Ode to Streetfood: Part II

Pistachio and raspberry dondurma (Turkish ice cream that you can cut with a knife) and Arden. Kadıköy. 

Antiques that I love: Bebek

One day, when it's not illegal to bring back to the U.S., I will buy this mirror for myself.

If it's the beaches

Illica beach, outside of Çeşme, Turkey. Completely deserted in March, which made it completely perfect.

Patriarchal Church of St. George (the mother ship, people)

Magic does exist

... In Türkiye.
After a wonderfully warm day in Efes, we took a two lira bus up the side of a mountain to Şirince, a small town famous for its fruit wines. We had a delicious Turkish meal while the sun set over the mountains. Catherine was oddly amazed by the black and white goats playing in a field on a nearby mountain (she's from New York City, I have no other explanation... also she supports interracial relationships). After dinner we frolicked about the tiny town and Melissa and I bought flower crowns from an adorable babushka weaving them on the street. Maybe the flowers went to our head (HA! Get it?), but when we discovered the town's backstreets lined with the most picturesque cottages, we somehow convinced ourselves that we were characters in a Turkish fairy tale. 

I'm still convinced.                   

Ode to Street Food: Part I

Kabob sandwich, Sultanahmet. Photo courtesy of Tim Simeone 

Efes (not the beer)

The most beautiful place I have ever seen. Your feet felt ancient just by walking on its soil. This wasn't a museum, it was alive and breathing. An ancient Greek city, which was second in size only to Rome itself during the Roman period. Originally home to the Celsus Library, whose front wall still stands, and the Temple of Artemis (completed in 550 B.C.), one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, before it was destroyed in 401 A.D. Ancient, ancient, ancient. I've never seen so many ancient things in my life.

“I have set eyes on the wall of lofty Babylon on which is a road for chariots, and the statue of Zeus by the Alpheus, and the hanging gardens, and the colossus of the Sun, and the huge labour of the high pyramids, and the vast tomb of Mausolus; but when I saw the house of Artemis that mounted to the clouds, those other marvels lost their brilliancy, and I said, “Lo, apart from Olympus, the Sun never looked on aught so grand.” - Antipater of Siden

not chic in the least

The other day I walked through Cihangir, a charming little neighborhood with great antiques and such. Let me emphasize the fact that this is a neighborhood (aka I was the only non-Turkish person in sight). I should also preface this story by saying that it's extremely rare to see someone eating on the street in Turkey. It's considered rude, and is therefore a dead giveaway for tourists. So, I'm strolling through the back streets of this trendy section of town, attempting to look cool even though my jacket covers my skirt and therefore I look like I have no pants on. But, I'm hungry (naturally), so I grab a simit (basically challah bread off the street) and am eating quickly so that I won't embarrass myself for too long. People are definitely starting to notice and stare (oh my God the staring here...). A nearby school get's let out and packs of 12 year old girls looking uber-mature and smoking cigarettes pass me by as I am covered in bread crumbs and shoving simit into my mouth. Alone. Did I mention I was lost at this point?

Turkish women (or in this case, prepubescent girls) have a way of making you feel like you just crawled out of an ugly swamp. It's a special power they have. The secret is hidden somewhere in their perfectly styled hair, naturally beautiful coloring, or high heels worn in the middle of the afternoon.

Next time, I'll put down the simit and pick up a hair brush.