I found a spot in the shade and parked myself on one of the hundreds of chunks of loose marble ordered on a field, waiting for Pete and Kirsten to catch up from their fervent picture taking. Bees buzzed in the flowering tree overhead. The city of Bergama was silent far below, fading into an oppressive haze created by the hot sun.

Tired of waiting, I continued on, and stood high on the north wall to absorb the dramatic view the hill-top setting offered. My hands roamed the enormous pillars, my fingers traced over intricate details in various stones, the coolness of the marble bringing welcome relief from the mid-afternoon heat.

Pergamum may not compare to the staggering ruins of Ephesus, but it is far less popular, allowing for generous amounts of time in which to linger. Boisterous tour groups came and went, but quiet moments with nothing but birds and the whispers of wind were easily carved out.

Our time at Pergamum spent, we rode a cable car down the hill and wandered through colorful side streets into the center of town.

Yusuf found us again within minutes of calling him. With time to spare before the next bus out of town, he took us to a local photography exhibit, and showed obvious pride as we gushed over the local art. After, we sat nearby to enjoy people watching and traditional çay tea, which he wouldn’t let us pay for, of course.

As we prepared to leave Bergama, we exchanged heartfelt goodbyes with the dashing policeman, knowing we would likely never see him again, and humbled by his extreme generosity towards these random travelers. The bus ride home was a quiet and contemplative one, the expressions on our faces matched our elated emotions rather than our depleted state of energy after such a long day.

I jotted these words in my notebook as we neared home:

“So yes, it really was one of ‘those days’, but just not what we expected…it turned into one of the most pleasantly surprising, brilliant and memorable kind.”