Change In Plans

This post is about some of the funny things that have happened in the last week or so. My writing skills are definitely challenged by trying to convey humor, so we will see how this goes.

1- The Museum Hotel in Cappadocia is a warren of 35 cave rooms, carved into the hillside, and connected by tunnels. The owner has a couple of small dogs who seem to have the run of the place. Tallulah became friendly with a small black spaniel, who was in and out of our cave/room all the time.

One afternoon, Zola and I came to our room, and found India and Lu trying to persuade the little dog to “go home.” I pointed out (helpfully) that the dog lived at the hotel, so he was already home, and asked why they didn’t just kick the dog out and close the door.

India explained that they needed to follow the dog to where he sleeps, because he had stolen something from Lu, and we needed to retrieve it. It turns out that the dog had swiped Tallulah’s favorite panties, the purple ones with Jasmine’s picture, and had been carrying them around in his mouth. Tallulah had been chasing him through the tunnels and public spaces, shouting “Give me back my panties, dog!”.

2- India and Lu asked the young woman at the bar to help in the pantie search. After a lot of discussion and gesturing (the bartender spoke zero English), it seemed that all was understood, and that the bartender would lead them to the thief’s lair.

Surprisingly, the bartender walked only a few paces, grabbed her cell phone, and then picked up Lu and put her on a stool. Then the bartender (like at least 20 other adults in Turkey) snapped a few photos of our daughter, tousled her hair, and gave her a kiss. Turkish adults seem to love Tallulah.

3- Last night, at Levent’s recommendation, we left our hotel and walked to dinner at a chicken restaurant in Kusadasi. The dinner was simple (chicken shish kebab, chicken wings, chicken stew, etc.) but very good. The best was the sesame flat bread that was cooked in an open-flame pizza oven, a process which the kids and I watched for a while. Throughout the dinner, the restaurant’s owner, an intense bird-like man in his 60s, waited on us very attentively.

For dessert, India ordered pistachio baklava, which came in a huge four-inch by four-inch block. When we finished eating it, and the owner came to our table for the hundredth time to check on us, I said, “The baklava was very good. Thank you, it was really excellent.”

The owner leaned over to me, raised his hand to his mouth, and winked. , In a heavily accented conspiratorial whisper he said,”Baklava ees Toorkish Viagra!”

More on Ephesus and the Turkish coast later.