by Maria Peterka
April 2011

We’re off! And where are we going? That doesn’t matter. The main thing is, that we are going. We have to get away from the daily routine. So, we’re off. When? As soon as possible! Now? Not yet. I’ll be waiting in the car. When mom says “not yet” it really means, that we are late; we should have already been there. Which was absolutely true, because we were all exhausted and really needed a break. However, at the moment, we only had time enough for a quick little trip to Julian for a pie and back to the reality of school and work. It took another half year before we could really get away, away from the routine. You know, we’re not yet retired and our kids still have to go to school.

Those six months of waiting were hell, but the escape after was worth it. We picked a country quite exotic for us-Turkey. Well, we didn’t exactly pick it freely and willingly, it simply fit into our program. First of all, we have never been there, and secondly, if we wanted to see our daughter Terezka, who was taking an art course in Istanbul during the summer, then we had no other choice.

We boarded a plane in Prague as the sun was setting and we were excited to see the sunset from up high. The flight was to take about three hours, so enough time to enjoy the view. As soon as we settled in, the flight attendant brought us menus. That was new. Never in all our years of flying have we had the pleasure of reading a menu of dinner choices. It sounded delicious.

As an appetizer they offered baked eggplant with tomato sauce and cheese, the main course was a choice of Turkish style beef or chicken breasts with rice and vegetables. The grand finish was a chocolate cake for dessert. We were drooling as soon as we looked at the menu. If it was going to continue like this, we were bound to like Turkey.

Oh fumble. But when it came time for dinner, they quite simply and without even a complete sentence, announced: change in menu! Pasta! And that was it. If it was going to continue like this, we were not going to like Turkey.

Willing to give this country another change, we stepped out of the plane with great anticipation and took a taxi to our hotel in the historical side of Istanbul. The streets were narrow, winding, it was dark already and yet the taxi driver was able to get us safely to our destination in record time. Good. Up one for Turkey.

We all crashed into bed to wake up the next morning to a beautiful view of the ancient mosques, minarets, parks, sea, and human rush, all bathed in the bright summer sun. Awesome! Another point for Turkey. With great enthusiasm we set out into the massive, overcrowded city (14 million citizens) overflowing with incredible historical landmarks, strange foods, and street vendors selling anything and everything. For us it was an incredible temptation to try everything right then and there. All at once, I realized that today was our 23rd wedding anniversary and that we would like to give thanks for the many wonderful years together and for our four daughters (Terezka, Karolinka, Veronika, Tinka). This would best be done through prayer in a church. Suddenly, our choices how and where to begin discovering Istanbul narrowed, but another challenge arose. How, amongst all the mosques, were we to find a church, at best a Catholic one? We wandered, searched, asked, but nothing was to be found. All of a sudden we turned into a side alley, hey look! Behind a tall stone wall, amidst tall trees and great bushes fearlessly towered two church spires reaching towards the heavens. We turned the door knob but it was locked. What now? Suddenly, very timidly, a man approached us and asked us in broken English if we wanted to go inside. We almost fell to our knees! Almost, because there was a catch. One of those small Turkish catches. We had to pay 30 Turkish lira, about $20 as an entrance fee. Without another word, we paid. It was an incredible feeling to be able to pray on Catholic ground. After a while, we began looking around and it seemed to us that the church was functional. We began to ask our eerie tour guide about this Christ’s island amidst a Muslim sea. We found out that we were in an Anglican church, which was founded and functioning since 1868, fulfilling its purpose as well as serving as a shelter for refugees. In 1991, during a time of unrest, three parishioners lost their lives-martyrs. Immediately we gained respect, awe and admiration for the place. I finally realized why our shy tour guide was so hesitant in the beginning. They don’t have it easy.

A couple of minutes later we were on our way down Istiklal Avenue where, to our surprise, we found two Italian Catholic churches, just steps from each other- the church of Our Lady and the church of St. Francis of Assisi. We prayed, gave thanks and rejoiced as our anniversary wish came true.

We ended the day with heaping portions of ice cream from a nearby confectionary. It’s not so easy getting ice cream here, at least not in the classic way we know it, “pick which one you want, I’ll scoop it for you and be on your way.” Oh no! What a show! And the best part is, they pull you into the action whether you want to or not. First of all, the ice cream man mines for the deliciousness with a long pole with a little spatula like thing at the end, and begins to play with you like cat and mouse to the entertainment of passerbys and onlookers. Here it looks like he’s going to drop the entire scoop on someone’s head, there it looks like he’s offering a taste, but he changes his mind in the last moment and jerks away the sweet temptation. You watch in anticipation wondering how it will all end. Of course it ends well. There’s no doubt about that. It’s just that now you are drooling even more because the acrobatic acts keep you hanging.

We left Istanbul for a while on a new adventure down along the western coast. First, we had to take a ferry across the Dardaneli. We felt as if we were boarding Noah’s arch. Except instead of animals, there were cars, buses, motorcycles and everything that even remotely resembled a vehicle. Oh, and it was not in pairs either. Just simple havoc that was pretty well under control. Well, up until the moment when a bus parked in the middle of a long row of cars realized he was on the wrong ferry and all the vehicles around, willing or not, had to back out to let the dear bus exit. A little excitement to the otherwise dragging afternoon.

We finally took off, left the European coast and within half an hour, found ourselves in Asia. I don’t know what we were expecting. Apparently some kind of shocking change in landscape, cuisine or language, because we unconsciously associate this continent with a culture whose writing resembles scattered loose leaf tea. But nothing! No surprises, no changes.

After some delicious cheese, olives, yogurt and cucumbers, we regained our strengths and ventured into the first historical city right around the corner: to Troy. To our surprise, we found it was pretty crowded. In reality, there are nine cities of Troy on top of each other. As time passed and history accumulated, city stacked on city resulted in quite a few meters of ruins both wide and deep. Understandably, the most famous is Helen’s Troy; famous for the wooden horse and Peloponnesian Wars. Again the time came and we had to leave this world famous place to encounter another historical great-Aristotle. We found him in a small village Assos a few kilometers from Troy, where he founded a school of philosophy and where we were greeted by images of his ageless face beaming down on us at every step. A romantic view of the stone village made the incredible historical experience even more enchanting. After a long day full of adventures we sat down for a well deserved rest.  However, it was not meant to be, because at eleven at night we were woken to the sound of prayer from the local minarets. It spread like wildfire with no chance of escape. The sound rang in our ears for a while, taking us a long time to fall back asleep. But oh, at four in the morning this pious ritual began again. I have nothing against prayer of any religion, quite the contrary, but forced prayer at such an ungodly time of night is beyond me. And from the reactions that were coming from the other houses full of tourists, I was definitely not alone. After an unexpected breakfast, eaten almost even before dawn, we ventured out through the city of Izmir all the way to the village of Guzlecamli where we settled in the hotel Faustina and couldn’t wait to head out to nearby places full of biblical history. We first set out to Efes, the place from which St. Paul sent his letters. There is nothing here that would evoke feeling of these timeless writings. There is no mention of such a great biblical persona, even though St. Paul supposedly spent three years of his life here.

That however is not the case with the Virgin Mary who lived and died in a house not 8 kilometers from Efes. She was brought here by St. John who was entrusted to care for her by Jesus himself right before his death while hanging from the cross. Right after our arrival to this interesting place, we were aware of the wonderfully peaceful atmosphere, despite the machine guns pointed straight at us. The local army is always ready to protect the pilgrims against any unrest. It wasn’t quite clear to us whether they were really meant to protect Christians from other believers, because we did not see soldiers ready to act in front of any other monument or church. Back to the Virgin Mary. Tradition says that the first Christian community lived here. All in all, this Church believes that Mary died in Jerusalem. However, the local community has always believed that she died here in Efes and has always celebrated August 15th as the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. It’s interesting how this cottage, well big house according to our standards, was rediscovered. In the beginning of the 19th century, there lived a nun in Germany, Catherine Emmerich, who besides the gift of stigmata also had visions. Not only did she exactly describe the last place where Mary lived and eventually died, but also the events that led up to St. Tomas’ discovery of her empty tomb. In the end of the 19th century, French priest Gouyet set out to find the place described by the visions, and to his great surprise, found them. After many years of doubts and debates about the authenticity of this location, all struggles were greatly rewarded by its proclamation as a place of pilgrimage by Pope Paul VI. From them on, it has been unceasingly visited by pilgrims from around the world. Not even John Paul II and Benedict XVI were any exception as well as Paul VI who blessed this rare place with his presence during his pontificate. Just in case you were ever near this area, mass is served here every Sunday at 10 am.

From here it is only a short distance to Selcuk, the place where St. John spent the last moments of his life, where there are remains of a basilica named after him and a tomb in which he is buried. The place has an atmosphere of biblical importance as it was in the surrounding area that he wrote his Gospels and Revelations. An atmosphere that is carried out in the daily readings of his text. In short- an exceptional and unforgettable place. This ended our biblical voyage and we continued on, fully immersing ourselves in worldly joys. We decided to visit the world famous hot springs in the village of Pamukkale and we hoped that they would have the same effect, possibly beautify us, the way Cleopatra hoped, whom one of the springs is named after. As far as beauty goes, I’m really not quite sure, because I can still see those wrinkles in the mirror, but as far as relaxation goes, it was wonderful. We were in desperate need of it because the drive here and back took seven hours, plus it was through villages because there is no highway, so we traveled from one red stoplight to the next. And, where there is a highway, they want an ungodly toll which they don’t tell you about beforehand and which they tailor depending on their momentary mood. We wouldn’t give in though. We sat by the toll collector for more than half an hour letting all the cars stuck behind us in traffic honk, until the man and his colleagues finally understood that we are no pushovers and that they have to show us some respect and especially fairness. Patients and strong nerves persevered and we proudly drove off without having to pay any unfairly demanded payments. A priceless experience, believe me!

It’s slowly time to say goodbye to the sun-bathed south and head back to ancient Istanbul, where history is so rich and intertwined it resembles that of a spider’s web. But before we get to any history, we have to find a place to park. That in Istanbul is quite a task and a test of strength for any marriage. Way in the distance I saw one, and only one, empty space and tried to navigate Petr, the current driver, my husband and father of our four children, to that spot. I wasn’t the only one who had eyes for this rare find, as a battle erupted all of a sudden. Chaos beyond belief and nervousness to the highest degree as merciless taxi drivers tried their conniving parking tricks like hungry sharks. We remembered that “life is a battle” and so we went for it. I don’t know Turkish, but I understood quite well the names the passerbys were calling us. On the other hand, I do know Czech, and I would have rather not understood the words I heard coming out of the mouth of my better half. Nevertheless, again we did not give up and again we conquered and thus we could continue exploring the mysterious history of the oldest Byzantine basilica, the Hagia Sophia – Holy Wisdom. Later, the pressure that came with a change in regime also caused the basilica to be converted into a mosque, but the Christian spirit remains in the decorative mosaics on the walls of Christ, the Archangel Gabriel, and the Virgin Mary.

We couldn’t leave out the Blue Mosque which was right across the street; one of the most prestigious in all of Istanbul. It has six minarets, the maximum that a mosque can carry. Minarets, as well known, are not only a place of really loud and public recitation of passages from the Quran, but also a symbol of how significant the mosque is.

Because it was a truly remarkable place, there was a remarkable surprise waiting for us. We had to cover our bare shoulders and knees. What about us women, we were expecting it and had scarves and shawls for such an occasion. What we weren’t expecting is that they would have a problem with dad’s bare knees! Now what? Petr didn’t have any long pants with him at the moment. He didn’t want to wait outside, with so much history within reach….Saving grace came from a local guard who shoved a strange bag like skirt into his hands, signaling that he would let Petr in, if he put on the glamorous piece of haute couture. Dad swallowed his Euro-American ego, put on the mosque garb and we proudly fell back in step with the crowd of tourists all admiring the treasures of this incredible place. We tried hard to suppress all the tears of laughter that came to our eyes every time we looked at dad, distracting us from any civilized admiration of history. Understandably, we were having a hard time. Poor dad and his love of history!

A big park surrounded the Blue Mosque where locals abundantly offered their goods and crafts of all sorts. A sight to see for sore eyes so powerful even our wallets felt the aftershock. I took a fancy in some silk scarves laid out on a carpet on the ground which I wanted to buy from one vendor. The Turkish liras were already in my hand, when all of a sudden the vendors and their goods started disappearing into the bushes and everything cleared out! It looked like God’s plague. We did not understand and just looked on, astonished. We must have been a sight: eyes wide open, jaws dropped, money in hands, staring as if we couldn’t count to ten…within a few seconds, there was not a single vendor in the park. Deserted. Just tourists remained. All just as shocked as we. Where and why did all the sellers vanish? We didn’t stop wondering until the moment when we saw the policemen. Yes, they came to check if there was anyone selling without a license. Evidently, the locals can sense when the police is coming and are more than ready and trained for such inspections. As soon as the protectors of the law turned the corner, all were back in business and I was able to buy the scarves I picked out and walked away with not only the goods, but with another experience to tell of.

Night came and with it again the parking problem. This time, right in front of our hotel. The hotel parking lot was completely full and so we had to look elsewhere. From out of nowhere, a small man appeared next to us and offered that he and his friends will watch it. He looked like a fairytale character. Nervously we realized we had no other option, as spending the night circling around overcrowded hotels bursting in their seams was unthinkable. We gave him our cars keys and only then did we find out that they do not give bills nor receipts! Our apprehension rose again. Our stranger of an acquaintance swore that we can trust them and that they will watch the car with their lives and spoil it rotten. I don’t know if dad slept at all that night, but I was so tired after a long day of history that my eyes were shut even before I hit the pillow and had a chance to think about the car. We met our four-wheeled servant in the morning with enormous relief, but we were in awe at the honesty of the local people. Coincidence? Who knows?

We had half a day left in this mysteriously exotic city and we wanted to spend it in the Grand Bazaar. What a show, what a spectacle. Thousands of stands all under one big roof offering everything from spices to chandeliers, shoes, jewelry, furniture all the way to anything, even the unimaginable, unnamable, unthinkable. The atmosphere was perfectly compelling, enticing, persuasive, very respectful and never arrogant. Simply, “the customer is always right.”

We were returning with not only unneeded trinkets, but with fairytale like experiences and moments of relaxation and regeneration of both body and mind.