Izmir, Turkey

Google did warn us: the Çesme Peninsula on the western coast of Turkey is windy. I mean, the region literally farms wind with over 3,500 wind turbines placed along its Mediterranean hill tops. Windsurfing and surfing are popular pastimes as is flyboarding, a seemingly high stakes water sport where a skateboard/jet ski is attached to a fire hose and propels riders into the air as if they are begging for a head injury. 

We momentarily thought about taking windsurfing classes, but then we realized it was still only March and freakishly cold, and the likelihood of falling into the water and having our bodies wash out to sea was too great. We settled on wading and exploring the limestone cliffs at Delikli Koyu, one of several beaches located 10 minutes’ drive from the pedestrian town of Alaçate where we stayed for a week. Ultra, ultra low season meant we had nearly everything to ourselves: beaches, windmills, stray dogs and cats sunning themselves in the middle of the cobblestone streets. It also meant most restaurants and stores were closed too.

Beyond the desire to spend spring break breathing in Mediterranean air, was the desire to visit ancient Greek ruins. While I spent my childhood obsessively reading Babysitter’s Club and books about cats, Mark and the kids spent their time reading (and rereading) books like The Odyssey, The Iliad, and the Percy Jackson and Pegasus series. Lucky for them, the entire Izmir region is a sexy, historic hotbed for anyone with even a remote interest in geology, archaeology, mythology, religion, war and/or weaponry. One day, after parking on the side of the road between plots of farmland in the rolling hills, we visited an unattended temple dedicated to Athena, an amphitheater, and church ruins that overlooked the sea. Stone pillar remnants and pottery shards were everywhere we walked, as if there was so much history that preserving them wouldn't have made a difference.

The biggest event of the trip was visiting the ancient port city of Ephesus, an impressively well preserved UNESCO site. So well in fact, you can easily visualize what life might have been like throughout the centuries with its amphitheaters, temples and tombs, the 2-story library, public bath and bathroom complexes, terraced houses, and stone roads. Christianity hit a crossroad with paganism here thanks to Paul the Apostle, and John wrote his famous Gospel in Ephesus. Tour guides weaved stories in different languages, tourists posed with battle-ready gladiators, cats napped, and thousands photos were taken on this mercifully windless day.

Five kilometers away tucked on a hilltop is Virgin Mary’s retirement home. After walking past heavily armed guards, a short path lead to a small stone house with a stern attendant who monitored social distancing, masking, and noise rules. Inside, we tiptoed on the worn carpet observing relics donated by famous Catholics. Rosaries from a few Popes, paintings and alters from Cardinals and Nuns. Candles and prayer boxes outside were available for use, and the Virgin Mary souvenir stores were open for business. On the way out, the kids paid their respects to their late Great Great Aunt Nancy, who always was a big fan of Mary. Sadly, the Wishing Wall stood empty of wishes. It once had thousands of messages attached to it but had been wiped clean probably due to the pandemic. 

Our week ended with a glimpse of what Alaçati is like in high season due to an herb festival that draws about a million people to the town every year. Suddenly, the quiet cobblestone roads and closed restaurants were filled with extremely well dressed people who were determined to see and be seen, who drank tea and raki well past sundown. Art galleries, wine bars, jewelry and sunglass stores threw open their doors, and modeling shoots were spotted in the popular alleyways. Music and dancing lasted well into the evenings, and the amazing smell of freshly cut herbs, fruits, and vegetables permeated the air during the cooking demonstrations. I ate many, many olives, determined they were far superior to Spanish olives, and I kicked myself for not bringing home a suitcase's worth.

Hackey sack with Roadside Mary

Key hole at Delikli Koyu

Delikli Koyu Beach

Ephesian Kitty

Ephesus Library

Alacati Herb Festival 2022

Alacati Herb Festival 2022

Abandoned Amphitheater

Temple of Athena

Temple of Athena (one of many)

I-Love-First-Turkish-President-Ataturk-Forever

Historic windmills in Alacati

Beldersay Skiing

Despite the novelty of living less than 90 minutes from a chic ski resort with a fast gondola and high-speed quad, weekends at Amirsoy leave a lot to be desired. Purchasing tickets and, if you are in need rental gear, are not unlike participating in the Most Extreme Elimination Challenge. 

Lines be damned! Masks, what are those? Need a size 8 boot? TOO BAD because the oligarch wearing seal fur and spandex in front of you just took the last pair. You can't rely on credit card machines working, or cashiers having proper change. If you don't have what they need, that's on you! Next, skid, scrape, and scramble your way up to the gondola before the swarm of socks and sandal clad selfie taking grannies get there! Still on course? You still gotta ski down the streaky brown ribbon of death, where braking and turning have NO place. 

The desire to ski beckoned, especially after our gleeful and socially conscious experience of skiing in the Spanish Pyrenees, but we weren't willing subject ourselves to such melee. So we opted to drive a few minutes further along the R12 to ski at Beldersay which operates a pay-as-you-go, 2-person chair lift with wooden seats. Each ride costs 25,000 som/adult, and 15,000 som/child, or $2.30 and $1.40. The ride takes 24 minutes and there is essentially one ski run. Most visitors get a blanket for their laps and then wander around the top, admiring the view and dodging the single-person sleds that inevitably have 3 or 4 piled on. 

There were only a few skiers out, so we pretty much had the run to ourselves, which included 6-8 inches of recently fallen snow. The kids learned what their quads were truly capable of as they were forced to make big turns to avoid crashing into powder and subsequently having to dig themselves out. Me too for that matter - I see extra squats and wallsits in my future. 

Beldersay Sport Base

Updated prices.

No parking lot. Just the side of the road.

Safety feature.

Staying warm.

Street meat, tea, gloves, sunglasses at the base.

Tashkent State Art Museum

17th century ceramic tile

Uzbekistan travel guides talk a big game about the Savitsky Museum in Nukus. Yes, the collection is huge and beautiful and a worthy visit. However, Tashkent's State Art Museum is home to the country's largest art collection and it is located not ten minutes from our house. Paintings, pottery, statues, tapestries, woodwork, and jewelry from all over the world line the walls in building that looks like it was picked out of a Sears Ugly Building Catalog. A weekday morning visit afforded zero other visitors. Security guards followed us throughout the three floors, anxious to make sure we didn't take photos of the hand carved wooden doors and partitions, the one section where photography was specifically forbidden. Why? No explanation was given.

I love portraits the most. I like to imagine what each subject is thinking in their captured moment of time. But on this visit, I paid enough attention in the pottery section to recognize the Rakhimov family name, where six generations of Rakhimovs have been creating handmade ceramics. The current pottery master, Alisher, told me that the museum houses over 300 pieces of pottery made by his father and grandfather. The Rakhimov works are recognized in ceramic circles throughout the world and despite their business being rooted in traditional Uzbek clay throwing methods, they also like to experiment with modern design and innovation. And, he's a cool dude.

The State Art Museum is also cool and has such an eclectic range of art that that there is something for everyone. It was an excellent way to spend that December 8 morning which, coincidentally, is Constitution Day. Uzbekistan adopted theirs just 29 years ago.

Family Photo Shoot

Appreciating some Rakhimov ceramics 1983

1974. My favorite portrait.

Picasso

Nukus

Our trip ended in Nukus, a city famous for one thing: the Savitsky Museum. Home to 90,000 pieces of art, only a fraction of it is on display. If the museum were anywhere else, the collection of Soviet Avant Garde versus Socialist Realism would have been confiscated, but because the founder, Igor Savistky, a Ukrainian electrician-turned-artist, had a good relationship with the city, the polarizing styles of art under the Stalin era remained in safe hands. Its size and variety is second only to a museum in Saint Petersburg. While most tourists use Nukus as the starting point for trekking to the Aral Sea, the museum alone would warrant a visit even as a day trip from Tashkent. You could catch a mid-morning flight (nothing opens before 11:00) and walk 30 minutes to the museum. Maybe you pick up a coffee at Cinnamon Cafe across the street beforehand. Spend an hour or two at the museum and then head to Sofram for some Turkish food. Walk back to the airport and head home to Tashkent.

My favorite piece

Socialist Realism: glorifying labor

Trying to make art fun

Schlink Fall break
Day 1: Urgench/Khiva
Day 2: Forts/Yurt Camp/Camels
Day 3: Bo'ston Museum/Forts/Truck-Stop Lagman
Day 4: Nukus/Savitsky Museum

Another Stan in the Books

You don't know fun unless you've driven for two days in the Karakalpakstan landscape of desert, low mountains, and oil towns in a marshrutka stuffed with six adults, four kids, and no snacks while on a mission to see the famous and ancient Khorezm Fortresses. A really fun part comes with the ominous promises of boredom and barfing, but the most fun is telling the kids there's still one more fort to see after the 4th. Or fifth. Or sixth. 

Karakalpakstan is an autonomous republic in eastern Uzbekistan. The region is vast and stark, intimidating and stunning. It has about 50 forts that were built well before Ghengis Khan showed up. They've long since pillaged but after the Soviets came, the forts remain unmanned and rarely maintained. Visitors can climb and freely explore the petrified architecture, which is a combination of clay, grass, and wood embedded within the layers.

Thousand-year-old pottery pieces are easily spotted on the ground throughout too, though all the fancier pieces have been taken. Our guide was an archeologist who had participated in a few fort excavations years before and just by looking at the curve of the piece, he could identify what it had been used for: there were pots for holding food, water, or beer. Other pieces hung off a saddle or were used as baking slabs, pestel and mortar. Standing on top of a wall and looking beyond the horizon, he helped us visualize the path the ancestors took throughout the centuries- always following the water. At least until the Soviets came and forced the water to follow their path, he said.

Our venture in the stark yonder included a yurt camp stay, perched on top of a plateau. After a gut stuffing dinner and steep temperature drop, we had no choice but to hide from the cold and get some sleep. Each yurt was equipped with daisy chained bed warmers and split packs for the summer. Ignoring the charr on the extension cords, I plugged us all in, layered up, and huddled under thick blankets. 

David spent the morning feeding their "pet" camel stalks of a dead, reedy plant that was seen all over the land. Shortly after, a thick, weathered woman brought out scraps for its breakfast. She deftly picked up a stick, whacked the camel and dumped the food before the camel could retaliate. I spent the morning inadvertently walking on semi-buried goat carcasses and trash. The blessing of garbage trucks simply isn't a thing out here.

Shivering, we piled back into the marshrutka for another full day of driving. First up: the Bo'ston History Museum where we saw a chain mail shirts, an ancient butter churn, and giant, paper rubles among other Karakalpak treasures. The manager eagerly followed us around presumably Snapchatting our experience as guests at their museum. 

We saw a couple more forts before begging the guide to stop by a mini-mart for snacks, any snacks - as hanger was getting pretty serious in the car. (Note to self: pack snacks in the luggage next time. Oh god. Is there going to be a next time?!) We ended up at dubious truck stop that had no running water to eat lagman and Uzbekistan's famous yellow torpedo melon. To hell with sanitation! We were hungry.

There was one more locale to visit before getting to Nukus for our final night: the Tower of Silence.  Zoroastrians built this huge circular plateau around 9th century CE to place their dead and allow for sky burials. Located somewhat off the highway, had I not known it was a historical site, I would have simply mistaken it for a butte, as if I was driving through Castle Rock, Colorado. At the top of the ascent, we could see Turkmenistan to the south, covered in autumn gold. It was a beautiful panoramic respite, but I could't help feeling disappointed that no mystics or spirits stopped by while we were there. 

Irascible from the long and dusty day, the now extra-small feeling van puttered into Nukus where we had booked separate hotel rooms for the kids. We eyed the children, said we'd see them at dinner, and bolted to hot showers and crisp sheets.

Fort #1

Fort #3

Fort #5

Fort #6

Ayaz-Kala Yurt Camp

yurt ala IKEA

Schlink yurt

bigger on the inside

Strikingly similar vastness to Namibia's

A Quickie in Khiva

My Russian teacher insisted a visit to Khiva could be done in a day. Considering that this Silk Road city is 982km (610 miles) away, 15 hours by car or 80 minutes by plane, I had a hard time imaging how one could really get to know such a historic place in less than 24 hours. But she was totally right. The old city is compact and walkable within its 32-foot high clay walls. It's full of UNESCO sites, museums, guest houses, and residents. It's a darling city (though medieval slaves would heartily disagree about the darlingness, as Khiva was once a slave-trade hotspot) with its intricate, lapis and turquoise tiles, and pedestrian walkways lined with artisanal crafts. Khiva's madrassas and mosques feature two-thousand years old, hand carved pillars, and Uzbek homages on display in dim lighting: instruments, uniforms, jewelry, face rugs, etc. We marveled at literally all the things in only few hours. Khiva: done and done.

The corner where everyone, EVERYONE takes a photo

Cool hats to be sure, but how many heads have tried them on?

Cats and carbs

Shergozikhan Madrasa Medical Clinic

Kalta Minor Minaret

dutar and accordion master

Mug on a rug

Heading toward the Islam Khodja Minret

5th wedding sighting of the day

locals taking a morning walk