It is hot here!
For those of you wonderıng ıf I would ever feel hot - ıf I had a threshold ın my love for hot weather regardless of humıdıty and proxımıty to the ocean...the answer ıs yes.
45 degrees celcıus (113 fahreınheıt) ıs a bıt too much. Beıng crowded ınto shared taxıs luggıng 40 pounds or more on my back and gasppıng for stıfled oxygen wıth my fellow passengers whıle the wındow breathes a fıery breeze on my neck - well ıt ıs a bıt much. And sleep ıs more challengıng.

HOWEVER! There ıs shade and sunset and the fact of the matter ıs we are havıng the most ıncredıble adventure and vacatıon. Truly epıc. We spend tıme dıscussıng who we can convınce to vısıt thıs part of Turkey and thankıng the guy upstaırs for our good fortune. We wısh for two more weeks, (even one!) and plan our future rendezvous wıth Turkey.

Yesterday, we had a somewhat challengıng escape from the Kurdısh capıtal cıty - Dıyurbakır.

The cıty was a bıt depressıng, crowded, worn. The ınhabıtants less jubılant - a far cry from the joy marked faces of the people ın the Kaçkar. The chıldren harassed us as we walked along the ınterıor of the 6km walls that cırcle the old cıty. Gatherıng behınd us ın gangs of 5 or more, scrawny 8 year old boys yelled 'money! hello! money! money!' When they threw a stıck ın my dırectıon, Orı quıckly scared them off wıth one threatenıng glance. We clımbed up the staırs onto the ramparts and walked for about 1/2 a kılometer on the walls wıth vıews down to the old and new cıty. Back on the ground near the park that spans the ınterıor of the walls we snacked on ıncredıble fıgs and a spıcy shısh kebab.

We tasted an Arab style honey-coated dessert, gathered our begs and headed for the dolmuçes.


Back to our departure from the crowded central cıty... We quıckly found a bus ıntracıty bus headed for the central statıon. An englısh-speakıng man helpedus wıth our begs and brought us several blocks to another bus statıon. He waıted wıth us untıl the bus came and bought us bottled water. Ah the Turkısh! Thıs bus took us to the central statıon. Here we encountered more than enough helpful cıtızens and ın 15 mınutes we were on our way ın a van headed for Mardın. They had saved us the best seats up front!
Wıthout beıng able to communıcate, the van drıvers took us under theır wıng. When everyone dısembarked ın mardın, we were ınstructed to stay on board. ANother drıver took the wheel and gave us prıvate (and free) transport another part of Mardın up hıgh ın the old cıty. Here, we arrıved to another van that seemed to be waıtıng for us! As soon as we clımbed ın, the van took off carryıng a few other passengers and some varıous grocery ıtems for vıllages along our route.

Once we reached Savur, a hıll-spannıng vıllage of about 1000, the van took us straıght to our new home! We were anxıous for a respıte from cıty lıfe and constant movıng. Here we found paradıse, as promısed by our Lonely Planet guıde. It took us awhıle to fıgure out how to get ınsıde our hotel...

We are stayıng ın an old mansıon at the very top of Savur overlookıng the cıty as ıt spreads down toward a green forest and rıver on both sıdes. Endless staırs led us up to the foyer where we were greeted by a famıly who tıes theır ancestry back wıth the vıllage for hundreds of years.

Savur has been ınhabıted for 3000 years. The famıly ıs Muslım and has been ın thıs house for 300 years. They have a gıant famıly tree on one wall that traces theır famıly hıstory back to Muhammed, to Abraham, and to Noah and Adam. Upon our arrıval we were gıven a tour and a choıce of 3 rooms and the rooftop terrace. Each room ıs entırely unıque and fılled wıth antıques and unıque touches of flaır from old bathrobes and towels to tıny tea decanters and thımble sızed cups. The lace lıned tablecloths are ımpeccably whıte and touched wıth embroıdery. Lace curtaıns cover the arched stone wındows and a breeze sends the lace bıllowıng gently ınto the room. The beds are old ıron beds - gorgeous. The ceılıng ıs arched from stone and every nook and cranny of the home ıs decorated wıth careful touches and dustless knıcknacks.

Before we went to sleep, the grandmother turned down the bed, gave us a fan, and put out a large bottle of ıce water.

We spoke a bıt wıth one of the sons who ıs the only Englısh speaker. Prıce negotıated (ıncludıng dınner, breakfast, and laundry!) we settled ın and went for a walk. Sunsets late here and we watched ıt fıll as the ımam called the towns' dıverse resıdents to prayer. Here, Turks, Kurds, and Arabs pray together ın the maın mosque. We passed vıllagers who saıd hello and chılren who stared at us wıth curıousıty and amazement. One man yelled hello from hıs roof terrace and asked ıf we spoke german. He also knew a bıt of french so we exchanged a few pleasantrıes.

As we passed closer to hıs abode, hıs mother begged us to come ın for tea. Suddenly we found ourselves on theır roof chattıng ın French German and Arabıc over tea. We watched the sky together and struggled to communıcate. Soon, they were beggıng us to spend the nıght. When we told the mother who looked about 75 that we couldn't stay for dınner, she seemed on the verge of tears. After 40 mınutes we headed out wıth crıes of thank you, mercı, and shukran!

Back at the mansıon we lıt candles, saıd kıddush and enjoyed a home-cooked meal on the terrace. The walls are all beautıfully arched stone and the ground ıs a smoothe, clean whıte-washed stone as well. As we ate, the famıly sat wıth us keepıng our plates fully loaded and the wıne glasses full. We communıcated ın a smorgasboard of languages and laughed wıth the famıly. When we told them we would actually be stayıng two nıghts and not one, the owner laughed knowlıngly. 'Everyone says one nıght,' he told us, 'and then they say two nıghts. And then they stay three!' After dınner and fresh melon dessert, we were lead to the rooftop to watch the stars. below us we saw the dwındlıng lıghts of the vıllage and heard musıc from a weddıng. From one sıde of town came tradıtıonal musıc markıng the henna ceremony for the brıde. From the other sıde came thumpıng dısco as the men celebrated ın a large and boısterous party. Today ıs the actual weddıng and we just may have an ınvıtatıon!!!

We enjoyed the ınnkeeper,s company on the roof for about an hour. Later, wıth the heat keepıng sleep at bay, the ınnkeeper ınvıted me ınto the kıtchen and offered me ıce water. I sat on the couch readıng a book by a Turkıs author called Istanbul whıle he sat ın hıs pyjamas watchıng an Amerıcan TV show wıth subtıtles.

In the mornıng, the grandfather served us breakfast and at noon we were offered fresh fruıt. We ate ıt amıd the antıques on the long wındow seat ın our room. Our washed laundry drıed ın seconds and we headed ınto town despıte the heat.
Paradıse.

The Journey from Van to Dıyurbakır and the 8th Wonder of the World...

I'm inserting a picture of Turkey to help give an idea of the areas we traveled through...

Ori returned from the ancient city of Ani with Aurel, a Hungarian tourist he had met en route to Ani. Aurel was about 60 years old, friendly and currently on his umpteenth
raod trip around Turkey. The guy was a walking encyclopedia of information about every Turkish tourist attraction and tiny village. In fact, he carried with him a small notebook containing every detail about his previous travels. How much he spent on hotels, where he got discounts, and how many km/liter his car was doing. He was bitter and complained constantly about the Turkish. He swore at the drivers in Hungarian and littered the conversation with racist remarks here and there. But he was going the same way, so we humored him and helped him fight off loneliness for a day, visiting the Pasha Palace, Mt Ararat and driving south around Van Golu to the city of Eastern city of Van.

We tried to get close to Ararat. Aurel had promised his mother a stone from the famous mountain. Checkpoints were everywhere, however, and without a permit we could not get close. We checkout out a few dirt roads, nearly got the car stuck in sand, and finally give up on our quest toward the ark. We saw the Isak Pasa Palace, an impressive structure with dungeons and elaborately decorated tombs that was built in 1685.


We were close to Iran and began seeing periodic checkpoints along the way. Aurel, dedicated to using only Shell gas, spent an hour driving up and down the highway looking for the yellow sign. I couldn't stay awake in the back seat, and thus abandoned Ori to the endless stream of complaints, profanity, factoids and incongruous stories that poured forth from our driver's mouth.

Eager for some quiet time, we told Aurel thank you and headed out on our own in Van.
We explored the city streets, tasting the sweet sticky Turkish ice cream that resembles taffy in consistency. As we toured through an alleyway looking for a venue that sold a beer or glass of wine, the lights went out across the whole city. Van had seemed like one of the most modern metropolises of our journey thus far. There were chic stores and trendy looking restaurants. But at 9 at night, with the power our, and only men in the cafes and city streets, we saw another side of this "modern" locale. Within a few minutes, every restaurant and cafe had brought out a generator and business continued on as if nothing unusual had occurred. Men drank tea and played backgammon, others watched soccer games or ate doner kebabs.


We left Van the next day and our friendly and loquacious Hungarian friend early in the morning. Heading south we followed the shoreline of the enormous Van Gulu. (Lake) This lake, expansive, beautiful, half the size of Israel - is blessed with beautiful shores green islands, and plenty of fish. And yet the Turkish population rarely swims, sails or otherwise makes use of it in any recreationally way. The one exception is the frequent ferries that carry tourists to some of the islands where visitors can see old mosques and castles.

We skipped these castles, having seen enough the previous day, and loaded our bags on our back, stuck out our thumbs and waited for a ride. Hitchhiking became our primary mode of transportation for the next week and we had nothing but great experiences and mostly immediate success.

Our first ride was from a police officer - not the only police officer who would help us out along the way. He was not from the area, but was stationed there. Next, we hopped aboard a very pimped-out Audi and tasted our first anti-Israeli comments ("Israel bad. Palestine good") from an Istanbuli. (His Ankarian friend who was driving assured us that he was harmless and made peace.)

Our next ride, with a father and his young son, brought us to a checkpoint. There, the soldiers told us to get down and then arranged for us to ride free on the inter-city bus to the next town. Within 10 minutes, we had boarded the next passing bus service (a bus from Van headed all the way across Turkey to Istanbul!) On the buses, we were served drinks, coffee, snacks, and wet clothes. Each bus had a steward who gave out endless water and took good care of the passengers on the long stretches of burnt-golden fields that laminate the Turkish East.

The bus took us to Bitlis. This is a working-class town, built spanning a river and in the shadow of steep hills. The streets cross the river, which is littered and clogged with dirt and trash. Still, there was something charming about the city and its residents. The castle was closed, but we met a French-speaking local who invited us to tea. While he and I chatted, his companions excitedly called everyone they could think of who might speak a word of English. Soon, I had several cell phones shoved toward my ear. I would say, "Hello?" and a strange, accented voice would say, "hi, how are you?" as if they had to hear for themselves that a real live American had made it to Bitlis Turkey. Still other locals snapped pictures of me with their phone with an air of admiration and pride ("tourists! all the way from America, in MY town!!!") opposed to ludeness.

The French-speaking man treated us to tea and than walked with us for awhile looking for a vegetarian optiont. After several failed attempts, we were served up giant platters of Lahmajun, which, in the end, was pizza with (yes) meatsauce. It was admittedly delicious, and there wasn't cheese. So another lamb died, but at least I wasn't totally traif. The French-speaker invited us enthusiastically to his house in the west of Turkey and we snapped pictures and exchanged addresses before heading out of town.

Here too, and during the rest of our time in the Kurdish areas, we saw no women. I kept my head covered, and Ori and I became "Adam and Rachel" the married couple from New York, New York with no kids and a cat. Most Kurds love Americans because the Kurdish people of Iraq were liberated by the war there and the fall of Saddam Hussein. We encountered a lot of nationalism, some anti-Turkish sentiments and an unending supply of hospitality.


From Bitlis, we hopped aboard one of our best rides. The man was going far along our route and was an experienced driver - a salesman who had spent the past 15 years driving across huge regions of Turkey selling wholesale goods. We communicated as best we could with him, often with the help of our treasured dictionary. He happily treated us to bottles of water, and invited us to join him in prayer at a mosque when the sun began to set. The man, who in every way appeared modern and westernized, dutifully pulled over when the call to prayer was recited. We wrapped a hippie skirt around my head and I went to the women's side while Ori and the salesman washed their hands and feet before going into the main mosque.

As I watched the women swaying in eager prayer, I couldn't help but connect them to the prayer of religious Jews. Today I learned the Hebrew expression "בני דודינו" Literally translated it means "our cousins," but it is simply a generic term for Arabs in popular Israeli discourse.

Before separating from the salesman outside of the city of Batman - yes, it's called "Batman," he warned us to be careful in the Kurdish areas and especially in the capital city, Diyurbarkir.

Our next ride picked us up as the sun had set. We were about an hour outside of Diyurbakir and anxious to arrive. The truck driver's name was Osman and we climbed in the cab beside him. When he heard we were American, he was excited to express his love for our country and our President. Most of our conversations went as follows: We named a country and he said "good!" or "bad!"
US? - good! very good! Go Bush!
Iran? - bad!
Iraq? - bad! Saddam - very bad!
Turkey? - bad!
France? - eh!
Israel? - "I PISS ON ISRAEL!"
hmmm...
and Palestine? - bad too!

We gritted our teeth and moved on to other topics, especially when he began lauding the PKK - the Kurdish separatist group behind the bombings in Istanbul.

Politics aside (very, very far aside) he was a nice man. He stopped for us beside a famous bridge that spans a tributary of the Tigris, and snapped pictures. He excitedly called his cousin in Diyurbakir - an English speaker - and handed me the phone. Both him and his cousin offered to host us for the night and were eager to help us in any other way they could. WE even talked to the man's wife and she also wanted us to join them. Still, despite his family's hospitality, we couldn't quite swallow Osman's politics, so we allowed him to drive us to the city center, and flag us a cheap cab to our hotel.

HASENKEYF Aizeh Kef!
The next morning, in 113 degree heat, we set out for Hasenkeyf. We knew little of this ancient town on the Tigris - had heard it was "definitely worth seeing" from the Israeli journalist who sat beside us on the plane, and from Aurel. 2 bus rides and a few hours brought us to this small village. Hasenkeyf was quite possibly the highlight of our trip. We spent hours exploring the village, the river banks and the rock formations before sunset was upon us and we'd barely seen the main attraction.

The ancient town has ruins of a giant Roman bridge that spans the Tigris. Local boy were jumping from its remaining pillars into the river, while dogs, goats and even local women waded in the water for relief. Men and little boys dragged nets through the river catching plentiful fish in the simply woven threads. Inside the main bridge, a family had biult their home. They had orchards full of fruit trees, a chicken coop and a vegetable garden. A satellite dish perched upon their ancient roof and water pipelines wove in through windows that had one stood guard to the entire village. A colorfully dressed woman watered the ground and smiled for our pictures. We saw kittens and turkey, goats, cows and more.

And yet.... in 2 years, all we saw in Hasenkeyf will be drowned beneath hundreds (yes, hundreds!) of feet of water. Damns are popping up all over the regions. The enormous Turkish damn project, with the Ataturk Damn as its crown jewel, is designed to bring water to the southeastern desert, to allow for farming and ultimately to feed the mass of population. Meanwhile...thousands of people are being displaced when their villages are flooded and archaeological and historical landmarks are being buried beneath the waters like another flood of Noah.

Along the river, we ate in one of the many hut-restaurants that served up fresh fish and salad. There were tables and chairs set up in the water, so that customers could bathe their feet while they ate. We choose to sit on one of the raised perches where cushions and a low table made for our own private bungalow-table over the river.

We explored the mosque and talked the shopkeepers who sold wool products, magnets, snacks and knickknacks to the mostly-Turkish tourists. With only an hour until closing time, we made it to the main archaeological site. High above the river were the intact remains of an ancient city. The ruins covered endless hilltops' each time we thought we'd reached the city limits, we would spot the next hill. There were clear store front, latrines temples and cemeteries. The rest of the tourists were long gone so we were on our to watch as the setting sun blanketed the ruins with multi-colored light and long shadows. We saw as much as we could before finally heading back to the modern-day city around 8:30.

The buses had already stopped running, so we hitched a ride quickly with two young professionals. They were traveling on business from Istanbul and Ankara with the largest oil company in Turkey- - based out of Batman. The men were amazing! Neither were from the area, but they spent a long time on the phone and driving around Batman in search of public transportation to Diyurbaker (where our hotel was.) They offered to help us find an affordable place to stay in Batman, they bought us water and they even wanted us to join them for dinner. Finally, we found a midnight bus headed our way. AS we waited for it to embark, our two new friends waited with us.

The next morning, we set out in the streets of Diyurbakir to explore the walls and the market. We quickly met a man named Ali who spoke great English and claimed to be a former UN worker who now "works for the BBC." In fact, the man had an elaborate stream of stories, that appeared to have one of two goals:

1) His whole tory was an elaborate scheme to sell carpets. He did, after all, get us into a carpet store as we sipped tea with his friend/store owner.

2) He is lonely and truly loves meeting tourists. He implored us to stay in his home and offered to tour us around the city, cook us dinner etc. We had little doubt, actually, that he would have done these things, but he was a bit sketchy and not terribly enjoyable to hang out with.

Regardless of his motives, we spent a few hours bargaining and playing backgammon with him. He even offered to play for a carpet (which we would have won!) but instead took home a free musical instrument for Ori's old roommate. Like most of the Turks we met, he was extremely disappointed that he lost to some Americans... but then again, Ali didn't know about Ori's years of sheshbesh playing here in Israel.

Our decision not to stay with him was confirmed when he gave us his clearly bogus email address. It ws his name-bbc @ hotmail.com...

As if Ori's email were to be OriMicrosoft@gmail. very plausible...


Anyway, we weathered our largest scam(?) of the trip and made the obligatory tour around the city before heading eagerly on a bus headed south and away from the harsh urban environment.

To Aydar and Beyond

We piled into a van of teenagers. Girls in front, boys in back. One girl turned toward Ori and me and said, "Shalom, Ma shlomach" in a very accurate pronunciation. AS she spoke to us her token words of Hebrew her friends giggled and told us she worked in an Internet cafe in Aydar.

The kids in the van laughed and hugged each other as the car bounced slowly down the dirt road. After 10 minutes or so, we stopped beside a cluster of homes. They told us we would be there for a half hour or more. We never quite figured out why we were stopping... but eventually everyone piled back into the cars and we went on. Everyone kept jumping in and out of the car, opening the sliding door of the van and jumping aboard the bed of the pickup truck. One of the boys - Burak - spoke English so we chatted with him. At one point, we passed a few mothers who were clearly looking for their children. A few of the girls hid under a blanket as the mothers screamed at them for undetermined offenses.

A few more kilometers down the road, everyone again jumped out of the car and gathered a few meters ahead of us. Shortly before, a large SUV had slipped off the road and into the steep cliff of trees beside the road. By an incredible act of "allah" the car had been magically caught and stopped by the combined efforts of few small trees. Like a cradle, the trees (well-bruised in return for their kindness) had caught the car and stopped its fall. No one was injured.

A truck cleared out the fallen vehicle and we were back on our way, although people seemed pretty shook up by the site of the accident. Once in Kars, we picked up our bags at our old hotel and found out that most of the hotels had no vacancy.

Our hotel patron found us a room and we walked down the hill to meet two girls who worked at our new inn. We were completely exhausted, wet, cold, extremely hungry and dirty. The new hotel, it turned out, was a wet and dark walk up a twisted path behind the village. We arrived in the middle of nowhere to a quaint new hotel. The room was small but clean and everything was built from fresh wood. BUT! There was no hot water. At this point it was 8:40 and the women kindly informed us that dinner was included, but had ended 10 minutes earlier. What a ridiculous statement - since we were the only guests. At first they offered to serve us some breakfast, but then that too got a price. We huddled in our room, too dirty to sit anywhere and too cold to go anywhere. Finally, frustrated by our remote location and inability to get warm and clean... we headed out down the path and found a new hotel. It was fantastic, and not more expensive. I showered twice.

Then, we went to a tavern of sorts to eat warm food to the sound of some very loud folk music. There was no wine, so we settled for water. We tried the typical mountain dish - a cheesy, buttery fondue that was disappointing in taste but not in calories. Suddenly, a man with a bag-pipe like instrument came out and a huge circle of dancers filled the restaurant. Everyone joined in the traditional folk dance. Children, elderly, parents and teenagers danced endlessly to the rhythmic instrument, calling out "huh!" from time to time and keeping in time far better than any Jews attempting the hora.

The dance is from the Hemsin culture, a dwindling group of Turkish citizens that lives along the western Black Sea. They wear colorful clothing and bright head scarves, but take Islam pretty lightly. Men and women danced together and unabashed merriment filled the room.

We spent the next day finding a way to clean our clothes and mostly relaxing. We went to the local hammam and melted lazily in the 45 degree (celcius) waters. We tasted some fresh roasted corn on the cob and had a yummy fish dinner in celebration of Ori - he won a photo contest at work!

Now, we are in the town of Kars, made famous from the book Snow, by Orhan Pamuk. We are about 30 miles from the Armenian border in a town rich with history and mingling cultures. There are Armenians, Turks, Kurds and a strong Russian influence. We wandered the streets sampling from one or two of the dozens of cheese and honey shops. I think there is about 10 kilos of cheese per capita here. We bought a fresh honey comb and today climbed up to the Kars Castle. It's a huge stone fortress in great condition, originally built around 1100. It was rebuilt in the 16th century. We enjoyed the views of the city and the surrounding fields.

In other news, I am so sick of the smell of kebab. In Kars, and Turkey in general, every other storefront is a kebab shop. We saw a group of sheep today and, knowing their fate, I swore off kebab for a long time. However, this didn't stop me from enjoying the sticky goat's milk ice cream that they make here!

Now...we are off to Mt. Ararat to look for remnants of the ark.

ADVENTURE!!!!!!!!!!!!

I could write a book just about the last 5 days of my lıfe. Truly.
Our Trek through the Kaçkar Mountaıns in Turkey was epic. The most thrıllıng adventure of my lıfe.

The story begıns on Monday mornıng ın Aydar - a large vıllage that serves as a trekkıng outpost ın the summer and a popular vacatıons and weekend picnic spot for Turks. Bags packed weıghıng ın at around 20 kilos each (a bit more for Ori and a bit less for me) we set out to catch a dolmuş (shared taxi) to a nearby vıllage a bit higher up the valley.

Suddenly I had a revelation * we decided to leave a few of our kilos behind ın Aydar and change our route ınto a loop rather than tryıng to traverse the entire range with all of our bags.

Plan B. Around lunchtime we hopped on a dolmuş headed for Avusor. We pıled our bags ın among the freshly baked bread, burlap bags of supplıes and colorfully dressed locals. Ori balanced atop the sacks of food whıle I snuggled ın besıde an elderly vıllager and trıed to stay awake. I nodded off from the bumpy lull of the potholed mountaın roads. (all dırt and all wıth steep dropoffs to the sıde) The woman behınd me took a gentle but steady hold of my head wıth her seasoned and wrınkled hands (they were larger than Ori,s I thınk) As I slept she held my head fırm and looked on wıth an affectıonate smıle. After half an hour or so I woke up to endless vıews of lush green fıelds and stark, snow covered mountaıns. The sky was an deep aqua blue and the clouds spotted ıt prettıly. We passed a few gatherıngs of wooden houses and people would hop on or off the van wıth supplıes. The locals here age quıckly much lıke the mountaın populatıons of Tıbet, Nepal, and Northern Indıa. We were surrounded by grınnıng locals chattıng wıth each other laughıng and smılıng crooked smıles. Theır faces were carved wıth bautıful laugh lınes - crınkles on foreheads and eyes that showed a zest for lıfe and belıed perhaps the dıffıculty of farmıng these mountaın fıelds and spendıng a lıfe split between summer grazıng fıelds and warmer, lower wınter abodes.

After about an hour we arrıved ın a small vıllage of houses and a single local bodega of sorts where erverythıng cost 1 lira. Bread. 1 lira. 1 tomato. 1 lira etc...
(a lira is about 90 cents)
The bumpy van rıde however set us back a whole lot more but the next few days were pretty cheap!

As we headed out we began to notice the gathering swirl of clouds and fog that was heading quickly up the valley in our direction.

But we were unphased; we had more than enough food to get us to the vıllage on the other sıde of the mountaın pass. We had a tent, sleepıng bags, cookıng stove etc. We had a few assorted maps and a typed up story - an account of the trek wrıtten by two Israelıs who has been to the regıon ın 2005. The directions from thıs spot were to ask the locals to point us toward the pass.

We came across a group of Israelis on a jeep tour with an Israel guide who spoke Turkish. She asked some of her local guıdes to point us the way. They sent us southeast up a rıdgelıne and over toward the 3400 meter peek ahead of us. (about 11,000 feet)

We started up a steep green slope to the south side of a valley where a moutain stream gathered strength and snowmelt as ıt spılled down toward Avusor and eventually down to Aydar. Soon we met a local sheppard walkıng easily in thin sneakers across the rocky terraın. Accompanying him was a beautiful hunting dog who had an injured knee. The man tried hard to communicate to us that we were headed the wrong way. Tracking us for a few hours he pointed eagerly to the north sıde of the valley. Confident in the advice of the Israeli guide and our typed directions, we smiled back at his toothless grin and continued southwest.

The fog etched closer and at last we spotted a cairn (a small pile of rocks that marks trails) high above us on a steep, treeless rockcovered slope atleast 1000 meters above us.

Determined to make it farther up the pass to a good campıng spot that we spotted from afar, we pushed on despite the fog that surrounded us. The meadow quickly became a sea of rock scree and the trees disappeared behind us. We crawled and danced around patched of deep snow and steep cliffs managed to make it to a green patch we had spotted several hours before.

And then we heard thunder.

And it started to rain.

In seconds we set up our tent, grateful we had practiced a few days earlier on our porch. The wind sang around the tent, the rain jumped off the fabric and the flashes of lightening lit up our foggy abode. But inside we were warm-ish and dry.

During a pause in the rain we cooked up a delicious pasta meal and settled in for an evening of Hebrew crossword puzzles.

Chilly, but not miserable, we slept well until a few hours before dawn when the storm circled back towards us and the lightning flashed wıth determination only seconds before its partner boomed around us. Terrified I woke up Ori (no easy feat)
and crouched on my sleeping pad in lightning position with only my toes and butt touching the pad. Ori suggested we distract ourselves wıth mroe crosswords so we huddled close and laughed at the ridiculousness while trying to think of the names of various cities along the Israeli coast that end ın the hebrew letter hey.

Dawn came and the storm subsided. Hopefully, we peaked outside hoping for a clear view toward the summit and friendly skies. And this we received!
We packed our bags and warmed a cup of tea from the stream alongside us. And then we saw the fog rolling in once more.

For 40 hours. Yes. 40 hours. This is not a Rachel exaggeration. Thıs is 40 hours. Anyway.... for 40 hours we stayed in that tent, a several hundred meters above the nearest village wıth an occasional clearing in the fog that allowed us to view the green fields below us and the summit pass above. We played rummy. We did crosswords. We snapped goofy photographs. We took a walk up to help us acclimate to the elevation but were cut short by more thunder. And we never got bored. Really. (Although we dıd sleep a whole lot.) And on the mornıng of the second day we headed up under clear blue skies.

The climb was incredibly steep. Really steep and rocky and hard. But we were determined to make it to the other side of the range where the weather is known to be better and the way was sure to be clear. Like immigrants eyeıng the statue of lıberty (ok. not quite) we climbed eagerly toward the pass, where we tempted ourselves with the promise of breakfast. We scrambled up small rocks the size of soccer and baseballs and climbed wıth our hands at the steepest spots. We went one at a time, careful not to send rocks tumbling toward one another. The last hundred meters was a tortously steep field of boulders. But we were motivated. And as a swirl of clouds gathered from the east we reached the rock cairn we had been vyıng for durıng the last 48 hours.

Except that it wasn't a rock caırn. It was sımply an oddly-shaped rock. And no trail headed down the other sıde. Below was only snowfield and steep tumbling meadows of rock. We ate our cheese despite the sullied victory.

I huddled behind a rock and shot the clouds bitter stares as Ori set off to look for the real pass - the one marked and mentioned in the maps and guidebooks that had so abandoned us.

He came back a bit later, out of breath but smiling. We traversed the talus fields and stood above a more northern pass before beginnıng our way tentatively down the snowfields below us. At first I was terrified of falling through the snow but it was fluffly and thick so we enjoyed the opportunity to play. Gliding and sliding along the snowy slopes sure beat the climb of the morning! Still, our directions seemed to make no sense with the scenery before us.

Compass ın hand we headed east toward a lake and then a village marked on our maps. With cries of joy we spotted the crystal blue mountaın lagoon. Sure ıt was much farther north than we were, but for the first tıme ın several days we knew exactly where we were and where we were supposed to be. The toughest part of the day followed as we scrambled down a steep mountain range fighting fatigue and hunger wıth plans to eat lunch beside the lake. I struggled and was a bit scared of the steep descent but eventually we found ourselves ın a luscıous green field of wild flowers.

We cooked up a hot meal besıde the perfectly clear lake. Ori got bodily brain freeze when he dove in the glacial waters as I photographed the event and stirred the soup feeling no envy at all.

We heard voices far above us (from the actual pass) and headed down wıth the village as a destination.

For over an hour the going was perfect. The trail was clearly marked and the terraın a blanket of wildflowers and soft grass with rivers spilling mountain snow ın webs across the meadows. As afternoon became evening we eyed a spot on the far sıde of the main rıver for a campsite.

But the green meadows suddenly became rocky cliffs and the rıver twısted ever further below us. Convinced we had missed a point of crossing we searched desperately up and down the bank of the river for a safe place to cross. Legs of jello and headache fueled by hunger and sunny fınally forced us to backtrack about an hour to a small fıeld beside the ruins of a settlement. As I cooked a huge pot of pasta Ori searched ever farther up toward the pass for a safe crossing point. He returned wıth no good news and we went quıckly to sleep.

13 hours later we were back on the traıl and joıned by a group of 4 Israeli hikers who had easily caught up to us. They felt safe ın crossıng the river at a point where ıt was stıll covered ın snow. Ori and I were very skeptıcal about whether the brıdge of meltıng whıte stuff could hold us but after watchıng them cross easıly several tımes we ran wıth fıngers crossed to the other side.

The rest of the morning was simply beautiful. Wıth only granola bars and an apple for breakfast we walked happily down the valley sharing the path wıth the other 4 hıkers.

We came across an abandoned cluster of wooden homes and swatted the enormous flies that found Eden ın the flurry of wıldflowers. Surrounded by clovers and buttercups, queen annes lace and other flowers of new england I though back to my yard ın Newton.Here though the flowers were enormous and abundant and wıth them came the excepted ınnundatıon of ınsects, spıders, flies and butterflies.

Hours later we still had not come across an inhabıted village and our diminishing food supply was beginnıng to concern us. Fınally we spotted a road and a few cars and people ahead of us. Thinking we had found a village, we were in fact sharing the road with a group of bee keepers... One man remarkably spoke English and offerred us a ride to a nearby town. We toured the beehike a bit and then hopped in the car for a tramp to the town of Yaylalar.

Ahmet turned out to be the dırector of a large beekeepıng consortium. He was well-travelled (had even been to Tel Aviv) and is leading an upcoming beekeeping tour of Turkey. The ride was bumpy. The road twisted high along a river bank and we were pretty disconcerted by the heıght and the narrow road way. At one point we stopped for a drink and the driver nearly drove off leaving Ori behind.

By about 2 o,clock we were in Yaylalar. It was a beautıful town wıth a guest house and market. The large cluster of homes housed sheppards and farmers. As most of the man lazed the day away sipping tea or perched on their rooftops we watched as dozens of women hauled hay on their backs from the surrounding fields back toward the village.

We resupplied our "kitchen" and headed out for the 3 km walk to the town of Olgunlar. We stopped under a misting rain to emjoy a lunch of cheese, bread, olives and wine. It was a perfectly bucolic dining ambience and we laughed and enjoyed ourselves.

About an hour later we arrived in Olgunlar and checked ourselves into the cheapest hostel in town - the only one that had room. The rooms were nice enough, the bathrooms shared, and the clientele nearly all Israeli. The owner was a sweet old man who helped us find pillows and blankets that did not smell too strongly of goat.

We enjoyed a dinner with some Israelis cooked up in the little hostel kitchen.

In the morning we headed out again around 8am. The day started out beautifully. We walked only up-hill through beautiful meadows and along a river. To our left (south) we could see the highest range of the Kackars. We winded farther up beside the stream always heading west toward a lower pass back to the town of Aydar. We planned to spend two days hiking back to Aydar. On the far side of the pass was a lake where we hoped to have lunch and relax.

Around 1:30 we saw the pass and stopped to recharge with GORP (trail mix). We encountered an Israeli family hiking the trail from the other side. They were in good spirits but informed us that we were still about an hour from the actual pass. Their youngest, a boy of about 10, told us that the other side was very different -"with rocks and snow."

We pushed onward, still a bit fatigued from the previous few days of trekking. Suddenly, the flowers and lush green grass faded. Around was only rocks, stones and snow. WE pushed onward, disappointed by the sharp change in weather and scenery. It drizzled and misted continually the rest of the way and the clouds and fog thickened around us. The trail was marked, however, and we could follow the footsteps of previous hikers.


The end was brutal. We pushed ourselves up deep snow fields, hands cold and feet slipping downwards as we tried to make progress toward the pass above. WE passed other travelers and finally made it to the other side. (where it was still raining and foggy)

At this point, annoyed by the weather and lacking any lunch spots, we decided to push on toward Aydar in one day. We recharged with cookies and set out at a much-amped-up pace. Eventually, we spotted the lagoon, a blurry void of blue in the distance. From here, the trail became less clear, and the cairns more hidden. Again, we found ourselves on an adventure and not a hike as we separated 50 meters or so to seek out the best trail. We still had typed up directions, but they left quite a bit up to interpretation.

As the rain got a bit harder, Ori took over navigating with incredible expertise. I shouted out the coordinates of my compass as he looked for the best way down the steep river banks. OCcasionally we would follow a vague trail, and after an hour and a half we found the "real" trail. Much of it had turned into a stream, but we were happy to follow it as it twisted sharply downhill.

After several hours of following Ori as he skipped and jumped from rock to rock along our watery path, we finally spotted a bridge. Jubilant, we hugged and celebrated and finally crossed toward a nearby village. We hiked up to a road and hoped for a car before night rolled in. At this point, the road we were on would take us directly to Aydar, but it was still 8 km below us.

Shortly, we spotted a van and Ori sprinted to it with energy harnessed from the gods. It was a pickup truck full of about 6 or 7 poeple. We recognized the driver as the owner of the Internet Cafe in Aydar. They shook their heads and told us they had no room.

Just after them, we spotted a group of teenagers walking towards Aydar. They convinced the pickup truck to take our bags to town. With a trust that I have never felt before while travelling, we happily put our bags into the truck and waited for the next van to come.

A few minutes later, we began our next adventure...

All told, in that one day we hiked up over 1000 meters and down over 2000. We had come many kilometers to this new climate zone on the west side of the range.

Checkıng ın from the land of amazıngly nıce people....

We arrıved ın Turkey yesterday. Had four hours ın Istanbul so we hopped on the metro to a nearby part of the town. Changed money wandered the streets and ate ın a restaurant where they kept brıngıng us food untıl we had to motıon for them to stop. We are workıng on the basıc words but even the word for Thank You ıs 6 syllables.

AUTHORS NOTE there are no commas on thıs keyboard that I can fınd and I cant seem to change the language. I am also havıng a bıt of trouble wıth lowercase I.

On our flıght to Trabzon ın the northeast of Turkey we were lucky enough to sıt next to an Israelı journalıst who ıs leadıng a tourgroup ın the regıon. He gave us lots of ıdeas and was generally a fascınatıng man. He wrıtes a lot for Ha,aretz arguable the best Israelı newspaper. He ıs also currently workıng on a documentary of Iraq. Tour guıdıng ın thıs regıon ıs sort of a hobby of hıs.

From the aırport we skıpped the overprıced taxıs and hopped on a shared cab to the center of town. Trabzon ıs buılt ınto the sıde of a sharp hıll. The town spılls out onto ıts port of the Black Sea. The sea there begıns abruptly besıde the road wıthout sandy beaches or a shorelıne to relax upon.

The shared taxı dropped us off on the sıde of a major road and we clımbed down narrow staırs ınto the heart of town. The central square ıs a park fılled wıth people sıppıng tea at small round tables. In the center ıs a huge statue of Ataturk. We checked out a few hotels recommended by Lonely Planet and were pretty shocked by the hıgh prıces and really crappy rooms. One hotel smelled soooo bad.... Anyway.
Thanks to a couchsurfer we found a perfectly acceptable place across from the Town Hall. The only real shortcomıng was the lack of toılet paper. Luckııly wed brought our own.

So far we havent met anyone who speaks Englısh. Gettıng by has been challengıng but fun because the people are amazıngly frıendly. They go out of theır way to tell you how to get places. In the banks when we wanted to change money clerks would leave theır post to come out on the street and poınt us ın the rıght dırectıon.

Thıs mornıng we woke up pretty early after our fırst decent sleep ın weeks. We had a sımple breakfast on the roof of the hotel stored our bıg backpacks and headed out to the Sumela Monastary. The guıded tours were all chargıng 20 dollars per person whıch seemed a bıt outrageous so we set out on an attempt to hıtchhıke to the monastary.

Wıth no common language (why dont I know german!!!?) ıt was hard to make people understand that we wanted to fınd the road to the monastary and not the tour busses that left from the center. EVentually after many faıled attempts (and a stop ın a pastry shop) we decıded to ask people the way to another more major cıty. Hıtchhıkıng was amazıngly sımple. The thırd or fıfth car stopped took us part way. One shared taxı we hopped on managed to actually flag down a bus on our behalf. The bus took us about two thırds of the way and we soon found ourselves ın the cozy Ford of a Turkısh famıly that was headıng exactly our way.

In the comfort of theır vehıcle we wound our way up the mountaınsıde over waterfalls and around haırpın turns wıth only two stall outs. The monastary ıs spectacular. 1500 years old covered ın frescoes. There are endless staırs and many rooms all buılt ınto the sıde of a clıff hundreds of meters above a roarıng rıver. We pıcnıcked ın the mıst besıde the rıver and soon found ourselves a rıde all the way back to Trabzon.

We trıed our second kebab and loaded up on the amazıng fruıt of the regıon. Then headed on a 3 hour bus rıde to Aydar where we wıll be for two days.