Week Fifty-Seven

The morning starts with an argument: actually, the morning starts with me getting up just after 08.00 ready for a busy day trying to fit in three sites. This is followed by Milla getting up, then Milla pottering around half-asleep, then Milla making herself a long breakfast, then Milla finally getting ready to leave. We get out at 09.45, which is an hour later than we yesterday agreed we had to, so we've managed to start behind schedule.

All three sites lie south of Selcuk along the Meander river (that would be the one which gave us the verb): Priene and Miletus were indigenous Carian sites before the Greeks arrived. Miletus rose to fame as the most powerful city of the Ionian League, founding colonies and doing other typically Greek stuff, while Didyma became famous for its Oracle (second only to Delphi). They came under Lydian control (or influence), then became Persion until Alexander (Miletus made the mistake of standing against him), were Hellenistic for a bit longer (under Pergamon) and like everything else around here then went Roman-Byzantine-Turkish. The moral of all this history is that they're something of a set.
They lie off the coastal road south and, since the inland route now has a big toll-road bypassing Selcuk, that means about any south-heading bus will take us in the right direction. We flag down the first passing bus from Izmir, and it takes us to Soke - Soke bus station is pretty small, but the adjacent minibus and dolmus station is extensive. Thankfully all the stances are clearly marked, and it's no time at all before we're en route for Priene. The site is the last stop on this run, and we're dropped amid a little cluster of tourist stalls: we have our morning coffee overlooking a little fish pond and fork out on a little guidebook covering all three sites. After that we discover that this isn't the site entrance at all, just the dolmus stop: there's a little carpark bu the ticket office 500m up the hill. Priene is an early example of the grid-plan street layout introduced by Hippodamus, later copied in Athens and eventually inherited by the Romans (among the most boring things they're known for). That gives the impression that Priene is somehow flat and organised - in actual fact it's imprinted on the side of a steep hill and is reasonably chaotic.

The modern path in leads to one corner of the agora, but we detour and go uphill a block first: our first notable building is a Temple to Egyptian Gods (Isis, Serapis and Anubis), who were clearly in vogue during Classical times. There's not a lot there now, except a convenient toilet stop (I'm trying to piss of gods from every religion), so we press on to the impressive theatre. The upper cavea is just rubble now, but the lower seats and the seats of honour are well-preserved: there's an altar to Dionysus in the middle. Just across the street is an old church, again interesting because it shows that transitional process from Hellenistic temple to Orthodox church. It started off with a colonnaded nave and a little courtyard, but eventually migrated to the curved end, nave, narthex arrangement: even in it's last incarnation, though, the pulpit was in the middle.

Naturally, as we've seen before, the Christian church was built right next to the nearest major temple - in this case the Temple of Athena, a block away. Built on an artificial terrace formed with a retaining wall (part of which has since collapsed, leaving large chunks of white marble columns strewn across the slopes below, it has about the best site in Priene. There's an impressive line of re-assembled columns, and the rest of the layout is quite visible as well: we head further uphill after looking round some of the impressive carved marble pieces littering the area. Heading upwards, which may have been straightforward when the gridplan roads were in place, becomes something of a hike and would have been better attempted with a machete. Despite this, we eventually emerge at the little Temple of Core and Demeter: it's fairly dull, but has great views down the hill, and has an impressive basin to one side for pouring the sacrificial blood into (large enough for a lot of blood).

We find a goat trail back down the hill to the theatre, and then head on to the extensive (75m x 35m) agora which we bypassed earlier. The sides were colonnaded, of course, and it intersected the main street (the one that led to the temple): along the uphill side is the Buleuterion, or council debating chamber, well-preserved but unusual in that it's square (they're normally semi-circular). Next door was a building (and courtyard) for housing civil servants and visitors. Naturally at one end of the agora is a temple of Zeus, in this case part of an Asklepion complex - the Byzantines built a castle on top of this one.

We take a longish trek further along the main road, admiring the now-visible plumbing system as well as the state of the roads: there's a lot of large villas with courtyards here, including one where Alexander stayed briefly while on the way to storm Miletus. The locals later turned it into a temple to him (crawlers). After that, we reckon we've pretty much seen Priene except for the stadium and a gymnasum further down the hill: the steeper parts of the original road network seem to have been swept away over the centuries, and there's no real way down except going back to the gate and then round. Just as we decide that, of course, a Turkish family group scrambles down the slope opposite: lacking either velcro shoes or Mountain Goat ancestry, we elect not to try and follow them.

We've spent about 4 hours in Priene (the original tour options would have given us 1.5 hours) which means we've only got time for one other city: we have to skip either Miletus or Didyma. On the basis that it's only got one building (the temple), and it's further from where we are, Didyma gets the thumbs down. So - it's off to Miletus: or rather it's not. We return to the tourist stalls, but the only travel option from there is a dolmus back to Soke. On the basis that it's only about 12-15km away, we start walking towards Miletus. After a kilometre or so, a guy in a white pick-up stops for us: he's really decent and takes us right into the site (it's off the road), but we didn't talk at all. Normally you can pick up a word or two from drivers' opening lines, and that forms the basis of a conversation of sorts - in this case, however, his opening line was pure gobbledegook. Ah well.

The obvious remnant in Miletus, on your approach, is the Roman theatre - built into the side of a hill, it's very well preserved both in terms of the seats and also the access and entry passages which honeycomb the substructure. We clamber through them (there are little sculptures and inscriptions all over the place) and eventually emerge at the top: from here, you used to be able to see all of Miletus' four harbours - now they're all silted up, and the sea is kilometres away, but you can still see the approximate shape of the old coastline. There are the remains of a later Byzantine castle at the top (and views of rural life - people leading goats and cows through the ruins), and down the other side are the remains of the "Lion Harbour". Ironically, due presumably to the rains of the last few days, the whole site is now partially flooded, including a large pool where the harbour used to be.

We trek over the harbour, walking up the middle of where the water used to be, but can't see any sign of the carved lions after which this harbour was named. The circular pedestal of the old harbour monument, which used to stand right at the water's edge, is now also ironically flooded, but looks even better with the reflections. Following the old harbour wall we come to the start of the old "Sacred Way" - the road that used to run all the way from Miletus to the oracle at Didyma. Again, ironically, the road itself is now underwater - there are millions of tadpoles swimming above the old flagstones, and there are some fish in the old Delphinium Temple (to Apollo in his dolphin guise) at its start - which implies that the flooding in that building at least is longer term.

There's a line of buildings along the Sacred Way, but not enough remaining to get any idea of what they were or what they looked like: an old mosque, a colonnaded road, a few niches left from a Nymphaeum (tall "fountain" decorated with statues of . . . yep, nymphs). On the opposite side is the Buleuterion, not as well-preserved as in Priene, and then the Sacred Way enters the large agora of ancient Miletus - now a fairly impenetrable field. Our last two stops, as it begins to get darker, are the small Temple of Serapis (yes, everywhere seems to have had one), and the solid and still impressive Roman Baths of Faustina (that would be Faustina, wife of Marcus Aurelius), the walls of which are still 15m high in places. Climbing up from the baths brings us pretty much back ot the theatre where we started.

We ask around the few remaining stallhalders (all the tour group buses and hire cars are gone, and the ticket office is long-closed) and they are all convinced that there's no such thing as a dolmus from Miletus to anywhere. Instead we get offers of a taxi - no thanks. Our best option appears to be to somehow make our way to a place called Akkoy, which is apparently nearby, from which we should be able to catch something to Soke. We walk up the site access road and turn south, joining a small stream of seasonal cotton-pickers returning from the fields (there's cotton all over this area, and about now seems to be harvest time). They all seem to be living locally, or in lines of (mostly blue) tents pitched along the sides of the fields - so that doesn't help us.
A couple of kilometres from the site entrance, we reach the little village of Balat: there's nothing happening here, but we find a couple of locals to accost - they concur that there are no bus or dolmus services running (except the local taxi driver, who's quite eager that we travel with him). They also agree that Akkoy (pronounced halfway between Akkuh and French Acceuil) is a much better bet. Milla doesn't feel up to walking the estimated 5km, but we start off anyway and soon flag down a lift before leaving Balat (which is quite impressive, considering that Balat's only got 100 or so houses). Akkoy turns out to be not much bigger, and our lift drops us in the little square. The local shopkeeper (there only seems to be one) reckons there's a Didyma-Soke bus every twenty minutes until late evening - we thank him by buying some biscuits and, fifteen minutes later, are on the way to Soke. We head west, into the setting sun and past lots more itinerant cotton-pickers and their tents.
It's mid-evening by now, and we're prepared for a long wait, but there turns out to be an Izmir-bound coach waiting. We jump on and, almost before we know it, are back in Selcuk - all for less than 20 million, rather than the 25 million each which the tour companies had quoted us. Excellent, and a success, even though we didn't get to one-buildinged Didyma.

After so many ruins, I feel I have to start a Ruins Scale separate from the normal Places Scale (which is essentially how much I'd like to stay in a place - not really relevent with ruins). Previously visited sites come in with Athens Acropolis at 3/10, Corinth at 1/10, Delphi at 2/10, Pompei at 8/10, Mystras at 4/10. From this Turkish leg, Troy gets 4/10, Assos 3/10, Pergamon Acropolis 5/10 and Asklepion 2/10, Izmir gets 1/10, Sardis 2/10 and now Priene 4/10 and Miletus 5/10.

Here we are in Selcuk, easy walking distance from Ephesus (perhaps the best site in Turkey) and we're still not going there - we're off to little-known Aphrodisias (on a tributary of the Meander) today. And tomorrow, Pamukkale. This sounds bizarre, but there's a logic to our lunacy - we feel we can control the timing of an on-foot Ephesus visit much better, so we're leaving it until our last day in Selcuk when we'll have to catch a bus out in the evening.

There's a guy in the bus station who pesters us every time we're there: his prices are better than everyone else's, so we decide to bite the bullet and catch one of "his" buses to Nazilli. Nazilli is inland, the last major stop before the turn-off to Aphrodisias from the main road to Denizle and the obvious place to catch something (and recommended by Tourist Information). His bus turns out not to be his at all - he takes us outside the bus station and we catch someone else's passing bus (some cash changes hands): it's not exactly a luxury coach (most of our bus transport falls into that league so far), but rather a more normal bus. We're less than impressed (especially Milla, who picks up two insect bites) but hey - it gets us there. Even better, at Nazilli there's a minibus waiting and about to leave - apparently for Aphrodisias (in large letters) but actually involving a change in some god-forsaken place called Karacasu (in small letters).
We pull out of Nazilli (population 100,000; bit of a dump; good place to buy tractors) along the main road, pass through the insignificant little town of Atca (it has a large sign which boldly proclaims "Turkey's Paris is Atca - highlights appear to include a large metal strawberry) and eventually turn south on a side road. Actually, as with most dolmus, it takes forever to get out of the starting town because of the seemingly infinite and random 100-metre stops which it makes to pick up more people. Anyway, after a while on the up-and-down minor road, we pull into Karacasu and the driver ushers us onto another waiting dolmus.
We wait, get off, have a cigarette, wait, look around, wait, eventually start but only drive round the centre and return to our starting point, wait, have another cigarette - apparently we're all waiting for one person who said he'd take the dolmus. Eventually we set off, and fifteen minutes later, after the dirt-track road in and out of Geyre (the nearest village) we're dropped at the site car-park (there are a handful of coaches and some cars). The 2 million dolmus fare seems like a bit of a rip-off (we waited 40 minutes), but the site ticket office is even more of a financial surprise - 2,500,000 even with our ISIC cards and that doesn't include the little museum! Well, having made it here we're not going to miss it so we fork out the money and head in, stopping to buy a coffee and a little map/guide (the site looked extensive from the approach road) on the way.

We approach via a small hill, actually (as at Troy) the remains of multiple Bronze and Iron Age settlements (dating back to 6000BC if you believe the literature), into which the Roman theatre was sculpted (they hollowed out the hill, rather than just building against it). The theatre is well-preserved, though not as well so as at Miletus: more interesting are the buildings at its base - a huge temple complex (the Sebasteion) which has lots of columns standing, and the Theatre Baths and Theatre Agora (constructed as an extension of the city's already huge agora). It's a bit of a pisser, but we don't seem able to get to any of these: there's a fence and quite clearly defined path. In theory, there are exits from the bottom of the theatre, but they have metal gates across them: Milla's unimpressed. Even the pomegranate trees, which she's beginning to eye up, are behind fences.

Coming down the north side of the hill, however, they're a lot less relaxed about where you can and can't go: the massive two-part agora runs alongside the hill. The southern part is mostly excavated, called the Tiberius Portico - there's a 260m long pool in the middle, which you can see the ends of - it was used for flood control and to supply the Hadrian Baths at the west end. We clamber through the remains of the bath, and Milla collects a number of pomegranates from the trees there, and then we walk the whole length of the Portico to the Agora Gate at the other end. After a bit of free clambering, and the surviving columns and pool of the Portico, we're much more impressed with Aphrodisias. So much so that we bypass their next fence and walk across the North Agora, wider and parallel to the Portico: again this area seems to be fenced off only because (in summer) they're still excavating - there are trenches and pits all over the place.

On the north side of the agora we emerge at the Odeon, semi-circular and originally seating about 1,000 people. Over time the bottom two rows of seats were walled up because of flooding (floods were a problem in ancient Aphrodisias), and the top half collapsed after an earthquake. As a result there are only eight rows of seats, and then it turns into foundations. Adjacent to the odeon is the palace of the provincial governor, later used by the bishop - it's Byzantine, and obviously had domes on top: the ends of the main halls are semi-circles. That notwithstanding, it's designed around a colonnaded central courtyard (much more traditional), the columns of which are an unusual pale blue/grey marble.

The palace is fenced off, as is the Temple of Aphrodite behind it - it runs along the back of both odeon and palace. There's not a huge amount to see of it (a long row of columns, with the impressive Aphrodisias backdrop of equally vertical poplars), but the church modifications are quite obvious (they used the short-end columns to extend the main hall, walled it in, put a curved wall at the east end, and a narthex at the west end). Interestingly, Aphrodite here was another remnant of the Kybele/Ishtar cult brought by fleeing Assyrians after the destruction of Babylon - here, multi-breasted Kybele transmuted into Aphrodite, rather than Artemis (as we saw in the Ephesus museum). Live and learn.

There's intermittent rain (has been all day) as we head further north (not much excavated in between) to the stadium. The view as you reach the top is breathtaking (you can hear tour groups doing it) - virtually the entre 30,000-seat circuit survives, and it's easily the best-preserved stadium I've seen. In later times, the east end was ringed off and functioned as a late Roman arena; and the north and west sides became part of the city walls, surmounted with more masonry.

We sit there and smoke and eat biscuits and watch the last of the day's tour groups go through, and then head towards the last major building on the site - the magnificently restored "Tetrapylon". It's a triumphal fate, which seems to have been constructed largely to show off the skills of the local sculpture school. The restoration contains 80% of the original structure. It's hugely photogenic against the backdrops in all directions, and nearby is the grave of Kenan Erim, the archaeologist responsible for the site. He arrived in 1959, got the entire village of Geyre moved (the little village we drove though on the way here was originally on top of the hill here) and oversaw the excavations and superb rebuilding work right up to the Tetrapylon (he died three weeks after it was finished.)

Last up is the museum, which has a huge amount of impressive sculpture work and a huger amount of average sculpture work: there's an interesting collection of unfinished pieces from the sculpture school here. Milla's favourite is one of Hercules; I'm impressed by part of a frieze from Zoilus' tomb (Zoilus was a local guy, went to Rome as a slave, cam back hugely rich and set about transforming Aphrodisias, which had been a little village for thousands of years, into a Roman city). Some of the most stunning work is on the side of the sarcophagi around the outside of the museum. Needless to say, they close the museum around us (it happens): we've spent a huge number of hours at the site, and Aphrodisias (despite the fenced-off bits) goes straight in at 6/10.

The dolmus driver from Karacasu is not only waiting for us, but was actually following us round the museum. We know from our Assos trip that dolmus fares go up if there's hardly anyone on the journey, and as soon as we start talking with him he emphasises that there's no-one else to take: he's lining us up for a major sting. Fortunately there's an Australian couple just leaving as well (I spotted them earlier) and a quick "I don't suppose you've got your own transport, have you?" gets us a lift. The dolmus drives off empty, and we follow moments later in a rather plush hired car - all the tour buses are long gone, and I suspect the few remaining vehicles in the car park belong to site staff: we really were leaving it a bit late.
Our hosts turn out to be Australian chefs - they've spent three weeks in Ankara promoting Australian cuisine at the embassy and various hotels, presumably as part of a government-paid trade mission: apparently they brought a whole load of kangaroo meat with them. They apparently do this sort of thing frequently, and take time off at the end, which sounds like a great job. They also notice different things from us - flora and fauna - and keep remarking on how fertile Turkey is (it seems half-desert to us: possibly Australia's even worse).
They're heading for Izmir, which is perfect for us: we pass back through Atca, with its giant fruit sculptures, and then Nazilli once again heading into a beautiful sunset, and get them to drop us in Aydin. There's an express toll-highway from Aydin to Izmir which bypasses Selcuk, so Aydin was the right choice. A large an jovial dolmus driver takes us to Selcuk after only a twenty minute wait, and we decide to wrap up a successful day out with a little food. Unfortunately, our choices of stuffed peppers and stuffed vine leaves turn out to be bad, cold, small choices - we'll know next time.
There's one more pisser of the day - I pick up the four films I'd left to be developed in the morning and discover that the last frame of two of them has been cut in half (ie. destroying the last photo I took from those films). Remonstrating with the staff only elicits a response that it was their machine and hence (apparently) beyond their control . . . super.

Our last daytrip from Selcuk, and this one's to the geological curiosity of Pamukkale and adjacent Roman city of Hierapolis. We've priced a couple of options, and just the transport comes in at 15 million from our cheap Otogar guy (20 million from everyone else) so despite our rickety bus of yesterday, we go with him again. I think he organises complete minibuses normally, but didn't have enough booked last night - the best he can do for us (and the other dozen people) is one-way: we'll have to make our own way back. Actually, the best he can manage one-way is to get us all on another cheap bus to Denizli: transfer to Pamukkale (10 or 15km north) will be included in his 7.5 million fare but obviously it's not going to be on the same bus.

Pamukkale is actually miles inland from Selcuk (we pass Aydin, Nazilli and our favourite Atca) and four hours later we stop at a little café in the middle of nowhere, where there's a minibus waiting. It's not big enough for us all, and four Australia guys and their rucksacks go by estate car. An interesting half-hour drive along what is probably best-described as a "dirt track" gets us into Pamukkale - we stop well past the site entrance, at a pension obviously owned by the people running the minibus. Bizarrely it turns out that everyone else is staying over in Pamukkale (though most have already arranged accommodation): we leave them all to their discussions and trek back up the hill, stop for a coffee, and then hit Pamukkale.

From a distance, it looks as if someone's spilled white paint across one section of a long east-west escarpment: actually, from up close, that's pretyt much what it looks like as well. There's a path up, and we can see a little line of dark figures against the bright white of the calcium deposits (mieral-laden waters flow over the rocks, dumping calcium - that's how Pamukkale formed). It looks horribly as if the walk up, for which you are charged, is it for the Pamukkale experience - as well, we need to get up there anyway if we're to see Hierapolic. After a hundred metres or so, there's a man and a sign telling us to remove our shoes: there's a little water running here, and the ground suddenly gets white (albeit a grubby sort of white). There's even a little pool which we wade through, but it's not very deep. The ticket seays "Keep Pamukkale celan and protect", and that's what we try to do.

As we progress up the hill we pass a number of clearly artificial shallow pools, which some brave individuals are semi-immersed in. They don't look anything like the blue/green-filled white "travertines" on all the tourist posters, literature and postcards, and there's nothing remotely like those in sight. We climb further - far down on the slopes below, we can make out the dry and empty irregular shapes of what might once have been travertines: possibly they've all dried up, which would be a real pisser. The walk meanwhile becomes more difficult, since the main path is increasingly stony (they've put unconvincing white concrete in some places) and the tiny ridges of calcium in the remaining parts are quite sharp - also, the path gets quite narrow in places, considering there's at least a dozen bus-loads of tourists. And then, just before the top, there they are - irregularly shaped calcium pools of blue/green water. Fantastic, and everyone's photo op - there's even a little man with a polaroid wandering back and fore for anyone who didn't think to bring their own.

Unfortunately, there's a brown path up the side of them, where people were obviously once allowed to walk - ah well, that's tourism and we're as guilty as everyone else (not only by pumping money into the local tourist industry, but by actively climbing around the fences at Aphrodisias yesterday). We dangle our feet in the ray, warm stram before putting our shoes back on and then wander round the top, away from the packagees. There are ruins here, but they seem largely the ruins of a motel rather than a Roman city: the views of the travertines are much better from here than from the normal viewpoint. Even better, round the other side of the promontary we found more less-touristed travertines. It's all very impressive, and worth the (student-discounted) entry fee.

The spring-water, incidentally, is now led to the hill-top by a series of artificial channels with sluice gates: obviously there isn't as much water as there used to be, and they direct it to different areas at different times. Some of the gates, presumably those which see less action, are completely white and calcified.

Next, after the useless Tourist Information office (they didn't even have a free map of the site) is Hierapolis (or Higher-Upolis, as we're thinking of it). The site of the Spring is now the Pamukkale Motel, where you can bathe in the waters (there are people wandering around here in swimsuits, which seems a little bizarre for conservative Turkey) and the Roman Baths were next door (and now seem to host the museum). Up the hill (past stalls selling tourist stuff and ice-creams at 66% more than normal prices) was a Temple of Apollo (not much left), where there apparently used to be clouds of poisonous vapour (the "Plutonium"), and then a pretty average 2nd century theatre (we're getting quite blazé about theatres).

We strike further into the hills, climbing up to the church/"Martyrion" of St. Philip - they (the Romans, presumably) apparently crucified him here and 350 years later built him a big church to apologise. It's fairly massive, the floor-plan being an enclosed octagon, and judging by the size of the buttresses and supports rose pretty high. At the middle is a colonnaded altar section, like the (100 years later) Basilica of St. John in Selcuk. Hm - not only are we on the trail of the Seven Wonders (only one so far), and the Seven Churches of the Apocalypse (Smyrna, Pergamon, Sardis and tomorrow Ephesus) but apparently we're collecting Apostles as well (John and now Philip, and I've seen Peter in Rome).

Heading west, and encountering a couple of very out-of-breath tortoises (why do they stay in the sun?), we come to the old Hellenistic Theatre: it's mostly collapsed now (mainly on account of not being Roman, I suspect), leaving little more than five short rows of seats and steep grassy hillside. We press past it and eventually descend in the necropolis (well-preserved, including several tumulus tombs and apparently running for some 2km). The route back to the carpark takes us past some impressively large and seemingly unstable baths, then through an excellent Roman gate onto the main street and past the agora (now a field of trees). Hierapolis gets 2/10 on the ruins scale.

There's a dolmus for Denizli waiting (we skip the museum, since it's getting late so it's probably ready to close), which tours through the nearby hotel-village of Karahayit (it has brown water, instead of white, and as a result has a pretty disgusting looking fountain): this looks like where people with money come when they visit Pamukkale. From Denizli there's nothing running directly to Selcuk, but we take a bus to Aydin where we look for our chubby dolmus driver - the dolmus seem to have stopped for the night, though. A regular Canakkale Truva (the bus company) service obliges, however, and we reach Selcuk a little after 22.00. Our bus station guy greets us (this is apparently "his" bus as well): doesn't the man ever sleep? And then a hunt for pide leads us to probably the last pide place still open in Selcuk. Finally we get back to the pension for what should be our last night here - tomorrow, Ephesus and out.

We (I) have all sorts of plans involving getting up early and beating the crowds to Ephesus: I am, however, travelling with my new wife to whom "early" is a very vague, insubstantial and relative term. We get out at 10-something, with hostilities exchanged again: I think we're both worried that this morning dichotomy issue we have will eventually split us up - but not today. We take the road west out of Selcuk and, despite the attentions of a taxi driver (Milla encouraged him by having a discussion about how to get to Meryemana - apparently Mary's house where she may have died: Milla wants to visit, but there are no public transport options since it's in the middle of nowhere) we reach the site entrance.

The car/coach park and tourist complex are huge, easily the biggest we've seen: rows and rows of coaches, stalls after stalls of souvenir crap at inflated prices. And at the very end a ticket office where we get in for 5 million each (normal price 14, the same as Hagia Sophia and Topkapi) - the tickets have a bar-coded stub which you insert into a turnstile, which then lets you through (like Topkapi). Interestingly, we've seen older lower-value Ephesus tickets at other sites (the normal tickets have little photos of the site on them), so the Turkish Tourist Board (or whoever) obviously uses up any overprint they have from major sites (and they must have, since the Turkish Lira continues on its downwards slump year after year).

Actually I'm getting ahead of myself, since on the way into the site we passed a (fenced off) gymnasium and stadium (very disappointing stadium after Aphrodisias) and later some late Roman/Byzantine baths. Ancient Ephesus had a population of about 250,000 (the same as Aberdeen today) which is quite stunning and means it spreads out for miles (Mary's old house is 6km from the centre): even though the archaeological site here only covers the city centre, it's also pretty extensive. We follow the tour group crowds along the leafy road south - seriously, this is October, and it's probably as busy as it was on most normal days when people lived here: it must be claustrophobic in season. We break off from the standard 1.5 to 2-hour tour almost immediately though, and double back some distance to the Church of St. Mary (or "Double Church").
Once the Olympeon (long and narrow) it was converted at various stages during the early centuries AD: first by bisecting it, then by putting walls around and semi-circularising the east end. Later, possibly as the congregation shrank with the population, it was bisected again to form two line-astern smaller churches. The Pope appears to have popped by this way at some point in the last fifty years and re-consecrated it. It has an interesting (and mostly intact) octagonal (representing perfection) bapistry with full-immersion tank in the middle (yes, the Early Christians were obviously Baptists).

We head southwest from the church, well and truly on our own now (there was one other person at the church), and follow a dirt track towards where the harbour used to be (that's the harbour from Pergamese and Roman times: by then, the city had already migrated from its original centre around the Artemision): again, the area's silted up and the current shore is some distance away. We abandon this track and strike into the undergrowth (Milla's really not sure about this move) when we draw level with the ruins of the huge Harbour Baths - again, a machete would have been useful, but we eventually hack our way through the ruins of both the baths and the adjacent gymnasium and emerge on the wide "Arcadian Way" leading from the harbour inland. It's an impressive, broad, colonnaded street and there's no-one else on this stretch of it - this, we discover, is because there's a No Entry sign and chain at the other end.

It leads to the 25,000-seat Great Theatre, which has been horribly restored, to the extent that the original Roman ruin has been almost entirely obscured. We exit, disappointed, at the far side (stepping over excited tour groups) and progress up the "Sacred Way", passing the fenced-off and inaccessible agora to the postcard-friendly Library of Celcus: it's also been restored heavily, as is obvious from the back (it's mostly modern concrete with inscriptions in Turkish and German - it was Austria who restored it). The main statues on display are all copies - the originals are in Austria. There's a nice gate (Gate of Mazeus and Mithridates) just to the right of the Library, leading into the fenced-off agora again.

The main thoroughfare now leads uphill: on the right were well-preserved large houses, villas and palaces - they're now locked inside a vast building with a shiny plastic roof which ruins all the good views across Ephesus. Surprisingly, the buildings on the left are still accessible and include a latrine, baths, a narrow Temple to Hadrian, and a nice fountain. This upper-class civic centre ends at the "Gate of Hercules", a gate clearly too narrow to let lower-class carts in.

Beyond the Gate of Hercules is the State Agora, open to wander across and lined by a fountain complex, the odeon (with multiple tour groups sitting listening to their lectures) and prytaneion, and various baths: there's also a temple inthe middle (just the foundations: probably to Zeus, we guess). And then, almost suddenly, we're out - there's far less souvenir stuff at this upper entrance (thank God), but there is a little building by the car-park which is labelled the Tomb of St. Luke. It turns out not to be, in fact, once we've read the little notice.

Our trip back into Selcuk is assisted by a friendly coach driver, who's just dropped his tour group at the upper entrace - he will presumably collect them from the lower entrance in a couple of hours. Ephesus took us 3.5 hours - it gets 5/10 on the Ruin scale: there's a lot of good stuff, but much of it is inaccessible or else obscured by the "restoration" work - it's a bit too "Rome, the Theme Park" to rank as highly as the literature, reputation, etc. would lead you to believe.

Back in Selcuk we go round the things we've missed so far - we head uphill past bits of aqueduct and a columned cistern, and past the Basilica of St. John again to the Mosque of Isa Bey. Dating to 1375 it's actually quite dull, but has a nice courtyard (with numerous columns from the Artemision) and some good carpets inside (the floors of mosques are always covered in carpets). Finally we walk around the hill looking for an alternative way into the citadel (the main entrance seems definintely closed), and stop off at a cobbler for work on Milla's walking shoes (the heels are collapsing, so the guy puts some solid foam in underneath).
Then, after a farewell and collection of bags at the pension (with their strange, permanently chained, white dog), it's back to the bus station. We go straight back to the effusive guy with the cheap tickets - virtually all of his journeys so far have been pretty manky, but we can't resist the allure of a bargain. Sure enough, he does us the best prices and, again, it turns out we're intercepting another bus which isn't actually coming into the bus station. This time it's a fairly big bus, but the overhead lights don't seem to be working so there's very little to do during this journey, once night falls and we can't watch the scenery go by. Also, we don't stop for a single cigarette break - the crew ameliorate this as we near the end of the journey by letting us smoke onboard.

At Bodrum bus station we're accosted by a guy with a pension - his prices are too high (even though he reduces his price from 40 million to 15), and his place is on the wrong side of town for us (it's in nightclubland). Also he hassles us, suggesting we phone all the hotels in Bodrum - if we find one at less than 15 million then he'll put us up for free. He eventually leaves us along, but tells us we can find him in the café at the bus station until late (I guess he's not anticipating filling many rooms at that price this evening, then). We head circuitously into the area Lonely Planet identifies for pensions, skip a couple of expensive-looking places and then try a little place down a side-street ("Rainbow Pension", or "Mike's Place"). The friendly old Turkish guy (who could only be "Mike" by a leap of faith) eyes us up, asks where we're from, and then offers us a double for 10 million (shower and toilet next door). Sounds good to us. We dump our bags, unpack a couple of essentials and set off for a late night walk around Bodrum.
From the approaching bus, the views of the Castle in the bay were superb, so I want to try a night-time shot; Milla wants a beer. After a long walk around the western bay (Bodrum has two bays, one on either side of the peninsula which has the castle at the end), she talks our way into the supposedly secure Marina to prevent me walking all the way back to the far side of the eastern bay for my photo. An armed female guard escorts us to a little lighthouse, finally past the seemingly infinite line of yachts, and I get my shot. Then we walk to the eastern bay, recoiling in horror from the local prices of coffee, kebabs, beer and other essentials. Waves of lobster-red package tourists have done serious damage to this place, and that damage takes the form of prices 60% higher than the rest of Turkey.
The evening ends with a beer (we find a guy who quotes us a reasonable price, and then charges us more - our fault for not insisting on seeing a menu, or getting it written down). Then we walk around the eastern end of town (including the noted, but closed, Halikarnas Night Club with an entry price that would be respectable in the UK), and then to bed abour 02.30.

A lazy day - I get up late and leave Milla sleeping (she's exhausted after our intensive week around Selcuk): outside, in bodrum, I find a laundry (that can wait until tomorrow) and eventually a decent-priced photo place. After dropping film for both developing and getting some prints, I wander down to the shore (east bay) and sit in an over-priced coffee place (1.5 million = 40p) writing postcards and making notes and looking across the scenic bay at the castle. There's a thin and pathetic strip of pebbles along the shore (again, virtually no tide - those sea-faring Greeks had it so easy). It's only 4 or 5 metres wide, but some tourists have obviously mistaken it for a beach. People hang out on sun-loungers, have a swim and so on - I pity any kids that have come with buckets and spades to make sand-castles. I also muse that my morning's exploration has turned up new records for both coffee (I saw 3 million) and internet (4 million per hour) - I don't think we'll be staying long.
We will be staying at least another day, though - there's the big Crusader (Knights of St. John) castle to see, and the Maussoleon Museum (Wonders of the World Number 2), and there's a theatre up on the hill somewhere. The only other memorable thing about ancient Halicarnassus is that Herodotus was born here, though I don't think there's anything left of him to see.

I get back to the pension just after 15.00: Milla is moving about, and much refreshed, but not actually out of bed. We look through the newly-developed films (index prints only - much cheaper than getting a full set of prints) and then head out along the marina-side of town. Here we find a little terrace/café by the water and site there for most of the remaining daylight drinking coffee and writing (me the journal, Milla postcards and a marathon letter to her mother). We watch people on the moored yachts (they're mostly sitting around drinking) and remark on the large numbers of people here speaking French - a far higher percentage than anywhere else in Turkey so far, and then we set off exploring in the night.

We head west out of town, passing the Maussoleon Museum, and end up at a large road junction where we choose to walk back along the high road which bypasses the town. We don't find a cheap internet place (one of the things we're looking for) or indeed much in the way of pavements, but we do pass a number of motels and get superb views down on the castle and bays at night. We also pass the Roman theatre, which seems to be undergoing some Ericsson-sponsored restoration - the views are virtually at their best here (it's very dark, though, and I haven't got my tripod with me - hey-ho).
Eventually re-entering Bodrum from the north we end up at the bus station, from where we go for something to eat at a cheapish place we saw near the pension (the guy cooking the food seems to be having some kind of fit - all we can hear from the kitchen are a series of crashes and shouts and thumps). Finally we put in a tiny amount of over-priced internet time and then hit the sack back at the pension. Tomorrow we have to see Bodrum's sites, get clothes washed and photos printed, and get on a bus heading east.

After yesterday, a day (let's be honest) of virtual immobility, I'm up early to pack and I go out while Milla's having breakfast and packing. I have a couple of problems waiting for me already, though: first the laundry - the nice woman there says they can't have it ready until 19.00 this evening (despite her two or three hours quote of yesterday). I walk further an find a second laundry, also fairly close to the pension, which tells me sometime between 15.00 and 17.00: not good, but much better. The photo place (cheap and close) of course turns out not to be open yet. I return to the pension feeling less than successful, wait for Milla to finish getting ready, and we're off and out at about 10.45: the photo place is open as we pass, so I drop the films - early afternoon, he tells me. That's fine - after all, I have to wait until late afternoon for my clothes. We return to our coffee place of yesterday afternoon, have a couple of coffees (again) and sit in the sun writing (again) until 12.45: our logic for this, of course, is that the museums in Bodrum seem to close for lunch from 12.00 to 13.00, so there's no point hurrying.

We meander up the hill to the Maussoleon (normally ill-informed local Turks are all able to point us the right way today), and get in free with our ISIC cards. This is our second Wonder of the World and, if anything, it's doing even worse than the Artemision at Ephesus. Unlike the Artemision, however, this is a (normally) paid site and they have a museum and signposting and even a guide book you can buy for the big, almost square hole-in-the-ground which used to be the Maussoleon. There's a little line of pictures showing what people have thought it looked like over the last century, up to what they think it looked like now - mostly it's surmise and conjecture (including the assumption that there were copying errors in the extant copies of Pliny's descriptions), though it incorporates deductions about all the bits of masonry and rubble lying around.

And what did it look like? Well, "boring but big" seems to have been the principal theme, rising to 45m (140 feet) high. Like the pyramids (but unlike the various temples) it was almost entirely solid (with a burial chamber underneath), so it had a much better chance of suviving intact(-ish) down through the centuries. In fact, it appears to have done just that (though was gradually covered up as time went by) right up to the early 1500s. Then the Knights of St. John arrived, under pressure from the Turks, and decided to rebuild/renovate the Castle of St. Peter in the bay (they had a number of enclaves along the coast here, across from their base at Rhodes). They found this little hill, started digging down from the top, and re-used tens of thousands of cut stone blocks in the castle - in fact, they kept going down until they'd completely unbuilt the Maussoleon. There are contemporary records which show they knew exactly what it was they were excavating. Ironically, they lost Rhodes shortly after, and then evacuated all their mainland possessions without a fight.

We clamber about a bit (there are a couple of claustrophobic tunnels), but the museum was much more interesting for its text panels and few surviving decorative pieces of masonry than for the in situ foundations, so we go back down to the shore and work our way round to the Castle. It's normally 10 million (ouch!), presumably for the package tourists, but again we get in free. Good old Bodrum. And not only is it a castle, but it's a Museum of Underwater Archaeology, which seems to mean stuff they've brought up from shipwrecks. Unfortunately, half the museum is closed from Saturday to Monday (but they don't tell you that on the way in, and there's no ticket price reduction).

What we did see was a Byzantine shipwreck; a (pretty good) collection of glassware; a hall on Bronze Age (1300BC) shipwrecks (they transported copper ingots as really neat flat panels with handles); some white peacocks in the garden; an utterly uninteresting collection of amphorae; a weak collection of arms and flags; and a particularly talkative duck. What we didn't see was finds from a ship specifically transporting glassware; finds from the tomb of a Carian "princess" and probably relative of Maussolos; a mass burial exhibit; and the Dungeon, including Torture Museum (a real blow for Milla).

The castle itself was much more interesting than its museum contents (or at least the ones we saw): there's an entrance courtyard, then a lower courtyard (with the chapel/mosque), a large upper courtyard (now mostly gardens), and a higher keep with two towers. The castle's larger towers were each built by one of the sponsoring countries, hence the central two are the French and Italian Towers - other contributors were the English and the Germans. In several places the myth is repeated that the English Tower here is the biggest structure built by the English outside England. Dublin Castle springs to mind, as do many of the administrative buildings across the Commonwealth.

An interesting generic feature of the castle is the bits of marble (blocks and column sections) and neatly hewn green rock which make up a fair amount of the structure - these are the bits from the Maussoleon. To demonstrate the pointless waste of that exercise, they were working on the castle up to 1522, and then handed it over to the muslims in 1523 without a fight.

We explore inside the various exhibits, and all the gardens, and walk the full circuit around the castle walls to admire the various views across the bays of Bodrum, and then we head out to get photos, laundry and something to eat. The photos take another ten minutes (to get to the shop - they've been printed elsewhere, and aren't there when I arrive), but the laundry's ready and feels pretty much dry. We hit yesterday's little restaurant for another pide (this time we get salad with it - possibly because we haven't turned up at closing time today). After we eat, Milla finishes a marathon letter to her mother, as I get worried about the passing time - I don't want us to get into Fethiye too late. We leave at 16.40, swing by the pension to use the toilets and do some final packing/re-arranging of stuff, hit the post office ("P.T.T.") where we both figure (after leaving) that we were overcharged, and then go to the bus station to find out when we can leave.

We arrive in time to watch the 17.30 bus pull away - the next one won't be until 19.00, but there's an 18.00 bus to Mugla on the main road, which we decide to aim for. We dash back, pausing to buy biscuits for the trip, use our friendly host's phone to contact a pension/hotel in Fethiye which seems to have an excellent price, and then return to the bus station to board our midi-bus. It follows a tortuous and bumpy route back along the peninsula, and reaches Mugla just before 20.00. Quick enquiries reveal that we've missed the 19.30 buses and the next brace won't be passing through until 21.30 (one of which is presumably the bus from Bodrum). Damn. Just as we're preparing to settle in for a long wait, however, the 19.30 Kamil Koc (one of the big luxury companies) pulls in at 20.05 - we board, and it leaves at 20.15 (having stopped for a short rest break for the passengers already on board), and we're off to Fethiye. Bodrum gets 3/10 - pretty and scenic, with a good castle, but far too much geared to package tourists: some things we ended up getting at a decent price, but not internet and not street food. On the ruins scale, the castle gets 1/10 and the Maussoleon also gets 1/10 - interesting, but really just a hole in the ground.
Mugla's more than half-way, so there isn't that much of a journey to do - what there is, though, is packed with excitement. We climb away up into the Taurus mountains and then plummet down the other side - there's a seriously sheer hair-pinned downhill stretch just before Gocek. It's possibly even more alarming than our ride from Behramkale to Ayvacik because it's night, so we only get occasional glimpses of how far down the drop is, and the smoother suspension of the Mercedes coach detaches us slightly more from reality. We reach Fethiye in pretty much one piece, as buses have presumably been doing on a regular basis for ages, and tumble out into the small bus station. A man approaches us over accommodation almost immediately: when we tell him that Ideal Pension has already offered us 8 million he leaves angrily - hopefully we've just started a major price war.

Having travelled with a major coach company, we're entitled to a free minibus ride and we elect to take it to Ideal Pension, even though it's on the opposite (ie. wrong) side of town from the bus station. "Ideal" turns out to be very nice, but also turns out to be asking 18 million - ah well, it was a bad line. We try up the hill at the Inci hotel: a long conversation in German reveals that they're full - block-booked, in fact (presumably by German speakers). They contact someone by phone and, a few minutes later, another guy arrives and (this conversation is in French) it turns out that there's an Inci 2 Hotel. He drives us even further around the bay (so far that I'm surprised we're still in Fethiye: the hotel is a bit square, bare and concrete, but the price is good (10 million) and (after toying with a room which was damp but had a large balcony) we opt for a room with a nice view across the bay (we presume). Another part of our decision was that, from here, it'll take ages to get back to anywhere else to look at further hotels, and we're tired.
The chap, who turns out to own both hotels and who also turns out to be Mehmet, offers us a free coffee and we have a long conversation in an odd mix of English, Turkish and Frech. he's a good muslim, he tells us, but he drinks: he also opines that all good men across the world are good muslims ("we are all good muslims"), which is alarmingly similar to something Ismail said, a continent away, just before he stole all my money. We eventually make our excuses and retire to bed.

Up at 09.30 for a lazy day (another lazy day - now we're in resortland we've really slowed down): I wash my hair, and have an apple tea (I'm carrying a plastic jar of instant apple tea), and check that the last of my laundry from yesterday is dry. Milla gets up an hour later, and we admire the view together: it's mostly a view across the bay to Fethiye, which is fucking miles away! If we look the opposite way, there's only about a dozen houses before the wilderness starts: oh God, what have we done?
We finally get out at about 11.30 and get a lift in from Mehmet to the start of the centre of town (ie. just below his other hotel - above the marina, now we can see properly). There's a fairly pathetic theatre here, the overgrown remains of which take us 5 or 6 minutes to exhaust, after which we look around the little town and do some shopping/pricing.

Fethiye is a long, strung-out town - the type tourist agencies would describe as "unspoilt", ie. fairly spoilt but not nearly as badly as Bodrum (for example). Its saviour may be the fact that the surrounding hills are (in most places) just too steep and close to the shore for it to grow much beyond its current size. The centre of town (actually skewed towards the marina) is a little warren of bazaar-like stalls and little shops, including at least one (fairly expensive) Turkish Bathhouse. Other items of note are the ubiquitous 3-layer lucky blue eyes (on keyrings, amulets, glass pendants and Milla's favourite - a little portable ashtray), mid-priced photo developing, baseball caps for $3 upwards (Milla's looking for a hat against the fierce sun). My personal favourite item was a curious pottery ashtray in the shape of a Christmas tree, inscribed with the words "I love Fethiye" - actually "love" was a little red heart. We note an internet place at 1.5 million, and then wander down to the water's edge for a coffee. It's all little moored boat, mostly offering cruises of varying destinations and durations: the standard "12 islands" full day cruise quite appeals to us - the best price we see is just under $10 each.

Our late afternoon target is Fethiye Castle, another Knights of St. John control fort, though considerably less well-preserved than Bodrum. It's also much less visually imposing then Bodrum, at least partially because of the higher hills behind it - there's something about castles on hilltops with the sky behind them which is much more effective. There doesn't seem to be any obvious way up (or in), so we just head towards it and follow any adjacent roads which we find. En route we pass a number of rock-cut Lycian tombs (Fethiye, ancient Telmessos, was part of the Lycian Federation - that's Lycians, who carved tombs in the side of hills, rather than Lydians, who had lots of money and were further north), which turn out to be nothing particularly special.

There is, it turns out, no easy way up to the castle: we end up approaching from the west, and scale up the northern flank (including a few fairly precipitous scrambles): we have the slopes to ourselves, except for a few grazing donkeys and some goats on unknown temperament. When we eventually climb inside the upper level, we discover that the castle is pretty much rubble: we continue up to the flag (all Turkish monuments seem to have Turkish flags at the highest points) and have biscuits and cigarettes while admiring the view. And then there's nothing to do but descend (we find a quicker route down, past more goats and behind someone's house at the east end).

We spotted more rock tombs nearby, behind the town, and head for those (after a beer): the largest there (the tomb of someone called "Amyntas") charges a ludicrous 3 million entry (2 million for students), so we skip it - we're planning to see more and apparently better in Tlos later. Instead we head back down to the shore for another coffee (at this rate we'll have to switch to tea, if only for the sake of our wallets). We end up joining Mehmet and his family (wife and two daughters) - they're sitting drinking tea, and eating ice-cream. We talk about our day, and they assure us that 16 million is too much for the cruise - Mehmet has a friend who'll do it for 10 million each. The kids wander off, and then Mehmet and his wife leave (after paying for our coffees) and then, bizarrely, the kids return looking for their parents - it appears they've just been abandoned. Nicely done, we think.

We have some supplies to buy, so walk back to the hotel to get my credit cards, and then back in to one of the two central supermarkets (marking almost exactly the boundary between the real and the tourist town). Then we try the internet place, but the machines keep hanging, so we walk back to the hotel again (damn, it's a long way). We get back at 11.30 and Milla hits the sack at 01.00: I'm about half an hour behind her.