Cabbages & Kings

Well, cabbages is as close as this post gets...

I cooked! (more about that shortly) The food has been wonderful, everywhere we have been.  My taste buds were salivating before we even left home, thinking about the culinary treats in store and we've not been disappointed once.  In Turkey I made a glutton of myself on cheese and lokum (Turkish Delight) - the variety of both was mind boggling and the flavours.... yuuuummm!  The spice market was fascinating and it took no time at all before I had 500g of this, and 500g of that, the most mouthwatering spice mixes, in my hands before I visualized trying to lug many kilos of spices around in my luggage for the next month or two!

Each morning in Istanbul the buffet breakfast consisted of 6 or 7 different fresh cheeses, cucumber, tomato and sometimes carrot; yoghurt, cereals, dried fruits including two types of apricot (the normal "Turkish" apricots we see at home and a really dark variety, and mulberries; honey, conserves, tahini halva; fresh breads and semit (like bagels with sesame seeds); fried potatoes, boiled eggs and little sausages in tomato sauce.  Wish I could have tried it all but concentrated on the treats that I wouldn't be able to have at home... like delicious cheese, delicious cheese, and delicious cheese, oh!... and Turkish Delight which was also on the breakfast table with all the dainty little cookies I forgot!  Mark has mentioned my "cheese tummy" more than once...

Back to the beginning... I took the opportunity in Istanbul to ask if I could get a cooking lesson anywhere.  The hotel immediately obliged and organised our barman/interpreter/computer tech guy to come and assist the Chef.  Despite almost expiring in the heat, in the basement kitchen of the hotel, we had an awesome time!  The barman was hilarious - young, well educated (his father had been a foreign emissary so they had travelled lots) and full of youth's strong opinions.  So I have learnt to cook mushroom soup their way, peasant kebab, milk pudding (for you Rob!) and bread.  The hour lesson extended to about 3 1/2 hrs and when Mark came down with his beer all four of us all crammed at the little staff table (normally set for one at a time) in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs to eat the feast!  4.30pm and there was no way we could eat dinner as well that night!

The next night we had an awesome dinner out with a great couple we met in Istanbul and tried several different, local dishes.  Delicious eggplant and artichokes.  Mark had the lamb roast which was different to the way we would cook it but sooooo tender, moist and flavoursome.

In Greece we have seen a lot more pasta and pizza so far than I imagined. The local restaurant about 5mins walk from our accommodation serves such good food and huge quantities at such reasonable prices that we've been unable to tear ourselves away even to try up in the village taverna, we've been working our way through the menu here.  Siesta hours mean that people don't come out to eat until late, typically 9pm sees the locals start wandering in.  At the tavernas the old men sit around talking much of the day it seems, and at 7.30pm last night I was the only woman in a taverna full of men.  We never see the women, I am assuming they are at home cooking and cleaning.  Mark's face is lighting up... I think he is presuming I might absorb some ideas from this culture.... 

Lemnos makes special thyme flavoured honey, muscat wine and it's own variety of pasta.  I wanted to buy some of the pasta I've seen in the supermarket to send home to Hanny - there are packs of World Cup pasta with referees whistles, cups and boots; and animal face pasta.  Gorgeous, but at about NZD25/kg to ship home I can't do it! The local wine we have had here is made from the most ancient grape variety they have discovered in Greece, and Homer mentions being cheered that the wines from these grapes of Limnos have arrived.

The bread shops here are full of delicious sweetmeats, so many varieties of baklava, then all sorts of cookies and truffelly looking delights.  I am having to leave the breads alone, so reluctantly, and succumb every few days to one super sweet, honey dripping, nut filled confection.

Of Shoes & Ships Pt 2

Chronologically and geographically going backwards! 

Canakkale was our stopping point to get to Gallipoli, which I'll address in a separate post.  A little fishing village made famous by annihilation.  The boats were beautiful, mostly little carbon copies of each other but a really dainty little design, obviously tried and tested for these waters over many lifetimes.  The fish catch is small in quantity and fish size, we find a fish meal consists of half a dozen sardine sized fish unless you want to pay 65Euro a kilo for a large fish cooked especially for you.  

So far in Turkey we have seen no evidence of the large scale, single enterprise production systems as we see at home.  Small farms, individual farmers, small fishing boats, individual fishermen, supplying the local markets, even in Istanbul, although I am sure the supermarkets exist.  The vege man barrows his veges around the town and people buy direct from the cart. A wonderful and a very community minded way to live and shop.  No polystyrene and gladwrap here.

We wander into the backstreets everywhere we go, to see beyond the tourist facade, and always seem to come across the most interesting experiences.  This particular day we found the river, lined with boats... presumably the ones that couldn't afford the flash berths in front of the restaurants in town.  The tenements were here, we passed a mother and her two young girls, both of whom yelled "Hello" very proudly practicing their schoolroom English.  It wasn't until we got about 10m on that we heard the "...money..."; apparently a hasty prompting from their mother to make some profit from the schooling.

In the very welcome shade on the other side of the river, I approached a man working on his boat, and attempted to find out what he was doing.  Immediately we were whisked to the local cafe to share a cup of "cay" (turkish tea) with his mates, including one who spoke passable English. Once they learnt about Grandpa's boat building and Dad's refurbishing  of the Wairiki and building the dinghys, we were bundled into a car and driven across town to the local boat builder.  The reason for the similarity in the boats is simple - there are only two boatbuilders in the region and they are brothers one is in Canakkale.  No plans, they just build one of two designs, in different sizes and some minor variations.  

Fascinating!  After more cay, being shown the boats in construction and serious discussions about timber with Mark, they very proudly brought up the the facebook page, I'll load it later when I have the details with me. We were delivered back to our hotel and they were gone, apparently keen to get back to doing what we'd interrupted.  This is what the Turkish people have been like everywhere - so friendly, approachable and keen to share.

Of Shoes and Ships

"The time has come," the Walrus said,

"To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings." ”
—Through the Looking-Glass, Lewis Carroll

Keeping a daily blog is nigh on impossible, bearing in mind the constant travelling, uncertain internet connections and the (mostly) patient husband.  So these ones will be a mixed bag; a catch up while we're perspiring in the ~30deg Aegean sunshine.  

Moving from Turkey to Greece was a revelation - the country to the city - we know we are in Europe despite Greece's financial woes; and our trip across the border interesting to say the very least. We'd decided that we'd do our own thing to get into Greece, substituting about 10 hours backtracking by bus so that we could bus into Greece with what we thought was going to be a few hours by bus, then a hop across the border by taxi.  

Bus to Kesan was fine and dandy but we had to transfer there to a bus to Ipsala on the border.  An old rusty minivan turned up and the driver didn't want any money.  We were a little confused since we'd only paid to Kesan but decided that maybe we'd paid to Ipsala without understanding.  Out of the cities having no local tongue is definitely a disadvantage!! The van was crammed with passengers, and our luggage taking up what other available space there was.  5 minutes later the van pulled up at a spot in the main street and the driver indicated that this was the end of the line for us, turns out this was a transfer between depots. Following other passengers, with no idea where we were going, we were relieved to find ourselves in a lot full of 20 seater buses - apparently the half hourly service to Ipsala.

Ipsala:  easy... call a taxi and skip across the border into Greece - ahhh... NO!  Ipsala turned out to be a small agricultural servicing village.  (The lack of foreknowledge is called "changing plans and going with the flow", a bit of a trap at times!) The only taxi apparent an rusty old Renault with an equally rusty old driver.  However the locals took one pitying look at us and waved him over; no words necessary.  We were bundled in, heading off who knows where at whatever speed the poor old bucket of bolts could muster... the meter definitely didn't work and neither did the speedo it seems. Great relief to see the word "Douane" finally on a signpost, in amongst the unintelligible Turkish/Greek.  We were very politely deposited at the border and the taxi disappeared.  The only thing I knew was that you couldn't walk across the border, but didn't see any other option.  The Immigration official just told us "call taxi, Greek taxi" so we sat and waited for our taxi to turn up... 30mins later in the boiling heat outside the airconditioned border station our official came and said "YOU call.." - Ohhhhhh, right. Err - Who, exactly?  We had a Greek yellow pages in our pocket?  

So Galahad went wandering and met Hussein the other Taxi driver, waiting to take Greek passengers through the border.  He was awesome!  We sat in the shade under the tree with him and conversed in Pictionary; comparing our lives, while we waited about an hour for the Greek taxi he'd ordered from Mark's phone. He kept grabbing Mark's arm and chortling "very strong...", and was most impressed when we said we had six children... (it was way too hard to try and explain how we had 3 each); strength and virility are obviously high on the virtue list in rural Turkey!

From the very rustic ride to the border, once we were in our late model, air conditioned Maxima the 42k ride to Alexandropoulis was accomplished in a very short time - the expressway meant that we travelled between 160 - 170kph.  Almost worth the 70Euro it cost! The backtracking bus would have got us across the border in a very organised, no hassle and definitely cheaper, way but this day was really an experience that neither of us would missed for anything.

Dinner Guests

One of the first things we noticed were the cats, firstly the one that tried to join me for breakfast, on the table, if I'd let it.  They make the Blonde One look big, have fine coats, and don't make much noise.  They do, however, seem to have a sense that they have every right to be part of any establishment and made themselves at home during every mealtime.  My attempts to shoo one away were met by strong opposition and a very good return serve for one so small.  The waiter kindly provided his squirty bottle for us to be on cat patrol when we were in the restaurant on our own;  it appears he didn't trust us when there were other guests there.  The locals are quite accepting of them and they become neighbourhood cats, fed by everyone and owned by no-one.

City of the Ezan

The calls start early, the first apparently at 3.03am, although we've only been aware of the ezan at dawn, long before we would normally be even semi conscious.  The few times we have missed an ezan we have found ourselves regretful, and eager not to miss the next; the muezzin bring a sense of order and peace to the day.  The call from "our" mosque became recognizable very quickly and we could pick it from among the others ringing out across the city, calling us home.  The mosque itself, Sokollu Mehmet Pasha, is small by Istanbul standards, and was built in 1571-2 ; with it's ornately tiled and richly carpeted interior, this one held more attraction for me than the grand, but tourist filled mosques elsewhere in the city.

We are welcomed here, even into the sacred spaces; religion is no barrier and the people seem glad to be able to share their pride in their treasures.  The Ottoman way has continued although the rule has finished, and there is a great acceptance and tolerance of other views and values.  

The age of much of the city is hard to comprehend, the cellar of our hotel was in existence 700 years ago and the hotel itself has gone through various makeovers in it's 300 years.

Designed by a physicist and a mathematician, Hagia Sophia is the most awe inspiring piece of architecture I have seen yet. Serving as both a church and a mosque over the centuries, time has left it's mark, evidenced by the tilting thick marble floors upstairs, the holes in the walls where the 2nd Crusaders plundered the religious relics, and the foot worn marble steps in the nave as the believers came to seal the redemption of their souls.

The large population, and the need to withstand long sieges, so long ago, required a reliable water source. Parts of one of the main aqueducts towers over the city, linking the place through time - a constant stream of traffic runs through the aqueduct instead of water now. The Bascilica Cistern underneath the teeming streets above is dark and cool after the heat. Water condenses and drips from the iron bars high above, installed centuries ago to reinforce the arches held aloft by columns relocated from all parts; the Byzantines were into recycling way back then, even if it meant plundering a Greek temple or two. 

By contrast the Grand Bazaar is a bustling, sweltering, crowded and noisy environment; the slightest interest shown in any item is immediately followed by an insistent invitation to enter the air conditioned inner space and an offer to purchase at a price inflated to many thousand percent, special to you because you are lucky/beautiful/handsome/knowledgeable, of course. Getting one's fix of a temperature 6-10deg below outside, and not succumbing to the patter is a skill in itself. Stumbling out of there and into the full force of the afternoon sun made us make a classic mistake, which Mark paid for in the next 24hrs.  Who knows what water was used in the cold drinks that we purchased just outside, but it definitely made it's presence felt!

Gardens in the Sky

Hyatt Regency – no roughing it for KE passengers... from the immaculately navy suited driver and bag boy to the navy and gold, airconditioned “limousine” coach, spacious accommodation, and amazing restaurant food, our (as in all the stopover passengers) importance was affirmed. Inside the hotel and despite my constant rushes to the nearest convenience (I didn't cope well with the descent – short and violent airsickness at ground level!!) we were treated as if we were most famous; a condition I could easily get used to...  

After first impressions of concrete and steel and a completely man-made landscape; finding a full garden complete with winding paths, tall trees and name tags for each and every plant, on the first floor was a welcome, albeit surreal, relief. A very calming way to spend the morning. Nothing defies possibility in the Future City.

Arrival at Istanbul couldn't have been more of a contrast; an entrance to jangle the nerves if ever there was one. People piled upon each other, cramming to get to the seemingly never-ending processing of one's passport – the nice gentleman, with a completely deadpan face, comparing my passport with the dishevelled looking character in front of him, over and over again. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked all through the rest of my passport with a critical and faintly disbelieving eye before carefully finding an empty page (there are only about 47 of them!) on which to place his precious stamp. My excitement with my beautiful new NZ passport, one of the latest design, had abated with every page scrutiny he made. I fully expected him to tell me it was a forgery. The drive into the city was a development of what we'd already encountered – jostling traffic and interminable waits in queues relieved by the entertainment; of all things, flower sellers wandering through the traffic hopefully trying to encourage some late and guilt ridden driver to purchase a bunch of red roses and gypsophilla for his beloved on the way home. Then came the lady with the baby, wandering through the 4 lane expressway with her hand out to every car she passed.

Now we are in the midst of this jostling and cacophonous city, a 16^th century mosque at eye level across the street (regularly and stridently calling us to prayer), built on the remains of some Byzantine architecture; the Hippodrome walls only metres up the narrow cobbled street and only a short walk to a 3,500 year old Egyptian obelisk. History here is literally layer upon layer – amazing and almost incomprehensible with our short colonized time frame.

Morning Calm

Ahem, yes, as I'm sure you can imagine, it wasn't quite like that the morning we left. Despite my best efforts, I didn't get Rob's suit finished and am now relying on Nikki and others to take up where I left off. I was still sewing when the wake up alarm went.  

Obvious, I know, but I'm always fascinated by the way an airline can get such a sense of their country into a fairly generic can, crammed sardine like with people from all over the world, with only the air crew to achieve it. From the moment we checked in there was a sense of peace and tranquillity that gently settled over us all; it was so fitting to finally collapse into the seat and pull out the in-flight magazine... just another gentle reminder pour moi. The attention to detail; everything is covered, anticipated and beautifully exemplified in the Air Hostess' uniform. Focusing on sewing all week, I couldn't take my eyes off the double darts, curved detail and immaculate stitching on the finest man-made polyester with the stiffest looking scarf bow I have ever seen. Figured they had another hiding somewhere attached to that one as their secret weapon numchucks. Would have inflicted major damage I am sure. The hair ribbon would be a match for any terrorist.  

Incheon - “ interesting, calm, future city” - the translations are hilarious. Everywhere we went the signage was so particularly descriptive and the wording very quaint to our interpretation. “Future City” definitely – George and Jane live just around the corner. Order is paramount, our progress through the airport quiet and civilised. The spaces are so enormous, inside and out, that we are totally unaware of the huge numbers of people and vehicles around; we're dwarfed by the buildings and the sky. Process through customs an extension of the service in the aircraft; take multi planeloads of people and put them on the other side of the border, no fuss, no hurry, completed in a flash... next ones....