coup” – an “attempted” one of which had just been “foiled” less than a week before we took off on our road trip. Considering that we had been planning this for about a year, we were not about to be put off by a little coup. Or even by the government’s declaration of OHAL – the Turkish acronym for “Emergency Rule” (or the literal translation, “Extraordinary Conditions”), which apparently occurred sometime while we were traipsing around Aphrodisias, but which we were yet to learn of until the following day.

But enough of all that. It’s time for Aphrodisias in Pictures:

Picture Number 3 (for 1+2, see Part 1 of the Georgia Road Trip):
Aphrodisias: A Monumental Gate Under Renovation

Aph 1 2978

This was very big and impressive, but there was no apparent sign of anyone working on any renovation, although there were some plastic bottles up on top of the scaffolding filled with either paint or chemicals or something that had to do with renovation, I believe.

Picture Number 4:
Aphrodisias Stadium (with Dramatic Lighting by Photoshop)

Aph11 glowing track 3002

This was a very large stadium. Personally, I like the one at Magnesia, by Söke, because most of the seats are still buried under the hills, so it leaves quite a lot to the imagination. And also, on the way to the Magnesia stadium are a lot of figs and olives. (BTW, I decided to Photoshop the picture because the weather did not provide me a blue sky. And to help appeal to the imagination.)

Picture Number 5:
Arches and Seating and Weeds with Blue Sky

Aph 9 photoshopped stepps

There are a few arches still standing around the outside of the stadium. But there are a lot more weeds springing up among the seats. Many of which are edible (the weeds, not the seats). Since there were no figs, I enjoyed some of these (again, weeds). (Blue Sky courtesy of Photoshop.)

Picture Number 6:
Weeds at Aphrodisias

Aph 2 WEEDS 2995

Not all the weeds at Aphrodisias are edible. But the ones that aren’t also make nice pictures. (BTW, this is not Photoshopped. OK, it’s cropped – but cropping doesn’t count. Not in my book.)

Picture Number 7:
Signs of Life at Aphrodisias

Aph 7 rest for gorevli 3011

This was the first sign of life we saw at Aphrodisias after the guy who helped us get our Museum Cards to ding us through the turnstiles at the entrance to the site. (I’m not counting the scaffolding and paint at the top of the Monumental Gate, because those could have been there for years, whereas the samovar and thermos looked pretty recent.) Also note the improvised seating…

Picture Number 8:
Underfloor Heating at Aphrodisias

Aph 5 underfloor heating haa 3015

They’re also restoring the baths. You can see part of the tiled floor in the corner of the space, and how it was raised up above stones that heated up the place. At least I’m guessing that’s how it worked. I could be wrong.

Pictures 9-10-11:
Carvings from the Museum

Aph 4 3047 nice capital in muze

Aphrodisias includes little museum that has apparently been recently renovated and is truly beautiful. Well lit, nice blue walls, lighting, ventilation… I particularly liked these little marble carvings. Such a modest little woman – Aphrodite? Covering up her parts on the way back from a bath? Think Boticelli… (and I note the abscence of fig leaf – as we noted the absence of actual figs, alas…)

Aph 3 3050 Sculpture studio

Since Aphrodisias was the home of a famous sculpture studio, I’m guessing that this is a depiction of the God of Scupture Carving Something Magnificent…

Aph 8 sculptors carving 3052

And apparently the machismo we associated with the sculpture department (“Big Men in Big Boots”) back when I was in art school goes back centuries, too.

(From Aphrodisias, we head to Denizli in Part 3 of the Georgia Road Trip)

 

 

Thanks, Nancy! (How has your summer been?)

SO yes, I’ve been out of touch; but now I’m back in touch.

In fact, the past month has done wonders for letting me “get in touch” with the state of my nation, Turkey.

So (thanks, Nancy), as I started to explain to a friend of mine in NY when she wrote and asked, “How has your summer been?….

“Summer has been, well, just google, “Turkey, attempted coup, witch hunt” and that pretty much tells you how my summer has been! In fact, setting out on our planned vacation only hours before the declaration of a national state of emergency let us “check the pulse of the nation” as we drove more than 5,000 kilometers over a 1-month period that took us from the very southwest of the nation up to the very northeast of the nation and back again. Although we avoided the very northwest of the nation (too far) as well as the very southeast of the nation (too messy), we did manage to go abroad to one of the few neighbors with whom we have, as far as I know, zero problems. The Republic of Georgia.”

We’d been planning on this holiday for about a year. Harun had gotten it in his head that Georgia would be a fun, cheap holiday. Since I was going to start teaching a couple university classes in September  – as part of our gradual move “up north” to Foça (Eski), we decided it would be best to take off towards the end of July and stay away from Bodrum (Turgutreis) for a month. I would sketch and plan my classes, and Harun would… fish

But as they say in Turkish , “Evdeki hesabı çarşıda uymuyor” – i.e., “Neither mice nor men ever succeeded in making plans in Turkey”…

And thus it was that we packed up the Yarıs (our less funky replacement for the Twingo) and headed out into the great hinterlands of Erdoğanastan, 4 days after an event hence to be referred to as “the unsuccessful coup attempt”, unaware that before nightfall we would be travelling through not just a state of confusion, but a state of emergency as well.

Here then, to the best of my ability, and in light of my promise to my mother to stay out of jail (inşallah), I heretofore (or something like that) begin to relate some of the interesting people, places and things we encountered during our trip. With pictures.

Picture Number 1: At Aphrodisias: Harun’s Feet and the Hand of History

Foots

 

Picture Number 2: At Aphrodisias: The Many Faces of the People of Anatolia

Faces 2

An appropriate way to start our tale, I think. Our feet set out on the road, and we encountered many faces.

(Note: In fact, our first stop was just outside of Muğla on the road to Denizli, on the way to Aphrodisias, where we stopped to escape the 35C heat and have a little gözleme. Yummy. Really, really yummy! Best gözleme ever!)

More to come…