Gazelles and Bubbles

We sprang like gazelles, hopping with dexterity between the German hordes. In Turkish ‘chalk goozell’ means very good, and we were chalking gazelles getting through the crowds. The minibus from the Guesthouse had arrived later than we wanted and the coach loads were already on their way down. There was only one thing for it….run the gauntlet of tourist groups and get there first. As we flew past, we caught snippets of tour guide banter… “this section of the site shows the early roman… blah, blah”
‘If you look over here you will see the love houses”…really????…no ….keep going…we will look at that later. Finally we make it…The library at Ephesus. The magnificent structure that again shows up any modern architecture for style and grace. We click some shots before the hordes descend and then scamper off to the colosseum for the same. Getting back to the love houses based on the ‘advertising’ on the road and finding out some things never change.

Library at Ephesus

The hoards we gazzelled through

The hordes are coming - that way!

Love House advertising
If your heart is broken and you have money
that will fill this hole, on the left (left foot)
you will find a woman to help you!

My partners in gazelle crime where an Australian /English couple and a young lady from Japan all staying at the Australian / New Zealand Guesthouse in Seljuk - 5kms from the ancient city of Ephesus. Ok, yes, I was feeling a little homesick so I made my way there and found exactly what I wanted - a chance to touch base with some other travellers. The trip had been long and boring - motorways most of the time and a wind that treated me a like a child with a pinata stick - hitting me from one side of the road to the other. After Bergama, I wanted to get back that special feeling again.




Gazzelling partners Sadoko?? Jen and Crispin



Wondering what to do next on a Roman toilet

Boring stop on boring motorway

I had walked around the town when I arrived the afternoon. Looking at the place that St Paul set up a church with the virgin Mary after Jesus’ death, I was glad to trust my instincts when a gorgeous young man approached me as I stumbled into an area leading up to a castle that was closed to the public. Now why would a young man want to just talk to me and mention casually when I looked at the castle, I can show you how to get in if you want. After Bergama, I just said no and walked away, finding out later that night that he was a gypsy and if do decide to follow gorgeous you meet four others on the way that tend to make your life difficult until you hand over your money.

View from St Pauls Church

Nearby Mosque

Gypsy Castle

Regardless, the city had a great vibe and I wondered the streets looking for something to eat. Green vines twisting around the metal iron work of a pide restaurant signalled the spot… sitting eating good food, sun on my back warming me and I think,…“all I need is some great Turkish music to set the scene“….ask and it is given…a record store across the mall starts to broadcast music…done - a perfect moment! Sucking down a Turkish hubbly bubbly pipe later that evening feels like you are just breathing flavoured air, so it surprised me to find myself breathing out smoke. Some people from the Guesthouse followed Memhet (a friend of the Guesthouse owner) to his café to experience the tradition. Germa- phobes would hate the communal sharing aspect but it doesn’t taste bad and Memhet assures us that his apple blend is the smoothest you can get, especially since it’s free!

Might do a trade for this --(only teasing Ginger)

Guesthouse Courtyard

Helen Hubba blubling

Turkish bath (Haman) opportunities don’t come by every day…but after a long day gazzelling around the ruins, Memhet asked do we want to go…yessssss! I race back to the Guesthouse to get my swimmers, but realise that after almost 4 weeks with cold weather on the road there had been no reason to….err….de-foliage. White legs are bad enough but white hairy legs on my first Haman visit did not sit well with international relations…oh so this is what the Aussie girls look like…very natural. I had two minutes and a razor - there was more hair flying than in a cat fight but I emerged on time…ready for the experience.
For a culture that can be so segregated, the concept of sharing a bathing space with both sexes seems a little contrary. So when I realise that it was a mixed session and the massaging was being done by a man, I think my jaw dropped (and I silently said a thank you to the razor gods - white hairy legs are even worse when there are men around ). When did we become prudish? The ancient people in this area used to worship Armtemis - the fertility goddess with 24 breasts and tiny statues of men that obviously didn’t have little fingers - sexuality was so natural it was commonplace and almost ignored.

Non hairy legged angel

No little finger issues

Armtemis the fertility Goddess

The Haman had been standing of almost one hundred years - so it was the new kid on the block. We changed in a little room with a colourful curtain for the door- but small porticoes in the wall at eye height which meant that anyone close to the room could see in, I hugged the curtain to get into my swimmers and wrapped the sarong type material tightly around me. We ventured forth eagerly into the domed steam room, instantly gagging at the heat . There was a large octagonal marble slab raised in the middle of the room and small cubicals with taps and water bowls around the outside - everything was white. We followed Memhet’s example of pouring water over ourselves and then the section of the marble bench we were going to lay on as it was heated underneath by a fire. The heat eased my back muscles and I ran my hands across the marble’s smooth surface wondering who else might have been sweating here in the last hundred years...hhmm. The tall dome roof was dotted with small circular windows that made you feel like you were looking at steamy stars and the water running through the room played incidental music that bounced off the walls. There was also human music when anyone moved as the body squelches and make inappropriate sounds as you jostle for a better position making us all laugh.

Enter the scrubber- a tall tanned man tightly wrapped in a red and white patterned sarong around his waist. You are summoned over to smaller marble platform on the side of the wall and lying down, you are scrubbed with a rough hand mit. The pressure is hard but not too tough. “Turnover please“…ok -the other side is thoroughly scrubbed….then “sit up please”…he scrubs the outside of my arms then raises them above my head to scrub the inside…crap…in my frenzied de-foliaging I forgot under the arms - luckily there was only stubble…not too embarrassing.

Once scrubbed you are back under the shower. The heat is blasting out your pores and even the cold tap feels warm by the time it makes it‘s way through the piping. Another larger man enters the room sporting the same uniform - the bubble master Again you are summoned to another marble platform on the other side of the room. He has what looks like a large pillow case that he drapes in a liquid and then fills with air by opening the top part while swinging it. He seals it then holds it above you squeezing the air through the sack, you are instantly engulfed in delicious soft bubbles. He moves the bubbles and the sack over your body massaging your limbs. ‘Turn over please”…ok…a little harder to do with soapy bubbles and I slip around on the marble like a slimy fish on a bench. Again, you are bubbled, massaged and made to feel wonderful. “sit up please” he makes a face that says close your eyes and hold you breath…the bubbles fall down over your head as he massages your face and neck then hot water awakes you from the bubble bliss and you are back to the shower. In the end, you almost need to escape to the cool of the ‘after room’. Again a large man welcomes you and cocoons you firmly in towels one for your body and one folded around your head. My face is red… I know it will stay that way for hours but I am so clean I squeak.

Ancient Haman - you can see where the glass
fits in the roof of the dome

Sudoko, Memhet and a very red Helen after a good bubbling

Poppies and columns

Stork nests on top of old aquaduct in Seljuk

Only in Turkey would you find a cat sleeping on a Museum item

Total kilometres travelled: 927
Touched by a Turkish man in places that I didn’t think I would be touched (none of them sexual of course!!!): 4
Hours of red faced squeaky bliss after the Haman: 3
Understanding sign language of ancient brothel: 1
Carpet buying: 1 (thought I’d sneak that one in here as no one at home knows yet)