Hertz agent: “What is your cell #?”
“I don’t have one.”
Hertz agent, turning to Carmel: “What is your cell #?”
“I don’t have one.”
Hertz agent looks unsure.  Is it okay to rent a car to people who don’t have a cell phone? 
 

Potter: “Ignore the prices on the merchandise.  The real price is 50% of that.  I had a deal with a tour operator to bring his groups here, and he insisted on getting 50% of whatever I sold.  I broke the arrangement.  I felt I was cheating people.  Tour operators have killed the tourist business.  Almost all tourists come with tours, so if you’re not on the tour bus stop, you get no business.  In the old days, we got lots of American customers from Incirlik base.  I sold to them for the same price as to locals.  They were excellent customers.  They brought their friends.  I did well.  They got good merchandise for a fair price.  Now, my business is dead.”  (I didn’t expect to hear nostalgia over Incirlik.)  

Overheard snippet from a British tourist: “Virginians are not aware of the value of pigeon droppings.”  I felt I should challenge her, but what does a kilo of pigeon s**t sell for anyway?  She’s right!  I actually do not know its value. 

A small girl who steps in front of us as we climb to the top of the Ankara Citadel launches into a monologue that contains a few distinguishable English words but is not intelligible.  Me, in Turkish: “I’m sorry, but I did not understand what you said.” 

Little girl: “I thought you were an American.  I was telling you the history of the Citadel in English.”  Cute kid.  I gave her a lira and assured her that I wouldn’t remember the history for more than a minute no matter what the language was.  I was thinking that if I could spend a day with her, I could improve her pronunciation such that English-speakers could understand her, and she would probably double the household income.   

Elderly woman in the hotel kitchen: “I feel so bad.  It’s impossible for me not to smoke, and I’m afraid people will speak ill of me.” 

Another elderly woman in the kitchen: “My dear, just smoke behind closed doors, and no one can say anything about you.”

Scenes to remember

We are in Ürgüp at the rooftop restaurant of the Elkep Evi hotel.  The rooftop is an open air terrace on top of the rock formation out of which the hotel rooms are carved and is also a garden with trees and grass with a panoramic view out across the wonderland of Cappadocia.  The sun has just settled behind the distant hills, leaving perfect lighting and shadows of Ortahisar and beyond to Üçhisar for the remaining hour before blackness.  The food and wine are great.  The service is gracious.  The owner’s well-fed and gentle Kangal dog comes to sit at Carmel’s feet, as dogs are wont to do, even though she has not called him nor indicated that she has noticed him.  But dogs always know.  They find her.  I did.  We linger over the wine and, on cue, the full moon rises behind Carmel to hold us there as if we might have planned this, but no amount of planning could be this perfect.  We stay well into dark.

I am letting the Fiat find its way along a lightly traveled road over the Anatolian plateau.  The windows are open on this warm September day.  On the radio a Turkish folk song: saz, davul, zurna (Turkish instruments).  I look over at Carmel, her hair blowing in the wind.  Keyfim tam yerinde.  (I’m in the zone.) 

At the seaside restaurant of our hotel, skinny cats beg for food.  I give them bread and their appreciation shows that they are, indeed, as hungry as they look.  The runt of the group is a little female who looks near starvation.  I isolate her and feed her my fish head, skin, tail and fins.  Then I feed her Carmel’s.  All the while, I talk to her.  I tell her she will make it, that she’s a good cat.  The next evening we are on the balcony talking over a glass of wine.  I spot the cat again some distance off.  She has recognized my voice and is racing across the lawn to our balcony.  She asks for something to eat.  I have nothing.  Not even a smidgen of bread.  I stop talking, and she does not stay too long, accepting her fate.  I hope she makes it.  

On the last afternoon of our stay, I am feeling rotten, fighting a bad head cold.  I’ve had it with tourism and sightseeing.  I don’t want to shop, which I don’t particularly like even when I’m feeling great, but I don’t want to just sit in the hotel room either.  We have a couple of hours.  We walk down to an area of shops with high end goods with no thought as to why.  A carpet salesman asks politely if he can show me anything.  We strike up a conversation during which he mentions that he is a musician.  I ask if he plays the saz and observe that one of the sad things about our trip is that a dear friend who used to play the saz after evening meals had passed away, so that this was my first trip back to Turkey without the pleasure of hearing him play Türküler on the saz.  “Yes, I play the saz.  Come, my friend across the street has a saz in his shop.  He’ll let me play it.”

We cross the street to his friend’s shop.  A third shopkeeper who was listening joins us and is introduced as another friend.  Their long and deep friendship is evident in their interaction.  It feels a privilege to be invited into their company for saz music.  He plays; we listen.  I am carried back to many evenings of great food, good rakı, and mournful love songs.  He shows us pictures of the village where he grew up in a lovely dead-end canyon of greenery and agricultural richness.  He says he is fasting now but will return to the village for the holiday following Ramazan for evenings of saz, food and rakı.  “We will have a good time. You should come,” he says, and I thank him for the honor.  The third friend guesses from my Turkish that I must have been one of those American peace-makers who came to Turkey in the 1960s.  The entire encounter is maybe 20 minutes, but it is a definite highlight of our trip.

On the Asian side of the Bosphorus is Küçüksu Pavilion, used as a hunting lodge by the later Sultans and then for a variety of government purposes—including as a hideout for one President’s long-time affair.   The Pavilion is full of ostentatious European chandeliers and furniture, many of which had been gifts to Sultan Abdul Aziz from Queen Victoria. (In addition to the incredible largesse of her gifts to him, she made Abdul Aziz a Knight in the Order of the Garter—read into that what you will.) The gifts that ended up in the Küçüksu Pavilion were those that proved in excess of the need when Abdul Aziz built his Bosphorus palace, the Dolmabahçe.  The Küçüksu Pavilion is not a primary tourist destination, so we were there alone with our Turkish friends.  The official there, who seemed part guard, part guide, and part caretaker, gave us a personal tour.  He was a fountain of facts—like the one about the President’s affair—and recounted that his father, who had been a doctor, was an amateur historian who could teach history to history professors, and he credited his father with his own love of history.   Alone, we would have been at a loss for much of what we were seeing, but the caretaker pointed out numerous details with obvious pride in the building and in his responsibility for it.  He was unhappy that one of the rooms had been converted into a non-descript modern bathroom by the indiscreet President to please his mistress and asked that we send an email to the antiquities department saying that we thought it would be better if the room were restored to its original state—one of the caretaker’s passions!   A lovely time on a rainy morning.  

Ramazan and fasting 

I couldn’t say what portion of the population actually were fasting, but we observed violations of the fast everywhere among all classes.  Smoking in public was more common than I expected.  In the tourist areas, the restaurants were full of locals, as well as tourists.  I assume the number of locals was fewer than outside Ramazan, but their number was not insignificant.  Outside the tourist areas, few locals were to be seen in restaurants, but men smoking on street corners were not uncommon.  And when the occasion presented itself to see what was going on behind closed garden gates, we caught glimpses of tea and cookies.  People were not uncomfortable telling me that they were not fasting and to explain how the demands of their life made it impossible.  (Of course, they might well not have acknowledged this to Turks who were fasting.) What everyone did do was break fast at evening İftar meals, whether they had fasted or not.  We had the pleasure of joining in this ritual—several times in settings where we were the only non-Turks.  We were welcomed.  And when asked, I explained that we had fasted yarım yamalak, eating breakfast but then fasting until Iftar.  People accepted that as a reasonable gesture.   It worked for us.   We had one İftar at a place we never would have found but for the Turkish friends who took us there overlooking the Bosporus in a restaurant sort of tucked under the first Bosporus bridge.  Spectacular setting with good food, company, and weather on the open deck.

In the late afternoon prior to İftar, life was slow in the Hippodrome.  The few people there were mostly foreign tourists.  But at 3:00 a.m., it was alive with Turks eating Turkish favorites for Sahur, the meal before fasting begins. 

Food 

Ranged from as good as I remembered to mediocre.  Fruits and vegetables remain fabulous.  It was the season of Crenshaw and water melons, peaches, figs, grapes, pomegranates and apples.  (Confirmed my theory that hybriding the seeds out of watermelons destroys their taste.  The seeded melons in Turkey were the melons I remember of my youth before melons became seedless.  Wonderful!)  Tomatoes at every meal.  The mostly eggplant-based güveçler were terrific. Grilled sea bass and sea bream were in season and wonderful.  One of the joys of Ramazan was the pide—usually fresh, though not always.  And we managed early one morning to get “hot” simit right from the firın!  Generally, bread was not as good as I remembered. It was good, and I ate a lot of it, but much of the non-pide had less substance to it and was made with bleached flour—a disappointment.   Tea in genuine Turkish tea glasses—a highlight.  I do not understand why I can’t make tea that good at home!  And, yes, little cubes of sugar—now also available in the healthier brown sugar form.   With a cube, I know that one cube in a Turkish tea glass will be perfect.  With a spoon, I have no idea how much to put in!   Olives, tomatoes, beyaz peynir, jam, honey, and great bread and tea.  I could do this for breakfast every day.  Never get tired of it.  And twice, we got gözleme freshly made before our eyes—a treat with special memories—and the flavor?  Wow!

People

Everyone was helpful everywhere with the exception of in Ulus when I was asking where I could find a store that sold wine.  Thinking I was clever, I approached the taxi drivers standing on the corner, smoking in the middle of the day during Ramazan.  These guys couldn’t get too high and mighty about wine, I thought.  Well, they weren’t rude about it, but they gave off vibes suggesting I should not be looking for wine.  And, of course, based on their directions, I didn’t find any!   Directions, yes, I was reminded of the challenge of this.  No one ever says they don’t know where the place is that you want to find.  But most of the time, I can tell from their eyes and body language whether they really know.  If they don’t, I thank them for their help, and look for a discrete opportunity to ask someone else.  It’s always obvious when they really do know the way to where I want to go.  I like approaching a group of guys, because there will ensue a discussion about how to get me where I want to go, and I will get to assess the input of each until I figure out who really knows.  It always works.  And it’s fun.   The two times I asked directions from women, they were dead on.  Must be some kind of lesson in that. 

 
There was much less aggressive salesmanship on the part of the tourist vendors, including the carpet stores, than 12 years ago.  No one tried to pitch us as we walked by.  The exception was in the Sultan Ahmet district of Istanbul where they were aggressively pitching everything in some places though not everywhere and not every merchant.   

 
I always think I’m getting special treatment because I speak Turkish well enough not to need English, but I know from the reports of the many friends I have sent to Turkey and others I have met who went there, that everyone gets treated well—even those who don’t deserve it.  We got regaled one evening by a Turkish friend who works in the tourism industry with “tourist” stories.  It takes a special kind of tolerance and patience to deal with tour groups.  And to do it every day is something I cannot imagine having the temperament for.  Yes, one tour bus had to be stopped and every large bag examined to find which tourist had packed the hotel room’s plasma TV!     

 
Changed

The younger generation is less genteel than their elders, it seemed.  More hip hop.  Lots of young guys with jeans worn too low.  Yes, the world is flat and becoming more so. 
 

Village life.  Tractors everywhere.  Massey-Fergusons mostly with the occasional Fiat and even more occasional New Holland or John Deere.    Clearly, almost all agriculture is done with tractor power.  Donkeys and horses carrying and pulling are still an occasional sight, but the horses are not the skin and bones of the past, seemingly being worked to death, but well cared-for creatures pulling lightly loaded wagons, like an elderly couple home from the field. 

 
Solar-powered water heaters on roofs were abundant in cities and towns, but also on the roofs of village houses—right next to the satellite TV dishes.  Village housing generally looked much better.  New tile roofs and fresh exterior paint.  Many newly built, two-story houses in villages.  Signs of village water and sewer systems.  Some villages had empty houses that suggested loss of population. 

 
Although in the villages and small towns, many of the dogs and cats still look a few days from starvation, there are also some well-cared for dogs and cats.  The cats in Istanbul, in particular, appeared to be getting their share of life on the tourist dole. 
 

Empty plastic water bottles here, there, up above, down below, on the sides, up ahead, left behind.   Consumed by the rich and the less so, by tourist and local, by fashionista and the dark eyes peering from a moving black sack.    I think I should do something about it, but I buy a bottle of water instead.  I did not see a recycling container anywhere.

 
Health consciousness, fitness consciousness.  Lots of slogans about health on TV, on the radio, on billboards.  People talk about it.  At the same time, it seemed to me that there were more people carrying extra weight than generally used to be the case, as there is everywhere in the world--one unfortunate side effect of more prosperity, more discretionary income to spend on fast food and cola—cola, cola, cola everywhere.  Coke has become the brand.  But I discovered that coke was also the canner of my favorite mixed fruit drink in Turkey—also available everywhere.  Like other countries, excess weight is particularly noticeable in young children. 

People obeying the no smoking signs.  Twelve years ago the signs were there, but lots of people ignored them.  Not now.  Also new was the 69 lira fine announced on the no smoking signs.  The thing that kept me wondering was why 69?  If the penalty were 70, would that make the crime a felony? 

Bathrooms everywhere and many exceptionally clean, even in the roadside gas stations.  Always exceptions, of course.  Mosque bathrooms are still to be avoided.  Ironic, given the rituals for cleanliness.   

Roads.  Four-laners connecting all the major cities and some four-laners to even smaller of the cities we visited.  Excellent 2-lane roads to all cities and towns of size.  The only not-so-well-maintained asphalt roads we took were to quite remote places.  To Knidos, the last 8 kilometers was reminiscent of times past.  Numerous blind curves where there was not room for two cars to pass.  So, I resorted to blowing my horn as I approached each of them.  Of course, there were almost no other cars.  The driver of one bus full of tourists on that road, however, had only one hand on the wheel and the other holding his cell phone!  Guard rails?  Mostly not even on the best roads, though the curves are at least banked now.  Once in a while a guard rail would appear, sometimes where the need was less than at other curves within sight of it.  Resurfaced secondary roads were often not resurfaced through the small towns through which they passed.  I concluded this was deliberate to force traffic to slow down while passing through.  It worked.  And now there are speed traps and document checks, though as tourists, we were waived through.  I forgot my Turkish at these checkpoints.  Breathalyzer checks are taken seriously.  Low tolerance, heavy penalties, I was told.
 

Large sections of the gecekondus on the road from the Ankara airport to the city have been razed and replaced with uninspired-looking apartment buildings.  My taxi driver points this out as a sign of improvement, but I wonder how the families feel about it. 
 

On an early evening walk while waiting for İftar in a small Anatolian town, I passed a stone mason covered in stone dust having a cell phone conversation.  If the stone mason has one, who doesn’t? 

The national Turkish basketball team is now a respected European force—dubbed the “twelve giants” by the European press after they defeated Spain. 
 

Unchanged 

If you are in Turkey during Ramazan, the neighborhood drummers still come by to wake you for Sahur.  Where we stayed in Ankara, they came by three times within an hour and went right under our window.  A little cultural renewal!   Everywhere else, the sound was more distant and mostly I slept through it.  But there was a drummer even in the tony district of Bağdat St. beyond Kadıköy on Istanbul’s Asian side.

 
DeSoto trucks new from the factory!   Where else in the world can you still buy a DeSoto?   I want one of those!!  I know they have the old ones in Cuba, but a new one?  Turkey has to be the only place to get one.
 

Almost all cars are European: BMWs, VWs, Opels, German Fords, Fiats, Renault, and a few Mercedes, Citroen, and Alfa.  Hondas and Toyotas were few, but Hyundai appears to be cracking the market—probably because they have a large factory in Uzbekistan.

 
The general landscape and feel of the countryside.  Cruising across the Anatolian plateau, all was familiar.  Lots of spring-fed fountains along the roadside, herds of sheep and goats, even herds of cattle that looked well-fed—one particularly large herd of dairy cattle—an occasional man on a donkey or horse-drawn wagon, Kangal and mongrel dogs mostly skin and bone but a few that are better fed, many tractors taking people to and from the fields or carrying produce, acres and acres of Crenshaw melons waiting to be harvested, acres of sunflower heads bent and wrapped in scarves to protect the seeds from the birds proffering a visage of synchronized figures bent in harvesting the field, thistles everywhere, golden harvested wheat stubble as far as the eye can see.  And winding within the brown landscape snake the green ribbons that mark creek and river-beds bearing gardens and lined with the omnipresent oleaster (Russian olive) bushes/trees and a random assortment of birch, pine, locust, linden, sycamore, cedar and others. 

The trees turned my head to the barren hills, searching for the results of the reforestation projects I had witnessed in the early 60’s outside Cankırı and throughout Anatolia.  Mostly, it had not worked, but here and there small patches of pines had taken hold, though they appeared to be the result of more recent plantings.  As you head toward the coast, the reforestation has been more successful and is ongoing.  There are forestry fire prevention signs everywhere with a plethora of slogans.  “Plant a tree; invest in your country!”  “A great fire results from a minor carelessness.” “It’s too late to be sorry, once the forest has burned.”  And a dozen others.  Made Smokey the Bear seem stuck in a linguistic rut! 

Down through the valleys of the lake district (Beysehir, Isparta, Egidir, Burdur) and continuing to Muğla and Marmaris, the scenery changes to orchards and vineyards, as it always had but more so.  Just a spectacular drive.  One valley we entered was so dense with apple trees, it smelled of apples as you came down off the mountain.  And everywhere we drove, the roadside stands tempted us with fresh-picked fruits and vegetables--sometimes the odd one here or there and sometimes clusters of them.  

 
In a number of places, life seemed less changed than I’d been told to expect.  In the small towns, there are still the individual shops with one person sitting on a stool outside waiting for customers.  The small bakkals are still everywhere.  The Kunduracı, the kuru yemişçi, the electrical stores, the eczanes.  In the small towns, the kids still hang out sharing bicycles—though of improved quality—flying kites, playing with improvised cars, kicking soccer balls.  The public spaces are still treated badly, full of trash.  The little streams are clogged with plastic (they always had trash; it’s just worse now).  Yes, there are some newer houses and small apartment buildings, but many of the houses of the 60’s are also still there and are occupied in the small towns.  If you hang out at dusk, you witness the same return of the animals divided and herded into the gates.  Even in the old section of Ulus behind the fortress wall where our hotel was, the old konaks that have been converted to fancy restaurants and boutique hotels share the space with the clusters of houses unchanged from the sixties down streets too narrow for cars where women sit as they always did in groups doing communal household chores, like cleaning a vast quantity of garlic, as we observed one afternoon.  The cobblestone streets have not been re-done. The houses seem unchanged and many in need of repair—but they had satellite dishes. 

 
Under the modernization in roads, transportation, hotels, restaurants, and bathrooms obvious to the tourist, there is much to life that makes people feel they are not getting ahead.   Costs relative to incomes are a problem for everyone.  Official unemployment is 18.5%.  Underemployment was obvious.  A nephew of a friend of mine has been looking unsuccessfully for a job for 2½ years, and he has a college degree in business from one of the better universities.   Housing costs in the large cities keep young people from marrying even if both of them have paying jobs.  Their salaries may not allow them to live independently.

The country remains divided among the Galatasary, Fenerbahçe, and Beşiktaş soccer teams.

Surprise

There was less obvious “conservative” behavior on the streets of Konya, noted for its conservatism, than on the streets of Ulus in Ankara.  In Ulus, even though Carmel was conservatively dressed and we made no move to enter the large mosque, we received some unfriendly looks.  On the streets of Konya, I did not see any of that, nor feel the tension that was in Ulus.  On a major street corner of Konya two young people-- the female of the pair wearing a scarf—were holding hands and kissed for all to see.  No one batted an eyelash.   Many of the young girls were not wearing headscarves and those that were, often wore them stylishly, as much a fashion statement as a religious statement in appearance—along with make-up and fashionable western clothes.   In Konya we also entered the most prominent mosque on the hill without anyone paying particular attention to us.  I stumbled upon a store right close to the main square that sold everything from beer to scotch and was open.    

 
Other than in Ulus, we encountered not the least negativity toward us as foreigners and Christians anywhere, even in the smallest towns in the middle of Ramazan.  There were women with headscarves in all but the most modern sections of the large cities, but even in rural areas, I saw few women fully veiled.  The percentage of women with headscarves varied a lot and the type of headscarf and how it was tied also varied.  Many headscarves, particularly in smaller towns, seemed worn as much for their original purpose—to control a head of hair—as to make a religious statement. 
 

Thoughts upon viewing ancient ruins and museums 

The Christians found the Greek and Roman statues too nude and defaced them.  Then the Moslems came and defaced the Christian artwork in the churches.  All the great religions preached love and tolerance but often practiced otherwise.  Would that this were only historical. 
 

From the earliest sites, some 6000 years before the birth of Christ, we have jewelry.  It shows the importance of visual images to the basic nature of mankind.  Given the crudeness of prehistoric living conditions, it was probably a good design.  If humans had been endowed with acuity of smell, procreation might have been a problem.
 

The story of the Hittites is a fascinating tale of empire.  There they were in this impregnable city with this superbly trained army.  No real enemies that could challenge them.  They could have just stayed there for who knows how long.  But hubris required marching to Syria to confront Ramses II for the sole purpose of “respect.”  The Hittites won the battle, got the respect in writing from Ramses II, and collapsed from the resulting internal fight over who would get the consequent glory—the triumphant general or the king.  Ramses II—no fool he—returned home after his defeat and declared victory to his people.  The story of the Hittites can be seen by accessing BBC special reports, I’m told.  It’s a great production.   We also recommend visiting Hattusas.   Try not to do it on a hot day.  Try not to be rushed through it.  Stand on those hills, look across Anatolia, and imagine setting out for Syria with 40,000 soldiers, mostly on foot, to show the Egyptians who’s boss.    

 
Travel notes 

The Anatolian Civilizations Museum was worth the trip to Ankara.  I’m not a big museum-goer and usually tire within an hour.  Three hours passed before I realized I was getting to the end of my ability to take things in.  Fortunately, that was right when we finished our self tour. 
 

When you exit the museum and turn right to head up the hill to the citadel, immediately on the left side of the street is your typical tourist gift shop.  He had the best prices I saw anywhere in the country.  Nice guy too.  Also, the Anatolian Civilizations museum gift shop is the best of all the museum gift shops we saw. 
 

Highly recommend the Angora House Hotel in the Ankara citadel—not to be confused with the Angora Hotel in Ulus.  It has only six rooms, so book ahead.  Ask directions to the rear exit of the citadel and walk down to Ulus from there through the shaded park. 
 

There are several restaurants in the Citadel that you may find in the guidebook.  One is the Washington where Hillary ate.  We found the And Café too late to try for food, but it has a fabulous view and good wine selection (owned by the owner of the Kavaklıdere winery).  Highly recommend the restaurant right next to the Angora House Hotel.  Great food for a reasonable price.  The owner takes care of his guests personally.  Wonderful dining experience in an open courtyard.  Unfortunately, I misplaced his card.

In Ürgüp, we loved the Elkep Evi Hotel.  It’s neither top nor bottom of the price range.  Fabulous view from the rooftop restaurant. Rooms are carved in the rock, which means they’re cool.  Huge modern bathroom.  The Göreme open air museum, despite busloads of tourists, is a must see.  The Dark Church, in particular. 

 
In Marmaris, the Pupa Yat (as in yacht) hotel has a lovely setting on a remote cove, but you need to have a rental car.  It’s a bit of a drive outside the city.  Our room was small but had a balcony looking onto the beach.
 

If you are near Sagalassos, a not well-known archeological dig between Isparta and Burdur, take the time to see it.  Almost no one else will be there.  Spectacular view and some well-preserved structures.  Aphrodisias off the road between Burdur and Mugla is more touristed, but also worth the diversion—particularly the statues in the museum.  Breathtaking sculptured figures with sweeping lines that bring movement to the marble and faces that show every emotion as distinct and clear as in life.  This quality of work has to be intimidating to an aspiring sculptor—probably turns many into abstractionists.

 
Every country has its obsessions.  In the U.S. airports, it’s liquids.  How could a modest-sized bottle of hand crème still sealed in its original cellophane-wrapped store package be a threat?   In Germany, it’s documentation.  Our passports were checked so many times it appeared as though their real purpose was to check up on the thoroughness of the guy who had previously looked at it!   In Turkey it was health.  The Turkish airport was the only one with a heat-sensing device to check us for fever as we walked by.  I guess in a Moslem country, you can’t be too careful about letting in people with swine flu. 
 

If you’re traveling on a budget, the museum entrance fees are significant—routinely $8, $15 for Topkapı.  Adds up. 

 
If you have any difficulty with stairs; negotiating uneven surfaces; climbing up, around, and over some rocks; etc. you will have trouble getting around.  It seemed like we did a significant number of stairs every day.  Also, in many places, stairs that obviously need hand rails do not have them—even in some modern public facilities.  You need to be agile and confident on stairs.  Many stairs on the sides of precipices have no rails.  Many small hotels do not have elevators.  Even though the stairs may be few, there is no alternative.  If you actually have a physical mobility handicap—even a modest one—the obstacles are too numerous to describe.  Even in the Frankfurt and Munich airports, we encountered non-working escalators and the need to go upstairs, downstairs, upstairs again, downstairs again (not exaggerating), upstairs yet again, and back down all in one change of planes in Frankfurt!  Some of the escalators were working.  Probably there were elevators somewhere, but not obvious.  The blessing of this was that I ate lots of my favorite Turkish foods, including bread, without gaining weight. 

©Arkadaslar
11/29/09