Robert,

We arrived in Izmir late yesterday. Rene had been grumbling about some undisclosed something earlier that day. You know, just being disagreeable in that signature Rene way.

After we stowed all the baggage he took to nervous habits. I couldn’t get him to snuff his tendency to look out the window. When I watch him looking out I get the impression that he doesn’t even know what he’s worrying about.

The sunset was pretty. Rene was very quiet for a moment and we watched a barbecue down the block, little children frolicking on a pitted lawn, kicking a deflated football back and forth. Some vacant looking women driving by in large sedans. The entire city from the third story of the hotel. Rene looking east. Blue fading to puffy white and pillow white tumbling into chalky purple.

I finally broke down and asked him what the problem was. He was about as forthcoming as you would expect him to be-I think he styles himself a sphinx-he just said something suggestive that I was supposed to “get”-this tiresome gobbledygook about a circus and a ringmaster representing The World Historical Individual-a star followed by beast-satellites too pathetic to even set eyes on their sun. He topped it all off with a cherry of self-pity: himself as this “scared circus beast hiding in the corner of the ring”-afraid of getting burned or whipped or whatever.

Yeah, once you’ve heard Rene, you’ve heard Rene.

In any case: I like Izmir. This morning, I dragged Rene out of the hotel, and we looked around the city center. We ran into those gated Roman ruins that you told me about. And yes, the entire thing does look like a cemetery. Very funny.

When we visited, the gate was locked, and a sign set admission at 10 lire. We couldn’t find any attendants, and then Rene pointed out that it was a Friday afternoon. It was a total oversight-but come on-Izmir is very liberal.

We’ll go back on Monday if I can get donkey Rene to comply. And yes, I have pictures of Sardis for you.

Hope all is well,

Simon