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Postcards 10 from Turkey Please click on the thumbnails to see the larger image We get up at the crack of dawn, hurriedly down our breakfast, and then board our minibus for Ephesus (Efes). Our Turkish guide, Patrick, and our driver introduce themselves. Patrick gives us a short talk on what we will be seeing today. Then, at breakneck speed we drive up the curving mountain road, at first through a delicate filigree forest of deciduous and long-needled pine trees. Higher and higher we wind, with sporadic views of the valley far below. Sunrise is most colorful, as the rays break through the mist and the smoke rises from the valleys . We pass through mountain villages where immaculate school children wait for school buses, the boys in long trousers, white shirts, ties and jackets, the girls in dark blue uniforms and white leggings. As we wend our way toward Ephesus, we pass bouldered hills, where huge white rocks, as if dropped by a giant hand, are scattered between the sparse growth of trees. In the next village, a lady with a bright, red skirt herds her goats alongside the road. A little further along we see a large cut in the side of the hill. A huge wall of marble is embedded in the side of the mountain. Farther down the road there is another quarry of this stone. So much to see! We pass an area of dark red volcanic soil, with huge red outcroppings and formations, reminiscent of the Grand Canyon or central Oregon. Huge red rocks do a balancing act on cliff edges, while others are piled on top of each other, looking like the work of some mad bricklayer. It is awesome! Then there is the Roman, bridge, built in ancient times, so well preserved and also awesome. The delicate deciduous and pine trees give way to wild olive trees, which, Patrick tells us, provide a commercial harvest. As we descend into the valley we pass fields of tobacco, the harvest almost complete, "bottom leaves picked first, then the top." We see migrant workers picking cotton bursting from it's pods, their makeshift homes lining the road. Trucks loaded with burlap sacks of soft white pass us at terrifying speeds. Then there are fields of corn, growing in neat
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