the last day

Such mixed emotions in leaving Cappadocia! I am in awe of the landscape, the people, the pace of life here! But, too, I think about our last hike: just like Ed's decision to retreat from travel closes some doors for me, the attack by the pack of dogs, too, cuts back on forms of exploration. I'm not in a hurry to go on long hikes in remote rural areas just now, in the same way that I am never in a hurry to ramble alone in urban neighborhoods with high crime rates. You smell danger, your instincts are to stay away.

Of course, the reality is that a car ride back home is more of a risk than a ramble through the countryside in the regions that I tend to visit. But, were I to hike now in a quiet valley, I would listen for dogs. That's no fun. I'm adjusting my vision for my immediate travels (which are actually still this month). They wont include desolate, unpopulated areas of the world, that's for sure.

So I wake up early on this last day in Cappadocia and that's a shame because Ocean writing kept me up very late and then, too, there was that restless sleep. But, on the upside, I am there for the sunrise. I step outside for it: the Fresco hotel is near the top of a rock formation and so the views are truly sublime.






It's cold, really cold, but I wait patiently for that moment when the sun throws down it's first blaze of light.






I am here, I am well, it is morning, I must continue.

Breakfast is, as before, delicious. Eggs with tomatoes and peppers, plus the usual Turkish foods -- cheeses, cucumbers, olives, tomatoes. And halva. And cakes if you want them. And figs and nuts and dollops of honey over yogurt... The usual.












We give up on the idea of a pre-departure walk. There is no time for it. A sweet and warm goodbye to Gamze and we're off. And the Turkish Airlines flight is uneventful, and in Istanbul, since we have time, we take public transportation into the city -- a metro ride, then a long tram ride and finally we are in the old section of the city, right by the historic mosques. We're staying at the familiar Neorion Hotel and they upgrade us to a room with a phenomenal view...






...and so it's all good, no?

Well yes, mostly yes. But I am acutely aware that Ed is no longer excited by being here and that the negatives of this large, crowded city outdistance the positives for him and so, to a degree, for me as well. Moods rub off when you are close to your traveling companion. His definitely has had an effect on me.

And it doesn't help that we take a walk straight to the heart of the garment district and then up to the Grand Bazaar. I don't know why we go there. Perhaps I want to be mesmerized and dazzled by the Turkishness of such a place. Of an older sort. The mod, cosmopolitan crowd tends to congregate on the other side of the Galata Bridge. But the streets feel too crowded. It's hard to even walk.


















...too crowded for good photo taking...






And as if all this isn't enough to make me want to go back to the hotel and crawl under the covers and be done with the day, there is the issue of the weather. It feels cold. I don't know why. It is near forty degrees -- warmer than in Cappadocia, but the wind is blustery and I feel under dressed, or under prepared, or something.

So we do a quick walk through the Bazaar...


















...and then through a section of the Spice Market too, but when it comes time to go to the water's edge, because after all, isn't this what Istanbul stands for? The trade, the coming and going of vessels, the movement on the waters as much as on the streets here? Well, when it is time to pay homage to the Bosphorus, I say -- no, enough. Let's go back.

I had wanted one last fish dinner but in the end, that too was not to be. I haven't the enthusiasm for it and the chill in the air is too big of a disincentive.

But we do something that actually turns out to be deliciously fun -- we go back to the eatery just a couple of blocks from our hotel.






We had wanted to grab a supper there last time, but it closes early and so we missed it. It's a simple place where they serve only one thing: roasted lamb with a spicy tomato and pepper sauce and yogurt -- you mix it up, wrap it in thin bread and voila!










Of course, it's all in the goodness of the meat (the plastic coated "menu" speaks of lambs feeding on thyme and wildflowers. Very evocative!). And though the place is simple and cheap, the food is terrific. And since it is a place that Ed helped identify last time, he is, for once, into his food tonight.

We do retire to our hotel room after. Out the window, I watch dusk set in over Istanbul.







And then I have some email exchanges with my girls back home and I perk up a bit, because one of them asks for a small favor and so even though it is dark already, I leave Ed to his computer and run out for a quick hunt and now it does not feel so cold: I am energized.  I am again a bird in flight, or a pony on a gallop. No, not cold at all.

And after completing the small errand, I take in the night lights over the mosques...






...and now I really am ready to call it a day.

The quarter moon shines brightly over Istanbul tonight.






We're up at 3 for a flight to Paris at 6 and a flight to Detroit at 11 and a flight to Chicago at 3 and a bus ride who knows when to Madison, where it's cold, they say. Though maybe not so cold for us -- two people, wanting, for different reasons, to be home right now.

heading home

This morning, I stepped out of our hotel room to watch the sun rise over the hills of Cappadocia.





I had had a restless night and it took a sunrise to put me in good form again.  But that's all you get for today. We are in transit and so you'll have to wait for a longer post until I land in the Midwest tomorrow. I'll catch up with Ocean then.

In the meantime -- many many thanks for writing here on Ocean in the weeks that I was away. It's been a trip of twists and turns and the stable presence of Ocean friends was especially lovely!

a day like no other

This day! It had everything: a hike, a crazy ambulance ride, hospital visits (two hospitals!), sunshine, kindness -- so much kindness, and finally a gorgeous sunset, and dinner for me, on a tray, at home.

So which do you want to hear first?

I vote for chronology.

We go down to breakfast.  The hotel kitty loves my untied shoelaces.


 



We eat in the lovely dining room of the Fresco hotel, where sunshine streams in and gives such warmth to the meal that for a minute, we forget that it is only in the twenties outside.




(outstanding)





(fruit)





(honey)



We have this last day here, in the central Anatolian region of Turkey. A region where people move slowly and have no harsh words to offer, especially not to strangers, and especially not to foreigners. I am nostalgic, that's for sure. If Ed is staying away from travel for a while, then this is it! Our last fling! So yes, I want a lot from this day!

The plan is to take a bus and have the driver spit us out at the entrance to the Zemi Valley. After a hike (3 hours? 4 hours?), we'll call Mustafa to take us in his cab to the underground cities of Kaymakli. And then home!

It's a glorious day to be outdoors! The sun is even brighter, the skies are bluer than blue!

We walk to the bus stop in our village. There's a whole 'nother world down here! Commerce, movement, village people going about the business of getting the week off to a good start...



(carrying things: on your back)





(carrying things: on your head)





(hurrying to the store)



I tell Ed -- I have to come down here to explore this side of town. Maybe after we get back this afternoon. Ha! Little did I know then!

The bus driver, with the assistance of a few passengers, finds the spot where we are to locate the trail.

Uff! This one will pose challenges! Off we go!






This is a longer trail than the one we took yesterday, but in retrospect, I'd say it's more uniform in what it offers. Yes, the same stunning cliffs, candlesticks, caves.






Yes, made more brilliant against a blue sky. But less varied. Stunning, but more consistent in the presentation.






It is colder this morning and when we dip low into the narrow ravine, there is plenty of ice covering the trickling streams of water. But, we're in good spirits. The hike of all hikes. The last day of what I love so much about traveling with Ed -- the exploring of pockets of the world that are quieter, more isolated and therefore, in my eyes -- so stunningly beautiful.









(a narrow passage)



We're about an hour into our hike. We hear dogs barking up ahead. What's that all about? Is someone with them? Dogs barking in Turkey is part of the scenery. Dogs roam village streets and even city streets -- Istanbul has them, every town has them. They ignore you,  you ignore them. Datca had them, Akyaka had them, Bodrum had them. Ho hum.

But these dogs are on this narrow trail just ahead of us and they are barking up a storm. They're not village hounds. They're in a pack. And they're getting closer.

I always take the lead on our hikes. That's an Ed sweetness: he knows I want photos, unobstructed photos. I set the pace, too. So I walk in front. And I am in the lead now.

But as five angry, barking, gnarling dogs hurl themselves at us, he pushes me back and jumps to the front. And he does the right thing: he stays calm. He doesn't try to overpower them. He's steady. But they will have none of it. And as they lunge at him, barking, showing rows of ferocious canine teeth, he and I retreat off the path, to give them space, yes, give them space!  But they're a pack of hounds out for a joyride and they wont leave us alone and I scamper into the bushes and Ed takes the bite from one of them for the both of us. And then, gnarling, barking, they move on. In the direction from which we came.

I ask Ed if he is hurt. At first he says no -- that they didn't even tear his jeans. I'm relieved. But also in no mood to continue the hike. But what to do? We can't retreat. We'd be heading right in the direction where the pack ran. Go forward? No! If they come back, we're in their path!

 We take the risk of going off trail. There is a wider offshoot that looks like it may be a road heading up toward civilization. I tell Ed -- let's get back on the main road and hitch a ride. I'm done with hiking. One good reason to get out of that valley is that we know the pack of dogs is still there. The second time may be an even bigger struggle than the first.

So we climb up this random path and hope for the best. I carry a heavy stick now. Ed picks one up as well.

And here, we encounter three hikers. Native Cappadocians! We ask directions to the main road. I explain that we'd been attacked by dogs. They're surprised. For the rest of the day, anyone who hears our story is surprised. It's rare, really rare to have wild dogs roam the valleys here.

In fact, it would be ruinous to the tourist industry to have people resist coming here to hike the trails, explore the region because of fear.  Our hotel proprietor said that when the press started writing about the political protests in Istanbul last month, she received many cancellations from prospective travelers. We hear Turkey is dangerous now!  -- was a common refrain. She shook her head sadly when she told us this: it has nothing to do with our region! Still, people suddenly saw us as part of the Arab Spring and they were scared. Then, philosophically, she added -- I suppose I would be afraid to travel to Teheran, not knowing what it's really like there.

Our new hiker friends -- three burly men -- tell us they're going down in the valley along the trail and if we want to hike with them, we could band together. They hike here often. The one who speaks some English tells me -- each time, we find something even more beautiful here!

There's safety in numbers. They equip themselves with hefty sticks and we go back on the trail. I feel five of us, four rather large and muscular, one -- well, that's me, a little bit less so, but still, we are five. I am not afraid!













It is a wonderful half hour that we spend with the three guys from Cappadocia. I'll never forget it. They show us hidden gardens where grandfathers of cousins once grew fruit trees and grape vines.

They explain the path system, teaching us to ignore the offshoots leading up, to concentrate on the path leading further down into the ravine. And they share their delight in finding berries that their people pick for jams. And mushrooms, growing wild, to be brought home to the mushroom expert who will evaluate them for safety.







But at one point, as we wait for them to return from a mushroom hunt, I ask Ed if his leg was really clean after the attack. He rolls up his jeans and I see the bloody, messy red lines and the teeth marks. I tell him -- you need to see a doctor.

He resists. He's Ed. Ed doesn't see doctors. Ed is never sick enough, never injured enough. I tell him -- you don't have to follow the advice, but I know from my trip to Ghana (we were well instructed in this), with wild dog bites, you can't wait until you get home: time is of essence.

We leave our hiking companions to their mushroom hunt and pick up the pace a bit. They tell us that they will be close at our heels and that we need only shout if we run into trouble.

The trail is by no means easy. My tail bone is protesting heavily as we scale and descend  the boulders.








But never for a moment do we neglect to appreciate the beauty of the valley.





 
Not for a moment.




 

We come to the main road and I use the nifty cell phone provided by our hotel proprietors to call them now (it's a father and daughter team and man oh man, if there are nicer people on the planet, then I don't know them). I explain what happened. She will contact the doctor at the Nevsehir hospital.

The hospital sends an ambulance. Ed is mortified. A tour bus full of Germans had paused along the road for a photo-shoot and bathroom break. They gather around the ambulance eager to see the drama. I swear, had I not been there, he may have ran away from it all.

But the ambulance people are no nonsense types. They push him to the back of the van, work on his leg, and we all speed, and I mean really speed to the Nevsehir hospital. 

And now we get a sense of health care delivery elsewhere. I'm not going to go into much detail. It's different. It's less structured. It's a million times less expensive. Did I say this? It's different.

Ed has a team of nurses, translators, an ER doctor who then feels she needs to consult with an internal medicine specialist. All that in this small hospital in the middle of the Anatolian plane, far far from the urban chaos of Ankara or Istanbul. I've been in many hospital emergency rooms in my life, on both sides of the ocean and I have never seen such calm in any of them. A family comes in, their infant gets a shot, an older woman has her bandage changed. They come, they leave. I hear no beeping noises of machines. Tea is delivered to the staff every now and then.

Our hotel proprietor drives over to Nevsehir with Ed's passport. And all docs agree -- Ed will need rabies shots. And we're so backward in our information about this that it sends chills down the spine: those terrible horrible rabies shots, right in the stomach, pain supreme! But, I tell him I'll hold his hand and it surely will be easier than childbirth.

There is much paper work to be done. An American has experienced a medical emergency. A pack of dogs was involved. Papers must be completed, forms must be signed. He becomes an international statistic. And it takes forever and I want to tell them all  -- look, one more minute and he's gonna walk out of here. I take on the job of keeping the various form filling staff people out of his hair, to answer all the questions and to fill in the details and soon enough we are being transported to yet another, bigger hospital where the injection will be performed.

After a huge number of additional forms are filled out. By hand.

So now let me tell you how unfortunate it is that we have all these archaic ideas about how complicated and painful rabies shots are -- because they are none of that. In the last two decades, they are simple, quick and a real no big deal. (Though he needs repeats every several days. So, to be continued in America. The medical staff seem a tad skeptical about this -- like, are you sure you can take care of it there? Well alright then... )


After all this is behind us, Gamze, the daughter in the father-daughter hotel team, suggests we do some fun stuff. She tells us -- I'm free from the desk for the rest of the day, let's go and explore!

How wonderfully kind she is to us! We go with her to the castle in the village of Uchisar.






From the summit, Ed and I watch the sun dip below the hills of Cappadocia and I think -- how lucky, how incredibly lucky we are to have had this trip!













(once an active volcano, now a beautiful snow-covered summit)





(day is done, gone the sun...)



Gamze asks -- should we go to another good viewpoint? Or a potters town? Your choice!
A potters' town! And so we drive to Avanos. The pottery capital of the region. It's a beautiful place, twinkling away now in the early evening. And a shopper's paradise. Gamze keeps telling me, just look. You're not here to buy. But this is not possible. The stuff is so beautiful! I ask her to take me to her favorite shop. She looks for it -- he has moved... Ah, this is it. My husband's friend works here. You'll like him. He'll show you the different things they make in the region.






I am mesmerized. We drink apple tea and I ask questions about the uses of the various clay pots and jugs. I do purchase something, but not much. A small bowl or two, a flask... Just to remember. Because I really want to remember this part of the day -- the end to our travels, so beautifully culminating in friendship and good will.

As I wait for my one or two small purchases to be wrapped, a potter at the shop shows us how he makes the traditional tear jugs: ones that catch the tears of women who wait for their men to come home from war.











As I admire the hand painted designs, Gamze says -- these designs are very true to the region! Our teacher at school made us learn them!

On the ride home we talk about what it's like to go to school here. Gamze, in her non-hotel time, is a math teacher. Her husband is getting his Ph D in Ankara in industrial engineering. But their home is here now. In Cappadocia, where it's quiet. Where people offer apple tea anywhere you go. Just because it is the way life moves forward.

I eat supper on a tray brought up to our room from the kitchen of the hotel.  No, I'll never forget this day.

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.