A quick breakfast and farewells and we plodded with our packs up to the bus stop. When we arrived, we boarded the bus for Aksaray at the beginning of a day of travel. We were going into the heartland of Cappadocia, where Keith had long dreamt of walking amongst the strange geological formations. The bus collected passengers and then drove up the hill about 300 metres to collect more. As it passed the original stop again, it took on quite a few older ladies who were carefully carrying large plates of food. The driver got out and rearranged the passengers in a definite pecking order. Senior males to sit in front beside the driver, women all to be seated, young males to stand if not enough seats. This driver knew everyone, so as we drove through the town and country side, he tooted and waved greetings along the way. At one point we made a detour of about three kilometres to drop off the ladies and the cooking in a village, and after that the young boys were consigned the job of collecting everyone’s fares. There is a lot to be said for bus travel in a country where everyone chats and the small buses become a short term travelling community.
Our trip was made very interesting by the presence of a Swiss couple, Claudia and Rob, who we had met in the valley the day before. They travel every year and had lots of interesting stories to tell. The day before Rob had had his hair cut in Guzelyurt. A large crowd had come in to watch the half hour of snipping (head, nose and ear hair) and application of hair products. Rob’s hair resembles Friar Tuck’s style, with a large central bald patch. He was trying to explain that he was a psychoanalyst when one member of the audience showed a glimmer of understanding. He then quoted various drugs, which amazed Rob and Claudia. The hairdresser explained that that man was very intelligent but that he read a lot of books and thus went mad. So much for education.
Bus changes at Aksaray and Nevşhehir went smoothly, and finally we were driving into Göreme. The landscapes we had seen before were backed by mountains, gorge walls and lines of hills. We were now encountering enormous rocks rising from valleys and plains, and rows of cones marching between ridges topped with strange formations. This was a region where massive populations had lived, and still live, in the rocks. We stayed at a hotel where our room was dug out of a huge rock which rises in the centre of the town. Inside it is so cool that when it is 28 and sunny outside, you need your jumper on inside. On a day of 35 it was pleasant with the door open. The town is built around a square which is also the bus station and devoted to tourist information. The cross roads of main streets are lined with tourist shops, restaurants and carpet shops. Further back, the real town supports the tourist industry and agricultural pursuits.
We had booked a room via Hostel World internet web site but there seemed to be no record of it. A 60 lira room was offered, but we were expecting to pay 28 lira. The man eventually brought the price down to 35 lira, but we weren’t happy about the situation. Later the manager came on, discovered our original booking and we had to move to a different room. I mention this only because it may appear that we have had no hiccups.
Once in the correct room, this was a good hotel because it had free internet and hot drinks as well as communal areas to meet other travellers.
We had a late lunch and walked to the World Heritage listed Göreme Open Air Museum. By the time we reached it there was only an hour and a half until closing time so we decided to go the next day. Instead we walked along Swords Valley, but mostly on top of the ridge between the rock formations. All the way along we explored rock houses, all close enough to imagine the area as a lively village hundreds or thousands of years ago. At the end of the ridge we rounded some farm land and entered another valley. It was much more enclosed by high cliffs with ruins of residences and pigeon lofts dotted along them. How they were accessible is a mystery. On the way down, we encountered the effects of spring on tortoises again, with persistence and the ability to ignore dangerous humans being peak characteristics.
The path we were on entered a ravine that narrowed dramatically, finally coming to a wall of rock about two metres high. There were footholds on either side so Keith scouted ahead, returning with a New Zealander who could give us advice. Reassured that, just like in a fairy story, there were only three major challenges to be met before we entered the tunnels, we pressed on. I made a great attempt at the challenges but it is thanks to Keith’s strength that I succeeded. He virtually hauled me up part of one. The tunnels were great fun, with a break every ten or so metres so some light penetrated them. In the darkest parts our trusty torch came to the fore. I was able to walk unhindered but Keith was stooped all the way. I am sure that Tolkein must have visited here, as his books could have been set here in great part. Eventually we emerged into the bright sunlight of cleared vineyards and orchards, with the new challenge of finding a reasonable path to the cliff tops and the road.
On our return to civilisation, we met Tony, the Australian traveller we had come across in Pamukkale. We were pleased to see each other, more so than the slight acquaintance warranted really, and caught up on what we had done. He had also passed the challenges of the ravine, so we were members of an exclusive experiential club.The night passed smoothly in our cave, although some drilling suggested extensions were being made somewhere nearby. We were opposite the mosque so, as usual, Keith heard the 5.30 a.m. call to prayer and I slept through it. I remarked to Keith that he didn’t wake for it in Inverleigh, and then realised that I now take the five times daily call so much for granted, and find it so soothing, that I had forgotten our own reality at home of no call to prayer.
We thought this looked like a lizard climbing up the rock.
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