Back in the U.S.S.R.

Saturday

We were picked up in our hotel lobby at 7 a.m. for our 10:20 flight from the now-familiar Izmir Airport Terminal. We were were grateful for our bread and cheese on the Altas flight as we'd had nothing to eat. We landed in Istanbul, retrieved our luggage and found our way from the Domestic Terminal to the International one. After that, we had to consult an electronic sign to find the right lettered check-in area and window number for our flight to Moscow.

We got in the right line and Taylor ran into a friend from school. Kids at the Anglo-American School in Moscow must do nothing but fly into and out of Moscow all the time. Taylor ALWAYS sees someone he knows in airports.

It took a long time to board the plane. This is because Aeroflot had changed the seating configurations without changing the row numbers above. We had assigned seats but it was difficult to figure out which number corresponded to which row. Many people sat in the wrong rows. The flight attendent would eventually roll her eyes and intervene, and then whole rows of people would have to get up and move, displacing other passengers.

Tay and I were some of the last people on and there was nowhere in our section to sit. I was hoping for a first class upgrade, but the flight attendent made a couple of people elsewhere in coach move so Tay and I could sit together, even though it wasn't in our actual assigned seats.

After the flight, Taylor's friend's family dispatched a family member to run to the front of the passport control line to hold a place. We accepted their offer to cut in, saving us an extra 30 to 60 minutes. Once in line, I realized that the flight attendant had not given us the passport control entry forms required. I had Taylor pick up the English forms at the booth outside and I quickly filled them out for each of us while standing in line.

We made it through passport control, picked up our bags and met Larry in the terminal. Moscow was dreary and rainy, but it felt good to be back.

Sultans R Us

Friday

Nobody goes to Turkey for the TV. This is probably the reason why our rooms had only 12-inch sets. But part of vacationing for us is being able to reconnect with American culture through reading English language newspapers and watching TV. The Richmond Ephesus had two American channels, MTV and CNBC/NBC.

I love the Real World on MTV. Nothing makes me feel better about being in my 40s than watching this reality series about a bunch of young adults. Even though they are all attractive, articulate kids hanging out in the ultra cool Real World digs, they keep screwing up everything.

I helpfully call out advise, "Honey, downing eight straight tequilla shots is no way to start a relationship with that boy you are so crazy about." After she throws up on the guy's shoes and the camera shows him fleeing in horror, I'm left to say, "I told you so."

I can easily accept not being able to hear well in crowds or read the small print. It is a very small handicap compared to being young and clueless.

I also got to watch some of those popular shows about which I've only read: Scrubs, Desperate Housewives and The O.C.

I had difficulty keeping track of the relationships in Desperate Housewives. As it is the most popular show in America, they assume you are already up-to-date on everyone in the neighborhood. I had fun, anyway, watching Leslie Ann Warren as somebody's mother chewing up the scenery.

On the other hand, The O.C. is a dreary teen soap opera, set among the super-rich in Orange County. In between a lot of kissing, somebody (including the parents) is always punching someone else. I had no idea rich Californians were so violent. The show is populated by astoundingly beautiful people, none of whom remotely resemble ANY of the guests at the Richmond Ephesus.

Speaking of which, for our last night, the resort offered a special Turkish dinner on the beach for an extra EU$5. Tay and I considered that a small price to escape the buffet! That evening, we were the only guests to choose to sit on cushions in an open air tent, rather than at the tables.

We reclined on our carpeted cushions under our round tent, pretending to be sultans, feasting on the very good cold starters and fresh bread. The olives went untouched, however. (We needed Larry!) They then served a baked meat-filled crepe which was overcooked followed by severely overcooked mixed kebabs. Dessert was a ricotta cheese thing with berries.

We enjoyed the setting but so did the mosquitos that bit at our ankles. We left as soon as dinner was over to stroll over to the resort's ampitheaters for their weekly "Turkish Bazaar." The bazaar consisted mostly of merchandise dragged out of the gift store and spread out on tables while Turkish music played over a loudspeaker. Tay bought still more Lacoste shirts in an apparent attempt to corner the market. As a basic tee-shirt in Moscow costs twice as much, I didn't hinder him.

And speaking of Moscow, tomorrow would be time to go back.

Ruined

Thursday

Taylor and I met our guide this morning for our private all-day tour. By concentrating very hard, I was able to understand MOST of her English. Our first stop was a column, surrounded by tourists, which is one of the Seven Wonders of the World. (It wouldn't have made MY list.) We snapped one photo, dogdged some postcard sellers and got back in the car.

Our next stop was where Mary, the mother of Jesus, supposedly died. Some nun in Germany, who'd never been anywhere, saw this in a vision and the Catholics believed her and built a small chapel here. About 90 seconds later, Tay and I once again headed back to the car.

At this rate, I'm sure our guide figured our all-day tour was going to finished by noon. Our last stop of the morning were the Ephesus ruins. She invited us to kill some time by looking in the souvenir shops outside. Tay bought a very attractive glass water pipe which we left in the car. The vendors there all told us we needed to buy water as nothing would be available inside, but I didn't belive them.

We reunited with our guide near the entrance. It's hard to believe I've never heard of Ephesus before researching Turkey. If anything could lay claim to being one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, it ought to be this place. It's a huge ancient city. No one knew it was here until some Englishman began excavating it in the 1800s and much of it is still underground.

We walked along ancient columned streets, sat on the marble toilets, looked at the terraced homes, and saw the world's first advertisement. The marble ad showed a woman, money and had shoes pointed in the direction of the brothel. I especially loved the fascade the library. We stopped here about an hour into our explorations to buy some water (was TOO sold inside), rest in the shade and eavesdrop on the other English-speaking guides, all of whom had very interesting stories. Our guide probably had interesting stories too, if she could have related them in Turkish!

The ruins featured two ampitheaters. I climbed to the top of the larger one, which seated 23,000 people, to check out the accustics. Taylor stayed below on the stage to clap for our sound check. He soon joined me at the top and we enjoyed the view together. Our guide thought we were nuts.

Having spent so much time at the ruins, we were back on schedule, which now called for a late lunch. We pulled into the parking lot full of tour buses and the guide took us inside to a large cafeteria serving Turkish food. I was not too hopeful about this place, but we grabbed a tray and pointed out our choices. To my surprise, it was by far the best food we'd eaten since leaving Istanbul.

On our way in, the guide had noted this area was famous for their olive oil and soap. I told her I wanted some, so after lunch she took me to an adjoining shop where I purchased both.

Our last official stop was the ruins of the St. John Church. It contains the tomb of John the Baptist, who died here. It contains ONLY the tomb, as St. John's body was hijacked to Greece. The church, which was also in ruins, was up on a hill overlooking a 15th century mosque. It so peaceful and we had the place to ourselves. The huge gangs of tourists we saw at Ephesus were from cruise ships docked at Kusadis. They didn't have time to make it to this place.

After St. John, our guide had other opportunities for us. I agreed to go to the ceramic "factory," as I had been admiring the lovely tiles in traditional patterns. But having blown all my Turkish lira on water pipes, olive oil and soap, we first made a stop at the ATM. How did people travel without these?

The "factory" had two rooms. In the first we watched a talented potter forming stuff on his wheel while the ceramic guy, who spoke much better English than our guide, explained the process. The ceramics are shaped, dried for 3 days and then fired at 900C for 24 hours. After that they are sanded and sent to the next room where they are hand painted.

They had three artists painting muted colors on small pots for our perusal. After that the items are coated with a white glaze. They are fired again which turns the glaze clear rendering vibrant colors. I kept hearing the words "labor intensive" and "artisty", which I correctly interpretted to mean "expensive."

So much for the factory tour, then the ceramic guy took us to the three large showrooms which covered about 10 times the space as the "factory." He first guided us to the "Works of Art" room where the prices started in hundreds of dollars. But for people like you (folks who are breathing), they had a 10% discount. Having failed to sell us anything here, he turned us lose in the rest of the showrooms.

I quite admired the small plates. But I'd need 8 of them for dessert plates for a dinner party and they were US$17 each. I'd already splurged on the two kelim purses, so I wasn't that tempted. Tay and I did choose a ceramic ball to use as my sourvenir Christmas tree ornament as well as a votive candleholder the factory guide showed me as a last ditch effort to get me to spend some more money.

I took my purchases, wrapped in bubble wrap, back to the car. Our tour guide had one more stop "on the way back"--a carpet shop where we could learn all about carpets. I'm sure the words "artistry" and "labor intensive" would be used, along with offers to ship DHL.

"What do you think, Taylor? Carpet shopping or late afternoon by the pool?" I asked. Tay took a micro-second to decide the pool was a better option so we went straight back to the resort.

Typical Day in Paradise

Wednesday

The two full days at the resort were similar. Tay would sleep in, while I would hit the buffet breakfast for coffee and a hard boiled egg, the only item I deemed acceptable. Afterwards, I sat out on my balcony, enjoying the view and writing, until Tay woke up about 10.

Then we hit the tennis courts. I came completely unprepared for tennis, but found a pair of "Lacoste" tennis shoes in my size at the gift shop for EU$20 (US$24). The resort had equipment we could borrow at their "Animation" desk. To me this sounded like a desk staffed by Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny. But this is what our resort called their activities department. The tennis equipment was right out of a cartoon, however. Our racquets were from the manufacturer's "Aluminum Selection." I guess the wooden racquets were all spoken for. They also gave us three tennis balls with much of the fuzz rubbed off. We played with the one that still had some bounce.

I hadn't played since my shoulder operation a year ago, but despite all our handicaps, we had fun. Of course, I was roundly defeated in two sets by the Eastern European High School Expat Doubles Champion (Taylor).

We then traded in our tennis equipment for ping pong stuff. We spent a good hour playing and I'm happy to report I was able to give Tay more competition, although he still beat me. We gave up on playing foosball where Tay trounced me 10-1 while playing one-handed!

We ate a late lunch at the poolside buffet and retired to our separate rooms for rest time. Two of the three afternoon snacks (ice cream time and cookie time) were too bland to interest sugar addicts like us. But "pancake" time was one of the highlights of our day.

In a slight nod to acknowledging we were actually IN Turkey, the resort had set up a tent on the grounds between the pool and the beach. The tent had traditional low slung couches and tables. At 3:30, a woman dressed in a Turkish outfit made Turkish pancakes for the guests on a round griddle, about the size of a large footstool. The Belgiums were still working on their atrocious sunburns poolside, so there was never more than about six of us there.

Turkish pancakes are really a flatbread, closer to a flour tortilla than a crepe. Tay and I always requested chocolate sauce AND sugar on our pancakes, a request that astounded the pancake lady. (Hey, we're Americans. We like a lot of sugar in our treats!)

After pancakes, it was time for us to hit the pool. Somewhere between Istanbul and Kusadasi, I had lost my bathingsuit. The gift shop, however, let me "check out" bathing suits to try on in my room. I wasn't familiar with Europeans sizing (maybe I should just get my age) so I brought up a bunch and bought the one that fit. I also picked up a bottle of Nivea sunscreen. The sunscreen and the suit were each EU$20, the same price as the shoes I'd bought there the day before. I guess it was just easier to charge one price for whatever they sold.

At 5:30, one of the young "Animation" staff would come by solicting entrants to the daily Ping Pong tournament. Taylor took second place each day, beat out by an old Belgium guy in short-shorts who had brought his own paddle.

The resort offered guests one special dinner per stay (Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday night only) and we had signed up for tonight. We took the elevator to the top floor, where we had a decent dinner of fresh fish with a lovely view, watching the sun set over the sea.

Stranded in Izmir

Tuesday

We checked out of the Swisshotel and took a taxi to the airport. It was half the cost of our transfer with no waiting and no lecture! Tay and I said goodbye to Larry who had to return to Moscow to work, while we were continuing on to the Turkish Mediterranean coast.

We took an Atlas Air flight to Izmir. While the plane was small (four seats across), it was nice. Atlas operates a lot of charter flights. For our 40 minute flight, we got a drink and a bagel-looking bread and cheese. Foreign visitors to the U.S. must STARVE on our domestic flights where you can easily be on a plane for three hours with no food.

We deplaned at the small airport, got our luggage and waited for our driver. And waited and waited and waited. I went outside and no one was there. I considered taking a taxi, if I could find one, but I knew the resort was an hour away. I had local contact numbers and found a pay phone, with instructions only in Turkish. It seems to operate only with a telephone card. The snack bar could sell me a phone card for US$35.

In desperation, I talked an English speaking pilot, about the only person still in the terminal, into borrowing his cellphone. I called my local travel agent's cellphone, only to get a recorded message that "the subscriber is not available." This person, who booked the transfers, had also booked my flight so she KNEW when I was coming in.

I waited a bit longer, found the number for the travel agency, borrowed the cellphone again and called. My agent wasn't there, but the person answering the phone knew about me and told me she'd contact the driver. He was at the airport and couldn't find me. He couldn't find me? We aren't talking DFW, here. This airport has TWO gates. She asked my exact location. Out of the four people still in the small terminal, we are the two standing beside the only snack bar.

About five minutes later, the driver waved a sign at me from outside. We gathered our luggage and go out. He greeted us with, "I've been waiting right here for the last 30 minutes." While I should have been overcome with relief not to be stranded at the Izmir Airport, I fume all the way to the resort.

The Richmond Ephesus, an all-inclusive resort, is right on the beach, with pretty grounds, lots of amenities and large swimming pools. We are given a hospital-like armband and a schedule of eating opportuntities. The resort is filled with Belgiums, looking for a cheap vacation with sun, plenty of really bland food, and all the Turkish beer and wine they care to drink.(We're paying only US$80 a night each for single rooms, rates you won't be finding in the South of France.)

The Belgiums travel in large family groups, although teenagers are largely absent, having wisely begged off. The groups mostly hung around the pool which was both good and bad. It was good because it left the tennis court and ping pong table free for us. But it was bad, because these folks were not exactly "eye candy." In fact, they made me seriously reconsider the notion that Americans are the fatest people in the world. And the Belgiums didn't let a little thing like obesity deter them from prancing around in the briefest bathing attire I'd ever seen. I had no idea they even made Speedos in XXXXXXXL. After seeing his first 200 lb. topless woman by the pool, Tay decided we should be spending more time at the tennis court!

Late that afternoon, we met with the travel agent, who bought us delicious fresh fruit drinks (not part of the inclusive deal) as an apology for the transfers, collected the balance I owed on our trip, gave us vouchers for our Ephesus tour and tried to interest us in other excursions. As Tay and I already had a heavy schedule planned of Ping Pong and hanging out of the beach, we declined.

You KNOW you are in a European resort when the dinner buffet doesn't open until 8 p.m. (As it doesn't get dark in Moscow now until about 9 p.m., we are use to eating at least that late anyway.) I laughed when I saw the no-smoking section. Out of about 150 tables, only THREE of them were reserved for the non-smokers.

Turkish food is wonderful but the Richmond Ephesus didn't offer any! Instead we had oversalted, overcooked sausages and pasta. Even the desserts were bland. Luckily, they had dragged out the crepe station and even this place could turn out decent a hot crepe.

Larry would not have been impressed by this resort and Alec would have denounced it as completely phony and taken off down the beach! For the first time, I was glad they weren't stranded here.

Turkish Delights

Monday

I hate tours. I hate getting on and off the bus with 50 other people. I hate eating at tourist restaurants. I hate taking the 10 minute factory tour and then being stuck for two hours in the adjoining showrooms!

But I wanted to take a Boshporus River cruise. While I could figure out how to catch a ferry going up the river, I wasn't sure if there were taxis back. So I bit the bullet and signed up for a half-day Greyline Bosphorus Cruise Tour. Greyline offers a multitude of daily tours in a multitude of languages.

The Greyline people don't trust you to find your way out of your hotel by youself, so at 8:30 a.m., they met us in the lobby. They drop everyone taking any of their tours that day at a central meeting point.

The central meeting point was the Hippodrome. (Cross that off the list!) While we waited, we admired the Egyptian Obelisk. I related the story of the 30,000 rival chariot race fans who killed each other here one day in ancient times. This was known as the Nike Riots, explaining to Taylor it had nothing to do with shoes.

After a short wait, they packed us in another mini-bus with the Italians taking the Bosphorus Cruise and drove us to our first stop, the Spice Market. The Spice Market is under one roof with a large t-shaped aisle. Our guide claimed the five English speakers on the mini-van and gave us an hour to explore the market.

We gave Taylor one of the Walkie-talkies and let him go. After the gold jewelry stores, the Spice Market had small shops with bins and bags full of spices. I bought some Iranian saphron and large dark purple "pashima" shawl. I paid about US$20 for it and I doubt any part of it has been anywhere near the Himalayas or even near a goat. I needed a wrap as I had brought only tee-shirts and sandals. I'd been chilled in the cool and wet weather we'd had the last two days.

I can't believe I'm saying this, but it's a good thing we hung out by the pool our first afternoon as that was the last of the sunshine during our stay in Istanbul.

I was offered "pashima" everywhere I went in the Spice Market, along with Turkish Delight samples. Turkish Delight is a kind of thick gelatin candy that sticks to your teeth. It comes in flavors like rose. Somehow, it doesn't appeal to me.

Vendors ignored my Turkish-looking husband for the most part. Meanwhile, Taylor was being solicted by water pipe and teeshirt sellers. He ended up buying two knock-off shirts.

Larry and I bought two steaming cups of delicious apple tea on our way out. As if there wasn't enough interesting things going on, while at the meeting point in the square outside the market we witnessed a theft. We saw a young man push an older American guy (of about 65) and take his wallet. We could tell he was American even from a distance as he was wearing shorts and white tennis shoes. The older man recovered, yelled out and tried to give chase. As he took off after the thief, he was joined by about a quarter of men in the square.

About five minutes later, the crowd brought the thief back and handed him over to the police. I had been thinking how vulnerable older tourists are, but our guide explained that people gave chase BECAUSE the tourist was older. The bystanders were incensed because they have great respect for their elders.

Our group then crossed the street to the ferry terminal and boarded the boat. I draped my new shawl over Tay and me to keep warm. While some of the Ottoman homes along the river were interesting, the 90 minute ferry ride was "la-lame." We got off the boat and the guide walked us over to a local museum.

Some very wealthy Turkish family donated their resort guest house along with their collection of Ottoman and ancient artifacts. Luckily, these guys were good shoppers. Their collection of Ching blue and white porcelain alone was worth the trip to me (much better than the Topaki Palace stuff). I could have spent hours there, but we had only 30 minutes. I booked the Greyline Tour for the Bosphorus cruise and it was the only part of their itinerary that wasn't great.

We took the mini-bus back into town and they dropped us, at our request, near the Grand Bazaar. We ducked into a little restaurant and Larry and I ate grilled chicken wrapped in Turkish flatbread. Tay had the grilled chicken pita. Both were good choices.

We found our way to the huge covered building that consisted of the Grand Bazaar. There's a reason it's not called the Normal Bazaar. This place was amazing. You could spend a couple of days in there and not see it all.

Luckily, we weren't interested in carpets, gold jewelry or leather coats. That cut out about half the shopping opportunities. We wanderered the souvenir stores, eventually realizing they all offered the same stuff, made by the same manufacturers (probably in China).

After way too much consideration, we bought a glass Turkish tea set, some Turkish tea and two fezes. Taylor wanted a fez and we decided Alec needed one too. Taylor bought a couple more "Lacoste" shirts, a "D & G" belt, and some jeans.

I bought a couple of 15 inch square pillow covers made from old kelims. A kelim is a flat weave carpet. The vendor volunteered to show us how they were made. He took us into his shop, seated us and instead began showing us carpets. I hopped up, giving him my handy no import carpet excuse. He then wanted to know what ELSE we wanted to buy as his company had six shops at the bazaar.

The only other thing I was interested in buying were kelim purses. So he walked us over to his company's kelim purse shop. My hours at Singapore carpet auctions had taught me to be very picky about carpets and the only purses I liked were the most expensive ones in the shop. I pretty much ran out of there upon hearing the starting prices.

Just outside the bazaar, I found another kelim purse shop and decided I must have one. Larry and Taylor had different opinions on which purse I should get so I bought them both, after first dispatching Larry to the ATM so we could get a discount for paying in cash. (See how quickly I recover from sticker shock?)

After cleaning up at the hotel, we set off for our last dinner in Istanbul, a fish place close to the ferry terminal. It was in a narrow house and we climbed two flights of narrow stairs to get to the small third floor dining room.

It was very simple decour, just some wooden tables. There was no menu and nobody spoke much English. The waiter brought out a large tray with about 15 cold starters from which we could choose. We first opted for a grape, hazelnut and olive tapenade. I'm not sure what they called it, but the waiter indicated it was good. We also pointed to the cheese, which turned out to be a homemade feta, and a green mellon, which was cantelope. They also brought out fresh bread. It was all tasty.

Next the waiter brought up a tray of raw fish hors d'oeuvres. There were three choices, including octopus, but we passed on all of them. I guess we just weren't in a raw octopus mood. Crestfallen, the waiter took that tray away and returned with another tray of whole fish.

We pointed to the sea bass. We had about a 20 minute wait while they cleaned, gutted and grilled it, before presenting it to us. Larry offered Taylor the eyeball, an honor in China. Taylor passed on that offer. The eyes languished on the platter, along with the rest of the head and the tail. We ate everything in between.

We ordered their one desert, a hazelnut pudding with grapes, to share. It tasted like a melted globby unsweetened peanut butter. It had grated pistachios on top. The waiter told us the dish was also traditionally served as breakfast. I think they must use up their entire sugar supply in Turkish coffee and teas and there's none to spare when it's time to make dessert.

Making the Mosque Crawl

Sunday

Trying to make up for lost time, I insisted on an early start today. We met at 8:15 to explore breakfast opportunities at the Swisshotel. There was only one option, the buffet breakfast, taken from the anonymous international hotel buffet breakfast blueprint. Through the years, I have eaten this exact same hotel buffet breakfast in Miami, Paris, London, Beijing, Singapore, Moscow and Phoenix! It's always the same menu and it's always the same price, US$25.

There were all the requisite features: the omlet station, a Japanese corner, cereal dispensers, a yogurt station, a selection of the EXACT same crescents and pastries and some hot plates with overcooked sausages and undercooked scrambled eggs and fried potatoes.

I did discover a bottle of champagne, hidden away and had the waiter pour me a glass. I took it back to the table where I put it to good use by making a mimosa each for Larry and me. (As far as I'm concerned mimosas are the only drinkable option involving cheap champagne.) I shared the secret family recipe with Taylor (1/2 glass of orange juice and 1/2 glass of champagne.)

Fortified, we grabbed a cab to the Topaki Palace, the number one tourist attraction in Istanbul. As we alit from the cab, a friendly stranger advised us to first visit the Blue Mosque. As I almost always ignore unsolicited advice from friendly strangers, we proceeded to the Topaki Palace.

We bought tickets to the entrance and then went directly inside to find the Harem to purchase a Harem Tour ticket. Our tour started in ten minutes. After the harem, we saw the impressive diamond treasury and the porcelain collection. The grounds were huge and lovely, as befitting sultans.

We had lunch on the patio of the restaurant inside Topaki Palace which overlooked the Bosphorus and the old city walls. It was pretty good Turkish food and you couldn't beat the location. We topped it off with Turkish Tea, which is delightful. Turkish coffee, on the other hand, tastes like highly caffinated mud with lots of sugar.

After lunch, we took a look at the costume gallery and departed. On the way out, we encountered huge lines for both the Harem and admission. These are the lines we would have been stuck in for hours had we done the Blue Mosque first!

Outside we ran into a huge mosque, but which one? Consulting my map, I said, "I think it's the Hag Sophia."

"Yes," said another friendly stranger. "Are you looking for the Blue Mosque?" After we admitted we were, he told us he just happen to be walking that way. We told him tour guides were against our religion and he assured us he was not a guide. As we walked, he confided he was a retired teacher who now worked for his family's carpet store which was right next to the Blue Mosque! (As Alec would say, what a co-inkeydink!)

The Blue Mosque was about a five minute walk and as we approached it, he pointed out the old family carpet shop. I went into my act, "Oh, how I wish WE could buy a carpet," I exclaimed. (I bet he didn't get that reaction much.) I explained how we lived in Moscow where you couldn't import or export carpets. This is actually true. He assured me this was no problem as he could DHL to the U.S.

"Oh, I wish we had somewhere in the U.S. you could send it. But we sold our house there," I responded. The friendly stranger instantly bid us adeiu, as if I'd just confided the whole family had a highly contagious disease.

The Blue Mosque is a place of worship, closed five times a day for hours for prayers. There's no admission, but visitors must be properly dressed and everyone must take off their shoes which you carry in a plastic bag. It had beautiful blue tiles and stained glass.

Having caught the Blue Mosque between prayer times, we were able to go back to the Hag Sophia. The Hag Sophia was built as a Christian Church in 500 A.D. It was converted to a mosque by conquorers in the 1400s and into a museum in the 1900s. It had a huge dome and beautiful mossaics that we had to view via photos as they were too high up to see.

Although we still had the hippodrome and the underground cistern to make-up, we decided we'd done enough sight-seeing and took a taxi back to the hotel. After a rest, we set out for a Muslim Turkish Restaurant I'd selected. The taxi driver dropped us off a couple of blocks from where I'd located it on the map. I complained and he simply said, "No cars."

Sure enough, it was a pedestrian street, full of little shops, lively cafes and a bustling night scene. If we hadn't been looking for the restaurant, we'd never known about it. Our restaurant was off a side street and they weren't always marked, so we happily wandered around a bit till we found it. A congenial waiter ushered us to a table. "Why are all the diners tourists?" asked Larry suspiciously.

"Maybe because it's only 7:30 and we asked to be seated in the non-smoking section," I replied. The waiter handed Taylor and I menus in English and Larry a menu in Turkish. Every local we met thought Larry was Turkish, one reason why I think we were, in general, ignored by all the thousands of wanna-be tour guides and carpet salesmen.

After Larry requested an English menu, the waiter asked if we wanted to see the kitchen. The "kitchen" was the display area for the food where the waiter talked us into the sampler appetizer and sampler dinner plates, the most expensive items on the menu.

It was all good. I especially liked the cold stuffed eggplant appetizer and the shrimp stuffed pepper on the dinner combos. Afterwards, he gave us a free dessert sampler which had some kind of a quince pastry and a chicken-flavored pudding. (Taylor wisely opted for icecream, instead.) We washed tiny tastes down with our Turkish tea, taken with two lumps of sugar.

On the way out, the waiter gave me a souvenir recipe book. Okay, so one touristy restaurant made it in my itinerary, but it was still a fun way to end our day.

Turkey Trot

Saturday

At the Aeroflot counter, the check-in personnel for our flight to Turkey kept suddenly remembering previous engagements and would depart their posts, abandoning whoever was standing in their line. It became a game of speed as new lines would open and everyone would run to get in that line. Heavy luggage was a handicap.

We had a bonus in his check-in game as we had three people in our party, so we could cover three different lines. We were in second position in two lines when Aeroflot's computer system crashed. After another 20 minute wait, the check-in personnel gave their eyes one final eye roll, and began writing up boarding passes and luggage claims by hand.

They also abandonded First Class check-in, severely irritating high flyers paying double fares who now had to go to the back of the ever shifting lines with the rest of us plebians. We made it through check-in and found no line at passport control. We walked right onto the plane. With the computers down there were no seat assignments.

We sat down in seats that felt like somebody's padded patio chairs that had been through too many summers. Taylor nicknamed the airlines "Ghettoflot." We had 90 minutes of waiting for take off as Aeroflot struggled to process the rest of the passengers.

After takeoff, our beverage choices were Pepsi, water, and apple, orange and tomato juice. For our 2 1/2 hour flight, they also served us a cold lunch. We arrived at the clean, spacious modern Istanbul Airport.

We walked to a counter (no waiting) and for U.S.$20, we got a three month multiple entry Visa. (The same Visa in Moscow requires a zillion forms, hundreds of dollars and an HIV test.) We cleared passport control in minutes.

I had arranged transfers to the hotel. While our contact was waiting outside the gate, his van was M.I.A. After waiting 30 minutes, we were ready to hop a cab when the 12 passenger van showed. To add insult to injury, the contact proceeded to lecture Larry on the extended theme of "Those who do not study history are bound to repeat it."

"It's sort of a life lesson, isn't it," responded my husband who was obviously ignoring the whole spiel. Taylor, who has been on the receiving end of more than his fare share of life lectures from us, could barely contain his amusement.

The contact, who also was a freelance guide, gave us his card before he jumped out to meet a Renaissance Cruise ship in port. Yep, the next time we need a lecture and late transportation, we know who to call.

We checked into the Swisshotel, a four-star hotel masquerading as a five-star one. I'd gotten an excellent rate through Expedia but only for the "garden view" rooms. I gave them my famous $20 smile and attempted to talk them into two rooms overlooking the Bosphorus. Despite having over 500 rooms with Bosphorus views, there were none available.

The bellman gave us a tour of our rooms. This consisted of "Here's the TV control. Here's the mini bar. Here's the air conditioning control. Where's my tip?" The last sentence was unspoken, of course.

My meticulously-researched schedule called for an afternoon of seeing historic sights, which Larry called "the mosque crawl."

"Shall we head over to the Blue Mosque now?" I asked. "Or do you want to rest a bit first?" What my group wanted very much to do was to change into their bathing suits and hang out by the pool. Yes, with only 2 1/2 days in one of the world's most fascinating cities, Larry and Taylor wanted to lounge poolside at the hotel!

So... we hung out by the pool. I was a mere one third of the group and I knew the other two thirds would be much happier on the mosque crawl tomorrow if they had the pool today. Hagia Sophia had been in Istanbul since 500 A.D. Despite our transfer contact's admonition that the whole city was likely to be destroyed by an earthquake any minute, I figured it would still be there when we finally got around to seeing it.But I couldn't help thinking, where was Alec, who would have gone exploring with me? In Italy, that slacker!

After the pool, we hit the hotel gift shop and bought the Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, USA Today, Herald Tribune and People Magazine. We read all of them. Can you tell we miss newspapers? I also bought a good map of Instanbul, which I used to locate the restaurants I'd chosen.

While Larry and Taylor choose amenities over charm in hotels every time, they give me a wide berth on restaurant choices. Having been disappointed in guide books, I now rely on Internet forums for dining suggestions.

"Maybe we should just grab dinner tonight at the hotel," said Larry. I viewed this suggestion with the same appalled disbelief as if he'd suggested gnawing off our arms. Relaxed from his afternoon at the pool, he quickly acquiesed to my choice.

I had selected "Five Floors" for dinner. This place was so hidden, the cab driver couldn't find it. Our only clue was a small neon angel on a non-descript apartment building. We went inside, took the tiny elevator to the top floor and were rewarded with a rooftop garden restaurant with great views of the Bosphorus River. Not surprisingly, we were the only foreigners there. www.5kat.com

They served very nice international cuisine. Taylor and I had an excellent madras chicken while Larry had the even better oven-roasted lamb. Taylor had a brownie sundae for dessert which tasted like it had been imported from TGI Fridays. We went back to the hotel, disappointed to find they did not have turn-down service. Where were the chocolates on our pillow? Where were our freshened towels? Are we spoiled expats, or what?

Beauty as the Beast

The night before we left for Turkey, Diane and I went to one last ballet at the Ballshoi.

Sleeping Beauty didn't have the quite the same magic to me as Swan Lake. I was nodding off, when suddenly something on stage looked awfully familiar. The Prince was lifting Sleeping Beauty and I realized that this was the couple I had seen practicing during my backstage tour. This was the delicate ballerinia I'd witnessed angrily shoving her partner across the floor during rehearsal. I hadn't recognized her on stage at first in the blonde wig and tiara.

Somehow, having seen Sleeping Beauty manhandle her Prince really took the romance out of the whole thing.

At the Ballet

Come July 1, the Balshoi Theater is closing for three years of renovation. The American Women's Organization put together one last backstage tour, limited to 20 people, today.

We entered through a side entrance and cleared security. My nose was immediately assailed by the strong odor of cat urine. While I appreciate that this is the Bolshoi's answer to rat infestations, could they not throw a couple of boxes of kitty litter around somewhere?

The odor was so overpowering, I had to breath into a Kleenex to keep from throwing up. I felt like some dainty victorian women clutching my little white scrap to my face. Luckily, after we got everyone through security, we were able to move away from Cat Odor Central.

We sat down in the main theater, full of heavy burgandy fabrics with elaborate gilt everywhere. I am beginning to associate Russis with the phrase "Over the Top." It applies to their decour, their building, their fashions and their emotions.

The Balshoi guide, using our group's interpreter, talked about the history of the Bolshoi Theater, which at one time was the largest building in Moscow. It is the third theater on this site. (The first two burned down.) The current theater was built in 1856, a rush job as they were inaugurating a new czar. While the czars lived in St. Petersberg, they came to Moscow for coronations and funerals. While we listened to the history, workers were busy on stage setting up sets and a very good violinist was practicing.

The plan for the renovation is to fix the foundation, build new underground facilities and to return the main theater to its 1856 elegance. They will have to do this with the decorations as the plans show the theater will be completely refigured. Russians apparently believe on "improving" restorations such as their restoration of Christ the Savior Cathedral.

I asked about their beautiful, but decrepit, hammer and sickle curtain. It is made of spun gold and weighs more than two tons. I was told they are making an exception to their 1856 theme and are going to try to restore the Soviet era artifact.

We then moved upstairs were we saw the upstairs stage. This is a stage the exact same size and level (the stage is tilted toward the audience) as the main stage. Almost all productions are staged upstairs, moving downstairs only for the final and technical rehearsals. We watched as a couple of dancers practiced on the upstairs stage. The ballerina was not at all happy with her partner's lifts and gave him a big shove.

Then we stopped in a rehearsal room and heard a barritone rehearsing the opera "War and Peace." It was a large room, with 20 of us to muffle the sound. He still projected so loudly, we partically shook from the vibrations.

Last of all, we were able to go out on the main stage where we took lots of silly pictures of ourselves doing fake pirouettes so we have photographic proof we've danced on the stage at the Balshoi!

After the tour, Diane, Sarah and I went to the box office. We had to fight our way through the ticket scalpers, one of whom followed us in trying to talk to us first in Italian and then in English after we repeatedly told him to get lost in our bad Russian. I guess being a scalper at the Balshoi requires a certain level of linguistic skills.

Diane was hoping to get tickets for one last ballet and they are doing Sleeping Beauty this week. Using our trusty knowledge of days of the week and numbers, Diane was able to buy the last two tickets for Friday's performance. I am on standby to go with her if Erick, her husband, has to work, a likely prospect.

I am happy to spend a little more time at the Balshoi before it closes. Chances are, I will not be here when the theater finally reopens and I'm okay with that.

Louisiana

Last night, my friends and I met at Louisiana Steakhouse for dinner. I must admit, my expectations of this restaurant were not high. I once went to a Louisiana restaurant in Beijing where they served New Orleans-style pecan pie WITH NO PECANS!

While Moscow's Louisiana Restaurant had American cuisine, they had only three copies of the menu in English, which the nine of us had to share.

The menu started with a description of the cuisine of Louisiana, in both Russian and English, which must have been culled from the Internet as no one associated with this restaurant had obviously been anywhere near the actual state. The huge menu featured no etouffee, no gumbo, no rice, no blackened anything, no bread pudding, no pecan pie, and no shellfish. In fact, the only seafood offered was Norweigan salmon. They did have one jumbalaya that must have snuck onto the menu by mistake.

Instead, they offered plenty of barbeque, steaks with diablo sauce and Mexican food. The servers all dressed in cowboy outfits, complete with fake sixshooters and holsters while the sound system played not Canjun, but traditional Country Western music. I guess they called the restaurant Louisiana because they couldn't figure out how to phoenetically spell Texas in Russian.

We each ordered a margarita, Pina Colada or Diet Coke to start and were told there was only enough ice for one round. After that, all our beverages would be warm. Even though we were in the middle of the city, there was no other ice to be found and they had to wait for their two trays of ice cubes to refreeze!

On the positive side, I was out with friends. It was a lovely night and we were seated on the covered patio, only ocassionally having to pick the cottonwood out of the bread basket. Finally, our appetizers, nachos, arrived. This restaurant who couldn't do ice, could sure do nachos. I hesitate to describe the pathetic things that restaurants outside the U.S. or Mexico try to pass off as "nachos." But these were REALLY good nachos, with even more rare overseas, good guacamole on the side.

Our main courses, mostly steaks, were also good. This was the first time I'd eaten GOOD American food while overseas. So as far as I'm concerned, Louisiana can call itself anything it likes. I'll be back. But I'll remember it's BYOI.(Bring your own ice.)

Baku

Larry returned home yesterday from his business trip to Baku. “Good trip, Baku was?” I asked. Because Baku sounds like some planet out of Star Wars, I always talk like Yoda when referring to it. “Interesting place, for you it is?”

Actually, instead of a planet with great art direction and lots of special effects, Baku is a city in Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan is one of those former Soviet countries which have not yet developed the luxury of a middle class. Larry saw only extreme poverty juxtapose with extreme wealth. In his capacity of Mr. Honeywell Russia, Larry met the president of Azerbaijan, who more or less inherited the job from his father. Sort of like the current U.S. president.

Larry’s brief handshake with the president even made the country’s nightly newscast. After his moment of glory, Larry returned to Moscow where he got one good night’s rest and a homemade BLT. He is now jetting back to Kazakhstan.

While home, Larry mentioned that his car is getting fuzzy. Everything outside is. The air here is filled with cottonwood. Just as I sat in the window ledge this winter and watched the big, fluffy snowflakes float down, I now sit in the window ledge and watch the big, fluffy cottonwood flakes float up. They look like little souls rising up on Judgment Day.

As we often open the windows, my kitchen floor is full of cottonwood flakes that drifted in. I made the mistake of trying to sweep them up. Of course, I only stirred the air around them, initiating a mass lift-off. I had to snatch them, one by one, out of the air like a child playing a game.

Outside, the ground looks like it’s covered with a very light snowfall. Although there’s no snow, there’s no warmth either. My pretty little sandals remain lined up in my closet, along with my Capri pants, still waiting for their season. I am so tired of my longsleeved shirts, I am ready to burn all of them. At least it would generate the heat for which I'm longing.

Oprah and Me

This morning I went on the IWC picnic/boat trip down the Moscow River. We supplied our own lunches. As most of my friends are Americans, I ended up at a table with six other American women. The seven of us shared bottles of ice tea and water, assorted cheeses and crackers, sacks of chips, raw veggies with Ranch salad dressing, and Tupperware containers of chicken salad, brownies and chocolate chip cookies. Of course, we also had a roll of paper towels and Wetwipes. Along with the cheese, I brought one bottle of Chilean wine that seven of us only managed to drink half of.

In contrast, the seven French women at the table next to us brought three bottles of wine, a silver platter of fresh fruits, and a quiche! (I need to hang out with more French women.) I was actually quite popular as I was apparently the only woman onboard to bring a corkscrew. Okay, so we Americans don’t have quiche, but we don’t leave home without our paper towels, Wetwipes and corkscrews either!

The two hour trip went very quickly, as we motored by wonderful river views of the Christ the Church Cathedral, Kremlin and Red Square. I took advantage of the views to get some great pictures from on deck but mostly stayed at the table, snacking and chatting.

Julie came by and someone mentioned Oprah. Julie and her sisters, who have a radio show, toured with Oprah awhile back. Julie talked about Oprah’s massive security which still couldn’t keep all the fans away. The first thing Julie and her sisters were told by Oprah’s security staff was not to accept anything to give to Oprah. Such is Oprah’s popularity that even though she is the richest woman in show business, people keep trying to give HER stuff. Julie also talked about Oprah relating a story about needing a restroom while on the road and having to stop at a roadside rest stop in a national park.

You can imagine the reaction when Oprah bolted into the stall past the stunned vacationers. She tried to be as quiet as possible while women were amassing outside the stall door. She emerged to find herself surrounded. There’s a price for fame and fortune. And that day for Oprah, it meant standing in a public restroom along the highway, autographing pieces of toilet paper.

Unlike Oprah, I may not get to go to the Oscars or be best buddies with the Arnold Scharzeneggers. But, I’ve never had to deal with rapid fans in a public restroom either. Today, I am having a lovely afternoon boating on the Moscow River with friends. Who needs more glamour than that?

Have Ipod. Won't Travel.

When you initially move overseas, Honeywell pays the spouse a one-time fee. I call it my "Shut Up and Pack" money. Larry and I decided this bribery was a good idea and used it with Taylor. After determining what one item would make Taylor happiest, Larry took him out one afternoon in Phoenix and bought him an Ipod as a one-time bonus for making the move to Russia. After that, Taylor was generally expected to shut up and pack, which he did.

Of course, Taylor took the Ipod on our trip to Salt Lake for Christmas. Unfortunately, Ipods HATE to travel. At its first opportunity in Salt Lake, the Ipod bolted. Taylor missed it immediately, but it took him months to inform us that his Ipod had been stolen at the Salt Lake airport.

A couple of weeks after Tay's confession, Brenda emailed us that David had found a VERY IMPORTANT ITEM of Taylor's when he cleaned out his car. (She wasn't sure he'd told us it was gone.) As they just happen to be coming to Moscow in a few weeks, they would bring it along. I told Brenda that Taylor had told us it was stolen. She discounted this idea as practically impossible in Salt Lake City where, apparently, the vast majority of the population expected to be struck dead instantly for such sinfulness.

Taylor was thrilled to get his Ipod back, which had no problems hanging around the apartment in Moscow. In fact, our apartment is such an Ipod haven, that David's Ipod decided to stick around too. Six month after Taylor's Ipod got left behind in Salt Lake City, David's Ipod got left behind in Moscow!

I See Dead People

Even though Russia doesn't celebrate Memorial Day, I ended up at two cemetaries this week. On Monday, my Understanding Moscow group did a cemetary walk. A typical Russian gravesite consists of a monument, a flower bed over the grave and a bench. The bench is dual purpose. You keep gardening tools inside to tend the flowers. Afterwards, you can sit on it and share a vodka with your dearly departed, who by now may have slowed down a bit on drinking.

This cemetary contained a few celebrities, including the grave of popular poet Sergei Esenin who was married for a short time to a much older Isadora Duncan.We also saw the grave of the Russian equivalent of Elvis, a gravely-voiced pop singer. There were fresh flowers (in even numbers only) on his grave and his disks and posters were available for sale at kiosks outside.

Many of the graves had laser images of the dead carved into the tombstones, along with pictures of their hobbies or professions. I saw hocky sticks and microphones and ballet slippers in granite.

This reached an even higher level at the Novodevichy convent where Brenda, David and Carrie and I went Thursday. There, instead an engraving, you had busts and sculputures of the dead, including one designed by Picasso.

Novodevichy included the final resting place of Riasa Gorbachev. Beside her grave was a statue of her on what must have been a very good day when she was about 15. Or maybe that's how Mikhael saw her all the time.

Among the other noteworthy buried there were Kruschov, with a suprisingly modern and striking monument. It did not feature a shoe banging on a table which is how many Westerners remember him. Soviets did not remember him with any more fondessness, which is why he remains at Novodevichy, rather than with his fellow departed Soviet leaders like Lenin and Stalin interned at Red Square. But with the beautiful garden-like peaceful setting of Novodevichy, it seems to me that Kruschov got the better deal.