It seemed like the perfect end to about two weeks of travelling, which had taken us from Eskisehir to Izmir on the Agean, then the old city of Selcuk which held the ruins of Ephesus, Pamukkale, and finally onto Egypt. We'd travelled up and down the country via the rail line, convincing ourselves that we were seeing the not-so touristy side of Egypt.
When we told the waiter we wanted to order it, he seemed surprised- not as if we were the only ones who had ever asked for it, but as though we didn't quite understand what it was. He repeated it a few times in confirmation.
We spent four days in Izmir, a city laden down by its history. Homer was born there, and mentions if frequently in his works. The first residents are known to have lived there in 6,500 BC. Our hotel was near a market, and on the day that rain wasn't turning the pavement into sponges, we got lost (not so figuratively) in the bazaar. Since Selcuk is only an hour by train from Izmir, it lent itself to day trips.
He first brought over napkins and forks, and then, realizing a mistake, rushed over with knives. At this point, there was a feeling in my stomach. It wasn't hunger. It was closer to anticipation, but a wary form of it. If Hilary was feeling the same, she wasn't showing it. We both sipped our raki and ate the bread that has been left on the table.
The ruins of Ephesus are only 3 kilometers from downtown Selcuk, so it's only a dolmush ride away. At one point, Ephesus was the capital city of Asia Minor, and for a short time, the second largest city in the world (with a population of 250,000). From the pictures we'd seen, it was filled with sickeningly cool ruins, and a copious amount of tourists. Fortunately, when you arrive in early December, when the sun spends most of the time in hiding, not many tour buses make their way out to the site. To stand at the top an old theatre, blocks crumbling, but still with perfect acoustics, alone, is a pretty amazing feeling.
We'd only ended up in the restaurant for some food before our overnight train. At first we'd ordered a tea or two, but soon hunger overcame our want to sit and drink teas. We'd asked for the menu, and we scanned over the regular items- dolma, kofte, kebap, gozleme. Then it caught my eye- midway on the page, tossed between eggplant salad and a sheep cheese platter.
"Hey check this out- we need to get it. C'mon- it will make us smarter!"
Pamukkale, the somewhat appropriately named the 'Cotton Fortress' posed a challenge to us. By naming itself a 'fortress', we were left to wonder, 'how easy is it to get into?' We'd tested our shrewdness the day before, when we scaled the walls of an old Roman fort, suggesting that if two young people can get in without a problem, perhaps the Empire wasn't as glorious as it had one claimed. So in Pamukkale, we learned two things- first, it's not really cotton. Second- we weren't the first people to try and sneak in. So we got caught, and the guards laughed off our attempts at apologetic Turkish, and told us to go by a ticket. Which we did. Sigh.
Pamukkale is an amazing scene, once you're in and have paid for a ticket. Cloudy water flows over the mountain, and the calcium is deposited onto the rock, where it hardens. Over time, it builds up and the mountain looks like a cotton hill. Unfortunately, a need to develop it has led to pools being constructed at the bottom of the mountain, and the hot spring at the top (with dubious-looking ruins underwater) now costs 23 lira for a 2 hour 'swim'.
We both stared at the menu, our eyes on the same item.
"We should definitely get this," said Hilary.
This was something we'd never seen on a menu, and one we probably wouldn't see back at home.
After Izmir, we boarded a cheap domestic flight to Istanbul, waited a few hours in the Ataturk airport, sipping disgustingly overpriced coffees, and then made our way to the Cairo gate.
We'd managed to get round-trips tickets from Istanbul to Cairo for a great price. This was due in part to the proximity to Cairo, but also the push on behalf of the Egyptian government to reign in Turkish tourists. It seemed like a good place to contrast my studies in Turkey. While the Republic here is staunchly secular, Egypt is a Muslim country. It uses Sharia law, and there is no real attempt to part religion and politics. Unfortunately, as we would soon learn, this well-intentioned trip would end in an exercise in futility.
So he brought it over. There was no fanfare. No lull in converstation. No rousing applause. No Oscar-like acceptance speeches expected on our behalf. When he put the plate down, it just sat there. On some lettuce. With a few tomatoes. Oh. And cucumbers.
After flying into Cairo, catching a ride into the city to the hotel and checking into our room, we sat down with the young guy who ran the place. We told him we'd be in the country for a week, and wanted to see as much as we could, for cheap. If he'd heard this request before, his expression hid the well-rehearsed approach he would take.
After a few minutes of explaining, with diagrams drawn on napkins to further confuse, we learned we could see Cairo, with the Giza pyramids, then take a train down to Aswan (only 14 hours!), where we'd travel up to Luxor, and then back to Cairo in time for our flight back to Istanbul.
The days would be peppered with morning and day trips. Which, in hindsight, are a traveller's worst nightmare. This became evident as we trudged up a sand dune over to the pyramids. I guess that's unfair. The horses trudged. We just sat there. But the guide, who's promised us adventure, and allocated our adventure time into segments. 15 minutes here. 10 here. 5 here. 10 minutes of free time. Yeah. That's right. Free time. On our tour. That was just us. As we were shepherded around, the only thing I could think of was the time in Havana when our family was going on a tour of the city. After 15 minutes, Dad called it quits, walked off the tour, and met a Cuban doctor in a run-down bar, getting by on Italian, while the rest of us were dragged to preset locations. If only I could have Larry Cecco'd the tour to the pyramids....
This horrendous formula for a tour was replayed each time, and eventually Hilary and I hit our breaking point. Although we never thought it'd come to this, we realized we needed to hijack our own tour. So we tried our best in the coming days to just do our own thing. We wanted meet Egyptians, which is surprisingly hard to do in Egypt.
We managed to, a bit. But in the end, we realized that Egypt is set up for tourists. It's magnificently orchestrated to cater to desires of tourists who want the charm of the desert, but none of the eyesores that go with it. The poverty is veiled by kitsch souvenirs, and magnificent temples now have outdoor cafes and ice cream for sale. The transportation network serves those on tours, and the industry has made it next to impossible to travel from city to city other than by prearranged trips by 'travel agents'. So we arrived in Egypt looking for a unique experience and a different perspective, and we left with both.
I picked up my fork, and poked at it. Just sitting there, staring up at me. Well, no it wasn't. It wasn't an eye. Or a foot. Or tongue. I guess I should just say what it wasn't- intestine, heart, lungs, liver, kidney, toes, testicles, skin, or stomach. So at this point, you're left with only one option.
Yup. A brain. Just sitting on the plate, like a brain should do, if it's been boiled up.
I should say now, before it arrived, I didn't think it'd look like a brain. But seeing it now, it most definitely did. A solid mass of grey matter. Ready for consumption.
We could have just looked at it and said 'no way'. But we didn't We said 'way'.
"Afiyet olsun" (Bon appetite) we said to each other, and dug in.
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