turkey – Lyrebird Mountain

Ephesus – where the Goddess Diana fired her last arrow at the Apostle Paul

Ruins of an ancient Roman theater with stone seating and columns — The ancient Roman theatre at Ephesus bathed in warm sunset light

Paul the killjoy – epileptic or schizophrenic?

One of the reasons I wanted to go to Ephesus was because it’s where, according to Christian writings, the apostle Paul – Saint Paul to Christians – was unceremoniously chucked out after lambasting the locals for worshipping the goddess Diana. Or Artemis, if you favour the Greek.

Of course, what VERY little we think know of Paul means that we can’t even be sure that he existed at all. Though believed to have been born more than half a century after the birth of Christianity’s foundation figure, Jesus of Nazareth, there is no mention of a Paul or Saul in any early Christian or non-Christian sources, even by the best-known historians of the time. And when his name does pop up, it’s as the writer of letters to various Christian communities (the term itself only just coming into use; it’s origin still a matter of scholastic debate). In fact according to the New Testament, Paul wrote to just about everyone: Romans, Colossians, Corinthians, Thessalonians, Hebrews, the Jewish community at Ephesus and his best buddy Timothy.

The authorship of all the writings attributed to Paul are themselves subject to ongoing scholastic debate. As a journalist, trained in the days when truth in journalism mattered, I would be sceptical of a bunch of old letters, attributed to one man only, being any kind of truth. Given what I know about how the Chinese-whispers effect of the spoken word is distorted through time (see Monty Python’s Life of Bryan, Sermon on the Mount), given how the written word is filtered and retranslated and too often edited or rewritten to serve a cause or individual interest, given what I know about the established codices of the early Christian church and indeed about Ephesus itself (more of this below) – I remain deeply sceptical about Saul of Tarsus.and his all-too-convenient conversion along the road to Damascus. As do many eminent historians today.

I also bear in mind that writing paper as we know it was not around until centuries after Paul’s time and it seems unlikely to impossible that he could have written so many “letters” to any people a distance away on parchment scrolls. Leading to the conclusion that these useful missives were written by churchmen long afterwards, when the New Testament as we know it was being put together from scraps of early tales and ecclesiastical construction.*

After all, somebody somehow managed to collate all these scrolls, scattered as they were through so many countries and communities. Who did that? Who thought, “Blimey, here’s another of Paul’s long, long scrolls. Should we keep it for posterity? Where do we keep anything this damned big?” It’s not as if Paul was an important, famous figure whose works, like those of Plato, might have been deemed worthy of keeping in the city library. Itself prone to earthquake, war damage, rising damp and the abandonment that comes to all our buildings over the centuries.

It’s rather like the man’s death and subsequent martyrdom, which Christians claim to be about 62-64 CE. You can’t find anything about it in the New Testament. And, if as has been claimed, the Emperor Nero in one of his hissy fits chopped off the apostle’s head, it certainly wasn’t recorded by any Roman historian or writer of epistles. Like everything else, it was a legend propounded by later Christians and passed down as fact. My little copy of the King James bible version printed in 1944 has a handy note to this effect at the end of Timothy 2. He’s called a “saint” because he claimed to have performed miracles but was never formally canonised.

But for the sake of argument let’s assume that the Christian historians, most of them clergymen and women, have a point, and that there really was such a man, Certainly, according to them, he was the real founder of Christianity which, until he took it up as a cause was just a lot of disparate small groups of Jesusites. Really, the religion should be called Paulianity!

Though he doesn’t strike me as a very nice person on whom to found a religion; being, judging from”his” letters, dictatorial, opinionated, self-righteous, pushy, uncompromising and over-zealous – a term of which he himself would probably have approved. He suffered “visions” that realists would call hallucinations and this might have been caused by epilepsy, schizophrenia, wine, drugs or were just plain made up to bolster his connection with the divine – Mohammed claimed these sorts of otherworldly visions too.

Saul of Tarsus, according to Christian scholars, was a Jew and a Roman citizen and a Pharisee dedicated to Judaisman (like Christianity, a term not used back then), the Torah and the One God of Israel. In most respects that’s what he remained – the difference being that he viewed this Jesus of whom his persecuted followers spoke as the long-awaited Messiah. “Christians” to him, were just the Jews who had got it right, and the larger number of non-Jews who liked the idea of a God-made-man who stood up for the poor and downtrodden.

Saul-then-Paul was not silly or vain enough to claim messiahship for himself. He knew nobody would believe him, being so obviously of flesh and blood and apparently unattractive to boot. Rather like today’s tele-evangelists who evoke a superior Being to command our attention – and our money because their own earthly flaws are all-too-evident.

Archaeology – at a price (and don’t go in summer!)

An old olive tree atop an ancient wall dating back to at least Roman times. Olives can live to 3,000 years in this part of the world. Also, two shots of the Roman villas which have been painstakingly excavated so that we can get a good idea of how they lived. At least if they were rich!

Anyway, back to Ephesus, which I visited this year, in his (so it is writ) footsteps. He went there a time or two and lived there for a few months; preaching to mostly unconvinced Jews (who had already established a synagogue there) and Greeks. On one occasion his two companions were threatened by the crowd, instigated by artisans who made their living crafting artifacts that honoured the Goddess Diana whose temple there was one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Paul himself was advised by his fellow proto-Christians not to hang about and risk the wrath of the crowd.

Today, you can see the amphitheatre where much of this story supposedly took place. It has all been dug up and bared to our eyes in one of the most spectacular and important architectural endeavours on the planet. Ephesus dates back at least 10,000 BCE and this city, once pivotal to the histories of first Greece and then Rome, now offers tantalising remnants of both. There are the remains of Artemis/Diana’s temple, there the great library in surprisingly good nick, there the remains of Roman villas with their mosaics and frescoes and excellent plumbing. And much more. You walk the ancient marble stairway, slippery as ice from the many feet that have trodden it (and still do), touch the walls of hewn rock and man-made stone, marvel at both the sheer oldness of it and the modern skills and dedication that have uncovered all this evidence of history for our contemporary eyes.

Rather a lot of eyes, unfortunately. Millions flock to Ephesus each year, most of them with very little true appreciation of what it reveals about our past. Groups of earnest Asians behind their be-flagged guides, admiring but lacking my advantage of cultural relevance (rather like the way I once went around Angkor Wat). Groups of bored schoolchildren. Women off cruise ships flaunting too much overweight flesh in skimpy tops and shorts and sandaled feet that bring them to grief in the rubble. Fat, elderly, red-faced men in Hawaiian shirts panting in the heat and thinking only of cold beer.

Because, for much of the year, Ephesus is HOT. South-western Turkey has brutal summers and the city today is in a bowl of low, dry, mountains and a long way back from the sea, thanks to the silting up of the once-busy harbour. Today’s harbour is at Kusadasi, nearly an hour’s drive away. If you visit there – and I recommend it if you love history and archaeology – go in the early northern hemisphere spring or late autumn. Possibly winter.

*Old olive tree above an ancient wall. Olive trees can live to 3,000 years in this part of the world so I wonder what this one has seen.*

Roman villas, excavated meticulously to show us how they lived back then – if they were rich.

Of course, Ephesus attracts serious scholars both amateur and professional, including Christians. In New Testament terms the city is associated more with the apostle John than with Paul and nearby is a house which, it is claimed, was where Mary the mother of Jesus spent her last years. A claim so breathtakingly ridiculous that it’s a true wonder of the modern world that anyone would believe it or bother to visit the place. And yet they do, the faithful and the curious.

And that’s the thing about Ephesus as it appears in the bible, and about “saint” Paul himself. What we think of him today comes down to a matter of faith – if you are a Christian then you will disregard all evidence to the contrary and accept that he was what the early (and, I think, not-so-early) Christian writers want and believe him to be, and that all the letters were written by him. If you are not, then you will either dismiss them outright or subject these to the forensic examination of historical expertise.

Ephesus was very important to the formation of Christianity; indeed it is at least as important, if not more so, than Jerusalem or Antioch or Alexandria or Constantinople – even Rome. So many councils were held here that it’s not unreasonable to claim that it was this city, not just Nicaea, which effectively created Christianity and made it into a religious belief system powerful enough to take on the world. There were many stakeholders in such a power; not just churchmen (themselves hungry for a power that they abrogated to themselves through claiming Divine backing) but also rulers and the courtiers, politicians and military men who supported them. And thus, feeding upon itself down the ages and growing fat in the minds of the ignorant and cowed masses Christianity, like Islam that later sprung from it, Christian doctrine and practice dominated life and thought pretty well everywhere west of India.

These early councils were not by any means peaceful. Bishops, the newly-minted church leaders, fought bitterly over the tiniest nuances of doctrine. Schisms arose, some of which endure. Blood was shed – at least one bishop was murdered. The seeds of Christianity were indeed nurtured by the blood of its martyrs – most of it shed by fellow Christians who thought that Christ was god made man, and not the other way round. Or that a certain number of angels could dance on the head of a pin. It was like an early form of football rivalry and even more violent.

But there is so much, much more than early Christianity to be found at the archaeological treasure that is Ephesus. Diana/Artemis was a bigger deal here than Jesus ever was, and other deities as well. It was an important centre of government and trade for thousands of years. Rulers came and went, emperors visited, arts and crafts flourished. Until the Visigoths came and wrecked it and an earthquake finished the job and the sea became impossibly far away. It’s harsh country; goats thrive here and olives are grown and, where water can be accessed, stone fruits and figs.

In the nearby town is a delightful small museum which nicely completes your visit and there is no Christian reference here. There are restaurants nearby and a tourist vibe. The closest large town is Kusadasi where the cruise ships dock and ruthless men will sell you carpets of silk and wool, made (we are told) by village maidens subsidised by the government to keep the art of carpet-making alive. Seaside apartments here are owned by wealthy Turks and also by foreigners, lured by concessions that make property-owning easier than in other European seaside places. The beaches are quite good.

Paul would not recognise the place, nor would he approve. There are women flaunting flesh in skimpy clothing, with loose hair. Much has been made of his misogynism but that is unfair because we see it through the eyes of twenty-first century society. Back in the beginning of the common era, women were expected to be quiet, modest in dress and behaviour, sticking to hearth and home and doing what their menfolk told them. Even empresses, though they might exercise power behind the scenes, could never reign and ruled (when they did) through the means of their male advisers.

At the same time, modern Christian reformists and in particular Christian feminists have tried to cherry pick the New Testament and interpret it to suit their notions – with a sad lack of historical understanding. Yes, women played a role in the early church, albeit a small and supportive one. No women bishops and to this day no woman pope or metropolitan. Certainly they were forbidden from preaching – which makes you wonder what Paul would have made of today’s Church of England female vicars! The sayings attributed to Paul are unambiguous – women were to remain submissive and keep their heads down – and covered. Don’t take my word for it, it’s there in the scriptures!

To whit:

“But I do not allow a woman to teach or exercise authority over a man, but to remain quiet! For it was Adam who first created, and then Eve. And it was not Adam who was deceived, but the woman being deceived, fell into transgression. But women will be preserved through the bearing of children if they continue in faith and love and sanctity with self-restraint.”

Take that, sisters!

Some of Paul’s modern apologists have claimed he must have been misunderstood and mistranslated down the years, with later writers putting words into his mouth to suit their own ends. That strikes me as a dangerous road for any scriptural reformist to travel because it just confirms what people like myself believe – that nothing in the testaments old and new can be taken as truth. It’s just religious fiction, as reliable as today’s journalism and AI-generated fake news, serving the beliefs of the writers who know that some, if not most, will take their reportage as – well – gospel!

Anyway, whatever you choose to believe, Ephesus possesses its unique archaeological truth and I’m glad I went there to see it for myself, despite the midsummer heat, appalling crowds and lack of decent lavatories.

I bet the prudish Saul/Paul wouldn’t have approved of this pagan chap, dating from long before the Roman republic.

*The golden age for letter writing during the first millennium CE is reckoned by scholars of the era to be between 200 – 600 and this is quite a long time after Saul-become-Paul is supposed to have written his long missives. Another reason for doubting their authenticity and believing that they were probably made up by later Christians to suit the narrative.

There’s still a lot of Constantinople in Istanbul

“Istanbul was Constantinople

Now it’s Istanbul not Constantinople…“

…sang The Four Lads, back in 1953, thus earning themselves a hit with this silly but harmless song which referenced the official name change of that city in 1930.

That song came out exactly half a century after Constantinople was conquered and invaded by the Ottoman Turks, the city having been a pivotal centre of Christianity for more than a thousand years before that and much more important in the formation of that religion than Rome was in those early years AD.

Today, it is very much a city of mosques and very beautiful mosques at that. Their graceful minarets are the city’s defining characteristic, along with the great seaway of the Bosporus and Golden Horn. Mosques are everywhere, not just the postcard famous buildings but pretty little ones in backstreets around the city. I am no fan of Islam (or any religion for that matter, but Islam I find particularly distasteful) but I do love its architecture. The one great thing it has given the world (yeah, okay, algebra, but I hated that at school so am not going to big it up here!).

The old world boasts magnificent cathedrals built to honour the Christian god but while they inspire awe and contain wondrous art they don’t have the grace of a domed and minareted (is that even a word?) mosque. The famed Blue Mosque sits close to the equally famed Hagia Sofia but to my mind the latter looks squat and rather dowdy besides the splendour of the former.

Around the city you can still find sly reminders of Christianity in churches here and there (see picture below, old Orthodox Christian church near Taksim Square). They look a big neglected but still operate, though Hagia Sofia itself has long since been turned into a place of Islamic worship. And Constantinople remains visible in the mighty walls that once protected the city, in the occasional sight of an orthodox priest in rusty black cassock, in Byzantine flourishes that distinguish pre-Ottoman buildings and in the food which offers the same dates, figs, olives, melons, peaches, unleavened breads and roasted kid that you find on menus from Justinian’s day. Foods that predate both Christianity and Islam. And Judaism, for that matter, because this part of the world was inhabited by the wandering sons and daughters of Yahweh long before the two latecomer monotheisms were invented. Pagan polytheists too.

In the city of mosques the muezzins, electronically amplified, call from the towers five times a day, summoning the faithful to prayer. It’s hard for an outsider to figure out the Turks, religion wise. The main religion is Islam, obviously, though other religions are tolerated and the government, while conservative and claiming adherence to Islamic values, remains secular. When the muezzins call, the people on the street carry on as usual, either shopping or glued to their mobile phones. They don’t drop to their knees as happens in the stridently Muslim cities of the Arabic Middle East. Yet the mosques are well-attended on the holy days.

The Turks are not Arabs, of course, and come in many types. You do see women in full black, faces covered. They come mostly from the country, I was told by the Turkish manager of my hotel (an urbane and very handsome man). Quite a lot of the women wear the Abaya style long dress for modesty; young women pair this with a matching headdress and look very smart, stylish and feminine. Older women tend to wear rather shapeless versions in dull colours. Then again, a lot of women wear the headscarf with jeans, which makes me wonder about the hijab and other head coverings – is it really about modesty today and not tempting men with your flowing locks? Or is it just an excuse to cover up a bad hair day?

And then there are Turkish women walking about the streets wearing crop tops and shorts or mini skirts with high heels and animal prints and showing a lot of flesh that makes them look just like the women from other European countries – you’d mistake them for tourists if you didn’t hear them speak. Again, while I don’t care for Islam and hate the burquah and face-covering, I’d be all in favour of the modesty police enforcing a stricter dress code for locals AND tourists. All that fat and flesh thrust before your eyes! Bosoms and unlovely bums and flabby thighs! If you ain’t got the goods, don’t display ‘em! And PERLEASE don’t message me and rabbit on about how we shouldn’t body shame people because we absolutely should if they insist on flaunting what is better concealed – it’s a matter of aesthetics!

Turkish men dress like anyone and don’t have all that irritating “I’m a proud Muslim man” face fungus. Of course there are gorgeous costumes for both sexes in many shop windows, for the ceremonial occasions of the many different ethnic groups. But you don’t see them on the street. Pity, really.

Istanbul is a splendid city in every way – the setting, the architecture and archaeology, the history, the fine harbour, the food. Yes…the food! Again, it reflects the many cultures that have gone to make up modern Turkish cuisine. Here you find the traditional dishes of the Levant, based on eggplant and yoghurt, honey and nuts, lamb and fish. Pistachio and pomegranate add flavour and colour to many meals. Clay pot cooking is perhaps the best thing I tasted, along with the koftehs. Doner kebab is everywhere, sesame studded tsimit sells well on the streets, other breads come with every meal. Soup is popular, especially lentil. The baklava is better than in Greece or anywhere else, in so many honey-sweet varieties. The tomato and the potato have long since been assimilated into many family recipes, along with the ancient grains. It’s hearty fare, no fancy French flourishes, there’s nothing nouvelle about THIS cuisine! Istanbul takes food very seriously indeed; restaurants are numerous and in every price range, some very cheap indeed, dedicated to nourishing both body and soul.

Of course, there is Macca’s even here, and Asian restaurants, and French and Italian. But, really, why would you!

Food in Istanbul can be as simple as a couple of pieces of baklava with Turkish coffee to fine cuisine using typical ingredients such as the exquisite lamb dish above. Also the delicately crafted seafood cocktail. But most dishes are more basic and robust, as found in the typical little backstreet family restaurantss pictured here, where dishes from different regions are found. Soup, such as the fish soup above, is available everywhere.

Getting about this hilly metropolis is easier than it looks at first. The traffic is chaotic as you’d expect in a city which consists mainly of twisted, steep, paved or cobbly streets with a couple of broad, modern avenues lined with modern hotels and offices. Only a masochist would drive there. I, who normally avoids public transport at home, found the excellent bus, rail and tram service surprisingly easy to negotiate once I’d got the necessary card. Easy and cheap.

True, the first bus I took was going the wrong way but that was because I’d forgotten to adjust for them driving on the right! A kindly bus driver soon put me right – and put me off at the next stop so I could cross the road and find one going the right way!

Crossing the arterial avenues of Istanbul is no easy task; it’s a bit like that old song Running Bear, where everything you long for is on the other side and getting there is likely to end in tragedy. It takes boldness. It takes courage. But I managed it, though I thought it might cause atrial fibrillation. (It didn’t, that came next, when I had to climb the steep little alleys around the Blue Mosque in 30 degree heat).

Actually negotiating ANY street in Istanbul takes constant watchfulness because the only significant change since it was known as Constantinople, apart perhaps from sewerage, is the advent of the internal combustion engine. These are streets made for donkeys. Here and there a meagre strip, perhaps slightly raised, has been set aside for pedestrians but the locals still drive and park all over it. Even the famed, fashionable and comparatively wide Istikal Street has to be shared with cars, motorbikes, bicycles and a tram. Electric cars are particularly sneaky because you can’t hear them coming; it’s only when you feel something gently nudging your hip do you realise that this is not a pedestrian mall – as it looks to be in the travel brochures.

Locals are of course cheerfully accustomed to this and you can spot the tourists by the sudden look of panic on their faces as they skip out of the way. Hard luck if you are too old to skip!

Apart from the wearisome vehicle-dodging, Istanbul is a very safe city for travellers. A LOT safer than when it was Constantinople, from what I’ve read. For one thing, the police are everywhere. Dressed in either usual police-type gear or combat camo. They look tough and ready but are surprisingly polite to tourists who ask for directions.

I found everyone in Istanbul to be polite and even kind to visitors. The men can seem a bit indifferent at first, they stare through women, especially elderly western women. But when this elderly western woman asked for help in negotiating the transport card machine one of these apparently indifferent middle-aged men suddenly turned all smiles and helpfulness even though he spoke no English. Ditto the tiny coffee shop proprietor in the Grand Bazaar (below)who slipped me an extra bit of baklava when I ordered some and said how much I liked it.

The biggest hazard in Istanbul for pedestrians is the amount of rubble and rough, broken paving everywhere except in the major squares. You do need strong, protective footwear with non-slip soles. I had bought a pair of new and expensive walking shoes especially for the trip and I was glad of them. How the glamorous young Turkish women manage in stiletto heels is one of this ancient city’s modern mysteries!

I avoided the major tourist attractions; that is, I sat outside and admired them over a cup of coffee but didn’t venture in. I’d already seen the interiors on YouTube and felt no desire to share their wonders with the madding crowd. Even if you go on a small, curated tour with skip-the-line tickets the pleasure in looking at the marvellous mosaics is severely prejudiced – for me, anyway – by being pushed and prodded and deafened by din. There is no space to stand and take it in peacefully – not in summer, anyway.

Moreover, there are so many interesting and relatively unknown (to foreigners) places to explore, so many exquisite little architectural wonders, so much archaeology and history to be found all around the back streets. Here you can wander at leisure, with no sense of pressure or bustle. And you can meander along the shoreline, so shiny with sunlit water and busy with boats and cheery little ferries luring you over to the Asian side.

To my mind, everyone should grab the opportunity to see Istanbul from the water, the way travellers have seen it for centuries. I was lucky to sail out of there on a small cruise ship on a glorious sunlit evening, saying goodbye with regret.

Taken all round, Istanbul is one of the world’s most splendid cities – particularly so at sunset when the lights come on and the whole place glows like a chest of fine jewells. And you can hear the muezzin calling out the isha, the fifth obligatory prayer that marks the end of day.

Below: Cats are everywhere in Istanbul. Top right: Traditional Islam yields to modern necessity – car parking under the old mosque.Bottom: Beautiful mosques are everywhere in this venerable city whose history is both brilliant and bloody as it spans two continents and continues to dazzle us today.

The Galata Tower – go early or you’ll face a crowd like this one!

FOOTNOTE: Changing the name of cities is nothing new though today we’re more likely to change them back to some older indigenous name; perish the thought that we should retain the name given to any city by its conquerors or colonisers! Most of whom actually gave names to places that didn’t have cities before being invaded by the technologically more advanced. Personally, writing as an Australian, I’m in favour of renaming almost all our towns and cities with Indigenous names, not because I care about rejecting colonial and post-colonial history, which have earned their place, but because the present names are so ugly! The Americans got Arizona and Amarillo, Minnesota and Milwaukee and what do we get? Melbourne, Brisbane, Perth and Sydney! I forgive Darwin and Adelaide, the first because it has everlasting historical relevance and the second because it’s pretty. Of course we do have Toowoomba and Tocumwal, Goondiwindi and Gunedah. But nobody can be really proud of their city when it’s name for some long-gone English prime minister.

I digress…

Istanbul has always struck me as a rather unnecessary name change. Constantinople was Greek, though named by a Roman emperor (for himself – there’s hubris for you!). Istanbul is also basically Greek, meaning “to the city”. It’s commonly believed to be a statement of Turkish nationalism though why that should have been thought necessary in 1930 rather than 1453 is not clear (to me, at least). Perhaps they preferred Istanbul because it was shorter. Or perhaps, as the song quoted above goes on to say, “People just liked it better that way.”