Cappadocia

Day 5
While the muzziene was calling devotees to the mosque for prayers at sunrise this morning we were attending to a call to the domestic terminal for our flight to Keyseri  in the Cappadocia Region of Central Anatolia, . Thank goodness there was only very light traffic at this early hour or we would have needed to get up even earlier.  We flew east across the Bosphorus and the Asian side of Istanbul which spreads for a long way since 95% of the 15 million residents live on this side. Eventually though the urban sprawl broke up into a patchwork of fields coloured irregularly anything from bleached wheat crops to verdant green grapevines spreading over the plains.  Occasionally this patchwork is interrupted by areas more lunar like, with bizarre shapes called fairy Chimneys which is what we have come to see.  After landing we were driven for about an hour to Goreme and appreciated the sense of freedom to travel at speed without traffic congestion and its associated smog. It was such an early start we were looking forward to freshening up in our room before the afternoon tour.  

We soon discovered this is not to be, the tour is already underway and the van is on its way to the office where we have been deposited, we can check in at the end of the tour! In no time at all we are on our way again. The tour companies have everything organised into either a red or green day tour and we are booked to do red today.  We visited site after site of these fascinating rock caves, some are peoples’ homes, others are churches that were established in the fourteenth century, the days when it was forbidden to practice Christianity.  

The rock is the result of eruptions from three local volcanoes that you see in the distance, each snow-capped even at this time of the year. It is an astonishing landscape but we do feel a little like ants all following in the footsteps of the person ahead. It is very hot (38deg), even for us – not a skerrick of humidity - and many in the crowds that disgorge from the buses at each place of interest are not dressed very sensibly.  At each stop I see them getting more and more sun burnt.

We are staying in one of the cave hotels which are the specialty of the region, this one is the Vesir Cave Suite Hotel, and doing things a little easier than Fred and Wilma Flintstone. The underground temperature remains very pleasant all day and night at this time of the year and it is not so dusty as we remember the underground experiences in Coober Pedy. Perhaps that was because it was backpacker level and this is somewhat superior. All the soft furnishings are luxurious fabrics of Turkey, even our balcony has a carpet.

Day 6

Today we were on the Green Tour which began with a panoramic viewing spot above Gerome, then on to an underground monastery followed by a 4km walk through the green and shady Ihlara Canyon with lunch in an open air restaurant by the stream at the end.  This walk has been the first opportunity we have had to see and hear birds other than sparrows and gulls. We shared the table with a couple from Portugal who are very worried about the state of their economy which is similar to that of Spain right now.  You wonder how many other economies in the European Union are in the same boat as Spain, Greece and Ireland but we have not heard about them yet.

Travelling through this countryside reminds us fondly of our days in Juseu, Spain about the same time last year.  We are watching weathered men and women tending the fields with hand tools and growing the bulk of their own fruit and vegetables. Lots of pumpkin and zucchini in the fields, apricots, mulberry, olive and walnut in the orchards and tomatoes and eggplant in the backyards. Birds are highly valued in this region, not for their eggs but their droppings as a rich source of fertilizer.  Hundreds of dovecotes, hollowed out of the rock pinnacles, are there to attract nesting pigeons .
 We've also been intrigued to see the shepherds watching flocks of sheep and goats, some have a dog and donkey along. There are no fences here although in some areas farmers have made good use of the stones and built walls. 

After lunch we visited the amazing underground city of Derinkuyu. It has 8 stories and an extensive network of tunnels and rooms carved into the rock. It was a surprise to find how sophisticated this underground world is, equipped with living rooms, dining areas, stables, a wine cellar and a small chapel all connected to ventilation shafts. The people didn’t live here all the time, just when they were taking refuge from soldiers or invaders. They were hidden by massive millstone doors that could be opened only from the inside and incorporated traps and clever communication systems that included courier pigeons. There are a number of these cities in the region.

On the way back to Gerome we visited a dried fruit and nut wholesaler who gave us samples of many of his products and then an Onyx factory where we watched a demonstration of stone polishing. Lucky for me, I remembered that the word Cappadocia means “land of the beautiful horses” and so I was given the demonstration piece as a momento.

On returning to our Vezir Cave Suite Hotel we noticed a lot of activity at the neighbouring family's courtyard. Turns out a young lad was high up in the mulberry tree and all the women were underneath collecting the falling berries. The courtyard also has large dying pots and a massive drying rack for the hanks of wool.  We were invited to enter the workshop where we could watch one of the women working on a wool carpet. Then the boys also showed us the silk loom and the raw silk cocoons and how it is spun into thread for dying. 

We were met by Trace once we made it home, an Australian girl now living here. A travel agent in Sydney she came here initially to attend an Anzac Day service and has more or less stayed ever since, working in travel and tourist related businesses. She has just spent a miserable 7 weeks in Sydney where it apparently rained every day and she is so happy to be back here in the sunshine. She did explain though that this are can be pretty bleak in the winter when it is snowing.

Day 7

Six o'clock in the morning and much of the town is still sleeping but not those employed in the hot air balloon industry.  The lads have driven the balloons and baskets out to the fields and have the gas fired up.  A fleet of mini buses has already been collecting sleepy-eyed tourists from their hotels and we now find ourselves milling about in the Urgup assembly hall, coffee in hand while we are assigned to a pilot. 

Soon we are drifting over a field of apricot trees, lifting higher and higher with each blast of the propane.  Every now and then the pilot gives the gas a rest and in the silence the basket skims so low alongside the treetops that you feel you could lean across and pick the fruit from the branches. Moments later – gently, imperceptibly – the balloon is a kilometre above the earth, floating over a silent canyon where rose-pink, creamy white or honey-coloured rock formations are rising to meet us like the turrets of a child’s sandcastle – each one unique. To view it from the air, to see what the birds see when they soar on the thermals, is magical. What a thrill. Flying in a balloon is one of the best sensations ever. Like parachuting there's almost no feeling of motion, and apart from occasional roars from the burner when the hot air needs topping up, the only sounds in the sky are of birdsong. We were thrilled to see a few orange Hoopoes while we were ballooning, these birds rival even the Australian Bazza as the funniest looking of all our feathered friends. Zipping about below us, they are easily recognized by their crest and striking black and white barred wings. 

Every now and then the basket of the balloon rotates gently as our pilot uses guide ropes to open and close the flaps in the balloon. There are more than 20 passengers in this basket and as you scan the skyline you wonder at the number of other balloons aloft, there must be more than 50 and this happens more than 300 days a year, even in the snow.  It all feels so normal until you catch a sudden glimpse of your shadow on a rock face, or cornfield far below, and remember how far away you are from the ground.

As the balloon flight comes to an end our pilot, who has been in constant radio contact with her team, determines where she wants to land, and the 4wd and trailer that have been shadowing us discreetly since take-off, head over in our direction. The passengers are commanded to assume the landing position (similar to the brace position in an aeroplane) for our touchdown, which takes place in a field of wheat. Not exactly as soft as a feather, but it is safe and the boys quickly secure us and finish the deflating. We clamber out of the basket to share in the traditional toast of champagne that follows each flight.