So Perish the Wonders of this World
Passing Thoughts Along the Lycia Coast
The strange nature that is time flows irreversibly down this river of life; the weeks pass, landscape changes, and a sea of faces and personalities have shuffled before my eyes through this past year. Seemingly, like a series phantasmic visions come true, a year of memories percolate into this very moment, seated at a cafe on an unseasonably cold night along the Lycian coast. Not far away, the cliffs plummet into the sea, standing stark and foreboding as they ever have over the course of millennia; in turn, witnessing the passing of civilizations and empires. Yet, here I am — a feckless mote of dust drifting by, momentarily conscious of this grand illusion.
I’m awaiting another night bus to transport me north to Selcuk. This quiet moment away from the bustling noise of Antalya is spent in quiet reflection of the ventures passed and the near-terminus of this great journey. I do not know what lies ahead, and to be frank, have not given much ponder to what is to come. It was, and will always be, a miracle of a year — the most rare crystalization of time, resource, and opportunity to even hope of such an adventure, let alone the successful realization of such a dream; in a word: unforgettable.
I’d seen the most clement weather for the vast majority of this trip. Today brought unusually dreary weather; perhaps, the sky, too, is saddened that the journey’s end draws nigh. Thus, after unexpectedly staying four plus days in Antalya, I took stock of the glum weather and visited the Antalya Museum. It was a most apt occasion to reflect on the great epochs bygone and the faded glories of Phylygia, Rome, Byzantium, and the Ottoman Empires. It is a fitting, if all too concrete reminder that all things have their season and all must come to an end. Come tomorrow, I’ll be reminiscing ruins of Ephesus… all things must draw to an end.
Perge, Side, Aspendos and More
An Ethereal Experience
Sanliurfa: Lost in a Turkish Bazaar
A thick layer of smog envelops Urfa; much of it the result of burning coal, wood, trash, etc. combined with the countless exhaust pipes of heavy-polluting vehicles. The air so thick that one can see and taste it. Every breath is labored with a tingling and itching sensation within the lungs. And yet, the countless thousands who live here seem to pass the day without reckoning the hazard they face. Life simply goes on as it has for thousands of years.
The storied legends of this place traces back beyond the dawn of history. Urfa is the purported birth place of Abraham, patriarch of all Abrahamic religions. Legend tells of a cave where he was born and nursed, hidden from King Nimrod. To this day, the cave is revered by hundreds of thousands of devout Muslims come to pray at this holy site. From within, one can watch the men (and women on the other half of the partitioned cave) come and prostrate in silent prayer. The near by Fish Lake is no less storied; with legends telling how Abraham survived the wrath of Nimrod by Allah’s intervention.
Today, the region is ever rich with history. Turks, Kurds, Syrians, perhaps some Persians and Yezidis among others still make this region their home. As can be attested by the various attire and languages spoken in the bazaars. Particularly, the recent heavy influx of Syrian refugees fleeing the on-going conflict across the borders has imbued the city with some uncertainties in these dynamic times. Life continues, and this city will endure as it always had with welcoming arms to strangers.
The daily life is quite a spectacle — particularly when viewed through the lens of a foreigner visiting. The minarets still solemnly call the devout to prayer. Countless men sit in idle chatter along the streets sipping cups of tea incessantly. The cries of vendors echo through the cramped corridors of the bazaar. Smiling young boys pass with trays of bread on their heads, trying to sell any passing stranger for one Lira. The tea/spice vendors, tobacco vendors, kebab houses, textile shops, and random chatter of street life all vie for one’s attention. Innumerable colors and traditional attire from regions I do not recognize float before the eyes.
Into the Mist of Time at Nemrut
At the Cradle of Civilization
The Cultural Cocktail that is Mardin
Went around town for breakfast and photography. Some university students saw us and came by for a friendly chat, then upon leaving, they bought us Kurdish coffee. A group of young photography students came by and delighted everyone one with smiles and mutual photo-sessions. Children atop the hill played war with me.
Later, while walking in the afternoon alone, children all over greeted me, asking for photos to be taken. One offered sweets and sunflower seeds. An old later saw me toting the camera and invited me into her home to the roof-top terrace for a better view of the city. Everyone seemed so welcoming. People literally stop and say “welcome”. This place is magical for its warmth to visitors.
Eastern Anatolia – at the Ruins of Ani
Respite for the Weary in Istanbul
Ah, so many miles have I roamed — and, as yet, still finding myself neither here nor there. I find myself pausing for a few days respite in Istanbbul, Turkey to sort out some technical and equipment failures; but above all, to allow this weary-worn body to some much needed rest at this junction of East and West.
This proverbial road is long and winding; every bend leads to further vistas, prompting the adventurous spirit to seek further the unknown and untried. The folly in this, if there be any, is that the tried experiences become increasingly less interesting and one tends to seek out more daring and precarious adventures, unique cultures, and less ventured paths. For good or ill, such is the predicament and I welcome the unknown journeys without reservation.
The Remains of Constantinople
