Konya to Selime, Turkey, Tuesday 15th March

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After stocking up on picnic goodies, we collected our packs from our hotel and walked to the Ataturk Museum. It is in the building that Ataturk stayed at in 1923, and displays numerous photos from his life and also the clothes he wore and other items such as his tea pots and clocks. He had a decidedly modern taste and we are not sure if it is art deco or art nouveau but it certainly was not Ottoman or classic.

Unfortunately for us, everything was in Turkish, and despite being the owners of a new dictionary, our 16,000 words were not enough to keep up with the complexity of the content. Also, it is a pretty tedious way to read. There was a photo of a tribute written by Queen Elizabeth II, which Keith took a photo of because it showed that she has very messy handwriting.

I am impressed by Ataturk and his achievements, although I know that some groups were suppressed by his policies. I was disappointed not to be able to understand more about him, but otherwise I felt honoured to be in that museum and to look into the life of a great man. Australians often quote Ataturk on Anzac Day. He said,

Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives … you are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side in this country of ours. You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well.

The weather was quite hot and we were perspiring under our heavy loads. Most other people were dressed for winter, with women of all ages wearing full length overcoats. Many high school students had a decidedly ‘girls and boys of St Trinians’ look with ties worn half mast over skin tight white shirts and short kilts or grey trousers, respectively. Women in their teens and twenties dressed as our young people do, with about a third of them wearing head scarves. After that, it appeared that there was an enormous change to more conservative and traditional dress, with long skirts and scarves or baggy trousers being common. Older women seemed to be generally very portly, and wore baggy floral pants which are really a skirt with only the bottom bit joined together. Over that they wore a knit long sleeved top or jumper and a knitted vest that came down below the hips, also a head scarf with some being in the village style. Men above about 40 were dressed more neatly than in Australia, with suits and vests or trousers and jackets being the norm for all walks of life. Hair for men was varied, with some men wearing it longer than we had seen before in Turkey.

Our trip in a crowded tram with our bags was fairly squashy, but kind fellow passengers told us a stop before, that we were about to reach the bus station. Keith was given a seat, in deference to his age, which was a first for him.

Once again we were pampered on our three hour bus trip. We passed through a fairly dismal landscape of grassed plateaus with mountains that looked like bauxite mines, rising from them. A couple of villages were built almost entirely of mud bricks and the horse and cart could be seen on side roads. Eventually we reached Aksaray and saw the mini-bus to the other bus station just pulling out. A staff member whistled and stopped it so that we could get in. Having been helped to get out at the right place and our next port of call pointed out to us, we crossed the road and searched for a bus to Selime. The driver of a nearly full minibus to Selime said that they would be leaving at three, so since it was already ten past, we hopped on. Our packs went up on the roof rack. This time the landscape changed dramatically, with little villages in the middle of nowhere breaking up the barren mountains that are mostly sandy coloured rock with harder volcanic plugs or outcrops on top of them. We were on the edge of the Cappadocia region; famous for its ‘fairy chimneys’ and other weird geological formations. At Selime, we and the village were surrounded by them.

Fellow passengers, looking at the suggested accommodation in our Lonely Planet, organised us again and we found ourselves getting off at a restaurant at the far end of town. It was owned by the same people as the only currently open pension; a grand building we had passed at the start of the village. We were driven there in the complementary taxi (family car) after the very welcome welcoming cup of tea.

The hotel was a bit like a Jane Austen mansion, but entirely Turkish once inside. Various family members work alternately at the pension and the restaurant and they are all kind, friendly and keen to help. This includes younger boys of 10, 11 and 14.

By the time we had settled in it was 4.30 pm, so we set off to have a picnic lunch/tea on the river bank. On the way we met some primary aged boys who asked, “What’s your name? My name is so and so. Money money, bon bons.” They followed us to the river bank adding “Photo, photo, money, money.” It was awkward and embarrassing because they didn’t go away when we spoke to them and they didn’t go away when we ignored them. I felt that I couldn’t eat without offering them something and Keith felt that he couldn’t eat and offer them something, as it would only encourage them. To top off this non-picnic, a tractor arrived across the river from us and dumped a putrid calf corpse there. The smell was only marginally improved when the farmer pushed dirt over it. We left, followed by the persistent band, and walked for ages along the banks. The group followed, enjoying a game of spying on us from behind trees and then reappearing happily. They wouldn’t have realised our feelings or that we wanted to have a picnic in peace and probably thought they had used English and been friendly to us.

After a very long walk we left the banks and came to a children’s playground. We sought refuge there and enjoyed our picnic while young children played on the equipment. Some children there came over and we thought, “Oh No!” but they were just wanting to speak English and show us that they could count to one hundred, and say some words for days of the week. They also said, very seriously, “We are citizens.” After they had had a little chat they went back to their games.

That evening we caught up on some blog pages and photos. I sat on the steps of our grand abode and watched the dusk swallow the valley. The sheep bells rang, announcing the flock’s progress up the road, escorted by silhouetted figures.