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A week for you, an eternity of traveling for me.  Herewith, a handy

A-to-Z guide to everything I've been up to since last I wrote.  (Please

note that when reading this aloud, you must pronounce Z as "zed" since

that's how everyone else in the world pretty much does it.  Thank you.)



A is for alcohol and how it flows.  The backpacking traveler's track is

much different everywhere in the world from what it is in America.  At

home, a "hostel" is where a homeless person is forced to stay.  In the

rest of the world, which is made up of many different countries and many

different kinds of people, traveling is common, and a "hostel" is where

young people gather together after a hard day's touring to hang out and

drink beer.  In Turkey, a giant beer costs less than a buck, and so

there is much to go around.  The average backpacker allows approximately

35 percent of his budget for beer.  Which is funny, since in Muslim

countries (like Turkey), it's technically illegal.  Then again, A is

also for Ataturk, the father of modern Turkey, who overthrew the Ottoman

Empire in the '20s and then busied himself reforming the country to be

more Western than its Arab counterparts.  So Alcohol is tolerated, and

even women go outdoors from time to time!



B is for the Blue Lagoon of Oludeniz.  Nestled deep between some

spectacular sandy mountains, the waters of the Mediterranean crash onto

southern Turkey here.  The sand is so white and the surf is so blue that

the resulting water looks a shocking shade of punk turquoise. B is also

for Beer (again), which flows readily here, too. The combination turned

this Boy a pleasing Bronze.



C is for Cappadocia, where I am right now (in Goreme).  The land is

truly on LSD here.  The geological phenomena that created it are varied

and many, but the gist of the result is that the land looks like a

wedding cake.  Giant rock towers spring out of the ground, capped by

rectangular rocks.  There are thousands of them; it's like an artist's

rendering of life on Pluto, or a city made of Hershey's Kisses.

Cappadocia is also the ancient Biblical land of Tabal, which means

people have lived here for centuries upon centuries. I took a hike

yesterday through a Canyon, where I saw an early Christian Church with

its frescoes still intact after 2000 years.  C is also for Caves, in

which many Cappadocians live.  They're carved right into the sides of

the gorges and in the rock towers (called "peribaca", or "fairy

chimneys" because of how they look and sound when the wind whistles

through them).  The land is so freaky that although I had intended to

spend only two days here, I am going to dally for a few more.  Good

thing, because C is also for Cheap--beds are $4 a night and food costs a

dollar.



D is for Derinkuyu, the site of one of the 36 "underground cities"

here.  That's not just a nickname.  They're literally entire towns that

were carved by the Hittites (again, about 2000 years ago) directly into

the ground, the way rabbits make their burrows.  For eight flights, or

80 meters, beneath the earth, there's an elaborate (and naturally cool)

system of kitchens, stables, living spaces, crypts, escape hatches,

ventilation shafts, churches, prisons...  and all of the cities in the

region are connected to each other by long corridors (some up to 10 km

long), in case enemies came a-sacking above ground. No one ever

successfully conquered the cities, and people where living in them up

until the beginning part of this century.  They're incredible.  Because

of them and Goreme, I can honestly say that Turkey is one of the best

places I've been to.



E is for Ephesus, the important Roman port where Paul wrote his

Ephesians letters.  Since the water moved and the empire fell, it's now

just a stunning ruin 10 km inland. The Bible isn't just the Middle

East.  Paul was born in Tarsus, south of here on the coast, and he is

believed to have written Revelations in the Greek Islands.  Not only

that, but his hand (at least, it's SAID to be his hand) is on display in

Istanbul.



F is for Flies.  There are many, many flies.  Did you know they could

scrub their wings with their back legs?



G is for saying Goodbye to Greece, which I did last week as I passed

through Rhodes (Rodos).  No more drachmae, no more feta, no more tacky

pottery.  Well, no more tacky GREEK pottery, anyway.



H is for Haifa, which I passed through on my way out of Israel.  H is

also for Hell, which is what Haifa was like.  It was Friday, or the day

before the weekly Jewish holy day, so although our ferry wasn't

scheduled to leave until 8 in the evening, the port closed at 1 p.m.

Which mean that in advance of a 48 hour ferry, I had to sit on the deck

of a ship in a closed port for an additional 8 hours.  Staring at

Haifa.  In the Heat. H is for hate.



I is for ISIC, or International Student Identification Card.  It has

saved me tons of money.  Flash it, and you get a discount pretty much

everywhere.  What's that, you say?  But Jason isn't a student?  Well, I

is also for the Inventive Swindlers in Cairo, changed made me a graduate

student given just 1 hour and 30 Egyptian pounds.  All of the benefits,

and none of the student loads.  I is for Ingenious.



J is for Jandarme, or the Turkish police.  They like to stop traffic and

search it.  I was on a bus from Antalya to Goreme that was stopped for

20 minutes while a rifle-toting soldier checked everyone's I.D. (he

didn't laugh when I asked for a discount) and gave the men a good

frisking.  Yes!  I got frisked by a Turk!  Which was kind of stupid, if

you ask me; I mean, if the police are too modest to consider frisking

women, why wouldn't an infidel just give their guns to their wives?  J

is also for a security Joke.



K is for Kibbutz, where many young people spend time in Israel.  It

sounds like a commune, but it's really more communistic.  The deal is

simple: You volunteer in the fields or in a factory, or make whatever

the kibbutz makes (one girl I met spent her days caked in yellow soap

powder) and at night you fraternize with other people your age.  It's a

huge backpacker's scene, with kids from all over the world spending

several months at a time and really loving it.  It sounded like hell to

me, but they get really packed in summer.  The last thing I want to be

doing is pulling radishes all day and spending the nights drinking beer

with shiftless, dirty-footed Australians.



L is for Limassol, the lazy coastal city in Greek-controlled Cyprus

where I spent a morning looking for hammocks.  It's a long story.  I

never found one.  Instead, I found a lot of friendly Cypriots who were

never once angry when I walked out of a shop without buying something.

That's a huge improvement over most of the countries I've visited so

far. So L is also for Lovely.



M is for Minarets, which spear the skyline of every town. They're the

Islamic equivalent to church steeples; they poke proudly into the sky

from countless Mosques, which is where the Muslims pray.  Quick lesson

on Islam: You pray five times a day at set times, and are called to

prayer by the Arabic song of the Muezzin, who sings from a loudspeaker

installed on each Minaret. (What did Muslims do before Megaphones?) It's 

oversimplifiying but sort of true to say the Muslims believe what the 

Christians do, but with an added aspect: They believe that Muhammad, 

who lived in the 600s, was God's prophet.  Like the Jews and the 

Christians, they consider Jerusalem a holy city, but none is holier than 

Mecca, in Saudi Arabia, where every Muslim must travel at least 

once before dying (if he can afford it).  Contrary to the nagging Hollywood 

stereotype, Muslims are very clean; they wash before every prayer.  That's 

five a day, kids.  Cleaner than you.  And that's a whole lotta Ms.



N is for the Netherlands and Norway, where my to traveling mates on the

48-hour ferry came from.  Sander is from Amsterdam, and Hildegunn is

from Oslo.  We met at the ticket office in Haifa, where we failed to

secure cabins, and bonded in Deck Class.  Deck Class is much like being

an Untouchable in India.  It entitles you to nothing more than

breathing. For two days, we lived on the deck of the ludicrously named

"Sea Harmony II," and slept by night, huddled like rats against the

wind, with dreams of pillows blocking out the sea spray.  The trial

welded us together in spirit, so we stayed with each other for a full

day after the trip was over, in Rhodes.  We capped the whole

surrogate-family things off with an enormous Greek salad (feta,

tomatoes, onion, cucumbers, black olives) made from fresh ingredients in

the hostel kitchen. Thankfully, the whole world speaks English, because

we were able to have an excellent time.



O is for Olympos, on the Turkish Mediterranean coast.  Once a city of

some 30,000 people, it's now a jungle ruin that gives way to a tranquil

beach. You walk through brambles, ford icy clear streams in the forest,

and suddenly realize that you're walking on what was once a crowded city

thoroughfare.  An overgrown Roman city.  One house, located between a

marsh and a sharp mountain rise, still had chunks of mosaic floor lying

right there in the dirt of the woods.  In other places, mausoleums had

been broken into, allowing the sunlight to filter through.  I felt like

Indiana Jones!  I'm telling you again: Go to Turkey!



P is for Party, which I hope to have for my Birthday.  There are some

South Africans here in Goreme who may oblige.  Everyone knows how hard

it can be to be away from home on the Big Day.  So what do we do about

it?  See A.



Q is for the 25-minute Questioning I got in Haifa from those jittery

Israeli officials.  They asked me everything from my income to why I

wanted to come to Israel, of all places.  "Because I'm a Christian," I

said, somewhat testily. "And it's holy to me, too."



R is for the Reckless Rollercoaster Ride of the dolmus, which is the

van-like minibus system that takes you anywhere you want to go in

Turkey.  You've heard stories about the buses that go 100 around blind

curves on coastal highways over 20-story cliffs?  Child's play!  Try it

without shocks.  Eerily, R is also for Raki, a liquorice-tasting drink

made of anise and opium, of which the Turks are especially (and

hazardously) fond.



S is for the Sun and all it does.  Sunsets over Cappadocia, Oludeniz,

Rhodes, and Petra.  Suntans that make me look like a native.  It's also

for the Silk Road, which finished in these parts in Olden Days.  There

are still some 900-year-old  rest stops for caravans here and there.

And whaddaya know...they had Stuckey's back then, too.



T is for Toilet paper.  You are hereby reminded to bring your own.  And

also, in countries like Greece, Turkey, Jordan, and Egypt (in fact,

anywhere where plumbing was retrofitted), you are advised to use the

wastepaper basket beside the bowl for the used bits.  Yeah, I know.  Get

used to it.



U is for Uncomfortable Turkish buses.  Best served with 70-year-old,

fat, Turkish men in woollen suits who belch, fart, and elbow you out of

your space and your mind. Ugh.



V is for Prime Minister Vorster.  He doesn't belong on this list.  He

was the honcho of South Africa in the 1970s.  I just can't think of

anything else right now and I'm reading a book about him.  No, wait!

Visa!  My Turkish visa was expensive!  And Verdant.  Turkey isn't a

camel-crammed desert, like you might have been told.  It's verdant.

(Look it up.  I'm stretching.)



W is for the World Cup.  Wherever I go, it's on.  Every night, at every

pub. In the Greek Islands, they had big-screen TVs set up in public

squares, with extention cords snaking into the pubs.  On the ferry to

Rodos, the lounges were packed with sports fans watching the

Holland/Argentina match.  No matter where you go, the whole world loves

soccer (or "football," as you know it's called everywhere but America).

There's only one other thing that has been as prevalent during my trip:

Leonardo DiCaprio.  From Fes to Fethiye, everyone's selling tee-shirts

of him.  Soccer and Leo.  Who would've thought they unite the world?  I

can't wait until it ends (tomorrow, I think) so I can find out what

these guys really do at night.



X is for the X-Ray I might have to get my foot  if the swelling doesn't

go down.  I stepped on a dancing rock in Olympos and whacked the round

part of my inner ankle.  When I tripped, my hand slammed down on another

jutting stone, giving me two ugly bruises for the price of one.  (And

last night, sleeping under the stars on the hostel roof, I got a charley

horse.  Nurse!!!)  Don't worry, mom.  I can walk.  It's probably just a

big bruise.



Y is what I ask myself when I think about coming home anytime soon.



Z is for all the interesting places I've caught ZZzzzs lately.  Atop the

life-jacket bin on the deck of a ship; in a cliffside stairway ruin on a

sweltering afternoon in Petra; squashed next to said yawning Turk;

inside a cave that was dug into one of Goreme's fabulous fairy chimneys;

in a treehouse at Olympos (where concrete was banned, so treehouse inns

are the rage).



Twenty-six reasons I miss you all!  My birthday is Sunday and I'll be in

Istanbul by the morning.  I'll be in London within two weeks, so send

any cards or whatevers to my P.O. Box; I'll get them by London.



Love you all!



Back to A,

Jase



Right now I'm in: Goreme, Turkiye



Days: 71  Continents: 3  Countries: 12