As the hometown of the first historian, Herodotus, Bodrum has plenty of history itself, most of which is tied to the sea.  It started as a Dorian Greek colony, fell to the Persians, then was captured by Alexander the Great.  Crusading knights built an unassailable fortress over the harbor that was never taken by force.

As our last real stop in Turkey, we were mightily relieved when we found our first truly delicious döner.  There was nothing wrong with the others, but the Bodrum version was wood-fired and juicy.  We found a wood-fired kofte sandwich too.

Their joint declaration reads:

We are the clay jars with the round shaped mouths, two handles, pointed base.  We are tall and we are known for our cylindrical shaped body.  For many centuries, we carried wine, olive and salted fish.

After declaring a few ‘point of orders’ and passing an additional resolution or two, we declared this display of the classical world’s shipping containers a pedagogical success and moved on.

Turkey is mad for tea, so that was our standard caffeine option during most of our stay.  But we had to choose the sludgy option at least once.  Watching old fishermen trying to balance in their rowboats had significantly more appeal than watching drowsy clubbers sun themselves on the beach.

Not being followers of tasseography, we didn’t try to read our fortunes.

Mausolus’ wife and sister, Artemisia, was heartbroken upon his death.  She ordered a 45-meter high tomb erected in his memory, coated in white marble.  Nobody’s quite sure what it looked like.  Only the foundation of the tomb remained in 1494 when the Knights of St. John grabbed the stones to build a new castle during the Crusades.

Today, the guidebooks furiously engage in expectations management, warning the wary Bodrum clubber or yachtsman that there really isn’t much left to see.  But that’s what I like about it.

We were lucky to be in Turkey for a must-win World Cup qualifier vs. lackluster Estonia, watching on the roof terrace of our Selcuk hotel.  Estonia took a shock early lead, but Turkey ultimately prevailed 4-2 thanks to what our hotel host described as “Brazilian style” play.  (Then again, everyone agreed that our host looked suspiciously like Turkey star Tuncay.)

Our viewing pleasure was enhanced by the spinning disco ball.

As befitting a city of this stature (and four huge aqueducts), Ephesus had the largest outdoor theatre in the ancient world.  It easily accommodated 44,000, usually for culturally redeeming events, but later in its history for sordid gladiatorial battles.

Eventually, the bay it was situated on silted up, stranding Ephesus inland.  It was sacked by the Goths, then the Arabs, then forgotten for centuries.  Now it’s packed with tourists.  Unless you visit at the end of the day when, like a certain person in the stands, you can have this ancient city all to yourself.

Artemis was a virginal hunting god always pictured at Ephesus covered with fertility-like ‘eggs’ that, depending on the scholars you listen to, are either breasts or bull testicles.  The temple was so famous in its day that some idiot named Herostratus burned it to the ground in 356 BCE in an attempt to become famous.  (It sort of worked.)  It was rebuilt, only to finally be destroyed by a Christian mob led by St. John Chrysostom.  I’m guessing they weren’t down with the temple slave-women who ‘served’ Artemis, and other trappings of paganism.

As I’ve always said, if you want your World Wonder to last, build it in the shape of a pyramid.

For about $22, we signed up for an all-day boat trip.  We cruised along undeveloped coastlines of small islands and pine-forested mountains, stopping in three or four bays for swim breaks.  There was a village with a castle thrown in.  And a partially submerged ruin of a Greek city.  And lunch.  And Turkish tea time with chocolate cake.  And chatting with an Istanbul primary school teacher and her daughter (who wants to study “informatik”–excellent!).  And a sunset return to the harbor.

Pure decadence, really.  If my boss saw this, my sabbatical could be revoked.

After the population exchange between Greece and Turkey in 1923, Kaș, being a Greek town, was emptied out.  Things stayed sleepy until British and German tourists discovered it in the 1990′s.  Now it’s firmly on the tourist trail, though still a bit away from it all thanks to the twisty highways over sheer cliffs.

Pulling out of the harbor is a traditional wood Turkish cruising boat, or gület.  The moneyed set enjoy cruising the relatively unspoiled coast, dropping anchor and going for a dip at whatever village or bay suits their fancy.  I like the concept, but sleeping on a small boat doesn’t usually end well for the tall ones.

The island in the distance is Greek territory.  Kastellorizo is known as the most remote Greek island, being the easternmost Dodecanese island and all.  At its peak, its sheltered harbor made it a lively trading center of 10,000 people.  In world war 2, it was bombed to hell.  Now it’s down to a sleepy 400.