three nights at attila's getaway

definitely a misadventure meeting astrid kerr at the grubby and small-town izmir airport with its counterintuitive layout.

"A Comedy Of Errors," i said.

"have you actually read that play?" said she, twenty straight hours of travelling, four connections, and a seven hour stop in gatwick, all of this with an injured knee. "it's not actually very funny."

"no, i haven't." (pause) "but i guess All's Well That Ends Well."

"have you actually read _that one?"

in truth i do not much like plays, i prefer novels.

from izmir to selcuk. selcuk is one of the major tourist attractions in turkey because of the nearby ruins of ephesus. because so many tourists come to visit, and competition is fierce for their business, hotel rates are cheap even in the high season and many of the hotels and hostels offer all sorts of little incentives to sweeten the deal.

so, arriving in selcuk, and having phoned ahead to stay at a little campground and hotel called Attila's Getaway, we stepped off the bus to find attila there waiting for us with a shuttle to take us in to his resort which was a few minutes removed from the town.

once we got there, deep breath and the resort was conducive to deep breathing and a cup of tea. the van pulled in and stopped, and we stepped around the corner into a view of the blue-bottomed pool and the little patio with covered decks and low cushions where we would each lunch. the pool was framed on two sides by plaster columns, and rose gardens, and you could look out the other way to an open vista of patchy mountains with round shapes of pine and more linear straight up and down shapes.. there was a bar with water pipes and austrailian kitsch that hung unobtrusively -- flags, koala bears, a kangaroo crossing sign. bamboo wind chimes, and several backgammon boards as well as checkers and chess. at the head of the pool was a doric statue holding a vessel from which water poured making ripples across the water. at the other end was a stone fountain that ran into a little channel and under a foot bridge to empty into the pool, also making ripples. in the mornings when the fountains were off and the water was still, little forked-tail swallows would circle over the pool then quickly swoop in for a splash. blue cat paw prints on the cement pavestones from where a cat once walked in the wet paint at the bottom of the pool.

guess who's back?!

the lolcats.

hello from goreme

a hemingway's breakfast

this morning Edith Piaf came singing through the glass windows of the kitchen into the dining room as i ate breakfast with the cats.

evidence of cyclicality

yesterday the dining room doors open and butterflies sunning themselves on the leaves of the plants inside the windows. today, evening comes, soft rain over sundance.

people arrive each day, as the season comes in. an avocado stone rooting in a cup of water on the marble counter.

the black cat with pieces torn out of his ear, and tiny grey hairs that poke through around his eyes. my wounded left hand healing.

most all the lip balm i brought with me now used up. only part of one stick remaining. two hair elastics lost. time to restock on chocolate.

already, summer shoes -- the ones i have now are to last me through september. blue nylon pants, which have lasted since my early days in the rave scene, wearing through now because i wear them every day here. i am going to fix them with bright yellow thread, then kill them in the desert.

songs under my fingertips. in a notebook, the word: believe.

astrid kerr who tells me now she has her burning man ticket. my playa-sister bec who writes: gentle creature, be careful with your heart.

<< been thinkin 'bout alicia keys >>

strange, wonderful, magical things are happening to your protagonist.

i been thinkin 'bout alicia keys,
couldn't keep from cryin
but she was born in hell's kitchen,
i was livin down the line --
i'm wonderin where in the world alicia keys could be:
i been lookin for her right clear through tennessee.


recall that last year i went on a summertime adventure seeking -- well, call it seeking astrid kerr. today i slightly found her.

for a few reasons of neediness and love and desire, astrid and i did not so much talk leading up to my departure, making me think that i had perhaps seen the last of my torch-singer vegan friend. so off i went to wander and maybe find her again. i did not know exactly what i was looking for. seeking astrid kerr is just code, after all: i knew only that i had to let go of many things deeper than what went down between her and me, though i didn't know what -- neko case singing, if i knew then what's so obvious now, you'd still be here, baby.

when i got back i found astrid working at an organic cafe and she came with me to her first rave, where she was a star. she is coming to europe this summer and we are considering a train ride together.

and she is perhaps even coming to burning man, her first time. and she needs someone to help her with the basics, like, that rubbermaid bins work best for storing gear and that you want to take plenty of ziplocks. today we talked for hours. and one more grudge i hold against myself is slowly melting.

the universe is affording me chance after chance at redemption. late last night the unicorn girl, getting home from chef school in montreal (where she is studying), messaged me to say:

"you need to see how much of a trashy chef i look right now."

"tell me," i said.

but she didn't want to tell me, she wanted to show me. i swear every single word of this is true. sitting at her computer she turned on her little camera. she waved. she had a white chef's coat with pockets in the sleeves; in the pockets, a felt pen and a spoon; a black kerchief at her neck; a white apron over a skirt. her hair is as red as it is black, her eyes as grey as they are blue. her smile pushes up her cheekbones. she undid her kerchief. she loosened the top buttons of her jacket. then the jacket came off. she had a black t-shirt on underneath. she wore three black necklaces. she lit a cigarette.

then she undid the apron; a black skirt. then she slid out of the skirt and sat there in black boyshorts and black fishnet stockings. she stretched her legs long out to the camera.

"i quite like that contrast," she typed, "uniform and fishnets. very sneaky."

and then she climbed under her covers typing she was cold and then she typed 'sleep time' and kissed me with an x and that was it -- gone.

i ask you: what do i ever do to deserve anything.

today the world SPARKLED. i saw turtles. i saw frogs. i saw river pebbles. i saw dragonflies. i saw swarms of bees. i saw bright yellow birds. i saw bushes with razor sharp thorns. i touched the rocks and in the forest shade they were colder than my someday tomb. the trees burst with their flowers. the dark sea gleamed white under the sun. i saw a little boy chasing after a cat with a pine cone in his hands, for no reason at all, because everyone knows you don't catch cats with pine cones, you catch them with cheese -- his mother close behind. a man walked carrying two fishing rods and a wire basket.

i walked through the forest til i found the ruins of Phaselis. i came in overland, walked out through the town til i got to the little harbour, a small bay made with rolled-in stone pieces and rocks to isolate it from the bigger waves out on the sea. then i turned around to look back and the whole city leapt to life: you suddenly could see the oldtime people coming in by ship, not the way i came, but over the water, docking their boats and walking up the triplets of stone steps. you could see the city's logic, the movement of caravans down the main street, from the shore along the road that disappeared now into the forest. you could see the left turn up to the theatre, the baths on the right with the tile mosaic leading you in. you could see the baskets, the fish, the bread, the fronts of shops in the worn down stone walls. all this under the daytime moon.

walking back home along the beach, girls in the surf and for once it mattered not if they were wearing swimsuits or bikinis or even just suntan lotion --

and you see your girl's brown body dancing in the turquoise
and her footprints make you follow where the sky loves the sea --

it mattered _less. and feeling like for some things i am damn near forgiven, just like war is over (if you want it).

two cats from sundance

this little guy -- they call him pompom. here he is waiting for me on my way home from the day's walk. he waits for me because he knows i've got food. i've had to start locking my cabin because he knows how to open the door if it is not locked. i never catch him stealing my food exactly. but i do come back and find that, althought i save both cheese _and olives from breakfast to have as a snack, only the olives are left on the plate. when he is lazy i catch him sleeping on my second bed.

and then there is this one --


-- this one i very much like. even in the moonlight you wouldn't see him until it was too late.

gentle hunter, whose tail plays on the ground while he crushes the skull;
beautiful death, who puts on a black robe when he goes to his victim;
playful killer, whose loving embrace splits the antelope's heart.

i give you my soul

dinner under electric lights powered by a generator -- but how much fuel is there? -- chicken; pasta; yoghourt; soft, boiled potatoes.

the dog that bit me, they gave her a big drumstick, and she got up and came from under their table over to near mine and stood looking straight at me: then bit the bone in half. she hocked, dropped the two pieces, picked up one, tossed it up, crushed it in molars. then again with the other piece. then she went back to the other table leaving bone splinters and spit and bright marrow oozing on the dull floor.

it is decided. a faustian bargain with the black cat it is.

evil

nighttime now and the storm has gained in force. the wind lashes the trees, sprays the falling water against the rattling windows. enough rain has pooled on the ground to make walkways impassable. it splashes in the puddles like popcorn jumping in oil. there is more and more lightning. when the power cuts out the black cat makes his move. he knows his nature. in the darkness he is invisible, a glimmer of black eyes and evil in the nothinglight of the four candles we've been able rustle up to illuminate this canteena. i am sitting on the sofa. silently the cat, paw in front of black paw, walks along the top of its narrow wood frame, moves in. he presses his cheek to my cheek. he touches his nose to my temple. i am spellbound. i hear his thoughts in mine. join me, he says. the sky flashes every few seconds. i force myself to move over to the window where i stand looking out. the ground, the water is black. the trees are black and they are blacker yet against the white bolts of lightning. the cat watches me. we both know a candle does not last forever. soon it will be total darkness.

in the treelodge

last night very miserable since my hand was still bleeding and torn and catching on the wool underblanket of my 3/4 length single bed here, so i had to sleep huddled under the covers as much as i could with my left hand out and exposed, and therefore arm and shoulder too, and awoke over the night to frozen fingertips and non-specific pain: cold enough before dawn to see my breath.

my treelodge has a small brown enameled wood stove. today i prudently gathered sticks and little twigs into a blue plastic bin provided. and now i have got a fire going, a healthy fwitterpat of air moving through the stove's vents, heat coming off it, its feet shuddering against the tile beneath. there is the smell of wood smoke, just a pinch of it: the chimney vents up and out through a hole in the plexiglass window. there are windows in each wall, and cotton drapes. i have moved the tiny low round table in from the porch out front. there is a light fixture above my head where i am sitting on the floor, on a thin rug beneath me. the beds are small and mine has blood on the pillow. i have four acrylic quilts.

two shelves hang from ropes on the wall near the door where i have placed my couple of books, writing paper, pencil case, passport case, and the little food i brought (baklava, chocolate, and peanut butter -- the rest of food is provided here), and just the few other things i have here like my water bottle. there is a little endtable with a lamp, and a wicker wastepaper basket.

the door doesn't quite pull shut and today i came in to find a cat sleeping on the second bed, but she didn't stick around. it gets cold at night, and very dark, orion higher up here in the sky than at home, higher up by half, and bright.

women and grief

this morning i awoke under a down comforter to an empty house. in ankara we are staying at mo's parents'. i have been left a too-big cushy white robe. there is lots of hot water here and norah jones playing, as mo left it when he went out this morning.

now the fall is here again
you can't begin to give in
it's all over --
when the snows come rolling through
you're rolling too
with some new lover --
will you think of times you told me
that you knew the reason
why we had to each be lonely,
was it just the season?

yesterday i spent the afternoon poking around the anatolian civilization museum. mo's driver took me. he wore a grey suit jacket, black pants and a red tie. we went in a sedan with tinted black windows, and worry beads around the gear shift. the driver dropped me off at the door, up at the top of the ankara castle.

some of the oldest artifacts from human history are here. indeed, they predate history. one of the early displays is a collection of clay stamps in geometric patterns that were used to identify tools and clothing before people had script to write their names.

the earliest items were stone tools, crude at first, then more refined, smaller and sharper. there is a stone and rawhide axe, and some fish hooks. yellowed typewritten panels tell you what you are looking at.

around the corner you step into the era where people started to live in settlements and suddenly there are all sorts of early works of art and culture.

very interesting. the development of culture must have been like the evolution of colour vision or the thumb -- no idea how you were born with it, useful to have now that you have it.

but vision is hardwired, and your thumb knows how to reach for a pebble or a fruit -- you don't need to train it. what do you do when you watch someone die and you are suddenly overcome with grief? many of the figurines of that early period were representations of women. there were young women with their hair long. there were pregnant women with round bellies and hips, women reclining, ankles folded. there were women in skirts, tunics, and one who was naked except for two gold bands that crossed over her front and covered her breasts. there was a woman with her legs drawn up, a woman lying on her stomach. there was a sculpture of a woman facing and embracing a man, then the same woman flipped and on the other side cradling a child. the statues were tiny, the size and shape of a girl's hand.

out of clay there was a woman giving birth on a throne carried by two cats, and statues of animals with wounds inflicted by arrowheads.

necklaces in stone, sometimes gold, and pieces of black obsidian polished into mirrors. a little seashell to put pigment in and a tiny spoon to apply it. blue, red and black pebbles on strings. bracelets of rock or precious metal. earrings with beads. the earliest human impulses. they buried their dead with jewels and hunting implements, and before putting them in the earth they left the bodies out for the vultures to find them.

carved out of rock and painted was a representation of two leopards: you could tell by their spots. one was larger and one was more delicate. they were lying face to face and touching lips.

the driver waited for me all day and took me back to meet mo at his work. it is a wonder driving in ankara is still even viable. people walked past and through the gridlocked traffic. in the little car it was hot and the driver and i were silent.

three other fun things about my trip to çanakkale

this was çanakkale the morning i left for troy -- foggy as ever.



Three Fun Things.

1. saw dolphins swimming in the dardanelles. twelve fins in two groups. tourists took pictures with their cell phone cameras as townspeople fished from the boulevard. a tourbus arrived and everyone got out to come see. a cat decided to come check it out too, pawed its way through the maze of legs, down to a rock where it sat looking out, visions of tuna fish going through its little mind.

2. made a friend at the info booth at troy.



this little guy had the same idea as me, warming up in Excavation House. when i went in he was sitting on one of the chairs sleeping. i sat down to check my guidebook and he meowed, looked at me and climbed onto my lap. then climbed up on my shoulder while i read the informational displays on the walls. thin like a rat.

3. heard some bob dylan on the radio. most of the stations here play turkish music, unlike the imported tv channels. but coming through the mountain pass before assos i switched onto a channel where a voice on the feminine side of androgynous was singing a bouncey cover of Fourth Time Around:

it was then that i got up to leave, and she said, don't forget :
everybody must give something back for something they get

i came late home to a quiet house. mo had been busy, installed a fireplace in the bedroom upstairs and an infrared heater in the bathroom -- like a toaster, only for humans. good to be back. learned a few things. more to follow.

<< i am on a lonely road and i am travelling travelling travelling travelling >>

when night falls on small turkish towns the coal haze comes with it. mothers and fathers warm their kitchens. lovers warm their bedrooms. tonight i am in a town called Çanakkale. i was all set to go to istanbul. i was putting the last things in my bag to catch the midnight bus when mehmet and ugur came in and said they were worried about me going off all on my own, and what about waiting til next week when they have to go to istanbul anyways and could take me with them.

important to me to do _something. so, instead, today i headed up the narrow highway, up towards the battlefields of gallipoli and the ruins and fortifications of troy. i set three alarms to wake myself. i didn't need one. mo showed me where i was going on a map and fed me before sending me off. he sent me in the big truck instead of the little sports car because it would be safer -- cross me, and i'll use this truck to crush you like an ant -- and i headed off down the highway, west and north.

first a long section of road, flat, flanked by olive trees on either side far as you could see, through little towns where i saw lots of turkish flags hanging from balconies and in windows, even in the rear windows of cars. then i wound my way up a little twisty mountain road, past tractors and herds of sheep. the road levelled off, high up where there was no radio reception. over a half hour it went back down to sea level. then suddenly the town came up and i was passing the big supermarket on its very outskirts, and, like, everything was very much up close and very much in turkish.

çanakkale is a port town on the east side of the dardanelles and is the site of the second largest naval attack in history, the gallipoli campaign of WWI. the town centre, near the its harbour, is where i would find a place to stay. i followed the signs that said "Centrum," down Attaturk street. then i turned left, elbowed my way around a traffic circle and suddenly i was on this tiny little main street driving this huge truck between all these little cars and people and _all these dogs and cats. i decided to head in on foot.

i had a map but i was lost. the streets were narrow, winding and usually unlabelled. i parked the truck far back on a street that intersected attaturk. i walked in a straight line, looking for points i could recognize and recall. near where i parked there was a store and through the window you could see square metal tins of sunflower oil labelled in english. i passed a store with a placard advertising The Original T-Shirt In A Box, From Istanbul. further down there was a square paved in white marble with a statue. nearby was a building with the words Parti Democratik in big red letters. two more steps: a huge steel gun pointed out to sea, on an iron rail so that soldiers could drag it and aim it. from here i found the clock tower which is the centre of the town.

i hadn't phoned ahead for a hotel, being anxious to get out in the morning. the whole town is hotels, and my book listed several including some cheap ones, but many/most were closed for the season. finally i found a place that was suitably inexpensive. i walked back to the truck, got the rest of my things, parked it around the corner where it could stay overnight, then headed back to my room. i am the only one in a room for four. it is clean like the inside of a second-hand fridge. the walls are seafoam green. the floor is linoleum tile like in an elementary school. there is a little table with a table cloth that looks like it was cut and hemmed by hand. there are two plastic chairs and two more that don't match. there is a bottle of shampoo left in the bathroom and a bar of pink soap. there are lace curtains.

i went to look around the town. already night was coming. i walked up through the town past little stores selling figs, apricots, nuts, alcohol, cigarettes, red bull. but i didn't know how to ask for hardly anything. so i walked, quiet and wandering and a tiny bit shaken. i wanted to someplace to sit but the cafes i passed were either empty or full, and i felt conspicuous. so i walked and looked and heard the final call to prayer as it got dark. lots of young people in two and threes and fours, girls walking arm in arm. lots of clothing shops. one store with just the bottom halves of mannequins displaying pants and the bones showed in the hips of the women mannequins. soon it was very black and cold. the sun sets early here and around the few streetlights the air is hazey white.

i walked along the ocean where the salt smell peeked through the taste of coal in the air, to another mosque at the far end. i walked inland a block, worked my way back, sat in the light of the waterfront restaurant whose patio they'd closed in with clear vinyl. i looked at the dark reflective water for a long time. the boats bobbed up and down on the waves: no current to speak of. coke bottles floated. a seabird perched on a capsized styrofoam cooler and preened. the streetlights reflected off coagulated patches of oil and muck. brick monuments on the other side of the harbour glowed with yellow light on them, statues of people i didn't recognize, stories not my own. from a ship out on the water i heard metal squeak against metal. in spite of myself it reminded me of her creaky bedframe, in spite of how far i've come. then that thought was gone.

down the pier a couple asked a stranger to take their picture, such as i would never trust a stranger enough to do -- the girl stood on tiptoe in high boots, pointing to the camera to explain something, brushed the hair from her face.

any new place i call home is going to feel like this town, like tonight -- nights by the water listening to Blue, people i don't recognize, cafes that don't yet feel like they're for me, memories i can't or don't care to trap. i walked back towards my hotel.

i passed a bakery, then another, then another. each one that i passed reinforced the feeling of knowing what i had to do. i went into the last one i saw before the turn in towards my hotel.

"selamin aleykum," i said.

the said, "aleykum selamin."

"lütfen," i said -- please -- and then i pointed to a custardy sort of cake in the window, scored and waiting to be cut into pieces. "iki," i said, two.

he cut me two pieces, put them in a plastic tray, covered it with plastic. i got some coins out. i had four labelled fifty and two labelled ten.

"iki," he said: two lira, two hundred cents. i handed over the four fifties.

he gave me a plastic fork and moved to put the whole thing in a plastic bag, same plastic i'd seen floating in the water. but i was brave despite my turkishlessness. i reached for the plastic tray and told him, in english and by reaching, that i didn't need a bag as well.

now i am back at my room. on my way in i asked for hot water -- sü -- and made some tea in my travel mug. it's not hot, but it's warm. the light switch doesn't want to stay on unless you hold it down, so i have used the tea bag wrapper to wedge it and hold it in place. the yellow custard has walnuts and plenty of stick-to-your-ribsiness, like you could spread it on with a butter knife. not sure if i will stay here one night or two. here's to my new life and to tiny tiny triumphs.

figs and cream, coffee, beechwood

it is late at night in Burhaniye Turkey and i am beat.

near full points for getting out of London this morning on British Airways -- one bureaucratic snafu that they made out to be much more than it actually was and that made me sweat for a moment. but going through passport control in turkey was less involved than ordering a happy meal -- seriously, sixty seconds end to end, no forms, no questions, not even one word out of the passport guard who stamped my passport, then looked at its information, then handed it back. and now i am in turkey staying in a house that is heated with coal.

like, actually heated by burning coal in a stove, not heated by a powerplant that uses coal to turn turbines and generate electricity and power electric heaters.

mehmet has just moved in himself and is still setting things up. his girlfriend Oor is here as well.

i have not seen much of the town since it was night when we drove in and i was groggy besides. we had dinner in Izmir with the mayor of Burhaniye who was there with mehmet when he picked me up. i had my first olive within fifteen minutes of landing -- purpley, salty. we stopped for dinner in Izmir at a fancy restaurant such as the mayor of the town would eat at.

"what would you like to drink?" asked Mehmet.

"coffee," i said, since i always drink coffee. then i realized. "unless, unless you have coffee after the meal here."

Mehmet said something to the waiter in turkish. i understood the word for coffee and the word american : negative. and a word that must have meant filtered. also negative.

Mehmet looked at me. "it doesn't work that way here."

"then i'll have what you are having," i said, so we shared some wine.

then our waiters brought around a big tray of appetizers in little ceramic dishes and mehmet told me, choose. so i chose one. but in fact for appetizers you choose like six and even if i'd known that, do you just grab the dishes yourself (you do not, they pass them to you), and besides, what is what? so the others at the table chose as well. we had palm hearts, fava bean spread, couscous, artichoke spread, a salad made from the tops of a vegetable like a raddish, and bread.

normally i eat quite quickly. but people eat like they make love and did not come all this way not to learn a few things. i tried the bread first, a soft brown round loaf. i tore into it, no butter at the table. even under my fingers its texture was different. i tasted some. lots of flavour, salty. i was like, ok, this is your new life, don't gulp. then i was like, this is just the bread. then i was like, exactly: this is just the bread.

it was good. dinner was good especially the giant roasted green bean, also brussels sprouts, broccoli, and tomato.

desert was figs stuffed with walnuts and rich cream and sprinkled with pistachios, those were delicious and we finished with coffee in tiny cups and turkish cigarillos with beechwood tips.

then into the car where i slept the whole rest of the way in spite of myself -- i am tired -- though i did see a truck packed full with bunches of leeks, eyes painted on the back bumper. then in to Mehmet's house past the warehouse/factory where the olivemagic happens. another building on that site houses a kitchen suitable for preparing weekly feasts. much bigger than the kitchen in mo's house. it is equipped with all sorts of restaurant equipment and gas ranges and the pantry is well-stocked with everything fresh and local. evidently they feast often in turkey and soon i will too. above the kitchen is an empty loft space with hardwood floors where mehmet tells me i will teach yoga, though he did not specify to whom. i am also told i will be teaching english and french.

a cat lives in this house that looks like my Marianne but is considerably fatter. there are grape vines strung to shade the backyard. the porch looks onto a street and if you cross the street and walk down you are at the aegean sea, and you can swim to the greek island of Lesbos (says mehmet -- it is too dark for me to see for myself). the walls are brick and concrete and the floor is tile. my room is small.

bedtime now -- i have made it. the cat is purring in a fattish way.