Kusadasi, Turkey

Since my last post, when I wrote, "Shoot (photos) now - research later," I've learned more about Mediterranean history than they taught in school; at least enough to include a bit to accompany photos.  I must confess that much of the 'history' has been cut-and-pasted from this-source-and-that and I apologize in advance for any blatant plagiarization, but I'm already starting to forget what I learned.  I half-heard the tour guide's spiel, but what I include seems to correspond with the guide's words.  Here we go.

The Celestyal Journey sailed overnight from Thessaloniki to Kusadasi, Turkey, 285 nautical miles, arriving at the port at 1pm (this, from the daily itinerary supplied on board, I kept the first pages).  Nothing particularly stood out other than the hill (above) with a sign reminiscent of Hollywood and statue of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk,  the First President of Turkey, 1923.

The ship pulled up to the dock, and we quickly transferred  to buses to begin our excursions.  I chose Ephesus, with a stop first at the House of the Virgin Mary, where Mary (supposedly) spent her last years, accompanied by John, who Jesus entrusted the care of his mother.  It was a short drive through the countryside while we gradually went up in elevation.

So Mary lived on top of Mt.Koressos but John lived in the town at the base (Selcuk).  They say he dutifully went up and down, delivering whatever Mary required.  Sarcastic-me asks,  Why wasn't she supplied with whatever she needed up on the hill; but faithful-me thinks she got what she needed, in the form of John.  At least she wasn't left alone and destitute.

We were advised by the guide that it's the (unofficial) law in Turkey to bargain at the shops; except for the small shop outside of the shrine itself, where 100% proceeds went towards the upkeep.  But as I'll explain, not everyone got the message.

"The house was discovered in the 19th century by following the descriptions in the reported visions of Blessed Anne Catherine Emmerich (1774-1824), a Roman Catholic nun and visionary, which were published as a book by Clemens Brentano after her death. Anne Catherine Emmerich was beatified by Pope John Paul II on October 3, 2004." 

Not everyone agrees with this claim, but it doesn't matter to me.  It was a lovely place in any event.  We weren't allowed to photograph inside the shrine and basically walked through without stopping, except to make an offering at the front door.  No matter, it was a privilege to be inside, however brief.  Surprisingly, no head scarf required.

After that, we were free for 1/2 hour until the bus's departure.  There wasn't much to visit around the grounds, but there were various points of importance, such as this Wishing Wall, wish I'da known why people were attaching scraps, a missed opportunity:

"The House of the Virgin Mary has become a pilgrimage for Christians who visit the town, light a candle and write their wishes on the wall, as well as on napkins, toilet paper, museum entrance tickets, coupons, a piece of clothing and many other items, which they either attach or leave next to the wall. In their messages, the visitors mostly wish for good health, peace, happiness, long life and money."

I wandered alone, as I did during most of my vacation, which was fine.  Easier to decide on where to go. I've mentioned I haven't really travelled overseas in 30 years so I was still discovering how things have changed.  I was friendly, but people are much more wary of strangers than I remembered.  I felt the same after moving back to land after living on Ruff Life for a dozen years.  I guess terrorism will do that.

Still, I was enjoying my walks through history, awkwardly snapping photos while teaching myself the camera's operation.  Here's St. Mary's Well, which supposedly had healing properties; so the Well and the Wall kinda go hand-in-hand.

Here comes the painful part of my tale:  After purchasing a magnet and a couple stone crosses in the Shrine Shop, more to support the shrine than anything, I overheard a woman (50-60-ish) from my bus bargaining with the shopkeeper, who resembled those priests with long black dress-robes, you get the idea.  He seemed confused when, holding up a scarf, she sharply asked,

"How much if I buy two?"

I should have minded my own business but I stepped back and leaned towards her, speaking quietly:

"Excuse me, you may have misunderstood the Guide..."

I couldn't continue because she held up her palm and pushed squarely against my shoulder.  I paused for a split second because I thought, as has happened before (especially with older people), they sometimes grab you to draw you closer to speak, you know what I mean.

But she never said a word as she continued to push until her arm could no longer stretch.  I couldn't believe her action and suddenly felt like a street urchin. Unfortunately, I allowed her rude gesture to become the thorn in my side for the remainder of the trip.  When I retold that story some gasped and asked,  "What did you do?"

Nothing...I turned away, embarassed.  I should have let it slide off my back like water off a duck, but I've never been good at that.  Whatever caused her to develop into an unkind person was her problem, not mine; but at the time I didn't recognize that reality, and I'll tell you why:

This trip was a really big deal for me, and with all the excursions and upgrades it wasn't cheap. I'm still paying for it, I'm not complaining.  But I did feel out of my element and suspected I was the poorest on the tour; hopefully I didn't look that way in my modest wardrobe.  I wasn't trying to pretend to be something I'm not, but I didn't particularly want everyone to know I'm on food stamps, either.

Over the past decade-plus, during bad breaks and poverty, my self-esteem degraded almost 100%, but I tried to keep up a good front. Finally, it began to come back, as I wrote about in Michael.  I may not have the bucks to spend on fancy dinners, but at least I knew I could hold my own during intelligent conversations.

In an instant, all those old feelings of inadequacy came flooding back, and for once I was glad no one knew me.  I stopped seeing the sights around me and focused on quelling Amy, threatening to blow at any moment.

I learned the woman was the companion of a fellow in the orchestra, a really nice guy, I was told.  Well, opposites do attract. Unfortunately, she was on most of my selected excursions and popped up at the on-board concerts and rehearsals.  I couldn't get away from her.  At the next port, the head count didn't match and the guide asked if everyone was on the right bus; a few European tourists were mistaken. I was looking for a seat when I was suddenly addressed:

"Are you with (the orchestra)?! Oh, yes."

God, there she was...who was she to question?  I dreaded boarding the bus each time we began a new excursion and wanted to join other groups, but everything was very structured.  I knew it was a test, for Mom always warned,

"You can't run away (from a problem).  If you don't work out whatever's wrong in your present experience (home, job, friends),  don't be surprised when the problem arises in your next experience."

I shoulda known something unexpected would try to derail my enjoyment, and been more aware.  A former boss would add, "Just when you think everything's great, Malakh ha-Mavet (the Angel of Death) swoops down and strikes you dead."

For the remainder of my trip I worked hard to adjust my attitude and overcome my resentment.  Amy, of course, wanted revenge.  I ultimately won over but not until the final stop, when our tour group paused on a side street to listen to the guide's information.  We were lined in a semi-circle when suddenly the woman stopped directly in front of me, blocking my view.

Whatever the guide was saying was lost as I pondered what to do:  I have my cane, should I gently but purposefully budge her out of the way?  Or ask her to Kindly Move, with enough sarcasm to make my point?

But I realized that no matter what I did, I'd wind up looking like the bad guy.

"Enough.  Let it go."

I may not have succeeded 100% in my duck's back-quest, but at least I didn't have a rumble with her on the cobblestones.  I held my temper.  Progress.  Plus it taught me a valuable lesson in letting go of resentment, which I hope I won't forget.

I've been debating whether or not to include this part of my story, it is embarassing.  But it played a part, and maybe it'll help someone avoid my mistakes.

So I'll end this now; it's been a catharsis.  My next stop will be Ephesus, too magnificent a Ruin to ruin with a Whiner Baby tale.

To read from the beginning of the trip:  Athens and the Acropolis