We wake up to a riot of sun rays. The chunk of blue Gulf of Izmir seen from our window, the rows of perky narrow buildings glued together and topped with clay roof tiles, the intermingling of exuberant exotic trees below our balcony - everything is joyfully drowning in sunlight. The warm seaside air gushes through the open window luring us outside.
It is our last day in Izmir before flying to chilly Munich, and today’s agenda is the Smyrna Agora - ancient Greek ruins of what 2400 years ago was a bustling public assembly place. Greeks gathered there to address matters of law and politics, to worship, trade, and, we imagine, to simply rub elbows and show off their tunics.
Yet it is not only the ancient history and architecture that attracts us to the Agora. Several reviews online declare ‘there is nothing interesting to see’, and by one’s local account, the place is ‘sort of sketchy’. We are curious.
We step outside and head to Kordon waterfront to make a little seaside detour to the Agora which lies in the heart of the city. We want to engrave the picture of the sunlit sea and the deranged cries of seagulls into our memory of Izmir - we won’t be coming back for a while.
Along the Kordon waterfront
At the waterfront, fishermen in faded clothes line up against the warm concrete barrier dividing the cobalt blue sea from the grimy tiled walkway. After arranging several fishing rods on their tripod stands, fishermen sink into their shabby folding chairs. Lazily sucking on cigarettes and occasionally spitting, they watch passersby out of the corner of the eye.
A silver-haired man with a brown leathery face and an unruly mustache is slowly pedaling towards us. He converted his tricycle into a portable cafe by welding a metal shelf between the two back wheels. The man is selling simit (traditional sesame bread rings) and other baked goods, as well as hot strong tea out of a huge black thermos. Passing by fishermen - his main clientele - he advertises his product in a rich baritone, startling local stray cats. He pays little attention to us - foreigners rarely buy anything from a street vendor like himself.
To our right is the grassy amphitheater with lollipop-shaped trees on the top tier. At this mid-afternoon hour, it’s almost empty with only a few folks lazing in the bright sun. But at night, it will be swarming with people - some will drink Efes and crack sunflower seeds, some will play board games and exchange latest gossips, others will be glued to their phones though in the company of friends.
We pass the amphitheater. The putrid odor of the trapped ashore seaweed makes us gag and walk faster. We turn East toward Kemeralti market, the maze of which we will have to navigate to reach the Agora.
The buzzing Kemeralti Market
The market swallows us mercilessly. What started in the 17th century as a bazaar along one street is now a huge industrious commercial center of Izmir, a retail labyrinth even locals lose their way in. The potpourri of colors, sounds, and smells whirls around, reminding us how exhausting such a place is for introverts.
Jostling through the crowds of locals and occasional tourists, we rush past a kaleidoscope of things: colorful sticky towers of Turkish delight, sparkling yellow-gold jewelry illuminated by intense fluorescent lamps, an array of pompous wedding dresses of bizarre colors, piles of purses pretending to be Louis Vuitton, boxes stuffed with unfamiliar aromatic spices, massive jars of pickled objects, huge rolls of textiles, toys, olives, cheeses, coffee shops, stray dogs.
In one stand, fishes of all sizes are lying on their slimy silver sides, mouths open, staring at the shoppers with round eyes full of lifeless fright. The pungent smell is threatening to soak into our clothes and stick to our hair. We speed up a bit.
The owner of the fish-stand squints at the rushing river of people flowing by his shop. His initially neutral and tired facial expression changes suddenly into a warm smile. An adorable little girl with huge hazel eyes walks by his shop. She cheerfully repeats the words she heard a few moments ago, “Fiiiish! Fresh fish! Fiiiish for sale!”
The last street spits us out right in front of the Agora. A tall metal fence wraps around the ruins defending it from the encroaching market. No signage is affixed to the fence to help us navigate this place. At random, we go to the right.
Where is the entrance?
We walk the perimeter of Agora trying to find the entrance. Along the grey metal fence in many spots, pieces of trash are stranded between the fence and the sidewalk - used paper plates, ripped plastic bags, crushed beer cans, and other objects are utterly incongruous with the ancient archeological heritage.
A gate akin to an official entrance pops up on the left. It’s locked. On the other side of the fence, a man and a woman are sitting on white plastic chairs leisurely sipping tea out of the curvy glass teacups. They explain that the entrance is on the opposite side of the gated area, and advise to go to the west to circumvent the fenced rectangle rather than the east. “It is not very safe that way,” remarks the guard impassively and returns to slurping his tea.
We turn around and go in the opposite direction. The nondescript four-story building to the left gloomily resembles a school. A few rectangle windows are wide open with clumps of teenagers sticking out of them. They furiously yell and throw something at us. Laru tells me to walk faster.
And yet she is beautiful
A few minutes and 50 Liras after, we finally enter the Agora.
She greets us with her beautiful extended basement galleries flooded with golden-hour sunlight. We are just in time - the lighting is perfect, and she is ready for a photoshoot.
The tall delicate columns soar elegantly above us. They reminisce quietly of their beautiful structural past and the enormous compressive forces they once had to withstand. Today, there is nothing to support but the azure sky and atmospheric pressure.
The gallery’s evenly-spaced stone arches are particularly photogenic. Collapsed in the earthquake of 178 C.E., they were later rebuilt by the Romans. Rebuilt to last. We have that feeling one tends to get when marveling at an architectural wonder from the (very) distant past. How the hell did they manage to construct this?!
Squeaky metal stairs lead onto a sun-heated platform above the basement galleries and into an open-air area where we discover a ‘graveyard’ of excavated items which are yet to find their place in this ancient puzzle. Hundreds of stone pieces are resting on the grass, baked by the sun and washed by the rain, year after year, patiently waiting for their glory.
Next to the white stones, three colorful objects catch our eye. By no means historically significant, the objects still intrigue us - plastic pet bowls with food rests stuck to the sides are rarely exhibited in UNESCO’s Tentative World Heritage Site.
Soon we discover a potential user of the rare artifacts - a striped green-eyed cat sunbathes on one of the marble stones. Elated to have some company, she starts following us impatiently demanding immediate love and attention, rubbing her silky body against our ankles and meowing sweetly.
Except for the furry diva and one aimlessly wandering tourist, we encounter no one. The place is desolate. Agora is in a slumber. Few things besides ruins themselves remind us that this is an important historic heritage.
As we make our way to the exit, a few peculiar items, at odds with the grandeur of this place, catch our eye - a bright yellow candy bar wrap discarded on the ground in one of the galleries, a word hastily etched with a knife on one of the walls commemorating a certain Ahmet, overflowing trash containers on the corner right in front of the entrance.
Deferring judgment, we leave Agora with our curiosity fully satisfied.
Our impressions are contrary to the unfavorable reviews online - there is much to see. Agora is a touristic attraction still in the making. It is simply revealing itself at its own pace, reluctantly, excavations lasting for decades, influenced by factors too complex for an average tourist to care to analyze.
Structural considerations? Lack (or misuse) of funds? Cultural indifference? Politics? One can only speculate.
We don’t.
On our last day in the lovely city of Izmir, we do our best to simply cherish the Agora for what it is - a beautiful and underrated archeological wonder in a middle of allegedly ‘sketchy’ neighborhood.
