As we left the highway in Sangolqui, grilled Cuy, (guinea pig, the national dish) impaled on tall sticks lined both sides of the road, to entice us to stop for a taste. We drove on, unable to consume a pet animal yet. Not sure what side of the omen scale this greeting fell on. We continued for several hours, driving along the route we had chosen through green farmland, before entering the higher regions that encompass Cotopaxi National Park. The relatively smooth cobbled road soon transitioned to dirt as it began to follow a narrow ridgeline that wove between small villages. The views of the lush valleys on both sides of the road were fantastic; just finding the appropriate place to stop hindered us from taking as many pictures as we wanted to. Occasionally we were passed by a speeding tanker truck hurrying from dairy farm to dairy farm to collect the day’s fresh milk.
Slowly the terrain changed and slopes of eucalyptus trees towered over the road. Our route brought us through the eastern side of Refugio de Vida Silvestre Pasochoa, a wildlife and habitat preserve of 33,000 acres. Signs for waterfalls began to appear, tempting us to stop at the Rumipamba Falls trailhead to stretch our legs. We followed the trail until a small suspension footbridge and a glance at the time turned us back.
Forest turned to shrubland as we rose in elevation and neared Cotopaxi National Park. Having not seen a car or truck for awhile now, we were surprised when all of a sudden five vehicles were parked, a little ways from each other, in the middle of nowhere. Not a person in sight. Was this a local lovers lane? Further along more cars. Thursday afternoon, what an amorous society we thought – “obtener una habitacion” – get a room!, seems to have lost something in translation. Later we spotted folks carrying baskets full of small blue berries, Mortiños or Andean Blueberries as it turned out, which are highly sought after. Around a bend the cloud covered dome of Cotopaxi (19,347ft) appeared for the first time.
Surprised by our appearance, a “how did you arrive here?” greeted us as we checked in. A large cloud of dust behind an SUV, driven by a professional driver, usually announces guests about to check in, we were told. Our humble vehicle was lost behind tall blueberry bushes in the parking area. Being surrounded by thousands of acres Andean Blueberry bushes, Hacienda Los Mortiños, is appropriately named. Located just outside the northern entrance to Cotopaxi National Park, (which encompasses 82,500 acres and three other volcanoes , Ruminahui, Sincholaqua and Morurco within its boundary) it offers inspiring views of the surrounding landscape from every window. If you aren’t into mountain biking, horseback riding or hiking, just sitting next to the fireplace in the restaurant, watching the weather change with clouds building then dissipating suddenly to reveal the shy summit of Cotopaxi is a mesmerizing and relaxing way to spend any day.
Towards sunset, wild llamas grazed near the main building. We snapped away while the dominant male approached closer than the rest, as if to announce that he was the protector of his harem. It was a postcard perfect moment with Cotopaxi as the backdrop. The temperature drops quickly at these altitudes once the sun is low in the sky. Towards sunset a housekeeper lite the woodstove in our room to keep the night chill away.
It was not as easy getting onto a horse as it was a few years ago, but I decided to go for a three hour ride with Jorge, a guide from Los Mortiños. Pull back on the reigns and say “Soa,” sounds like whoa, when you want to stop were my instructions in Spanish. I am not a very seasoned rider, but I’ve gotten my limited experience on steep trails in the Rocky Mountains of Montana and know enough to realize that the horse is smarter than me in keeping us both safe in difficult terrain. The horse leads, “you’re just baggage” a wrangler once told me. In a stiff cold wind we saddled up, “Vamamos amigo” and we were off. Just outside the reserve, cattle grazed in the wind swept grassland and llamas could be seen in the distance.
As we entered the park and rode along a deep gully I got my first chance to yell “Soa,” at least I hope I was yelling the right phrase, when a unseen bull violently exploded from the earth and spooked our horses into a sudden gallop! That was more than enough excitement for me. We were miles away from the base of Cotopaxi, but the high plains landscape had a raw natural beauty to it. Each turn of the trail and every hill crested brought wonderful vistas. The only sound was the constant wind. Later we would flush Andean quail and ride through several herds of wild horses. The ride was exhilarating!
I’m not sure which road was bumpier, the one leading to Hacienda Los Mortiños or the one heading away, but we were relieved to be back on the Pan American highway for awhile, as we headed to three days of very inexpensive R&R at a hostel in Isinlivi on the Quilotoa Loop. Not sure what to expect at the hostel, (we are not exactly the demographic you would find there,) we decided to fortify ourselves with lunch at the historic Hacienda La Cienega which dates from 1695. As we pulled into the stately drive that led to the hacienda we wondered if there would be sticker shock when we saw the lunch menu. The elegant dining room overlooked a beautifully landscaped courtyard and bubbling fountain, where an extended family was posing for a group photo. Simultaneously, a rock band was filming a music video on the steps of the hacienda’s ancient, private chapel. Surprisingly there were many reasonably priced entrees offered for lunch. Hacienda La Cienega is just a short detour off the highway in Tanicuchi, but well worth it. It’s a great destination to experience the grandeur of a forgotten way of life.
The Quilotoa Loop is primarily known as a mountainous hiking trail that links remote, isolated villages where indigenous Kichwa is the native language, via a series of footpaths that have been followed for several thousand years.
The elevations of the villages range from 9200ft at Isinlivi to 12,500ft at the Quilotoa Crater. Fortunately Hostal Taita Cristobal, our base for three days, was the in the village of Isinlivi. Why here? We had been moving almost continuously since returning from our Galapagos trip, so it was time to recharge our batteries and just chill for a couple of days. Also we wanted to experience something more remote and less expensive. So for under $40.00 per night Hostal Taita Cristobal provided a beautiful setting, a nice private room with en-suite bath with hot water along with two hearty and delicous meals per day. Plus they had llamas on the property!
Getting there was there harrowing part. Outside of Tanicuchi the road turned to dirt and the low hills became worthy of the Alps with footpaths and stairs cut into steep slopes leading to places unseen. We glimpsed the twin peaks of Mt. Iliniza Sur (17,300ft) and Iliniza Norte (16,900ft). The GPS showed a sinuous route that wound on and on forever. We quickly developed a system to navigate the numerous blind S curves we were encountering. I would lean on the horn for 3 long blasts as we were entered a curve and Donna would try to see as far around the corner as possible and give a thumbs if all was clear as we inched uphill in second or first gear. Once you are off the highway guardrails are non-existent!!! Several times the hair was raised on the back of our necks and Donna grabbed the “Oh Jesus!” strap above the passenger door. We often faced buses barreling downhill at us in a cloud of dust and we tried to navigate the switch-back turns, clinging as tightly to the corner as possible. We passed many sobering roadside memorials to those less lucky. Many miles were traveled in second gear with a top speed of twenty miles an hour or so. Every now and then we would stop and check the road when we heard a loud metallic ping come from the undercarriage, fearing that we lost part of the car. Fortunately our wheels stayed intact. Occasionally we drove through clouds of smoke, billowing up from fields farmers had set afire to burn off the stubble left from the harvest. We saw one partially hidden directional sign for our inn, which contradicted all three GPS mapping apps we were using. Despite no mention of miles to go, trustingly we followed it. At times we were driving above the clouds.
For the next three days and nights we shared wonderful meals around a communal table with hikers from the United Kingdom, Belgium, France and Siberia. Stories told, plans and information shared, we learned about maps.me, which turned out to be quite helpful later on, and as citizens of the world how much we share in common. After midnight the wind blew so fiercely, for several hours, we thought the roof might fly off. Over the several days spent there, we turned out to be the only guests crazy enough to drive ourselves into this remote region. At tea time every afternoon the owner brought the llamas, 2 adults and a three month old, home from grazing and staked them out behind the inn for the night, to the delight of the guests. Just watching the little one playfully scamper around the yard was worth the effort to get there. We strolled around Isinlivi that Sunday just as church was letting out and villagers from outlying hamlets were sitting down on the curb to catch up on local news. Around the corner sheep grazed in the school yard, and a large hog was reluctantly led uphill through town by a woman and her daughter. Weary backpackers, dusty from the trail, inquired about lodging.
Discussing our driving plans over a map with one of the tour guides one morning, the inn keeper interjected that you can’t go that way, “YOU REALLY DO NEED A FOUR WHEEL DRIVE” for that route. “You must return the way you came, the road gets better as you leave Sigchos, it was just redone.”
I never thought I would be so happy to see a guardrail!
On the way to Parque Condor, a rescue center for Andean birds of prey, our GPS failed us and lead us down a dirt track on the other side of the mountain that we were supposed to be at the top of. Fortunately the first person we asked walking along the road spoke a little English and pointed us back in the direction from which we came. Before we turned around she looked seriously at our car, shook her head and said “I don’t think your little car can make it there”. We too had our doubts when we saw the condition of the dirt road and the incline that faced us. “It’s not what you drive, but how you drive it” became my favorite mantra when considering the capabilities of our wheels. And yes, we wished we had a little more ground clearance occasionally, and more horsepower. With minutes to spare we made it in time for the morning “free flight” demonstration at 11:30.
In a stone amphitheater set into the side of the mountain top, high above the valley below, a falconer performed with a variety of Andean hawks, to the audience’s delight. Starting with their smallest raptor and working their way to the larger ones, from behind us his assistants would release the birds from their cages and they would fly through the crowd to land on the sheathed hand of the falconer. As the falconer tossed food in the air, the birds would grab it in mid-flight, circle around and land on perches amidst the audience. Evidently the falconer moonlighted as a stand up comedian as the enthralled audience erupted in laughter numerous times throughout the hour and a half show. Unfortunately, “no hablo Espanol,” the jokes were lost on us. The park also houses a great variety of owls and condors which were a delight to photograph.
We were so anticipating the Otavalo Market, and better yet we were there on a Saturday, its largest day. As promised, the streets were full of vendor stalls radiating for blocks from the Artisan Square. Unfortunately, many stalls featured everyday essentials for the local populace and not the high quality crafts that the market had previously built its legendary status on. At the very center on the Artisans square, what looked liked machine woven textiles, made in Ecuador, were available and priced accordingly.
We opted to visit one of the local weavers, Miguel Andrango, at his home workshop in Agato to view his unique and one of a kind textiles, all woven by hand on a backstrap loom. A fourth generation weaver, he explained to us how everything was done by hand. From the shearing, cleaning, carding, spinning and then dying the wool using local plants or insects to create the colors needed. A hand woven blanket wide enough for a double bed takes two months to weave by hand. It is so important to support these local artisans as they are knowledge keepers of their craft and maybe the last, as the younger generation shows little interest in keeping these traditional crafts alive. Please try to avoid buying cheap foreign knock-offs at these markets. The local craftspeople suffer terribly from this competition.
The town of San Antonio de Ibarra has two large plazas, one block apart, which are lined with numerous traditional woodcarvers shops. Here we found artisans creating religious statuary for homes and churches and more contemporary pieces for decoration, in workshops fragrant with cedar and sawdust.
We weren’t going to opt for this day tour from Quito in the beginning when we first planning our trip, but we are so happy that we changed our minds. Being backyard bird enthusiasts we have been happy with the small variety that was attracted to our Northeast feeders and thrilled when a hummingbird would briefly land on our flowers. The Mindo Cloud Forest ranges from 3200ft to 9800ft altitude and is lush in verdant green vegetation that hosts over 330 species of birds. Our guide, provided by Enjoying Ecuador Tours, was so enthusiastic that he would suddenly stop the car and beckon us to jump out to observe a bird that he spotted, high in the canopy above us, as he was driving. We spotted 44 species of birds in one day! The variety of wildlife in Ecuador is incredible! It was a fun and amazing day.
I use a Canon PowerShot SX60 HS all in one camera. It zooms out to the equivalent of a 1300 mm telephoto lense. Hummingbirds move so fast. I shot wide and then cropped into the photo.
Birds are a little more cooperative, they perch for awhile.
The animals and marine life of the Galapagos Islands are everything they are supposed to be – UNIQUE and AMAZING! A tour of these islands and their unique ecosystems should convince even the most die-hard doubters among us to become tree hugging environmentalists. Kudos to Ecuador for doing a wonderful, difficult, and expensive job protecting this unique environment for future generations.
We were originally thinking of heading to the Galapagos for our 60th birthdays, but work / life interceded. So we postponed it until our retirement this year and made sure it was the first thing we did, because you can never predict the future.
There are so many options to consider when planning to visit the Galapagos Islands. Did we want to do a cruise around the islands or do shore based excursions from various ports? If we did a cruise, should it be for 3, 5, 7 or 8 days, on a large or small boat? After some research we opted to go for an eight day cruise, arranged by Eva of Enjoying Ecuador Travel – thank you – on the small ship Golondrina which slept 16 in eight cabins in bunk beds on three decks. Our group had a wonderful international mix, consisting of folks from Belgium, Germany, Italy, Argentina and the U.K., all good friends by the end of the trip. Before being converted to carry tourists the Golondrina served as the scientific research vessel Beagle lll. The ship had lines and character that would have enticed Joseph Conrad or Jack London to step aboard.
Wanting to be away from the potential noise and vibration of the engine room, we chose a cabin on the top deck, right behind the pilothouse. The cabin was small and efficient and the location on the third deck perfect for fair weather sailors like us. In choppy or rough seas every pitch or roll was exaggerated; then you wished were as close to the bottom and back of the boat as possible, were the motion wasn’t felt as much. We had been on large cruise ships many times before and never experienced sea-sickness, but on this small vessel we were not as lucky and I was in the top bunk. We paid a premiun for the priveledge to be tossed, rolled and bounced. Fortunately, two young women from Germany shared their motion sickness medicine and it saved the week for us.
As soon as we were all aboard the yacht it was anchors away and we headed to Mosquera Islet and our first wet landing and snorkeling. A wet landing is as you would expect: the ship’s two pangas (small boats) motor you as close to the beach as possible and drop you off into, hopefully, knee deep water to walk ashore. There are also dry landings where the pangas bring you into a dock or more likely stone outcroppings and you jump ashore ,keeping your feet dry. Then there is the less discussed dry landing with really good potential to become very wet. These are situations where the surf might be a little rough and the boat handler has to keep the bow of the panga pinned to the rocks with engine in full throttle until everyone is off. The boat’s guide is always ashore first to help everyone else ashore safely. “Welcome to my world,” Donna says as she helps me into my wetsuit. “It’s just like putting on Spanx!” I was always the last one to get in or out of their wetsuit.
Mosquera Islet was a narrow sliver of brilliant white sand with bull Fur Seals protecting their harems and on one end, and the sun bleached skeletal remains of a small whale as well as hundreds of red Sally Lightfoot crabs scurrying over the rocks on the other end.
That night as we steamed toward Isabela Island we crossed the equator and encountered some large swells as northern currents clashed against southern ones and had us second guessing our choice of an upper cabin. In the morning we awoke to find ourselves at anchor in the calm waters of Urbina Bay.
After breakfast (which daily consisted of eggs, granola with yogurt, fruit, toast, coffee, tea and incredible fresh juices) it was into the pangas to see what was living in the cliffs that lined the bay. Sea Iguanas shared rocks with penguins, while pelicans squabbled with blue-footed boobies over the same cliff outcropping. Our pangas edged into the black mouth of a sea cave where more birds were roosting high up. After an hour we headed back to our mother ship to prepare for snorkeling along the cliff face where it met the sea. I think my eyes popped when a sea turtle gracefully swam by almost close enough for me to touch. The first of many close encounters during that swim and the subsequent days to follow.
Back aboard it was lunch time and a two hour cruise to stop at Isabella Island’s Tagus Cove. The food aboard our boat was amazing considering the small galley space that these tasty and healthy creations emerged from. So our days followed a wonderful schedule of discovery and adventure with one or two activities between meals and then sailing overnight to the next day’s destination. Each island’s environment was unique in the animals it hosted, as was the sea life in the surrounding waters. The sheer joy of seeing so many animals in their natural habit was awe inspiring.
On Santa Cruz Island we visited the Charles Darwin Research Station for a tour of their tortoise breeding program. Tortoise eggs collected from each island are marked accordingly as are the shells of the hatchlings, so that they can be returned to the right island later. The young tortoises are kept sheltered for 5 years or until their shells harden enough to protect them against predators in the wild when they are released. We also visited a private tortoise reserve in the highlands where from a distance we saw hundreds of small boulders. Walking closer to the boulders we realized that they were actually tortoises in their natural environment, slowing munching away as they inched across the verdant green highland.
Many times in our travels in other countries, we have noticed the highwater mark from a flood or storm by the line of plastic bags left hanging from trees and bushes along the tributaries. We never saw this in the Galapagos; there was absolutely no litter on the Islands. Ecuador takes great pride in preserving its natural resources. Please make an effort to reduce your plastic waste as it is severely polluting our oceans and has a terrible impact on all sea life.
It was after midnight when our plane landed and it felt so good upon leaving the baggage claim area to be greeted by our driver Raul, carrying a sign with our names on it. Ecuador has invested heavily recently in upgrading its infrastructure. The new airport was a model of efficiency, making transit through passport control and claiming our bags nearly effortless. And considering the high altitude and mountainous terrain, the highway system is amazing and enabled our driver to deliver us quickly and safely (though after midnight stop lights and signs seem to be suggestions) to Hotel Boutique Portal De Cantuna in Old Town, Quito for the first week of our journey.
Portal De Cantuna was a family home for over two hundred years before being converted into a boutique inn. Full of charm and antiques, with guest rooms on three floors that open on to a central courtyard that is covered by a glass dome, to protect it from the elements. The dome is enhanced with beautiful, floral metal scroll-work, that creates a wonderful ambiance. The inn’s location was perfect – just across the street from San Francisco Church and within very short walking distance of the other major attractions of Old Town. A short walking distance is really important when you are in a city as hilly as San Francisco, California, but at 9500ft altitude! It took us about four days to acclimate; we walked slowly, avoided alcoholic drinks and reduced our caffeine consumption. The last was the easiest as it took us days to find several places that served a good cup of artisanal Ecuadorian coffee. You would think that a great cup of coffee could be found on every corner, since Ecuador is a coffee producer and exporter. But surprisingly many restaurants and hotels just serve instant coffee!
Now, if you are going to explore the churches and convents of Old Town, of which there are many, you will be attending Mass at some point. It seems there is one almost every hour. Don’t be deceived by the plain exteriors of some of these churches as they all conceal intricately decorated, gold plated, sparkling baroque interiors. We are talking high church here, with riches that will rival those found in The Vatican. The museums in the convents we visited also displayed a remarkable treasure of art from the 16th and 17th centuries, created by the indigenous artists trained by European professionals to paint religious works with local relevance to inspire the faithful. At Convento San Diego we were required to be part of a tour, even though there were only the two of us and our guide spoke only Spanish. This awkwardness soon vanished as the sweet woman who was escorting us realized our enthusiasm for what we were viewing. This prompted a behind the scenes tour to a crypt in back of the altar that was accessed through a small stone door. Later we climbed narrow stairs and squeezed through tight passages to the bell tower and the roof for some nice views of Old Town, Quito, in the distance. The City Museum, across from the Museum of Carmen Alto, was a pleasant find. It featured world class, permanent exhibits of life through the centuries in Quito since its founding.
In late afternoon the pedestrian areas around San Francisco Plaza hosted a variety of street musicians and performers who played to an appreciative, mostly local audience. Hawkers worked the gathered crowds and passed the hat, coins were tossed and applause given. We didn’t notice many other foreign travelers as we walked around Old Town and our hotel was not full. This lack of tourists was surprising, since the summer vacation season in North America and Europe.
La Ronda is the oldest street in Old Town, now lined with restaurants, stores and artisan workshops. It dates backs to pre-Inca times when it was a dirt track following a ravine, which is now a traffic tunnel. Of special interest are wood carvers and metalsmiths who keep the traditional crafts alive, replicating 16th and 17th religious and period pieces, despite intense pressure from cheap foreign imports.
A five dollar cab ride took us across the city to the base of the Teleferico cable car for a quick ascent to 16,000ft above the city for tremendous views of
Quito below and the towering mountain range that surrounds it, with ten peaks over 10,000ft.
Ecuadorians love to eat, so there were multiple choices on every block from sidewalk vendors to snack joints, coffee houses and restaurants for us to choose from. A typical Ecuadorian and delicious, three course lunch with beverage cost us about $3.50. Very good dinners were available starting at $15.00.
We had a great time in Quito, but feel that we just scratched the surface of this historic and yet cosmopolitan city.
“Ayvalik! How do you know of Ayvalik? This is where the Turks go to vacation” And “You must go to Cunda!” is a phrase we heard proudly repeated more than once.
This post was written about our trip to Ayvalik, Turkey in 2013.
A Mount Rushmore sized, carved stone profile of Atatürk loomed over the highway and filled the front windshield as my wife and I sped north, round a bend on the E87, escaping the Izmir airport. “I will be getting married in three weeks” our taxi driver Ozzie joyfully announced, then softer and more ambivalently “there are so many preparations to make ready before our wedding, we have to buy a refrigerator, stove and bed for our new apartment.” “About half way there we will break at this rest stop that makes the best homemade yogurt. Mama likes the yogurt with mild green peppers (yogurtlu biber) marinating in it, I always stop here on the way back to buy some for her. It reminds her of the way grandma used to make it.” Ozzie continued, “just last week there was a newspaper editorial lamenting the demise of fresh yogurt and how the store-bought yogurt now lasts forever and never goes bad!” And so began our journey to Ayvalik and a week on the northern Aegean coast of Turkey last May. Located two hours by taxi (four hours by bus) north of Izmir, on the southern shore of the Bay of Edremit, Ayvalik is fortunately just a little too far north and off the usual tour circuit, a full day’s drive away from the buses full of tourists that visit Ephesus then descend onto the beaches of Turkey’s Southern Aegean or Western Mediterranean coasts. “Ayvalik! How do you know of Ayvalik? This is where the Turks go to vacation” And “You must go to Cunda!” is a phrase we heard proudly repeated more than once.
A view across Ayvalik.
As we approached Ayvalik, salt evaporating ponds lined one side of the road as gentle Mediterranean waves rolled onto the narrow beach across the way. Turning off the highway, the road rose gently through acres upon acres of olive groves, ruins of an old stone Greek Church flashed by, its roof gone, leaving only the bell tower to pierce the silver-green canopy of the olive trees. As the road crested, a quick glimpse of Ayvalik flashed by, red tiled roofs and minarets set against the sparkling, turquoise blues of the Aegean. And across the bay were the low hills of Cunda Island in the distance. The May Day celebrations were in full swing on the palm tree lined waterfront, and in front of the ubiquitous statue of Atatürk a sea of labor unionists chanted and waved crimson Turkish flags aloft as our taxi passed.
Erinç our hostess smiled to us from the door of Eolya Konukevi as Ozzie jumped the low stone wall with our bags in hand to show off his youth. The salt air and Mediterranean diet had not worked its wonders yet, so we walked the long way around to greet her. “Please wear these slippers when you enter, it is our custom.” Four years earlier Erinç escaped the urban crush of Istanbul and opened Eolya Konukevi, a small four room boutique inn in a three story, 120 year old Greek townhome she lovingly renovated, keeping its historical ambience and charm. The bedrooms were on the small side so we opted for room #7, the only one with a private terrace. The terrace was too hot to use during the unseasonably warm ninety degree mid-day heat, but wonderful early in the morning or later in the day when the sun was lower and a perfect spot to enjoy a bottle of Turkish wine bought from the local grocery store. In early May we were the only guests for most of the week. Nevertheless each morning Erinç presented, in the sunken, high-walled courtyard a bountiful variety of fresh baked breads or pastries with homemade jams, honey, tomatoes, cucumbers, a wonderful assortment of olives, local cheeses, Turkish egg dishes and the delicious Turkish staple, Cevizli biber – a meze prepared with red pepper paste, hot red pepper flakes, onion, walnuts and cumin mixed to a moldable consistency and used to garnish many recipes. “You will see gallons of it in the weekly market on Thursday, the town gets crazy full, vendors fill the street and villagers from all around come into town to shop,” Erinç told us.
Fishermen tending to their nets along the quay in Ayvalik.
Embracing the pace of village life we walked everywhere, and hoped to stay thin. Along the quay, boat hands dangled over the side of excursion boats, busy sanding and varnishing them into pristine shape for the coming high season. Some fishermen sat atop their moored boats mending nets, and others tinkered noisily with engines. Lined with boats, palm trees and seafood restaurants the waterfront of Ayvalik, though much quieter and laidback, resembles many others fishing villages along the coast. The charm of Ayvalik is that it has no major attractions, just the wonderful ambiance of a once prosperous commercial fishing and olive oil processing center, now mostly forgotten and lost in time. Far away from any major historical sites, the townspeople here are just going about their lives, and wonderfully so, not catering to a substantial tourist infrastructure. There was only one short block with several bars, just off the waterfront that looked like it would be a noisy spot during high season. With tables and chairs outside that further narrowed the already thin lane there were more cats and dogs asleep under the tables than patrons the night we passed.
Horse drawn carriages can easily navigate the narrow lanes of Ayvalik and are still used for a variety of delivery jobs.
Meandering, cobbled lanes and back alleys led us slowly up the hill away from the waterfront and it seemed into an earlier century. Slowly crumbling pastel colored homes in various stages of decline lined both sides of the streets. Missing sections of stucco revealed still solid stone construction underneath ignored exteriors. Many homes had their doors chained shut decades ago, the locks heavily rusted over from neglect or abandonment (recall pictures of Havana, Cuba). Offset occasionally by a rare renovation in progress , the early signs of gentrification were beginning to edge in. Horse drawn wagons are still used by vegetable and fruit vendors to ply their trade and to deliver refrigerators, stoves and other large household items through lanes too narrow for modern trucks to navigate. The vignettes of everyday live abounded – the world’s oldest newspaper delivery man carefully balancing an ancient moped between stops, ringing the doorbell and sharing news for a few moments before sputtering away to another door further down the bumpy lane. The lone cow tied to a bright , orange slide in a vacant children’s playground. Fresh fish and Octopus taken from the sea just hours earlier, for sale on the pier early in the morning. School children in their uniforms, playfully headed home for lunch. Lambs’ heads, beef hearts and other organs hung in the butcher’s window. Piles of freshly baked Simit (a bread ring covered with sesame seeds all over) just taken from the baker’s oven and displayed on the ledge of his open window to cool. The candied apple seller walking the streets, hawking his caramelized treats from a tree like structure. A painter carrying his buckets, brushes and large extension ladder to work, carefully, dipping it under low hanging telephone lines as he walked. Men crushing, weighing and bagging coal just off the main square, covered head to toe in black dust. Stacks of split wood – used to fire so many grills and ovens – and impart that distinctive flavoring. Scarfed women, walking together their arms linked in camaraderie. A farmer racing by on his garden tractor, pulling his wife bouncing all over in a small wagon behind him, with a death grip on its sides she held her face high into the morning sun. Her head scarf blew straight out behind her.
Delivering lemonade to vendors in the market.
Still full of energy this older villager still delivered newspapers all over Ayvalik.
Villagers resting in the shade, trying to escape the heat of mid day.
The Minaret and clock tower of Saatli Camii mosque were just visible through the fabric and clothing which dangled from the shade awnings strung over the streets on market day. (A thriving Greek Orthodox cathedral until the Turkish War of Independence ended in 1923. The resulting peace treaty forced a population exchange between Turkey and Greece. Where Ottoman Greeks on the Turkish mainland where forced to leave their homes and move to the Greece and Turks living in Greece where forced to relocate to Turkey. Many churches were abandoned and left to ruin. Others were deconsecrated and with the installation of a minaret and minbar pointing towards Mecca from which the Mullah preached, repurposed as mosques.) Overnight, the local merchants had emptied the contents of their shops onto the streets and itinerant traders erected temporary stands to display their wares. Transforming what seemed to be all of Ayvalik into a vast outdoor shopper’s metropolis offering everything for the home and farm. The village was full of families from the outlying smaller villages that had taken buses to Ayvalik for this weekly event. The women wore traditional baggy pants, brightly colored with floral prints. And various, clashing mix matched tops and scarfs edged with intricate embroidery, created an ever changing, beautiful kaleidoscope of color and patterns as they flowed up and down the lanes, and shopped for more exuberant fabrics to sew at home.
Just off At Arabacilan Meydani (the Horse Carts square) the lane was full of chickens, lambs and goats for sale. Sun dried farmers chatted and laughed with each other while they sat in the doorframes of buildings along the lane, or sent text messages as they waited to make a sale. A block over was the Koy Pazari (weekly farmers market), with baskets full of artichokes, eggplants, fava beans, mulberries, onions, quince, squash, strawberries and grape leaves, stalls full of cheeses and more varieties of olives than I have ever seen in one place. Bottles of pomegranate and grape dressing were stacked high. Herbs and spices! Saffron and Cardamom were amazingly affordable (we should of bought more) And displays of the Turkish Spice blend of Red Pepper, Oregano, Paprika, Garlic, Cumin, Cilantro, Salt and Black Pepper abounded. Each herb poured separately upon the other into plastic bags creating an attractive rainbow package. Numerous five gallon tins of Cevizli biber with their tops shaped to pyramids lined the aisles.
Old men resting and drinking tea in front of Seytanın Kahvesi,(the Devils Café) tea house.
As the day got warmer and the crowds thickened we decided to escape the frenzy and headed to Seytanın Kahvesi (the Devils Café), a teahouse we had found the day before. Very hot apple cay (.50TL) served in tulip shaped glasses soothed use as we rested under the shade of a large tree in front of the cafe and people watched. Even in the mid-day heat the old men wore the traditional sweater vest under a heavy suit jacket. Some rubbed prayer beads as they chatted with friends, while others read papers and sipped tea. One pulled his feet from his slippers and cooled them against the paving stones. At another table, a man with crutches pulled x-rays from a large envelope and held them up to sky to show the pins in his leg to his friends. In the small cross-roads, opposing drivers negotiated which tractor would give way. From the front door tea runners ran down the lane balancing trays of cay to merchants in the market. Above our table hung a sign with carved out and painted, dancing stick figures spelling Cop(M)adam,(the trash ladies) the woman’s cooperative next door. Established to give women who have never worked for pay outside the home or farm, a chance for some economic independence. They create wonderful, contemporary handbags, pocketbooks and other fashion accessories out of thrown away materials. The small shop was full of chatter and laughter as the women worked together. An exotic aroma from the communal lunch being prepared drifted through the shop from the stove in the back room. We chose several items and negotiated lively with an occasional raised eyebrow or thumbs down along with their handy calculator.
With a picnic dinner in our bags from shopping at the bazaar we headed back along a different route further up the hill to find the once grand (and never converted) orthodox cathedral, Taksiyarhis. Situated alone in the center of an overgrown square, the ruins sadly dominated the neighborhood. Large, untamed fig trees sprouted from the foundation. With part of its portico collapsed and the rear of the apse caved in we peered inside to see fallen rafters and small sections of walls with fading designs barely visible, were all that remained of its former glory.
Looking north from Seytan Sofrasi (the Devils Table) towards Cunda Island on the horizon.
“Have you gone to Cunda yet? Erinç inquired. “Not yet, each time we walk past the ferry there is no activity. We might have to take a Dolmus (shared) Taxi over for the day.” I replied. “With it being so hot this Spring they might start ferry service earlier this year,” Erinç offered. Instead, we hired a taxi and headed to Seytan Sofrasi (the Devils table) a rock formation located in a state park a few miles south of town. Narrow, winding roads followed the shoreline around the smaller coves of the bay, revealing thin strips of sandy beaches round each curve. Only a few families were out, some fathers fished as their kids plunged knee deep into the shallow water, and shivered with glee as they raced back to shore. We passed several roadside stands with various flavors and shades of local honey for sale under beach umbrellas. Eventually the road started to rise gently through a forest. The trees thinned to expose the summit and its panoramic overview to the north of two small bays below, then Ayvalik and the large island of Cunda beyond, surrounded by twenty smaller islands. Lesbos, Greece hazily dominated the western horizon in the afternoon light. Prayer notes tied to safety railings fluttered in a refreshing breeze against a flawless sky. Ignoring the railing some people still climbed over to snap a picture from the edge, no guards were there to discourage them or save them from their selves if needed. Though a sturdy iron cage protected an oval, foot like depression in the rock that local folklore says Satan left behind as he leapt to party across the water in Lesbos for some crazy reason. It’s difficult to believe but it seems the Devil spent a bit of time in Ayvalik, if you go by the number of things that include his name, and the volume of ruined churches, monasteries and mosques built nearby to dilute his influence.
Fish restaurants line the dock in Cunda. Behind them stone lanes lead to Takisyarhis Kilisesi church and The Sevim Kent Library cresting the hill above the village.
We were in luck when we realized a short line was forming for the ferry to Cunda as we exited the taxi. Storm clouds built over Ayvalik as the boat pulled away with only a handful of passengers aboard for the short journey. The weather threatened only for a brief time but did not deliver. (During high season ferries from Ayvalik run to Lesbos, Greece and Assos, Turkey. Diving trips to nearby deep, red coral reefs can also be taken, along with swimming boat charters to the islands around Cunda). A long line of seafood restaurants fronted Cunda’s quay. Several blocks inland and on a slight rise, the cupola of the old Greek Orthodox Taksiyarhis Kilisesi church (same name but a different church) rose above the surrounding homes, was finally being restored as a museum and center for cultural events after years of neglect. A candied apple seller braved the sun and walked the streets, hawking his caramelized treats from a tree like structure. The shade of the buildings offered some relief from the sun for three older villagers and their donkey called “Donkey” who had a weathered, wooden saddle tied to its back and us as we continued our walk uphill to find a windmill that we had spotted from the ferry. The windmill with a pretty veranda and small adjacent chapel now restored as The Sevim and Necdet H. Kent Library (Kent was a Turkish diplomat stationed in France during World War II who saved the lives of many Jews by providing them Turkish identity papers) are all that are left of an ancient monastery complex that sat upon the crest of the hill and overlooked Cunda and the waters surrounding it. The library’s shaded cafe (free WiFi) provided the perfect spot to rest our blisters and appreciate the views, before heading back into the village for dinner.
Many restaurants line the back lanes of Cunda with tables and chairs to enjoy an evening meal.
We rewarded our efforts later that evening with wonderfully prepared Cretan (Turks from Crete came to Cunda during the population exchange) dishes at Lal Girit Mutfagi, a small restaurant set in a rustic stone building with an outside patio across the cobbled lane. Difficult choices tempted us: which mezes to try from the mouthwatering assortment on display? Since the night was warm, we were seated under the grape vines of the patio. Occasionally the waiter hoisted a watering can and sprinkled water onto the cobblestone lane to keep down the dust from passing tractors as farmers slowly drove home through the village from their fields or orchards. The restaurant did not have a paper menu; rather, Emine the owner/chef enthusiastically talked us through what she was cooking that night. The pace of the meal was delightfully relaxed, no rushing, everything from the kitchen freshly prepared and delicious. Soft cheese with wild spring herbs; mussels stuffed with spicy rice served on the half shell; grilled octopus; fresh anchovies in a light tomato sauce plated artfully in a spiral; artichokes with dill and stuffed grape leaves; and shredded vegetables with cheese and herbs wrapped in papery thin phyllo dough and baked to a golden brown; our meal appeared before us one exquisite dish after the next, as we enjoyed each of the chef’s creations. Folks filled the lanes as dusk fell and brought in a refreshing breeze. The restaurant livened as the evening lengthened, a boisterous atmosphere reflected much laughter and heartiness. Good Turkish wine, Raki!, a fine night, and a great meal still remembered. Serife! (Days later, Emine greeted us warmly as she shopped amongst the tables of fresh produce at Rormutauk Bazaar (the Sunday farmers market) in Sirinkent , just north of Ayvalik).
A shepherd with young lambs in Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above Ayvalik.
A lone crenulated tower spotted from the Dolmus taxi on the way back from Cunda looked worth another uphill hike. Giant century plants and their towering seed stalks leaned over the path toward Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above the bay. We followed the path through a slowly thickening pine forest to the tower I had glimpsed the night before. An unattended flock of sheep quietly grazed in grassy undergrowth. From behind the tower the sound of more sheep bah-ing slowly moved closer. We waited expectantly to see another flock arrive but were amused when only a lone shepherd, baa-ing, emerged carrying two young lambs in his arms. He baa-ed tenderly as if to convey his love for his flock and reassure the lamb’s mother that they would be reunited soon.
Some villagers still light bonfires, dance and jump over the flames in celebration of Spring.
At breakfast the next morning Erinç excitedly asked if we had heard of Hidirellez. ”It’s still celebrated here in Ayvalik. Today, every May 5th some of the families build bonfires in the streets in front of their homes. They play music, dance and cheer for each other and their neighbors to jump over the flames in a celebration of spring.” It’s not organized and fewer families do it than years ago. You’ll have to wander the lanes farther up the hill, but I’m sure there will be some bonfires.” Later that evening after a long siesta we headed back into the ancient backstreets. Two drummers, carrying big bass drums along with a cymbalist, noisily led a bride in a white gown and pink sneakers and groom in a tux, followed by a small group of raucous revelers in Halloween makeup. Momentarily surrounded, we posed for photos with the party, and then they left in the direction from which they came. Not the fire jumpers we were looking for, but encouraged nevertheless we continued our search. A few blocks over, the homes and people gathered on the street in front of them were cast in the amber warmth of several small fires centered in the middle of the lane. Some revelers danced to traditional music blasted from a CD player. Couches and chairs were brought outdoors for older partiers to settle into. Behind them a few parents supervised young arsonists in training making small smoky fires. We watched as the fires popped and blew sparks skyward when any burnable material was thrown in to encourage higher flames. And with a running start, young and old jumped, when their nerves permitted, as best they could through the flames as everyone clapped and cheered them on. Thankfully we did not witness any self-immolations that night.
A wedding parade on Hidirellez ( a May 5th celebration of Sping).
Ayvalik won the regional playoffs and the small village celebrated wildly.
As we walked back to our guesthouse, the square on the waterfront was surprisingly full of triumphant soccer fans, victoriously waving the team colors. The Ayvalik team had won the state playoffs! It seemed as if everyone who owned a scooter or car (not too many people do), overloaded it with flag-waving friends and raced down Ataturk Caddesi (the only two way street in town) several blocks, did a K turn and then speed back through town multiple times that evening. The horns were still blaring when our heads hit the pillow.
The smell of smoke lingered in the air very early the next morning when Ozzie picked us for the trip back to the airport. We offered him our best wishes for his quickly approaching wedding and changing life. And wished for ourselves, that Ayvalik would not change at all, or at least very slowly.
At the main Thursday market in Ayvalik colorful fabrics hand from the shade awnings strung between buildings.
With Cunda Island and Lesbos, Greece in the distance.
Cobbled lanes and rose bushes adorn the narrow streets of Cunda.
Sunset in Ayvalik
Weighing and bagging coal on At Arabacilan Meydani (the Horse Carts square).
Shelves in the blacksmiths shop on At Arabacilan Meydani (the Horse Carts square).
Palm trees lline a waterfront park on the way to Cunda Island.
Some villagers still light bonfires, dance and jump over the flames in celebration of Spring.
Some villagers still light bonfires, dance and jump over the flames in celebration of Spring.
Street vendors still push carts of produce door to door through the narrow lanes of Ayvalik.
A view across Ayvalik towards Cunda Island .
The sparse interior of Seytananin Kahvesi (The Devils Cafe).
Turkish breakfast at Eolya Konukevi.
A shepherd with young lambs in Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above Ayvalik.
A shepherd with young lambs in Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above Ayvalik.
Fishing in front of the ferry dock in Cunda.
Rusted locks on an a forgeotten home in Cunda.
Most people still walk from place to place in town.
Grapevines adorn many homes and offer some shade.
An ornamental gate along the waterfront frames the sunset in Ayvalik.
A vibrant kaleidiscope of color fills the streets of Ayvalik on market day, when villagers from the outlying hamlets come into town.
School children having some fun on the way to school in Ayvalik.
A stray dog catching some warmth from the morning in an old cobbled lane.
The view of Ayvalik from Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park).
Slowly crimbling pastel colored homes in various stages of decline line both sides of the lanes.
Slowly crimbling pastel colored homes in various stages of decline line both sides of the lanes.
Village women rest from a morning of intense shopping.
2 Suitcases for 2 years 