Cappadocia

I'll never stop being amazed by many things in life. One is the invention of the washing machine. Another might be the luxury of a thermostat controlled heating system at home. And surely to that list I'd add the magic of being in one place one day and waking up somewhere remarkably different the next.

After the quiet of Kos, we wake up today in Istanbul. Now, we aren't really in the center of the city and so the madness of that intersection of all cultures, nationalities, religions passing through, staying, not staying, returning, on the go, always on the go -- all that is not before us. But I look outside of the actually quite pleasant Titanic Hotel (I ask Ed -- why do you suppose they gave it the same name of a sinking ship? Memorable -- he says, without hesitation) and I see the waters of the city and I know I am not on the Greek islands anymore.






Breakfast is elaborate. I mean, there is an infinite number of courses and plates and I think Ed tries them all. It takes us 45 minutes to eat our way (well, really his way) through foods that make their way to our table.






Me, I'm fascinated with the Turkish honey comb. I've seen it dripping honey before and now I ask -- are you supposed to only catch the honey? Or break off the comb and eat it?  
Break off the comb with the honey and eat the whole thing! Delicious.
And it is, if you can quit thinking that you're chewing on beeswax.






And now we're at the Domestic Terminal of the airport -- same gate as when we were heading south! Only now, the demographics of the passengers changes. Who is going to Nevsehir with us? People who live in eastern Turkey and several handfuls of Chinese and Japanese tourists. See for yourself:






When no one else even thinks of traveling abroad - in the wettest, coldest, most off putting seasons - Asian tourists get on that flight and go to all the places that offer a glimpse at another world. I admire them for that.

The flight to Nevsehir is only an hour, but it is a bumpy, rocky flight -- one of those incomprehensible to me times when the clear air makes the plane bounce so much that the flight attendants have to sit down, or else. But the views toward the mountains are, well, heavenly.






And then we are there: on this high plateau toward the eastern part of Turkey (1000 meters high, so that the air stays cold all winter long. Okay, cold relative to other parts of Turkey. We're to have temps at around 40 during the day and around 20 at night).

What's so special about this place? Well now, let's see if I can give it a just description.

Initially, Ed says it reminds him of America's western frontier lands.






Our mini bus drives through what looks like barren and dry land, except it's not that barren and dry because there are small vineyards scattered throughout and we all know grapes need water.

We come to a small town and our bus driver inexplicably has us change to another mini bus. He is still the driver. We continue. Until he does a neat u-turn and goes back to the town we just left behind. We think he forgot something in the other van. Here's a photo of the town where we changed vans. Notice something unusual about it?






So it is after noon when we arrive in Urgup -- the village that abuts the region of Cappadocia.

We're staying at the lovely, absolutely lovely family run Fresco Cave Boutique Hotel ("Fresco" because it is in part an 18th century mansion with Islamic art presented in frescoes throughout). It's sort of a given that if you come to Cappadocia, you'll wind up staying in a cave hotel. So now you know -- we are in an area of caves.

I actually resisted the whole sleeping in a cave thing and asked for a room that was just "normal," but we got upgraded (off off season works magic tricks like that) to a suite which has a "normal" old living room attached to a cave bedroom and bathroom, so that, as the proprietor tells us --we can experience it all. This utter luxury comes to us for 100 Euro per night, including the airport transfer (and the airport is a good 50 kilometers away) and a copious cooked breakfast, and taxes etc etc.








(the cave part)




(the view from all those sun drenched windows)


There is so much to see in this area, but I am absolutely sure where we must start, because we have been so incredibly lucky with the weather! It is cold but sunny outside and that is a wonderful turn of events: the rains went elsewhere -- I don't know where, I think Rome, but wherever they went I want to thank them for their detour because Cappadocia cannot be appreciated fully without a clear sky to add the right light and of course a dry spell to keep the paths from turning into gushing torrents of mud. In other words, I want to hike.

Our proprietor helps us with this: she arranges a taxi -- it's no good to rent a car because the trails are not loops -- they continue through the valleys in between rock formations -- and she lends us her cell so that we can actually call when we are done.

So... you ask, okay okay okay, but what is this place anyway?

I could tell you in words: how volcanoes erupted and sent lava flowing through here 50 million years ago. How erosion then carved fairy chimneys out of the terrain. How in early times, people chiseled homes, churches and indeed entire cities into these cliffs.

But you should know this too: Cappadocia, for all its recent appeal to tourists with lovely little hotels and well marked trails and beautiful sunsets and God knows what else, Cappadocia is unspoiled. It follows a village rhythm and the people still are delighted if you tell them you've traveled far to be here.

So come on, let's get to it -- a hike, a long hike through the valleys and gorges and caves -- an empty trail today, because the tourists, like at the Grand Canyon, congregate at certain view points, leaving the gorge, the climbs, the magnificent paths in utter quiet. (During our 3.5 hour hike -- it was that long because we got lost twice -- we encountered a hardy Chinese duo and we were so grateful, because we were in a cave and they had an iPhone with a flashlight and so we could see where the large puddles offered some stepping stones! And, secondly, we ran into a family of Turks from... Cappadocia! They were thrilled to meet us -- from America?? Yes?? We are all from Cappadocia! From here! From this area!  Here they are, welcoming us, welcoming you!






Alright. Mustafa, our taxi guy, leaves us at one end of the trail and we hike. And right away we take a wrong turn, but you already know that. So let me not throw more words at you, just follow along with us through this spectacular lunar landscape, on this late afternoon in February:



(the start of the trail)





(tall cliffs against a blue sky)





(ancient burials, chapels, dwellings carved into the cliffs)





(a closer look)





(trail passes through caves)





(towering above us)





(in the light of the fading sun)





(path gets icy for a bit)





(again through a cave)





(a few times we had to mount iron rungs -- this is where my tail bone started really protesting!)





(a tricky stretch)





(a gentler segment)





(then another steep climb)





(looking down)





(victorious at the top: my tail bone cooperated! Sort of.)





(looking to the north)





(heading down now)





(many have commented on the anatomical shapes of some of the "candles")





(no ridge looks the same)




 
(looking back...)





(looking forward; that small peak in the middle? That's not a fairy candle, that's a mosque, telling us we made it to our destination!)




(the village of Cavusin)


I call Mustafa from here and we use the handful of minutes to stroll around, looking at the stalls of local artifacts. I don't usually post funny photos of incongruous juxtapositions, but I could not resist this one: a local family passing something that clearly is supposed to speak to the interests of tourists.





At one stall of ceramics, the vendor comes up and engages us -- not really pushing a sale, just the usual "where are you from."
America! I have visited it!
Where did you go?
California and the Grand Canyon!
Ah yes. You want to see what the "other one" is like. Did you like it?
Yes... He pouts a little here. Yours has a river running through it. Oh God, do we always have to try to present a bigger better version of what exists elsewhere?


Mustafa arrives and we drive back slowly. He is proud of his region and he shows us especially attractive formations at the side of the road.






Perhaps it is too much for you, you sweet, patient Ocean readers -- all those cliffs and boulders! But I have to say, this day is one that will stay with me. For many many reasons. So, just one more cliff photo...





And I'll stop for today.

We ate dinner at a place called Ziggy. A lovely little eatery with a gracious and friendly staff. Just up the street from our hotel.






Ed wasn't hungry, but he was a good guy today and nibbled on a salad as I devoured smoked eggplant and skewered chicken bits in olive oil and garlic.










I come back now to my thoughts from this morning: I shake my head at the incredulity of this: in Cappadocia today, tomorrow, even Tuesday morning. In Madison Wisconsin Wednesday afternoon.

return to Turkey

Greek habits

Nothing in Greece appears to be entirely smoke free. Only portions of dining rooms are  for nonsmokers -- which, predictably, works only if you're far from those in the other, smoking section.  And, unfortunately, here, like in so many European countries, smokers command the prime patio and partly enclosed spaces, pushing the nonsmokers inside, even in great weather. Ah well. With time things will shift, as they have in the States. (One can hope.) For now, we could not request a nonsmoking room at the hotel. To my relief, there wasn't a nicotine odor inside. Except when our neighbor smoked in the evening. A faint smell would tell me that he's at it again. In the end, I opened the balcony door wide for the night (it stays in the fifties here, round the clock) and it's a shame that I discovered only on the last night how wonderful it was to sleep listening to the waves outside.

A Greek inter-island ferry came in just before sunrise and I went outside to watch it move swiftly and loudly across the waters. And of course, the sky at this hour was stunning. These colors are not photoshopped. They're the real deal.






The balconies at the hotel are partitioned with tinted glass which made for a fantastic split viewing of the progression of sunlight and Greek ferry docking.






At breakfast...





... our waiter talked about someday visiting Chicago. His friend has family there. But he explained that he only has time off in the low season and his friend, who was in Chicago now, told him that it was -20C outside and our waiter just couldn't imagine that amount of cold! He hoped his friend would not bring it back with him to Kos.


Testing bones

Our ferry leaves for Bodrum at 4p.m. and so we have a few hours to kill in Kos town. We walk over to the main square and lo! What do you know -- the ice skating rink is open!

How much? I ask.
4 Euros for half hour and today there is a special because it's the next to last day that we have skating: you can choose a full hour, also for 4 Euro.
I wondered who would pick the half hour option. Not me!  
Why is this the next to last day? I ask this, but I know the answer: it's the end of winter for them. Skating is for winter. They're done with it.

So I put on the skates (an odd combination of hokey and figure, only without the little teeth that give you control) and the rink is really tiny and quite ripply and perhaps more significantly, I haven't skated since Ed and I found a rink on our travels to Quebec eight years ago (sigh...). So it takes a bit of concentration to get that confidence going.






And then that confidence surges and leads me to do risky things -- weaving in and out, dancing to music, silly twirls, fun things, until my blade catches on some chip in the ice and I wind up forcefully, very forcefully crashing on my rear end. On the sit bone part of it.

That knocked the wind out of me! But, testing movement this way and that leads me to think that I am sore but fine and I definitely want to finish my hour of skating. A sublime, music filled hour of skating. There's a lot you can do even in small spaces so long as you control your speed.






But, once off the ice, I note that I have one very sore tail bone.
You probably fractured it, Ed tells me reassuringly. It'll heal. He says as an afterthought.
Well now, surely this will test the strength of my bones! May I hope for a rapid mend?  
Give it two, three weeks.

We walk very slowly along the harbor (I felt less sore when skating) for one last look at the small fishing boats that come in, go out, come in...






One fisherman shared his bounty with a handful of Kos cats.  So it's not fair to say that the Greeks do not look out for their strays.






I think about how everyone on this island must know everyone else. How I'm starting to see the same faces appear on the square, at the harbor, around the corner. There are no secrets on an island this size. Not in the winter, not when the place is stripped of all except those who make this their home.


Finishing up the day on Kos

Our waiter had asked us why we don't come back when the weather is beautiful -- like in late spring. Ed says -- too many people then. Oh, indeed! Is that the only reason?
I think -- does it feel weird to know that you wont be back, ever? Of course, I probably wont be back either, but I leave open the possibility. I do not say -- no, never. Not your island. I've seen it, I'm done with islands.

We walk back to our hotel, pick up our bags and make our way back to the ferry. Slightly bigger than the one coming, slightly more people on it. To Bodrum.






The ride is smooth. The skies are misty, ephemeral, but the seas are calm.






At one point a handful of passengers cluster at the rail. What? What? Dolphins, I'm told. But I'm too late to see them.


In Bodrum now. Big yacht Bodrum.  Bill Gates keeps his boat here.






Then to the airport. The agent who helped me purchase online ferry tickets had her husband give us a ride. A British guy who married a Bodrum woman and stayed.
Miss the UK? -- I ask.
Not at all. I could never live there anymore. Too violent. Things like that -- the murders, the aggression -- they would never happen in Turkey.

We catch a flight to Istanbul where, late at night, we pull up to one of those highrise airport hotels (called the Titanic, of all things) that will leave no impression at all, but certainly has convenience written all over its tall glass face.

Dinner? I eat a hotel salad and we divvy up left over cold pizza slices from yesterday. Really.

Tomorrow morning we fly way to the east and a bit to the south of Turkey -- to Nevsehir. I'll write next from there.

Kos, the town

Our last full day in Kos is so leisurely that I think it makes my leg muscles twitch from inactivity. Expecting cloudy skies (we got 'em!) I left this day wide open. If it rained, I would not be disappointed. In the end, it did not rain and we concentrated on giving ourselves a closer inspection of Kos, the town.

So, appreciating the mostly cloudy but nonetheless beautiful sunrise...






...we slowly went down to breakfast (a repeat of all the others we've had here)...






...and then I proposed we visit the Casa Romana -- the largest Roman villa in Greece. Mosaics, fountains, that kind of thing. At least that's what the guide book tells me. It also tells me that it reopened in 2009 after a period of restoration and that it is open to the public from Tuesdays through Sundays.

So explain to me, please, why it is, in fact, closed. You cannot, I know you cannot. In the same way that the desk clerk could not explain to me why the Ciao pizzeria was closed a couple of days back, and in the same way that no one could explain to me why the ad hoc skating rink in the middle of the town square here is closed today. Nor when it would reopen. Maybe at 11. Or the afternoon. Or the evening. Or maybe not today. (Yes, I surely would have skated in the middle of the town square here, what with fifty degree temps and no sign of snow anywhere, not even in the mountains. Instead, we watched the poorly insulated compressor work its tail off trying to keep that ice on the rink in a skateable condition. With no one skating on it.)

Some things just cannot be explained.

So what photos do I offer you? Well, of our walk through town. I seem to have focused on pairs of men, pairs of women. In the first photo, do take note of this unusual feature of Kos sidewalks: trees take precedence! Walking can be a challenge if you stubbornly want to retain the right of way and someone is coming from the opposite direction. A second thing to note -- the prevalence of black attire.





















The last photo well describes our own walk through the ancient agora: or, the ruins of the ancient agora. I have mixed emotions about this place. The old stones, pillars, foundations are so overgrown with grass and weeds that on the one hand I want so say -- get some goats out here, quick! -- but from another perspective, I'm thinking -- maybe this is how I should take it in? Crumbling, overgrown, a pile of rubble with grasses threatening to cover it completely. Something so insubstantial as blades of grass with a few dandelions, covering an entire site of a civilization that is no more. Isn't that a more accurate rendition of a historical reality?











We walk back to our hotel with the perfect view onto the sea and I do yoga by the window, keeping my focus on the still waters.


In the late afternoon, we venture out again, this time along the shore, away from Kos town center and toward the rather stately marina. As usual, Ed takes the time to describe to me the various boats and their idiosyncratic features. I want to tell him -- no more travel means no more admiring boats in stately marinas, buddy! But I stay silent.






We cover the whole terrain, every boat, every last rich person's sailing dream and then we continue on to the repair center, where boats are whipped up into shape, paint job and all...






Contrast this wealth-driven paradise with a photo of Kos strays...






And, too with this photo of a man on a bench by the water. He sensed that we were English speaking. When we passed him, he shouted out a greeting. His dog wagged his tail. We petted the dog. The dog wagged his tail more forcefully. The man's face broke into a wide grin and he said with pride: Demi. Name is Demi. Demi wagged as if there was no tomorrow.







In the evening we say good bye to Greece by going across the street to Avanti -- a nice Italian pizzeria. I know. It makes no sense and I will surely miss the fresh fish when I leave this place. Still, a pizza tasted so good...





Ed can't resist it either and so we eat for once together, in step, as if this was like any other meal on any other day back home.


Tomorrow (Saturday) we ferry over back to Turkey and then we fly back to Istanbul and then we hope for just two days to get decent weather because we have some more outdoor stuff to do and it just wont do if it rains crazy rains (which are indeed in the forecast). I know my posting schedule is off. You'll forgive me. You always do and I'm so very grateful for it.