Pergamon Unclichéd I
Trip Start
Feb 08, 2008
1
95
125
Trip End
Sep 11, 2009
Bergama,
Turkish Aegean Coast,
Turkey
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Near to the acropolis hill to the southeast is another, lower hill. On my first effort to climb it late one day I was intercepted by a local resident, and warned not to continue down the road because there was a military base at the bottom.
Considering the lateness of the day, I acceded to his admonition
Topping the Hill Next to the Pergamon Acropolis
. But, observing the area a little later, and through binoculars, I saw that the place I wanted to climb was around a bend in the road that occurred before the base was approached. And, I saw civilians walking in just the way I wanted to go. So, I decided to try again the next day. And, skirt both the kind citizen and the military base.I just love climbing hills. It's fun to see what's on the other side. In this case, sheep.
It seemed to me, at least at the start, that I could, in the day, walk around the reservoir that is at the eastern base of the Pergamon Acropolis. So, once on top of the adjacent hill, I set off down the other side to the flats of the reservoir.
I had to skirt widely around the low water. Even still there were large areas of soft mud which clung, accreted, and mushroomed around and up the soles of my shoes. But it was a minor inconvenience.
Eventually I arrived at the village of Hamzalısülemaniye. Isn't that a mouthful? Larger than the village itself.
The Reservoir. Base of Acropolis on Left
I went directly up the hill to the east of the village to get a picture of it with the Pergamon Acropolis in the background.
Now things got interesting. Coming back down into the village I . . . . Well, imagine the center of the village with streets in the shape of a capital H. Let's say I was walking up from the bottom of the right leg. At the intersection of the cross-bar stood a couple of people. I asked which way to Bergama, thinking it was to just keep going straight, up the right side of the H. But the fellow directed me along the cross-bar, so to speak.
So, thinking the right leg of the H was the main road, I walked "across the cross-bar" and turned to the right.
But, in about a block the road dribbled out. And I thought, Oh, the guy was just pulling my leg. So I turned right to get back on the right leg of the H. Then, turned left.
Well, a little way along that seemed to come to a dead end, at somebody's compound. So, I turned down a little alley, again to my right, to go to the next street over, just as some folks were exiting from the aforementioned property
The Peninsula and Village of Hamzalısülemaniy
. They backed their car to the end of the alley, which I was about half way down, and called out to me.Ah ha! The Turkish Travel Pixies blessed me again. For, I was to find, at this time, now mid- to late afternoon, I was about to head back directly toward Bergama--but, by hiking out along about a mile or more peninsula that ended in the reservoir! I would have probably discovered that sooner rather than later, for I think I would have headed to the ridge of the peninsula, and once in the clear seen the predicament. But, I would have lost a lot of time in the late afternoon. And, well, it really wasn't doable, at all to walk back the way I had come, or to loop around the other lobe of the lake. If I hadn't been "caught" by these villagers. . . . I mean, how do you explain that timing?
I went back to them, there at the head of the alley. I indicated I was going to walk to Bergama. We weren't communicating really well, but I did hear the word su, water. And, maybe dragons, or wild boars. And, I did perceive an offer to drive me to Bergama--without charge (ucretsiz). It seems they were going anyway.
They were going anyway! I mean, of all the people in this small village, I was caught at the last moment by the only ones intending to drive to Bergama this late afternoon day
Just Down Through There...
! And, just as they were exiting their enclosed compound!Look, I don't go out and get myself into a pickle expecting the Turkish Travel Pixies to save my ass. In fact, I usually only call them to mind when and after something like this happens. And it happens so damn frequently! Then I think, Oh, it must be the Turkish Travel Pixies!
Anyway, I was afforded the standard, usual Turkish extra-hospitality, and given the front seat--insistently.
We drove to another house in the village. I guess we were going to pick up grandma. We blocked the door of a neighbor, and pulled forward so he could pull his wagon out into the ally and load some sacks.
While we were waiting I guess the pater familias returned from the hunt. Oh, he was a Turkish Hemingwayesque-looking fellow. Rubber boots, a tweed jacket, a shotgun slung over his shoulder, and a belt of shotgun shells around his stout waist. He may have been out hunting wild pig. Though he had a small, maybe birdbag, across his back. I have seen wild pig rootings around, but never a sight of one, as I had seen in Australia
The Route from Above the Village
. I was reminded that the identifying scar on Odysseus was from a boar's tusk to his foot. And, this man's face. I've never seen anything like it. The skin was like parchment--of many colors: brown, gray, red, maybe black. Talk about weather beaten. I wish I had asked to take his picture.But I was somewhat intimidated. While he was being told that I was an American and "my story," such as it was and they understood, he passed closely by me with a steady, studied regard. It wasn't unfriendly. But it wasn't soft, either. So, I just tried to slightly smile. And keep my mouth shut.
With the tractor and trailer moved, grandma and two others crammed in the back, me in the shotgun seat, we headed out of the village. Down the left leg of the H, and looping way around the leg of the lake which I had rounded on foot a couple of hours before, and were back in Bergama in minutes. Just about dark.
