We spent out last day in Cappadocia on another tour. All the participants were people we had been with the day before: Charlene and Nancy, from San Diego, who began a three month trip watching the solar eclipse in Libya and, after moving across Turkey, were headed to Georgia, Azerbaijan, and Kazakhstan; and Yuko, a Japanese teacher who had stopped in Cappadocia for a few days after being at a conference in Europe. The new addition to our group was Nezrin, our guide, who was full of both energy and information.

We started our day at the Goereme Outdoor Museum, which preserves one of Christianity’s oldest seminaries. The caves and rock formations are filled with churches, classrooms, and living quarters. There are even stone dining tables carved out of the rock in some of the rooms. Basil, Gregory of Nyziansus, and Cyril were three of the biggies in those days; these were the hills where they trained those who would lead the church in the early years. The location alone created a sacred sense, the grandeur of the landscape pointing to the power of our Creator. The shelter of these caves that have been inhabited by humans for millennia made me think of an old hymn in new ways: “Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee. “

As we walked between the caves, and climbed up into a few of them, I imagined the students – disciples, you might say – walking and talking on the very same paths, turning over the ideas they were hearing in their minds, and dreaming of where God would call them beyond the beautiful hills that surrounded them. From those early days, the churches in these caves were used for centuries; the remaining frescoes date back to the eleventh century. The images on the walls were the same I have studied and am learning to write in icon class. What an amazing thing that the story of our faith has come down, heart to heart, from those caves until now. I wonder if those folks ever imagined such a thing.

We stopped at a couple of places as we moved around the area, looking at the panoramic views and having tea. We then spent some time in a jewelry workshop and made our way to lunch. When we have been with larger groups, our guides have generally used meals to get some time to themselves. Since we were only six, including the guide, Nezrin joined us, which gave us a chance to know her a little better. Like almost all of our guides in both countries, her parents were teachers. All of them have liked to learn and have not wanted to be confined to a classroom, or an office job. Being a tour guide offers them a chance to do all the things they love best.

After lunch, we toured a winery – OK, all we did was taste a bunch of wines – and then we drove to another valley of “fairy chimneys,” this one known as Animal Valley because, as Nezrin said, “If you have imagination, you can see animals; if you don’t have imagination, you can just walk around. It’s up to you.” The six of us spent twenty or thirty minutes describing the menagerie we saw around us, which included everything from a sleeping puppy to a camel to a turtle and even a Snoopy head.

Our last stops were in two old Greek villages, Mustafapasa and the other whose name I can’t find right now. Though the Greeks left with the population exchange in 1924, these villages have kept their own unique charm. They were very quiet compared to some of the other towns in the area that depend so heavily on tourism. We walked around and looked at some of the architecture, some of the ruins, and, of course, had some tea.

In the second village, we saw something we had not seen this whole trip: the ruins of a mosque. All through Turkey we have seen churches that are museums or archeological sites, but this was the first mosque that was no longer in use. Nezrin said the reason was the town had been abandoned after an earthquake and then rebuilt farther down the hill, at the government’s instructions. There were some frescoes of tulips and carnations (no human images are allowed in Islam), and some other decorations. We could still see the pulpit and the place where the priest offered prayers. Of all the ruins, I have found the empty houses of worship the most haunting. Although there is some sadness, I suppose, in the fact that what was once a vibrant worshipping community no longer exists, I have felt more of a sense of reverence and connectedness. Like the giant stone structures that tell the story of all creation, these stones were formed as the expression of one group gathered together for a time. When Seref was summarizing Turkish history at the beginning of our tour on Monday, he said, “In 1922, the Turkish Republic was founded; we do not know who will be next.” We won’t always be here; chances are the stones will outlive us.

When the tour was over, we came back to the pension in time to catch our ride to the Kayseri airport and say goodbye to Cappodocia. Our trip is making its final turn toward home. We drove to Kayseri and then flew to Istanbul for one more night at the Tashkonak; this morning we flew to Athens. Though we were only flying in and flying out, I loved that we were coming back to somewhere we had already been. As we drove from the airport to the hotel, we recognized things; we could almost say we knew where we were going. The night staff recognized us, as we did them, and we knew our way around the hotel. I even got to pick up the shirts I left hanging in the closet when we left for Izmir and Selcuk.

Our world has been expanded by the things we have seen. More profoundly, our lives have been expanded by the people we have come to know. Cam and Rachel are working in Selcuk to raise enough money to travel; Adam and Joel are somewhere in Georgia (and I don’t mean Atlanta); Charlene and Nancy are trekking into eastern Turkey; Aysha, Seref, and Nezrin are walking ground they know well and making it sound like new to their charges; Mehmet is telling someone else how the dinner is made; Benden is making his new customers comfortable; Julia is working hard in her shop and worrying about her father. Our hearts are as stuffed as our suitcases.

Peace,
Milton

Yesterday was a full day.

At 4:45 in the morning, Benden, the same man who let us in last night knocked on our door to tell us it was time to get up: we had a balloon to catch. By 5:15 we were in the minibus on the way to the office of Kappadokya Balloons; by six we were in the field watching our Coca-Cola balloon inflate. Jan, our Swedish balloon pilot took us up, over, and around the marvelous rock formations that make up the Cappadocian countryside. We were not the only balloon in the air. Sunrise is rush hour, as far as hot air balloons in Cappadocia are concerned; there were at least eight other balloons floating around us. We had sixteen people in our basket: Ginger and me, a Korean couple on their honeymoon, and twelve Americans on a tour with the Art Institute of Chicago. We had a great time together, flying as high as nearly two thousand feet off the ground and then low enough to almost touch some of the rock formations as we dipped down into the valleys.

After the flight, they brought us back to the hotel for breakfast. We thought we had the morning to rest and then a tour in the afternoon. We were wrong. Our tour began at 9:15, which was about ten minutes after we finished breakfast. We climbed back on the minibus, which took us — this time — to meet Seref (SHER eff) and the rest of our group at a panoramic viewing spot just outside of Goerme (Guh ER me), the next town over. By ten o’clock, we were climbing down the stairs of the Derinkuyu underground city, which goes eight levels and about seventy-five yards down into the earth. It was a claustrophobic’s dream – and a challenge for those of us who are a bit larger than your average Cappadocian might have been.

Cappadocia sits in central Turkey, or Asia Minor, and was the place you invaded while on your way to invade the place you were really after, regardless of which direction you were going. From the Hittites on down, this has been a place where the folks needed somewhere to hide when the invading hordes arrived. Their answer was to dig holes into the limestone and hide underground. As the population grew, they dug deeper and deeper. We went down seven levels to find a church that had been dug out in the fourteenth century. It was no amateur job; they had figured out a natural ventilation system that still works. We climbed down and then we climbed back out.

Our next stop was the Ihlara Valley, where Seref told us we were going hike the valley floor for about three and a half kilometers and we “would find it was quite flat.” Flat, that is once we got to the bottom. The valley was once inhabited by small groups of people – mostly Greek – until the population exchange in 1924. They lived in the caves, they farmed the valley, and they dug churches. We saw one where some of the frescoes still exist. The walk through the valley was peaceful and gorgeous. The vegetation was lush, the small river was flowing joyfully, and the folks along the trail all seemed to be quite happy. We were too, and quite motivated: lunch awaited us at the end of the hike. We ate outside in a small café in Belisirma beside the water – until the rain started, then we moved inside.

After lunch we drove a bit more to a small village that still uses the caves for their farming and even their houses. We had time to climb around and take some pictures. I became fascinated with the doors in the rocks. Then we stopped at a Caravanserai, which was one of the places traders stopped in the days when the Silk Road was the major trade route.

From there we went to Pasabagi where we could see the “fairy chimneys” up close. The geological history of Cappadocia is clearly spelled out in the rock formations. Part of the story is the layer of basalt settled on top of the limestone in the Way Back There Era. When water flooded the area in the Era After That, the limestone gave way where the basalt did not, leaving these mushroom-looking formations that have been nicknamed the “fairy chimneys.” They are spectacular. Over time they have been used for houses, storage, and even contain some churches. There are a couple of them that have stairs inside for those who feel like climbing.

Our final stop was a pottery workshop. Avanos, the town where we are staying, is filled with pottery makers because of the red clay they can draw out of the Red River that runs through town (the longest river in Turkey) and the white clay they get from the limestone of Cappadocia. We saw artisans making the pots and painting them as well. They even offered an opportunity for one of us to learn a new craft. Here is a shot of a burgeoning artist at work.

We got back to the hotel about seven, which gave us time to clean up a bit before dinner here at the Kirkit Pension. The other guests in our hotel all speak French, so we talked to the hotel folks mostly and enjoyed the live musicians playing traditional Turkish music on a drum and a saz, which is a Turkish instrument that looks like a cross between a long necked mandolin and a pregnant banjo. I loved the Turkish melodies, which follow a different scale than our songs, and I loved thinking that we were listening to the Turkish equivalent of “This Land is Your Land” or “Blowing in the Wind.” The meal was, of course, amazing: yogurt, cucumber, and dill soup (cold); squash and beef croquettes; salad; fresh tomatoes; and apples and oranges for dessert. We finished the evening with some Turkish tea and watched several liquored-up French people dance to the music and enjoy themselves.

More than once during the day, I said to Ginger (or she to me), “I can’t believe we are getting to do this.” We live on an amazing planet and we have gotten to experience a bit of one of its most amazing places. What else is there to say but, “Thank you” – to everyone who has had a hand in making this trip possible.

Peace,
Milton

Yesterday was a travel day. We had to get from Selcuk to Avanos, in Cappadocia, which meant we had to drive an hour to the airport in Izmir, catch a plane to Istanbul (because all planes go to Istanbul before they go anywhere else), catch another plane to Kayseri, and then drive an hour to Avanos.

But first it was open market day in Selcuk and we didn’t have to leave until a little after noon. I walked down to the center of town and decided, as I was walking and looking down at my dusty shoes, to avail myself of the services of one of the shoe shine men along the street. He had a stool and a case full of polishes; what I had to do was stand, Captain Morgan style, with one foot up on the footrest, alternating them at his request, as he polished and shined away. He had just begun when he asked if I would like some tea. I said yes and he called across the street to his friend who ran the café and, next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of the street, Captain Morgan style, getting my shoes shined and drinking tea. I walked away with both my shoes and my spirit brightly polished.

As I was walkıng, I saw Julia standıng ın front of her shop. She spoke to me and asked how we were doing. I told her we were leavıng ın a few hours. She saıd again how much she had enjoyed meeting us; I told her we would pass her name along to anyone we knew coming to Selcuk. She asked, as she had the day before, that we pray for her father who is recoverıng from a stroke. I said we would. Then she said, “Whenever you return, you are always welcome to stay in my home.”

The market place sprung up overnight where there had been open streets and parking lots the day before. Pieces of cloth and canvas had been strung to create a roof of sorts and each street had become a different department in the town that was now a giant store. One street was shirts and pants, another socks and shoes, another kitchen ware, and another toys and unnecessary plastic objects. At the hub of it all were the fresh fruits and vegetables: row after row of booths with fresh oranges, tomatoes, herbs, and (the thing I most wish I could bring home) fresh grape leaves. Scattered in between them were spice vendors, candy and dried fruit stands, and cheese merchants. I also found a couple of guys selling some kick butt pastry items and had the best cheese and filo pie you can get for fifty cents anywhere in the world, I’m sure.

I got back to the Kalehan Hotel in time for us to grab a bite of lunch and check out. Mehmet, whose name I have finally learned how to both spell and say (he’s named after a sultan) made a special effort to get to work early to say goodbye to us. We loaded our bags, which get heavier at every stop, into the van and drove to Ismir. Turkish Airlines packed every seat and we got to Istanbul to find out our plane to Kayseri was delayed. Ginger and I sat in the airport and watched people until it was finally time to board on what was also a completely packed plane. In the crush to get on board, we ended up in the middle of a group of elderly Turkish people returning home, as best I could tell. They were not frequent flyers. The man standing next to me was perturbed and began to voice his displeasure to me – in Turkish – because he thought I would understand. All I knew to do was try to match his facial expression with mine and nod a lot. The younger man behind me finally engaged him in conversation and the old man turned away from me. I hope he knows I was pulling for him.

We landed at Kayseri to find yet another person standing with a sign with our name on it. We rode with a few other folks, Americans and Dutch (who lived in Germany), through the dark night across landscape we could not see to somewhere most of us had never been. We pulled up in front of a sign for the Kirkit Pension (owned by the family who also owns our travel company) and the driver unloaded our bags. We walked up the small stone alleyway, as a light rain fell, to meet a very nice man standing in the doorway to the courtyard.

“Brasher?” he said in a Turkish accent with a hint of French.

We nodded and he showed us up some stairs to our room, which is in a cave. We put the bags down and he said, “Dinner?” We nodded again and he motioned for us to follow. It was 10:30. We went down some stairs this time and into another cave which was wonderfully decorated. He seated us at a long table and went into the kitchen. First he brought out an amazing soup and then a plate with spaghetti in a wonderful tomato sauce, a small green salad, and a squash that looked kin to a zucchini cooked and stuffed with rice, beef, and tomatoes. That course was followed by a desert of kadifi (shredded filo) that had been sweetened somehow and coffee. During dinner I tried to dust off my high school French to communicate a little with our late night host; we managed a bit of a conversation.

Then came the third of his one word questions: “Balloon?”

That meant our late evening was going to be followed by a very early morning, since we are going to take a hot air balloon ride over the Cappadocian landscape tomorrow. He wrote down the time we had to be ready; I stumbled with my French until I could figure out how to ask for a wake up call. We thanked him and went to bed.

We are now in our third stop in Turkey and the depth of the hospitality seems unfathomable. We have a growing collection of photographs and suitcases stuffed with gifts and mementos, but even better are the names, faces, and encounters we are carrying from place to place. I have no idea where we are or, for that matter, much idea how we got here. What I do know is we are welcome.

Peace,
Milton