Fantasy Flight

Everyone has dreamed of flying above the clouds with the breeze flapping through their hair and all earthly cares dispersed by the wind, but few people get to experience this adventure in the waking world.  While we were born to walk the earth with our feet firmly planted on the ground, we were also instilled with the desire to soar with the birds and escape our terrestrial fetters. And to accomplish this feat whilst floating above a fairytale landscape would be the penultimate affront to our natural state. Does this fantasy sound improbable and unrealistic? Then catch a ride with me on a magical hot air balloon ride above Cappadocia.

Deep in the heart of Turkey lies a unique geographical region that was formed from the juxtaposition of sudden, violent volcanic eruptions and centuries of calm, gradual erosion. The resulting landscape is a veritable stone forest of fairy chimneys extending beyond the horizon in every direction. These spectacular pillars of various shapes and sizes seem like a conception from the perverse mind of Salvador Dali; yet, improbable and unnatural as they may seem, the steady progression of time is solely responsible for these intriguing natural wonders.

Ancient troglodytic civilizations inhabited this arid region and carved dwellings into the tufa rock structures.  Scattered throughout the valley, many houses, churches, and other living quarters have been chiseled deeply into the rock face, creating fantastical anthill towns that are hidden from view except for several exposed windows and entryways. While several rock-dwelling towns still thrive and prosper within these unique abodes, most regions remain uninhabited and preserved as outdoor museums nowadays. These protected sanctuaries showcase remnants of an ancient civilization, available for tourists to explore and discover -- colorful frescoes painted along church walls, smoke-stained kitchens and dining rooms for groups of families, and hidden passages that could be blocked by gigantic rolling stones for protection against vile marauders. While exploring these subterranean cave dwellings is an enlightening and essential experience, the best way to explore these geological wonders is from a bird's-eye view.

On my second day in Cappadocia, I awoke exceptionally early for my flight aboard a hot air balloon from which I would view the sunrise.  I joined my fellow travelers for our short journey to the departure location and watched as the team of pilots prepared the balloon for flight. We witnessed the amazing progression by which a large roll of nylon material slowly morphed into a buoyant vessel simply by adding a hot flame. While the balloon gradually took shape as the trapped air continued to warm, I, myself, was filled with anticipation as the scene unfurled in front of me. The sun had started to spread its first shafts of light beams into the sky as the horizon glowed an iridescent hue of orange and gold.  Incredible rock formations were beginning to emerge from the darkness and cast their eerie shadows in the distance. The entire landscape which was pulled straight from a fantasy novel was beginning to awaken before my eyes.

Once the balloon was fully inflated and ready for departure, everyone climbed into the wicker basket and held our collective breath. A gentle lurch, and then we were airborne. The ground slowly fell away from us as we drifted higher into the air, gently swaying with the breeze. In what seemed like a dream, a menagerie of colorful balloons began rising up all around us in a beautiful procession toward the heavens. And then the moment finally occurred that we had all been waiting for -- the landscape below was perfectly illuminated by the risen sun and came to life before our eyes. Dotting the ground were warped fingerlike rock formations seemingly grasping for the balloons gliding just overhead. The unfurling scene was absolutely breathtaking, and I gazed in awe at the beauty and wonder of this foreign environment. The flight was so peaceful, smoothly gliding through the air while I remained in a constant state of fascination at the miracle of nature below. Time seemed to stand still from our lofty perspective of the earth, and yet after an hour had come to pass, we knew the journey must come to an end as we began our descent back towards the ground.

Just like this seemingly fleeting flight above the fairy chimneys of Cappadocia, the years of one's life pass exceptionally quickly, which is why you should make the most of it while you can. And during this one brief hour, while flying amongst the birds in heaven and gazing upon one of the most amazing natural wonders of the world, I knew that today would live on in my memory for eternity.

Ascending toward the heavens in a group of balloons 

 

 The unique landscape of Cappadocia

 

Amazing natural rock formations dotted the landscape

 

Rock fingers reaching toward the skies

 

Soaring above the rock dwellings

Deep Cleansing

Travelling to a foreign country often involves some form of cultural immersion that forces you outside of your comfort zone and into an awkward situation.  This sometimes results in eating bizarre and disgusting foods, attempting/failing to communicate with simple hand gestures, taking public transportation while utterly lost, or participating in local customs.  And one such custom that every novice initiate to Turkey should experience is a traditional Turkish bath.

I started out my evening by choosing to visit one of the oldest and most prestigious Turkish baths located in Istanbul -- the Cemberlitas Hammam which was built in 1584 by the sultan's wife for the upper class to enjoy. Upon checking in at the front desk and paying for the services, I was then shown to my small changing room to prepare for the rejuvenating experience. After I completely undressed and then wrapped the equivalent of a small handtowel around my waist, I left all my worldly possessions (including my pride) securely stored within this room. Praying the towel didn't slip off while exiting the room and traversing the busy lobby, I proceeded to the men's showers to rinse off the daily grime from this industrialized city.

After the brief cold shower, I hastily wrapped a new, dry waistcloth around myself, and humbly stepped into the grand entrance of the main wash hall. The first thing I noticed upon entering this spectacular domed room was how it sparkled with filtered daylight from overhead skylights, reflecting off the damp marble walls and exuding an aura of mystery and intrigue through the heavy mist.  In the center of the room stood a very large octagonal platform upon which the bathing ceremony was to be performed.  The second thing I abruptly noticed upon entering the room was the overwhelming explosion of warm humidity against my nearly-naked body that immediately caused every last pore to begin profusely sweating, either from the muggy heat or from nervous anticipation, I will never know. After having caught my breath while gradually growing accustomed to the thickly vapored air which threatened to drown my lungs, I was next beckoned over to the massive platform and instructed to lie down on it, fully extended and in complete contact with the warm marble. The stone was starkly similar to a hot iron, as it pressed all the wrinkles from my scorched body and caused me to go limp.

Now is the point when I fully comprehended that because this hot, humid hammam was over 400 years old, an equivalent 400 years of bacterial propagation had festered and proliferated on these ancient walls. Upon which I was laid prone. Practically naked. And with my last window of escape quickly departing, the hammam attendant approached and blocked all hope of egress. He doused me with warm, soapy water, grabbed a disposable scrub mitt, and began my ritualistic cleansing. Now don't be fooled -- this wasn't the typical spa experience where one is gently massaged and treated like sultan royalty. This hardcore cleansing relied instead on brute force, with every square inch of my exposed body (as well as certain unexposed but apparently still accessible parts) scrubbed clean with the equivalent of a sandpaper mitt. I'm all for good hygiene, but when my exfoliation involves removing most layers of my outer skin, it might be a *tad* excessive.

So there I was, after 10 minutes of determined polishing and buffing of my supple skin, I was left with scratch marks all over my body, which I interpreted as a sign of victory that I survived this brutal process. Next came one last rinsing off with cold water before heading to the next room in this cycle of Turkish torture -- the oil massage.

Still clad in my threadbare waistcloth, I laid facedown upon the massage table, and was ready to have all my cares and worries gingerly massaged away with expert hands.  Instead, what I encountered was a vicelike grip that was so forceful, I gasped at the initial pain as he lathered oil onto my bruised body.  The masseur proceeded to slowly work his hands from my head to my feet, taking care not to miss any muscles that were trying to hide from this sadistic monster. His oil massage made Helga's Swedish deep tissue massage feel like butterfly kisses, and I nearly shed a few painful tears while praying for death or an end to the massage, whichever came first. Once my last toe was free from his violent grip, I silently rejoiced that I had survived this experience and attempted my departure.  I lumbered off the table and meekly limped back to the shower to rinse off the last of the oil before heading back to the coveted semi-privacy of my changing room to retrieve my clothed dignity and hide my war-battered scars.

I was so exhausted from that mentally and physically draining experience that I headed straight back to my hotel room, forgoing dinner and even bypassing every last enticing store selling gluttonous bites of Turkish delight in every flavor you could imagine.  I somehow made it up the winding stairs to my shoebox of a room, laid down on the unyieldingly hard mattress, and let me tell you -- with every last muscle in complete surrender, that was the absolute best night of sleep I have ever had in my entire life!

The wristkey to my changing room

As no photos are allowed, here is a rendition of the bath

Swimming with Mermaids

One of the many benefits of living in Florida are the mild winters that we tend to have.  While the rest of the nation is enduring subzero temperatures with deadly windchills, relentless blizzards that cripple entire cities, and snowdrifts that are backbreaking work to shovel, we Floridians gleefully watch this travesty on the news with a guilty feeling of schadenfreude as we sip our iced coffees with the windows open to let in a cool breeze. Our population seemingly doubles during this time of year from all the snowbirds and tourists escaping their miserable existence up north to bask in our wintry warmness.  Fortunately for us, these unwelcome nuisances are not our only visitors; the mermaids of the seas also return to their winter abodes within the waterways of Florida, seeking the warmer temperatures for survival. But aren't such mythical creatures a figment of the imagination? Not so! They may have packed on a few pounds since their svelte days of luring desperate seafaring pirates and sailors to their watery graves, but these wholly reformed, gentle sirens of the sea are still eager for human interaction.  These extremely docile and playful creatures are now commonly known by their newer appellation -- manatees.

Another unique distinction about Florida is that we have the only location in the world where you are legally allowed to swim with manatees. And if you have not yet experienced this exciting animal encounter, it makes for a wonderful day trip from Central Florida for any nature enthusiast.  The morning of the swim, my alarm woke me up at the ungodly hour of 4:30am, and I struggled to get ready whilst in a bleary-eyed stupor of exhaustion.  Packing up my supplies, I knew that this long early-morning commute would be worth it in the end.  Arriving at American Pro Diving Center before even the sun was ready to awaken, we all donned our wetsuits and watched an instructional safety video on manatees as well as man's devastating impact on their populations, mainly due to boating accidents.  Having garnered a novel appreciation for manatee awareness, we set out to meet our new aquatic friends.

By the time we arrived at our watering hole in the Crystal River, the sun had at last risen above the horizon, although it did not seem to diminish the unseasonably cold weather that had blown in overnight.  But these colder-than-usual temperatures would bode well for our manatee adventures, as the warmer natural spring water acted as a magnet for all the gentle giants.  Upon anchoring in the river, dozens of manatees could be seen frolicking in the water, excited to check out this curiosity that had floated in with strange bipedal land mammals.  We put on the last of our gear (snorkels and fins), and quietly slipped into the water to interact with the lovable sea cows.

I was surprised at the sheer number of manatees in the water, and was soon surrounded by these curious creatures.  The best magic spell that worked on these sirens was a simple belly rub -- as soon as you started to pet them, they would roll over to expose their underside and eagerly await a belly rub as if in a trance.  And don't even think about prematurely swimming away to play with another manatee -- on numerous occasions I would find the same manatee nudging me with his flipper as if to say "Hey, I'm not finished yet! Continue with the belly rubs!" for which I was all-too-happy to oblige. One manatee even went as far as to clumsily grab ahold of my leg with both flippers in an effort to prevent my early departure, to which I had to laugh at how childlike these amiable beings were. Never before had I encountered such peaceful creatures that existed in a complete state of harmony. However, the scars of human impingement were all too obvious on most manatees, as they wore permanent reminders of their painful encounters with boat propellers and unconcerned humans. This was a glaringly indisputable lesson on the importance of conservation and the urgency of protecting this endangered species.

After 90 minutes of interaction with the playful manatees, I sadly had to say my farewells and swim reluctantly back to the waiting boat.  With one final wave goodbye to the last of the manatees bobbing on the surface, we pulled anchor and slowly headed back to land.  Despite shivering on the boat from being thoroughly wet and enduring the cold air, I knew this was an unforgettable adventure that would stick with me for the rest of my life. My foray into the world of the manatees had changed me forever, all from a simple belly rub and a gentle pull on my heartstrings.

Gentle giant swimming gracefully

Fun video of our manatee excursion

Arbeit Macht Frei

I believe that one of the greatest lessons we can learn is that of our humble species' history.  Starting from childhood, we are taught about our great nation's history and the piece it plays in the complicated puzzle of our world.  Whereas once the world was seemingly endless and disconnected, today our nations are so entwined with each other that we have become one large melting pot of diverse cultures and interconnected histories forming a single entity. And while the unity of the present world is beautiful, and the possibilities of the future world are exponentially limitless, we must never turn our back on the progressive chain of events that has led to the direction of our world today. We must study our past to understand who we are today. And thus, I feel that it is a necessity of life to unabashedly study and learn our history, lest we become doomed to repeat it, as the old adage goes. And what better way to be taught history than to be immersed in it and experience it firsthand?

During the summer of 2008, I had just recently graduated from pharmacy school and was in the transition period between the ending of my formal schooling and the beginning of my professional career. With such drastic changes occurring in my life, it was the perfect opportunity to embark on a life-changing trip.  I laboriously debated over the myriad destinations from which to choose, and finally settled upon Eastern Europe, eager to pass through the dissolved iron curtain and see what had been hidden from the rest of the world for several generations.

The trip started out in Berlin, the capital of former East Germany.  From the onset of the trip, I noticed a feature that would continue to be a constant reminder throughout every city I visited -- the scars of war.  While some cities have attempted to disguise these painful reminders and erase the hurt, the scars will forever remain and the hurt can never be forgotten. From pockmarked facades to shells of buildings that remain destroyed even today, there were snapshots of history that could be viewed at every turn. Seeing the Berlin Wall, Checkpoint Charlie, the Brandenburg Gate, and numerous holocaust memorials in person was like walking through the worst pages of history and gently experiencing the atrocities firsthand.  Never has a history book been able to express its contents and capture the essence of a generation as walking through the actual locations and treading where their shoes have previously walked in fear.

The pinnacle of these history lessons occurred on a dreadfully cold and rainy day -- the first and only such blustery day of the trip with an otherwise unblemished record for perfect weather.  We had crossed the Slovakian border and arrived in Poland on the way to Krakow. But first, we had a date with one of the worst crimes of humanity -- Auschwitz. Everybody felt like they had thoroughly studied for this history lesson after having seen so many of the ravages of WWII already, but we were caught completely unaware, and found to be ill-prepared for this lesson.  Upon arriving at the entrance to the museum full of naivety, we gathered to watch a film that succinctly explained what had transpired on this site many years ago, and what we were about to now witness.  After reliving the history and viewing so many horrors of war that could now never be forgotten by us, the film concluded, leaving us in darkness and silence. Our hearts were broken, and our eyes wept for what we had seen. And we hadn't even stepped through the infamous iron gate to venture into the concentration camp yet.

Arbeit Macht Frei. Work Shall Set You Free. Perhaps the greatest lie ever told, unless they were referring to the chains of miserable life that had been imposed upon the prisoners. While shivering from the cold, we were guided through the camp-turned-museum and made our way from building to building, never knowing what was in store for us.  One building was full of luggage, from all the misguided souls who thought they were merely being relocated and would start life over in a new destination.  Another building was full of toiletries -- mildewing toothbrushes and hairbrushes that quickly outlived their owners.  Yet another building was stacked to the roof with shoes, ranging from all sizes and colors, previously belonging to men, women, boys, girls, and even infants. And finally, the most gut-wrenching building was saved for last.  This building was filled with just one object -- hair.  All of the camp occupants had their hair unceremoniously shaved from their heads upon arrival.  Lovingly maintained locks and perfectly coiffed hair, shorn from these human sheep only to be discarded in a refuse heap. The sheer quantity of hair was unfathomable, and restarted the flow of tears from everyone's eyes.

How could humans have performed such seemingly impossible travesties? How did evil become so prevalent during this timeframe of recent history? Will we ever understand?  So many unanswered questions raced through our minds, leaving us feeling numb and broken. Everything was a daze, yet so distinctly etched on our minds forever with indelible clarity.  I will never forget next stepping into the bitter interior of the gas chambers where so many ghosts of the past still exist.  I will never forget the impact this visceral experience had on me, and how resolved I was to never let the atrocities of the past be repeated. I promised that I would be a better person, and never let hate gain a foothold within my being. So many of us were changed for the better that day, all because of one thing whose value can not be overstated -- a history lesson.

The gate to Auschwitz I

The borders of hell

The entrance to Auschwitz II-Birkenau