Speaking of sneakers, luckily I’d worn mine. The streets were made of marble. Yes, you heard right—Ephesus was the Beverly Hills of ancient civilizations. But marble streets make for slippery walking conditions. Sydney was in six-inch platform sandals that were ill suited to the terrain. Didn’t they teach her anything at Harvard? Denis held her by the shoulders while she clung to him like a blood-sucking tick. Seriously, who wears heels to visit an archeological site? I mean, really.
As we descended a few blocks, we saw remnants of a town that was easy to imagine in its glory. Columns of porticos still standing, parts of fountains adorned with statues of the gods and headless torsos, the Gate of Hercules with two crumbly columns showing the hero wrapped in lion skin.
I tried to imagine what the women of Ephesus wore: Grecian chitons, himations, and peplos, most likely. Wouldn’t it be fun to mount an exhibit of ancient drapery wear and the couture it inspired? I thought. Poiret reintroduced draping in the early twentieth century, freeing women from corsets forever (or at least until they came back in style). The Greek costumes Chanel designed for Cocteau’s adaptation of Antigone informed her collections for years. I’ll bet we could get our hands on one of those. Let’s see, the silk chiffon evening dresses from Dolce & Gabbana’s 2003 collection would be a perfect modern addition. And just this last season, gladiator sandals returned with a vengeance—yes, we could absolutely create a show with this theme, I thought. That is, if I still have a job after this.
Wandering down the gently sloping path past the remains of the Temple of Ephesus, our guide pointed out what was left of the Baths of Scholastic, including its original mosaic floor. My personal favorites were the Library of Celsus and the latrine. The library was amazingly intact, with three stories visible in a horseshoe-shaped gallery. That’s where scrolls and books were stored for literate citizens who were allowed to check out reading material.
The public latrine was amusing. It consisted of an enormous U-shaped marble bench with lines of holes where men of yore would sit side by side to do their business and discuss current events. Pipes with running water ran through the trough and the whole city—who knew! Wealthy men would send their fatter slaves ahead to sit on the marble benches and warm them up—the first known incidence of heated toilet seats.
“Someone get a picture of me,” Pops said, sitting on one of the toilets, pantomiming that he was doing number two.
“Pops, stop,” I said, embarrassed for him.
“Oh, me too, me too,” Annie said, taking the hole next to his.
“Annie, don’t be vile!” Sydney yelled.
“Nobody strain too hard,” Denis said. “That’s how King George the Second died.”
“Do you see how information like that comes in handy?” I giggled.
“Take our picture!” Annie yelled.
“Okay, you guys, say ‘stink,’” I said, capturing for posterity Pops, Annie, and Carleen on the ancient cans, a photo they were sure to cherish. Sydney refused to pose in such a lewd manner. I swore to her I wouldn’t e-mail the photo to gawker.com, but I don’t think she believed me.
You Make Me Feel So Young
AFTER EPHESUS, OUR GUIDE encouraged us to skip the home of the Virgin Mary, which she said was a modest house (if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all), in favor of shopping for Turkish carpets where (I was sure) she would secretly collect a commission on any rugs our party purchased.
She took us to a government-sponsored school and shop set in a luscious green oasis, where young women were taught how to make the traditional designs using natural vegetable dyes and hand looms—an attempt to maintain the ancient art for which Turkey has long been known. While everyone else shopped, I took Annie outside to see how the silk for the rugs was made. A girl named Khanti, not much older than Annie herself, walked us through the whole cycle. First she showed us a bucket of live silkworms they had extracted from the mulberry trees. They wiggled about, some as fat as my ring finger. Then she let us hold the creamy white cocoons the silkworms had spun. Finally we were taken to a special loom, where the cocoons were carefully un-spun to preserve the silk from which they were made. Later the silk would be dyed, and hand knotted into the gorgeous, intricate patterns that make Persian carpets so irresistible.
“This is really cool,” I said to Annie. “You should take pictures and do a report on it for school.”
“Good idea,” she said, snapping shots with her digital camera. “I have to think of something to write about.” She went back to the bucket of worms and peeked inside. “Khanti, I’ll give you ten bucks for a bag of these.”
Khanti shrugged, grabbed a sack from beneath the loom, and filled it with live, wiggling worms.
“C’mon,” Annie said. “Follow me.”
My eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you doing?”
“This’ll be so much fun.” She giggled.
As I watched, Annie went into the car, opened Sydney’s Prada canvas bag, and poured the worms inside, zipping it behind her, then changing her mind and unzipping it. “Worms need air,” she explained, slamming the limo door shut. “Don’t tell anyone I did it, okay?”
“Did what?”
“Watch me do cartwheels,” Annie said.
I clapped while Annie executed three perfect cartwheels in a row.
“Now you watch me,” I said, as I did a wobbly headstand. It had been years since I’d even tried one.
Annie tickled my nose with a live worm she had stashed in her pocket, causing me to collapse in a fit of laughter. I sat next to her on the grass.
“You’re cool. You should
