"There have been joys too great to describe in words, and there have been griefs upon which I have not dared dwell; and with these in mind I say: Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are nought without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime.  Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end."

My feet sit uneasily on the frosted cobblestone.  I look down at my
phone to check the time. The hour takes the rare claim to being both
late and early.  Either way, I'm tired, and beginning to get the
feeling I've been grossly overcharged by the airport taxi.  My mind
feels soft and this currency is new.  Even so, it's safe to say I'm
the chump the driver will brag to his friends about later in the day.
Maybe he will use the extra money to buy a secret stash of cigarettes,
pay off a debt or surprise his wife with some flowers.  I know my
exhaustion has led to apathy, making me his benefactor, but the only
thought I can summon is, good for him!  My bags feel heavier than
usual and I stumble a bit trying to balance their weight.  A large
orange cat with a yellow tag dangling from it's erect ear appears from
nowhere, stops and looks at me, then runs away not knowing what to
make of the size of my canvas appendages.

Making my way up the front stairs, I ring the doorbell of the
guesthouse my guidebook promises to be both clean and economical; a
good place to meet travelers, but not known for a party reputation.  A
tired man, who is clearly annoyed I've disturbed whatever activities
have engaged him during this graveyard shift, answers the door.  There
is no room.  Door shuts.  My bags are too large to turn around in the
narrow staircase, so I'm forced to back down, once again onto the
streets.  All of a sudden I'm aware of the biting cold.  It hits me
quickly as the wind blows directly through me and for a moment I
become short of breath.  Having left Thailand in a hurray, I'm still
dressed for the heat and humidity, wearing shorts, and flip-flops,
packing only a thin long sleeve shirt for the flight.  When I notice
the small clouds formed by my breath, I realize I didn't feel the cold
immediately because my skin had so quickly became numb.  The cab has
left and I begin to use the streetlight to navigate through the pages
of my Lonely Planet, hunting for another nearby hostel.  Feeling
discouraged, I pick a direction and begin to lumber up the empty road
when I hear a voice rip through the night.  I realize quickly I've
heard this cadence before.  I know the tone...not quite singing, but
with a rhythm not employed when talking.  It winds through the empty
streets, filling the cracks in the road, finding the ready ears of the
faithful: The men and women who have risen to answer the call to
prayer.  This is the first act toward fulfillment of their five daily
sacred obligations.  A feeling of excitement washes over me…I'm in
Turkey!

It's taken me some time to write about my experience in Turkey because
the weeks that followed my arrival were some of the best and the worst
of my life.  I would meet friends I'm confident I'll have for a
lifetime, and received benevolence from strangers that taught me a new
kind of unrestricted love.  I would also experience fear and
vulnerability like I'd only imagined in the worst of my nightmares.
What is overwhelmingly clear though, is that the good far out shadowed
the bad.  I know that the munificence and compassion shown to me will
wash away any memory of trepidation and consternation.  I'm aware I
must analyze and come to terms with these events in order to learn
from my mistakes, but I've chosen to hold on more tightly to the
positive memories as an imprint of my time in Turkey.  What follows is
my account of an intense wave of trials and growth that stemmed from
my time in this magnificent and complex country.

So the story continues with me finding a hostel with a free bed on my
third attempt.  Still dark, I crept into the dorm searching for an
empty place to drop my bags.  Based on the hanging laundry, shampoo
bottles, and toiletry cases I was pretty sure this was not a co-ed
room.  I climb to the top bunk trying to make as little sound as
possible.  With a hint of amusement, I wondered how long it had been
since I'd made this awkward assent.  Quite a few summers had passed
since I'd attended camp! Afraid that my roommates would be waking in
just a few hours, I prepared for a short rest.  I would later learn
they had just returned from a long night of drinking and dancing and
were equally content to pass the morning tucked deeply inside their
covers.

The best analogy I can give to the hostel experience is that of a
family. You cannot choose whom you room with, but sometimes from the
random selection comes a perfect match, one far better then if you'd
designed it yourself.  This was an example of just that.  The four
girls in my room would become my companions for the next few days, and
as we glided through the wondrous streets of Istanbul, they would
introduce me to the joys of a Turkish Bath, bargaining across the
Grand Bazaar, and finding a four-story restaurant that served only
deserts.  Charlie's Angels jokes aside, it was fun to be part of a
group and despite warnings from the outside world, the city quickly
became a friendly and familiar place. I had to leave sooner than I'd
have liked, but time was racing away from me and there was a lot of
ground to cover.

I left Istanbul with the scent of apple tea woven together with the
smoke of fresh shesha lingering in the air.  Both had danced deep into
the fabric of my clothes and would remain with me for the entire trip.
I had not yet tired of the carpet dealers, nor their ridiculous
catcalls that were sure to follow as I passed the shops. Meandering
through the mazelike streets, picking cheap earrings as though they
were wild flowers and long games of backgammon filled my days. As I
made my way through the sites (the mosques, museums and castles), the
remnants of the fallen empires became so alive it was palpable.
Tourists gather to walk inside the Blue mosque, view the Sultans
harems, and see the infamous Spoon diamond.  What I found most notable
though, was the massive array of weapons each museum had on display.
My hands ran along the smooth cases housing the swords, antique guns
and impenetrable armor that told the story of four distinct empire's
glorious rule and inevitable defeat. This land was home to the Romans
who conquered Troy, the Christians who escaped persecution, and the
Ottoman's who seized control in the 9th century and whose culture
still thrives today. The birthplace of the Hittite and Byzantine
empires, this was also the country were Paul addressed the Ephesians,
Mother Mary lived out her final days and Constantine with Helen at his
side, created the first Christian kingdom.  Turkey's impressive resume
tells us that it was once under the rule of Alexander the Great and
the honeymoon destination for Mark Anthony and Cleopatra before their
untimely deaths.  Turkey itself provides a landscape so diverse, it
brought wealth to its people through the richness of the soil and its
commanding ports leading to the sea.  An epicenter of trade and
commerce, food and language, democracy and sport, the traditions,
architecture and art of the ruling empires flooded the surrounding
regions as the world was forced to pass through this land to connect
to other territories.

Today, bordering eight different countries, Turkey's modern boundaries
languidly sprawl across the Anatolian Peninsula, traverses through the
precipitous inland terrain and end at the Balkan region of
southeastern Europe.  Both a blessing and a curse, this highly
controversial nation straddles two continents and countless cultures.
The flag's simple image, a crescent moon and star, does not begin to
reveal anything about the nations intricacies and polarities.
Describing the county of Turkey is almost as complex as trying to
depict the people that live within its margins.  Turkey acts as a bold
impervious gate; keeping people both in and out.  Sitting at the far
east of Europe, on the northern tip of the Middle East and brushing up
against Asia, Turkey has become a Eurasian hub, providing the world
with the quintessential bridge that serves to tie us all together.
This is a case of black meeting white, but Turkey has not turned a
mild shade of grey.  It somehow maintains an inimitable style, its
bold song distinguishable from its neighbors. While a cartographer
will tell you that the territory itself cradled some of the oldest
civilizations in the world, The Republic of Turkey, as we know it is a
relatively young nation. After being defeated in WWI, the Ottoman
State was occupied by the Greeks, but led by the extraordinary
military prowess of Mustafa Kemal, later known as Ataturk, Turkey
received independence in 1923.   As with any adolescent society, it
finds itself wrestling between the imprints from the past and the
burgeoning promise of the future.  Heavily infused are the remnants
from the tiered civilizations.  The miscellaneous techniques of the
artisans, designs of the builders, unapologetic religious customs and
political systems from the past rulers have created an eclectic and
beautiful stain that will not be washed away. An ominous historical
shadow remains cast over Turkey, as it will forever be linked with its
violent struggle between Greece and the notorious Armenian genocide.
I believe this is the reason that much of the world remains unaware
and possible apprehensive of the exquisiteness of Turkey and the
kindness of its people.

Not long after arrival, a Turkish man asked me what Americans thought
of his country.  Not exactly sure how to respond, I told him that it
was my humble impression Americans knew little about the modern
Republic of Turkey, but if asked, they would associate the country
with the prevailing Islamic religion.  They may mention the Kurds, and
the movie Midnight Express would likely be referenced.  I myself had
merely a hazy idea of what to expect, and had to disclose I was more
familiar with the historical then the contemporary.  Like a handful of
wires tied in a knot, the complexities of Turkey's geographical
location and cultural ties are analogous to the world's impression of
the country.  The western world is not sure how to untie it from the
east.  The Turkish people have grown increasingly modern while
maintaining close relations both economically and religiously with
countries we're at odds with.  While Turkey is a founding member of
the United Nations, it has repeatedly been denied entry into the
European Union.  I would learn during my short tenure, that this
debate is at the forefront of most conversations.  In general, the
residents of Istanbul see the benefits of aligning with the it's
European neighbors, but those who live within the more rural landscape
are passionately opposed to it, resentful of the global scrutiny of
their religion and customs that the application has incited. I would
soon learn exactly how diverse the country and its people actually
were… not only politically, but also culturally.

Before I knew it, I was back on a plane and headed deep into the heart
of Turkey.  The city of Cappadocia is tucked safely in a massive
fertile valley, which is why it became the heartland for the Hittites
during the Bronze Age.  Famous for the bizarre up cropping of "Fairy
Chimneys", Cappadocia's landscape is a geographic phenomenon.   Since
they are unlike anything I've ever seen, it's difficult to describe or
compare them with something our mind is already accustomed to. To
picture it clearly, you must rouse your imagination and settle upon an
image that appears far more lunar then earthly.  The land is covered
in cone-shaped, geological formations that are the result of thousands
of volcanic eruptions.  These lava-formed soft rocks sit against the
setting of an aquatic blue sky, and break the surface, creeping out of
the ground amongst the white rolling hills. When the Persians arrived
they called it Katpatuka, meaning "the land of beautiful horses".
Based on the muted version I was fortunate enough to experience, the
scene awaiting them must have been spectacular.  Thousands of wild
Arabians roamed the land, traveling in herds and tackling the
elements.  Their formidable bodies were more compact then the massive
thoroughbreds I was accustomed to, but considering the hard winter and
grueling heat of summer, it made sense.  Bodies adapt in order to
survive.  In beautiful coats of sandstone and mahogany they dance
wildly through the hills, though now they are restricted to large
gated areas where migration is no longer permitted.  Like most things
of renowned beauty, their numbers have dwindled, and the people of
Cappadocia have taken them under their protection.

The next two days were spent with a small bus full of incredible
travelers representing at least five countries.  We laughed, shared
adventure stories, exchanges travel tips and contact information so we
could meet up again.  This was my first experience in an organized
group, but together with the help of our energetic, pixie-like guides,
we visited the underground city (built as protective sanctuary for the
numerous persecuted groups over the centuries), hiked through the Red
Valley to the Fairly Chimneys, took a hot air balloon ride at sunrise
and gaped at some of the oldest monastery filled art in history.
While in Cappadocia, I had arranged to sleep in a hostel that offered
accommodations inside a cave.  Dark, caverness and bitter cold, it was
one of the coolest places I've ever stayed.  Earlier in the day I'd
checked in and given the owner my passport.  He noticed that my
birthday was right around the corner and invited me to join him and
his family for dinner.  I was touched by his hospitality and
enthusiastically accepted.  The tour ended and night came.  Having
eaten lunch at the hostel, I knew his wife was an excellent cook and I
was excited to spend an intimate evening with the family.  I expected
a short meal with a few polite exchanges…I got something far greater
then I could've ever fashioned…

Inside the well heated room, lined with family portraits and regional
artifacts was a Grandmother who sat quietly at a separate table,
drinking scalding tea, watching Turkish Soap Operas and covertly
keeping all her children and grandchildren under her watchful and
loving eye.  Gathered at the large table was the owner who had invited
me, his brother in law, son and son in law.  Filed in between these
men were their beautiful wives and daughters.  The younger children
were off to the side, huddled around a spirited game of backgammon
loudly screaming out "sheshbesh" with each victory.  Once dinner was
complete, a process that took several hours, the women migrated to a
separate table and begin playing a game similar to dominoes,
manipulating their numbered tiles to strategically add up to
eighty-one.  Their melodic laughter filled the room and was only
interrupted when they affectionately called their children over,
teased, hugged, and with ruffled hair, released them back to play with
their brothers and cousins. The men, cloaked in old stories and thick
smoke began to sing and one by one grabbed their wives for an
impromptu spin around the living room.  As expected, most of the
dialog was in Turkish, but that did not dilute or detract from my
experience.  Happily, I sipped my aperitif, sat back and drank in the
enchanting encounter.  Overwhelmed by the attentiveness, respect and
admiration they showed one another, hours drifted away as songs and
dancing absorbed into the ephemeral evening. There was comfort in that
room.  Time effortlessly flew by and no one thought to steal a look at
the clock.  Topics are never exhausted in a place like this and songs
will always be re sung.  I would later find out they had gathered for
me; their family dinner was not scheduled until the upcoming weekend.
I was flattered beyond measure and realized they'd given me the
ultimate gift of hospitality. There was nothing to unwrap, pack, or
ship home.  But a family saw I was traveling alone two days before my
birthday and opened their circle wide enough for me to feel the
reflection of their love for one another.  When I left the following
day, I was still glowing from their graciousness.

The actual morning of my birthday I woke up on a bus, stiff from a
night of contorting and coiling up in a space too small for my frame.
The sky had been slashed with reckless strokes of pink and orange,
making the sunrise feel more like a sunset.  I took a brief collection
of my feelings and knew I was genuinely content.  In the back of the
bus sat two new friends Steven and Austin who I planned to spend the
day with.  The day would be passed in the fabled city of Ephesus.
This classic Mediterranean town has been well preserved; it's ruins
still alive to tell the anecdotes of the past.  Detailed inscriptions
of the cities laws are still completely visible on the imported marble
pillars and the massive coliseum seems to echo the infamous voices of
the ages.  Founded by the Athenians, this kingdom had the advantage of
being near the Aegean Sea, making it a major port city.  Home of the
Temple of Hadrian, the Roman theatre (capacity over 25,000), the Civic
Library and the Temple of Artemis, the infrastructure of Ephesus
reflects just how advanced it's citizens were.   An important site for
several religions, this is where the Koran tells us of the Seven
Sleeper saints who died in the persecution of it's believers.  It's
also the burial site of St. John and believed to be the home of the
Virgin Mary after the death of Jesus.  Paul wrote 1 Corinthians from
Ephesus and the residents are addressed as one of the churches in the
final book of Revelation.  This place breathed history and walking the
grounds with friends made for an incredible birthday.

Before heading down south to Olympus, I was fortunate enough to make a
day trip to Pamukele.  Bordering the ancient city of Hierapolis, this
site is another incredible natural phenomenon.  The product of a
nearby fault line, the mineral rich hot springs formed thousands of
years ago after a series of large earthquakes.  Known as the "white
castle" this water contains a high concentration of calcium carbonate,
creating thick layers of white limestone and travertine.  This
naturally tiered fortress looks more like the slope off the Matterhorn
then an ancient city nestled deep in a tepid valley.  The white waves
cascade down in a cloud shaped form, giving the impression of a
waterfall frozen in mid air. The natural springs are layered and take
the luxurious form of an infinity pool with dangling icicles hanging
over the sides.  With shoes off we could wade through the shallow
water, the textured ridges of the limestone rough on our feet.  But by
late afternoon I'd left the white wonderland and boarded a bus taking
me to the southern region of the country, where unbeknownst to me, my
world would turn upside down.

What happened between the quant seaside town of Anatolia and the
mythological city of Olympus is my cross to bear.  Months have passed
and I've remained undecided about what, if any, of that night's events
should be written about.  But to delay any further is foolish and
while the specifics are unnecessary, I will do my best to be candid in
my disclosure.  My decision came from the following line of reasoning…
There are several groups of people that will read this email and after
much thought, I believe each one can benefit from my account.  Those
who know me well and are closely following my travels, fall in the
category of friends and family.  I know you worry about my safety and
health.  While this may not diminish your immediate fears, hopefully
it will demonstrate that I am in fact ok, extremely blessed and feel
strong despite adversity.  In regards to the others who I've met in
passing, marked with a brief exchange or an adventure: we've created
an incredible bond and I'm indebted to you on many levels. To impart
any bit of wisdom I've learned as a result of this trip may be a way
of paying you back for the insight you've liberally shared with me.
Finally, there are those who've heard about my trip through either of
the above groups and are currently traveling or reading this from the
comforts of their home.  My disclosure comes from this realization:
All is in vein if someone cannot be enlightened by my experience.
Selfishly, things become more manageable if a similar situation can be
avoided because this warning surfaces for one of you at a potentially
precarious time.  As a traveler we are put in positions of
vulnerability almost daily.  Often, the mysteries of the language,
landscape and traditions create an intoxicating cocktail, which can
cloud our judgment and impel us to fall prey to the darker side of
peoples nature.  There will always be pit pockets, con artist and
sexual predators.  It's the flip side to the travel coin.  As
visitors, we're forced to trust those who offer assistance and provide
services.  Most of these people are good-natured and help with pure
intentions.  There are the rare occasions when someone who has
ulterior motives scars your journey, spinning your reality off its
axis and introducing fear into what should be a completely nontoxic
experience.  In those cases I've learned this…trust your instincts.
Travel refines this primal ability, but there are times when the
infusion of our manners and self-doubt overpower our gut and all the
warning signs are ignored.   I knew long before anything was actually
wrong that something was not right.  There was a disturbing
undercurrent that cut through the air, sending alarm bells off in
every part of my being.  To this day I cannot tell you whether I
ignored these out of politeness or sheer fear that if I acknowledged
what was may be happening it would actually come true.  But with
complete candor I will tell you the decision to disregard my gut was
foolish and the penalty will not soon be forgotten.

It was evening and I was leaving Anatolia for the city of Olympus.  A
cab was called from my hotel and as we left, I had the fleeting
thought that this plan appeared seamless.  I was exhausted and
door-to-door service was an uncommon luxury.  The driver was affable
and even spoke a bit of English.  We chatted briefly but I kept things
topical and retreated deep into the worn vinyl of the backseat.  In
total, the drive should have taken just under an hour, but as the
events unfolded, I would not reach my destination for well over three.
 Slowly it became clear that my driver had other plans for me.
Delivering me to my intended destination was no longer his objective.
As we drove further into the empty mountains, terror began to set in
upon realization that I had no idea where I was or how to get to a
safe place. During that period of time my life was eclipsed… Suspended
by a delicate pendulum of fate, everything seemed to stop except my
racing mind wondering what would happen if this were "it"…what would
things be like if I was gone?  What spaces would be left empty in my
absence?  My thoughts then flipped and I began to consider what would
happen if I did pull through but something was taken from me. I would
be forced to exist as the walking reflection of that emptiness. As we
went further off course, I thought what happens if I can never fill
the holes of this battle?  Those are chasms I'd rather not live with.
The options looked bleak.  There are moments where distress begets
clarity, and in the back of that taxi I came to the sinking conclusion
that life would never be the same.

I need to be clear…after several hours I was able to get free and run
to safety.  The worse case scenario was avoided and I escaped
seemingly unscathed.  Thanks to the help of the beautiful people at
Kadir's Tree House, the man was soon found, apprehended, and will be
locked deep in the confines of a Turkish prison for many years. While
my travel updates are generally filed with multihued tales of culture
and fun antidotes of memorable events, I've decided that travel is
equally about learning and there is an underlying responsibility to
share those lessons with others.  Writing this has been difficult and
an exercise I was unwilling to do until now.  I've had to rip each
word out, going deep inside with every sentence, syllable and letter.
While I've only exposed the skeleton of the night's events, I've had
to privately relive every detail as I sorted through those moments in
preparation to share.  I will say it again; the reason why I'm telling
this story is because the message applies to everyone.  Regardless of
where you're at, listening to the impulse that tells you something is
off can change your life.  Please do not disregard this as the result
of a women traveling alone.  My biggest fear is that this will
discourage someone from traveling, but the truth is, things like this
happen everyday in our hometowns.  We know from the news, statistics,
and our own lives that we must always be aware of our surroundings and
there are dangers regardless of where we go.

The second half of the story is equally as significant as the first.
The dismal cloud was soon split by a wave of light.  I literally ran
into the arms of people that would defend, protect and comfort me for
as long as I allowed them.  The first of these was Laura, a young
first time traveler who selflessly stood vigil during the entire
duration of my official testimony.  When I was released from the
military station, I retreated into the small-boxed walls of my cold
tree house.  I found it oddly comforting that my feet did not touch
the earth.  As though being perched above ground gave me safety to
sort through my thoughts.  I began to breath again when the following
day I was scooped up by two of the kindest people I've ever met. The
irony of the encounter was unearthed when we realized that outside of
being fellow travelers, already in existence was a serendipitous
connection between Pilar and I.  Having attended the same high school,
just three years apart, sharing mutual friends and a similar memory of
our time at San Diego, our official meeting would only take place on
the other side of the world, deep in the valley of this deserted
diminutive town.  Pilar and her husband Dave soon became my confidants
and I relied on them heavily to get through the following days. When
it was time for me to leave, we agreed to meet again in Konya for the
Whirling Dervishes and I took great comfort in knowing I would see
them soon.  I was sent off with warm enveloping hugs from Kadir and
his entire staff.  As I headed away from the compound to the bus stop,
I began to cry. This time the tears bloomed from gratitude. These
people had grabbed the crumbling pieces as I fell apart and delicately
put me back together.  I arrived a stranger but was treated like
family. Herein lies an equally important lesson; that same
vulnerability that got me into trouble, forced me to be the recipient
of external support.  I'd spent many months convincing myself that if
I stayed strong and focused I would need no one.  That I could tackle
the trip and this project alone was a fallacy that had become my
doctrine. Life humbly reminded me that I in fact desperately needed
others and when I did fall, I was indeed picked up by loving hands.

In the end, I left feeling full, evading the dreaded emptiness I was
sure would linger. I was off to Konya and hopeful that getting back to

work would help me outrun my demons…