Day 1. Hubby and I are ensconced in the KAL lounge at JFK, enjoying the complimentary snacks and adult beverages. We’re on a layover between our home in Pittsburgh and our ultimate destination, Istanbul. Yes, Istanbul. The one in Turkey. Why KAL lounge? Here’s a travel tip. If you apply for a Fairmont Visa card and are approved, you get 2 free nights at any Fairmont Hotel or resort, including breakfast, for 2, anywhere in the world. And you get a free pass to their associated airport lounges. And they waive the annual fee. As long as you spend $1000 in the first 3 months you own the card. Well, I can do that pretty much in my sleep, so here we are.
But why Turkey? There is a simple explanation. When I turned 50, and yes I must confess that I am now a woman of a certain age, I made a list of 10 places to go before I die. That sounds morbid, but let’s face it. I’m getting to the age where things start happening to people. If I want to do stuff, I better do it now. After all, in 20 short years I would be 70 years old, and who knows what kind of nonsense mother nature wants to throw at me between now and then? So according to my logic, if I visit one place in the list every 2 years, I’ll hit all 10 by the time I hit 70. If I live longer than that, BONUS! I’ll add Myanmar to the list.
I studied Hagia Sophia in an art history course back in college. It was built back when Istanbul was called Constantinople. It looked romantic. We also studied the 5th century churches in Ravenna. Some day, my 20 year old self said, I would really like too see those churches in Constantinople and Ravenna. In 1984, after I got into law school I quit my crappy paralegal job and went to Ravenna. Those 5th century mosaics lived up to their reputation. In 1986, I was in a job interview in Pittsburgh. The interviewer was well traveled and had photos of Hagia Sophia on his wall. “Is that Constantinople?” I asked. He enthusiastically replied yes, but said it was Istanbul. Doh! I knew that. But I think he liked that I got his travel passion. And he hired me.
In 1987, after taking the bar exam and before starting work in the Real World, I went to Paris for 3 weeks. I had the great luxury of staying at the apartment of a Parisian friend who was away on vacation. In Turkey. The French often had these long leisurely vacations, and a lot of them went to Turkey. Damn, I said to my 27 year old self. I really want to go to Turkey.
Forward 25 plus years. I won’t get into the details but we’ve been busy. In 2011, we went to Banff, high on my top 10 list. Wow Wow Wow! I will post some photos from that trip soon, but for now you have to trust me that Banff’s place on the list was well-deserved. So this year we picked Turkey. The situation in Turkey and the Muslim world generally is such that I believe things may get a lot worse before they get better. By “worse” I mean less hospitable to Americans. And I don’t want to wait until I’m 70 to see Hagia Sophia. So off we go.
We’re boarding now. Turkish Airlines. Let’s see if they merit their reputation as Europe’s number 1 airline.
I guess technically it’s still Day 1 since we have not actually landed yet. But the calendar has turned so for our purposes, it’s Day 2. Let’s talk about Turkish Airlines. I’m seated in the center seat of Row 11, Comfort Class, of a Boeing 777. This is a freaking huge plane. The appeal of Comfort Class is said to be its reclining seats, raised leg rests and ample leg room. Row 11 is the first row in Comfort Class, so the leg room is more than ample. I can stretch my legs straight out in front of me and not come close to touching the wall. Reclining seats? Not so much. They go back about as far as any other airline seat. Leg rests? They only rise about 6 inches. If you’re tall like my hubby, they don’t serve much purpose.
Each seat has its own entertainment center, where you can watch BBC news, catch a recent movie, or listen to a variety of musical styles. The entertainment center also lists email and internet services, but those were not available. Maybe they’re for use only on the ground, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to list them when they weren’t functioning. I decided to watch the movie “The Heat,” starring Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy, two very appealing actresses, in a female buddy cop scenario. This movie was described to me as “hilarious” by other women of a certain age, so I thought, why not a little guilty pleasure. Let me add that the reviews of this movie had not been kind. Unfortunately the critics were right on this one. Add the lameness of the plot to the fact that the movie was edited to remove all salty language and you have a pretty unwatchable piece of celluloid. Bad choices, Sandy and Melissa, bad choices. Turned it off about half way in.
How about the food? Let me share with you the excitement I felt when I booked this flight back in January and was given a wide variety of meal choices. Jain, halal, kosher, vegan, seafood, oriental vegetarian, to name just a few. Sorry to report the quality of food was just, meh. But the service! There’s an attendant whose only function seems to walking up and down the aisles, attired in a white chef’s coat and hat, offering piping hot rolls to the hungry passengers. Other attendants are equally friendly, and attractive to boot, seeming genuinely pleased to be serving us. When was the last time you saw that on a US carrier? Never? That’s correct. So the food may be lackluster but I sure did enjoy having it served to me.
Hate to end on a negative note, but check in was less than optimal. The Turkish Airlines counter opened promptly at 3:00 yesterday. We were 4th in a very long line of passengers of every possible race and persuasion. Check in should have been smooth and efficient. Our tickets were paid for and I had printed out the receipts. Did I have the credit card I used to book the flight, the perky agent asked. No, I did not. I didn’t want to use that card in Turkey, so why would I bring it? Without getting into the tedious details of what followed, I will just say that I tweeted once or twice (OK maybe 3 times) expressing displeasure with the chaotic hour I spent sorting out this nonissue. I must have done it right, because within minutes I received not one but 3 emails from Turkish Airlines asking how they could help. Long story short, we lost an hour we could have been spending luxuriating with the (other) beautiful people at the KAL lounge.
Would I flu Turkish Airlines again? Absolutely. Just bring the right credit card, and remember, it may be Comfort Class, but its still airline food.
We landed Turkish time: 11:26 a.m. Body time: 4:26 a.m. A long but fun day. We checked into our room at the Radisson Blu Bosphorus in the Ortakoy area on the European side and spent a lovely, leisurely afternoon ambling across the Galata Bridge that spans the Bosphorus, stopping under the bridge for fresh fish sandwiches (you point to the fish and they cook it up on the spot!) At the other side of the bridge, we found the Egyptian Market, which was packed with people but still very fun to wander around in. Then we crossed back over and walked up the street to the Galata Tower, bought tickets and climbed up for a really great view of the city. Weather was beyond perfect, sunny, warm, blue skies as far as they eye could see.
Well our first full day in Istanbul was so full of sightseeing and information and new experience I just don’t know what to say first. Should I talk about Fulaya, our private tour guide, who knows everything about Turkey and the mosques and the people and the art and the architecture and the history and where to eat and how to use the tram? Should I talk about Hagia Sophia and how it was built by Emperor Justinian in the 5th century and remained a church until around 1453 when the Ottomans defeated the Romans and changed it to a mosque, until around 1923 when Atatürk took over and made Turkey a secular country and changed it to a museum, or how that now that there’s an Islamist president it might be changed back to a mosque?
Or should I talk about the Blue Mosque, and how we had to remove our shoes and put them in a plastic bag, and I had to cover my head with the LLBean scarf I was wearing, and Jon had to tie a blue sheet-like thing around himself to cover his legs (he was the only man in Turkey wearing shorts) as we went inside and watched men praying on the carpet, on their knees, facing Mecca, and as we walked outside all the minarets in town were broadcasting the call to worship for the second of 5 times today?
Or maybe I should mention Topkapi Palace, where the Sultans used to live with their Harems, and the painted mosaics covering all the rooms, and the rose garden and the views of the Golden Horn, and the rooms full of jewels and daggers and boxes containing hairs or broken teeth of the prophet Mohammed and let’s not forget the room that contained the staff of Moses and the turban of Joseph (yes, the one with the coat of many colors) and as we’re viewing all of this there’s someone chanting verses of the Quran because the stuff we’re viewing is, you know, kind of holy and special to a whole lot of people in this world?
I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the Basilica Cistern underneath the old city which back in the day used to hold enough water to sustain a city under siege and has columns holding it up, including one with a carved head of Medusa on its side as its pedestal, but which is now used to impress tourists (it does impress, profoundly) and serves as a venue for musical acts.
How abut the food? Flaming salted fish, grilled calamari, eggplant 10 different ways, Turkish coffee, pistachio baklava, Turkish delight, and the thing I intend to try tomorrow, raki.
We also visited the Grand Bazaar, one of the largest covered markets in the world (and supposedly where the opening motorcycle chase scene from the James Bond movie “Skyfall” was filmed). What a crazy place, so full of people and shops and sounds and smells! We visited the shop of the artist Nick Merdenyan and bought the most gorgeous artwork, calligraphy on some kind of plant leaf that is unlike anything I have ever seen. He even framed it and delivered it to our hotel.
Believe me, we have barely scratched the surface of this fascinating city. Tomorrow we are on our own and will navigate public transportation to see few places off the beaten track.
Pierre Loti, Kariye Museum & Archaeology Museum
Today was not sightseeing as much as just tooling around like a local. We took buses, trams, taxis, and even a funicular up to the celebrated Pierre Loti Cafe, a charming spot high above the Golden Horn, where we drank tea and shared a bowl of ice cream and enjoyed some magnificent views.
The weather here in Turkey certainly does not disappoint. Glorious blue skies, dazzling sunshine. Our last full day in Istanbul was yesterday. We met up with another couple at the Ritz Carlton hotel (not really a couple, just friends traveling together) along with a guide who had been arranged for us by a mutual Turkish friend in Pittsburgh. The Ritz is located in the Taksim area of the city, where all the protesting was happening last summer (2013).
Two things about the Ritz. Oooh, it’s nice. It sits way up on a hill and has a magnificent view of the Bosphorus that makes our little view from the Radisson Blu look like the parking lot of a Motel 6. And our view is nothing to cry about. The Radisson is ON the water. You want Bosphorus, we got Bosphorus. But the Ritz is in a class by itself.
The second thing about the Ritz is the security. We drove up the hill to the gate (we arrived by taxi) and were stopped by security. They looked in the car. They looked in the trunk. They waived a mirror under the car. Because they were checking to make sure we hadn’t inadvertently or otherwise arrived with a bomb strapped to the bottom of the vehicle. That sort of thing is frowned upon in these parts. That was a little, shall we say, disconcerting. The Radisson Blu has security too. They have one of those cheap little metal detector things that you walk through, sort of like the ones they use at the public library to make sure you’re not making off with the latest best seller by Vince Flynn without checking it out first. Nobody’s monitoring it, and there are two other glass doors on either side that you can use to enter the lobby without walking through the detector. Doors that the bellman will even hold open for you. So yeah, the Ritz is classy and super secure, but even if i wanted to spend $750 a night to stay there, I’m not sure I would.
We began with a boat tour of the Bosphorus. We’d seen plenty of the Bosphorus from our hotel, from the tram, from above the city, from bridges, but we had not yet been out on the water. It was lovely to see Istanbul from this point of view, just the 5 of us cruising by the palaces, observing from a comfortable distance the hoards of people making their way along sidewalks, emerging from buses, trekking up hills, countless minarets silhouetted against the pale blue skies of October. The coolest thing for me was seeing Ataturk’s private ship anchored by the shore. It was about the size of a smallish yacht, with sharply pointed bow and stern, and two giant chimney type things for releasing steam. The other woman in our group said, “Huh. If I was Ataturk I would’ve had a bigger boat.” But it was 1923, and Ataturk wasn’t all about himself. Ataturk was all about Turkey. The boat tour was less about learning new factoids and more about enjoying the views of Istanbul. The captain brought us Turkish tea, and as I sipped from the clear glass, I thought, this is not too shabby. And indeed it was not.
We followed the boat ride with a tour of Dolmabahce Palace, where the Sultan moved the seat of government some time in the 1800s. This place had uber-security. Guards with guns. There is no, I repeat, NO photographing in the building. Our guide said she had a group of 29 people the previous day, and some smart ass person in her group ignored the no-photo directive. The guard was all over the guide like white on rice, like a duck on a June bug, like a dog on a bone. “What’s the matter with you?!” he bellowed. “I handle thousands of people every day and you can’t even manage this one small group??!” When she entered with our little group of 4, he looked at her and snidely remarked, “You again?” The reason for the OCD attention to security is that the Prime Minister has offices in the Palace that he uses when he’s in Istanbul. So I suppose a heightened sense of caution truly is in order.
I won’t bore you with the minutia of the crystal chandelier that’s so gigantic (weighs around 4 tons) that if it fell, it would kill an elephant if one happened to be standing beneath it. Or the crystal banisters. Or the portraits of all the sultans. Or the iron grates in the upstairs hallway where the female members of the household could peer down into the great ballroom where important matters of state or elaborate dinners were being conducted. Or the music box that was a gift of the Germans to the sultan, that played only European music and was the size of a freight car, and nobody knew what to do with it, so they stuck the thing in a back hallway in the women’s quarters and it has never been played. Not once. Talk about ungrateful.
The most interesting thing I think is the fact that all the clocks in the Palace are set at 9:05, the time of Ataturk’s death. Ataturk was The Man. He founded modern Turkey as a republic in 1923, after the Ottoman Empire was defeated in World War I. The victors offered the Turks a tiny slice of land for a country, and Ataturk said, nothing doing, we want the whole enchilada. Ataturk won that battle, banished the sultan, separated church (or mosque if you want to get technical) and state, gave women rights, and even instituted a new alphabet. That’s right, he got rid of the Turkish alphabet and adopted the western alphabet that the rest of the western world uses. The guy had some serious gravitas. So he is revered as no other person in Turkish history. Hence the observation of time of death on all the clocks in Dolmabahce Palace.
After lunch at a seafood restaurant under the Galata Bridge, we strolled up Istiklal Street, which is a totally happening area full of every kind of shop and restaurant, some schools, a few consulates, even a handful of Christian churches. The street is a wide boulevard closed to vehicles except for one San Francisco-looking streetcar, a bunch of constantly working street cleaners, and a serious quantity of police vehicles, some of which were clearly outfitted for riots. The street itself was teeming with people. And when I say teeming, I don’t mean Times Square teeming. I mean wall to wall humanity as far as the eye can see. Strangely, as you amble up the street toward Taksim Square with thousands of people every which way, it’s all very casual and orderly. It’s not noisy. People aren’t running or jostling each other. You actually have a kind of personal space that everyone around you respects. I guess it has to be this way. Otherwise this city would erupt in pandemonium.
Finally we arrived at the top of Istiklal Street to see Taksim Square. Before our trip, I was getting emails, texts and phone calls from concerned friends and family urging us to reconsider our travel plans. There was protesting in Turkey, centered at Taksim Square. People were upset about government plans to develop the area with a shopping mall and a mosque, and those protests grew into loud general opposition to the government. The current government is religiously conservative, to put it mildly. We heard more about things the prime minister has done to piss people off, like selling government land to Arabs, pushing prices up and importing people who subscribe to the most conservative brands of Islam. If I was Turkish I’d have my concerns too.
It was a long day and we were tired. We fell asleep before 9:00. The partying at clubs near our hotel began around 11:00, and with our windows open to let in the cool breezes from the water, we had music all night. It kept hubby awake but I slept like a baby.
Saturday night in the Ortakoy neighborhood of Istanbul is like a rave party on steroids. After hearing all the partying on Friday night that lasted into the wee hours, we expected more of the same. And it was the same, times two. We were snu
g in our bed, of course, being people of a certain age, but I’m pretty sure the rest of Istanbul was congregating beneath our hotel window. I slept well. All the activities of the past few days just caught up with me, so Twisted Sister could have been jamming in our hotel room and I was not going to notice. Hubby, not so much.
After breakfast on Sunday, we caught a noon flight to Izmir. Flying to Izmir from Istanbul–what a breeze! Tickets were around $35 and the flight took 45 minutes. Fact of the day: Izmir, which is on the Aegean, is Turkey’s 3rd largest city. Our hotel bumped us up to the executive level with a room facing the sea. Superlative view of cargo ships and fishing vessels floating peacefully in the harbor.
And what does one do for fun in Izmir? Not a whole heck of a lot, but after the crowds and hectic pace of Istanbul, strolling along the seashore was a welcome respite. We wound up at the Konak Pier, kind of an upscale shopping mall with tight security (“NO PHOTOS!”) We watched a spectacular sunset and I finally had a Raki, sort of like the Turkish version of ouzo. Order the single, not the double. Unless you want to enjoy the view from under the table.
Monday we visited Ephesus, billed as the largest and best preserved Greco-Roman classical city in the world….and its only 18% excavated. What can I say. UNESCO World Heritage sight. Go read about it, then get thee on a plane and go there.
Included in the tour was a visit to the House of the Virgin Mary on Mount Koressos just a few miles from Ephesus. Though I’m not Catholic, I have always revered Mary, and some claim that she spent the last nine years of her life at this house, which is now a Catholic shrine. How, exactly, the Virgin got to Turkey is not really explained, but if you’re a fan, this place is certainly worth a visit. There’s a beautiful statue of Mary, the house itself, and a wall where pilgrims (and tourists) can place prayers, sort of like a Catholic Western Wall.
The next day we ambled around Izmir. It was the 90th anniversary of the founding of the Turkish republic and a big parade was planned along the shore. We had also received a State Department email advising us of pro-government demonstrations planned for that day, which said demonstrations can become anti-American and that travelers should avoid large crowds. We debated about watching the parade, but I was not comfortable with the sizable military presence (“NO PHOTOS!”) so we went to the zoo instead. Spent close to $100 in taxi fare to do that, but it was another flawless weather day, so Hubby and I enjoyed a quiet morning with the animals. Other visitors were all clearly locals, so that was a bonus not to be surrounded by tourists. Plus one of my first dates with Hubby was at the Columbus zoo, so it seemed fitting that a zoo should somehow figure into our 25th anniversary celebration.
We ended our time in Izmir with a visit to Synagogue Street, which sits in a maze of open fish and produce markets and shops selling cheap goods and cute little local cafes. We walked around in circles looking for the place, and when we were standing there looking at a sign on a building that clearly said “synagogue” in Turkish, a man sitting nearby in the market, who looked to be about 90 years old with no front teeth, came over and asked us if we wanted to see the synagogue. He was speaking Turkish, so we figured out what he was saying based on him pointing to the building and pulling out a yarmulke from his coat pocket. He led me over to the synagogue door, put his hands on my head and said some Hebrew blessings and kissed me the top of my head. Then he said he speaks Spanish and resumed talking but we don’t speak Spanish either so that didn’t really bridge the communication gap too much. He then led us to another synagogue door around the corner and repeated the blessing. This whole time he’s talking and we have no idea what he’s saying, except for the blessing. Finally Hubby says “well thank you very much” and the man pulls off his yarmulke and turns it upside down. He wants a little something for the effort. Hubby put 5 Turkish lira in the yarmulke (about $2.50) and that wasn’t enough. Hubby added a few coins. Not enough. All we had left were big bills but I remembered I had a 2 Euro coin in the Baggalini I had borrowed for the trip, so I gave him that. He shrugged his shoulders and walked away. He’ll have to forgive us for not knowing the tipping protocol for old Jewish men who bless you in fish markets.
It was time to check out of the hotel and head to the airport for our flight to Cappadocia.
Cappadocia
We landed at Kayseri airport in Cappadocia and were met by a pre-arranged shuttle that was taking us to our cave hotel in Uchesar. Yes, you read that correctly. A cave hotel. More on that later. It was dark so we couldn’t see the landscape as the driver zoomed across bumpy roads and around hairpin turns. We knew this region was famed for its breathtaking but bizzare topography, but we couldn’t see a thing. The shuttle had about 10 passengers, and we struck up a conversation with a young woman wearing a Brown sweatshirt (the college, not the color.) She’s a Fulbright scholar working in Cappadocia for a year, to use her words, “helping queers from Iran settle in Cappadocia because they fear persecution in their home country.” She spoke with all the confidence of an Ivy Leaguer who has the world in the palm of her hand. It seemed rude to ask for an explanation of the word “queer”, which to us had always been a pejorative (again, we are of a certain age), so we just nodded stupidly and said we thought her job must be challenging.
After about an hour, we arrived at the Kale Konak Cave Hotel. It’s a hotel built into the side of a sheet of rock that is millions of years old. The rock was formed when volcanoes in the region erupted continuously for thousands of years, spewing ash that compressed upon itself. No lava, just ash. The result is a geologic oddity of gigantic rock formations made of countless layers of ash and rock, eroded into strange shapes over the eons by wind and rain.
Beginning around 2000 B.C.E. people began carving homes into the rock, in essence man-made caves. Over the centuries they dug deeper underground and added rooms for cooking, winemaking, storage, or just hanging out. Eventually they became underground cities where people could live and hide from various invaders over the centuries. We visited one underground city called Kaymakli that goes down 8 stories, has staircases and tunnels and even a primitive communication system consisting of carved out holes in walls separating the rooms. We also visited cave monasteries and learned more early Christian history than I could possibly recount here. Our guide, Shucru, had a degree in archaeology and history, as well as a job as a licensed guide. He knew his stuff.
Although the guided tour was great, fun and educational, the best part of the day, and one of the coolest things I have ever experienced, was the hot air balloon ride we took at dawn. Imagine standing in a great big picnic basket with 11 other people, a basket so big that you can climb inside and when you’re standing in it, the sides come up about to your chest. The basket is divided into two sections, each designed to accommodate 6 people. Before you’ve climbed in, the balloon has been inflated to about the height of a 3 story house. There’s a section at one end of the basket for the pilot, who operates the balloon using two levers that release gas into the balloon, making a gigantic flame and a loud whooshing noise every time he does it. It reminded me of the Wizard of Oz behind the curtain with the giant flame that kept scaring Dorothy and her friends. But the balloon rose ever so gently into the perfect blue sky.
Any anxiety I felt initially melted away because I was so enthralled by what I was seeing. We rose to a height of 900 meters, or close to 2700 feet. That is up high, my friend. There were 100 other balloons in the air at the same time, making me feel like I myself was a mere part of the fantastical landscape, not just an observer. If you are the kind of person who makes a bucket list, better add this one to it. An unforgettable experience.
Our last day in Cappadocia. We had to catch a van to the airport at 4:45, so we decided to explore on our own. Our hotel was in the cute little but not really happening town of Uchisar, and we’d read that the town of Goreme is fun to visit for shopping and cafes. This region is famous for its excellent hiking trails, and there happens to be a trail linking Uchisar and Goreme that’s about 4 kilometers long, very scenic, and not terribly challenging. If we were too tired to walk back, we could catch a dolmus for about 2 Turkish lira (around $1.25). It’s called the Pigeon Valley trail, because it meanders along a gorgeous valley, surrounded by steep rock formations into which people over the centuries have carved out little houses for pigeons. So after breakfast at our hotel, off we went.
Hubby is what I like to call goal-oriented. He becomes a man on a mission. We saw one sign in town pointing to Pigeon Valley so we followed it. After about a quarter mile, we saw a path leading away from the road down into a valley. I say “a” valley because there was no signage saying it was Pigeon Valley. But Hubby was 100% convinced this was the way. Maybe he was channeling his inner homing pigeon.
“Are you sure this is it?” I queried. “There should be a sign.”
“Of course this is it!” he responded. “It couldn’t be anyplace else.”
I don’t know why I was skeptical. Usually Hubby’s radar is uncannily correct. One time we were driving in Portugal, at night, without a map, looking for our hotel out in the middle of nowhere, and he found it. There were no road signs, and neither of us had ever been there before. And yet skeptical I was.
“OK. But if you’re so sure and turn out to be wrong, you have to buy me a Turkish rug.” We had been looking at Turkish rugs, in showrooms in Istanbul and in store windows around Turkey for a few days at that point. The salesmen (always men, never women, except for the ones sitting at the looms doing demonstrations) were charming, personable, funny. By the time they were done talking about the rugs you wanted to spend $40,000. And invite the sales guy to dinner.
He didn’t say he’d buy me the rug, but he did say, “I’m not wrong.” Ha!
And so we walked. It was another perfect day. 70 degrees, blue sky. Not a soul in sight. After about 40 minutes the trail got a little more challenging. The drop-offs became a little more treacherous. Finally we reached a point at which proceeding seemed almost suicidal because the trail basically ended, unless you count the sheer vertical sheet of rock between us and the next recognizable part of the path.
Just when we decided to turn back, we saw an old gentleman standing about 10 yards away, admiring the view of the canyon. Perhaps I forgot to mention we were now in a canyon, not a valley. The man was Turkish but knew a little English. Looking back on it now, I want to add in a snarky voice, “My, how convenient!” His face was brown and weathered and he was missing a few teeth. We explained our predicament as best we could.
“Pigeon Valley?” he laughed, “No, this Canyon Valley!” He spoke in Turkish, we pointed to Goreme on our rudimentary map of the area, and he started walking up the hill, motioning for us to follow him. He was a spry old bugger and knew all the right places to plant your foot so you don’t go sliding down a rock into a valley from whence there would be little chance of return. He took us on some path that we never would have found ourselves, one that included cutting through a few caves and coming out on the other side. He pointed out birds and bushes and trash left behind by tourists, chattering on in Turkish the whole time. He stopped at a walnut tree and began to look for fallen nuts to show us, like they were some exotic fruit the Americans had yet to discover.
“Walnut!” he exclaimed, throwing a stick up into the tree. “Viagra,” he laughed. We’d had plenty of Turkish people telling us olive oil and walnuts were nature’s Viagra. I have no clue why they think all we’re looking for is a little Viagra. He tossed a handful of walnuts to Hubby, who turned to me and said quietly, “what am I supposed to do with all these walnuts?” I shrugged my shoulders. Hubby tried to crack the walnuts by knocking them against each other, without success. The man laughed some more and showed us how to crack them open. You put two in one hand, then squeeze your palms together, and voila! Walnut meats, ready for the taking.
After walking with the man for about 20 minutes, he stopped and turned to us. “You have babies?” He asked. Oh yes, we said proudly, we have 4 boys! Then we heard a sad story. “I have daughter,” he said. “She grow up, live Istanbul. She sick. Need operation. Breast,” he said, pointing to the side of his chest.
“Do you have grandchildren?” Hubby asked. “My daughter have one,” he said. Of course she does, I thought. “She three,” he added, holding up three gnarly fingers. OK, come on, I continued to myself, let’s have it. Cut to the chase.
“I go Istanbul see her but expensive. Papa have no money.” We were perfectly willing to tip the guy. He saved us a big headache and was pretty entertaining too. Hubby opened his wallet and handed the man a 10 lira note.
“Ten lira!” the man scoffed. “That only enough for cigarette!” Hubby gave him another 10, and the man seemed OK with that. He pointed the way ahead and assured us we’d hit Goreme in about 5 minutes. We thanked him, and sure enough, we walked into the town of Goreme five minutes later, where we enjoyed a kind of pizza with cured meat for lunch.
The amusing part about this little story is that later on, I googled “Cappadocia map hiking trail” to try to see where we went wrong. Immediately I came upon someone’s travel blog from two years before that basically described what happened to us. A couple was looking for Pigeon Valley, they ended up on a treacherous path, an old man appeared out of nowhere, and well, you know the rest. For all we know the old dude took down all the Pigeon Valley signs knowing he could make a decent buck off unsuspecting tourists.
Even if he did, we don’t mind. It was a fun little misadventure. And did I mention the Turkish rug shop in Goreme?
52JoyStreet 