Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 46 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
Sherrill & Bosporus ferry, Turkey, 1996 When I retired, Sherrill and I celebrated my liberation with an exciting, unique adventure that she'd discovered: a trip on a gulet, a traditional wooden Turkish sailboat, exploring the coast of Turkey. The boat would follow the routes of ancient geographers, visiting deserted shores and islands and historic sites, and retracing the steps of more recent explorers, as well. The crew was the captain and two others, one who doubled as cook. We'd have a guide and guest lecturer, and there'd be only seven passengers, the two of us and one more from California and four, as it turned out, from England.
Sherrill & Blue Mosque, Istanbul The day after arriving in Istanbul, we sailed as far as the last two villages on the Bosporus and the notorious "Clashing Rocks," between which Jason and the Argonauts had to row, then back to the Golden Horn of Istanbul. We'd visited the city briefly with our daughter twelve years before, but it was exciting to be back, to explore, and especially to see Aya Sophia again. The old church and mosque not only was as huge as we remembered it, but was even more marvelous. Now that it was being restored as a museum, we were able to see parts that we couldn't the first time, including the magnificent early Christian mosaics that had been covered with plaster. Of course, as long as we were there, we had to walk through the Blue Mosque next door again, the sun pouring through its many windows over countless small blue tiles, so that we almost had the feeling of swimming under water in that vast space.
Sherrill and I loved Istanbul's ancient elegance, its colorful and busy hillside neighborhoods, its energy and unpredictability, its myriad eccentricities that came together as astonishing, unconventional, beauty. We walked along crooked streets between buildings leaning so closely together that they nearly obliterated the sky and explored again the covered bazaars and markets and ate fish with spicy vegetables and kebabs with pilaf and yogurt, with baklava for dessert. After two happily crowded days in the old city, we returned to our gulet to sail with the others into the Sea of Marmara.
Sherrill and I loved Istanbul's ancient elegance, its colorful and busy hillside neighborhoods, its energy and unpredictability, its myriad eccentricities that came together as astonishing, unconventional, beauty. We walked along crooked streets between buildings leaning so closely together that they nearly obliterated the sky and explored again the covered bazaars and markets and ate fish with spicy vegetables and kebabs with pilaf and yogurt, with baklava for dessert. After two happily crowded days in the old city, we returned to our gulet to sail with the others into the Sea of Marmara.
Our Gulet, off the Turkish coast The next day, when we docked we were met with a van and drove through silvery olive groves to ancient Nicaea and the site of the first Ecumenical Council, convened by Constantine the Great in 325 to arrive at consensus on Church beliefs and policies.
"This is it?" I asked, gazing at the surprisingly small stone building, roofless, now, in which this great meeting took place.
However, although neither of us was religious, we felt the power of history as we walked through those abandoned rooms where so much was at stake so long ago.
Coming from California where two hundred years is considered ancient, we found the rich historical stew of this land as daunting as it was impressive. Pre-Roman, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman, early Christian, Moslem: the remains of all these eras seemed to have been spilled carelessly over the rocky hills and valleys. To complicate matters more, the next day we found ourselves at the site where Alexander the Great defeated the Persians, then hours later were trekking across World War I battle sites at Gallipoli, gazing into trenches where doughboys fought and died.
"This is it?" I asked, gazing at the surprisingly small stone building, roofless, now, in which this great meeting took place.
However, although neither of us was religious, we felt the power of history as we walked through those abandoned rooms where so much was at stake so long ago.
Coming from California where two hundred years is considered ancient, we found the rich historical stew of this land as daunting as it was impressive. Pre-Roman, Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman, early Christian, Moslem: the remains of all these eras seemed to have been spilled carelessly over the rocky hills and valleys. To complicate matters more, the next day we found ourselves at the site where Alexander the Great defeated the Persians, then hours later were trekking across World War I battle sites at Gallipoli, gazing into trenches where doughboys fought and died.
 Sherrill, gulet stern |  Bruce, gulet sun deck |
The sleek little gulet, we discovered, was surprisingly comfortable for sleeping and the meals, often served on deck, were hearty and tasty. We felt like true adventurers when we left our old-fashioned boat, hiked up the great mound above the Dardanelles strait, and looked across the Trojan plain that was the setting for the Iliad. To the southeast, we could see the mountain from which Zeus watched the Homeric heroes battle.
 Troy, level VIII |  Troy diggings |
Nothing was as thrilling, though, as climbing among the seven or more levels of diggings that exposed the succeeding Troys from different eras. We knew that vast stretches of time separated the different levels and only one of them dated to Homer's city, but I couldn't help feeling connected to Hector and Paris, Helen and Andromache, Achilles and Agamemnon, and the others wherever I stepped, whatever ancient stones I touched.
"You romantic!" Sherrill teased me.
From Troy, we continued to Alexandria Troas, where St. Paul preached, and Assos, where Aristotle ran a philosophy school.
"Is there no place around here that doesn't reek of history?"
"You romantic!" Sherrill teased me.
From Troy, we continued to Alexandria Troas, where St. Paul preached, and Assos, where Aristotle ran a philosophy school.
"Is there no place around here that doesn't reek of history?"
Relaxing on the gulet: the retired life Sherrill shook her head. "You'd be disappointed, if there were."
The next day, we sailed past the wide beaches and rocky green hills of Lesbos and through a group of small islands known to the ancient Greeks as the Hundred Isles to a little town on the Aegean coast that probably dated to that almost mythical era, where we docked for the night. After a casual dinner of Turkish dishes, we drank more wine, watching the sunset splash over the islets, across the rippling water, and onto the gulet: a relaxing day, but followed by one of the most exciting of the trip.
Hot winds blowing over us, our little boat sailed smoothly into a marina by a Turkish village built of stark white stones above which we could see a towering Ottoman castle. However, that wasn't our destination. We were on our way to the market town of Bergama just beyond and the sprawling hilltop remains of the once rich and powerful Greek city of Pergamum, supposedly built by Alexander the Great's descendents. Despite the heat, we climbed that hill and hiked among the ruins of great temples and piles of historic rubble that once were fabulous palaces and elegant houses. As we so often had discovered, Roman ruins were mixed up with the original Greek remains, but they all were fascinating and evoked past times and lives.
The next day, we sailed past the wide beaches and rocky green hills of Lesbos and through a group of small islands known to the ancient Greeks as the Hundred Isles to a little town on the Aegean coast that probably dated to that almost mythical era, where we docked for the night. After a casual dinner of Turkish dishes, we drank more wine, watching the sunset splash over the islets, across the rippling water, and onto the gulet: a relaxing day, but followed by one of the most exciting of the trip.
Hot winds blowing over us, our little boat sailed smoothly into a marina by a Turkish village built of stark white stones above which we could see a towering Ottoman castle. However, that wasn't our destination. We were on our way to the market town of Bergama just beyond and the sprawling hilltop remains of the once rich and powerful Greek city of Pergamum, supposedly built by Alexander the Great's descendents. Despite the heat, we climbed that hill and hiked among the ruins of great temples and piles of historic rubble that once were fabulous palaces and elegant houses. As we so often had discovered, Roman ruins were mixed up with the original Greek remains, but they all were fascinating and evoked past times and lives.
 Olive tree growing in foundation of Temple of Zeus, Pergamon, Turkey |  Roman temple of Trajan, Pergamon |
Sherrill and I had already seen the most famous of Pergamum's architectural remains—in Berlin. Most of the Temple of Zeus with its marvelous friezes had been removed by German archeologists and set up in the huge Pergamon (German spelling) Museum on Berlin's Museum Island, leaving only the monumental foundation on the hilltop, one of many victims of the nineteenth century passion for carrying home the world's treasures. Of course, many great buildings of the past, here and elsewhere, were cannibalized for their stones over the years to build houses, barns, and churches, maybe a worse fate.
Temple of Isis & Serapis, Pergamon We found other treasures, however, on that sun-baked rocky hill. The white marble columns and floors of the Roman Temple of Trajan had been partially restored, giving us an idea of how magnificent it had been. The so-called "Red Basilica," a monumental temple to the Egyptian gods Isis and Serapis, dominated one side of the hilltop. We also found an impressive Greek Theatre, probably the steepest theatre in the world—almost as vertigo-inducing as the steps on the pyramids at Yucatan.
"Go ahead," Sherrill urged me. "Climb it. I'll wait here."
"Thanks, but I'll pass." I knew that if tried I'd probably end up bouncing all the way down, but I could imagine ancient audiences in their togas stumbling on those narrow steps before settling down to watch Oedipus hurtle to his doom once again.
"Go ahead," Sherrill urged me. "Climb it. I'll wait here."
"Thanks, but I'll pass." I knew that if tried I'd probably end up bouncing all the way down, but I could imagine ancient audiences in their togas stumbling on those narrow steps before settling down to watch Oedipus hurtle to his doom once again.
Another day of sailing brought us to Sardis on the Turkish coast, capital of ancient Lydia, which reached its greatest strength and wealth under the legendary King Croesus, as in the saying "rich as Croesus"—at least, until Cyrus of Persia defeated him. The Persian is said to have cooked him on a burning pyre, but however he met his end we saw no golden remains from Croesus's fabled city. However, an impressive temple of Artemis still stood, along with a fascinating two-story bath/gymnasium complex and the largest synagogue of ancient times. We spent the next day mostly sailing, but Sherrill couldn't have been happier, moving from one position on deck to another as we meandered through several groups of islets. On days like this, she and I usually stayed in the shade, but our British friends sought out the sunniest spots on the deck, working on their tans and smiling at our excessive prudence.
Gate of Heracles, Ephesus, Turkey A few more sunny days of sailing and wandering through smaller archeological sites brought us to Kusadasi, the gateway to the huge archaeological phenomenon of Ephesus. Today, Kusadasi is Turkey's busiest cruise port, with huge ocean-going ships docking in gleaming rows. It was still fairly quiet a dozen years before, when Sherrill and I visited the Greek islands with our daughter and docked there in the Neptune. Even this time, our little gulet was far away from the big ships, although a large, rakish, white yacht did slide into the berth next to us the second day we were there. Whenever we were around, we saw several very good-looking, very young, people lounging on it. We wondered if they ever got off their expensive boat.
Sherrill and I were surprised by how much the excavation and restoration work at Ephesus had progressed since our first visit. Entire houses had been pieced together, exposing handsome frescoes and beautiful mosaic floors. In many cases, the rubble had been waiting to be uncovered and reassembled, like giant puzzles. The greatest puzzle of all, however, could never be put together: the great Temple of Artemis, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Most of the pieces had long ago been carried away to be used as building blocks, especially for the church St. Sophia in Istanbul, later the great mosque. Only one column had been reconstructed, although a few large pieces remained on the ground. However, we did get to a nearby museum, where we saw two remarkable statues of the nurturing goddess with her many breasts.
 Temple of Artemis remains, Ephesus |  Ephesus, marble street leading to Library |
After these weeks in the gulet, wandering through past centuries and civilizations, it was a jolt to fly back to London on the way to California. However, a pilgrimage to the Garden History Museum that now occupied a Victorian church on the south side of the Thames helped with the transition. Sherrill wandered happily through the museum, pointing out the exhibits that excited her, particularly one about the notorious Captain Bligh of Bounty fame, who actually was responsible for bringing back to England and Europe shiploads of exotic plants and flowers.
"So that's why Bligh is one of your heroes?" I asked. "Not his disposition?"
"You doubted me? Our gardens would be pretty boring without him."
"So that's why Bligh is one of your heroes?" I asked. "Not his disposition?"
"You doubted me? Our gardens would be pretty boring without him."
 Garden History Museum, London |  |
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including to several complete short stories and excerpts from my novels.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including to several complete short stories and excerpts from my novels.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
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