Where are Paul and Donna

Today we took one of Viking’s “included” tours. I use the word included loosely. At most ports, that usually means a panoramic bus ride, a mediocre walking tour, another church, another museum, another “most important” site. Checkbox travel at its finest.

But today was different.

This is the level of tour I expect when we’re paying this much to sail with Viking. We didn’t just tour an old city—we felt it. We experienced something that felt like time travel, to a place that existed long before anything resembling modern life.

The night before, we checked our excursion card and learned we were in Group #1. That meant one thing: early. Really early. The Viking Daily Tour Schedule told us we needed to be on the bus by 7:40 a.m. Two immediate consequences followed—very limited alcohol the night before, and a sincere attempt to get to bed early. I was good. No Baileys for dessert. But somehow we got pulled into watching Baby’s Day Out before setting our 6:00 a.m. wake-up call.

Moments later—or so it felt—the phone rang - it’s six already?

We dressed, grabbed a quick breakfast at the World Café, scanned our room key cards, and shuffled toward Bus #1 like the walking dead. It was still dark. Sunrise wasn’t until 8:25 a.m. We claimed our favorite back-row seats, and I curled up like a three-banded armadillo. Wake me when we get there.

As the sun slowly crested the mountains, we watched the Turkish countryside roll by—rocky, mountainous, peaceful once we cleared the port city of Kuşadası. For a moment, it felt like Interstate 80 in Pennsylvania—one side of the highway closed for construction. But the quality of the walls and roadway was impressive. One benefit of this part of the world: no snow, no salt, no ruined roads.

I fully regained consciousness as we arrived at the top entrance of Ancient Ephesus.

Founded by Greek settlers around the 10th century BCE, Ephesus grew into one of the most important cities of the ancient world, reaching its peak under Roman rule between the 1st century BCE and 2nd century CE. At its height, it was home to an estimated 200,000–250,000 people, making it one of the largest cities in the Roman Empire. This was a sophisticated urban center—marble streets, indoor plumbing, public latrines, bathhouses, libraries, marketplaces, and massive theaters. You don’t have to imagine much here; the city reveals itself as you walk.

Ephesus also holds deep biblical significance. The Apostle Paul lived and preached here for several years around AD 52–55, and his Letter to the Ephesians was written to a Christian community shaped by this very place. Tradition holds that Mary, the mother of Jesus, spent her final years nearby under the care of the Apostle John. Pagan worship, Roman civic life, and early Christianity collided here, shaping Western theology in ways that still echo. What makes Ephesus even more remarkable is its preservation—this is one of the best-preserved archaeological sites in the Mediterranean world. And yet, only about 20% of the city has been excavated, meaning most of Ephesus still lies buried beneath our feet.

Having read Paul’s prison epistles countless times, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own journey through seminary. The Broadway show In the Room Where It Happened captures it perfectly. This is one of those rooms. One of the places where Christian theology was formed—not in abstraction, but in real streets, real conflict, real lives.

From those thoughts, I moved deeper into the marble city itself—the stairs, wide avenues, bathhouses, curved arches, and the massive amphitheater. The city goes on and on. You simply cannot experience it in one day. And, of course, the artist and photographer in me couldn’t help but mutter curses—under my breath—at yet another tourist stepping into my shot. This is one of those places you want to live in, returning daily to paint and photograph how light, clouds, shadows, and sky transform the stone. But… no tourists allowed.

The tour itself was about a 1.8-mile downhill walk, entering at the top and exiting at the bottom while the bus repositioned itself. As we left the gates, we were “greeted” by overly enthusiastic trinket vendors. This is where I lose patience. I hate being attacked. Hands go up. A loud “No!” escapes. They weren’t as aggressive as Morocco or Thailand, but they invaded my space.

Still, we stopped in a couple of shops. I bought stickers. Donna found a Christmas ornament and a thimble for one of her friends—we’re having fun collecting thimbles for her. Eventually, we made it back to the bus and headed toward the Viking Vesta.

The day before, the Port Talk warned us we’d be ushered into a rug-making demonstration. Translation: sales pitch. We nearly exited immediately—but curiosity won. As the last person entered the first floor on the store the door slammed shut and like the doors on Get Smart we were trapped in. On the second floor the silk demonstration was actually fascinating: cocoons, silk threads, real craftsmanship. Then we were escorted into another room. No windows. Padded benches. Drinks being prepared. Plenty of space to roll out expensive rugs.

I grabbed Donna’s hand. We slid down the curved banister to the first floor. The front door still sealed tight we jumped through the picture window making our escape towards the port entrance.

We flashed our Viking key cards at the port border guard manning the entrance, and escaped—only to discover the port itself was a mouse labyrinth maze experiment test of pop-up shops and last-ditch sales attempts. I converted some euros into Turkish lira for my three-ring binder of world currencies—something Ozzy will inherit someday. Donna bought a beautiful clutch. Verdict? We both failed the test.

We ran up the gangplank, scanned our key cards—safe at last. And it wasn’t even noon.

Drop bags. Lunch at the Pool Grill. Ice cream at the World Café. A short nap. Then I made my way to my glass table to write this post as the Vesta slipped away from Ephesus and offered me a lovely sunset.

A pretty nice day.

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