At last we were off to see an underground city. Our bus to Aksaray was slightly delayed by the erection of a gigantic Turkish flag behind the bus stop, because our driver was watching proceedings.
Bus drivers and conductors are very considerate and follow the principle that the bus is there as a service to the customers. Before they leave, they start the engine and toot, often calling out their destination. They scan the crowd and side streets to see if anyone is hurrying to catch the bus, and if that is the case, they wait for them. You can hail a bus anywhere along the route that it is possible for the bus to stop safely. The conductor, or driver’s mate, inquires everyone’s destination and if you don’t get off at the right spot, they check and help you. We were not going to make it to Aksaray in time to connect with the bus to Kaymaklı, so the driver’s mate checked with us that that was our destination, and when they saw the bus we needed as we were driving along, they tooted and stopped it for us. How about that for care for the customers!The village of Kaymaklı looked just like any village until we walked up an alley lined with tourist stalls to a ticket office. Still the only things visible were a low rocky hill and a small cave entrance. This was the entrance to 10% of an underground city that had once catered for 20000 people in times of war. Our guide, Mustafa, had grown up in the village and as a child, before tourism claimed it, had played in the city. His parents had made him take a sack of straw to find his way back to the surface until he learnt all the tunnels by heart. Centuries ago the lower floors had collapsed but in 1964, archaeologists had worked on the site and prepared it for visitors. Mustafa had been consulted in the process and later took exams to become an official guide. Here was a man who loved his job, a born communicator with a beloved topic to share.
The underground city had been started at the time of the Hittites but it was in the Christian era that it was fully developed.
The engineering was sophisticated, with the load bearing capacity of each rock type worked out for the floor thickness, and eight 120 metre deep square shafts, which were not only used as wells. They were vital for allowing fresh air to circulate and also for dirty water and human and other waste to be lifted out with ropes. Soldiers on the outside passed information down the shafts and kept people informed of the time of day when a long siege was in progress. There were wars and invasions every ten years or so, often enough for survival to depend on being able to withstand a siege below ground. During peace time the city was extended and the stone removed was used to build a village above ground. Normal life was pursued but everyone contributed to stores of food and materials to be used communally in the underground city in times of war. Each level in the city had a communal kitchen, food store, winery and wash room. Food was cooked collectively once a week at night, with the smoke making its way out of the tunnels when the enemies could not see it. There was a system for heating water which was piped into a dish washing area and was also available for washing clothes and people. In the laundry, families washed their clothes in an enormous stone tub and then pulled a curtain around to wash themselves. 
There was an entry and an exit to this room for crowd control, since 100 people could be lined up waiting for a turn. Each family had a room, which was allocated according to the amount of taxes paid. The best rooms were on the top floor, with higher ceilings, more wardrobes and cupboards and better architectural features. A few levels down you were lucky to get a ledge for your oil lamp and a carved stone loop in the ceiling to hang up your baby’s hammock. Everyone, of all classes, slept on straw on the floor. Each apartment had an escape tunnel, air holes and talking holes that connected them to other families, like telephone. The tunnels were blocked off by millstones that were so heavy that it was impossible to move them without leverage, which was only catered for on the inside.
Villagers who broke laws were imprisoned in the underground city and they and their keepers stayed down there even in peace time.Occasionally, after six to eight months, diseases could develop and people could start to suffer psychologically. There was an eight kilometre escape tunnel that could be used if required. Sometimes the above ground soldiers would lure a small force into the city, where they would be locked into a small area and have boiling oil tipped on them, arrows shot at them and swords poked into them, all through specially designed holes in the walls of the tunnels and rooms.
Mustafa was an absolute mine of information. He said that the Hittites were small people but that the later people were our size. The size of the tunnels was to do with stability with the rock. He himself ran through the tunnels after first crossing his hands in front of him at hip level, reducing his shoulder width and height. We lumbered awkwardly after him. It was a great visit and it was a treat to have Mustafa guide us.
We were still talking to Mustafa when the Italian people we had met in Güzelyurt emerged. They invited us to go with them in their mini-van to see a valley at Soğanlı which is not easily accessible, but was recommended by their Turkish friend. We all stopped for a drink and to taste some cheese pizza, and then we all piled in and set off. The children were thirteen year old twins, Agatha and Felicia, and seven year old Filipo. They attended an international school in Mozambique and were all fluent in English. The girls told us about their teachers and their two maids and how they wished to visit snow but their parents only like warm places. Only Isabella and Bruno, the grandparents did not speak English, but luckily I know some Italian from my school days and Keith had a few words too.
Lunch was at the most beautiful café, where the tables were in a meadow under blossoming apple trees, beneath a towering rocky mountain. A little stream meandered by. The proprietor spoke to our group in Italian and we thanked him in Italian, along with the rest. We had lentil soup, salad and the most delicious bread.
The valley was really interesting, with little churches and monastery complexes along it. Keith was exploring an upper chamber and when he returned to the gloom of the lower room, he tripped and landed heavily in amongst the tombs. He lay for a while, recovering, and we were glad that scratches and grazes were the only lasting effects. Certainly no-one of Keith’s size could have been buried laid out in those rock tomb cavities, and neither was there enough room to have folded him up a bit. The tombs with the bodies at the museum had been longer, but now I wished I had paid attention to the position of the skeletons.
One church, the ‘domed church’, was unusual because not only had the inside been intricately carved with columns, arches and a very high dome, but the outside had been carved into a church roof too. They were certainly not afraid to advertise their presence. The frescoes were fairly worn, and, as in most places other than the museum, unprotected from the effects of weather and visitors. 
By this stage the path had led us high up the mountain and now we descended through an area where the rock dwellings had electricity and solar panels attached and shoes outside a wooden door. We spoke to some men who had just loaded a truck with bags of potatoes. They said that they exported some to Australia.
B
ack in the van, Sandros drove to Urgup, where we left them to find the bus back to Göreme. We saw potato trucks backing into storage warehouses cut into the rock – perfect for temperature control. Unfortunately we were just ten minutes late for the last bus so we had to take a taxi.
We had had a very special afternoon, seeing an area that would have been inaccessible to us and sharing the company of a very friendly and interesting family. It was another case of just being in the right place at the right time, and we were struck by our good fortune.
Mustafa was an absolute mine of information. He said that the Hittites were small people but that the later people were our size. The size of the tunnels was to do with stability with the rock. He himself ran through the tunnels after first crossing his hands in front of him at hip level, reducing his shoulder width and height. We lumbered awkwardly after him. It was a great visit and it was a treat to have Mustafa guide us.
We were still talking to Mustafa when the Italian people we had met in Güzelyurt emerged. They invited us to go with them in their mini-van to see a valley at Soğanlı which is not easily accessible, but was recommended by their Turkish friend. We all stopped for a drink and to taste some cheese pizza, and then we all piled in and set off. The children were thirteen year old twins, Agatha and Felicia, and seven year old Filipo. They attended an international school in Mozambique and were all fluent in English. The girls told us about their teachers and their two maids and how they wished to visit snow but their parents only like warm places. Only Isabella and Bruno, the grandparents did not speak English, but luckily I know some Italian from my school days and Keith had a few words too.
Lunch was at the most beautiful café, where the tables were in a meadow under blossoming apple trees, beneath a towering rocky mountain. A little stream meandered by. The proprietor spoke to our group in Italian and we thanked him in Italian, along with the rest. We had lentil soup, salad and the most delicious bread.
The valley was really interesting, with little churches and monastery complexes along it. Keith was exploring an upper chamber and when he returned to the gloom of the lower room, he tripped and landed heavily in amongst the tombs. He lay for a while, recovering, and we were glad that scratches and grazes were the only lasting effects. Certainly no-one of Keith’s size could have been buried laid out in those rock tomb cavities, and neither was there enough room to have folded him up a bit. The tombs with the bodies at the museum had been longer, but now I wished I had paid attention to the position of the skeletons.One church, the ‘domed church’, was unusual because not only had the inside been intricately carved with columns, arches and a very high dome, but the outside had been carved into a church roof too. They were certainly not afraid to advertise their presence. The frescoes were fairly worn, and, as in most places other than the museum, unprotected from the effects of weather and visitors. By this stage the path had led us high up the mountain and now we descended through an area where the rock dwellings had electricity and solar panels attached and shoes outside a wooden door. We spoke to some men who had just loaded a truck with bags of potatoes. They said that they exported some to Australia.Back in the van, Sandros drove to Urgup, where we left them to find the bus back to Göreme. We saw potato trucks backing into storage warehouses cut into the rock – perfect for temperature control. Unfortunately we were just ten minutes late for the last bus so we had to take a taxi.We had had a very special afternoon, seeing an area that would have been inaccessible to us and sharing the company of a very friendly and interesting family. It was another case of just being in the right place at the right time, and we were struck by our good fortune.
This is the underground city' winery. Keith is standing in the grape treading area, and the juice would drain to the area in the left of the picture below, where it was collected.
This picture taken in the underground city shows how holes were created in the walls and ceilings to tie things to, such as a baby's hammock.
Millstones in the underground had several uses in addition to blocking off the tunnels against enemies. Being basalt, they are much harder than the stone into which the city is carved. They were used for grinding and for moulding copper or bronze utensils.
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