Notes from Abroad: Melí

 

The family of the founding priest of our parish in the US was from the village of Melí just north of Çesme, and the ruins of the village are still visible in the hinterlands.  He chose the patron saint of our parish, the same as the one his family was forced to abandon in the 1920s.  One of Fr. G's goals for visiting Turkey was to locate the village and the ruins of the church.  I was on board, little realizing just what an adventure it would be.

Fr. G picked us up from our hotel in Çesme after a lovely breakfast, and we squished into it, giant suitcases pushing from the trunk against the children's heads, the kids' arms pinned tightly against their bodies.  We took the coastal road through beach condo complexes and strip malls, then quaint fishing villages, then we went long stretches without seeing any signs of humans*.  The road went on and on, over beautiful hills, and along impossibly blue coasts.  We couldn't find what we were looking for, despite the GPS, and went in circles as we neared our destination.  Finally, we turned around in a little town near the water and decided to give the road one more pass.  

It was then that we saw the tiny sign we'd missed before.  The arrow was a little vague, but we turned down the gravel and dirt road and started up a hill.  Halfway up, we had to move over for an SUV going the opposite way.  Fr. G rolled down my window and asked if we were in the right place.  The kind stranger said yes, and that there was a bit more to go.  We arrived at the top, and parked.  Not a soul was around, and I was very glad the dogs barking at us were behind sturdy fences.  It was so hot, and the kids were not terribly happy to be wandering aimlessly through the ruins.  Fr G, always bold, shouted through an open window until someone came to talk to him.  Despite the language barrier, we conveyed our question, and the villager pointed out the direction of the former church.  Fr's archaeological sense brought us to what we think was the nave, where he and the children chanted the apolytikion of St. John the Theologian among the trees and traces of goats.

Back in the car and down, down the gravel path we went.  As a treat, we decided to take a dip and picnic on the beach near the town.  The frigid water was the perfect answer to the heat!  We lingered and got the children ice cream, and then drove back through the deserted roads, past more and more houses, until we rounded a curve in the highway and spied Izmir sprawled on the hills before us.  Again, the hills were scorched and black, just as we had seen in Chios.  But our journey wasn't finished; we continued past Izmir, through a valley on a road between startlingly green orchards and tree nurseries.   Our trusty GPS brought us to our Air BnB in Selçuk, a penthouse with a lovely balcony (and Hallelujah! a washer).  We unpacked the car in the 115 degree heat, and cranked up the AC in our bedrooms, and did a few loads of laundry.  As I hung the clothes, I watched and listened to the storks rattle in their nests across the street.  We ventured out for dinner only after the sun dipped below the horizon, but we still baked.  We made plans for our next morning...Ephesus!