Izmir
Izmir is Turkey's third-largest city, tucked into the hills against the Aegean sea on the country's west coast. I rode a ferry and then a bus for ten hours to get there.
All the guidebooks advise against spending much time there. Izmir is Turkey's Cleveland – a pleasant enough city, industrial at its heart, lacking touristy qualities of any kind. There's just nothing special to see there – and that's why it's the ideal place to see what a Turkish city is really like. I wandered around for two days without visiting one "attraction," and it was completely, totally absorbing.
But Izmir wasn't just a random choice, either, and my time spent there was far from a meaningless diversion. Izmir was my family's ancestral stomping grounds.
My mother's father was born into this region in the early 20th century, when this was still the Ottoman empire and a haven for Jewish families who had escaped the Spanish Inquisition a few centuries back. My great-grandfather must have sensed World War I brewing – a war that, in the event, brought much upheaval to Turkey and its Jews – because he escaped to America shortly before the war broke out. His wife and baby joined him a few years later. The baby grew up to be my grandfather – "Papou" is the word for "grandpa" that they used in this small part of the world, which we still use in Atlanta today. My great-grandmother lived until recently. She was 99 years old, saying wise things and cracking jokes in ten languages until the very end. Their origins lay in these narrow streets.
Izmir's industrial and commercial districts are packed into a small, flat valley opening into a busy Aegean harbor. The residential neighborhoods rise into the steep hills that ring the valley like a horseshoe. Here was my first view of the city – downtown – with the hilly neighborhoods visible in the background.
Even more than Istanbul, Izmir is a city of trees and vines and green spaces.
As I wandered through downtown, the surrounding hills were always a presence, and I couldn't seem to take my eyes off them.
Finally I gave up and started climbing.
I climbed and climbed.
The neighborhoods above the city were home to all manner of interesting things.
A strange buggy and a small society of wild cats.
A small sculpture of a boy and his dog, on a cupola overlooking the harbor.
A shop selling naked mannequins. Actually there was a street with about seven of these shops. It is more than possible that the entire Middle East buys its naked mannequins from this one street in Izmir.
Everywhere, on every corner, in every cafe, men sat around playing strange board games.
Kids play in a fountain in the shadow of a lovely mosque…
… while other kids waste a perfectly good basketball court.
It turns out Turkish rugs aren't just for tourists. Even the tiniest, ricketiest old apartments were hanging lush rugs out to dry in the sun.
I ducked behind an old building and came unexpectedly into a clearing:
A bit further up, I ran across something I never expected to see – the abandoned ruin of a mosque.
"1301 – 1885"… Clearly there's a story here. Erdem, can you translate this?
I climbed up higher and got one more view. This one needs to be viewed in full-screen mode… click below, then let the mouse pointer rest on the photo for a second. Click on the "expander" button that pops up in the lower right-hand corner.
All the guidebooks advise against spending much time there. Izmir is Turkey's Cleveland – a pleasant enough city, industrial at its heart, lacking touristy qualities of any kind. There's just nothing special to see there – and that's why it's the ideal place to see what a Turkish city is really like. I wandered around for two days without visiting one "attraction," and it was completely, totally absorbing.
But Izmir wasn't just a random choice, either, and my time spent there was far from a meaningless diversion. Izmir was my family's ancestral stomping grounds.
My mother's father was born into this region in the early 20th century, when this was still the Ottoman empire and a haven for Jewish families who had escaped the Spanish Inquisition a few centuries back. My great-grandfather must have sensed World War I brewing – a war that, in the event, brought much upheaval to Turkey and its Jews – because he escaped to America shortly before the war broke out. His wife and baby joined him a few years later. The baby grew up to be my grandfather – "Papou" is the word for "grandpa" that they used in this small part of the world, which we still use in Atlanta today. My great-grandmother lived until recently. She was 99 years old, saying wise things and cracking jokes in ten languages until the very end. Their origins lay in these narrow streets.
Izmir's industrial and commercial districts are packed into a small, flat valley opening into a busy Aegean harbor. The residential neighborhoods rise into the steep hills that ring the valley like a horseshoe. Here was my first view of the city – downtown – with the hilly neighborhoods visible in the background.
Even more than Istanbul, Izmir is a city of trees and vines and green spaces.
As I wandered through downtown, the surrounding hills were always a presence, and I couldn't seem to take my eyes off them.
Finally I gave up and started climbing.
I climbed and climbed.
The neighborhoods above the city were home to all manner of interesting things.
A strange buggy and a small society of wild cats.
A small sculpture of a boy and his dog, on a cupola overlooking the harbor.
A shop selling naked mannequins. Actually there was a street with about seven of these shops. It is more than possible that the entire Middle East buys its naked mannequins from this one street in Izmir.
Everywhere, on every corner, in every cafe, men sat around playing strange board games.
Kids play in a fountain in the shadow of a lovely mosque…
… while other kids waste a perfectly good basketball court.
It turns out Turkish rugs aren't just for tourists. Even the tiniest, ricketiest old apartments were hanging lush rugs out to dry in the sun.
I ducked behind an old building and came unexpectedly into a clearing:
A bit further up, I ran across something I never expected to see – the abandoned ruin of a mosque.
"1301 – 1885"… Clearly there's a story here. Erdem, can you translate this?
I climbed up higher and got one more view. This one needs to be viewed in full-screen mode… click below, then let the mouse pointer rest on the photo for a second. Click on the "expander" button that pops up in the lower right-hand corner.
posted by Eric at 11:56 AM
2 Comments:
great pictures, Er. they allow us to visit and see a city that we only may have a faint recollection of reading about somewhere. I'm sure that your family in Atlanta must really enjoy these.
Thanks for the pictures and comments - moving there in a few months. It's great to hear about someone's experiences who's already visited!
Post a Comment
<< Home