Mama Mia, here I go again...

Man, those Turks. They've really raised the bar as to what qualifies as "disabled":

You want to use the handicapped stall? You gotta earn it.


Well, we thought it was funny, anyway.


As was this sign:




I didn't go in, so I can't speak to the validity of that particular claim.


We spend our last full day in Turkey wandering the marketplace of the seaside town of Kusadasi, with the statue of Atatürk on the hill looking grandly over the harbor where many cruise ships come in and our ferry would be sailing out of to take us away from Turkey and into Greece.

I think the "NO HASSLE" bit was a pretty good ploy to get tourists to try out that shop, though I didn't feel hassled at all in any of the market. The sellers in this were just fine, calling out to us, as expected, but nothing compared to some of the packs of dogs we've elbowed our way through. And I mean that in a figurative way. The dog part, not the elbow part.


Speaking of dogs, one shop appealed to us solely thanks to its name:

Let me explain. Our much-loved dog was named Kismet. So I went into the Kismet Jewellery store and bought some earrings, and in a moment of, well, kismet, or perhaps it was serendipity, we made another new friend. The salesman's name was Zaki, the same as Thomas' toy dog with whom, you may have noticed, he goes everywhere.

It's a well-travelled dog.

All coincidence, with the dog link that would only have worked for us, but these are the sorts of things that make life fun.

We had one last dinner with Ersan, and said a fond goodbye to him, to the village of Şirince, and a temporary good-bye to Pat and Colleen as they were going on to Athens without us and we were making a side trip across the water to stay a little while on one of the Greek Islands.

We also said good-bye to Nisanyan House, especially those breakfasts.

The staff, who adored and spoiled the smaller members of our party, let said kids sit on the motorbike that is used to ferry luggage and firewood. (The latter for their stone outdoor oven where they make breads).

We had panicked the night before when all of us had gone on an extended search for a missing Thomas. Turns out he was in the cook's cottage, playing happily, with her looking on benevolently. When they say make yourself at home, they mean it.

Now all of that was behind us. Dropped off at the terminal, we boarded a passenger ferry to the island of Samos, while Pat and Colleen went on with Ersan to Izmir to catch their plane.

Bethy has apparently forgotten some of her Pacific Northwestern roots, as she argued with me that "there's no such thing as a boat called a ferry, Mom!" Fortunately it was on the sign.

And, with the captain tooting the horn, we and our luggage were off across the beautiful blue Aegean.