a whirl, with and without dervishes

The Whirling Dervish show was puzzling. We drove to an old caravanserai where, along with many other tour groups, we were presented with a brochure and seated on bleachers in the round, surrounding a dim, square area.

It was too dark to read the brochure, so we sat, listened to the breathy flute music, chatted with other folks, enjoyed the mysterious surroundings, and waited.

Eventually the lights dimmed and the music stopped, and, silently, four musicians and a half-dozen other figures, in dark robes with tall hats, processed into the performance space and we were off and running, on an hour-long sequence of music, bowing, whirling, bowing, whirling, chanting and more bowing and whirling, all done without any comment.

And then it was over - they all walked off, the lights came on, the audience filed out into the open space, where everyone received a plastic cup with a warm, sweet unidentifiable beverage, and we were left to discuss what we had just seen. These were actors, since there are no longer any real dervishes, but they certainly took their performance seriously.

Back in the bus, we had a chance to read the brochure, which described in detail the various sections of the ritual. This helped a bit, but suffice it to say that nothing is more incomprehensible than another man's religious practice.

The next morning, we had our last breakfast with the group before they headed off for their final tour day. We finished packing, and I had a quiet hour, sitting on the balcony, overlooking the Uchisar castle, valley, and spires, as patches of sun moved over the rock formations and silent houses. It was good.

The shuttle bus picked us up and shuttled us to the Nevsehir airport, and the expected processes eventually got us on a plane for the short flight to Istanbul. We took a cab to our hotel, in the quiet seaside town of Yesilkoy. We unpacked a few things, then set out.

It's not a tourist place, but a bustling little Turkish town, with a long history. The main streets were filled with the familiar kebab joints, liquor stores, and shoe shops. We walked to the train station and, on Baris's advice, went two stops to Bakırköy, a large suburban town with a crowded, bustling main street, filled with the familiar kebab joints, liquor stores, and shoe shops, but with lots more people.

Baris thought we could find an english movie at the cineplex (with Turkish subtitles) but all the films were 100% Turkish except for 'Disaster Movie', which we declined to see. We walked around, had tea in a peaceful open-air bistro, watched the pigeons playing in the fountain, changed a pile of lira back into dollars, then took the dingy suburban train back to Yesilkoy.

We rested a bit at the hotel, then set out for our final Turkish dinner. We found a charming place run by a German-speaking host, and had a nice meal of two salads and a potato gozelme, surrounding another pile of salad (OK, so communication wasn't perfect). After that, we walked around the quiet neighborhoods, admiring the beautiful Ottoman houses, got lost, backtracked, and ended up, again, at the marina and our hotel. Time to wrap things up.

Got up at 6. Nothing says 'the end of a trip' like having the sound of the distant dawn call-to-prayer disrupted by the sound of a hair-dryer from the bathroom, which made it impossible for me to hear the BBC news on the telly.

We had a final cheese/olive/tomato/coffee/bread-and-jam/tang breakfast at the hotel, and had a few minutes to stand at the door, breathe in the clean, cool air of another morning on the Sea of Marmara before our ride to the airport arrived.

The airport was a beehive, and it took most of two hours before, six passport checks later, we finally boarded the plane for New York.

Eleven hours passed. Three movies, two *great* meals (Turkish Airlines treats you right), little dozing, little reading, a little conversation.

Finally, it was 2 pm at JFK. Customs was a snap and transferring to the waiting area for the flight to Portland was easy. Then the real ordeal began.

We were tired (duh!) and the JFK domestic Delta concourse must have been designed by The Devil. It was loud, crowded, uncomfortable, dismal and did I mention loud? The incessant, repetitive message were inescapable and, what's more, I was feeling a cold coming on.

We were scheduled to depart about 4 hours later, but the first sign of delay appeared shortly - a 15-minute delay that eventually turned into over 2 additional hours. You can imagine.

Finally, around 9:30 pm, we boarded the half-full plane, and the final stage was under way.

Karen found an empty row and I stretched out, and the next thing I knew we were somewhere over Minnesota. I watched bad TV for a while, dozed again, and then we were over Idaho, and then over eastern Oregon, and then descending into Portland.

Touchdown around 2:00 am - over 30 hours since waking up in Yesilkoy. We got our bags and a shuttle van, and drove up to our own house around 3. The dog made little cries of happiness as we walked in, and the cats pretended to be glad to see us.

Woke up, fairly disoriented, at 8:30. It's a beautiful fall morning in Portland.

Lots of laundry to do. Then I must trim my nails, finish unpacking, and resume normal life.

One of these days, I must look at my photos.