On the return trip, wc arrived in Erzincanrntotally exhausted and fell asleep beforerndinner, too tired to cat in the restaurantrnwith the speedy waiter. After lunchrnin a dubious place the next day, I wasrnstricken with nausea and diarrhea. We finallyrnreached Goreme, southeast ofrnAnkara, in the afternoon. Half dead, Irnwent to sleep for the rest of the day.rnWhen I miraculously recovered, we exploredrnriic volcanic landscape of ancientrnCappodocia, where the early Christiansrnhid in underground caves. The most extensivernsettlement, set in a harsh andrnfreakish landscape, Goreme had manyrnchapels with early Byzantine frescoes.rnMost of them had been defaced by Muslimrnfanatics who scored out the faces andrnbodies of the Christian saints. Wc stayedrnin the central Anatolian town of Urgup,rnthe first attractive place we’d seen, wherernpeople lived inside the demented rockrnand cave formations. At Anamur, on thernMediterranean coast, wc came across arnhuge and well-preserved third-centuryrnPhoenecian castle, rebuilt nine timesrntiirough the centuries, most recentiy byrnthe Ottomans. Turkey was incrediblyrnrich in unexpected ruins.rnThere was a good road from Urgup torndie coast, which began at St. Paul’s I’arsus,rnand from tiiere to Alanya the drivernwas crtiginous. But it was a thrill, afterrnso manv dusty miles, to see the Mediterraneanrnat last. Wc saw scores of miles ofrndeserted beach and magnificently coloredrnwater (cobalt shading into sapphire)rnas we wound through the sweet-smellingrnpine forests and curv- mountain passesrnhigh above the sea, like the Galiforniarncoast near Big Sur.rnOur next hotel, two miles from Alanya,rnhad a superb setting: high mountains behind,rnlong empty beach below, and a riverrntiiat flowed down from the hills. Thernruins of a once-great fortress surroimdedrnthe town and offered a fine view. Thernharbor had a Greek atmosphere, withrnsome good restaurants at the water’s edge.rnBut the heat, even in the shade, was intense.rnI nearly got sunstroke playing tennisrnwith an elderly—though able—Turk,rnand my racquet slipped from my soppingrnhand and split on the ground. I threw itrnin riic trash can, and a little boy immediatelvrnretrieved it.rnPamukkale, in western Anatolia, wasrnthe ancient Hicropolfs, a Roman thermalrnspa and pleasure dome. We approachedrnit by driving up a steep mountain thatrnoverlooked a vast plateau. The hotels,rnequipped with huge hot-spring swimmingrnpools, were perched on the crest ofrna mountain, with an impressive view ofrnthe weird rock formations and poolsrncaused by underground springs. Wcrneven had our own miniahire pool outsidernour room. At dinner, I spoke Spanish tornan Argentine diplomat stationed, luienthusiastically,rnin Ankara.rnThe whole place was pleasant, quiet,rnrelatively empty, and seemed restful. Atrndusk on the second afternoon, we werernwalking along a dirt road and looking atrnthe ruins. A car came up fast behind us,rnblasting his horn to force us and a fewrnother stragglers off the road. I was furious,rnand as the car passed I pounded therntop with my fist, New York-style. The carrnstopped and the driver, a nuddle-agedrnTurk witii his womenfolk, screamed atrnme. I yelled back, and he drove off Irntook my wife’s elbow and steered herrnback toward the town, but the driverrnstopped again, noticed the dent I’d made,rnquickly backed up, and leapt out in arnfury. Casually examining the damage, Irnleaned inside, tried to push out the dent,rnand managed to tear the upholstery inrnthe process. By now apoplectic, the Turkrnsummoned up his English and threatened:rn”I take you to justice!” My wifernmuttered that I didn’t know my ownrnstrength. We went back to the hotel,rnwhere a policeman came to summon mernto the barracks. Here it comes, we said,rnthe interview witii the Turkish hey. MidnightrnExpress at the ver’ least.rnBut the corporal in charge was arnmild type, and the only pimishmentrnwas watching the policemen strugglernthrough an hour of painstaking, semiliteraternwriting (one got tired and had to bernrelieved) to take the Tmk’s deposition.rnAsked to surrender my passport, I got itrnfrom my hotel and came back to give myrnversion of the story, hi combat boots andrnhelmet (dented, like tiie car), the policeman,rnappropriately named Attila, lickedrnhis pencil and stuck out his tongue withrnthe effort of writing. I apologized to thernTurk, gave Attila my gray cardboard internationalrndriver’s license instead of myrnpassport, and he solemnly accepted it.rnWe solved the problem by leaving townrnbefore dawn the next morning.rnIt was now time to put tiie Greek islandrnplan into action. We drove throughrnthe mountains to Marmaris, on thernAegean coast, where, we’d been told, thernboat to Rhodes left in the evening, costrnten dollars, and took no cars. In feet, itrnleft in the afternoon, cost five dollars, andrncarried cars. Wc had to buv the boat tickets,rnget a customs guarantee from a travelrnagency for leaving the ear behind (a racketrncooked up by the customs agents, whornsplit the fees), go to the customs officernand to the police, and then cheek ourrnluggage at a hotel. The Turks, lethargicrnand inefficient, watched bemusedly as Irnraced about franfically.rnyVftcr a few days on Rhodes, we sailedrnon to Kos for a week, and (though we’drnbeen told there was no boat from there tornTurkey) took a short boat ride to Bodrum,rnon the southwest coast. The bus connectionsrnback to the car were poor, so wernhitchhiked. After 1 5 minutes, the first carrnon the road, driven by a Belgian travelingrnalone to Marmaris, stopped to pick us up.rnA Flemish nationalist, he refused tornspeak French, so we chatted amiably inrnEnglish and rambled along the steeprnmountain roads.rnThe next morning we saw Ephesus,rnthe most extensive Greek ruin in thernAegean, an entire town with two longrnmarble streets and impressive remains ofrntemples, libraries, houses, tombs, a theaterrn—even a brothel. The museum hadrna famous bronze, the Boy on a Dolphin,rnand a male terra-cotta figure with anrnenormous member (a great favorite onrnthe postcard rack).rnIzmir (Smyrna), an attractive port,rnlooks like Genoa or Haifa. We walkedrnthrough the squalid back streets to thernAgora (Greek marketplace), saw thernmodern Efes hotel with its bar below therntransparent swimming pool (liquidrnwatching liquid), and strolled along thernseafront on the famous quay that Hemingwayrndescribed during the Greco-rnTurkish war of 1921. When the Greeksrnleft Smyrna, he said, “tiiey had all theirrnbaggage animals they couldn’t take offrnwith them so they just broke their forelegsrnand dumped them into the shallow water.”rnWe were told in Izmir that a Turkishrnboat sailed daily at 2:00 P.M. from Ayvalikrnto the Greek island of Lesbos. In Ayvalik,rnthe tourist office confirmed this and directedrnus to the shipping agent, who toldrnus that the boat, in fact, left at 3:30. (Itrnwas then four o’clock, and we could havernmade it had wc known.) Because of a recentrnbank robbery and mmder, he explainedrnthrough his harelip, we had tornnotify the police nine hours before ourrndeparture, which meant by five thatrnevening since he did not open until eightrntile next day. The fare was high, he said,rnbecause the ship was new and went veryrnfast. He claimed tiiat there were no bus-rnMARCH 2000/35rnrnrn