Text 11626, 93 rader
Skriven 2014-03-30 19:18:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: trip 409
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After the leisurely meal we walked around randomly, visiting
the semi-beautiful Konak Square and its clock tower, which
is impressive enough, but the real gem of the place is the
little mosque on the east side of the plaza. The nearby
waterfront has an interesting sculpture that looked to me
like a whale skeleton but is supposed to be the ribs of a
ship; any artistic intent is undone by little kids using it
as a jungle gym and older kids scratching discreet graffiti
on it. At some point we discovered that the Asansor, a 19th
century elevator along the lines of and serving the same
purpose as the ones in hilly Lisbon, was nowhere near where
Google Maps said it should be, so we abandoned that idea.
Lilli said going there was useless anyway, as there would be
no view, given the clouds, and we didn't need a snack, as we
had just eaten. So back through the souk and to the Agora,
which are what remains of ancient Smyrna. The site could be
a modest tourist attraction but is just being developed
after millennia of neglect. I believe that one may enter
for $5, but there was nobody to open the gate, and one can
see most of the ruins by walking around the perimeter and
peering through the fences and over the walls.

We walked through one of the grubbier areas of town on our
way back to the bustle of Konak and the hotel.

It was time for a visit to the lobby bar, where we were told
that only soft drinks, coffee, and tea were on offer until
5:30, but this news was sweetened with some confectionery,
a couple kinds of cookies and desserts made with dried fruit
such as dates; none of the famous Smyrna figs, though.

Our server was pleasant, and I gave her the standard fiver
for tip.

Now that I think of it, we saw no figs for sale in any of
the markets or stalls in town, so it must not have been fig
season for either fresh or dried. Lots of apricots, though,
and mountains of beans, pulses, legumes all over the place.

We went to our palace for a change and a washup, then back
down for happy hour, 5:30 to 7, apparently the only time
drinks are served here. Our cute waitress had been replaced
by a kid in his early 20s, from whom we ordered an Efes dark
and a glass of red wine, which was a respectablish
Cappadocian product I think.

Some crunchy snacks appeared, including these shriveled
little pistachios of which the natives seem inordinately
proud. We were invited to look at the buffet offering and
have the kid serve us our choice.

There were various tea sandwiches and canapes, breads,
and cheese that included a local one that tasted familiar
to me (I believe from some airplane or other) and that
our server said was a famous local specialty and one that
was just like what we call Armenian string cheese.

For afters assorted pastries.

A refill on drinks and snacks.

A bit later another grumpyish old couple came in, apparently
regulars; they conversed between themselves and with the
waiter in sufficiently clear and sufficiently Parisian
French that I could understand them, so I figured that they
couldn't be French, but I didn't speculate as to what they
really were.

After they left, we were the only ones in the room, and as
it was close to closing (7) the bartender/waiter pressed
more food on us and then engaged us in conversation in
heavily accented English. Also, he offered us last call, a
nice gesture, but having had two we turned him down.

He asked where we were from, and Lilli said California, and
the kid perked right up and said he had relatives in San
Diego, and he had been there a bunch of times, which meant
of course that this conversation could extend itself
massively if we let it. We asked where else in the US he
had been, and he named some famous and not-so-famous cities,
and ... his grandmother lives in Kodiak, and he had spent
summers there. Of all places. So we told him about our Do
adventures there last year, and we had a jolly old visit,
and we kept him beyond quitting time, and he asked us to put
in a good word for him. Unfortunately, I forget his name,
but they call him Fiorentino, so I hope that's good enough.

We didn't need dinner after all, nor any more booze, and
just fell happily asleep.

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