Life Among the Ruins

My trip from Istanbul to the town of Selçuk via flying to Izmir, was almost hassle-free.  At the airport, I met a nice gentleman from the southern resort city of Antalya.  He has a business in Madison, Wisconsin of all places.  Upon arrival, a language barrier between myself and the Turkish Airline rep led me to the international terminal for my baggage.  I get there, no baggage, am redirected to the domestic terminal where I JUST came from, only to have to go through security again and then pantomime lost baggage.  Security puts me on the phone with baggage, the rep’s English is not great but decent enough to tell me my luggage is on the next plane.  THE NEXT PLANE?  I begin to speak a little more animatedly, but resigned, I prepare to wait.  But then the security guard parts the dividing doors and there is my bag sitting outside the baggage office. 

Okay, between this little incident, my departure from JFK, and the little doozy of an overpowered passenger trying to divert a plane en route to Istanbul from Oslo – Turkish Airlines is not winning me over much. 

So this little adventure cost me time and I just miss my train to Selçuk and wait another 2 hours.   I did struggle through basic getting-to-know-you’s with the security guard at the station, as well as a retired teacher and his wife returning from a visit to their daughter in Istanbul.  The Turks are by and large quite friendly, as reputed, and eager and curious to know about people. 

I settle into my hotel and am completely underwhelmed by the place.  Upon strolling around the town, I see that my hotel is not so bad after all.  It’s a small town, so the range of accommodations isn’t great.  At one end of the town is St. John’s Church, where St. John is said to have lived his last days and is also buried there, I believe.  I am tired and try to shake off a couple peddlers.  One shows me, as we stand atop some stones outside St. John’s, the lone column that remains of The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus, one of the original seven wonders of the world.   And high above on a mountain 9 km away, is the House of the Virgin Mary, where Mary was said to have lived her last days.  

I tripadvisor places to eat, and Ejder Restaurant is #1 and just a few feet from my hotel.  It is tiny, maybe 10’ x 10’, seats ten.  There isn’t a kitchen to speak of.  There’s a small alcove where some prep and cleaning are done. And a coal-fired oven up front where the owner, Mehmet, does most of his work.  When I enter, his wife is eating her dinner at one of the tables, and I feel like I have intruded upon someone’s home.   Two customers enter and I am relieved to not be the only diner.  It is super-casual, a young boy comes to deliver fresh pita wrapped in newspaper.  Mehmet strolls down the street to pick up a bottle of raki for the other diners. Turkish news, soap operas and music videos play on the flat screen tv overhead.  Some of the contents take their cue from the U.S., and are just as trashy!   The music videos in particular have the sophistication and creativity of MTV circa 1984, but the blatant sensuality of 2004.  I enjoy my mixed grill as I take in this little cozy corner of Selçuk.

On my way to the comprehensive ruins of Ephesus the next morning, I pass of all things, a Korean restaurant at the edge of town.  Strange.   The ruins themselves are impressive and include the Celsus Library, The Baths of Scholastica (a wealthy patroness), a public latrine, a huge theatre, ritzy marble-lined Curetes Street, a large agora, etc.  On the other side of the complex lies the Church of Mary, the first Christian church dedicated to the Virgin Mary. The relics and ruins date from different periods, as there are many layers of history here that include the Epistle of Paul to the Ephesians, often shortened to Ephesians, which is the tenth book of the New Testament. 

On my way back to town, I have to stop for a Korean lunch, right?  There are five items, only two whose names I recognize – I go for the bibimbap which arrives in a metal bowl, rice separate.  It is not quite the same as a sizzling ceramic crock, but tasty nonetheless.  The eggplant kimchi was very good.  The place is gigantic and must serve as a stop for busloads of Korean tourists.  The owners are Korean, greet me in Korean, to which I just look stupid and say hello.  The staff is Turkish, and one woman tends to the female owner with great care, almost filial.  She dotes on her as the owner crosses herself before she tucks into her own lunch.   So here we are in tiny Selçuk/Ephesus, a major crossroads of historical and biblical proportions, that is in modern-day Muslim Turkey, where a Christian Korean woman employs Turks and serves mostly Korean tourists.   So weird and wonderful. 

Walking around town, I am waylaid by a young boy, possibly 3 years old who charges me out of nowhere.  Kid, where are your parents?  He seems a little demonic and if he were any taller, he may have hit more delicate areas.  Then a young girl, probably his slightly older sister runs into me on her pink tricycle.  Okay, this treacherous gang of two means business.  They have a gleam in their eyes, they want blood.  They approach for round two, so I have to raise my voice and give my sternest look and put my hand up to motion “stop.”  For a split second, I could see Bonnie and Clyde consider their options – “Yeah, this Asian dude means business. We better go potty.”  That’s what I thought….

Later in the evening, I return to Mehmet’s restaurant.  His family is sitting down to dinner, newspapers lining the tablecloth.  I recognize something that looks like oxtail bone.  Mmm, oxtail.   A few regulars drop in: a teacher, who’s able to translate for the photographer and singer.  The teacher discusses how they’re all Turks, but all look different: he Greek, the singer Egyptian, and the photographer Italian.  Which seems to run true as the three brothers who run the hotel I am staying look very different from one another.  Then Mehmet talks about his recent trip home to visit his family of 4,000+.  I think he misspeaks, maybe he meant visit his hometown. No, no.  He meant 4,000+ family members as his father has married 11 times!  Apparently one wife has died and he is on the prowl for another.   Zoiks. 

A pair of customers comes in and the place is so small it’s impossible not to overhear conversation.  From what I gather, they are both staying at the same hostel.  At some point, I interrupt because they are talking about applying to schools and for scholarships.  He is a consultant from NYC and she is a young Korean woman who’s been backpacking around Asia for 2 years!  And plans to continue for another year before her undergraduate studies in the States.  She was headed to Iran and Central Asian countries like Turkmenistan next.   All the consultant and I could do was shake our heads in envy. 

As I leave, the singer shakes my hand, holds it and breaks into a throaty, deeply resonant melody that reverberates through my body like history through these towns.