My Trip to Greece & Turkey

My Trip to Greece and Turkey

Evan C. Economos

Table of Contents

 HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellasintro.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Introduction  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas1.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 1, Monday - San Francisco Airport to Frankfurt, Germany  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas2.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 2, Tuesday - Frankfurt Germany to Athens Greece, Acropolis View Hotel, Plaka  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas3.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 3, Wednesday - Parthenon, Icons, Plaka  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas4.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 4, Thursday - Philopapou Hill, Corinth, Mycenae, Naplion  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas5.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 5, Friday - Naplion, Epidavros, Tiryns, Sellasia  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas6.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 6, Saturday - Sparta, Mystras, Sellasia, Koniditsa  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas7.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 7, Sunday - Sparta, Taygetos Mountains, Kalamata, Pylos  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas9.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 8, Monday - Pylos, Filiatra, Kiparissia, Olympia, Patras  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas9.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 9, Tuesday - Patras, Nafpaktos, Delphi, Arahova

1 My Trip to Greece and Turkey

Evan C. Economos

 HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas10.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 10, Wednesday - Delphi, Ossios Loukas, Thebes, Athens  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas11.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 11, Thursday - Athens: Benaki Museum, Archaeological Museum  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas12.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 12, Friday - Krete, Hania, Rethymnon  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas13.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 13, Saturday - Rethymnon, Spili, Ayios Galini  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas14.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 14, Sunday - Ayios Galini, Gortys, Pirgos, Knossos, Heraklion, Rhodes  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas15.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 15, Monday - Rhodes, boat to Marmaris, Turkey  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas16.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 16 Tuesday: Marmaris, Seljuk, Kusadasi, Ephesus  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas17.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 17, Wednesday - Kusadasi, medieval Ephesus, Smyrna/Ismir, Begama  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas18.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 18, Thursday - Bergama, Pergumun, Canakkale  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas19.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 19, Friday - Canakkale, Bosphorus/Dardenelles, Galapoli, Istanbul  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas20.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 20, Saturday - Istanbul: Topkapi Palace, Haghia Sophia, HaghiaHREF="http://www- leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas20.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Irene, Blue Mosque, Rustem Pasa Mosque,  Day 21, Sunday - Saint Savior in Chora, Mihrimah Sultan & Suleymaniye Mosques, ride up the Bosphorus  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas22.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 22, Monday - Istanbul to Athens, Stranded at the Benaki Museum +  HREF="http://www-leland.stanford.edu/~economos/hellas/hellas23.htm MACROBUTTON HtmlResAnchor Day 23, Tuesday - Flight home

Evan C. Economos

Please note: Most spellings are intentional even if they look wrong. In their written material Greeks often use spellings which may vary from those Americans are use to, but which more closely follow the Greek language.

Evan C. Economos

Introduction

Like many first generation Americans, I was brought up with a high awareness of my parent's origin, Greece. My Spartan grandmother and Athenian father both instilled in me a great pride of my Hellenic ancestry. My grandmother, whom I lived with, spoke to me for hours about her family and life in a small Peloponnesian village near Sparta. During my childhood, I spent many hours reading Greek myths and history. I always hoped to visit Greece, but I wasn't sure I would ever be able to afford it. My honeymoon finally provided a sufficient excuse to spend the money. A trip to Greece seemed an ideal way to introduce my new wife, Pam, to my Hellenic background. What I didn't realize at the time was how much I, myself, had to learn about Greek culture.

A trip to Greece requires visiting modern Turkey as well. Greeks first settled on the now western "Turkish" coast (Asia Minor) around 1100 to 800 B.C. By contrast, the first Turks did not arrive until the end of the 11th century A.D. Homer's Iliad tells the story of the first occupation of Asia Minor by the Greeks as a result of their successful struggle against the Indo-European Hittites (Trojans) who first occupied that area. There are many Greek ruins there. Constantinople (Istanbul is a corruption of the Greek phrase "in the city") became the capital of the eastern Roman (Byzantine) empire in 336 A.D., 1,117 long years before it became the capital of the Ottoman Turkish empire. Turkey has always been more remote to the European traveler, so that the Greek ruins there have been neglected by tourists and are sometimes in better condition than the Greek ruins in Greece.

Greece brings to mind images of ancient ruins in a sun baked terrain surrounded by a deep blue sea. Turkey, however, conjures up half civilized knife wielding/gun toting natives and gloomy dank jail cells. Pam was terrified the first time I suggested going to Turkey. It took five or six months to convince her that it was a safe place to travel. Every time we talked about our plans, somebody would tell us a horror story about someone else who traveled to Turkey. Everybody seems to have seen the movie Midnight Express which is about a drug smuggler's experience in a Turkish jail. It probably isn't pleasant in Turkish jails, especially for drug smugglers. Turkey is a military state and hasn't accepted the premise of prison as a rehabilitative experience. If planning a trip to Turkey, don't bring any illegal drugs.

In the process of planning our trip, we discovered a great deal about the countries we were seeing. We read several tourist books. I called tourist bureaus and received many brochures. We studied maps for archeology sites and good roads. We obtained detailed maps and learned a great deal of geography which isn't readily available. Although they don't take up much room on a world map, Greece and Turkey can seem like vast areas to cover when you only have three weeks. It takes time to figure out where to go, and how to get there. The trip, which is just an idea to begin with, takes on a sense of reality when you become aware of everything you're going to see, exactly where it is, and what's special about it.

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Travel arrangements were difficult. I must have called every travel agency in San Francisco and a couple in New York and Los Angeles as well. We chose July because my firm decided to shut down operations for the first two weeks in July. We chose Pan Am airlines for our flight to Europe from San Francisco because it was cheapest.

Only Olympic Airlines flies within Greece. Unless you fly Olympic to Greece, at the additional cost of several hundred dollars, you can't make flight reservations within Greece until you get there. I got around this red tape by calling Olympic Airlines in Athens instead of San Francisco. When I said “Hello” to the Athenian airport clerk, she said “Hello” right back and we continued our conversation in English. Everyone in commerce speaks English on the phone It turned out that the cost quoted in Athens for flying within Greece is cheaper than the cost quoted in San Francisco. Flights within Greece were also generally cheaper than flights between Greece and Turkey, which cost about five times more to travel comparable distances.

We left nothing to chance. Every day was planned, but left plenty of flexibility to schedule last minute changes. We even had alternative routes in case we changed our mind. Driving a rented car in Greece allowed us more flexibility than is possible with a bus. However, the tourist books said Turks are more likely to overcharge you if you are driving, so in Turkey we opted for the bus.

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Day 1, Monday -

San Francisco Airport to Frankfurt, Germany

At 1:50pm, we boarded a Boeing 747, which seats about 12 across. Our first stop was Los Angeles where Pam took the opportunity to call her mother, I bought two apples for the long flight to Frankfurt. While reboarding, I noticed most people on the plane were fairly dark skinned. That made me a little anxious because a TWA plane was hijacked in Beirut by Arabs two weeks before we left. Many Americans had canceled trips to Europe because they did not feel safe. My boss even tried to talk me out of going. However, during the hijacking, the plane had landed in Athens for refueling and the Greeks negotiated the release of all Greeks, Greek Americans, and the one non-Greek girlfriend of one Greek American from the plane. I hoped we were covered. I started a conversation with a stewardess who told me most of the passengers were on their way to New Delhi. I was relieved. I began to relax and ate a full meal at 7:30 p.m. and watched Beverly Hills Cop on the screen.

Day 2, Tuesday -

Frankfurt Germany to Athens Greece, Acropolis View Hotel, Plaka

While waiting for the flight to Greece at the Frankfurt Airport, I heard people speaking Greek for the first time in years. I hadn’t heard Greek in a while, but I could understand what they were saying. I started getting excited. If I was hearing Greek, I must be getting close!

This The Boeing 737 to Athens was a much smaller plane. On board, I shaved and had a sandwich. At about 5:30 p.m., we arrived in Athens. It was 80 degrees, humid, but still comfortable. Several people thought I was a native, and started asking me for directions in Greek. I understood what they asked, but I couldn't respond because: 1) I didn't know where anything was and 2) I don't speak Greek. Suddenly I felt guilty for not paying more attention to my Grandmother's Greek lessons.

There was a line of people waiting for cabs, but a taxi driver with chains hanging down from his unbuttoned shirt came up to us right away from another direction and offered his services. He smiled and played Greek music. As we sped off to our hotel, Pam noticed the meter was running too high. We had read in the guide book that the fare should be only 345 dr, but the meter read over 2000 dr. There is a number to indicate the rate. It was covered so we couldn't read it, but I told him to uncover it. It should have been set at 1, but it was set at 4! In broken Greek, I told him it was the wrong amount. He got upset. I got upset. He left us at the cross street, half a block from our

Evan C. Economos hotel door. When we got out, Pam copied down his license plate number. That really scared him. We gave him what we considered a reasonable fare (which later we found had been generous), but he got hysterical and threw the money out his window. Pam threw the money into the rear seat as he gunned the engine and drove off. Wearily we lugged our baggage by ourselves to the hotel.

We thought that episode was over, when the taxi driver suddenly came up to the front desk as we were registering. He started heatedly explaining his side of the story in Greek to the desk clerk. I guess he was afraid we would call the police and get his license revoked. He complained he hadn't even been paid. We explained that the money was in his rear seat. Of course, he had already pocketed it. The desk clerk listened to the whole story calmly and silently. After another five minutes of heated explanation in Greek, the driver left.

The desk clerk said nothing at all about the incident, but was very polite and friendly as he showed us to our room. On the way, I noticed several of the hallway lights were burned out. This was our first indication that not everything in Greek hotels is in perfect working order. The hot water was really only Luke warm and available only for an hour in the early morning and early afternoon. The shower had no curtain. None of this seemed to bother the desk clerk. It was just accepted as the status quo.

This was our first lesson in Greek culture. Greeks do not care if everything works exactly right all of the time. As long as one is able to make do, that is sufficient. There is no point wasting time and perspiration to perfect the adequate. Greeks would much rather spend their time talking or relaxing rather than keeping obsessively busy making sure everything is in top condition. This contrasted sharply with the hard working image of Greeks I had grown up with. However, it all made perfect sense when put in perspective. Greeks were always grateful for the opportunity America offered to get ahead by working hard. Hard work in Greece is wasted because no matter how hard you work, the country is too poor to yield results. It seems all the hard working Greeks emigrate elsewhere where hard work can do some good. The rest reconcile themselves to the circumstances at hand and make the most out of what they have (sunshine) rather than try to change it.

The name of our hotel was the Acropolis View, and sure enough, we could see the acropolis from our window, several blocks away. It looks very impressive towering above Athens. Immediately in front of our window was a large burnt orange (harvest ?) moon whose glow was reflected on orange clay tiled roof tops throughout the city.

It was still early, so we left the hotel and walked up the acropolis. At the foot of the hill which leads to the acropolis, we passed a group of teenage boys playing soccer and ask for directions. I was reminded that my father told me he played here too as a boy.

At the entrance to the acropolis sanctuary, we looked down to see a rehearsal for Verdi’s opera, Otello in an ancient theater built by Herrod Atticus, a Hellenistic king of

Evan C. Economos

Asia Minor. The sign at the acropolis entrance said it was closed for the night, so we decided to stand there a while and watch. We were amazed it was still a working theater

As the sun began to set we walked down from the entrance stairs and went around the hillside opposite from our hotel where we looked down on the ancient agora where Pericles, Socrates, and Plato once meandered. The marble ridge from which we gazed, was polished smooth as glass by countless tourist who for the past 2,500 years have chosen this ideal spot to view the ancient agora and all Athens below especially the best preserved temple in Greece, the Thesion, several blocks beyond the agora. The setting sun reflected on the polished marble like glistening water. Stray dogs stood motionless, silently gazing at this scene as if in a solemn ritual practiced daily

The classical Greek agora was only rediscovered in the 1880's when a railroad was being built on its perimeter. To the right of the ancient agora, was the Roman agora. You can still see the remains of Hadrian's library and what is believed to have been some sort of clock, now known as the Tower of the Winds. The Roman agora leads to the "modern" plaka. The plaka, directly below the acropolis, consists of many narrow unpainted buildings from the 1800s, whose plaster facades have weathered to a golden brown. Many have balconies reflecting a Venetian influence.

Until the late 1800's, the plaka was the entire city and the population was about 5000. At that time, a decision was made to move the capital of the newly independent Hellas from Naplion to Athens. My paternal grandfather also moved to Athens from Patra as a consequence of that decision. Now Athens has a population of over 4 million, approximately half the entire population of Greece. Grandfather took advantage of this huge growth by opening a chain of bakeries. He made lots of money, but I didn't inherit any of it.

The plaka is full of old weathered concrete buildings of hues which vary from gray to sandy brown. Half of them appear uninhabitable. There were many outdoor restaurants. We sat outside and ate. Little children come to the tables to sell flowers and lottery tickets. An old man played the violin badly and begged for money. Stray starving cats as thin as cartoon characters roamed the tables looking for scraps. Pam was concerned about fleas. The plaka is also full of souvenir shops and as the night grew darker, singing and dancing could be heard in all directions. We strolled down the streets.

Evan C. Economos

It is easy to relax here. There is a very peaceful feeling here. The air feels heavy, perhaps due to the barometric pressure, or the humidity from the Mediterranean Sea. Everyone comments on how relaxed they feel in the plaka. You just want to stare into deep space with a blank mind. Somehow precision and organization seem out of place in an environment accented with ruins. People visit Greece just to experience that feeling.

Evan C. Economos

Day 3, Wednesday - Parthenon, Icons, Plaka At 7:30 a.m. I updated my journal from the roof top of our hotel with the acropolis as my companion while my wife slept. At sunrise, I took a picture. When Pam awoke, we walked back up the acropolis and went inside. Originally the entrance was enclosed with dark blue ceiling accented with gold stars. All the buildings were originally painted in bright colors.

First, we stopped to look at the Parthenon. The Parthenon held a giant statue of Athena made of gold. There are no straight line in the Parthenon. Everything is curved to give the impression of being straight in perspective. The columns are fatter in the middle. The length is curved inward toward the center.

Parthenon means virgin and describes the store room where Athena’s temple virgins maintained their vigil behind her golden statue. The pagan temple built for the worship of Athena survived the Christianity by being converted to a church to the Panayia, the blessed virgin. The Turks converted it to a mosque in the 15th century. When Athens was besieged by Venetian in 1732, the Turks stored their gunpowder there thinking it would not be touched. This proved to be a bad assumption and after 2200 years, the Parthenon was blown up into the bleached ruins one sees today. The building has been roped off in recent years because all the tourists were doing additional damage to the floor. Although the building still stands, most of the art which wasn't blown up has been chopped off and carted away to distant museums. We saw one frieze from the Parthenon, the Elgin Marbles, in the British Museum last Christmas.

There was almost no one here at 8:30 a.m. when we arrived, but when we came out of the museum at 10:00 a.m., tour groups were just arriving. In a few minutes there were crowds of people grouped together by language being lectured in many different tongues.

We walked down to the agora. At the opposite end of the agora is a museum which was a replica of an ancient building which stood on the same site. It now houses many statues found here. After touring this museum, we continued to the Thesion, the temple of Hephaestus. Its excellent preservation is mainly due to its early conversion to a Christian church. A man guarded the roped off temple. Inside, the floor was just a pile of boulders.

Lunch in the Plaka was not very exciting. Authentic Greek taverna cooking does not measure up to my grandmother's. Greeks serve rice as a vegetable with potatoes. Somebody in this town must know how to cook, but so far as I can tell, the best Greek food is in Chicago.

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We exchanged money at Symtagma Square and made hotel reservations for Naplion. On the way, we passed a beautiful church which had the same renaissance art work as the Assumption church in Chicago where I went as a child. I've seen the same art work in the cathedral on the upper east side of New York City, in San Diego, and elsewhere. The Orthodox church must have gotten a volume discount.

Symtagma square is a real zoo. The noise of gunned motors and car horns is unbelievably loud. People and cars both crowd the streets in all directions. Its more confusing than midtown Manhattan at rush hour. The Greeks find this an exhilarating contrast to quiet village life and identify it with advanced civilization.

In the middle of the square, olive trees shade a fountain and restaurant. At about 2:00 p.m., the midday sun was at its peak. It was too hot to go on, so we stopped for some orange juice at the restaurant. The cacophony of people, cars, buses, and motorcycles roaring outside the square blurred to a single distant hum. Under the shade trees it was surprisingly cool and tranquil.

Having rested, we walked on to the Byzantine museum of icons. It was about 3:00pm and very hot. The intensity of the heat was reinforced by the humidity. At 2:00 p.m. all work stops and shops close until 5:00 p.m. when it finally begins to cool down to a comfortable temperature. Most of the natives had the good sense to stay indoors, but we were on a schedule and museums are about the only thing open at this time of day. Each step we took through the concrete jungle, we reminded ourselves that the museum would be air conditioned.

When we arrived, we were aghast to learn that like most buildings in Greece, there was no air conditioning. We walked have dazed from over heating through the corridors. We saw lots of icons. All the faces had a somber expression which reminded us of our distress from the heat. All the colors were dark golden hues which seem burnt from too much sun. All the men were bearded. We saw Christ sitting on his mother's lap, Christ on the cross, Christ on his throne, Christ surrounded by angels, and Christ unlocking the doors of hell. Icons are painted according to precise rules and after a while they all began to look very much alike. We became very tired and bored.

On our way back toward the hotel we walked through the national gardens. The presidential palace was across the street. Evzone soldiers were marching to guard

Evan C. Economos duty as we passed. They were wearing khaki brown kilts and little red caps with tassels. Their famous white pleated kilts and embroidered vests are only worn on Sundays. You have to be at least six feet tall to become an Evzone. Every year a contingent would come to Chicago to be a part of the Greek Independence day parade. We also saw the zoo in the gardens and fell asleep on a park bench. A street vendor woke us up and warned us to be more careful of robbers. We walked on to the ruins of the temple of Zeus and Hadrian's arch. From there we went to the car rental agency near our hotel to verify our arrangements.

The evening found us back at the Plaka for dinner, sharing a bottle of wine and watching the waiters dance to the sounds of the oriental mode. Dancing is one of the prime means of self expression in Greece. Greeks are a very expressive people. Dancing is not considered a feminine art. Some dances are traditionally done only by men. In times past only men danced. Alexander the Great taught his soldiers to dance in order to get them to fight in unison.

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Day 4, Thursday - Philopapou Hill, Corinth, Mycenae, Naplion

Pam and I awoke feeling the effect of the red wine we drank the night before. After a leisurely breakfast, we started climbing up Philopapou Hill which was across the street from our hotel. A group of five workmen were building a foot path to the top of the hill. Four of them were busy hauling stones and digging out dirt, but the fifth was sitting serenely on a large rock enjoying the early morning air. None of the others bothered him while he was in this condition. They seemed to respect his desire to enjoy what was for him, a special moment. I've always thought mornings were the best time of day and I immediately understood the magic feeling that had come over him. Perhaps because of the their ideal climate, Greeks value beauty in the world around them and recognize that life is but a fleeting dream that should be savored every moment. For them, it is paramount to maintain an awareness of this beauty, rather than become mentally embroiled in the pursuit of money.

Pam Hakl Economos and the view from the original Museum, Philopapou Hill

In classical times, Philopapou Hill was known as the place of the muses, or, the Museum. At the top stands a Roman monument with all the heads knocked off for souvenirs by past tourists. From here one has an ideal view of the Acropolis and a 360 degree view of Athens. In one direction is the acropolis and in the other, the sea port, Piraeus. It's was still early so there was little pollution. We spent a little time here savoring our own special moment. I aimed my camera directly at the Parthenon and took the ideal picture. This ideal shot of the Parthenon has been well known through the ages. It was from here that the Venetian, Morosini, also took aim with his cannon at the gunpowder packed Parthenon.

We picked up a red Suzuki automobile from the rental agency. While we were taking our luggage down to the car from the hotel, we met another couple who had just finished the trip we were about to take to the Pelopponese and the islands. They didn't like Krete, so I was concerned. The husband was a Harvard M.B.A. living in Phoenix, Arizona. His family was from the Pelopponese like mine.

We drove out of Athens around 11:00 a.m. The city takes its cue from its antiquities. Everything looked worn down, gray and unkempt like a ruin. There were lots of half

Evan C. Economos built structures. It looked like a poor neighborhood in Chicago. My wife warned me that this is what life would be like if everyone was like me and never put things back where they belonged. Once we left Athens, however, the country side looked far more appealing. Distant olive trees and the sea were visible on both sides of the road. The hills reminded me of the Pacific coast line along route 1.

An hour later we arrived at Corinth. Looking down from the road, the "new" town appeared large, but drab and ugly. All the buildings looked as if they had once been pristine white once, but darkened by dirt and smog. We quickly continued pass new Corinth and went to old Corinth.

Corinth: Temple to Apollo

Old Corinth is a very small village up on a high plateau which exits solely for tourists coming to see the ruins. Ancient Corinth was destroyed by the Romans in 146 B.C. The population was sold into slavery and most art objects were hauled off to Rome. There was still a temple to Zeus/Apollo. The University of Cincinnati is excavating the major streets of the city. All this is perhaps 30 feet below current ground level. It made me wonder where all the dirt came from to cover it up. At the top of a distant hill there is a temple to Aphrodite. In ancient times, "sacred" prostitutes could be bought at the end of a long climb. Ancient Corinth was famous as an "open" city with a reputation for luxury and lasciviousness.

There are just a few modern buildings there, mostly cafes. We ate lunch at an outdoor cafe. Everybody was having very appetizing salads. We tried Greek yogurt for the first time. It was very thick and rich with honey on top. It was delicious. I only found out later that it is made with 10% milk fat, that's cream! We also saw some farmers trucking their apricots to market.

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Mycenae’s Lion’s Gate

After lunch we drove off to Mycenae to see the 3,500 year old ruins of the Mycenaean capital of Greece. The Mycenaean’s were the first mainland Greek civilization, the people of the Iliad. Their civilization came to an end around 800 B.C. when the Dorians entered Greece. Mycenae is situated on a hill which overlooks the surrounding area for miles in all directions, very useful for viewing an approaching enemy. The palace is at the summit. One enters through gigantic gates decorated from above with two stone lions facing each other. Just inside the gates is a circular cemetery where archaeologists excavated a golden mask which had covered the face of a corpse. Stone walls surrounding this complex are so thick, classical Greeks thought they were built by giant Cyclops. Pausinias wrote in 140 B.C., 1,500 years after they were built that the walls were still over ten feet high, but now they are a mere three feet. At the rear of the fortress-palace, a higher peak rises up not far in the distance. This would have been a natural barrier to entry. The soil really amazed me. It was dirt mixed with many small rocks. I have never seen so many rocks in soil. Its amazing that anything grows here at all.

Across the road from the palace was a "Beehive" tomb. These tombs are round with a top pointed like a bullet or a beehive. Mycenaean’s of great distinction were probably buried in them. This particular tomb was unique because of its proximity to the palace and because it is the only one with a separate room to one side. Originally, it was buried below ground level. Like other beehive tombs, it was discovered because the sharply pointed top had collapsed or broken off and a sheep had fallen in.

We continued to Naplion, a harbor town along the sea. This was the Turkish provincial capital of Greece and was also captured by the Venetian several times in the midst of Turkish occupation. There are many Venetian balconies and a few Turkish fountains in Naplion. Out on the harbor there is a Turkish fortress guarding the entrance to the bay. At the top on the hill, there is a much larger fortress with the lion of Saint Mark of Venice marking the entrance way. This is a real town, not just a tourist attraction. There are grocery stores, coffee grinders, and other normal, non tourist places required for everyday life.

Evan C. Economos

Naplion coffee grinder

Naplion was the site of a major confrontation between Greeks and Turks early on in the Greek struggle for independence. After the initial revolt in Tripoli, The Turkish soldiers marched down to the port of Naplion to await supplies and reinforcements. Greek gunboats offshore kept these supplies from arriving. After months of anxious waiting the Turks gave up and marched back to Tripoli, however, by then their existing supplies were waning and ordinary Greeks acting independently took positions all along the road back and fired on the Turks in a guerrilla warfare action which destroyed the only Turkish army in the Peloponnese before they made it back to Tripoli.

The Hotel Victoria where we stayed had hot water, but no shower curtain. In the morning it was quiet and the sounds of many birds along with church bells marking time can be heard. The night before I ate squid on the waterfront that was as tender as butter. All the young Greek men sat in outdoor cafes sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes. Hardly anybody drank liquor or even wine.

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Day 5, Friday - Naplion, Epidavros, Tiryns, Sellasia

In the morning we walked around Naplion. The main square is flanked by two mosques. One is now a cinema. The other, a museum/shrine as the site of the first Greek parliament after independence from Turkey. We toured the museum. At the bakery, we bought some cookies, yogurt, and a cheese pie. We then began our climb up to the castle fortress, the castro, to take some pictures. There were no tourist shops going up the hill, only homes from which we could hear Greek domestic life screaming at each other. Looking down from the summit outward toward the sea below, the orange clay tile roofs reflect on building walls giving the whole city an orange cast. As we walked along the top of the fortress, every so often one comes across a statue of a lion, the emblem of Saint Mark of Venice.

View from Naplion castro

While Naplion faces the sea, a bay shielded from the Mediterranean Sea by the fortress hill sits hidden from view. At the top of the fortress, we could see down to a beautiful beach where the water is clean and blue. Half the town seemed to be swimming there. We were tempted to spend all day there, but we committed ourselves to sightseeing and drove to Epidavros instead.

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Amphitheater at the Asleptcos sanitarium in Epidavros

The ruins of Epidavros are most impressive. This was a famous sanitarium\hospital dedicated to Asleplcos (sic), the god of healing. We could make out a tiled mosaic floor and a sewer system. Attached to the complex of buildings is an amphitheater which is still in tact. It is the best preserved in Greece and is what Epidavros is now famous for. The Greeks still hold plays here. While I sat on the top row, a tourist guide dropped a quarter at the center of the stage, a hundred feet away, which I could clearly hear. We ate a lunch of string beans and chicken just like my Grandma used to make. I had some tonic water which made my whole morning. It was very peaceful. There were not many tourists about.

As we left Epidavros, we could see a large number of cafes where all the Greeks sit in the shade and seemingly do nothing but drink coffee. We drove back passed Naplion, and continued to Tiryns, another Mycenaean ruin and the reputed birthplace of Heracles. We got there almost at closing time and had to rush through the place. It has massive walls making it clear this too was a fortress. An old man caught up with us in order to get us to leave, but before he did, he showed us a tunnel where the walls were as smooth as glass due to the wool of grazing sheep constantly moving through it.

Past Tiryns, the road zig zags up hill winding its way up a mountain range. Our destination, Tripoli, was on a plateau at the top. Even though we were far from the sea, the Aegean waters were clearly visible in the distance. A number of goats were grazing along the way. More farm trucks full of apricots crowded the way. Although the narrow road kept winding sharply upward, a number of Greek drivers passed me on blind curves.

At this point, we first became aware of little altars everywhere along the road side. Most were just small cylindrical colored glass containers that held a candle or incense and a photograph. At first, we couldn't figure out what they were or why they were here. Eventually we were told they were in memory of some loved one who died at the spot from a car accident. It's probably just as well that they are there, because there were no other caution signs anywhere in Greece.

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Once we reached Tripoli, the rest of the road was at the same altitude. We did not stop in Tripoli. From what we saw, it was quite ugly. Other friends who have been there later told us we didn't see the whole town and that it is much better than our first impression. We took what we thought was the road to Sparta, but it really went to Megapolis. The road to Megapolis went through farm lands of terraced hills. We drove through an afternoon sun shower and the whole countryside seemed to glow green from it. A little further on, we saw a large tent where a Greek family was having an outdoor picnic. We drove all the way before realizing we had made a mistake. We turned back, but it was worth seeing the countryside.

The road to Sparta looked much the same. After a two hour drive, we passed the exit to Sellasia, my grandmother’s village. which is two kilometers west of the main road to Sparta. The sign marking the exit is in both English and Greek which was funny because it is spelled exactly the same in both languages.

Our original plan was to go directly to Sparta, get a hotel room and see Sellasia later, maybe the next day. However, I couldn't resist stopping to have Pam take my picture next to the exit sign. Then I just had to venture to the town entrance to take a few inconspicuous photographs. The entire town is on the steep foothills of the Pindos mountain range. There we saw a spectacular view of the Taygetos mountains west of the Spartan valley below. Taygetos Mountains Viewed from Sellasia

I soon found out it is very difficult for an American to be inconspicuous in a town of 600 people. A little old man with gray hair and blue eyes came walking down the road while I photographed the Taygetos mountains. He immediately came up to me and in a very friendly manner, wanted to know who I was, who my family were and where I wanted to go. He started telling me about his own family. His name was Nicolas and he had a son who owned a restaurant named the Spartan in Chicago. He asked me if I knew it. I had to explain that there are many restaurants in Chicago named the Spartan. It was impossible to put him off without grossly insulting him, so I let him take us to my Aunt Loi who lives in the village.

Aunt Loi is the daughter of my Grandmother's (Mother's Mother) brother. Her maiden name was Kyriakopoulos. She spent five years in Chicago, but didn't like it. She still has two sons living there. She and her husband, Demo, came back to their old home in the village. My cousin Vivian gave me her name because having spent five years in Chicago, she was assumed to know English. When I got to the door and explained who I was, it was clear she didn't. Later, she told Pam that after five years in the U.S.A. all she knew was yes, no, and shit. I started speaking very poor Greek, and with great

Evan C. Economos difficulty, explained who I was. When she realized what I was saying, she immediately embraced me and took us inside. We went upstairs to her kitchen which could have been in Chicago. It was apparent that they did a little remodeling when they returned home from the U.S.A.

View from Loi’s kitchen window in Sellasia

While we sat in her kitchen, Demo went downstairs to make some Greek coffee. I thought this was peculiar since they had a kitchen stove right there in the kitchen where we sat. Then I noticed that everything was unusually clean and spotless. The refrigerator door was also ajar. This could only mean it was left that way to prevent mold from growing in an otherwise air tight container. This kitchen was just for show. All the cooking was done downstairs in a more primitive area. They used the upstairs kitchen as a parlor for entertaining. They never showed us the downstairs level. This reminded me of my Grandmother's house. Grandmother had a living room too, but she always entertained in the kitchen. I felt like it was 1960 and I was back at home again at 3133 North Linder Avenue on the northwest side of Chicago.

As we drank coffee, Demo went out to find someone who spoke English. He found Jimmy Varlas who spent five years in Chicago washing dishes. Jimmy saved enough money to come back to his village and buy a farm. His English was very good. Apparently word spread throughout the village that we were there, because every ten minutes someone would come in to meet us. None of them spoke English, so Jimmy Varlas had to interpret for them. It was like the Johnny Carson Show. Somebody would come in to talk for a few minutes and then move over to let the next guest take his/her turn. Mostly, these people came to gawk. There isn't much else to do in Sellasia. I didn't notice any televisions. We spent a couple of hours like this. Loi would ask me very simple yes or no questions in remedial Greek. Then she would elaborate to all the other people. I understood most everything they said, but was not able to respond.

Jimmy Varlas told me that Sellasia first obtained electricity and running tap water in 1967. A member of the Greek junta dictatorship which took over the country in 1967 was from Sellasia and used his position of power to bring electricity to the village. At about the same time, another village member, who had gone off to America and made a fortune, died and left half of it to the village to bring water all the way from Athens. The other half went to one of my second cousins in San Diego who was his godchild. My Uncle Bill Demos, who married my grandmother’s sister, Andromache, came to Greece at that time to oversee the project.

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Its hard to imagine any place without running water and electricity. It is an indication of how recent Greece's entrance into the modern world has been. Life here in my grandmother's time must have been like the middle ages. There would have been no asphalt roads, no telephone, or radio, no television, and no cars either. Sparta, which was a few minutes away by car in the valley 2000 feet below would have been a long arduous journey by horse or donkey.

Now, Sellasia is a very pleasant place. I can understand why Loi wanted to come back here. But I can also understand why my grandmother and so many other Greeks left to come to the U.S.A. early in the 20th century. Grandmother came from the old Sellasia, a very backward village. A village without running water pipes or electricity. That's how she always remembered it. She could not understand why anybody would choose to go back. Now life here doesn’t have to be very different from living in an American suburb.

After leaving, we finally went directly to Sparta to find accommodations. It was dark by the time we got there. The top floors of our hotel were unfinished cement blocks. After settling in, we went out for dinner around 9:00 p.m. I made the mistake of ordering beef. I should have known better because I had already seen what the steers looked like. They didn't look anything like American cattle. They looked more like Greek cats, sort of thin and scrawny, not at all well fed. The meat I ate was very tough. After dinner, we wandered around and found the main square. Even though it was past 10:00 p.m., it was summer time and without school to worry about, screaming young children were given free rein to run around all over the place. There was a lot of activity there. Old women sat passing gossip back and forth while keeping a close eye on their grandchildren. The place was really hopping.

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Day 6, Saturday - Sparta, Mystras, Sellasia, Koniditsa

This morning we walked back to the square for a breakfast of yogurt and cappuccino. We walked back through a crowded street. Saturday is market day in Sparta and everyone was out selling the produce from their farms. The people came in all shapes, sizes, and colors, reflecting an area which has been overrun many times with different ethnic groups. There was one fellow about 6'2", with very light skin, blond hair, and blue eyes. At the other end of the spectrum was a man with long curly black hair and dark skin and coal black eyes. These people couldn't possibly all be related to the same Greeks who inhabited this place 2000 years ago. We were still hungry, so we went into a grocery store at the corner of the market square to buy some more yogurt. The owner spoke English with a Australian accent. He had blue eyes too. He had spent 20 years in Australia and then came back to Sparta to open this grocery store.

I really envied the man. Life is peaceful here. Nobody rushed around trying desperately to make an extra dollar. Every face was relaxed and friendly. They were all enjoying life as it was instead of trying to change it. They didn't have much in the way of material possessions and seemed to be doing very well without them. They spent their time enjoying the moment.

After briefly stopping at our hotel to get our car, we drove west to Mystras. As we left the town of Sparta, we passed rows of olive trees lining the road to the foothills of the Taygetos mountains which rise 10,000 feet up. Mystras was built on the foothills of the Taygetos mountains. A large Castro (castle) sits at the peak from which one can view the entire Spartan valley.

In 1203 AD, the Venetian successfully redirected the fourth crusade from Jerusalem to Constantinople. As a result, the Peloponnese and the rest of Greece was soon divided among a number of western European barons. In 1249 a Frank named William of Villehardouin built the citadel. The plain of Sparta was considered too dangerous during these times of war. During an attack, all was safe behind the formidable towering stone walls of the Castro. In 1259, the Byzantines, under Michael Palaeologus took Villehardouin captive during a battle in Macedonia. Upon his reconquest of Constantinople in 1261, Emperor Michael negotiated the return of several fortresses in

Evan C. Economos the Peloponnese, including Mystras in return for Villehardouin release. The Greek population abandoned Sparta, still under control of the Franks and settled in Mystras. Villehardouin eventually had to abandon his home in Sparta due to a lack of people. Because Constantinople had been robbed of most of its treasures, and the surrounding territory was still in foreign hands, the Greeks felt safer in Mystras and made it the cultural center of what was left of the Roman Empire for its last two hundred years.

The Turks finally took over around 1460 after their conquest of Constantinople. After Greek independence, the first king of Greece, Otto, led a procession down from Mystras back to the Spartan valley to re-establish the old Spartan city about 1850. The last inhabitants of Mystras left in 1951 to create the current tourist attraction. Only some Orthodox nuns remain in their convent.

The ruins of most of the buildings are still visible. A few churches have been totally reconstructed. Several buildings stand without a roofs, exposing beautiful frescos to the elements. Without some help, those frescos won't last for long. Inside the churches were more beautiful frescos, some quite faded. The walls and ceilings were covered with them. In one, the last emperor of the Roman empire, a descendant of Michael Palaeologus, received his crown. He then went off to his throne in Constantinople where he died several years later in 1453 during the final Turkish onslaught of that city.

We stayed until 1:00 p.m. Then we went back to our hotel to change clothes. We had promised Aunt Loi we would come back for lunch. While we were in the hotel, I spotted a large map of the region and saw my grandfather John Mazarakos's village, Xrisafa. It was now the site of a monastery. The only way there was along a 17 mile dirt road. That isn’t an easy trip by car. Since I knew no one from his family lived there any longer, we decided to postpone the trip until the road was paved.

Back in Sellasia, however, Aunt Loi and Uncle Demo consoled us with Domathes (stuffed grape leaves), macaroni, lamb, and locally made Retsina wine. They don't eat like this often; we got the royal treatment.

Loi took us to some cousins from my mother's mother's mother's family, Athanasopoulos. My cousin is 60 years old and has a married 26 year old daughter named Vassaliki. We were welcomed with candied cherries. As we sat in the dining room, I noticed that the wooden floor was worn and unvarnished. The cross beam structure of the roof was not covered by a ceiling. It looked a lot like my garage back in Chicago. In the yard, I could see a donkey, a couple of chickens, and a goat.

Vassaliki's husband, Michael Roussis, spoke English. He had a master's degree in mathematics from the University of Athens and had just finished a two year stint in the Greek navy. He was looking for work without much success. Michael said the village was about 150 to 200 years old which would have been after emancipation from the Turks. Before that the village had a different name, Vourouli. Most of the people lived in the Parnosos mountains (predominantly inhabited by Slavs, according to the tourist brochures). Some villagers came from as far away as Krete. My grandmother had told

Evan C. Economos me that her home was over 300 years old, so she must have belonged to the older village. The village used to be a central market for all the villages in the area, probably because it is close to the main road. The land is also more fertile. The harvest is more abundant than other nearby villages. The people are consequently better off economically.

Loi took us to the village cemetery to see the grave of my Great Grandparents. The cemetery is on the highest hill in the village and is surrounded by trees. At the top of the hill is a small church where funeral services are performed. There were actually three graves marked Kyriakopoulos. They are used by other relatives also. There are no first names on the graves because they are reused. When there is need to use the grave again, they move the decomposed bones of the last inhabitant to the foot of the grave where they are commingle with earlier tenants. Greeks normally have closer relations with their relatives than American families. I can understand the need to try to get along if you know you are going to have to spend eternity commingled on a molecular level with all your relatives.

As Loi looked at the grave she did her cross. What must it feel like to look at the site where you know you will spend eternity? On the way down the hill an old woman with a large mole on her face said hello to us in Greek as if she knew us. Apparently the whole village knew we were there. Loi seemed very proud that we had come all the way from America just to see her. She shoed the woman away, wanting to keep her prize all to herself.

Michael started talking about an 11th century Byzantine church located at a village 22 kilometers northwest on the main road of Sellasia called Koniditsa. The asphalt road which lead us to Sellasia turned to dirt at the other end of town, so the ride to Koniditsa was quite bumpy and dusty. We passed nothing but dirt as we made our way up hill along the curving road. The ride was so bumpy I had to drive about five miles an hour all the way. A distance which would take 5 minutes elsewhere was a major journey. Driving on that road, one can appreciate how modern life has brought everyone closer together.

In the footnotes by Peter Levi accompanying Pausinias’ Guide to Greece’ it says that all towns ending with “itsa” are Slavic in origin. It is hard to imagine that the Slavs confined themselves to their little towns. I imagine I have some distant relatives from this town. The Byzantine church we were going to see was probably established during the reconquest of Greece by the Roman Empress Irene (who was raised in Athens) during the 10th century in a successful attempt to Hellenize the Slavs. When we got there the car was very dirty. Koniditsa was quite small.

There were some men playing cards on a table at the side of the road, but they didn't pay any attention to us. On the other side of the road was the church. It had been reconstructed. I recognized it as a church in one of my grandmother's photographs. Until now, the photo had just been some nameless face in front of some unknown building. Now it meant something! The church interior looked like the interior of most

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Greek churches. It had a tile floor, crystal chandeliers, large brass candle stick holders, and an iconostasis with the usual icons set in arches along each side the altar. The priest offered us some orange juice. He said there had been a famous Kyriakopoulos during the 1922 war with the Turks. Michael pointed out the unique Byzantine construction; two layers of brick followed by a layer of stone. He also pointed out an old bell on top of the door used to call the faithful to liturgy.

After we returned to Sellasia, we all went to the local outdoor garden cafe which was owned by another Athanasopoulos. Michael bought us each a Sprite. Afterwards, Pam and I went back to Loi's home and met my great Uncle George. He is my mother's mother's brother, the youngest of my grandmother's siblings. He didn't have much to say and what he said was in Greek. Nobody really knows exactly how old he is, but he is approximately 87. He was about 5'0", and wore basic black glasses and a long mustache that covers his entire face, cheek to cheek. He wore a cap, an old suit with baggy pants, black shoes, but no socks. He had a hard time walking and carried a cane. We took some pictures with Loi, Demo and George. Loi, Demo and George are all about 5'3", while Pam and I are both close to 6', so we towered over them in the photos which looked a little peculiar. George walked all the way home, even though we offered him a ride.

Loi took us to see the house where my grandmother grew up. I was very curious because grandma used to tell me stories about growing up there as a child. It was below the main road on the first offshoot going south after leaving the road to Sparta. All the homes in the vicinity appeared to be somewhat older than other parts of the village. When we got there we saw the front gate was falling apart. Unlike the other homes, the stone masonry was not covered with white plaster. One of the outer fence walls was falling down, but the roof appears to be in tact. Two thirds of this house had been abandoned years ago when my grandmother's brother, Andrew, who lived there, died. We were not permitted to even go inside that section because it wasn't safe.

His widow, Stemmata, still lived in the other third of the house closest to the street with her mother. We went to see Stemmata. Loi made it clear that she and Stemmata didn't see eye to eye. It took some personal sacrifice on Loi's part to take us there. Stemmata was an eccentric woman of about 60, roughly the same size as Loi only more stout. She had one eye that didn't see properly and it gave her a peculiar aspect. She was expecting us and greeted us as one who did not receive many visitors and was grateful for the ones she had.

Inside her home the floors were, again, unfinished wooden planks. The dark blood red hand plastered walls were unintentionally patterned with distinct waves. There was a single bare light bulb hanging by a wire from her very large sparsely furnished living room. Stemmata motioned for us to sit down on her sofa. She brought Pam and I (nothing for Loi or herself) Greek cookies called kourambethes, and peppermint liquor called Mestika which tastes like a refined version of Ouzo. It appeared she bought them that morning just for us. This wasn't a rich woman and it pained me to think what kind of dent this made in her budget. I spotted a picture of my grandmother's mother, Georgia

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Athanasopoulos Kyriakopoulos on the wall. She looked just like grandma except she wore all black and had a full head of dark hair. I took a picture of the photo. Pam started talking to Stemmata’s mother who had spent five years in Canada and spoke English. All the time we were there, Stemmata continually showered smiles, kisses and hugs on us while repeatedly asking Loi in Greek who we were.

We went outside and I took pictures of the house exterior. Then Loi took us down the street to her sister, Georgia's home. Loi explained that all the surrounding homes were related to the Kyriakopoulos family. Georgia's home was smaller, but in better condition than Stemmata’s. She had a three month old grandson with her and another cousin of mine, although I never did figure out the exact relationship. Georgia made us thiples, another Greek sweet made of fried dough rolled like a scroll and covered with honey and walnuts. She told us she made them that morning just for us. She showed us a picture of our family taken during a baptism in Chicago around 1960. I was the only one who wasn't in the picture. Unfortunately, it had been damaged by water and the faces weren't clear any more. She kept it because it was the only picture she had of her uncle and my great uncle Theodore. He was another of my grandmother's brothers who lived and died in Chicago.

It was getting late, so we started to leave. The road was narrow and there were many cars belonging to relatives from Athens visiting for the weekend. Another old woman came up to me to say hello. She was the wife of Nicholas whom I first met when I came to the village. The restaurant their son owned may have been the one in the neighborhood where I grew up on the southeast corner of Belmont and Central Avenues in Chicago. Here we said our good-byes. Loi, Pam and I got into the car to drive up the winding hill to the main road leading out of town. The road was steep and we were heavy. Half way up the hill, the car wouldn't go any further. Loi told us this was where Andrew had died. His car had rolled off the hillside and down the mountain over 2000 feet below. I started to panic. I told Pam and Loi to get out of the car to lighten the load. After that I was able to drive all the way up. Pam and Loi followed shortly on foot. Then we said good bye to Loi and thanked her for showing us around. Pam and I drove off to our hotel in Sparta.

Everyone in the village was extremely nice to us. We will always remember them in gratitude. This was the most important part of my trip. Loi made it possible for me to enjoy it. My mother's mother had raised me from age three and we were very close. It was for her sake that I wanted to come here. I am only sorry she couldn't be there with me. I had been afraid that Sellasia would be a disappointment, that it would be a poor, unkempt mountain village with ignorant peasants. During the previous week of driving through Greece, we saw many poor villages that looked worn down like an inner city slum. I was relieved to find Sellasia was remarkably clean and beautiful. I was proud to have relations from there. I didn't want to leave. I’m glad I came to see it when I did, because the entire Kyriakopoulos section of the village where my grandmother lived burnt down in 1990.

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Back in Sparta, Pam and I walked to a taverna to buy mineral water. The boy who waited on us spoke perfect English. His family had lived in Boston for ten years. We decided to eat there. We had string beans with dinner which were delicious.

The string beans reminded me of a story my grandmother told about her childhood. When she was young her father took her to Sparta one day with him. For her, Sparta was the big city. She remembered going to a restaurant with him and eating string beans which were yellow instead of green. She was afraid to eat them because of the color, but her father convinced her to try them. She was surprised at how tasty they were. By car, it takes 20 minutes to go down the steep curving rode from Sellasia to Sparta. How much longer must it have taken to get there and back by horse and buggy? I wondered what kind of "restaurant" she must have been talking about. There didn't seem to be anything like an American restaurant here. It must have been similar to the taverna where I was eating. Her words took on new meaning. I tried to imagine it anew as she must have experienced it.

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Day 7, Sunday - Sparta, Taygetos Mountains, Kalamata, Pylos

Sunday morning found us in the now quiet Spartan plaka for breakfast. This time we had galatoburiko, a filo covered milk/butter desert pastry to supplement our coffee. Before we checked out we tried to telephone Sophia Masgana. She was my aunt, my mother's father's sister's daughter. She had married a doctor. When I was ten years old they visited us in Chicago on their honeymoon. I was going to visit her on mine now. Unfortunately, she wasn't home and we were running out of time.

Pam and I left the hotel to see the Spartan ruins. Thucydides said in his book on the Peloponnesian War that if one were to look at Athens in the distant future, the relics left behind would make it seem more powerful than it really was while a look at Sparta's relics would make it appear less important than it really was. This was regrettably true and what few Spartan monuments were built were used as masonry for the building of Mystras and its castro.

We could still find the amphitheater where Spartan boys were whipped for endurance until they shed blood. It was originally larger than the theater in Epidavros, but now most of the stones have been removed to Mystras. On the remaining blocks, Greek writing can clearly be read. Just above this site is the Spartan acropolis. There are no ancient ruins left here, but there remains a medieval Byzantine church which appears to have been quite large. Now its outer walls are only three feet high. Surrounding the entire acropolis are Byzantine fortress walls which are three feet thick and 20 feet high in several places where they are still in tact. We skipped the museum and went to the site of an ancient temple to some god along the Evrotas River. The "river" was just a small stream, but in ancient times it was the main water supply for Sparta. The ruins were unimpressive here.

It was time to go. This was the highlight of my trip. I enjoyed everything I saw on this trip, but this was the only place I did not want to leave. I would have liked to spend a week in Sparta. In Sellasia, we were really able to see how people lived. It was my mother's ancestral home. Now that I could see how life in the Peloponnese contrasted with living in the U.S.A., I appreciated the cultural and technological leap Greek emigrants had to make when coming to America at the turn of the century.

As we passed the groves of olive trees lining the road out of town, I wanted to break my schedule and turned back, but the view of the Taygetos mountains in the distance made me realize there was still much more to see ahead. The road west through the Taygetos mountains is winding, steep, and narrow. Picturesque villages perch on the mountain side basking in the sunshine. They look ready to fall off with the next earthquake. At the very pinnacle is a restaurant with a view of the entire valley below. We considered stopping, but decided to wait until we arrived in Kalamata.

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The radio played Greek folk music with a prominent clarinet. It reminded me of the Greek hour which my grandmother tuned into when I was a boy in Chicago. I thought it was awful then, but now, sometimes I miss it. I enjoyed the particular style of music playing in the Taygetos Mountains, but because the announcer spoke in Greek, I couldn't tell what the name of the tune was or who sang it. That was frustrating because every time I try to buy Greek music, I always end up with something I don't like.

The mountain road was dotted with fields of wild flowers and assorted shrubbery. On several slopes, people were busy picking yellow flowered weeds. Finally we stopped to see what they were. I asked a young boy who tried very hard to tell me in Greek, but I couldn't recognize the word. Then Pam smelled the shrub and it was instantly clear that it was oregano. We picked a little to scent our car. The boy's father somewhat irritated that we were picking his supply, nudged his son as an admonishment not to let their secret out to anyone else.

Unlike the rocky inhabited eastern slope going up the mountain, the western slope of Taygetos was covered with a forest of pine trees. We saw roadside souvenir stands selling knickknacks made from the pine cones and wood. The road leveled off just east of Kalamata on the Adriatic sea shore at the southwestern corner of the Peloponnese. Kalamata is famous in the USA for olives. Kalamata olives are purplish black, very salty and very good. After passing a crumbled Byzantine fortress, we arrived. Unfortunately, Kalamata is primarily an industrial town. The entire waterfront is fenced off for industrial use. Everywhere we turned, it seemed as if the better side of town would be just around the corner. I drove up and down several streets looking for it, but never found it.

Because it was Sunday, most of the restaurants were closed and it was hard to find a place to eat. When we finally found an outdoor cafe, I ordered a salad. To my surprise, it was the first and only salad I ate in Greece that didn't have olives in it. I was devastated. I couldn't get a Kalamata olive in Kalamata! Frankly, this was the ugliest town we visited during our whole trip, and if there was any doubt, the olives clinched it. We immediately headed north for Pylos.

Pylos has been the scene of several famous battles through history. It was made famous to Americans under its Venetian name, Navarino by the World War II movie, The Guns of Navarone starring Gregory Peck, Anthony Guinn, and Greece's own Irene Pappas.

Thucydides chronicled a battle here during the Peloponnesian War. The Spartans with their allies were trapped by the Athenians on the offshore island, Sphacteria. When they finally gave up, the incredulous Athenians couldn't believe the Spartans didn't fight to the death. They asked if the survivors were really Spartans. The Spartans answered that it would be a smart arrow that could distinguish a Spartan from their allies.

The Pylos harbor bay was also the scene of the decisive battle that won Greece its independence in 1827. The Turkish navy was harbored in port while the combined naval forces of England, France and Italy blockaded their ships. The Turkish ships

Evan C. Economos were "accidentally" fired upon and the Turks made the mistake of returning the fire. The combined European blockade felt obliged to defend themselves with an all out attack which destroyed the entire Turkish fleet. Without a navy, Turkey had no way to ferry troops to garrison Greece.

The only vessels presently in the bay were fishing boats. Pylos is now a quiet and relaxed tourist town. A small decaying Turkish fortress lies at the southern border. The beach is beautiful and the salt water calm, clear, and warm. Every tourist in town, except the two of us, seemed to be French.

We found a French hotel called Mamare with a view of the Ionian sea. After checking in, we immediately went for a swim. The pier broke the waves leaving the water ideally calm for swimming. The water was very salty. I found out the hard way that salt water can irritate the eyes.

Perhaps because of all the French tourists, the food here was the best in Greece. There was stuffed zucchini, egg plant, salad, okra, and pork. Interestingly, all the fish goes to Athens. The okra was cooked in a tomato and red wine sauce which we started finding along the Adriatic and western Pelopponnese . This was the first time I ate this usually slimy vegetable and liked it. After dinner, everyone strolls the 500 feet to the end of the pier and back, over and over again. Grandmothers walk with grandchildren, teenagers walk together, and tourists walk. Its an endless parade back and forth.

There was a Greek band playing traditional music at an outdoor concert at about 9:00 p.m. I wanted to go, but Pam was tired and didn't want to be left alone, so we didn't go. From our window, I still heard the loud, but incoherent music which kept me awake for some time. I fell asleep listening to a woman singing something that sounded more like an English folk tune than Greek.

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Day 8, Monday - Pylos, Filiatra, Kiparissia, Olympia, Patras

Breakfast included freshly baked bread, which might be expected from a French hotel. However, the Frenchmen at the next table had croissants which we eyed with envy. We kept wondering where they came from. As the got up to leave, they chivalrously gave us several which they hadn't eaten.

Twenty two kilometers south of Pylos is a large crusader fortress called Methone. Although well worth seeing, we decided to continued north instead to the site of a Mycenaean ruin known as Nestor's palace. Here, the Greeks claim to have the oldest bathtub in Europe. The palace was originally two stories high, commanding a view of the entire area. However, it was dismantled by medieval Venetian to build Methone. Now, one can only see where the foundation lay. Nearby is another Beehive tomb and the local museum which we visited.

Outside the site, the man selling entry tickets gave us the first fresh fig either of us had ever eaten. It was red inside and very sweet and juicy. He also showed us a beautiful flower which grows locally. We thanked him, although, he didn't speak a word of English.

We drove through a pretty little town called Filiatra which seemed alive with tourists. We considered eating lunch there, but the guide book said Kiparissia was the superior town, so we drove on. When we got to Kiparissia, we realized the guide book was wrong. The buildings were all run down and looked like they might collapse any second. All the colors appeared washed out. They were drab, mostly shades of brown and green. We decided to make the best of it, and found a little restaurant where the cook had just finished his task for the day with the help of four beautiful young women. He asked my opinion of his fare and I gave it four stars.

After lunch we drove on to Olympia. This was the one ruin I had been willing to miss. Many people said it wasn't worth seeing, but we were glad we came. The museum was the best I saw to date even though all the placards were in Greek and German, but not English. We saw many famous statues and took lots of pictures. There is even a scale model of Olympia as it originally looked to help figure out where everything was.

Across the street from the museum, is the site itself. The earliest remains date from 1900 B.C. The origin of the games is said to be a chariot race between Pelops (of

Evan C. Economos

Peloponnese) and the local king, Oinomos for the hand of Oinomos' daughter. The annual games evolved gradually and became a formal institution of Greek life in 776 B.C. In 267 A.D., it was sacked by barbarians. In 393 A.D., the games were ended by the Roman emperor, Theodosius. The official reason was that they had become too commercial, but they also represented a link to pagan ritual in a world that had adopted Christianity. His son had the site destroyed in 426 A.D. Many of the art objects were hauled off to Constantinople. A small Byzantine church was erected.

Earthquakes toppled the remaining buildings around 700 A.D. and everything gradually was covered by mud for the next 1100 years. It was rediscovered about 1850. At the temple of Zeus, the columns are gigantic. Each marble slice of the column is six feet in diameter and over one foot thick. You can see them all in a row on the ground where they fell. A church is still visible. Originally, the place was littered with statues of Olympic champions. A few are in the museum across the road, but most have disappeared into museums all over the world.

We had a hard time deciding what to do next. One thought was to go see the ruins in Megapolis, another was to go to Patras. It was still early so we decided to take the slow road to Patras and drive east through Almalidia, Agia, Triada, and Simopolou, then north through Kalintze and Fares to see the country side. The Erimanthos mountains were to the east. Here in the northern Peloponnese, known as Achaia, there is a small village called Mazaraki which I wanted to visit because my mother's maiden name was Mazarakos. The area was all farm land, but not quite as fertile as the southern Peloponnese. We passed corn fields, and a shepherd with his flock along the way. Pam found the whole thing boring and spent the time knitting instead of sightseeing. We saw signs for Mazaraki, but somehow never found it. Eventually we gave up and drove into Patras.

Patras overlooks the gulf of Corinth. It begins at the sea and rises up to a very large castle (Castro) at the top of a hill about a mile inland. Patras looks like a real city. It is full of tall brick buildings which echo the roar of automobiles on the asphalt streets below. My most harrowing experience during this entire trip was making the wrong turn onto a one way street and finding four lanes of cars speeding toward me with their horns blaring. This would scare anybody anywhere, however, knowing the driving habits and attitude of Greek drivers I was terrified.

The center of town is a square overlooking the port where passenger ships dock from Brindisi, Italy. At night, when we arrived, it was very noisy. I was reminded of Symtagma square in Athens. Someone kept riding his motorcycle around the square over and over again. The motorcycle needed a muffler. Patras is not quite as ugly as Athens, but to two tired tourists it was very confusing. There are two good restaurants and one bakery just across the street from the port entrance where I bought some cookies.

By 8:00 p.m. it was getting dark. Patras is a hot humid city which drains ones energy. We wanted to find a hotel quickly. Unfortunately, the quality left a great deal to be

Evan C. Economos desired. The hotel we stayed at was called the Acropoli. It was run by an old man who had lived in Australia. He moved very slowly. We had our choice between a room that was quiet without a window, and another with fresh air facing the noisy congested traffic. We chose the room without the window. There wasn't any air conditioning either. The only positive aspect was the abundant hot water at all hours.

After registering at the Acropoli, we went out to eat. This was the first real restaurant we ate in since leaving Athens. The waiters wore black suits with bow ties and there were white tablecloths on the tables. The food was above average, but not up to the standards of Pylos or Kisparissia. It was also twice as expensive as any other restaurants in Greece we had been to.

Evan C. Economos

Day 9, Tuesday - Patras, Nafpaktos, Delphi, Arahova

Breakfast, in the square was mercifully more quiet than the previous night. Neither one of us slept very well. While we had accepted that our room would be hot, we had not anticipated that it would also be flea ridden. We were bitten by mosquitoes all night. Pam didn't feel good. She had a cappuccino, then she had my cappuccino. I ordered another and she drank most of that one too. Then she went back to the room to pack while I had a cappuccino all to myself and wrote in my diary. I watched a lot of tourists go to and from the cruise ships docked on the pier just north of me. It occurred to me that Patras was a hub which people go through to get somewhere else. I don't think many people stay.

By noon, we had sufficiently recovered from our night at the Acropoli Hotel to begin another day. We drove up to the Castro at the top of the hill. The surroundings increase in serenity as one travels uphill. There is less traffic and more homes. As we drove up, I saw a small boy with deep dark intense eyes like my father's mother, who also came from Patras. I wondered if he was some distant relative. Unfortunately, the red bricked castle was closed on Tuesdays. We peeked through the iron gate. It appeared to be quite large and in good condition. Too bad it wasn't open.

We continued on to Rhion, just east of Patras, where there was a ferry to cross to the north side of the gulf of Corinth onto mainland Greece. At the very edge of the beach was a small Turkish fortress guarding the harbor. It looked like a giant sand castle. It must be fun for children. The ferry came just as we drove up. Our car was the first one inside. Everyone else on board was Greek. I took a picture of a small thin old man drinking Greek (Turkish) coffee. His clothes were worn, reflecting the poverty of the nation. The ferry docked at Anti (opposite) Rhion. There was an identical Turkish fort there too.

The road to Delphi passes through Nafpaktos, a seaside resort town with a charming old fortress along the beach. The water looked inviting and many people were swimming. It was clear that we should have spent the previous night here. Unfortunately, we only had time for a few pictures and a sandwich. Nafpaktos has been a strategic harbor since the Peloponnesian War (500 B.C.). The Ottoman Turkish sultan, Suleyman the Magnificent also lost his fleet to European forces here in the 15th century. Inside the local fortress was a statue of a man with a rifle raised in his hand as if to call his compatriots to arms. There was an inscription in Greek. Judging by the way he was dressed, he must have been some hero from the 1821 war of independence.

Patras and Nafpaktos were the only places where I almost regretted having Pam along. These were the only places where I saw many unattached women just waiting for romance to strike.

Evan C. Economos

The road to Delphi continued along the coast which was punctuated by ridges separating small fishing villages. Every so often, we would turn a corner and come upon a small bay and a fishing village. There were boats along the water, followed by agricultural crops and finally houses against the steep mountain rising from behind. It seems the people plant on every square foot they can find.

As the steep incline up the mountain road began, the views became more expansive and majestic. You could see all the way down to the gulf. On the map, Delphi was only a few kilometers away, but it took forever to make the climb. Its hard to believe that ancient Greeks walked to this place from all over Greece. It is so far up in the mountains that I'm surprised that anybody even found the place much less built a religious sanctuary. The climb required serious dedication.

We checked to see if the museum was open. It wasn't, so we continued to the nearby town of Arahova. Arahova is a local winter resort for ski slopes ten miles away. We stayed at the hotel Xenia which was still in the midst of construction preparing for the winter season. The rooms had only a concrete floor and the bathroom wasn't finished either. But the hot water and shower worked fine! Outside on the terrace there was a view of the ravine and mountains unobstructed by railings. The valley was several miles below. This was not a hotel for small children.

We seemed to be the only tourists in town. We did a little shopping for weavings which this town is known for. We tried to buy a pretty tapestry, but the shop was run by women who were too tough to bargain with. The guide book said the food here was good. We asked a couple of local men where the best restaurant was. They thought about it for a time, discussing several possibilities among themselves and finally gave us their decision. When we got to the restaurant, all they had was macaroni and roast lamb with potatoes and rice for vegetables. We decided to go elsewhere, but every restaurant we checked had exactly the same menu. We picked the cafe with the best view. Arahova is also known for its wine, but our experience in the Athenian plaka taught us not to drink and travel.

We went back to the shops and bought a rug, sweater, and an embroidery for wall hanging. Walking back to the hotel, we passed the local plaka full of men drinking coffee. Greek women do not go out in the evening. They do not have the social freedom which Americans are accustomed to. Pam was the only woman in view. About 200 eyes were focused on her as we passed. As we entered our hotel, a tourist bus drove up. We were relieved to no longer be the only foreigners in town.

Evan C. Economos

Day 10, Wednesday - Delphi, Ossios Loukas, Thebes, Athens

Early in the morning, we started out for Delphi, beginning with the temple of Athena overlooking the mountain slopes. It is one of a very few circular temples structures in Greece. We proceeded to the sacred waters where supplicants had to bathe to purify themselves before questioning the oracle. In ancient times it was believed to have miraculous healing powers. Not one to pass up a medicinal cure, I rubbed some on my eyes to cure and nose to cure my allergies. Alas, it had no affect. I guess I was 2000 years too late.

The site of the famous oracle of Apollo was located on a hillside surrounded by a large complex of buildings with treasuries housing donations from various Greek cities. Early Christians added a nearby Byzantine church. I suppose the early Christians wanted all the pagan religious centers covered. If pagan Greeks insisted on having religious ceremonies here, at least they could be Christian ones.

At the very top of the hill (which was the top of the mountain we had driven up the day before), was a stadium where music and sporting events were held annually in classical times. Because the stadium was built into the hillside, seats dug into the hill were still in good condition, while seating opposite had fallen away during earthquakes due to lack of support. It is the best preserved classical stadium in Greece.

The tourist buses from Athens arrived at 10:00 a.m. at the site of the oracle. It was the first time we were overwhelmed by tourists. The crowds which we had barely managed to avoid at the Parthenon finally caught up with us. Tourists get a lecture and 20 minutes to walk around and see everything. Pam and I spent two to three hours. I don't think any of the tours saw the stadium at all.

Next stop was the museum which was also crowded. Like the one at Olympia, it had sufficient lighting to take pictures without a flash. Unlike the one at Olympia, the signs were in English. We saw Mycenaean artifacts proving this was a religious center in 2500 B.C. or earlier. When the Dorians came in 800 B.C. it was already ancient. The ruined monuments that can be seen now were renovations of the originals on a grandeur scale dating only from 600 B.C.

The famous statue of the chariot driver was in a separate modern building. It was Roman in origin dating from 100 B.C. It was not as impressive as it looks in photographs. The facial expression was lifeless and lacked a sense of movement common in classical Greek sculpture.

We checked out of the Xenia hotel and left for Athens. The current highway to Athens is apparently the same road traveled by foot and donkey for thousands of years to the oracle called the sacred way. A sign post indicated the spot where Orestes reputedly slew the sphinx on his way to Thebes.

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At about this juncture we took a side road to a medieval monastery named Ossios Loukas (Saint Luke). The main church was covered with frescos and was in good condition. Below ground there is a chapel named Saint Barbara built by Father Loukas himself dating to 800 A.D. His remains are here having been returned from a extended sojourn in western Europe thanks to 12th century crusaders. The local caretaker swore that sick people left here overnight had been miraculously cured of their diseases. I thought about trying another cure for my nose and eyes, but it was rather dark and spooky down there. I didn't have all night anyway.

Ossios Loukas

interior>>>

Ossios Lukas

Just outside the monastery there was a gift shop run by the local denizen. I bought some Byzantine church music and an icon of Saint Nicholas for my friend Nick Fartuch. The lady at the store tried to sell me another icon for $150 which she said was 2000 years old. We aren't as dumb as we apparently looked, so we declined.

We almost passed Thebes by it was so small. Its hard to believe it has been here for over 2500 years. There didn't seem to be much of a plaka. We were tired, however, so we stopped to have a cup of coffee.

There was no problem finding our hotel when we got back into Athens. Our major problem was all the dirty laundry we had accumulated during our excursion into the Pelopponnese. The hotel clerk told us where to find a good laundry. When we started looking, however, we could not find it. Pam kept trying to tell me which way to go even though she was only quessing. My natural sense of direction saved the day, however. I can usually find my way around quickly, although a map never hurts.

After returning the car, we walked back to the hotel. The clerk called Rhodes for us to make our reservation. He also recommended a good restaurant in Piraeus. We were too tired to go that evening, so we went to a cafe recommended by Frommers's guide book. While the view was excellent, I am finding his food recommendations are of little use. Our meals were nothing special. I don't think he knows much about Greek food.

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The room was much better than the one we had before. The air conditioner was working. The radio was working. There was even hot water! The morning coffee was much more drinkable than before. I mentioned this to the clerk. He said it was because he made it this time. He hadn't been there when we stayed before, and he said only he knew how to make coffee right. He was very pleased I noticed.

Evan C. Economos

Day 11, Thursday -

Athens: Benaki Museum, Archaeological Museum

Thursday was museum day on our schedule. The Benaki museum contains primarily cultural folk art of the last few centuries. In the basement, we found many regional costumes from different parts of Greece. There was also a special exhibit of photographs of Athens in 1830 when the population was only 5,000. We also saw plenty of weaving which Pam took a great interest in. There were many icons too. The solid gold diadems with golden leaves in the shape of olive and bay leaves from the classical period was the most impressive exhibit.

On the top floor was a small cafe with a balcony overlooking the city. The man behind the counter was quite pleasant. We met another American about 65 years old from Illinois. He came to Europe during World War II and decided to stay. He has been back to the U.S.A. only five times since then.

After coffee and pleasant conversation, we went to the post office to mail some packages back home and continued to the National Archaeological Museum which contains marble statues of the classical period. I took lots of photographs. There were two special exhibits, one on Athens, and one an Thiva, also known as Santorini. We left that museum around 6:00 p.m. and walked back to our hotel stopping at two Byzantine churches and a weaving store.

When we returned we went to pick up our laundry, we were surprised by our bill. The cost to wash clothes is about the same as the cost to have them dry cleaned. There wasn't much we could do since the prices were posted. We should have looked first.

Evan C. Economos

Day 12, Friday - Krete, Hania, Rethymnon

The following day we left for Krete. We made quite sure the taxi to the airport didn't overcharge us. At the airport, we found our flight had been delayed for an hour, so we drank coffee and wrote post cards.

The plane went to Hania on the northwestern coast. The western half of the island gets fewer tourists and is less commercial. A major highway runs along the northern coast connecting Hania, Rethymnon, Heracleon, and Ayios Nickolaos. Being primarily agricultural, Krete is the only island that could survive without tourists.

Hania is a pretty city that has been around since Minoan times. Elements of Byzantine, Venetian, and Turkish architecture are abundant. The local mosque has been converted to a tourist center. There were minarets everywhere. We took a stroll around the city and the local fortress. There was a large indoor market place which looked like the Greek version of a supermarket, except each stall was run by its own proprietor. We ate lunch there. I had smelts, just like mother used to make, for the first time in years. Pam couldn't believe I liked them.

We rented a car and drove to Rethminon. Rethminon is a smaller version of Hania, but with a larger fortress. We saw Kretens walking around in their traditional knee high black leather boots. It was difficult to find a hotel room and we ended up in a very small room with a single bed.

We went to the beach immediately. As we walked toward the water, I saw a beautiful blond woman sitting in a beach chair next to her husband, reading the newspaper. She looked up in my direction for a moment, lowering her newspaper in the process. That's when I realized that this was a topless beach. I was momentarily surprised and forever grateful that I had eye surgery to correct myopia. Continuing further along the beach, I noticed many other similarly attired unattached young women enjoying the day. Several smiled at me.

Pam and I finally settled on a spot for our blanket. Pam likes to lay in the sun and sleep, but I find that very boring. I convinced her to help me build a sand castle. We built it with a Byzantine dome and fortress walls. We pretended that the incoming tide was the Turkish Janissaries storming the walls. When the inevitable fall came, I was left with little to do except go into the water.

There were several girls windsurfing. A Canadian girl's sail was in the water so I offered to help. She accepted and when I got close I could see she was bare breasted also. Pam was furious, and wouldn't let me forget about this for the rest of the evening. The girl didn't seem to mind being half naked.

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Later we went out and ate red snapper and wine. The wine was only four dollars for a bottle, but it was good. We had the good sense not to finish it this time. While we were eating, a local entrepreneur with thick dark eyebrows and mustache came into the garden restaurant selling pig knuckles. He said they were good for soup.

Kretens have a different appearance from mainland Greeks. Kretens represent the Minoan civilization (4000 BC), which ethnically were a separate people from mainland Mycenaean Greeks (2000 BC), who in turn are ethnically different from Dorian Greeks (800 BC). Each consecutive civilization was ethnically a blend of the previous ones, so that the common misconception is that Greeks are a ethnically uniform people. However, my observations clearly prove that is not the case. Kretens have darker skin, their hair is black, not brown like mainland Greeks, their eyes are deeper and more intense and eyebrows wide and thick. The men all wear mustaches and knee high black leather boots. They even have a different accent. They don't know what a WC is either, you have to say toilet. In Rethymnon, I saw a bunch of men eating spaghetti and beans for breakfast. I don't know if this is typical, Pam said it was a typical farmer's breakfast.

The two towns we've been in seem to be real working towns, not just tourist meccas. The countryside looks less fertile, but the water is warmer. Daylight extends to 10:00 p.m. There are more Greek tourists here than elsewhere we've been. For that matter, there are more tourist of every nationality here than elsewhere.

Evan C. Economos

Day 13, Saturday - Rethymnon, Spili, Ayios Galini

We explored the Venetian fort at Rethymnon. There is a Turkish mosque inside. All traces of Islam have been removed except for a chain which hangs from the ceiling holding up a chandelier. Also the prayer marker (called a meharab by the Arabs) built into the wall in the shape of a pointed dome to show the direction of Mecca still had some of its very colorful and original paint.

We headed south for Ayios Galini along a winding road that took us south through the countryside. We stopped at a little village called Spili which had a Venetian fountain with 17 lion heads spouting water. We ate some souvlaki, yogurt and honey. Again, all the men here looked exactly alike with curly black hair, thick dark eyebrows, and mustaches to match. They looked just like the Minoan paintings in the museums.

Ayios Galini is on the southern coast of Krete. During the months of May through August the wind is constantly blowing sand everywhere. It had a beautiful harbor and a sandy beach protected from the waves by the pier. I went to every hotel before finally finding a room up the hill. Fortunately, it turned out to be B class hotel. The room was very clean with two beds and a tile floor. Everything in the bathroom worked, although there was a sign requesting that toilet paper not be placed in the toilet. The room only cost 1200 DR = $9.00, which is the best deal in Greece.

As soon as we settled in, we went to the beach. Half naked women were everywhere, mostly young and unattached. Even the post cards are full of them. One very cute half naked blond started making out with her boyfriend right there in public. It was like watching an X rated movie. There was a discothèque for evening entertainment. Krete is definitely on my list of pick up spots for single men.

Even though the water was warm and clean, I was the only one who actually swam. I don't understand why people go to the beach to get a suntan. They can do that anywhere. They can only swim where there is water. There is nothing else to do here except swim and tan. There are no ruins to see. Just wind, water and sand. We could hear the wind howling through the windows all night. Apparently this is a perennial late summer phenomenon.

We have encountered very few Americans in Krete. Everyone asks me if I'm German. When they hear me speak Greek, they are a little surprised because my accent is good even though my vocabulary is awful.

The people here are camera shy. On the mainland, they pose for you. Here it is best to ask permission, but even then they may ignore you or turn their backs to your camera. All the bakeries have koulourakia, whereas I only found them in Patras on the mainland. For dinner, I had fresh squid. Except for a few extra fish dishes, the menu is the same as everywhere else. There isn't much of variety in Greece.

Evan C. Economos

Day 14, Sunday -

Ayios Galini, Gortys, Pirgos, Knossos, Heraklion, Rhodes

We were the only tourists at the cafe for breakfast. The town was very quiet. There were just a few Greeks about. We both had coffee and were on our way to Gortys. On the way, I saw a man dressed in his Sunday best; the full traditional Kreten costume of pantaloons, high black boots, and a black cap with netting. He had a mustache and was jiggling worry beads in his hand. I begged him to allow me to take his picture. I think he let me because he thought we might take him to a small town an hour away. Unfortunately, we were going in the opposite direction. We left him somewhat disappointed on the road.

Gortys is a very small village which would never lead one to think that this had once been the main city in Krete during Roman times. It is even mentioned in the new testament as the home of St. Titus. We did not find any excavations at Gortys. On vacant pasture land you can see the outline of building foundations. The dwellings are all quite small and white washed. We got out of the car and looked for something more tangible, but could find nothing except two churches.

One church was from the classical period. It had originally been a temple of some kind, but had been rebuilt using the original columns and foundation. Here, ten Christian martyrs were beheaded for defying Rome and professing their faith. Inside, there were two gold chandeliers with small icons along the circumference. The effect was quite opulent. There was an icon of the event inside the church. The icon made the temple seem very large, but the church was actually small by American standards. I took a picture.

The other, smaller church is just a couple hundred feet away from the first. It too was pretty, but simpler. Underneath the church is a grotto, where the remains of the ten Christian saints lie buried. There were incense candles next to the graves. After all this time, they are still remembered.

Again, we found no ruins, although the foundations of old buildings were clearly visible under the ground. During our search, I peeked into a 30' x 20' white washed shack and saw an old woman in a dark room, sitting on a narrow bed dressed all in black with a head scarf. She was starring through her open door into the sunlight. She looked poor and sad. There was an icon above the bed and very little else in the room. The darkness of the room and her clothing contrasted sharply with the white wash color of her home. There were many homes like that one. I could have taken a photo with my camera, but it felt too much like an invasion of privacy. Nevertheless, my eyes snapped the photo which is still vividly etched in my mind.

We continued on toward Pirgos to take the north/south Heraklion road which divides the island in two and went north to Knossos. Near Pirgos, we were stopped by a van. A

Evan C. Economos slim man about 40 asked us if we would take his father to Heraklion. His father was a large burly robust man with gray hair, mustache and a cap. We always like to add a little local color, so we said yes.

He was going home after visiting his son's farm for the weekend. He carried a large sack of herbs and produce which we put in the trunk. After climbing into the back seat, the old man immediately gave us packages of oregano, chamomile, and mint in gratitude for the ride. I was afraid he would light up a cigarette, but he was quite discrete. He asked us if we wanted one and when we said no, he put them away. We never saw them again.

He spoke to us in Greek and I understood him most of the time. He told us his name was Mark Petrakis and he was 69 years old. Mark was in Krete during World War II when the island was successively occupied by the English, Germans, and Americans. A third of the population died during that war and Mark was very grateful to the United States for providing food and clothing in its aftermath.

All Greek names ending in "akis" are of Kreten origin. Dilberakis is my mother's father's mother's maiden name. I asked Mark where on Krete the name Dilberakis came from. We got out of the car to look at a map together. He told me that there were Dilberakis people in Rethymnon in the west and in a far eastern region called Lasithi, just south of Tsermiado and north of Psithro. It is near a mountain range called Dikti.

When we went to the palace of Minos in Knossos. Mark came along. They let him in for free, but we had to pay. He knew where everything was. We would have missed a few things if it weren't for him, including a Roman villa and a small palace on the opposite side of the road. It was closed, but I jumped over the fence to take a peek.

oldest throne in Europe

The palace dates to the Minoan era, about 4000 B.C., but the ruins, excavated by Sir Arthur Evans, represent the Mycenaean era, 2000 B.C. The palace is below the current ground level. Mark told us that the large mounds that surround the palace were also part of the city of Knossos. We saw the throne room with the oldest known throne in existence, carved from rock. There were intricate decorations everywhere very different from post-Doric Greece (800 B.C.). The rooms were rectangular in a very complex architecture resembling a labyrinth.

Evan C. Economos

There were several symbols used by this culture which can be found on a variety of objects. One is the double axe motif, which is two crossed curving axe heads, one facing right and one facing left. The other is the bull, particularly the horns. There were giant pairs of bull horns, three feet high, all along the perimeter wall surrounding the palace. A picture of Kretens riding bull horns was found on the site. Archaeologists often speculate as to whether the Spanish bull fights have any connection to the Minoan civilization.

After leaving Knossos, we continued north straight for Heraklion, the main city of Krete centered on the northern coast. Here our aged friend directed us to the museum. He told us he regarded us as his own children. He gave us his address and asked us to write. Then he scurried off to a taxi stand across the street, got into a taxi and was off for home. We had gotten used to him as our personal guide and were sorry to see him go.

Inside the museum, there were original frescos uncovered at Knossos as well as many other artifacts. All the paintings reflected the same unique features of the typical Kreten, heavy dark eyebrows and black curly hair. We saw many double axe motifs and lots of bull horns. Unfortunately, the museum did not allow photographs.

Afterwards, we were both tired, so we wandered off to a small square with a Venetian fountain and had coffee and yogurt. Directly across the street was the Venetian Loggia which had been rebuilt to its original condition. We took a walk around the town. We stopped in St. Titus church. St. Titus is the patron saint of Krete. His remains were stolen by the Venetians in the 17th century, but were returned to Krete in 1966. I'm not sure how old the church is, however, it was converted to a mosque in the 15th century and was re consecrated as a Christian church when the Turks were forced out at the beginning of the 20th century. This is the only instance I know of where a mosque was converted to a church.

Inside, only the vestibule was open. The rest of the church was undergoing renovation. Off to the left was a wooden structure about five feet high and three foot square called an iconostasis which holds an icon. The top was enclosed in glass and held the skull of Saint Titus, his only remains. The priest didn't seem to mind when I took a photo.

We continuing our walk to the end of the pier where there was a small Venetian fort. All around the old section of the city we saw many Venetian structures left abandoned. No effort has been made to restore them because of lack of funds. Because their historical importance, no effort is made to tear them down. The Kretens don't seem to mind if their city looks like a ruin.

We drove to the Heraklion airport to take our flight to Rhodes. We arrived at 7:00 p.m. and I spent the time writing until our plane left at 8:30 p.m.

It was after 11:00 p.m. before our plane arrived in Rhodes. As we taxied to our hotel, we saw and heard many people out carousing. The many bars and casinos were doing

Evan C. Economos a thriving business. Pam read that 25,000 tourist come to Rhodes each day. Bright lights and lots of glitter proliferate. Loud music was blasting from all directions. The atmosphere was one big happy party.

The taxi took a turn into a narrow street with only two inch clearance on either side. Suddenly we were within the intact medieval fortress walls of the knights of St. George of Rhodes. The atmosphere was completely changed. There were few people to be seen. The noise level from the immediate area was quite low, although the sound of bouzoukis still echoed in the distance. The streets were completely deserted in the vicinity of our hotel. It was a relief to know that there was a little peace somewhere on this island amusement park. The hotel was clean too. The hot water even worked. The owner, George, was pleasant. He told me that the Turks required a day's notice to review passports. He suggested going tomorrow afternoon to the shipping line. This upset me because it would put us a day behind schedule in a place I really didn't want to spend any unnecessary time in.

His wife was an old overweight Greek woman, very nosy and very cranky. She made fun of me because I didn't know what "chuck" meant. It apparently is a chicken. She was also very suspicious of my writing. She thought I was evaluating the hotel. She spoke to her husband in Greek about it, not realizing that I could understand what she said.

Evan C. Economos

Day 15, Monday - Rhodes, boat to Marmaris, Turkey

The next morning I explored the roof garden to take photographs. A young French woman with blond hair was taking a shower in the nude. She didn't seem to mind my presence. Her friends, both male and female were nearby and took no special notice either. It seems that Europeans really have a different view of nudity than Americans. From the roof garden, one can view several mosques without crescents or minarets. There are castle walls surrounding the city and a fortress in the distance.

There are a significant number of Italians here. They started coming when Tiberias was exiled here by Augustus Cesar in the first century B.C. After the Knights and the Turks were ousted, the island was under Italian control until the end of World War II. Mousolini built a palace here which we toured.

After breakfast, I told George we were going straight to the shipping line to see about passage to Turkey. He then mentioned that it might be possible to get to Turkey that day if I got to the office early. When we got to the shipping office, the Turks handled our passports in a very routine manner along with at least half a dozen other tourists who were there to make the trip also.

Pam and I still had plenty of time to walk through two museums and see the entire castle fortress. The fortified walls are still intact and surround the entire old city. An enormous moat still surrounds the walls, but is filled with trees and other fauna instead of water. Its not difficult to figure out how the knights of Saint George managed to keep the Turks at bay.

All the medieval stalls within the fortress are filled with modern sellers of trinkets, giving the effect of a real bazaar. There was no dearth of tourists shopping at every stall. In fact, the city of Rhodes has a real traffic problem. Materialism is rampant. People come here to shop. If you are looking for gently swaying trees under a bright sun overlooking a serene seashore, this is not the place.

I don't know why, but I didn't like Rhodes. I liked our room, but not the people who ran it. People here are too glamorous and there are too many of them. They are not nature lovers, they seek the kind of excitement that is usually found in casinos and bars. This might be a nice place to visit in February, but not at the height of the tourist season.

Evan C. Economos

Marmaris, Turkey

The boat ride to Turkey from Rhodes took an hour. As we got closer to the Turkish coast, we could see cascading mountains descending into the sea. As we got even closer, we saw many yachts in the harbor with red Turkish flags flapping in the wind. More red Turkish flags were on the shore presenting a stark contrast to the serene and verdant hills in the background. The town of Marmaris was full of tourist shops.

We took the first hotel we saw at the center of town. After we checked in, we were led up four flights of stairs to a hot and noisy room overlooking the center of town. Pam had a fit after climbing all those stairs and cried for half an hour. While I lay on the bed listening to her, a heavy wooden awning broke and fell six inches from my head. We complained to the owner and got another room.

After Pam calmed down, we went out and walked along the bay to a restaurant. Along the way, there were more flags fluttering in the wind. Of course, we didn't know any Turkish, so it was a little difficult to read the menu. The Turks didn't know English either, but everybody was friendly and trying to communicate. Every patron's table had their national flag. The Turks really have a real liking for flags. The waiter grasped that we spoke English and put the British flag on our table. I put it back on a counter of flags and got an American one. Pam got out the guide book for Turkey and we started learning a few key phrases provided. The Turks are elated when they hear foreigners speaking their language. Fortunately, one of the few Turkish words we knew was Shish Kabob, so guess what we had for dinner?

Evan C. Economos

Day 16 Tuesday: Marmaris, Seljuk, Kusadasi, Ephesus

The street which had been noisy the night before was now quiet. Breakfast consisted of tea, olives, feta cheese, bread and jam. There doesn't seem to be much Turkish coffee in Turkey. We had ordered a taxi to pick us up at 8:00 a.m., but at 8:15, it still hadn't shown up. We walked over to a shuttle service which took us to the bus depot.

When we arrived, we found out there was a time zone change. We were an hour early. At the bus depot, I had my first experience with an Asian toilet. It is just a hole in the ground with a flat porcelain cover showing where to put your feet while standing. There is no toilet paper or flushing mechanism.

While we sat waiting for the bus, we decided to eat. Again, there was only tea to drink, but all the Turks were eating a type of floured tortilla covered with butter and jam. Over the bus loudspeaker we could hear black American rap music with its heavy emphasis on beat. All the Turkish men had on the same uniform of blue jeans and a tee shirt. They all had two or three days beard growth.

Eventually we got on the bus. It looked just like the ones in the movie Yol. They weren't air conditioned, and the seats were framed in steel instead of plastic. It looked a lot like buses in Chicago in the 1950's. There is an attendant who sits at the back of the bus providing bottled water and towels at no extra charge.

A 10 year old boy came up to me and started speaking English. His father was a teacher. He was trying to practice his English on Pam and myself. His brother also joined in. They knew Pam's name from the television series Dallas. The knew the characters better than I did. There was also a woman on the bus who also was a teacher and spoke English. They were all very friendly.

Pam did most of the talking because, I was too engrossed in the scenery. The bus was riding north with the coast line on the left and a river below mountains as high as the Taygetos to the right. Several times we passed ancient viaducts bridging the river. The land extending from the Aegean sea is flat and ideal for farming. It also seems more fertile than Greece. The Turks plant more corn and tobacco. Women wearing full long skirts, embroidered blouses and head scarves covering the entire head were busy gathering up the harvest in the fields using donkeys and horses just like in Greece. Houses were white washed and appeared to be in better condition. There weren't as many half-built buildings falling apart as in Greece.

When the bus stopped for gas and food breaks, I wanted to take some pictures. There are statues of Ataturk in every town square, but I did not find them particularly photogenic. Turks do not like to have their picture taken. They seem more aware and embarrassed by their poverty than mainland Greeks. The father of the two children Pam spoke with helped convince one elderly couple to allow me to take their picture. It

Evan C. Economos wasn't easy. He had to talk to them for several minutes. I wanted the picture because the woman was wearing bloomers which are very popular in Turkey. The photo came out fine, but it is more interesting to see the wary and suspicious expression in the couple's faces.

When we arrived in Seljuk, we said good-bye to our friends and explored our new surroundings. Seljuk is named for the first Turkish tribe which entered Asia Minor around 1100 A.D. following the battle of Manzikert (located at the opposite end of modern Turkey) in 1071 A.D. which opened the heart of the Byzantine empire to the Turks and began the slow downward spiral of the Eastern Roman/Byzantine civilization to final oblivion in 1453 when the Ottomans (an offshoot of the Seljuks) conquered Constantinople.

Seljuk is located in the suburbs of the ancient city of Ephesus, which the Turks call Efes. Here we saw how real Turks lived. A voice was calling the faithful to prayer over a loudspeaker attached to a medieval minaret. Seljuk was more primitive than other villages that the bus went through. In fact, the bus didn't actually stop in Seljuk. It stopped just outside of town. Another bus came to take tourists to the city of Kusadasi which was created within the last 20 years specifically for tourists. The embarrassment Turks feel about having their picture taken apparently also to extends to their homes.

Our newly acquired knowledge of Roman/Byzantine construction, which Michael Roussis had taught us in Sellasia, Greece, helped us discern the age of various buildings in Seljuk and determine which mosques were converted churches. On a distant hilltop, we saw the red brick fortress of medieval Ephesus where the Byzantines moved when the port filled up with silt and became a breeding ground for malaria carrying flies. Also nearby, was the site of one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, the temple of Artemis. It was used as a model for the Parthenon and is even mentioned in the new testament. However, zealous Christians tore it down around 400A.D. Some of the columns were taken to Constantinople for use in Hagia Sophia. All that is left are a few stones in a muddy pond of water.

After wandering around Seljuk for a few minutes we got on the bus to Kusadasi. After checking into our hotel room, we went off to the ancient city of Ephesus. First we came upon the ruins of an ancient stadium upon a hill, Mount Panayir (Panayia). There was a huge 30 foot arch at the top of the hill and small rooms where I suppose contestants waited their turn to enter. The entire area was unmarked, consequently, there was no one else there. Pam felt uneasy with the lack of restraint and refused to explore the area with me. She remained at the bottom of the hill waiting for me to come down from the arena. I was all alone. There were no guards, no ropes, nothing at all to prevent one from taking out a shovel digging for artifacts. I felt obliged to take advantage of this unexpected freedom, but unfortunately I had no shovel. I wandered around in the bright sun for awhile, but without anyone to share the adventure, it wasn't much fun.

We walked on to the main city. The Turks don't like to give the Greeks credit for anything, so the signs call Ephesus a "Roman" town, and its true that it reached it zenith

Evan C. Economos during the Roman age. The Artemision, however, predates the Roman empire, having been erected in the mid 6th century B.C. More reliable sources place the founding of the city somewhere around 800 B.C. It is remarkably intact, having been abruptly abandoned when the malaria got out of control and the Turks became too dangerous. The most interesting building was the public library. Its facade was put back together by the Germans who have shown a great interest in Turkey's classical ruins. I could clearly read the Greek name of my aunt, Arête (meaning excellence/virtue), below a statue of a classically dressed woman. Directly across the street from the library was a still visible sign in the pavement in classical Greek marking the way to the local brothel.

In Ephesus, Artemis was more of a love goddess with a position similar to Aphrodite in classical Corinth, so a well advertised brothel in the heart of the city may not have seemed so out of place. Individual storefront stalls were still intact and various items which have been excavated are on display (but not for sale). The entire walkway through the city was paved in marble which is still there. While I was buying postcards and waiting for Pam, the teenage girls behind the counter started a lively conversation. When Pam came by one of them pointed to her friend and said in English, "she likes you". I said "Don't tell me, tell my wife." I wanted Pam to know what a prize she'd gotten.

At one end of the city lay the amphitheater which was similar to the one in Epidavros, only much bigger and but more ruined. Apparently stones from this amphitheater were the prime building material for the medieval fortress. Here, Saint Paul preached to the Ephesians with enough success to concern the ancient stone carvers who sold little statues of Artemis as souvenirs from the temple. The bible says they put on a demonstration yelling in unison, "Great is the power of Artemis".

Just past the amphitheater behind a low ridge was the remains of the church of Saint John. The church of St. John was built upon his grave during the reign of Justinian. The foundation is still visible, and an arch at one end is still in place. At the position of the altar is a hole which led to the tomb below. There is only one partial wall with an arch left, but no other ornamentation. I did not venture into the hole.

At Jesus' crucifixion, the bible states that Christ placed his mother, Mary, into the care of Saint John who brought her to live in Ephesus. Elsewhere in the area is the reputed home of Mary which is visited as a shrine by various Christian sects and represents the location of her physical assent into heaven. Pope Paul came here in 1967 to give his blessing to the place. Ephesus' early association with the mother of God (Theotokis in Greek) continued its traditional association with a prominent female religious figure.

It was getting late and it was time to go back to the hotel. We were almost stuck there overnight when all the taxis left. One more finally arrived and we were relieved. That night at the seaport of Kusadasi, we dined on fresh fish and a bottle of wine for the price of two quarter pounders at Burger King.

Evan C. Economos

Day 17, Wednesday

Kusadasi, medieval Ephesus, Smyrna/Ismir, Begama

At breakfast, I required more coffee than usual. Unfortunately, the Turks only drink tea and coffee was unavailable. Tea just didn't have the umph I needed to get going that day. As the day progressed, I realized something more serious was wrong and finally concluded that I had sunstroke. I wore Pam's hat for the rest of the day and moved very slowly.

After breakfast, we went back to Seljuk to see the medieval city of Ephesus. On a nearby hill, above the Artemision, is the fortress city. Leading up to the fortress walls is a small village built from the stones of the church. On the way up the hill, a small boy kept pestering me to take his picture. In sharp contrast, a group of women sitting under a shade tree at the edge of the Turkish village started screaming at me when I pointed the camera in their direction.

Most of the buildings inside the fortress were still intact. We roamed through them. Pam was concerned about a young Turk who was leering at her from a roof of a nearby building. The Turks find European and American women interesting because they lead a more open life. Everyday, the front page of the daily Turkish newspapers have pictures of naked blond Germanic looking women frolicking in the water.

On the other side of the fortress, was the mosque of Isa Bey, built in 1375 near the site of the temple of Artemis. Inside we saw tall Hellenic columns of various design holding up the mosque. There didn't seem to be any consistent design in their construction, so it was fairly clear they had been taken from somewhere else, possibly the original temple of Artemis or St. John's church, or the Roman baths which were all nearby.

Afterwards, we went to the Seljuk museum and saw many classical and Byzantine statues. Statues of Artemis were of course the main attraction. The goddess's numerous breasts (sometimes more than 20) representing fertility reminded me of Indian statues of Krishna which are of human form, but with similar multiple appendages.

On the bus to Ismir, which the Greeks call Smyrna, we met Ismet, a Turk who spoke to us in English. He was also on his way to Ismir to buy rugs to sell in America. He was married to a girl from Arkansas, whom he met in Paris. They have one son named Evan, which because my name was Evan, was deemed adequate to form a bond. Ismet pointed at my very tanned arm and said, "You must be Italian or something." Northern Europeans never tan this dark. Pam's skin, for instance, was still about the same color as when we left the USA. I heartily assured him I was Italian.

Since we had just come from Greece a few days before, we started comparing and contrasting Greeks and Turks. Turks appear to be a more serious people who always

Evan C. Economos have a look of purpose on their face. Greeks tend to be more relaxed. You'll never catch a Turk staring into space deep in thought or dancing. They are always on the move. It made me wonder why their economy is in worse shape than Greece's. After we established our mutual contempt for apparent Greek work ethics, he promised to show us hand made rugs for sale, if we were interested.

When we got to Ismir, Ismet took us to a store near the sea coast on the posh side of town. Until 1922, Smyrna/Ismir was predominantly a Greek town. However, in that year the Greeks invaded Turkey with an eye to recapturing their Byzantine homeland. The invasion failed and Smyrna was the Greek's Dunkirk. The Turks put the torch to this Greek town in the midst of their country and considered all Greeks living in Turkey to be a "fifth column". All Orthodox Christians in Asian Turkey, about three million people, were forced to leave. In retaliation, all Moslems, about one million, were forced to leave Greece. It was the largest population exchange in the 20th century and ended 2,800 years of Greek culture on the Asia Minor coast.

Pam and I could not agree on a carpet. We each liked just one. Then we went to the warehouse where there was an even bigger selection. Turkish rugs are predominantly of geometric design, which is a result of Turkish weaving techniques. Despite the enormous selection, we still had a hard time agreeing. Pam wanted a rug which I thought was awful, and she thought the same of my selection. We finally were able to agree on a 5'x 7' rug of middle quality hanging on the wall.

After our purchase, the store owner took us to the "otogar", or bus station. On the way, we got a short tour of Izmir. When I asked where the Greeks lived, he said "everywhere". Its amazing that an entire town could change populations! We bought tickets for Bergama, but the bus didn't leave for two hours.

The bus station is a very interesting place. There are all kinds of people one doesn't necessarily get to see as a tourist. Some women were wearing veils. Many crouched near the ground as is more common in Asia, rather than stand. There were seedy people, and clean people.

No one at the bus station spoke English. I wanted to confirm our hotel reservations in Bergama, since we would be arriving late. As in many foreign countries, I had to go to the post office to make the long distance phone call. I didn't know the phone number. Phone books aren't readily available even if you can read Turkish. Although no one spoke English, everyone at the post office was very friendly and tried to be helpful. With everybody trying, it was possible to find the number and make the call.

Afterwards, we ate dinner. The cafe owner took one look at us and tried to sell us his expensive lamb kabob which looked like it had been sitting out for a few days. Instead, we had a light salad. The food was fairly good. It is now clear that egg plant is a major staple of the Turkish diet. We got back to the bus company office only to find out there had been some miscommunication. Apparently the tourist towns are in a different time zone from the rest of the coast in order to be consistent with Greece. The bus had left

Evan C. Economos an hour before we thought it would. There wasn't going to be another bus until morning. The clerks at the bus station thought this was very funny and started to laugh. Pam started to cry and made a real scene. This embarrassed the clerk who promptly gave us back our money.

Travel plans can only anticipate so much. We had not planned for this. We did not know if there was alternative transportation or where we could stay in Ismir. For awhile, I didn't know what to do. I thought about going straight to Istanbul or taking a taxi to Bergama. We were on tight schedule and couldn't afford this kind of a delay.

I knew I didn't want to spend the night in the Ismir bus station, so I started walking toward the taxi stand. Pam started to protest and demanded to know what I was doing. I didn't really know, but I was too upset and anxious to have a reasoned discussion on how to proceed. I just told her "follow me". Normally this would have lead to an argument, but not wanting to be left alone in a Turkish bus station, she did. I saw a sign for Canakkale. I knew the bus to Canakkale had to go through Bergama! The last bus left at 9:00 p.m. and it was now 8:45 p.m. The trouble is that this bus only stopped at the intersection of the road to Bergama. It didn't go into the town itself. The clerks assured us there would be a minibus there to take us into town. We got on the bus.

It grew dark as we approached Bergama. For some reason, the bus driver let us out with all our luggage about a 100 yards short of the intersection. When we got off the bus, it was a totally dark on a moonless night with only starlight to guide our way. I thought I could see every star in the galaxy. There was no minibus, no taxi, no street lights and no people anywhere. We were alone in the middle of nowhere in Turkey. Pam kept tripping because she couldn't see where the road ended and grass began. Thoughts of camping under the stars came to mind. I started worrying about marauding thieves who might slit our throats. We walked ahead to the intersection.

Behind an unlit road sign at the intersection, we spied a taxi with its interior dome light on. A Turkish women smoking a cigarette in the back seat was waiting for the bus to Ismir to arrive. Words could not express my relief. The taxi drivers spoke some English. His name was Sali. He said our hotel was only 150 yards away. He suggested we walk there, since he had to wait with his passenger until her bus arrived. We couldn't actually see the hotel from where we were. The hotel may have been near, but it was so dark, we were afraid we would get lost, so we choose to sit in the Taxi with the Turkish women.

We sat in the darkness for awhile secure that we were somewhere with someone who knew where somewhere was. Sali started talking. He said for ten dollars he would drive us around all the next day. I thought the price was fair for a personal chauffeur. We struck a deal. Besides, Pam and I had already had our quota of anxiety in Bergama. We were willing to pay a little for convenience. Finally the bus arrived and Sali drove us to our hotel. The hotel was surrounded 25 foot high trees that hid the hotel from view even in broad daylight. The desk clerk at the hotel was waiting for us with a smile despite the hour.

Evan C. Economos

Day 18, Thursday - Bergama, Pergamon, Canakkale

We awoke to the sounds of chirping birds and the bray of a donkey. Breakfast in Turkey was again bread, butter, jam, olives, and feta cheese. The tea is always served in little tea glasses with a round bottom and a funnel top. I had gotten used to yogurt in Greece, so I asked for some. Unfortunately, it did not include honey, and had a watery consistency. This was very different from the thick creamy texture of Greek yogurt. I accepted the fact that we had moved on to a new culture and did not request yogurt again. Sali picked us up at the appointed hour as promised.

Pam's father thought we ought to visit Begama. On his visit to Berlin, Pam's father had seen many artifacts from Pergamon, the Greek name for Bergama. It took several extra days in an all too brief vacation to take this side trip, but Pam had insisted. Her father had seen some impressive artifacts from here at the Berlin Museum and was very enthusiastic about our going. Being still in the process of establishing a relationship with my new father in law, and having had great difficulty convincing Pam to go to Turkey, I wasn't about to argue about everywhere in Turkey we had to go.

We went directly to the ruins of ancient Pergamon, from which the Turks obtain the name Bergama. Pergamon began as a small mountain top settlement around 600 B.C. Alexander The Great placed Philetarios, a eunuch, in charge of this settlement with 9000 talents because the mountain had a commanding view of the entire countryside. Philetarios used the 9000 talent to develop the settlement into a fortified city. His brother, Attalus I reigned after his death and established a line of kings which continued until 133B.C.. Eventually a city was built down its hill sides. The people who settled here were early Hittite Indo-Europeans who became Greek speaking after Alexander the Great's conquest. The city of Pergamon eventually came to rely on Rome to protect it from the Seleucid empire to the north. In 133 B.C., when the last Attalid king died without an heir, he bequeath his kingdom to Rome. By the time Constantine The Great founded New Rome, in Istanbul, these people were totally Hellenized. The ruins are at three different levels. The acropolis was disappointing. The German archaeologists had left little behind, but there were some Germans reconstructing the temple..

The mid city was in better condition. At the bottom, was a temple to an Egyptian god built in Roman times. The entire building is still standing. Its marble facade has been removed, exposing an ugly inner layer of red brick and is therefore is called the red house. There are two towers on either side that are 15 to 20 feet in diameter. The entire structure is about three stories high. It is very large and very ugly. Across from the temple was a small shack with a marble portico. It wasn't hard to figure out where the portico came from.

Sali ate lunch with us at my insistence after visiting the Bergama museum. He squirmed in his seat and appeared uncomfortable to be with tourists at lunch. Perhaps

Evan C. Economos he thought the price was too high. Everything in Turkey is cheap for Americans, especially in the middle of nowhere, which Bergama is.

Sali drove us to the Asclepsion after lunch. These were the most interesting ruins in Bergama. The Asclepsion is a hospital dedicated to the healing god, Asclepsos. There were some impressive columns and an extensive underground passageway where sick people were required to wander until healed. We walked through it, but it didn't help my allergies. There was also a theater nearby which was mostly rebuilt. Next door to the site was an army base. Tourists are not allowed to take pictures in that direction. We were very careful about that. We didn't want any trouble with the Turkish army.

When it was time to leave, Sali took us to the same spot he found us at the night before. There we waited for the bus to Canakkale. Sali spent the time trying to convince me that I owed him an extra 2000 Turkish lira ($4.00), claiming miscommunication. He didn't get it.

Two Gypsies, a mother and a daughter were also there waiting for the bus. They were each carrying their worldly belongings in a tied up sheet. The mother was an old heavy set woman with a hooked nose and a mouth literally full of gold teeth. The daughter was about 26 and also heavy set. Both were in need of a bath. They were dressed differently from most Turks. Their clothing was more colorful and included bandanas around their heads, like, well, Gypsies! I wanted to take their picture, but they wanted money. I did sneak a photo from behind the old woman sitting on her bundle waiting for the bus. One of my regrets on this trip is not having paid her price. Eventually they got a free ride on a milk truck.

The bus came at 4:00 p.m. As we went further and further north, the villages looked more and more like the ones in Greece. We were no longer on the standard tourist route. We were the only foreigners on the bus and were seeing more of the real Turkey. I'll never forget seeing a small rural village without electricity or water pipes. An old man sat braced against a hand pump for water in the village square. More men sat in the local taverna sipping tea with their cloth caps on. The homes were in the same state of disrepair as in Greece.

The only difference between Greek and Turkish villages out here is that the average Turk is a shade darker than the average Greek and all the men in the taverna wear their caps. The Turks also seem more wiry than Greeks, their shoulders narrower, their hair straighter, and their eyes more oriental, not as deeply inset. The Turks drink tea, the Greeks drink coffee.

The ride to Canakkale took much longer than expected. All day long we rode through endless monotonous fields of commercially grown sunflowers the size of corn stalks. We didn't arrive in Canakkale until 8:45 p.m.! Canakkale is a pretty Asian town overlooking the narrow water way separating Europe from Asia. In ancient times, this sea way was called the Hellespont (Greek sea). Now, it is known as the Darden ells. Tourists come here primarily as a stopping place on their way to the ruins of Troy. This

Evan C. Economos was not a tourist town, however. This was a real town with real Turks which predates the tourist invasion. A walk several blocks inland revealed an old mosque and a medieval stone army fortress still in use. Elaborately painted horse drawn wagons carried the goods of itinerant merchants.

Evan C. Economos

Day 19, Friday - Canakkale, Bosphorus/Dardanelles, Galapoli, Istanbul

From our hotel room overlooking the straits, we could see the European shore. Ferry boats carry people and cars across all day long. In the morning after breakfast, we were among them. We climbed into a small boat carrying 20 passengers. An old woman sitting next to us was selling embroidered purses. Both sides of the shore were guarded by small medieval fortresses. I took a picture of an older Turk. Compared to the Greek whose photo I took crossing the gulf of Corinth, the Turk was better dressed and not scrawny. The same comparison could be made with the stray cats and dogs. It seems Turkey's Aegean coast is a more prosperous than Greece.

Across the straits in Europe, we had to get on a bus again. It did not take a direct route, but zig zagged through Kesan, Malkara, Inecik, and Teterdag. The anticipated four hour drive took six and a half. The scenery more of the previous day's, flat endless fields of giant sunflowers. What do they do with them all? We passed many interesting little towns with picturesque beach fronts for local vacationers. Unfortunately, the bus avoided all of them. I only caught a glimpse from the highway. I tried to sleep.

The only interesting stop we made was in Galapoli (Gerlibolu). This was a little fishing village with small fish hanging in rows on clothes lines. Here, in 1360, Turks first crossed into Europe. It is also the scene of a World War I battle with the Australians. The Turks held them off under the command of Mustafa Kemal who later changed his name to Ataturk and became the father of modern Turkey.

I tried to sleep, but got sick instead. Pam was also ill. Along the Turkish coast we passed an extraordinary number of military personnel. There are trucks, jeeps, and tanks everywhere. Sunflowers and soldiers just about sums up this little jaunt. My advice is to either drive, sail, or take a plane to Istanbul from Izmir.

Evan C. Economos

ISTANBUL: Grand Bazaar, Pera Palace

The Istanbul bus station is just outside of the Byzantine land walls built by Theodosius II in the fourth century. Large tracts of this wall are still intact. We could see endless fortress towers to the southwest. Except for us, everyone was Turkish. When the Taxi drivers saw us their eyes filled with American dollar signs. Their scramble to grab our luggage quickly led to a fight for our fare. We sat ignored on the sidelines watching two men start to slug it out.

Suddenly two policeman came sauntering by, looking rather more like an American GI in his combat boots, metal helmet and cartridge belt. His fingers were on the trigger of a machine gun which he held next to his chest. From the smug look on their faces, it was clear that they knew who was in charge. All the commotion immediately died down. All the taxi drivers sat on a low brick wall with their hands folded on their lap as if they were school boys in the third grade. The police began asking questions. Everyone feigned ignorance. Pam and I, who were already sitting a safe distance from the crowd of taxi drivers said nothing. While the attention of the police was focused on questioning several of these overgrown schoolboys, another taxi driver managed to move away from the crowd and discretely motioned us to his taxi. Not wanting to become in an international incident, we followed. He took our luggage and away we went.

Think of Istanbul as a triangle with the land walls to the northwest one side, the Bosphorus shoreline the second side, and the shore along the Golden horn the third. The taxi drove down the main street which bisects the land walls and runs perpendicular from there to the triangular point opposite where the entrance to the bay known as the Golden Horn and Bosphorus meet. This point is the heart of Istanbul. In Roman times it included the Emperor's palace, the amphitheater, the Church of the Holy Wisdom (Sophia). and the church of Holy Peace (Irene). Today as in Ottoman times this area includes the Topkapi Palace, the Blue Mosque, several major museums, and the two churches. In our first glimpse of Istanbul, we saw mosques, minarets, women with veils and the covered bazaar. Istanbul really has the atmosphere of a foreign and exotic country. It is far more beautiful than Athens.

Pam wanted to stay in the Pera Palace hotel, but it was across the Golden Horn, not in the main city. I convinced her that we should stay in a city hotel that was centrally located and more convenient to all the sites we wanted to see. We obtained a room in a hotel next door to Istanbul University. The room faced a tranquil courtyard in the rear shared with all the other local hotels. It cost $40.00 per night which seemed like a bargain. On the way up to our room, I noticed a number of eastern Europeans.

It was only about 4:00 p.m., so we went out to see some sights. We headed down Ordu street for the Grand Bazaar. On our way, we stopped at the Beyazidiye Mosque. Men were washing their feet in preparation of entering the mosque for prayer. Everyone must remove their shoes before entering a mosque. Women are required to cover their

Evan C. Economos head. Someone gave Pam a scarf. We were allowed just inside the door because a service was in progress. This is considered one of the more beautiful mosques in the city and it was easy to see why. Its walls were adorned with colorful tiles and the interior was illuminated with a circular, iron wrought candelabra which was perhaps 40 feet in diameter.

At the entrance to the covered bazaar is an open courtyard. At one end is an outdoor cafe. At the other end, books are sold in many languages, including English. Just past the book stalls is the entrance to the bazaar. The grand bazaar has been a institution for centuries. The original building burnt down in 1950, but this did not diminish the excitement which comes with experiencing the exotic.

The bazaar is filled with streets and alley ways completely lined with shops selling copper, silver, jewelry, porcelain, decorative plates, and icons. Street vendors were actively calling out to potential customers walking by. Although the streets went in all directions, it was possible to go continually downward to the center of the bazaar. All along the corridors, the shop keepers yelled in English as they saw us coming, "Yes, Please" and "excuse me". As we approached the center, the noise level declined. Merchants felt less compelled to scream or even mutter hello. They take the soft sell approach. They have best quality merchandise in the bazaar and they know it.

At 6:30 p.m. all the stores were closing. We decided to continued down the main street of Istanbul, Ordu-Yenicerila. We stopped at a restaurant to eat. The menu was all in Turkish and none of the waiters spoke English. Fortunately, I really like Shish-kabob. At the next table, a group of Moslem women were taking their veils off to eat. Underneath their veils they looked like everybody else.

After dinner, we continued past the pillar of Constantine and many mosques with attached cemeteries until we reached a park. It was rush hour, and a man with a giant four foot high tea pot strapped to his back was pouring tea to customers at a nearby bus stop. On our right, behind a long field of grass was the mosque of Sultan Ahmet, known as the Blue mosque. On the left, partially hidden from view by a park full of trees and Turkish turbes was the Church of the Holy Wisdom (Haghia Sophia), which the Turks call Aya Sofya.

It was closed, so we walked around it. The church was covered with scaffolding on all sides beneath which was burnt orange industrial paint, used more commonly on warehouses around the city. Over the years, buttresses have been added to the original building to reinforce it against the many earthquakes it has endured. The buttresses detract from the symmetry of the structure's original design and are even a different color from the rest of the church. Its depressing to see this church in such a condition. In the gardens, there were ancient columns and arches. Part of the foundation of an earlier church on this site were uncovered.

We walked past Holy Wisdom to the church of the Holy Peace (Irene) which is directly behind it. The current ground level is several feet above the original opening due to

Evan C. Economos layers of dirt over the centuries. The original marble facade is gone, exposing red brown brick beneath. This church was originally used as a hospital and charity house, but became a weapons storehouse during the Ottoman period - very odd for a church named peace. It also became the headquarters of the Janissaries, the elite personal bodyguards of the Turkish sultan. There was no access to the inside.

The archaeological museum is behind Saint Irene on the left. Past Saint Irene, is a park with many shade trees. The park is a walkway which leads to the harbor overlooking the golden horn. There is a nickel charge to enter, which keeps vagrants out. An the top of the hill, on the right, the park is bordered by the sultan's harem within Topkapi palace. In the park and all around, we saw people from many Islamic countries. Women dressed all in black. Many wore veils. Some were so covered up, it was hard to tell their front from their back. As we left the park, we could see the Golden Horn and the cruise ships coming into port. Along the shore line are railroad tracks which are used for public transportation. We walked northwest along the shore line to Galata bridge, then southwest toward Istanbul University where our hotel was located.

When we got back to the hotel, we found that all the hotels in the area had televisions in the rear courtyard. The sound blasted through the windows so loudly it was hard to carry on a conversation. Someone had also used our toilet since we last visited the room and hadn't flushed, leaving solid visible evidence behind which was impossible to ignore. We tried to flush, but nothing happen. I went downstairs to the hotel lobby clerk to explain the problem. He gave me a can of deodorant spray. Something must have been lost in the translation. This was not acceptable, I explained. I convinced the manager to come up and examine the problem first hand. When he saw the toilet, he seemed to think deodorant was definitely the right solution.

Pam was furious. We decided to see if our reservations for the Pera Palace hotel were still good. Down to the lobby I went to make the call. We were both relieved to hear a room was still available. After packing our bags, we went down to the lobby. I explained to the hotel clerk that the room was unsuitable. A discussion about the bill ensued. The clerk wanted me to pay for the night. I refused, but offered to pay 50% for the time we spent there, per Turkish law. Since we couldn't agree, I suggested calling the police. At the mention of police, the manager decided not to charge us anything. We quickly left the hotel. Fortunately, there was a taxi just outside.

The Taxi took the Galata Bridge east across the Golden Horn to the precinct called Pera in Ottoman times, but now known as Beyoglu. The Pera Palace is located near Taksim square next to the American Embassy. It was built in 1894 for passengers of the Orient Express railroad. Many famous people have stayed here; Greta Garbo, Agatha Christe, Mata Hari, Jackie Kennedy Onassis and Turkey's favorite son, Mustafa Kemal also known as Ataturk. It has a faded elegance with original Persian carpets throughout. The hotel looks old, but is fairly clean. The bathrooms have all the modern conveniences.

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Our suite, room 523, consisted of two bedrooms. One may have been meant for a servant. One room had a window overlooking the Golden Horn. Across the bay, countless minarets doted the Istanbul skyline. The American flag could also be seen waving from the flag pole next door at the U.S. embassy. I was able to see most of the rooms on our floor when the maids were cleaning, we had the best.

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Day 20, Saturday - Topkapi Palace, Ayia Sophia, Ayia Irene, Blue Mosque, Rustem Pasa Mosque,

After breakfast at the Pera, we took a taxi to Topkapi Palace, the sultan's residence during the years of the Ottoman empire. It is built near the site of the Roman/Byzantine emperor's palace where Constantine the Great once lived. It is easy to see why two empires pick this spot for their home. It is on a hill at the tip of the peninsula. From here one can see the Sea of Mammora (Pontus) to the right, Asia directly ahead, the Bosphorus to the left, and Pera and the Golden Horn to the far left. Turning around one looks down on the entire city of Istanbul.

Inside the palace, we saw the room where the Grand Viziers received visitors. Sometimes the sultan would watch from behind a screen unseen. We also saw the enormous kitchen pots three feet high and as big around, used to feed everybody in the palace. Inside the museum was the Topkapi dagger with an emerald handle, made famous by the movie starring Melina Mecouri; the sultan's silverware made of silver, gold, and diamonds, and numerous other jewels and holy relics of Mohammed and John the Baptist. There was also a display of clothing worn by each Ottoman sultan. It was interesting to see how successive sultan's wardrobes became larger and larger with the growing prosperity of the Ottoman Empire.

The most interesting part of the palace, however, was the harem. The last harem wives, sultanas, left in 1906. The harem contains 400 rooms. The tour took us through 20. The others haven't been renovated. We stayed behind after the tour to look around unescorted and take photographs. There were many twists and turns with few doors or private places. One room had a fountain which purposely made an echo so that the harem girls could carry on a private conversation. We also explored some of the unrestored rooms not in the tour. We found a secluded outdoor pool overlooking the Bosphorus. The pool was dirty and there was algae growing along the sides and between the tiles, but I could imagine harem girls sunbathing unseen in their harem pants and veils overlooking the busy town and seaport below. The stairs leading to more rooms above looked so old, I was afraid they might break under our weight. If there was an accident, I didn't want to have to explain to the Turkish authorities what I was doing there. We left the harem and had lunch within Topkapi's walls overlooking the Bosphorus and Marmora (Pontus). We could see Asia in the distance and the land walls built about 350 A.D. by Constantine I at the water's edge. These walls protected the city from invasion until 1260 A.D.

We took another look at Saint Irene and walked to the nearby museums. Here we found the code of Hammerabi, the oldest code of laws. There was also a Hellenistic tomb showing the many exploits of Alexander the Great. Many relic of the near east can be found here. When the Ottoman Empire was beginning to shrink, the Turks made an effort to gather the best and bring them to Istanbul.

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We then made our way to the church of the Holy Wisdom (Sophia). This time we were approaching from the back of the church. This is the only side which does not have any scaffolding. It was a little easier to imagine what the church must have looked like originally before the minarets and flying buttresses were added. We went to the front of the church where shade trees and turbes (small mausoleums) obscure the view from the street and entered.

The Byzantine Institute of America paid for the restoration of the church some time ago. This institution was the product of one man's effort which died with him. The remnants of the this now defunct organization have merged with the Dunbarton Oaks in Washington D.C. The entrance to the church is on the side as it was for the ordinary Christians before the conquest. The back entrance was reserved for the emperor. We took the path leading to the second story staircase. The building was quite dirty from all the tourists. Children were screaming and running around their giant playground.

The second floor was reserved for worship by women. I stood at the center balcony where the empress Theodora, Justinian's consort must have once stood. To the right, was an mosaic of Christ dating to the 13th century. It was very natural and life like, reflecting a living art rather than the stern formal expression of icons painted today. The decoration around the windows and on the ceiling is floral rather than religious, as it was at the time of the conquest, hence it escaped destruction by both the iconoclasts and the Turks. This floral design was very popular in Byzantine times and was adopted by the Ottoman's as well. The art nouveau style popular which reached its peak between 1890 and 1910 owes its origins to these floral motifs.

When the Turks took over, white wash was applied to most of the interior to hide the Christian art. Many mosaics were therefore not destroyed. Above the altar is the Virgin holding Jesus on her lap. I recognized it as the one above the altar in the church where I grew up. On either side of this icon are giant angels. The only Turkish remnant in the church are four huge circular plaques covering the four corners where the walls meet the ceiling. They are dark green and have a gold Arabic lettering from the Koran on them. They may be hiding mosaics beneath them.

The front entrance doors from the vestibule to the main church are made of solid iron four feet wide and forty feet high. They are the original doors hung by Justinian in 536 A.D. These were reserved for the emperor. Above the doors are mosaics of an emperor bearing the gift of the church o Christ.

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Upon entering through the front doors, the first thing one notices is the vast amount of open space. There were never any pews. Neither an iconostasis nor altar now obstructs the view. The blue marble floor goes on forever and was constructed to imitate the waves of the sea. The dome appears to be almost in heaven itself. As a result, it is more obvious on the inside than on the outside that this is the largest building in Istanbul. Two Blue Mosques would fit inside, maybe even three. While setting up my camera to take pictures, I remembered something my Grandmother told me when I was a boy. I got on my knees and prayed for the return of this magnificent shrine to the Christian Orthodox Church.

In front of the church are a clump of trees and mausoleums. Directly ahead is a long level field. At the end of the field is the Blue Mosque, standing near the site of the Roman Imperial palace. The clear view of this mosque contrasts with the trees which conspire to hide the Holy Wisdom. North of the field and Blue Mosque are three statues marking the center of what once was the hippodrome seating 100,000. It was dismantled by the 3rd crusade in 1204 A.D. The statues left include an obelisk engraved with the court of Theodosius and the three headed Pythian serpent which once stood at Delphi as a dedication to Apollo.

We continued southwest to the Blue Mosque. It has a large courtyard which gives it the appearance of being larger than it is. Inside it looked a lot like the other grand mosques, except it was cleaner and the art was finer. Many chandeliers hung down by a thin cord from the high ceiling. Each of its many windows was stained glass. All the tiles were beautifully decorated. Although there were blue tiles, the building didn't seem to have the bluish hue that accounts for its name. Perhaps it was the sunlight at that particular time of day.

After leaving the Blue Mosque, we walked along the long field which separates Agia Sofia from the Blue Mosque. Standing in the middle of the field, one can appreciate the difference in size between the two. From here, the group of trees placed in front of Holy Wisdom seem like mere shrubbery. The church towers above all else. In the opposite direction, the Blue Mosque appears as a beautiful, but small dome. We continued our walk toward the wide street just to northwest of the Blue Mosque where the hippodrome was stood. Besides the three statues there is a tourist information booth, the column of Constantine, and an entrance to the cistern where water was stored for the city's use. We went down to take a look. For 300 years after the conquest, the Turks didn't know it existed. Here we found a street vendor who sold us a Turkish oboe he was playing for $3.50. When we explained that Pam could play too, he wanted her to try it out, but she declined.

We walked toward Galata bridge stopping first at Rustem Pasa Mosque, above the grand bazaar. This was the prettiest mosque I saw. It was small, but it had a second floor balcony. It is also the only mosque I saw with frescos. We had to walk up a flight of stairs to get to the entrance.

Evan C. Economos

Then we went to Yeni Mosque, which is next to Galata bridge. This was the last great mosque built and dates from the 17th century. The exterior architecture is the most beautiful and faces the Golden Horn. It is just east of the Egyptian Spice Bazaar. Unfortunately, the interior has not been renovated in recent years. There were no pretty Turkish rugs on the floor, just plain green with a red stripe. The building was in poor condition and quite dirty. We walked across the Golden Horn on the Galata Bridge and took a taxi to the Pera Palace.

After we took a shower, we went down to the lobby and asked the clerk where we could find a good Turkish restaurant. He gave us the name of one across from the French Embassy in Taskem square about a 20 minute walk from the Pera. It was called Haci Baba. We had to go up a flight of stairs to a garden terrace. We sat next to two French women. The waiter even spoke English so we were able to order what we wanted. There was a tree whose trunk growth had entirely encircled the terrace railing. The food was good, but I bit into a hot pepper that left my tongue and lips burning for hours. We walked around the square after dinner and saw the obligatory statue of Ataturk and a pretty water fountain. There were a number of sheek department stores here.

Evan C. Economos

Day 21, Sunday - Saint Savior in Chora, Mihrimah Sultan & Suleymaniye Mosques, Bosphorus

The next day we took a taxi to Karyi Cami Mosque near the city walls. This was originally Saint Savior in Chora (country), but was converted to a mosque after the conquest. Now, it is a museum. The Turks kept the church because the main room is decorated in marble rather than mosaic icons. The vestibule, however is covered with both frescos and mosaics. They depict the lineage of Christ and the birth of Mary. This church depicts the immaculate conception of Mary, a belief no longer held by the Orthodox church. The best fresco was the salvation of Adam and Eve from Hell by Christ after his crucifixion. In a separate attached section to the right of the main church is an area which once contained the tombs of the family that built this church. The tombs were destroyed by the Turks, but most of the art work decorating the ceiling above is still intact.

While I was admiring this art work, a Greek family came by and said hello to me in English. The father of the group told me I looked like a Greek from Greece rather than a Greek-American because my skin was dark olive brown and not white. After three weeks I had gotten quite a sun tan. Only my clothes give me away as an American. I showed him the skin underneath my shirt sleeve to assure him that I was still white where the sun hadn't been.

We met a Greek tour given in English. The tour guide was very knowledgeable. He said that the marble decorating the church interior was made of single slabs split in two to create symmetry. He said they did the same thing with the blue marble floor of Saint Sophia which gave it the appearance of waves emanating from the center outward. Apparently the Turks had taste when it came to this church. Instead of white wash, they covered up the religious art with doors that were occasionally opened for viewing by foreign dignitaries.

We walked to the Theodosian walls at Feuzi Pasa street just a block from the church. We came to the gate known as the Cemetery gate. Here Memhet the Conqueror entered the city of Constantinople for the first time in 1453 after his troops broke through the walls. As we went through the gate, we realized the wall was 10 to 20 feet wide and 30 to 40 feet high. Before the Turkish conquest, it surrounded the entire city. Although it has fallen due to disrepair in some sections, it was in tact here. On the outside of the gate are the Christian and Moslem cemeteries. Most of the Christian graves, Greek and Armenian, dating to 200 A.D. were only recently destroyed to make room for Sauaklar street just outside the gate.

We continued to walk south toward Mihrimah Sultan mosque built by Sinan, believed to be a converted Greek originally named Christopoulos. Just as we got sight of the mosque, I saw a little boy peering from behind an iron gate and a high stone wall. Instantly I knew from his eyes that he was Greek, not Turkish. I spoke a few words in Greek and a woman who spoke English let us in. It turned out to be a church called

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Saint George. She said that the original site of Saint George was on the hill across the street where the Mihrimah Sultan Mosque now stands. The church was razed to build the mosque as a gift for the sister (daughter?) of Suleymaniye the Magnificent in 1557. The present site, on the low ground, was given to the Greeks as a consolation. The current building dates from that time. It is quite inconspicuous. The Turks have not allowed Greeks to build a domed church since the conquest. The girl who showed us the church said there were still 150 Greek churches in Constantinople.

We finally went to Mihrimah Sultan Mosque, but it was not impressive. Maybe it was the story I had just heard about Saint George, but all these mosques were starting to look a lot alike. As we walked out we saw two coffins ready for a funeral service.

We took a taxi to Suleymaniye Mosque. In the courtyard we found the Sultan's tomb, along with that of his favorite sultana, Roxanne. Sultan Suleyman the Magnificent took the Ottoman Empire all the way to the gates of Vienna. The empire reached its military peak in his reign. Unfortunately, he killed all his rivals for the throne including several sons. As a result, the next sultan was mentally retarded.

Inside the mosque were beautiful stained glass windows. There was a service going on so Pam and I stood discretely in the back. There was a short fence which segregated the women from the men. Only the men were allowed in the center, inside the fence. The interior was fairly dark and was lit by a huge iron chandelier which circled around the entire room. With my tripod up and camera set for time exposure, I was able to take a photograph of the service.

From here we went to pier 4 at Galata bridge and bought two tickets for the 1:30 p.m. ferry ride up the Bosphorus which links the Sea of Marmora (Pontus) to the Black Sea. Everybody told us to do this. They forgot to tell us that all the Turks do it too. The boat had standing room only. To us everyday has been a holiday, so we didn't consider that Sunday might be busier than a weekday. On board they served tea, yogurt, and chocolate, but no Turkish coffee.

The shore lines of the Bosphorus are doted with many hills and bays. The terrain is far more rural than Istanbul, Pera or Galata. Many Greeks live in the villages along the northern-European shore. One of the first sights is the Dolmabahce palace with its white marble facade, built in 1853 to supplant Topkapi. We also saw a suspension bridge, the first to link Asia to Europe, built in 1973. Further on we saw Rumeli Hisari (1452) and Anadolu Hisari (1390) at the narrowest strait in the Bosphorus. Rumeli is situated on the northern, European or "Roman" shore while Anadolu is on the southern, Asian or Anatolian side. This is where the Persian King Darius crossed into Europe to invade Greece in 512 B.C. Mehmet the Conqueror built Rumeli to cut off food supplies to Constantinople. Numerous mosques and medieval fortresses can be found along the shores. Near the entrance to the black Sea, we also saw a Russian battle cruiser.

Almost everybody got off at the last stop, Anadolu Kavagi, on the Asian shore, several miles short of the Black Sea. At the summit of this town is a Genoese castle. We ate

Evan C. Economos lunch here. The waiters spoke poor English, but a Turkish-American woman at the next table who lived in Ohio interpreted for us. On the way back, we met two students from Ann Arbor Michigan. The boy's name was Heineken (like the beer). He was Dutch and his parents taught at the American school in Beirut Lebanon. His girlfriend was an American. They were hitch hiking their way from Amsterdam.

Athens, we decided to eat dinner in the hotel. While we were there, a Turkish engagement We went straight back to the Pera to rest before dinner. Since we had an early morning flight to party took up half the room.

The funny thing is, it could have been in Chicago. Some guy with a portable keyboard was playing American tunes in English. They got up to "dance", but it was free style. Dancing Turkish style means shuffling your feet back and forth while waving your hands in the air. The fathers of the betrothed couple danced together. They had an interesting custom. Each took money and pressed it against the head of the other. They looked like two middle aged men doing the Frug, a dance I hadn't seen since I went to high school sock-hops in the 1960's.

I guess you could boil down the difference between Turks and Greeks to this: Turks can't dance. They have no spark, no eccentricity, or developed sense of humor. They are a serious, straight forward, energetic, ambitious, and single minded people, but for the most part, they lack Greek charisma.

Evan C. Economos

Day 22, Monday - Istanbul to Athens, Stranded at the Benaki Museum

The next morning we went to the airport. Turkish security is very tight. It took a long time to examine the luggage. They did two body searches on Pam using an electronic scanner. When we arrived in Athens, we immediately felt the intense heat. Athens was in the middle of a heat wave. It was at least 20 degrees warmer in Athens than in Istanbul. When we finally looked at a weather report, we found out it was 100 degrees.

We didn't have much time, so we went directly to the Benaki museum to buy an icon. The icon depicts the announcement to Mary by the angel Gabriel that she is with child. I wanted that particular icon because it represents the origin of my name. In Greek, this event is known as Evangelismos. It means good news. It is also the origin of the word evangelical. In Greek my name is Evangelos. In English my mother had the sympathy to shorten it to Evan.

We made it to the museum just before the 2:00 p.m. closing. All Athens shuts down for a siesta at this time. Stores reopen at 4 or 5:00 p.m. For many this is the end of the day.

When we left the Benaki we tried to hail a taxi, but none would stop. These people aren't sufficiently capitalist oriented to make a few extra drachmas by working past their siesta hour. We had all our luggage, so it was impossible to walk to our hotel even if we could find it. Pam became very upset at the thought of being stranded in the heat of downtown Athens with all our luggage for the next three hours. She finally went up to a cab driver stopped by a red light and gave him a sob story complete with tears. Greeks are pushovers for women in distress, so as a favor he took us to our hotel.

When we got to the hotel we unpacked and immediately left for the plaka. Pam bought an embroidered apron for her Aunt Helen. I bought a miniature ceramic vase which Pam promptly dropped and shattered. I was not happy.

We had been complaining to the hotel clerk about the mediocre food. He suggested we go to a restaurant in Piraeus. He gave us the address and even called a taxi for us. The restaurant, named Mykonos, was at a pier called Microleanau. The pier was crescent shape with many restaurants all along the shore. It was a weekday at 7:00 p.m. All the Greeks eat at 9:00p.m., so we were about the only ones along the whole pier. We had fish which was even better than what we had in Kusadasi. We finished with a delicious brandy made of strawberries called Stafalina and made on the island of Mykonos. We could have stayed and seen a little of Piraeus, but Pam was tired and we had another early plane to catch in the morning.

On our return to the hotel, the same clerk who was there when we first arrived was on duty. He remembered us and laughed about out experience with the corrupt taxi driver. We spoke for awhile about San Francisco. He asked us what the Turks thought of the

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Greeks. Another American from Los Angeles was sitting on the sofa. He taught electronics at a junior high school. We told him about our trip. We said good-bye to the hotel clerk and headed for the elevator to our room. While we waited for the elevator to arrive, the clerk called out "Remember your roots. Now that you have found them, don't lose them. Remember you're a Greek !" I assured him that this would never happen. As we were going up to our room for the night, Pam compared my complexion darkened by three weeks in the Mediterranean sun to the color of the olive green wallpaper in the elevator.

Day 23, Tuesday - Flight home

I really haven't felt this trip. Its been more like a dream. The excitement has been so overwhelming, I've just been numb. I took lots of pictures, collected many post cards, and bought lots of trinkets. Places I have read about are more than names or even a location on a map. Now they are real, with people and buildings. I guess I'll feel this trip after I get home, when I go through all the memories.

Please note: Most spellings are intentional even if they look wrong. In their written material Greeks often use spellings which may vary from those Americans are use to, but which more closely follow the Greek.