THE END OF YOUR LIFE BOOK CLUB

The  weather here has turned.  Clear skies have given way to gray.  The cloud cover blankets the sky. Some  days the sky is streaked with thin wispy clouds and patches of blue sky . Other days, the clouds boil up from the horizon, sometimes white and sometimes edged in steel gray. They roll out to  the edges of the landscape like  lumpy batting tumbling out of a threadare quilt.

Today, I sat home alone.  There is no sky. Instead, a soupy haze of gray has enveloped the apartment building. No form or shape is visible from the many windows which look out onto the city.  The wind is furious as it lashes againt the worn sashes of the window and door frames.  The pelting rain knocks persistently at the kitchen window.

I am lying on the  couch, a comforter pulled up to my chin, feeling impossibly sad.  I have spent most of the day reading.  I have several books open at once; THE SOUL's JOURNEY, THE MAGIC OF REALITY, U-TURN and THE UNDERCOVER ECONOMIST.  None has been working for me.  So the other day I downloaded Will Schwalbe's THE END OF YOUR LIFE BOOK CLUB.  Today was the perfect day to finish it off.  I am not sure why I decided to sample it.  The premise is depressing. A  mother is diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in her early seventies.  She and her adult son form a book club of sorts, using books, poetry and short stories as a way to deepen their relationship with one another. Reading is a common passion they share.  Their books  unlock memories, stir controvery and awake consciousness.  The books they read togeher  provide the scaffolding for  intimate discussions that bring you into the bosom of this extraordinary woman and her family. As Will reflects on his mother's values, her accomplishments and the causes which she has championed, you can't help but wish that you had been in her circle of friends. It is an impressive circle.  She keeps company with artisits, educators, writers, political dowloades, refugees, students and scholars. She travels to forsaken war ravaged corners of the world, working  tirelessly to improve the lot of refugees. She has a longstanding marriage that ai close, but not smothering.  She is a doting grandmother and the architect of family celebrations.

This is the woman I had hoped to be.  Don't get me wrong.  It's not that I want to be exactly like In many ways, we are not that different.)   And it's not that I am unhappy with my life.  I am blessed. (Afterall, I have a  loving husband, three wonderful children, three healthy grandkids and a beautiful home in one of the prettiest towns in America.  I have seen  much of the world.  I have had a full career, plenty of hobbies and most important, good health.)

 But had I done a better job of it, I would have lived closer to my values. I would have been less fearful, bolder, with a stonger voice.  I would have accomplished more, with less stress.   I would have spoken out when I disagreed rather than trying to keep the peace.   Had I done that, I think all of my relationships would have been strengthened. I believe my family would be closer. Perhaps more than anything, I envied this woman the closeness she shared with her children and grandchildren. And the closeness they shared amongst each other.

I learned much from this book.  I related to Mary Ann's deep appreciation for other people's talents and the humility with she embraced her role as an audience member rather than star player.  I was reminded why my thirst for reading is insatiable and the many ways in which reading has enriched my own life.  I was reminded of my own mother, how much I love her and how much I would miss her if she were to die....in fact, how  much I would miss any of the people I love should they die.  I wondered about the legacy I will leave behind when my number is up. As Will said, " we are all dying."   So in the meantime, I plan to make a concerted effort to live well, and live closer to the beliefs and values that I hope will enrich my remaining years.  Surely books will still be a big part of that life (thanks to Will and Mary Ann my list of must-reads has grown substantially), but hopefully there will be so much more....and hopefully the sun will come out tomorrow!

YEAH OBAMA!

We watched Obama's acceptance speech around 9:00 in the morning as we sipped our daily Starbucks! It was 1:35 AM in Chicago.  I thought about staying up last night to track the voting results, (I am fascinated by John King's computerized play things) but faded a little after midnight.  It was probably better to wake up and get the news fresh.  At least that's how it felt to me!

We are lucky enought to get several English speaking news programs here (Bloomberg, CNN, BBC, Al Jazeera, EuroNews).  For weeks the US election had been center stage on all of them.   It is interesting to see how closely the rest of the world follows US politics, especially since Americans seem oblivious to most events outside their borders. International opinion clearly favored Obama and we too breathed a sigh of relief as news of his re-election swept the air-waves.   And even if you hate his politics ( I hate  to admit that my own family claims a few of those) you have to love his skill as an orator!

I will say, however, that the election process itself looks even more absurd from a distance.  How do you make a meaningful decision based on soundbites and marketing manipulation. When will someone figure out how to educate the American public on the facts, strip the sensationalism from the campaign process, and stop spewing meaningless rhetoric about a few emotionally charged issues? Perhaps a new Ted Turner will step forward and create a real news channel...one that digs deep, and shys away from the constant  repetition of a few headlines news stories interrupted by a constant steam of teasers and commercials for other shows that never deliver on their tauted promises. Isn't it time to walk away from the copycat format driving TV news? Doesn't anyone have the balls to strike out and try something different?

Nevertheless, it was certainly more meaningful to observe and celebrate the US democratic process from  our perspective as expats.  While  Turkey is a relatively Westernized country, with a very well educated,  liberal minded upper and upper middle class, it is clear that their free thinking has been hard won and is confined to those whi can afford a private education.  This is something I realize I have taken for granted and now better appreciate.   America is truly a state of mind; a free thinking mind that is endlessly curious and questioning.  We truly are a country that embraces diversity, encourages dissent and counts among its heros the rebels and upstarts that bring innovation and change forward.  That is not the really the case in much of the world. Obama's words rang truer as we listened from our couch in Ankara than they might have in our living room at home.

And while I love living abroad, there really is no place like home.

WILD MOUSE

Growing up near the Jersey Shore offered a seasonal opportunity to seek out thrills at the many carnival rides that dotted the boardwalks up and down the coast.  Early on, our Dad would have to accompany us on the scrambler and coasters, since my mother had zero tolerance for the dizzying spin and flashing lights of the amusement park.  But there came a time when we reached the height threshold for independence, and one of the first rides I took as a solo rider, was on the WILD MOUSE. It was a rickety contraption that sat precariously at the end of a pier, looking over the endless black mirror of the Atlantic Ocean.  It was a roller-coaster of sorts, but instead of the rounded hills and valleys and rolling curves of most coasters, THE WILD MOUSE was all angles and ninety-degree turns. You didn't travel in a train of links cars, but instead  piloted  through its maze in a bullet shaped single cart, that accentuated your vulnerability.  The awkward gears clunked loudly as you made its steep ascent, and then before plunging you into darkness, it would jerk you through a series of neck whipping turns.  The car barely seemed supported by the length of the track, and its rounded nose would inch out over the end of the scaffolding before the entire car would snap to the right or left and speed downhill. 

The architect of the WILD MOUSE, must have been the same one commissioned to build Turkey's underground parking garages. I used to think that the parking garages in NYC posed a navigational challenge.  By comparison, Ankara makes the access to a Kenny parking garages seem as wide as a California freeway. The down ramps are so steep that you lose sight of the road beneath you as you descend.  The turns are so tight that you have less than an inch of clearance on either side as you try to ease into the underground labyrinth. The walls are rainbow striped with the the multi-hued colors of the hundreds of cars that have attempted to scraped by but failed to do so without giving up a piece of themselves.  Dim lighting makes it difficult to find the directional signs that are  posted randomly.  Huge cement foundation pillars form a tight fisted grid that makes it impossible to ease into or out of individual parking spots.  The lanes between the the parking spots are narrow and barely able to make room for one car , but Turkish drivers try to wedge past each other anyway. Stuck on an exit ramp, with nary a quater inch of leeway to make the turn toward daylight, visions of the WILD MOUSE drifted into my consciousness.  Of course, at nine, I was seeking an adrenaline rush.  At fifty-nine, I just wanted to park the car without filing an insurance claim. 

LAST STOP, ALANYA

As we rolled into our final destination, The  rocky promontory in Alanya  which juts out from the Turkish Riviera, was bathed in the orange and purple light of the setting sun.  From a distance you could see the medieval castle walls that laced around and across the peninsula. Human settlements dating back as many as 20,000 years have been found in the caves surrounding Alanya, but the castle and its 140 towers date back to 700 BC, a fortification against pirates and marauding conquerors. It has been home to Hittites, Greeks, Romans, The Byzantine, Seljuks and Ottomans.  Cleopatra Beach is rumored to have been bequeathed to the famous Egyptian queen as part of her dowry from Mark Anthony. Today, it is a retirement mecca for Northern Europeans.  The turquoise sea laps at the long wide beaches stretching out on either side of the peninsula.  Mountains stand guard on the north flank. It was breathtaking.  

It appears that Alanya is developing according to a plan, unlike other Turkish cities which seem to be trying to overcome chaos.  For the most part, the hotels and apartment buildings under construction appeared to constrained by western-style building regulations.  We travelled along a road grid that was at least partially understandable. A broad corniche extended for miles, decorated with gardens, fountains, parks and cafes. It was one of the most attractive seaside towns we have encountered. Clearly, the folks from Scandinavia agree, as more than 10,000 of them make their home here.

Antalya was a beautiful end to our Mediterranean meanderings.  We toured the castle and old town at sunset.  The only glitch was was the access road.  You guessed it. ...another passage too narrow to accommodate the crush of tourists.  By the time we reached the pinnacle, we were tired from holding our breath.  And at the half way point on the way down, we sat for 20 minutes while a double decker tour bus tried to push its way through a skinny bottleneck in the road.  After 9 days in the mountain ranges fringing the Mediterranean, we had exhausted our tolerance for driving.

For the next two days, we stayed in a huge hotel at the far end of the eastern beach, which sat high on a hill overlooking the whole eastern shore of the city. While the hotel interior was a little worn from overuse, the outside amenities more than compensated for the threadbare towels.  The night of our arrival we took a poolside table on the deck overlooking the harbor.  Live entertainment and free drinks were part of the package. We sipped contentedly, enjoying the the distant lights and the moonlight dancing on Mediterranean. The singing and dancing  continued well past our own midnight curfew.

We spent the day lounging on the seaside deck, diving off the platform  and swimming in the aqua stillness of the sea.  A little shopping, a good meal and a premier league soccer at the sports bar brought our vacation to an end.  We were ready.

Ready, except for the drive home...6 hours to Ankara, and you guessed again...the first three hours were over and  through those damn Taurus mountains.  On the map, it was marked as a highway....lets just say that that terminology  exaggerated its functionality.  Perhaps we should have flown, but then think of all the adventures we might have missed.  For now, we are glad to be back in Ankara!

SUICIDAL SELGE

The florid sunrise heralded another day of rest.  We swam in the  warm but choppy waters at the foot of the Antalya cliffs. Like albino sea lions, we lounged with the other hotel guests on the terraced decks of our hotel.  In the late afternoon, we strolled the sidewalks of Antalya and  at night we drank tea under the moonlight in the stone alleyway of old town.  We were thankful for the day of leisure, because the next day we headed south to Anlanya, with a planned stop in Selge.( Truthfully, I planned, and Nabil reluctantly agreed. He had had enough of mountain trekking already).

Maps can be deceiving.  So can road signs.  A large brown highway marker announced our exit (we have come to rely on these because they are  consistently used  to lead folks to the treasure trove of attractions throughout Turkey),noting that Selge was another 55 kilometers.  We relaxed as a glance at the map and the voice of our Tom-Tom confirmed our route.

It would be the last relaxing moment of the next 5 hours.  After a few miles on a strait-away, we made a left turn onto a country road, that quickly began climbing and snaking through  the foothills of the Taurus Mountains in Koprülü Canyon National Park.  Again, we found ourselves bracing on the blind curves and fighting nausea from the dizzying views.  What had seemed like a short distance, now seemed interminable, despite the beauty surrounding us.  We climbed higher and higher and finally found another marker for the the canyon, which was not only a planned way point, but also the only way through to Selge.

Gravel gave way to dirt and the road narrowed as we leaned into a sharp curve.  Then it narrowed even more, as the walls of the canyon grew up around us.  There was barely an inch of clearance on either side of the car as we rounded another corner and inched our way across a stone bridge. Comically, this was a two-way road. Nearly a dozen cars were  waiting for us to pass so they could cross. The view point for the canyon offered a glimpse into a brilliant aquamarine river pooling at the base of steeping granite cliffs. The rock walls were decorated with long-needled pines and aspens whose autumn gold leaves fluttered in the soft breeze.  A handsome young Turk tried to sell us on a boat trip.  I was game, but Nabil was clearly losing patience and insisted we stay on plan and push on to Selge.  The river guide offered to jump in the car with us, to lead us through Selge, a strange offer which should have set off warning bells.  We chalked it up to overly aggressive salesmanship and climbed back into the car.

If the first leg of the trip was daunting, the second seemed suicidal. It was another 14 kilometers to Selge, but it felt like 140.  We dangled over cliffs on hairpin turns with no guard rails and scraped by boulders.  Donkeys and goats grazed on the shoulder, occasionally step out of bounds and forcing a quick maneuver to avoid killing the interloper.  With barely enough room for one car to ascend , we shared the road with passing cars that seemed to materialize out of thin air.  We climbed higher and higher into the mountain wilderness, with no sign of human habitation.  The dramatic views sucked the air from our gut.

Finally, we saw the ramshackle village of Altinkaya nested in the undulating hills at the crest of the mountain.  In the distance, scattered on the far left were the faint outlines of the monumental city ruins.  We thought we had arrived, but looks can be deceiving. Not a single sign announced our arrival and nothing marked the way to the site. We blindly bounced up and down through the rutted village roads, dead-ending  at animal closures and garden gates. On one pass, we asked for directions, and a young boy eagerly offered to jump in the car and act as our "representative" .  Again, this should have been a wake up call, but we are either supremely stubborn or naive, and didn't get the signal.

Without really knowing where we were or what to do, we pulled into a narrow patch of low lying weeds and before we could ask for directions, three young boys eagerly waived us out of the car and up a mountain pass. They didn't speak English ( we kicked ourselves for not bringing along the other "representative" who spoke beautifully) but enthusiastically joined us, pointing the way to the now visible ruins of Selge.  Nabil stridently pushed ahead with boys in tow, a subtle message that he was not enjoying our adventure.  I took up the rear, enjoying the views despite the obstacles we had overcome to get here.

As I walked, three peasant women ambled onto the path and struck up a conversation with me.  Their broken English was charming and unexpected.  Self-taught guides, Uma, Sina and Ashe glued themselves to my side,  sharing snippets about themselves, their children and the ruins of Selge.  Weathered by age, isolation and poverty these scrappers maneuvered like mountain goats.  Sure-footed they literally scampered over the rocks, while I wheezed and struggled to stay upright. With only a few teeth left in their broad smiles, they helped steady me on the steep climb. Deep wrinkles winked in their animated faces as they led me to a rest stop on the stone stadium seats of the remains of the Selge theater.

And then the selling started.  The women and the boys all pulled out small satchels jammed with cheap souvenir items, each hawking their wears with desperate eagerness.  They fingered their merchandise, displaying choice pieces priced at 5, 10 and 20 lira. I had no cash, and tried to explain that I wasn't interested, but they were relentless.  Instead of dispersing, they continued to pick their way through the rubble with us, occasionally pulling out their wares and making another plea for consideration.  By now I was overwhelmed with guilt.  Nabil had left me in the dust to contend with the harpies.

It took us about an hour to hike the mountain and survey the remains of this Roman city.  The village posse stuck with us the whole time. Despite, the beauty of the setting, it was hard to conceive of anyone wanting to settle in this remote inhospitable terrain.  It was obvious that the Altinkaya residents were struggling to eke out an existence.  The predecessor city of Selge clearly did a better job of overcoming natural obstacles, but eventually it too was beaten down by the challenges of a city site ill-suited to communal success.

When we finally stopped at a clearing near the end of the foot path, the  hawking intensified.  I pleaded with Nabil to make some token purchases, in part, feeling a responsibility to make a small contribution to the struggling economy of the village and in part, to thank them for their guidance.  (Though I must say, it would have been more enjoyable to take in the sights without being pestered by guilt).

Unfortunately, neither of us had our wallets with us and Nabil had only 50 lira in his pocket to split with six people.  We had no small change.  A heated debate ensued as the woman brandished the scarves I had chosen ( but really didn't need or want) as to who deserved what.  The boys also argued for their share as "lead guides".  We finally settled on a 15-10-10 split for the women  and asked the boys to split the remaining 15 lira between them.  One of the women made change, clearly more skilled as a merchant than the others. Incensed by their perceived unfairness of the spilt, the  boys stomped off, while the women carved up their booty and headed home to cook for their families.

We trudged back to the car, with Nabil far ahead and fuming. He had anticipated that our troubles were not yet over and he was right.  The boys had  lodged their complaint with their family, and now their parents and grandparents stood defiantly in the path to our car, arms folded and jaws set as they chastised us for not fairly compensating their sons.  Harsh words were exchanged though neither side really understand the others language.  Nabil overturned his empty pockets, threw down his remaining change and stomped off in anger. A momentary panic overtook us as we imagined the boys retaliating by sabotaging our vehicle. Question like, "How would we get out?" and "Who would find us?" swamped our imagination.

We found the car unharmed, climbed in and headed back out through the village to the mountain pass.  It was a tense and long descent.  I had been titillated  by the "authentic" experience, but Nabil was not buying into my quest. He was spent.

The return to the highway was long, but less challenging than the ascent.  Along the way, I spotted a restaurant by the rushing river and encouraged Nabil to stop for a bite to eat.  The restaurant was crude, but spotlessly clean.  The setting was magical.  After taking our order, the waiter scrambled down the bank of the river to pull our fish from a holding tank, where he killed, cleaned and grilled it.  Delicious.  We languished over a cup of tea, watching rafters paddle down the river and listening to the gentle rush of water spilling over the rocks.    The tension eased, life was good.

By late afternoon, we were back on the highway to Alanya, my newly acquired scarves fluttering on the back seat. The scarves aren't worth much but the memory of Selge is priceless.

SIDE BY THE SEA

After a day of rest in Antalya ( not really, because we walked the old town for hours, shopping at the antique stalls and snapping photos), on Thursday we decided to head east to SIDE (pronounced Sedah).  It was an easy and pleasant drive.  From the highway you could see the endless march of mega hotels that had sprouted up along the long coastline, many designed to hold 2-3000 guests.   Elaborate pools, water-parks and amusements poked through the skyline in an attempt to lure motorists into the lobbies of these Las Vegas like monoliths.

About an hour south, we took the SIDE exit. The weather was overcast, the sky and sea both gray.   The sea level road (yeah!) wound through an unremarkable town. We stopped at an equally unremarkable cafe and had a mediocre coffee and cheese pastry.  We geared ourselves up for disappointment.

Another mile or so down the road, we rounded a bend and the ruins of SIDE spread out before us in an incredible  display of stone walls and monuments. Reaching for a mile or more in  all directions, tumbling down to the sea, the remains of this seaside metropolis boggled the imagination.    No disappointment here.  Just amazement.  The ruins were sprawling, with many roads still well articulated. The theater, temples, baths and a hospital were all in remarkably good shape.  A modern corniche encircled the harbor.  The main shopping bazaar sliced through the ancient harbor thoroughfare. At the end of the road stood the remains of the Apollo and Athena  temples.  Throngs of tourists clustered at the base of the pillars while the surf lapped a the marble paving stones.

The Roman baths had been converted into a small museum with some notable relics, but nothing extraordinary.  The better part of the day was spent hiking the side roads and byways of the old city, and hike we did.  As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, we ate at a seaside cafe. the food and the view were both good, but not better than  the opportunity to get off our feet.  Before heading back to Antalya, we snagged some well priced leather goods and a few gifts for our friends back at the hotel.

PHASELIS...

Another cloudy day so, we headed southwest from Antalya, hugging the coast line and marveling at the views. Steep mountains emptying into the turquoise sea, freckled with large rock outcroppings.  Evergreens scented the air, while late blooming fall flowers spilled over window boxes and trellises.

The turn-off for Phaselis was about 45 minutes away and down (yes, a welcome change in direction!) a gradually sloping road through a pine forest to the edge of the sea.  The Lycian city is nested in cove encircled by three beautiful harbors. The aqueduct still stands like a guardian at the edge of the sea, creating a magnificent arched view through to the ocean.  The salt and sea have done a number on the buildings.  Little remains in tact.  However, the grounds are well marked and the city layout is clearly identified.  Most remarkable were the number of pediment bases lining the main street that leads from one end of the harbor to the next.  Standing at regular intervals along the walk, the bases are  etched with ancient accolades to the politicians and sportsmen whose accomplishments have long outlived them.  Wrestling was prominently featured, and we had a few good laughs about our own family's involvement with the sport.  Maybe in another time, the El-Hag wrestling dynasty would have been celebrated in carved marble. At least Nabil imagined that would be the case!

We spent a short time walking the grounds and much longer mesmerized by a fisherman tossing his line ( no pole, just a line)  out and then pull it in with two to three small sardines hanging onto the bread soaked hooks.  We watched a few brave swimmers leap from their boats into the water, some of whom swam to a landing dock not far from our rock perch. The water was warm, but the air chilly.  We waited for the sun, but it did not come, so ordered a cappuccino from the lone food stall near the parking lot.

On our way back, we took the Kemer exit and found ourselves in a small village that is predominantly populated by Scandinavian  expats.  We ate on the terrace of a small but lovely restaurant owned by a Turkish entrepreneur who spent 10 years training in the food business with Royal Caribbean Cruise Line.  He gave us the low down on living in The Antalya area, strongly encouraging us and any serious vacationer to consider booking at the small outlying towns that had sprung up along the east and west shores.  Sated on freshly grilled fish and organic greens, we walked the Kemer bazaar, buying a suitcase ( how will cart all our purchases back home?) and a pair of walking sandals (as you might imagine, we are hard on shoes!).

We returned to Antalya just as the sun broke through the clouds.  Dinner with friends capped off the day.