Back online after two days in Wadi Rum at the Bedouin Lifestyle Camp in the South of Jordan, where there was no Internet connection, then left my backpack with my tablet in it there, while we drove on to Petra. I was able to reach Attallah, the camp director by phone, and he had it sent to our hotel here in Wadi Musa, the town next to Petra, the following day, yesterday. I felt very stupid not to have counted all my luggage before leaving the Camp, but I also felt lucky that this happened in a place where I could easily get it back. So it was a cheap lesson to be a bit calmer when leaving someplace in a hurry to get back on the road by a certain hour.
Our last day in Cappadocia I made an hour-long visit to the local Art and History Museum, which also advertised itself as a doll museum. It turns out it presents the history of Turkey through several hundred extremely well-made dolls, created over 30 years by the curator's mother. I have visited many local folk museums in my travels, and every one has been a delightful discovery. This one was no exception. When I asked curator Serkan Paydak why he didn't publicize more, he said the local hotels wouldn't accept his brochure--which turned out to feature only his beautiful accommodation rooms and not the doll collection! I promised to write about the place.
Walking back to the hotel, we checked out and then drove about 25 miles south to the Keslik Monastery archaeological site. A Dutch couple we had met at the hotel had recommended this as an oustanding hiking spot. I was suffering from a cold that had come on me as a result of eating too much of the wonderful home-made jams they served us at the Old Greek House the first morning we were there. These jams were an extension of the dried fruit culture that flourishes in Turkey like no place else. Entire shops are devoted to it. I couldn't resist, and now I was paying the price.
Undaunted, we followed a rather muddy path alongside magnificent 30-foot-high tent rocks about a mile in, until Barbara turned left to climb a rather steep embankment with uncertain footing on sandy soil with tufts of grass. We found our way to the top, about 50 feet off the ground, and were now looking down at the tent rocks. Across a gap about 300 yards away we noticed three people harvesting hay in a field as high as we were. We explored our elevated terrain, going up and down, thinking at one point that we had found a way down closer to our original starting point. In the process we discovered chambers hollowed out in the rock that seemed to be used mostly as dovecotes: rows of niches in the wall facing windows hewn out of the rock, straw on the floor. We had no idea how old they were.
Eventually we found our way down, only to discover that we were right back where we had first made the climb, so we had to walk the whole way back to the Monastery.
There Barbara worked on her writing, while I paid the 5 lira and visited the Monastery, falling in with a group of modern women (no headscarves, makeup), who turned out to be from Istanbul taking a vacation together. The Monastery dates from the Byzantine era, possibly the 11th Century, and is hewn out of the soft volcanic tuff stone that prevails in Cappadocia. It was actively used until the 1920s!
The Monastery curator was giving the tour himself--but it was in Turkish! No matter: he knew where the important figures were in the ceiling frescoes and shined his light on them. I had brought my headlamp and was able to get good photos--I never would have found so many on my own. One of the women was the editor of the weekend edition of an Istanbul newspaper and was interested in our trip; another was a travel agent who spoke French with me. I took a group photo of them where the light was particularly flattering.
Above the tent rocks
A fresco of Jesus illuminated by my headlamp
The five women from Istanbul, whose tour I listened in on--in Turkish
The Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk) doll, presiding over the signing of the independence of Turkey.
Curator Serkan Paydak of the Art and History Museum of Mustafapasha, left, with his mother, the artist who made all the dolls over a 30-year period, right, with their house helper, center.
Closeup of Mehmet II doll, the conqueror of Constantinople in May, 1453. Many Turks believe he acted benignly towards the civilian population. My sources say it was a bloodbath.
The litter of a Sultana. There a many wonderful ensemble scenes in the museum.
Our last day in Cappadocia I made an hour-long visit to the local Art and History Museum, which also advertised itself as a doll museum. It turns out it presents the history of Turkey through several hundred extremely well-made dolls, created over 30 years by the curator's mother. I have visited many local folk museums in my travels, and every one has been a delightful discovery. This one was no exception. When I asked curator Serkan Paydak why he didn't publicize more, he said the local hotels wouldn't accept his brochure--which turned out to feature only his beautiful accommodation rooms and not the doll collection! I promised to write about the place.
Walking back to the hotel, we checked out and then drove about 25 miles south to the Keslik Monastery archaeological site. A Dutch couple we had met at the hotel had recommended this as an oustanding hiking spot. I was suffering from a cold that had come on me as a result of eating too much of the wonderful home-made jams they served us at the Old Greek House the first morning we were there. These jams were an extension of the dried fruit culture that flourishes in Turkey like no place else. Entire shops are devoted to it. I couldn't resist, and now I was paying the price.
Undaunted, we followed a rather muddy path alongside magnificent 30-foot-high tent rocks about a mile in, until Barbara turned left to climb a rather steep embankment with uncertain footing on sandy soil with tufts of grass. We found our way to the top, about 50 feet off the ground, and were now looking down at the tent rocks. Across a gap about 300 yards away we noticed three people harvesting hay in a field as high as we were. We explored our elevated terrain, going up and down, thinking at one point that we had found a way down closer to our original starting point. In the process we discovered chambers hollowed out in the rock that seemed to be used mostly as dovecotes: rows of niches in the wall facing windows hewn out of the rock, straw on the floor. We had no idea how old they were.
Eventually we found our way down, only to discover that we were right back where we had first made the climb, so we had to walk the whole way back to the Monastery.
There Barbara worked on her writing, while I paid the 5 lira and visited the Monastery, falling in with a group of modern women (no headscarves, makeup), who turned out to be from Istanbul taking a vacation together. The Monastery dates from the Byzantine era, possibly the 11th Century, and is hewn out of the soft volcanic tuff stone that prevails in Cappadocia. It was actively used until the 1920s!
The Monastery curator was giving the tour himself--but it was in Turkish! No matter: he knew where the important figures were in the ceiling frescoes and shined his light on them. I had brought my headlamp and was able to get good photos--I never would have found so many on my own. One of the women was the editor of the weekend edition of an Istanbul newspaper and was interested in our trip; another was a travel agent who spoke French with me. I took a group photo of them where the light was particularly flattering.
Above the tent rocks
Inside Keslik Monastery
The five women from Istanbul, whose tour I listened in on--in Turkish
The Mustafa Kemal (Ataturk) doll, presiding over the signing of the independence of Turkey.
Curator Serkan Paydak of the Art and History Museum of Mustafapasha, left, with his mother, the artist who made all the dolls over a 30-year period, right, with their house helper, center.
The litter of a Sultana. There a many wonderful ensemble scenes in the museum.
After relaxing at the open-air cafe with the women from Istanbul, where the Monastery curator plied us with tea, Barbara and I drove the 40 miles back to Kayseri, where we had dinner in the food court of a very contemporary-looking mall, returned the car, and took the 9 pm bus back to Istanbul. The fast-food restaurant we chose at the food court served us a delicious Turkish dinner of kebabs, humus and a form of tabouleh salad with a tasty seasoning that was new to me. This fast-food chain has not reached the New World yet.
We did our best to sleep on the bus, arriving at the Istanbul Otogar (bus depot) after a seemingly interminable drive through the monotonous urban sprawl of the city during morning rush hour. Our plane didn't leave until 2:30, but we didn't have enough time to run back to the historical district to see the Archaeological Museum we had missed on Wednesday.
The two-hour flight on Royal Jordanian Airlines (they couldn't have called it Air Jordan, since this is too close to the athletic shoe) was a delight. We received a full dinner--unheard of on such a short flight on airlines based in the US, and arrive on time at the Amman airport, where we changed money (the Jordanian dinar is worth about $1.43 or more, depending on where you exchange it) so we could pay our 40 dinar visa fee (!), which had recently doubled, we were told. We caught a cab to the Mariam hotel in nearby Madaba, a town that's closer to the airport than Amman, for our single night before picking up our car and heading for Wadi Rum in the south of the country, about 4 hours away.
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