It had been over five years since I dislocated my shoulder. That was a long streak for me. I had regained a lot of confidence in using my arm over those five years, doing many things with only the slightest conscious reminder to be careful in my movements.
Re-injuring my shoulder, is literally, reopening an old wound. The arm is loose and vulnerable, especially in those first 2 weeks after injury. I have trouble pulling up my pants, cutting my food, sleeping . . . and for any independent person, this gets frustrating really fast. But it is different this time because I have a 3-month-old son who needs me.
Tolga had to go out of town the next day for work, my father went on to Istanbul the following day, so I was left at home with Gokhan, my brother-in-law. He had to bring Teoman to me, pick him up, burp him. But in truth, no one could do everything a mother does. A mom is "on" day and night, ready to pick up their child to comfort, or feed, or change. It got frustrating really fast. I couldn't manage it very well, and I don't think any help would have satisfied me. I struggled with nursing, aggravating my shoulder with each feeding.
It seemed to take longer to heal, my hand tingled, my shoulder was tender and painfully slipping around in the joint with the slightest flex of the muscle and it was stressful. I was worried the damage was more permanent this time. The orthopedist thought I had done more damage as well. I suppose he figured that as much pulling as he had done, something must have broke or tore. We went to see him after ten days and the first thing he did was take Teoman from Tolga's arms. Teoman sat in the doctors lap, looking at us, and for the third time in his life, cried in another person's arms.
Bad doctor. Good boy.
The doctor ordered an MRI for me, which would be taken once the swelling went down. I was supposed to be wearing my sling, but I had stopped wearing it after five days because I couldn't manage to not use my arm.
In the end, Gokhan and I went to Kusadasi. Tolga had to go on another trip for ten days, and as helpful as Gokhan tried to be - he was a man, and men just don't know. They don't realize dishes and laundry have to be done, meals need to be made regularly, babies get up in the night. So Tolga packed us up in the bus for my Anne to help.
In Kusadasi I went swimming. Or rather, I floated around in the water. I called it therapy.
Anne was very helpful, but Baba was not. His four-months in Ankara had given him renewed determination to tackle the garden. He kept himself busy all day long between gardening, eating, and napping. He seemed years younger and more capable.
He mended the storage room door, bought more cement and added two more levels of brick on the top. Much to Gokhan's chagrin, he was up on the ladder calling for Gokhan to hand him this or that. Later in the week, when Gokhan left, he had Anne helping him - handing up heavy stones in the rain to fasten his makeshift roof. Baba worked on top of a three-step ladder. I was pretty useless, but I did stand by and do a lot of head shaking.
Baba also spent a lot of his time moving things around. He moved all sixty black cabbage plants outside the property where the sun beat down with no shade. Baba loves black cabbage because it reminds him of Artvin, and I know there were sixty plants because Gokhan kept complaining about it. He moved the apple tree to the front yard, and told me "Tolga said it was good." He moved the olive tree outside the yard. He bought four more trees and I don't know where he was going to put those. And, finally he began planting the seeds from America - cucumber, squash, and peppers. He has only to plant his flower bed - and for this he has been waiting with surprising patience for May 31st.
As industrious as Baba is in the garden, he is still being incredibly lazy and demanding when it comes to domestic matters. This particularly irked me this time because Gokahn had gone back to Ankara, and so Anne was helping me and being called for by Baba unendingly. Baba would call his wife's name, and wait, then call her again until she came out. She always came out.
"Necla! Necla! (Anne appears) Can you hand me that hand spade?" (He didn't want to get up from his stool by the weeds). "Necla! Necla! Bring me my water. Necla! Necla! My stomach hurts, I'm so hungry." I just about had it with him when he came in from the garden, sat at the table on the terrace for Anne to serve his lunch, and asked her to bring some water out to him to wash his hands. She did too. She brought out a bowl of water and poured it over his hands so he wouldn't have to get up.
Baba kept telling me all the things he was going to do when Tolga comes . . .
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
be like me
When family comes - all those things you thought you weren't anymore, come out from hiding. Even if one were trying to change, we are still judging one another on the person that we knew, never the person we want to become. Provoked by annoying sisters, brothers, and parents - cycles of behavior and conversation that I still hope will change one day - but family, most families I think, don't allow for change.
My middle brother told me the other day that he started running two miles everyday for the past four weeks. My brother is not an athlete. In fact, I've seen him run, and its not pretty. He also is a smoker, chews tobacco, and drinks regularly. When he told me had started running, I was so impressed, but my reflex response was to tease him for his efforts.
And so, while I believe I am changing always (hopefully growing), everything my mother and sister did that made me cringe, I saw myself doing to some extent. We are nothing like each other, and yet, we are the same.
They both love to travel and see everything. I do too. In fact, in this case, I'm sure that I am worse. So, I can understand their enthusiasm.
They both can't stand bugs. They both say "ISH!" and get strongly disgusted by things that they are actually afraid of. My mom was worried about sleeping on our third floor because of bugs, spiders, etc. I assured her it was okay, but in truth, I didn't want to sleep there either.
They were grossed out when I didn't take a shower for two days. (My sister actually called me a "grease ball"). I used to be obsessed with this too.
They both are afraid of sea creatures and asked if there were sharks or jellyfish in the water. I had asked Tolga the exact same thing when I came here.
I also forgot gas was in liters.
I also compare Turkey to the places I've visited.
I also second guess people's motives.
As worldwide travelers, they both seem to have altered their world view very little and their actions and conversations crammed me, my husband, his family, and all of Turkey into what they wanted it to be. My sister, by imposing herself on everything around her, my mother through her imagination and commercial phrases.
I've always thought of myself as easy-going, flexible and open. But, from living in Turkey, or maybe from getting older, or maybe from being around my family . . . I am seeing how I want everyone to live as I see fit. I am, to my dismay, very much like them.
I too have begun cramming those around me into what I am comfortable with. I want everybody to brush their teeth, shower and change their clothes daily. I want them to make the bed and use a top sheet AND a bottom sheet. I want to clean up our haphazard garden in Kusadasi. I want my brother-in-law to stop with his unfinished project ideas. I want to control EVERYBODY'S spending so that we can stop shelling out money.
It starts small - wanting to "influence" those around me so that they use deodorant for example, and then - left unchecked - grows into this monster where my kingdom is everybody is doing what I say. There is no more choice or freedom or personal preferences. Where everybody is like me, or how I've wished them to be . . .
And that, is the most frightening to picture - because who knows better than your ownself what an actual mess you are?
So, for my own good, I am hoping the only one who changes around here is me.
My middle brother told me the other day that he started running two miles everyday for the past four weeks. My brother is not an athlete. In fact, I've seen him run, and its not pretty. He also is a smoker, chews tobacco, and drinks regularly. When he told me had started running, I was so impressed, but my reflex response was to tease him for his efforts.
And so, while I believe I am changing always (hopefully growing), everything my mother and sister did that made me cringe, I saw myself doing to some extent. We are nothing like each other, and yet, we are the same.
They both love to travel and see everything. I do too. In fact, in this case, I'm sure that I am worse. So, I can understand their enthusiasm.
They both can't stand bugs. They both say "ISH!" and get strongly disgusted by things that they are actually afraid of. My mom was worried about sleeping on our third floor because of bugs, spiders, etc. I assured her it was okay, but in truth, I didn't want to sleep there either.
They were grossed out when I didn't take a shower for two days. (My sister actually called me a "grease ball"). I used to be obsessed with this too.
They both are afraid of sea creatures and asked if there were sharks or jellyfish in the water. I had asked Tolga the exact same thing when I came here.
I also forgot gas was in liters.
I also compare Turkey to the places I've visited.
I also second guess people's motives.
As worldwide travelers, they both seem to have altered their world view very little and their actions and conversations crammed me, my husband, his family, and all of Turkey into what they wanted it to be. My sister, by imposing herself on everything around her, my mother through her imagination and commercial phrases.
I've always thought of myself as easy-going, flexible and open. But, from living in Turkey, or maybe from getting older, or maybe from being around my family . . . I am seeing how I want everyone to live as I see fit. I am, to my dismay, very much like them.
I too have begun cramming those around me into what I am comfortable with. I want everybody to brush their teeth, shower and change their clothes daily. I want them to make the bed and use a top sheet AND a bottom sheet. I want to clean up our haphazard garden in Kusadasi. I want my brother-in-law to stop with his unfinished project ideas. I want to control EVERYBODY'S spending so that we can stop shelling out money.
It starts small - wanting to "influence" those around me so that they use deodorant for example, and then - left unchecked - grows into this monster where my kingdom is everybody is doing what I say. There is no more choice or freedom or personal preferences. Where everybody is like me, or how I've wished them to be . . .
And that, is the most frightening to picture - because who knows better than your ownself what an actual mess you are?
So, for my own good, I am hoping the only one who changes around here is me.
Friday, June 22, 2012
my thorn
On some level, I have accepted that I will always have to be careful about my shoulders and at the same time, forget about it because things sometimes just happen anyway. Putting on a coat, stretching, reaching into the backseat, towel drying after a shower - these are all the least impressive ways I've dislocated my shoulder.
Some people can pop it right back in. I'm just not one of them. In Lethal Weapon, Mel Gibson pops his shoulder out as a party trick, then slams it back in. I can't do that either. Some people go to the hospital and doctors can pop it right back in. But for me, the way it goes back in, isn't easy. In fact, I can think of a lot of things I would prefer over this experience: getting shot, a bat to the shins, delivering a baby - bring it on. But this is my thorn in my side.
Tolga dressed me and brought me to the hospital - I had on my dress shoes, red sweatpants, a blue satin night shirt, and dripping wet snarly hair.
We went to a private hospital that was empty and quiet, until I arrived. The first step to putting the shoulder back in place is to relax. I wish I could say I found my Zen-like place or that I was stoic, but I wasn't. I was a tightly wound ball of pain and fear, hunched over, twisted, clutching my arm with every muscle taut and contracted in pain and in spasms.
Some people faint from pain - I've almost fainted from pain. But not this kind of pain, maybe its the adrenaline, or nerves being hit, of that fight-or-flight instinct that all combine and seem to make pain medicines impotent. And, if the pain medicines don't work, my muscles don't relax. If my muscles don't relax, my shoulder seems to lock the bone out of place. But that doesn't stop some doctors.
Orthopedists are usually men. Jocks that try to out-muscle me. They slung a sheet under my arm to pull in one direction, and the doctor took my hand to pull in another direction. They have to pull it out farther to get it unlocked, and back into place.
He pulled, and pulled and pulled. He turned my hand out, I screamed. They pinned my legs down. He pulled some more, and kept telling me:
"Just relax!" To which I'm sure my eyes bugged out. I finally spit out:
"I can't!" I wished I could. I was shaking with exhaustion.
"Just relax!" He repeated.
They gave me more medicine and my body was quaking between muscles that wanted to relax but fear and pain that kept everything clenched. They opened the window because we were all sweating and a cold breeze blew through the room. He tried again and I writhed against him.
"Think of Teoman!" He cried out.
NOT HELPING! I screamed in my head.
"I don't think you've done this before!" He said, frustratedly. "Because you would know you have to relax."
It is a terrible sensation to have so much pressure built up on your bones, and then to have some more pressure to the point where you can only conclude something has to give. Something is going to snap or shatter or tear. The doctor was a pudgy man, and in one last hoo-rah, he lifted his leg awkwardly up, putting his foot in my armpit for counter pressure, throwing all his weight into the pull.
I don't know how much time had passed, but they were not able to give me anymore medication and finally sent me to general anesthesia. I was still taut with pain and crying out off and on. The doctor said defensively,
"I'm not even doing anything!" I was gritting me teeth.
"I know. Not you. Muscles spasming."
"You can relax now, I'm not going to pull anymore."
"Trying to. Can't." Hadn't we already gone over this?
The brought me to the surgery room to knock me out. At that point, I didn't believe anything could knock me out, but next thing I knew he was showing me the X-Ray because apparently I was telling him in my drug induced stupor that I didn't think it worked. I realized while looking at the X-Ray that I was wrapped up in a sling and swath, and they had put it back in. But it sure didn't feel much better.
It was four-in-the-morning and we spent the rest of the night at the hospital to be sure I recovered from the anesthesia. I couldn't sleep because now all I thought about was feeding Teoman. Tolga called home to be sure my father or his brother was awake to warm the milk that I had (thankfully) stored in the freezer.
My father said Teoman woke and drank the whole bottle watching my father with his big half-moon eyes full of love.
And that was all I wanted to get home too.
Some people can pop it right back in. I'm just not one of them. In Lethal Weapon, Mel Gibson pops his shoulder out as a party trick, then slams it back in. I can't do that either. Some people go to the hospital and doctors can pop it right back in. But for me, the way it goes back in, isn't easy. In fact, I can think of a lot of things I would prefer over this experience: getting shot, a bat to the shins, delivering a baby - bring it on. But this is my thorn in my side.
Tolga dressed me and brought me to the hospital - I had on my dress shoes, red sweatpants, a blue satin night shirt, and dripping wet snarly hair.
We went to a private hospital that was empty and quiet, until I arrived. The first step to putting the shoulder back in place is to relax. I wish I could say I found my Zen-like place or that I was stoic, but I wasn't. I was a tightly wound ball of pain and fear, hunched over, twisted, clutching my arm with every muscle taut and contracted in pain and in spasms.
Some people faint from pain - I've almost fainted from pain. But not this kind of pain, maybe its the adrenaline, or nerves being hit, of that fight-or-flight instinct that all combine and seem to make pain medicines impotent. And, if the pain medicines don't work, my muscles don't relax. If my muscles don't relax, my shoulder seems to lock the bone out of place. But that doesn't stop some doctors.
Orthopedists are usually men. Jocks that try to out-muscle me. They slung a sheet under my arm to pull in one direction, and the doctor took my hand to pull in another direction. They have to pull it out farther to get it unlocked, and back into place.
He pulled, and pulled and pulled. He turned my hand out, I screamed. They pinned my legs down. He pulled some more, and kept telling me:
"Just relax!" To which I'm sure my eyes bugged out. I finally spit out:
"I can't!" I wished I could. I was shaking with exhaustion.
"Just relax!" He repeated.
They gave me more medicine and my body was quaking between muscles that wanted to relax but fear and pain that kept everything clenched. They opened the window because we were all sweating and a cold breeze blew through the room. He tried again and I writhed against him.
"Think of Teoman!" He cried out.
NOT HELPING! I screamed in my head.
"I don't think you've done this before!" He said, frustratedly. "Because you would know you have to relax."
"How'boutIpunchyouinthefaceandyourelax!"
. . .Not one of my finer moments . . .
It is a terrible sensation to have so much pressure built up on your bones, and then to have some more pressure to the point where you can only conclude something has to give. Something is going to snap or shatter or tear. The doctor was a pudgy man, and in one last hoo-rah, he lifted his leg awkwardly up, putting his foot in my armpit for counter pressure, throwing all his weight into the pull.
I don't know how much time had passed, but they were not able to give me anymore medication and finally sent me to general anesthesia. I was still taut with pain and crying out off and on. The doctor said defensively,
"I'm not even doing anything!" I was gritting me teeth.
"I know. Not you. Muscles spasming."
"You can relax now, I'm not going to pull anymore."
"Trying to. Can't." Hadn't we already gone over this?
The brought me to the surgery room to knock me out. At that point, I didn't believe anything could knock me out, but next thing I knew he was showing me the X-Ray because apparently I was telling him in my drug induced stupor that I didn't think it worked. I realized while looking at the X-Ray that I was wrapped up in a sling and swath, and they had put it back in. But it sure didn't feel much better.
It was four-in-the-morning and we spent the rest of the night at the hospital to be sure I recovered from the anesthesia. I couldn't sleep because now all I thought about was feeding Teoman. Tolga called home to be sure my father or his brother was awake to warm the milk that I had (thankfully) stored in the freezer.
My father said Teoman woke and drank the whole bottle watching my father with his big half-moon eyes full of love.
And that was all I wanted to get home too.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
plans change
I never got to say goodbye to my sister and mother. But that was their fault.
Our plan was to stay in Ankara for a couple of days, then go onto Istanbul. Monday I just wanted to rest, and Tuesday, Tolga would have the day off. I just wanted to hang out in my home, with our son.
My mother wanted to go shopping for rugs, and my sister had been wanting a latte since she got here. I offered to take her to Starbucks in the evening, but she was going Monday morning with or without us. I offered to show her on the map where it was, but she used her phone to map out the route and didn't need any help. I should have helped her though, as there were two Starbucks - one was easy to get too, the other was hilly and tiring. My mom and her made it there, but by the time they returned, they were hungry and now wanted to go out to eat. Tolga and I rarely eat out, so I had no suggestions. They ended up returning to the same area to find something to eat. In the evening, I walked to meet Tolga - as I usually do - and my sister announced: I am not walking there for a third time today!
I wished I could show them more of Ankara, or more cool places - but our lives here have been pretty simple thus far and we most of our days off are spent at home with the family - and my sister was unimpressed. She made plans that evening to take a bus to Istanbul with my mother in the morning. My father would follow with me a day later, and Tolga would follow on the weekend.
So, Tuesday morning, Tolga brought my mother and sister to the bus station. Tolga's brother, my father, he and I hung around the house that day. In the evening we ate fish, packed our bags, and Tolga's friend came over with a cake.
Then, that night, I took a shower before going to bed. I towel dried my hair, then attempted to dry my back but instead I dislocated my shoulder. It may sound ridiculous to have dislocated your shoulder towel-drying your back - but I have an unstable shoulder, and I should have known better. About one month earlier I had down the same motion and almost hurt myself then. I had thought to myself: Yikes! That was a careless move, I better not do that motion again.
Lesson not learned.
But now, lesson learned.
So, the night was spent at the hospital. I never did go to Istanbul, they didn't get to say goodbye, and two nights later were crying over dinner (and probably a couple glasses of wine) that they couldn't say bye to Teoman.
Our plan was to stay in Ankara for a couple of days, then go onto Istanbul. Monday I just wanted to rest, and Tuesday, Tolga would have the day off. I just wanted to hang out in my home, with our son.
My mother wanted to go shopping for rugs, and my sister had been wanting a latte since she got here. I offered to take her to Starbucks in the evening, but she was going Monday morning with or without us. I offered to show her on the map where it was, but she used her phone to map out the route and didn't need any help. I should have helped her though, as there were two Starbucks - one was easy to get too, the other was hilly and tiring. My mom and her made it there, but by the time they returned, they were hungry and now wanted to go out to eat. Tolga and I rarely eat out, so I had no suggestions. They ended up returning to the same area to find something to eat. In the evening, I walked to meet Tolga - as I usually do - and my sister announced: I am not walking there for a third time today!
I wished I could show them more of Ankara, or more cool places - but our lives here have been pretty simple thus far and we most of our days off are spent at home with the family - and my sister was unimpressed. She made plans that evening to take a bus to Istanbul with my mother in the morning. My father would follow with me a day later, and Tolga would follow on the weekend.
So, Tuesday morning, Tolga brought my mother and sister to the bus station. Tolga's brother, my father, he and I hung around the house that day. In the evening we ate fish, packed our bags, and Tolga's friend came over with a cake.
Then, that night, I took a shower before going to bed. I towel dried my hair, then attempted to dry my back but instead I dislocated my shoulder. It may sound ridiculous to have dislocated your shoulder towel-drying your back - but I have an unstable shoulder, and I should have known better. About one month earlier I had down the same motion and almost hurt myself then. I had thought to myself: Yikes! That was a careless move, I better not do that motion again.
Lesson not learned.
But now, lesson learned.
So, the night was spent at the hospital. I never did go to Istanbul, they didn't get to say goodbye, and two nights later were crying over dinner (and probably a couple glasses of wine) that they couldn't say bye to Teoman.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
to the cotton castle
When Anne and Baba prepare to travel. They are up, ready, and breakfast is prepared an hour before we have to leave in order to enjoy our tea.
My family, we are upstairs getting ready until the very last minute. Breakfast, if there is time, is in a rush.
My sister, impatient with the slower pace of Kusadasi, picked up Teoman - forced everybody to say goodbye, and loaded him in the car. My father was waiting for me as I picked up the tail. Baba's "eyes were wet," as Tolga would say. So were my father's. My Anne cried too, kissing my mother saying "We are waiting for you to come again."
We were driving back to Ankara. My mother was still riding my sister about going further up the western coast. They would have to split off because I needed to return the rental car, and we would all meet up again in Istanbul. Aside from the fact that they would be choosing tourism over spending time with their nephew/grandson, and not seeing Tolga at all - I'm not sure my mother realized how costly, time consuming, and tiring it would be to take several buses to the city, figure out bus schedules, taxi to hotels and sights, and so on. My sister was a more experienced traveler and aware of the trouble it would be - but she also prided herself on being independent - so she left the option hanging in the air to show that she might at anytime, decide to go another a direction . . . maybe even Greece.
For the time being, they both decided to ride part of the way to Pamukkale. I told them both I thought they'd really like it.
SISTER: Why?
MOM: What's there?
ME: It's a surprise - trust me.
My mom and sister promptly opened my guidebooks to find Pamukkale, and decide for themselves whether it was worth seeing.
We stopped at a gas station to fill up first.
SISTER: Wow, gas is cheap here.
DAD: No, it's not.
ME: It's in liters.
DAD: That's about $9 a gallon.
(My father had a conversion app on his phone and liked to get exact comparisons of the metric system).
My sister offered to help pay for half. I followed her in to add the points to our gas card.
SISTER: I'm not sure what pump number we're on.
(It amazes me how she operates exactly like she would in America. I stepped passed her and handed the cashier the receipt I had collected along with my gas card.)
SISTER: Are you paying?
ME: No, just a points card.
SISTER: Ohhh, using us for your points, huh? MEOW!
She over her credit card. My father started to give the cashier lire as well, but my sister stopped him.
SISTER: I'll just put in on my card. I almost have enough points for a free trip to South America. MEOW!
ME: I thought you were just making fun of me for getting points.
SISTER: I hardly get any points for it.
Ah, okay. And so our road trip begins.
We left at Kusadasi at nine in the morning, got in Pamukkale around 12:30, checked in a hotel, and went to the National Park. We were stalled a little as I had to change, nurse, and eat. My sister wasn't happy about this - and kept complaining that the place was going to close at 4:30. I'm not sure where she came up with this time as the place didn't actually close until 7pm. It was a huge complex though, and could easily take the whole day if you were really wanting to see all things ancient - but heat can take out all ambition.
Pamukkale is travertine pools set on the hillside. Up top there is the ruins of Heiropolis and a place to swim in the ancient mineral baths. It turned into a beautiful evening - but I think we were all dehydrated.
The next day, my father and sister decided to paraglide over the travertines before we continued onto Ankara.
We were driving back to Ankara. My mother was still riding my sister about going further up the western coast. They would have to split off because I needed to return the rental car, and we would all meet up again in Istanbul. Aside from the fact that they would be choosing tourism over spending time with their nephew/grandson, and not seeing Tolga at all - I'm not sure my mother realized how costly, time consuming, and tiring it would be to take several buses to the city, figure out bus schedules, taxi to hotels and sights, and so on. My sister was a more experienced traveler and aware of the trouble it would be - but she also prided herself on being independent - so she left the option hanging in the air to show that she might at anytime, decide to go another a direction . . . maybe even Greece.
For the time being, they both decided to ride part of the way to Pamukkale. I told them both I thought they'd really like it.
SISTER: Why?
MOM: What's there?
ME: It's a surprise - trust me.
My mom and sister promptly opened my guidebooks to find Pamukkale, and decide for themselves whether it was worth seeing.
We stopped at a gas station to fill up first.
SISTER: Wow, gas is cheap here.
DAD: No, it's not.
ME: It's in liters.
DAD: That's about $9 a gallon.
(My father had a conversion app on his phone and liked to get exact comparisons of the metric system).
My sister offered to help pay for half. I followed her in to add the points to our gas card.
SISTER: I'm not sure what pump number we're on.
(It amazes me how she operates exactly like she would in America. I stepped passed her and handed the cashier the receipt I had collected along with my gas card.)
SISTER: Are you paying?
ME: No, just a points card.
SISTER: Ohhh, using us for your points, huh? MEOW!
She over her credit card. My father started to give the cashier lire as well, but my sister stopped him.
SISTER: I'll just put in on my card. I almost have enough points for a free trip to South America. MEOW!
ME: I thought you were just making fun of me for getting points.
SISTER: I hardly get any points for it.
Ah, okay. And so our road trip begins.
We left at Kusadasi at nine in the morning, got in Pamukkale around 12:30, checked in a hotel, and went to the National Park. We were stalled a little as I had to change, nurse, and eat. My sister wasn't happy about this - and kept complaining that the place was going to close at 4:30. I'm not sure where she came up with this time as the place didn't actually close until 7pm. It was a huge complex though, and could easily take the whole day if you were really wanting to see all things ancient - but heat can take out all ambition.
Pamukkale is travertine pools set on the hillside. Up top there is the ruins of Heiropolis and a place to swim in the ancient mineral baths. It turned into a beautiful evening - but I think we were all dehydrated.
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| travertine pools |
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| travertine cliffside |
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| ancient mineral baths |
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| Pops taking a nap at the ancient baths |
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| Part of Heiropolis |
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| dinner at the hotel |
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| Paragliding over Pamukkale - the "cotton castle" |
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