Turkey

On Sahkulu Sokak near Galata Tower, down a handful of steep steps, is a cramped bookstore owned by a young Kurdish couple. There we listened to the music of the resistance and purchased our favorite treasure of the trip: a diary written by a pubescent Turkish youth in the 1970s, replete with poems full of longing and amusing drawings.

Istanbul is Istanbul and is still the greatest city in the world, although one can't help but wish to have visited a few decades ago. So that you don't miss one of the last vestiges of the near distant past, your itinerary must include Persembe Pazari, the hardware zone that features an old industrial co-op destined for re-development.

Turkey still makes things, and has capitalized on the landlocked 'Stans, providing the former Soviet nations what they need. Beyond the pollution of Izmir lies Sirince, where elderly women sell their pale bars of olive oil soap and old men walk the cobbled streets with their hands clasped reflectively behind their backs. Because Sirince's main access was a dirt road until only a few years ago, this quiet little wonder remained safe from exploitation, despite its close proximity to Ephesus.

Sirince is near the train station in Selcuk which takes you to Pamukkale, the white terraced limestone rock with water cascading into sulpherous pools. Other than Lencois Maranheses in Brazil, I cannot think of a more magical place on earth.

Here’s my photo essay on Turkey.