The only city in the world to be built on two continents, Istanbul (formerly Constantinople) stands on the shores of the Istanbul Bogazi, where the waters of the Black Sea mingle with the Sea of Marmara and the famous Golden Horn .     

We walked from the Asia shores to the European side by crossing over the floating Galata Bridge . A most interesting trip. Amid the human horde on the bridge one must avoid a tangle of fishing poles, flopping fish, and most unusual peddlers wares,  ranging from snakes to potato-peelers to underwear!  On the lower level of the bridge are many little tea houses and fish shops serving straight from the murky depths to you.     

Beneath a striking skyline of domes and minarets, the city is vividly alive, with striking panoramas and scenes from daily Turkish life everywhere.  

Memories of the six fascinating days we spent in this unforgettable city include: the magnificent architecture of places like Sancta Sophia and the Blue Mosque; walking for hours through the maze of 4000 interesting shops in the great Covered Bazaar; the continual haggling for everything, including accommodation and food; legless beggars dragging themselves about the streets with old shoes over their hands; tremendous traffic snarls amid the pollu ted blue haze; a fabu lou s nude Turkish bath at Cagaloglu Hamami, built by a sultan out of solid marble 300 years ago; exotic carpet shops eager to offer a toke from a bubbling nargile (waterpipe) or a glass of Turkish cay (tea); the sound of horse-drawn carts rumbling along the cobbled back streets; rag-clad shoe-shine boys, broom makers, and perfume sellers; cold showers and Asian toilets; the incessant coming and going of the ferries; a boat trip up the Bosphorous; wading through ankle-deep water in bathrooms caused by terribly slow Turkish drains; stubble-faced fishermen cooking and selling their catches from the decks of small tattered fish boats dancing about in the waves. Istanbul was the perfect starting place for our travels to follow.    

A twelve hour bus trip inland took us to a magical little hole-in-the-wall village called Goreme. It felt as if we had been transpor ted back a few centuries in time. Wind and rain have eroded the brittle volcanic tuff of this region into a spectacular, bizarre landscape of rock cones, capped pinnacles and fret ted ravines, known as "fairy chimneys".

Moslem people toil in the dusty fields around the village and transportation is by camel or donkey cart. Our accommodation here was an interesting experience, as we stayed in a cave carved into one of the pinnacles!  Although a little cool at night it seemed somehow appropriate!  From Goreme we hitchhiked through the countryside to Zelve, which is known for it's incredible phallic rock formations.      

Most of our travel in Turkey was done by bus. This is a good way of getting about if you can tolerate the thick Turkish cigarette smoke and blaring music that make sleep almost impossible. One interesting custom on the buses is that every few hours a lad comes down the isle with a bottle of scen ted lemon oil. This oil is squir ted into out-stretched palms to help remove grime and refresh the passengers.   

Another 12 hr. overnight bus trip landed us in a dump called Denizli. Departing the bus, we wriggled our way into a small sardine cannish van called a dolmus. Our destination was Pamukkale, which has some wonderful thermal spring waters laden with calcium carbonate which have formed sparkling white cascades of basins ringed with stalactites.

Soaking in these water-filled basins the sheer drop from these terraces offers a panoramic view of the surrounding valley and the village of Pamukkale far below. Atop the cliffs we had the extraordinary experience of swimming in the warm and ephervesant thermal springs, amongst the old Roman ruins of the ancient city of Hieropolis . Needless to say, a most memorable day!    

After a few days in Pamukkale we decided to head for the south coast of Turkey . This required tolerating three more bus journeys through some very parched regions, before arriving at the amiable fishing village of Kas .   A seductive little spot, nestled at the base of a mountain, Kas is surrounded on three sides by the brilliant turquoise sheen of the Mediterranean Sea .

During the lovely days spent here we stayed in the home of an elderly local couple. Though they spoke not a word of English, we all got on very well by communicating through sign language. The mornings were fabu lou s, as the kind old woman would make Turkish tea on her hot-plate, and serve us a breakfast of an egg, sweet tomatoes, goat's cheese, and steamy-hot fresh bread while we sat on the little balcony overlooking the deep blue waters of the Mediterranean .  Wonderful!   

On side trips from Kas we visi ted several nearby islands by yacht. These included Kekova with it's so-called sunken city, and another on which we climbed up to the summit to explore an old abandoned fortress. While anchored in a little bay off another island called Tersane,

Christine while swimming  had the misfortune of stepping on a sea urchin, and spent the afternoon digging the spines out of her foot with a safety pin. We were told that urine was a good antiseptic for this - so naturally I volunteered to piss on her foot. She very quickly told me to piss off!!   

At this same spot I swam ashore for some pictures, and had a large snake slithered out of the bush right beside my foot, prompting a very hasty retreat back into the water!     

On the next leg of the trip we arrived in the town of Fetyie . Prying our way out of our dolmus we were impressed by a huge dominating hill crowned by the ruins of a fortress built by the Knights of Rhodes. Carved into the steep cliff face are some really incredible old Lycian rock tombs.

While hiking up to these ancient stone sarcophagi, we spot ted an old man sewing a piece of leather. When we stopped to watch, he indica ted that it was to be a collar for his small goat. Next thing we knew we were motioned up to his house where his wife quickly prepared some chy (tea). We spent time with them playing charades and drawing pictures, trying explain which country we were from.    

After Fetyie we traveled to Oludeniz, which transla ted means the " Dead Sea ". Unlike its namesake in Israel, the sea is not at all dead, but rather a sheltered and peaceful turquoise lagoon back dropped by pine-covered mountains. It also just happens to have one of the most spectacular beaches anywhere in the world!   

Just a few feet from the beach we found some interesting lodging in a campground that came complete with it's own "wildlife"! Most nights we were awoken by the persistent sounds of small Turkish owls, and/or the vicious dogfights. One day, a humongous insect, slightly smaller than a "pterodactyl", flew into our abode! Grabbing a book, I swat ted it hard, but to our amazement it survived and made another noisy circle of the room before finally making it's departure!!    

A daily chore became "rat-proofing" our food to defend against daily visits from a big rat nicknamed Otto. One of Otto's favorite nightly activities was scarring the shit out of us by scurrying along the old wood beam over our heads!   

During our stay in the campground we befriended a German couple who had driven all the way from Germany in a Volkswagen station wagon. One afternoon, while looking through a set of binoculars Eva noticed a small fire outside what appeared to be a cave near the top of a mountain behind the campground. Eager for a challenge, I sugges ted to Heiner that we check it out.

So, the next morning at daybreak, we set out to try and satisfy our curiosity. After several hours of strenuous climbing we came across a small path and decided to follow it. To our delight it eventually lead us right to the abode of an old shepherd woman. She appeared stunned and totally bewildered by our presence. In friendship, I attached a Canadian pin to her tattered rags bringing out a wonderful toothless smile.

Her primitive dwelling had a dirt floor and a roof made from animal skins. Outside, her few possessions were some young goats and a few chickens scratching about. From her serene and lofty perch the "birds-eye" view of the surrounding countryside was truly magnificent. The encounter with this lovely old woman will always remain a very special memory.    

Some thorough research on the country by our German friends revealed information on an intriguing place nearby. This well kept secret is the mysterious village of Kaya . Built by Greeks, this once thriving town of 10,000 is now a totally abandoned "ghost town", inhabi ted by only tortoises, snakes, and exotic looking birds. The remarkably well preserved ruins of the old stone houses and churches provide an eerie, but stunning visual reminder of days gone by.

Our exploration was partially driven by a rumor that somewhere amongst the sprawling ruins a hidden stash of human bones exis ted . The village and surrounding hills have an eerie, almost unreal silence about them. Later that afternoon we were astonished, when we accidentally stumbled across the bones! Hundreds of them piled up in a stone structure near the remnants of a church! This gave real meaning to the term "ghost town"!

During the trip back to Oludeniz the four of us sat in silence - each reflecting back on this remarkable experience in a remarkable land.   Planning to stay only two days in Oludeniz,  the weather, beach, food and adventures were so fabu lou s we ended up staying for ten, before forcing ourselves to move on. 

Heading north, we covered some torturous mountain terrain enroute to the overdeveloped port of Marmaris . As we fetched our backpacks from the roof of the bus upon arrival, we were approached by a kid offering a place to stay. We followed him down a few rubble-strewn paths to a place that sufficed while we spent a rather uneventful couple of days waiting for ferry passage to Greece .    

Leaving Turkey was quite a hassel, but finally we managed to get our backpacks and ourselves onboard a ferry to the Greek Island of Rhodos. Although our departure was very trying, it could not diminish the wonderful memories of a truly fascinating country.    

Docking in the attractive harbor of Rhodos , we retrieved our passports, cleared customs, and got somebody to point us in the direction of the old city. We made the mistake of excepting a lift from a character in a rus ted out VW van who wan ted to show us his pension. His accommodation was too far away from everything, so we dumped him, but had to then hike all the way into town.   

The " Old Town ", is very interesting - built within the imposing walls of the medieval citadel. Roaming the maze of cobbled streets, we found ourselves an interesting pension where the owner had added a room above her apartment, accessible only by ladder. We climbed up the ladder, backpacks and all, and found ourselves in a minuscule, wildly colored room. It had a red ceiling and four different colored walls (black, blue, green & purple)!

The old lady seemed nice (although probably color blind), and the location was right amidst all the action so we accep ted . An unexpec ted plus was a shower downstairs with hot water. We seized the opportunity to wash some clothes and sluice away the grime of travel in our first hot shower in a month.    

We meandered about the unique cobblestone alleyways in search of dinner and found a lovely little outdoor restaurant playing Greek music. Mellowing out on some wine and ouzo and a wonderful calamari dinner we were entertained by the singing, dancing, and crazy antics of the good natured owner. A most pleasant introduction to the island of Rhodos . We ren ted a motorbike to visit the little acropolis town of Lindos , making the obligatory stops along the way at the interesting little tavernas and wineries.     

From Rhodos we traveled to Santorini, legendary site of the lost city of Atlantis . This picturesque island, although extremely touristy, is an interesting spot for a day or two. The white-washed main town of Thira , with all it's blue-domed churches, is perched like an eagle's nest atop spectacular cliffs. By boat, the town is reached by a 1200 foot uphill, zigzag climb, on foot or donkey-back, via 566 stairs cut into the face of the cliff.    

The night we left, we were jammed aboard a crowded bus that gingerly negotia ted down a serpentine road with a 10% grade to the port of Athinos . An overnight ferry trip took us to Piraeus , and from there we bussed to Athens and on to Patras. We then left Greece by a long 20 hour ferry trip across the Adriatic Sea to the city of Brindisi in Italy .    

Coming off the boat in Brindisi a group of us were taken into a customs room where they lined us up along a wall, putting all the backpacks in the center of the room. Next the guards marched in a dog to sniff out the backpacks for drugs. With nothing to tantalize Rover's nostrils - we were allowed to carry on with no further ado. The best thing I can remember about Brindisi , other than the ice cream, was leaving!   

From Brindisi we took a night train to Rome . At the train station we were approached by an old man yelling "pension" "pension". We decided to give it a try, and after following him for about a mile, were pleasantly surprised when he took us into an Italian family's apartment and showed us the extra room they had.

Though the old Italian mamma didn't speak a word of English, she seemed a decent sort, so we gratefully excep ted the room.  Fond memories of good wine and pizza - and a wonderful chicken dinner in our room eaten with our fingers followed by fresh cherries for desert.   

While in Rome , we used the buses to roam about the city. Stops included the Coliseum, Trevi Fountain and the spectacular Vatican City . At the Vatican we had a chance encounter when the Pope himself made an appearance. Standing out on a balcony, he gave his blessings to the crowds below.    

Fabu lou s fashions, maniacal drivers, delicious pizzerias, sidewalk gas pumps, wonderful ancient architecture, pollution, and terrorist paranoia are all part of the bustling cosmopolitan of Rome . Unfortunately, recent terrorist attacks have led to extremely heavy security throughout the city.

Just to enter a bank, we had to enter a holding area just inside the door, one at a time, where we were questioned and scanned for any metal objects. Any change, belt, cameras, etc. had to be checked into a locker outside the bank before the security guard, in his bullet proof cage, would unlock the inside door to the bank. Talk about a hassle to cash a traveler’s check!     

Not only the banks seemed paranoid, airline offices, department stores, & some retail  stores had police, armed with machine guns stationed inside and out. The Rome airport looked to us more like a military zone. To board our plane to Africa , which was isola ted out in the open, we were taken by a security vehicle across the tarmac past guards packing machine guns and a menacing looking army tank!  Security is serious business here! 

Our first stop in Africa was the country of Tunisia . Although nestled in the lee of such troubled countries as Libya and Algeria , it remains relatively quiet in one of the Mediterranean ’s hottest political spots.

Arriving in the capital city of Tunis , we were taken aback, at the crowded and filthy airport by the total confusion and unfriendliness of the people. Struggling to cope with a population for which it was never intended, Tunis now holds over one tenth of the entire country's population.     

Eventually we found an old local bus headed for town. We were the only foreigners aboard, and could sense the hostility from the coal-black faces. Standing on the crowded bus we had to keep our balance, guard our backpacks, and at the same time guess where the hell we should get off! When we tried to depart, we quickly found that politeness was definitely not working, so we used elbows and knees to clear a path to the door, and then had to jump off while the bus was still moving.    

Finding accommodation proved very difficult. After searching for a couple of hours and soaked in sweat from the heat and humidity, we wound up in a grungy, mosquito filled room on one of the narrow back streets. After a dinner of some sort of greasy slop in one of the standup Moslem 'restaurants', we decided that the safest thing was to call it a day and get some sleep. Welcome to Tunisia !   

The next day we wandered about the old Medina , getting a feel for the Arab world of long ago. Medina , in Arabic, means nothing more than 'town' - but this is the high-walled old city of narrow alleys and vendors of every imaginable item.    

Tunis , headquarters of the P.L.O., experienced a brutal assassination of Arafat's second in command the month before we arrived, and all the main street corners were police armed with machine guns. Fed up with Tunis , Christine and I decided on the spur of the moment to go to Morocco for a few weeks. We learned that it was unsafe to cross Algeria by land, so we booked the first available plane which left in 5 days time.  

Rather than spend another day in Tunis , we left by train for a place called Sidi Biou Said. This is a quaint little village perched atop the cliffs with a stunning view of the Mediterranean . Brightly pain ted blue doorways and wrought iron railings splash across starkly whitewashed buildings.

Quite by accident, we stumbled across a charming pension built around a courtyard featuring an enormous 800 year old fig tree. The brothers running the place provided good musical entertainment, backgammon competition, a good sense of humor, and a lot of information on the country and it's people.    

Sitting in a local cafe sipping a refreshing cup of mint tea laced with pine nuts, was a great opportunity to observe local culture including; turbaned Arabs squat ted on giant cushions smoking from a hookah pipe; lizards scurrying about the walls; a jam session on Congo drums out on the street; children selling nosegay made of jasmine buds; and an old woman selling long crusty rolls of bread out of an old den ted wheelbarrow.    

The next couple of days were spent just lazing about in the hot African rays fending off kamakazie bugs & an onslaught of curious ground beetles. Despite the bugs, it was a nice change from Tunis , and an opportunity to rest up for our travels in Morocco .    

The Air Maroc flight to Casablanca was interesting. Coming in for the landing, something went wrong and the pilot wrenched the plane upwards and circled about before a second landing was attemp ted . This time the plane landed - on the third bounce! Passengers broke into applause, praising Allah! No wonder Air Maroc 's plane seats are all upholstered in brown !!    

Casablanca is nothing at all like the movie. It is a dirty, and noisy commercial center, and our stay here was brief. Sitting in the bus station wondering what to do, we made a decision to try Marrakech, simply because that was the destination of the next available bus.    

Arriving on the outskirts of the city late at night, we were immediately swarmed by hustlers and taxi drivers eager to part us from our money. Fortunately we had befriended a local girl on the bus who could speak a little English. She took us by another bus into the old part of town and showed us where we could find lodging.      

Across the street from our room was the lively and colorful Djemma El Fna Square - a storybook kinda place full of the most amazing characters.

The air resounds with the pounding of drums, jangling of tambourines, and the wailing of flutes; wild-eyed snake charmers hypnotizing flat-headed cobras, vipers and scorpions; a wizened old dentist displaying gory arrays of brown molars extrac ted with a single blow of the hammer; impassioned storytellers recounting religious lore and folktales; jugglers and tumblers leaping about; toothless old shopkeepers; black-kaftaned bread   sellers; flamboyant water carriers, who for a few dirhams, would provide a silver cupful of water from a goats stomach; wildlife including foxes, snakes, chipmunks, and monkeys; kids getting was ted sniffing glue; tattooed Berber basket sellers; medicine men surrounded by colorful spices, gnarled roots, lizards, toads, bird beaks and porcupine quills; portable food stalls with billowing smoke; orange juice carts laden with pyramids of citrus; and the usual assortment of Hash vendors, hustlers and thieves lurking about.  Certainly an interesting and exciting place to see!   

In this square, I was hit by a pickpocket who unbuttoned my pants pocket and had my wallet almost out before I realized what was happening. Giving chase, I lost him as he disappeared into a crowd. Yes, El Fna is a bizarre carnival with a dazzling assortment of Moroccan life!      

Directly behind the square is the Medina , with it's crowded winding alleyways throbbing beneath the scorching sun. In this huge centuries-old labyrinth disorientation is commonplace for the visitor. In fact before entering you are persistently harassed by sleazy characters telling you that without a guide you may never find your way out!

Rejecting this advice, Christine and I went in alone, and at one point did get lost for a couple of hours before finally finding our way out. Inside this popular souk, obnoxious merchants who don't like to take no for an answer, are continually pestering you to buy something.

At one stall while trying to leave I was grabbed by a merchant and quite a shoving match ensued. Still, the medina is a fascinating place where the alleys snake on and on, each revealing a new sight and smell. On the outskirts are many wool dying plants and the dilapida ted shacks that many people call home.      

After three action packed days it was time to move on from what must surely be one of the most interesting cities on earth. Part of Moroccan bus travel is the unavoidable ritual that before leaving, deformed beggars board and stand up front delivering some long-winded tale of woe, then proceed down the isle with out-stretched palms.      

From Marrakech we bussed through the High Atlas Mountains on the way to the town of Ourzazate in the Moroccan Sahara. The countryside was very interesting. Colorful Berber women hauling water-filled clay urns up the banks, huge stork nests atop some ruins, Kasbahs, and camel riding nomads, all helped take our minds off what was happening on the bus.     

Despite pleas from passengers to slow down the cantankerous driver seemed intent on trying to set the land speed record, as he raced over the rough and windy mountain roads. The result was many people were vomiting, and we had to keep lifting our feet out of the way, as the barf meandered about the isles with each lurch of the bus.

The retching sounds, terrible stench and bladder-bursting ride was not a lot of fun! Being the only foreigners on the bus, we endured in silence for what seemed an eternity, until we mercifully pulled into the dusty desert town of Ouazarzate .       

The town seemed mainly a center for artistry produced by some of the nomadic tribes. With little else of interest, and a blistering hot African sun to contend with, our stay was brief.   The next stage of the trip involved another series of long miserable bus trips, from Ouarzazate to Marrakech to Casablanca to Rabat to Asilah.       

Asilah - a tranquil fishing village with its golden beach, glowing white medina, and picturesque Portuguese walls proved a great spot to rest for a few days. Among the djellaba-clad Berber tribespeople and donkey carts, the only sign of the current century was a totally foreign looking fleet of older Mercedes Benz taxis parked at one end of town.

The medina is a wonderful spot to watch the setting sun as it sinks over the cannon studded walls. Also of interest is the large colorful market, where peasants converge to peddle their wares every Thursday. The food in the cafes was edible, despite having to play the occasional game of cockroach football! Lots of very good photograph material in Asilah, and we ended up staying four days longer than planned.       

During our stay we met a an American couple with whom I nervously shared a pipe of hash. He had bought two chameleons that rode about on his head or shoulders. It was a most comical sight watching him toke with one of the lizards sitting on his hat and the other perching on his brightly colored sunglasses!      

With the city of Tangier so close, we decided to check it out. That was a mistake. Unfriendliness, hassles, and obnoxious hustlers hanging around like a bad smell everywhere we went.  Seemed the best thing to do in Tangier is to leave! So we did!       

Over the next couple of days we made our way back to Casablanca for a flight back to Tunisia . There was no remorse about leaving the country, as travel in Morocco although fascinating, has a way of wearing one down. After talking with some people that had been robbed, we were thankful to be on our way losing nothing more than our patience(several times)  and a lot of sleep!        

Back in Tunis , we decided to head for the Kerkennah Islands off the south coast of Tunisia . Staying but a single night in forgettable Tunis , we were soon on a train bound for Sfax. In yet another hectic, ugly, and unfriendly city, we made our way to the docks and arranged a boat out to the islands.      

The islands were an ideal spot for doing nothing for a few days. In fact, because there is so little to do there, very few people actually live there. The most noticeable thing about the Islands is the incredibly shallow sea, in which the locals set up arrow shaped fish traps made up of palm-fronds stuck in the sandy bottom. We enjoyed five lazy days here, sunning, swimming, drinking Boutka(made from figs), and reflecting on our travels to date.       

With only six days left we took a series of trains to the coastal resort of Hammamet. On the way there Christine 's heavy backpack tumbled off an overhead rack and landed on some poor woman's head - stunning her. This set the train car off in a barrage of squawk - while we unsuccessfully tried to convince them it was an accident!       

In our search for accommodation we stumbled into a very nice place called the Samira Club. This Tunisian version of a Club Med was our base for the remaining days of the trip. Other than a few day trips, including the weekly camel market at Nabeul, we spent the last few days relaxing in the sunshine before the trip back to Tunis and home.      

In just over two hectic months we covered 34 cities. This included 10 trips by plane,  9 by boat, 7 by train, 37 by bus, and 17 miscellaneous!     

With the journey at a close, Christine and I were both thankful for the opportunity of traveling the back roads of these fascinating lands, and experiencing encounters with people, customs and cultures so very different from our own.

Mark Colegrave

1988