An Afternoon of Turkish Delights: Well, Mostly Delightful

Our culinary journey continued at Bizim EV Hammeli Restaurant, a haven of home-cooked fare. The buffet, a tantalizing array of flavors, offered a feast for the senses. Pomegranate juice, a nectar of the gods, its sweetness tempered by a tangy undercurrent, was a delightful accompaniment. The meal, a delightful indulgence, was marred only by its slightly high price, a testament to the tourist tax that seemed to permeate many aspects of our journey.

Sirince, a quaint village nestled amidst the hills, awaited our exploration. Its cobblestone streets, a testament to the passage of time, were a stark contrast to the modern world. The chapel of St. John the Baptist, a beacon of faith amidst the ruins, stood as a testament to the enduring power of religion. The little fountain, adorned with coins, a silent testament to the hopes and dreams of countless pilgrims, offered a moment of reflection.

The village, a treasure trove of trinkets and souvenirs, catered to the desires of the tourist hordes. I ventured into the Historical Grand Bazaar, a labyrinth of shops and stalls, its origins shrouded in the mists of time, since 1923 a sign says.

Wine tasting, a delightful diversion, introduced us to the flavors of the region. Three bottles, each a testament to the vintner's art, found their way into our bags. The fruity peach wine, a harmonious blend of sweetness and tang, was a particular favorite. The salesman, a fount of knowledge, suggested transforming these wines into cocktails, a tantalizing prospect.

The town, a picturesque tableau, offered moments of tranquility. Locals, sipping coffee at sidewalk cafes, seemed oblivious to the passage of time. A note to self: to emulate their leisurely pace, to savor the simple pleasures of life.

The basilica of St. John, a colossal structure, dominated the landscape. Its sheer size, a testament to the faith of its builders, was awe-inspiring. The legend of John, the disciple Jesus loved, was intertwined with this sacred site. I imagined John, his eyes filled with the vision of heaven, his words a testament to the divine. His body no longer to be found here, probably taken by the crusaders millennia past westward.

My feet, weary from the day's exploration, craved the soothing balm of cream. The dry land, a relentless adversary, had taken its toll. I understood, in a visceral way, the importance of foot washing, a ritual practiced by ancient civilizations.

Returning to the hotel, we sought solace in the seaside. The sea, a tempestuous force, churned and frothed, its power a stark contrast to the tranquility we sought. I retreated to the comfort of a beach chair, surrendering to the embrace of sleep, while Yit Peng and Shiqin ventured into the waves.

The evening, a tapestry of culinary mediocrity and seaside charm, unfolded. The dinner, a forgettable affair, was quickly forgotten as we ventured into the heart of Kuşadası. Although, I did find solace in the sweet section of the buffet table, I do have a sweet tooth! After dinner, a leisurely stroll along the coast, the sea breeze a soothing balm against the oppressive heat, provided a delightful conclusion to the day.

The day, a symphony of history, culture, and natural beauty, had come to a close. Ephesus, or rather Kuşadası, a city etched in time, had left an indelible mark upon our hearts.