Aleppo, Syria

so we haven't really been doing this justice. the blog. although, you can find some of our pics on facebook now. will be putting up some here too shortly. in this period of virtual blog silence we have had some really great times. Olympus- site of the Chimerae (a mountain that exudes flames) and a beautiful, global-hipster scattered beach. some of our Cappadochian austrian friends came along with us. one night we attempted to make a fire ("luki was a boyscout") and the next we actually made one, went skinny dipping in the mediterranean etc.
oh, did i mention the underground city in Cappadochia?
we motorbiked up to this sign reading "Mavi Underground City", alongside which this guy with a shovel and a healthy sweat waved at us. Now the thing is in Cappadocia that there are all these underground cities carved out of the soft rock where former inhabitants, mostly the christians, deigned to retreat when invaders (arabs, mongols, turks, etc.) uh, invaded. they could live down there like 6 months at a time without surfacing, like the sperm whales of ancient pacifists. there are huge granaries and wine cellars, booby traps, secret passages....but i digress. the thing is these places are really impressive but we rode up to some and they were clotted with carpet-sellers and waddling gapers, so we travelled on.
Mavi was totally the opposite. In fact, Isa, the aforementioned shovel-guy, is probably the epitome of what I think the tourism industry should be i.e. give people an undeniably enjoyable experience, then give them more stuff, free food, tell stories, free wine, bob hope, etc.
we followed him through multiple levels in the light of a gaslamp, climbing up narrow chutes and lowering ourselves down scary holes. he'd dissapear and pop up behind us, or take Lindsey away and make me count to 100. super fun.
after we bought some food at the little super market and he cooked it all up for us on the same gas can he'd lit the caves with. everyone in town seemed a little wary of him, probably because he was so at home in the supposedly haunted underground. also, he was not devout, but we did talk religion and his ostensible heart seemed well aligned.
we directed the austrians to him, and they went the next day in a rented ford cabrio and ended up giving Isa a ride back to Goreme, where we all were staying, so we hung out together by the pool at our hostel the next day.

***

from Olympus we went to Kalkan and the villa that Mac found for us, him and Rana, and Debbie to spend a relaxing chunk of pre-wedding time. damn it went fast. We went on a boat trip, went to beaches, sat in the sun, cooked meals, drank good turkish wine. I think everyone had a really good time, if too brief of one.
Also, i left my passport in the safe of the hostel in Olympus (Saban, two thumbs up) when we left. which: worried me slightly. but i called and got in contact with the aussie guy who worked there and dispatched him to dispatch the Max and Luki (Austrian) with the passport to come to Kalkan. so we had a great night of inter-family-national dining fun. and thank god for good-hearted austrian proto-scholars, since U.S. passports fetch like 20 large on the dark market.
this moment marks more or less the end of 30 hours bus transit from Kalkan to the here and now Aleppo, Syria. the border was not tough. we took a bus from Antalya to Antakya (Antioch of yore, yarr) and another for 10 lire from Antioch to Aleppo, except of course we are Americans and as such, sans-Visa, we were forestalled at the border for a couple of hours (you're not supposed to be able to enter Syria without a Visa obtained in the states). It was a little tricky but this one nice border guy pled our cause. After that this old man told us he would find us a hitchhike ride, which he did, and we came to Aleppo. where we are now, and hungry. not much i can say about the place at this moment.
tomorrow Damascus, and then Beirut.
Yay-rut!!!!
Dan

Olympus

backlit in the warm wash of divine fire, prone upon a well-grooved stone, Lindsey lay on the mountainside, lulling to sleep with the murmur of voices and hushed roaring of geothermal flames...beside her a quiet, self-contained German girl, also reposed. two austrians, me, and a Turk closer to the flames, upright, fervor-fed by the several fires dotting the mountain and eyes. "I am not sleepy," the Turk. Nor, nor, nor. Gnoshing the Nar (pomegranate) we'd liberated from the trailside trees.

lap of luxshry

the scatterbug ramble having tranzished into a cliff-side villa convalesce looking on a quaint Middle Sea port. on our way to a 20km beach that alternately submerges and obscures various greek/roman/middle age ruins. more to come.