Walking through time in ancient Ephesus

The sun is starting to descend over the ancient city of Ephesus, casting long shadows across marble columns that have stood for millennia. I'm sitting on a stone bench near the Library of Celsus, watching as the last tour groups make their way toward the exits. The afternoon light gives the limestone facades a warm golden glow that no camera could truly capture.

I arrived in Ephesus early this morning after a bus ride from Pamukkale. As expected, I was at the entrance gates about 15 minutes before they opened at 8:30. Only a handful of other visitors were waiting, mostly photographers hoping to capture the ancient ruins without crowds. The morning air was crisp, around 12°C, but I knew it would warm up as the day progressed.

There's something profound about walking the same marble-paved streets that people walked 2,000 years ago. The main thoroughfare, Curetes Street, still bears the wheel ruts from ancient carts. I found myself stepping in these grooves, wondering about the countless feet that had worn these same paths.

The Library of Celsus was my first major stop - an imposing facade that once housed nearly 12,000 scrolls. Standing before it, I couldn't help but think about how we've evolved from storing knowledge on papyrus scrolls to cloud servers that can hold billions of documents. The library's front features four statues representing wisdom, knowledge, intelligence, and virtue - timeless values that transcend technological change.

The Great Theater impressed me with its sheer scale - 25,000 people could gather here in ancient times. I climbed to the top row and sat for nearly 30 minutes, just taking in the acoustics and the view. A small group of visitors tested the acoustics by reciting poetry from the stage. Even from the highest seats, their voices carried perfectly clear.

One of my favorite discoveries was a massive old plane tree near the Gate of Hercules. Its gnarled trunk and sprawling canopy provided welcome shade, and I wondered if it was a descendant of trees that might have stood here during the city's heyday. I took several photos, documenting it from different angles.

The Terrace Houses were worth the extra entrance fee - these ancient Roman apartments for the wealthy feature remarkably preserved mosaics and frescoes. The ongoing archaeological work here is fascinating - I watched conservators carefully cleaning a section of mosaic floor, using tools that haven't changed much in centuries.

By midday, the site had filled with tour groups, so I found quiet corners to escape the crowds. The Temple of Hadrian provided one such retreat, with its detailed friezes and the statue of Tyche, the goddess of fortune. I spent some time examining the intricate stonework, marveling at the craftsmanship achieved without modern tools.

I had a brief conversation with an archaeologist who was documenting some inscriptions. When I asked about the engineering behind the city's water systems, her eyes lit up. She explained how the Romans built an elaborate network of clay pipes and aqueducts to bring fresh water from mountains several kilometers away. The public latrines - essentially ancient communal toilets - were particularly ingenious, with running water beneath the seats for sanitation. These solutions to universal human needs remind me that for all our technological progress, we're solving many of the same fundamental problems.

It's now nearly 6:00 pm, and I've spent almost the entire day wandering through this ancient city. I've walked nearly 18,000 steps according to my phone, but the fatigue feels satisfying. Tomorrow I plan to visit the House of the Virgin Mary and possibly explore Şirince village in the afternoon.

As the site prepares to close, I'm reluctant to leave. There's something about sitting among these ruins as the day ends that puts my 500-day journey in perspective. I've completed 178 days now - more than a third of my sabbatical has passed. These ancient stones have witnessed empires rise and fall, while my journey is just a brief moment in time. Yet it feels significant to me, my own personal epoch.

The sun has nearly set now, and the guards are making their final rounds. Time to head back to my small guesthouse in Selçuk. I'm grateful for these moments of connection across millennia - a reminder that human ingenuity, creativity, and the search for meaning have remained constant throughout history.