Photo OK?

I spent the night of Monday, April 27, in Milas, where I knew there’d be a big weekly market on Tuesday. Milas is about 50 miles SE of Kusadasi, where the luxury hotel is, and 225 miles east and a little south of Athens.

I headed out of town to find a ruin on Monday afternoon, but an almost total lack of signs, locals trying to be helpful rather than admit they didn’t know, no road atlas, and a couple of false starts, put me pretty late but in great light up in the hills on some narrow roads with some big trucks, and by now, about an eighth of a tank of gas, and no sense that the road didn’t end at a mining office. . . . or a huge gravel pit.

So I wussed out and came back and got gas and a place to stay. Another adventure.

I was concerned about finding the market in the AM but I should not have been concerned: it found me. It had invaded the town, taken up every available space on the sidewalks, in the streets, under tarps, about a one-kilometer square--- acres and acres of sellers, stuff, and buyers. When I got there (almost stumbled over some people just getting out of the door of the hotel, so finding the market was not the issue I thought it would be) the waiters from all the little cafes were bringing little trays of tulip glasses full of tea to some of the better-off vendors--- but most didn’t seem to be able to afford it.

I’ll put some other shots of the tarps and the general frenzy in another report in a day or so, but for me the market was people day. I shot about as many people shots Tuesday as I shot the whole trip so far, which was pretty much my goal--- work on the portraits.

I got braver about asking: one of those things that’s simple but not easy, and I got some great responses from many I hadn’t expected---- and offers of shared breakfast with 5 or 6 families who had set up and were eating while waiting for early customers. Very sweet of them. Breakfast was mostly little bowls of olives in olive oil, cheese, chunked tomatoes, and cheese, with the olive oil soaked up in little torn-off chunks of bread.

A long way from shredded wheat

So here’s some people of Milas, Turkey, in their big weekly market, sharing a little instant of their lives with a stranger.

I usually like to tell you the background to what you are seeing, but I don’t know what any of their stories might be.

Might be fun to make up some little biographies, though.