Before I dive in, I have to update you on where I am writing this current dispatch. I am listening to Aretha Franklin and Celine Dion surrounded by men with flowing scarves wrapped on their heads with a black band, wearing long skirts. Today is definitely the bizarrest Christmas Eve I've ever enjoyed. Surreal. Writing from Amman, Jordan close to the site where John baptised Jesus in the River Jordan seems more appropriate to the Christmas spirit. We took a bus directly to Amman from Southest western Turkey and had to skip Syria all together because of the turmoil caused by the Iraqi conflict. We are very disappointed but safely set here in Jordan.

Onto Turkey's tale and picking up from our travelogue on Italy and Greece. We took a late night train from Thessaloniki, Greece to Istanbul. In the cold frosty fog, we boarded the train and within a few hours were sitting on the Turkish border train platform waiting for the border guards to issue our Visas. Immediately, I felt like we stepped into the pre-cold war Soviet eastern bloc. The landscape was cold, drab and grey. The houses were much more decrepit and the villagers had a swarthy darker look and worn faces. Like from years of hard work in the fields. At the border, we re-boarded a Turkish train to continue our journey. Within 30 minutes, the train buckled to a stop and we were told in Turkish to get out of the train in the middle of nowhere and followed the few other passengers off the train in the dark black night down the muddy tracks. We didn't know where we were headed, but as lemmings we did as were we told. Not 20 feet down the tracks, we found the reason for our sudden stop. Another train was on it's side, mangled and twisted on the tracks at a road crossing. Bad omen. The local village had come out to witness the melee and all the passengers walked around the wreckage lit up by bright spot lights for the workers to try to remove the train car. In the meantime, we followed the other passengers beyond the wreck to another train waiting to take us to Istanbul.

Sometime late in the night, we arrived in Istanbul and checked into our hostel safe and sound. Turkish carpets lined the lobby and recreation-type room. We then spent a wonderful and chilly 4 days in this magnicifient historic capital, roaming it's old streets and checking out the strange cosmopolitan mix of old world Turks with traditional women in headscarves and the hip young youth in Europe's cutting edge fashion. I chose to wear long skirts and occasionally wore my head scarf to be respectful. We got equal amounts of curious stares with and without covering up.

We really enjoyed browsing around the old covered Market called the Grand Bazaar. It's one of the touristy spots of Istanbul but still very interesting. 7km of covered streets, shops filled with carpets, jewelry, carpet touts, trinkets, carpets, leather, carpets touts, clothing, carpets, shoes, everything. Did I mention carpet sellers? Yes, everyone know about their aggressiveness but until you live it, you can't describe their crafty ways of catching your eye and saying with a perfect American accent, "Hello, Where are you from?" We learned how to keep our eyes focused forward at all times.

Side note about Paige's theory of touts: I love and hate this system. It's a paradox because it's so annoying and disconcerting for travelers yet it's the most beautiful example of fierce capitalism because these guys are all competing with each other to sell their wares and if you're good at it as a buyer, great bargains can be had. For the less hardy souls, it's unnerving and a pain in the keester. They stare constantly, catcall, gesture, and everyone does it: carpet sellers, kebap restaurants, tea houses, everybody! Yet it's free enterprise at its maximum.

We loved the Turkish tea, amazing mosques such as the Hagia Sofya and the Sultan's Palace. The palace deserves a word or two because it has over 400 rooms for all of the 500-1400 A.D. Ottoman sultan's who inhabited the palace. The 400 rooms housed his wives, slaves, concubines, eunuchs, and the rest of the harem entourage. (Chris here...by the way, what's the deal with these eunichs? I mean, does one aspire to BE a eunuch? Do you have to study eunichology before the actual 'snip,' do you dream to be a eunuch and feel fulfilled once you reach your goal? Please don't answer, I really don't want to know. Sorry, back to Paige...) The mosaics and endless courtyards were beautiful. It was icy cold and rainy for the first two days which gave way to a much more pleasant snow on the third day. We woke up that morning to a few inches delicately covering the domed mosques and streets. The feeling in the air after a city's first snow is magical. Everyone was throwing snowballs and running around the parks.

We then headed south. We had heard that the city of Bursa, 3-4 hours south of the capital was The place for Turkish baths because of the mineral waters spewing from it's hillside. We took a bus that arrived early evening. Because our Lonely Planet said it wouldn't cost more than $2.00 for a taxi, we contemplated taking a city bus, shared minibus, or a taxi. Figuring it was about the same cost when you added both our bus fares, we found a taxi outside and heading southward. The meter started racing up and we immediately knew that we were being scammed by the infamous Turkish cabbie. We asked him to stop and show us where we were on our map, all while we didn't speak Turkish and he not a lick of English. His companion in the front passenger seat was no help either. Since the meter already read the equivalent of $4, we asked him why the cost of the meter was so high, of course using pantomine gestures. We were both very anxious and contemplated our next move while the rain was pouring outside. We agreed to go a little farther down this very large boulevard and get out if the meter reached $6 before our destination. Within a few minutes, it did, and we demanded to be let out. We felt like we were being radically cheated and would rather face the downpour outside then let this sneak have a lira more of our money. He, of course, was cursing at us we think in Turkish, and we jumped out and thankfully he didn't drive off with our backpacks in the trunk.

We went into the closest shop and found a really nice young salesguy who spoke English. He said that we could get into a share-minibus no problem heading into the city center. He then led us out into the parking lot, no coat, with the rain coming down. We flagged down a bus and set us off in the right direction. Angel #1.

The minibus reached it's final destination and we got out. Very confused and our faces must have showed it. Of to the side, two uniformed soldiers were chatting. One of them approached us and offered to help. He didn't speak much English but we told him where we wanted to go and he said he would take us there. He then offered to carry my backpack and just as I was about to hand it over, Chris gave me a warning look. His dark good looks were obscuring my good sense. He walked with us for about 5 minutes through a maze of no less than 100 honking minibuses all going to different parts of the city. Angel #2. They are called dolmus (pronouned dolmush) and we were confused why he was trying to put us in a another dolmus. We thought we were already in the city center and just needed to walk a bit to find our hotel. We tried to ask him to orient us in the right direction, meanwhile about 3 other men gathered around to add their two bits. As the soldier walked off saying goodbye, Chris told me to stop drooling and I mumbled my best Turkish thank you. So now back to our current party of helpers. One nicely dressed business man spoke English well and told us how to walk to the hotel. Angel #3. Twenty minutes later of walking, we still weren't there and starting getting very worried and pulled out our map. Of course, another business man saw us viewing our map and gave volunteered his help which then got us exactly where we needed to go. Angel #4. An hour later, a bit sweaty from an hour of walking, we plopped down in our hotel room and breathed sighs of relief. Such is the Turkish kindness and hospitality that we would encounter numerous times again during our travels through the Turkish land.

Side note to the story: The bus station was moved to a new fancy airport-like modern one on the far outskirts of the city, which Lonely Planet had not yet learned of at press time; therefore, the cabbie wasn't cheating us and now probably thinks all tourists are jerks and paranoid.

We did take in a marvelous Turkish bath and a historic, thousand-year old renovated bathhouse. Complete with steam, bath, massage, fluffy towels and hot tea afterward. Chris's experience was more complicated than mine so I'll let him add the description. Mine was nice and gentle because the masseuse wasn't as hard on the bones as Chris' flogging.

We passed through Pamukkale because we saw postcards of this amazing place of cascading hot springs that look like hundreds of calcium-covered pools that are filled with hot water. It's a mountainside of these calcium bowls the size of a backyard swimming pool. However, the Turkish government has finally declared this site as a special place that needs to be conserved for generations to come so all the hot spring waters were diverted to another place and every single pool was dry. Kind of a let down so we headed onto Konya for the Mevlana Festival.

Remembering how much we loved seeing the whirling dervishes in Cairo, I begged and pleaded with Chris so that we could see this annual festival that only takes place in the central Anatolian town of Konya from December 14-17. 20 or so Muslim monks of the Mevlana sect wear white flowing skirts and twirl in unison to the beat of the traditional Turkish instruments that I could never pronounce. We stayed in this very conservative, religious town for 3 days, saw the 2 hour performance and enjoyed lazing about in our room reading books and drinking beers. Because this is very Muslim town, no establishments serve beer. And so we found a little beer shop and bought our supply (feeling like we were buying illegal contraband). The dance performance was a bit of a letdown compared to Cairo because they didn't do anything but twirl monotonously for about 20 minutes. The Egyptians wore multi-colored skirts and lifted and lowered the skirts, layer after layer. The Turks don't disrobe or even lift. Too bad. Such is life.

Onto Cappadocia. The land of moonscapes and troglodyte dwellings. During the wars of earlier in the century, the local village people carved out their houses out of the fairy chimneys for protection. The valley is about the size of a very small Grand Canyon and full of sandy-looking hills that look like staglamites 6-7 stories high. Our pension was in fact inside one of these fairy chimneys but it looked more like a sand castle to me. I don't know why they call them fairy chimneys. Imagine ploppping wet sand in a mound 30 feet high. Then multiply that buy the thousands and you have the town of Goreme.

We laid low most of the time and got very nervous about the US-British attacks on Iraq. Thank goodness the town had a cybercafe and we constantly monitored the CNN website for news of repercussions in the Middle East. We found the state department's travel website letting us know that they advised absolutely not traveling in Syria because things had heated up in Damascus. So we were at a fork in the road. To continue on and head straight for Amman, Jordan, OR head back to Istanbul and take a flight to Amman. But we were so close to the Syrian border already, that we spent the next 24 hours mulling over our options. It was torturous but we read in our LP that there were direct buses from the Turkish border town of Antakya to Amman. So that's what we did. We spent one night in the drizzly depressing town of Antakya, saw a mosaic museum in the morning before leaving to at least salvage something nice about the here and now, and boarded a bus to Amman.

Chris here - Before Paige began writing today, I told her that I only wanted to write about two things: food and Turkish buses. After she said, "Yes honey, anything you want...I am your humble servant," I woke up and realized that I'm getting tired of her having to wear that damn head scarf and that it's beginning to cloud my impeccable judgement.

I have one word for you all - my new favorite word, as a matter of fact: kebap. KE-BAP! It's fun to say, and really good to eat. Like McDonald's in the U.S., Guinness pubs in Ireland, and kushari restaurants in Egypt, kebap reigns on every Turkish corner. It's a stack of meat (meatstack) on a verticle stick rotated around fire and sliced off as the outside becomes roasted. Mostly it's lamb, but very often you'll find chicken, called donor (duhrnor), served with rice and lots of dried paprika/pepper chunks. Too good. In Bursa we were introduced to Iskender kebap and I immediately became addicted, eating it at every opportunity. This is kebap over chunks of thick pide bread, drizzled in a tomato sauce and browned butter with a scoop of yogurt on the side. Paige talked about the touts, and undoubtedly the kebap touts are the most amazing. At the Bursa Otogar bus station, we sat and watched five adjoining kebaperies do their thing. They each had their own tout out in front trying to lure unsuspecting people into their web of kebap. Interestingly, they wouldn't cross over the unspoken boundary between the kebaperies, but the competition was fierce. How these guys don't come to blows is beyond me, because they would scream and frantically gesture for customers until the person decided where to go. Once the decision was made, it's like it never even happened - they move on to the next person. Fascinating.

In Istanbul we had maybe our favorite food experience EVER. The day it snowed we had walked around town, endlessly making our way through the immense maze of the underground market and the plethora of spice shops with hundreds of huge multi-colored open vats of spices lining the Egyptian Spice Market...when we suddenly found ourselves near the river that divides Turkey into the European and Asian sides. There down by the dock near the bridge sat a boat with a roaring fire going on board. We pushed our way to the front to see a huge open grill bbq-ing freshly caught whole fish by the hundreds. We paid the 300,000 Lira (it sounds worse than it is - TODAY that's only about a buck), and the guy slapped a whole steaming fish on a sourdough roll, tossed a big slab of onion in, and we stood there in the snow at the river's edge eating steaming whole fresh fish sandwiches. It was really, really good. ...But now we can't get the fishy smell out of our gloves - ugh!

It is unfortunate that we've had to experience Turkey during the beginning of Ramazan, because nobody eats or drinks at all from dawn to dusk, and it's very difficult to find food at all during this time. Not to mention that beer isn't even sold AT ALL in many towns during the whole month. Heathens! We really didn't know what to expect; the experience appears to depend on the Muslim conservativeness of the particluar community. It can be very offensive for Muslims to see people eating or drinking while they are starving and thirsty. Even if we are just infidels. We would have to be discrete. The day we rode from Cappadoccia to Antakya we were practically shut off from our stomachs until we found a roadside stand at one of the bus stops who I pursuaded to sell me some fruit. We smuggled the apples and bananas on board, huddled down in our seats and stuffed the whole fruits in our mouths to get rid of them quickly. I guess we weren't thinking about how ridiculously visible our full mouths and puffed cheeks were to everyone else while we chewed endlessly. But we thankfully escaped unscathed.

Mornings are pure joy in Turkey. The streets are packed with guys pushing carts FILLED with these round sesame-crusted bagel/pretzel things for only 10-15 cents. Too good.

We would daily top these off with a cup of cay (chai) - Turkish tea. Turkish tea is a story in itself. Forget about Turkish coffee. They drink Nescafe. Tea is where it's at baby! You will see scores of waiter-guys carrying trays of cay to places of business all thoughout the day, and we quickly got involved. Turkish hospitality begins and ends with cay. We constantly got invited into shops and homes for a cup of cay and a nice visit by complete strangers on the street. After an initial hesitation, we began to accept these invitations and they turned into some of our most cherished memories discussing Islam, Iraq and women. It was invigorating to hear Paige one time go off on how sexually stunted Muslim men are because they never associate at all with the completely covered (and therefore sexually exotic) women until marriage, and can't understand that women are intelligent, individual equals, leading men to catcall, drool and fantasize about western women. Maybe she worded it a little more diplomatically...

Turkish buses. Our Lonely Planet says that in Turkey, the road death rate is the highest in the world at 25 deaths per 100 km travelled (compared to 1 in 100 for the U.S.). Not exactly the best invitation to embrace the Turkish bus lines. Did this mean that there was a 1 in 4 chance of me dying every time I travelled 100 km in Turkey? And a 50% chance of either Paige or I dying? After travelling across Turkey exclusively by bus, I have to say that there's definitely some problems with these numbers. Some underdeveloped countries (like ALL of East Africa) must not be reporting their carnage. These buses are luxurious, the otogars are modern, and our experiences were almost universally pleasant.

We were forewarned about the complete abscence of non-smoking buses, but apparantly a law was passed last year outlawing smoking on ALL Turkish buses. Strangely, this didn't include drivers and stewards who puffed away like there was no tomorrow. Maybe they were familiar with the road death rates too... The stewards actually served drinks and snacks on board - amazing. But the best part was at the end of each ride when they would walk up the aisle and squirt some of this lemony/cologney liquid into your hands as a kind of liquid wetnap. Men are not to sit next to women unless they're related, and if the only empty seats on the bus are next to women, men actually remain standing.

But my personal favorite memory of Turkey happened in Goreme. We were walking around this stone cave village, crawling through small passageways and scaling steep cliffs to explore all the weird rooms. At one point Paige went ahead through this long small tunnel, emerged and went off to one side. I followed bent over, finally breaking through into this large open room. As I stood up to get my bearings, I realized that I had just emerged in the middle of a group of young Turkish teenage girls. All staring gape-mouthed. At me. Paige was no help - inconspicuously off to one side. We all stood there silent like that for a few seconds, until one of the bolder girls finally spoke out, "Excuse me sir, where are you from?" "America," I said in a very manly tone. All twenty girls smiled embarassingly with these 40 huge dreamy eyes. I stumbled after Paige (she IS my wife you know), and as I bent back over to crawl out the cave, I felt them focus their combined sexual energy on my butt. OK, maybe I'm mixing this up with a dream I had...over and over. OK, maybe I'm dreaming it right now. But it did happen. I swear.

OK, since that's about all we can take, I'm assuming you've had enough too. One last note, our schedule will be drastically changed from here on out. We have decided that snail mail is no longer a viable option. If you have already sent something or were planning to, please contact us directly through this email address and we'll work it out with you. Otherwise, forget it.

Thanks for listening - Happy New Year's and all that stuff!

Love,

Chris and Paige
chrisandpaige@hotmail.com