Turkish Letters #5 -- Göreme, Cappadoccia (Shiralee)

Göreme came pre-packaged with expectations -- one of those places that, like Topkapi or Ephesus, it is taken for granted that you'll see and, therefore, will be overrun with others of one's own ilk. Even the LP guidebook insinuated that it would be a tourist-ified disappointment. Our first moments there seemed to suggest that this was indeed the case. Blear-eyed and slush-brained #1, we fell off the bus and were instantly nobbled by a man who seemed to be spruiking hotels. We brusquely shooed him away. We knew where we were going.

Did we ever feel bad when we eventually realized that he was simply offering to call our hotel to tell them to collect us.

As we waited we were lavished with attention. A small brown and tan dog insistently demanded pats -- we would meet her again later. A local tried to convince us that we would far rather stay at his cousin's far cheaper panysion. Then he told us his life story. Old guys on their way to the tea-house stared at us. We looked around at the rather bland village centre, dominated as it is by a large staging area for buses and a million and one tour agencies and souvenir shops and wondered whether we'd stay more than a day or two.

Andus, the proprietor of the Fairy Chimney Guesthouse, arrived and whisked us away to to one of the most spectacular locales anywhere in the world for a hotel. (Not to mention the exceptional and much needed breakfast and shower). At some point during breakfast we wondered whether we could move in permanently.

Andus's establishment, at the far end of the village, was hand-built; some rooms used spaces first hollowed from a 'fairy chimney' in Byzantine times (circa 9th century), whilst others have been constructed from thick blocks of the honey-coloured local tufa 'stone'. Andus, perhaps because he is German, has a very firm understanding of creature comforts and has installed under-floor heating and double glazing as well as decorating the place in extremely tastefully local(ish) handicrafts. And good towels. Our very comfortable room came complete with its own hammam -- not that we made full use of it, stupidly -- that was bigger than most hotel rooms we have rented. It was heaven on a stick...

Terraces gave views over over a valley filled with troglodyte dwellings and weather-sculpted spires of rock. It was impossible to tell whether most of the houses were in the process of construction or ruin. Some places, it turned out, were both simultaneously -- erosion having collapsed half of a dwelling whilst improvements were being made to what was left. Far far away on the horizon, capped with snow and clouds, is the cause of it all -- an extinct volcano which exhausted itself filling every available space with its ashy exhalations.

The resulting 'stone', often layered in astonishing colours, so soft that it crumbles at an unkind glance, is sculpted by wind, water and temperature extremes into a surrealist's dreamscape. This is a continual process -- helped along by human intervention in many areas, ensuring that the landscape is in constant flux.

Göreme and its environs are a geologist's wet dream; an adolescent's Lord of the Rings fantasy; a Roger Dean realized.

Cappadoccia has sheltered and protected humanity in its valleys and caves -- not to mention underground fortresses -- just about since people were invented.

The village of Göreme is economically thriving -- 'rediscovered' by tourism in the late 70s but 'saved' from the over-developed fate of its near neighbours by being declared a national park. This means that any building works have to be approved thus disallowing the large-scale hotel developments of towns like Nevsehir and preserving much of the outward manifestations of Anatolian peasant life. It is obviously easy to apply cartoonesque analogies to it -- indeed there is a Flintstone's Bar and a variety of 'Bedrock' inspired panysion names -- and it definitely makes it as easy as possible for tourists, but it is no historical disneyland. (Although the obligatory statue of Ataturk is more than a little hallucinatory.. and that's before we mention the Peace Park..)

Perhaps because it was off-season and there were very few other tourists there, perhaps because we stayed a bit longer than the average tourist, perhaps because we imagined it, but we started to get an inkling of the rhythms that have run this community for a millennium or more. It helped a lot that we read an anthropological study #2 written by a local resident hailing from NZ, and we had Andus and Lorraine to pester with questions. Lorraine has lived in Göreme for over a decade, working in all kinds of capacities including as a guide and panysion owner, and had the kind of insights -- not to mention spooky stories -- that only a longtime resident could gain. Andus, also a long-term resident, had married a local woman and had subsequently had a quite different set of experiences. They all melded into a picture of Göreme that we would probably never have had otherwise.

This little house is completely untypical of most cavehouses -- it doesn't have any broken windows, its been painted, and this is almost the only graffiti we saw externally. Of course this was compensated for by the amount on the Byzantine frescos.

Whilst the tourism businesses are owned and run by mostly local men (sometimes with foreign investors or partners -- esp. foreign women who had fallen in love and decided to stay), local women have been firmly kept in their historical places -- neither seen nor heard in public. It seems generally accepted that local men will have relationships -- or at least fun and sex -- with tourist women and there were even stories of some men moving their tourist lovers into the same house as their wife and family. There is little public interaction between local men and women and most of the women wear traditional clothing and many go veiled. In the main they cannot leave their own neighbourhood/street without male permission and accompaniment and must keep to the back streets on their way to the market or their fields. Gossip and shame make sure that any rebellion is quickly quashed. Not that this means that they are not formidable forces in their own right -- just that they don't seem to have rights outside their 'ordained' sphere.

And they probably work harder now than ever because they receive little assistance from their male family members. Now they are, it seems, not only solely responsible for all the household work, which includes preserving a huge variety of foodstuffs#3 for use over the freezing winters, but also for most or all the field work. This includes sowing, cultivating and harvesting fruit from the orchards, grapes from the stumpy little vines, and a variety of vegetables esp. tomatoes, pumpkins, cucumbers etc. More than that, this work is now almost completely unvalued by the men, and realistically most of the foodstuffs can probably be as cheaply bought as they are home-produced. Gradually the orchards, vineyards and fields #4 are being abandoned along with the use of donkeys and their bright little carts and elaborate pack-saddles.

Paradoxically, it is the traditional life that these women still embody that many tourists come looking for in Göreme.

We weren't sure what we were looking for -- but we found plenty to keep us excited. And our cameras running hot..

When we confirmed our hotel booking, Andus warned us that the temperatures had plummeted in Cappadoccia and it had even snowed, but by the time we got there the weather was glorious. We made as much use of it as we could #5 . First off by rushing straight out after breakfast and walking for as long as we could in a more or less random direction. And, surprise surprise, taking photos. Actually, it seemed the perfect time to be there -- the weather was mostly in the high teens/low 20s -- perfect for walking-- and the lack of foliage on the trees more clearly exposed the extraordinary shapes of the rocks and cliffs. During the summer the temperatures apparently hover in the mid-30s-40s -- hideous -- whilst winter is bitterly cold and snowy.

JB has already mentioned our visit the next day to the Göreme Open Air Museum (really just a wire fence around some of the better preserved and/or restored Byzantine chapels and associated buildings), but I feel compelled to tell you all over again.. just so I can put in some more of the pics from our day.

He also wrote about our subsequent adoption by the skinny little brown and tan dog who guided us first to Rose Valley -- about 10km from the museum (especially after you factor in all the scrabbling up and down sheer hillsides and diversions to explore promising ruins, many still bearing the remnants of their own frescos and other traces of human habitation). Rose Valley, of course, gets its name from the colour of the rock -- a dusky pink. After we had been revived with a much needed tea and bottles of iced water courtesy of a geology student who ran a literal 'hole in the wall' cafe, our guide waited while we climbed ladders to peer at the frescos in the 'Crosses Church' which is the other feature of Rose Valley and then guided us across the top of the hills and down to the nearby town of Cavusin. At the left is a snap of her keenly appreciating the scenery.. it is a little hard to tell from the pic, but we are on the brow of a very steep hill with sheer drops to the valley hundreds of feet below. I couldn't get any closer that about a meter from the edge. She seemed to know all the best places to take pics and would stop and stare intently as a broad hint -- in between frequent and fervid attempts to dig out and sink her teeth into some kind of little rodent creature that riddles the slopes with its holes.

Cavusin's claim to fame is that it's not Göreme -- it seemed a thoroughly pleasant little town with a lovely overgrown graveyard complete with chickens and the crumbling remnants of a small hisar (fortress) like an abandoned termite mound. And it's only another 3ish kms walk back to Göreme. Our little guide accompanied us the entire way, only leaving us when chased across country by a giant and terrifyingly territorial dog#6 and then when we got to a particular gösleme place in Göreme #7 -- I think she realised that we could be trusted to find our way home alone. We were quite tired by the time we got there.

Emboldened by our walking prowess -- and the fact that we didn't get really lost -- we decided to set out for the town, Uchisar, that we could see hovering on the horizon like some kind of hive made by completely whacked out bees. Lorraine gave us directions for getting there -- basically take the left-hand fork in the valley road. We would know that we were on the right path because there would be tunnels and it would probably be pretty wet because of the recent rain. It was about a 3 kilometer walk she said.

As extra insurance, we decided to let the hotel dogs accompany us.#8 After all it had been the little dog who had saved us from death the previous day and these ones apparently often went walking the valleys with a neighbour. What could possibly go wrong?

As it turned out the dogs obviously didn't realize that our destination was Uchisar and instead eventually led us, with a great deal of enjoyment, to a flooded orchard in a dead-end valley that culminated in a waterfall. Beautiful except for the couple of hundred plastic bottles that had been dumped in it and the fact that it meant we were totally lost and more than a little damp. The dogs, on the other hand, had a great swim that they tried to include us in.

Perhaps we should have realised that we were going wrong when we had to crawl through some of the tunnels..

Eventually, of course, we made it to Uchisar and, after buying the dogs and us some bread, climbed its hisar which had given it its name (third fortress) -- now time-worn to a mere nub of its former glory but still scarily high once you were on top. And with astounding views for kilometers in every direction -- there was no way that any invader was going to sneak up on those Uchisareans.

(What did sneak up were those bad dogs, who refused to be separated from the possibility of more bread. Somehow they found a way to worm through the wire mesh fence and join us in our explorations. The ticket selling man was completely surprised and pissed off when we exited amongst our unruly pack.)

Actually everywhere in Uchisar had great views -- even the ruins.

Our visit had two major consequences. Firstly, that the dogs decided that we belonged to them and refused to let us go anywhere alone. They even slept on the stairs outside our room -- which meant that the dawn howling was even closer and getting to the bathroom meant running a gauntlet of demands for pattings and games. The other was that JB came down with a frightful cold that laid him out for a couple of days.

Luckily for me, although less luckily for JB, Lorraine took pity on me and we went on some great walks together (although I was supposed to be procuring painkillers, juice etc for the patient...sorry John).

BTW Lorraine has a very nice carpet that she's trying to sell for a very fair price (about US$600 If I remember correctly) and will mail -- if you're interested, I can send you her email address for details, pictures etc.

I can't imagine why this is known as 'Love Valley'?

I added to my collection of abstract-ish shapes.#10

When John finally struggled up from his sickbed, we spent a fantastic, although sadly rushed, day with Yvonne and René. #9 Who had a car. Which René drove like the rally-driver he had been in the past. Which was lucky because we had a lot of ground to cover in the day -- Y&R's itinerary was pretty damned full...

We zipped off to another open air museum based on a now evacuated troglodyte village, notable for its spectacular collapses of whole hillsides (hence its evacuation, I guess) and the attempted eradication of any frescos by people perfecting the art of writing of their own names.

This was to be the leitmotif of the day. we visited another small village, built into the bare slopes of a steep river valley, that had several once stunningly frescoed churches. Lack of local resources -- perhaps a result of the lack of entry fees -- especially invigilators at the churches, had allowed visitors to let their talents run riot. Frescos that had survived 1200 years or more, completely against the odds, have been almost completely eradicated in 20 years.

People are bastards.

When we arrived in the village I was surprised to see a quite elderly looking woman pelting down the hill towards us, brandishing hand-knitted socks and bright dolls. She narrowly beat a much younger, similarly armed, women to us. Eventually I was blackmailed into buying one of the dolls.

Thirty minutes later, outside the Derinkuyu underground city, I was offered the same type of doll for an eighth of the price I paid her...

The village was notable not just for its spry and practiced business women, its Byzantine churches, its tiny dirt-colored houses or its large and remarkably ugly chickens, but for the villagers' dedication to raising pigeons. Every rock was riddled with pigeon-holes, most picked out in paint like bulls-eyes -- presumably to assist the pigeons in finding the hole.

The underground city was surprisingly interesting to visit -- although very boring to photograph (so I didn't), and sited in a hideously depressing town with a very complete contingent of on-site beggars and hasslers. We were harassed by an extraordinarily persistent tour guide until we buckled and engaged his services -- and then were very pleased that we had as he was full of interesting information. Additionally he could deliver it in both English and German. The city, which goes down 6 or 7 levels, was primarily a defensive installation which could hide several thousand people and their livestock for weeks or even months at a time and dates back originally to Hittite times. It is protected with obscure entry points, labyrinths, narrow easily defensible passages and a system of round stone doors that could only be operated from the inside. A sophisticated ventilation system, whisper-holes for communications, wells, temperature-controlled food storage, stables, wine-presses, a mortuary and disposal of sewage ensured that it was safely inhabitable for extended periods. There was even a church stroke court and punishment centre, a baptism pool, a religious school and a honeymoon chamber for newlyweds.

We were very impressed. What was even more impressive was the eerie chanting that filled the place. "Korean religious fanatics", explained our guide. When we reached the 'church' area, we found it full of Asian people singing, chanting and crying. Our guide yelled at them until they stopped. Then he yelled at them some more. "They don't have a licence", he opaquely explained.

#1 An 8 hour bus trip from Amasya to Kayseri arrived at 1am -- we waited for the 1st bus to Göreme at 7pm that morning in the gigantic ashtray that is that city's otogar, providing entertainment for other waiting passengers, a target for beggars and shoe-shines, and god-alone-knows-what for a sleazy middle-aged hotel owner cum carpet seller who I think was trying to pick us up for a threesome..

#2 Hazel Tucker, "Living with Tourism', Routledge London 2003 -- I think that this is a section of her book dealing with the use of the Flintstones metaphor (not credited but I think I recognise the argument) at http://www.fairychimney.com/Texte/flintstones.htm

#3 We had just missed the annual production of pekmek -- thick syrup made from boiled-down semi-dried grapes that was, in the past, the villagers only source of winter sweet. The women in each neighborhood collaborate in its production , lighting big slow-burning fires in the street to render down huge cauldrons of the stuff. Fruit was still being dried on many rooftops and backyards and the last of the summer tomatoes were being transformed into paste. Pumpkin seeds are still a sought after local commodity and are sold far afield -- the valleys were full of the rotting remnants of their harvest.

#4 The valleys are remarkably fertile despite their desolate and surrealistic atmosphere. We were surprised to chance upon little pockets of cultivation almost everywhere the land was flat enough to support it. I guess the valleys provide some shelter from the summer extremes 35C+ average -- and we came across several underground cisterns carved from -- I'm guessing -- less porous rock that are used for summer irrigation. We heard about marijuana plantations in some of the more inaccessible valleys and I'm guessing that the men might take a greater interest in those..

A troglodyte dwelling garden -- complete with pigeon-cote, orchard, and vege garden.

#5 JB was stricken with a terrible cold and was bedridden for a couple of days, but I bravely abandoned him.

#6 She waited for us a kilometer or so up the road, amusing herself by making some elderly local pat her until she saw us and hurried over to finish her self-appointed task.

#7 As it turns out she was also an excellent guide to restaurants -- we visited it on her evident recommendation and, besides sampling their excellent food, discovered that the owners were nice people who had been feeding the little mutt.

#8 Andus had explained to us that the three dogs who appeared to live at the hotel -- Barash, Simit and Bayaz -- were actually 'free' dogs who he just fed. Simit and Bayaz were typical Turkish mutts, sandy coloured with curling tails and a general resemblance to dingoes. Barash was notable for his somewhat scary bright red eyes. All of them were incredibly gentle and affectionate except with cats who, with the exception of the hotel cats, they obviously felt duty-bound to pointlessly chase on sight.

#9 Yvonne is an air stewart whilst René was somehow involved in the manufacture of silicon chips. They came from Dresden which, it turns out, is near some silicon mountains. René was particularly interested in wildlife and had a very full photography kit to pursue his interests. He told us that his ambition was to get to the Galapagos Islands. Being East Germans, they could of course, speak Russian -- and they could both speak quite a bit of English. As usual we felt inadequate. We were very sorry that they had to leave the next day.

#10Also to my infamous collection of pictures of doors, windows, play equipment...