A Second Helping of Turkey

Some things are better the second time around.
I went to Turkey last August or, more accurately, I went to Istanbul. It’s a mammoth city. Population estimates for the greater Istanbul area range from 10 to 16 million people, and while it occasionally looks like a western city (Starbucks, Burger King, Sbarro’s Pizza for that matter), it’s mosques and minarets, head scarves, and five times daily calls to prayer let you know very clearly that you’re not in Kansas anymore. I liked it a lot but also found it intimidating. The language was totally unrecognizable (although there are plenty of English speakers), the population tended to be pretty stone faced, and those that weren’t were trying to sell me a carpet. It was hot, humid, exhausting but, nevertheless, intriguing.
Since that trip a number of people have told me that I needed to see the rest of the country and since it’s prudent visa-wise to get out of Italy every now and then (now and then being every 90 days, long story), I decided to go back and head out into the country. I flew into Istanbul Gokken Airport (it’s in the Asian part of the city) and found an inexpensive shuttle to my hostel. Traffic was murder (as usual) and the trip took three hours (in other words, it took less time to get from Rome to Istanbul than it took to get from the airport to the hotel.) The driver and his sidekick, however, seemed to be having the time of their lives, constantly changing lanes, cutting people off, and driving on the shoulder. Istanbul traffic makes Rome looks organized, traffic lights appear to be merely suggestions, crosswalks are flat-out dangerous, and the alternate merge is a foreign concept.

The highlight of the trip occurred when they flagged down a candy salesman working around one of the toll plazas. They bought two boxes of whatever he was selling and passed them around the van. It appeared to be the Turkish version of cotton candy but more brittle (candy fiberglass insulation would be close). It tasted of sugar with a hint of some kind of grain in there as well. The candy was forgettable but I still can’t get over the fact that the guy was running around highway traffic selling it. (Ok, it was congested highway traffic, but still. This would be like working as a squeegee kid at the Delaware Memorial Bridge.)

I eventually got to the hostel, checked in and headed out to wander. I was staying in Sultanahmet, the old part of the city. I walked over a few blocks and cut through the road between the Blue Mosque and Sofia Haj. It’s hard to grasp how massive these two buildings are. At first glance they appear to each be hunkered down on respective hills but under further inspection it becomes clear that each is the hill, that beneath the main body of each mosque is a cascade of smaller domes and roofs that support them. The Sofia which was desanctified years ago and is now a museum looks a little worse for wear by day but by night, it holds its ground impressively.

I grabbed a kebab at a nearby restaurant, and then stopped at one of the sidewalk vendors who was ladling out what was described as an Ottoman era winter health beverage made of milk, honey, and spices. It tasted like a thinned version of egg custard. Not bad but I could only drink about a quarter of a cup. Back to the hostel and to bed.

My bus to the hinterlands wasn’t leaving until late in the day so I had some time to wander around the city. The carpet touts were still thick around Sultanhamet but once I got a few blocks away the pressure really lets up. Besides I was learning that it was more fun to talk with the touts than it was to ignore them. Turks are, by and large, gregarious and it’s not unusual to have someone start up a conversation and follow it up with an invitation to get a cup of tea. I never entirely trusted that invitation and always declined, but I suspect that most were sincere.

Down by the Bospherous the fish boats were doing a brisk business selling sandwiches and the Galata Bridge was thick with folks fishing off the sides. Mostly they were reeling in little five inch numbers which some would chop up, marinate in lemon juice, and sell on the spot. Others were managing to land some larger fish: trout, bass, and something that looked like an oversize version of the pencil fish from my childhood aquarium. I crossed the bridge just as it was starting to rain so I decided to double back, head to the hotel where I caught the shuttle to the station for my bus to Cappadocia.

Turkey doesn’t have much of a train network and inter-city air can be expensive so the preferred mode of transit is the overnight bus. I had mixed feelings about this. I don’t sleep well in any moving conveyance but, it did bring back fond memories of touring Europe in the splendid company of Battlin’ Dan McCormick and the inestimable Bruce Greene. Armed with backpacks and Eurail passes, we used to rely on overnight trains to save on room costs but I’m 30 years older and far less flexible than I was in those days. I would have been willing to spring for a room.
Not much to say about the bus ride. It was long but reasonably comfortable. What appeared to be a broad Turkish crime comedy was playing on the monitors. Crew men prowled the aisles handing out tea and coffee. Nobody seemed to speak a lick of English. I managed to fall asleep around 3:30 or so but we immediately pulled into a rest stop which, of course, woke me. Sometime around 6, we pulled into the Nevsehir, where I was pointed towards the short bus to Goreme, my destination.

Nevsehir isn’t exactly a garden spot. Most of what I saw was apartment buildings that were either under construction or recently finished. Nothing was landscaped. The whole town looked bombed out. Within about 15 minutes all the other passengers had departed the bus. It was just bleary-eyed me and the driver slowly moving through fields of shale and I’m wondering “What am I going to do here for the next two days?” Little did I know.
The terrain started to look more attractive as we approached Goreme. Hills stretched towards mountains and a smattering of the distinctive conical structures that the area is famous for began to appear. The driver dropped me off in front of the Goreme tourist information station where a driver from the hostel was waiting (how ‘bout that?). Five minutes later I was sitting amidst the cushions surrounding the dining table in the terrace café of the rustic Paradise Cave Hostel. The center of the room was occupied by a squat square wood-burning stove warming the room and the ubiquitous Turkish teapot sitting on it. (While you hear a lot about Turkish coffee, tea appears to be their passion and they brew it in a double boiler pot with a small pot of super strong tea resting on top of a larger pot of steaming water which is used to dilute the other.)
The other residents were a mix of folk from Japan, Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, and Korea. I think I had at least 25 years on all of them but they didn’t seem to mind my bag roller amongst their backpacks and, frankly, I was enjoying the casually desolate atmosphere. Breakfast was typically Turkish: eggs, tomatoes, cucumbers, cheese, olives, and cheese crepe thing that was great. The staff was inordinately low-key. At some point they jotted down my passport number and pointed me towards my room. They never mentioned money or asked to see my voucher. It all seemed to be far away from the US, or Rome, or even Istanbul for that matter.
As the name implies, parts of the Paradise Cave are carved into the stone that dominates the area. In the case of my room it was the bathroom, which was freezing, but I managed a quick shower before jumping into a van for the 200 km Cappadocia tour that was part of the tour package.

Capadoccia is known for its otherworldly landscape. What I wasn’t prepared for was the number of other worlds represented. Underground cities carved into the bedrock, valleys full of sandstone structures that looked like piped meringue, limestone towers topped by conical boulders, and the previously mentioned stone teepees. They call them fairy chimneys. The amazing thing is that so many of these structures have been used as housing from 800 BC until as recently as the 40s. Many were the homes of monastics and a number of carved and frescoed churches remain. It was an astounding day, no sleep or otherwise, and I crashed early.
The alarm rang at 5 the next morning because I was supposed to be at Urgu Balloons at 5:30. Apparently, if you’re going to go up in a hot air balloon, Cappadocia’s a good place to be, and while I have issues with heights, I figured as long as I’m here… Still not sure why they wanted us there so early though. From 5:30 til 7 we did nothing but drink tea, eat cookies, and watch the same video over and over and over again. We also were keeping track of every gust and breeze because the previous day’s trips were cancelled due to excessive wind.

Finally, a little after 7, a couple of pick-ups from rival firms cruised by with baskets on the beds. A rumble went through the crowd. Minutes later we were ushered into a van and off we went. The staging area was only about a half mile away and clearly we weren’t the only ones with this idea. There were at least 30 balloons being filled and launched. I appreciated the buzz of activity thinking it wouldn’t give me time to get nervous, but actually, there was a brief moment. I had just climbed into the basket and was resting my elbow on the side when I looked down at the grass six ft below and realized before long that would be 6000 meters away. I felt that quick rush of panic, thought “I can’t do this” and then settled. A minutes later we were ascending and it couldn’t have been smoother. The woman next to me said “I feel like I’m floating” and I pointed out that she was, but she just kept saying it so I had to pitch. Other than that it was a perfect morning.
The rest of the day was much like the previous one but in a good way and actually, that was how the week went. Overnight buses, natural wonders, and historical sights. Turkey is rich with old Roman settlements. From Cappadocia, I traveled to Pammukalle, site of Hieropolis but also known for its calcium rich hot springs that leave the cascading hillside looking ice-encrusted. From there, on to the Roman ruins in Ephasus, site of the Temple to Artemis, one of the wonders of the ancient world (only one column remains today but the field is full of schoolkids selling bookmarks and flipbooks ).

Pamukkale

Being late November, the crowds were thin throughout, mostly young backpackers. When I was in Europe years ago, Turkey was not a standard stop on the itinerary but I don’t think Midnight Express did much to encourage travel there. Today though, it seems a fairly popular stop. Cheap, casual, windswept, and ancient. Here’s a history that stretches considerably before the founding of Rome and, in many cases, appears more intact. A hard place to leave.

The Library at Ephasus

One last word about the overnight buses. While I found them exhausting, they did offer some interesting glimpses into Turkish culture. At most of the late night bus stations, large crowds had gathered, playing drums and blowing chanters as young men were being seen off. Through the windows, I could see them working through the crowds, kissing the hands of the older women of the town and then pressing them to their foreheads, in a display of affection and, I guess, servility. In some cases, the men of the village would hoist the departing ones on their shoulders and carried them moist-eyed to the bus. I later learned that this was the traditional send-off for mandatory military service. The guide in Pamukkale explained the custom to me then turned away, saying that he was about to start crying himself because he hadn’t served his term yet.

I don’t know that I’ll make it back to Turkey. There are other places to go over here, but there’s more to see there as well, the massive stone heads of Nemrut Dagi, the acropolis of Pegamum, the dervish rites in Konya. It’s got a lot to recommend. If anybody reading this is looking for a place to visit, that isn’t like anyplace else, give it some serious thought. And if you need a travel companion, you probably wouldn’t have to ask me twice.