May 23-27: Göreme

Göreme is a cool place. Its unique landscape of cave houses carved into pointy stone mounds, coupled with subterreanean labyrinthine cities, draws superlatives like “fairytale”, “surreal” and “fantasy”. But you know when Limmy gives it the “everything looks like Zelda!” stamp of approval, it must be good.

(Click to enlarge - see if you can spot the foolhardy adventurer.)

Millions of years ago, nearby Mount Argeus vomited up an ungodly amount of hot volcanic ash over a radius of over 50 km. Over the next few millennia, subsequent scattered smaller eruptions of even hotter ash formed a patchy dark layer of basalt on top of the lighter, whiter softer ash beneath (ironically named tuff), compressing it. Any tuff without a basalt cap was eroded away gradually by wind and rain. The tuff capped by basalt remained intact due to the compression of the heavier basalt, leaving behind spectacular formations of tall stone that are given the name “fairy chimneys”. The “fairy” comes from local farmers who used to joke with one another that fairies could be seen emerging from the suggestively tall structures, if copious amounts of local alcohol was consumed beforehand.

The result: Cappadocia, a modern-day Bedrock, and in days past, a territory hotly contested by western European and eastern Asian empires. Consequently, the softly-spoken locals developed many clever ways to survive through the many battles fought over their land.

The underground city of Kaymaklı is one such place – a complex network of caves and tunnels hewn out of the soft rock, descending at least five storeys, where Cappadocians could hide in safety when Christians and Arabs clashed. Incorporating stables, schools, churches, a kitchen and a winery, a 54-metre ventilation shaft and dozens of shortcuts, up to three thousand people (and their sheep, chickens and horses) were thought to have lived in these homely dungeons. Unfortunately, despite the excellent ventilation, there were no toilets, meaning long periods of “holding on”. Kaymaklı joins to the world outside by well-hidden rolling stone doors (so Zelda), and when wars were thought to have ceased (as judged by the lack of battle-like sounds), a lucky “hero” would be chosen and sent to the surface to confirm.

Later, when Christianity became established in the region, monks created churches by digging into the above-ground formations. As a consequence there are hundreds of makeshift chapels, all decorated with frescoes and arches, throughout Cappadocia and Göreme in particular. Some were intended to be churches proper, others for hermits. The Göreme Open Air Museum (below), a UNESCO-listed collection of hillside cave churches, was basically once a big stone Bible school. Selime Monastery, built on similary steep terrain, features such outrageously-unsafe dark, slippery staircases that climbing from one floor to another was an act of faith, but probably worth it, to meditate while gazing out over the landscape (including the graves of monks who had fallen from the heights).

Many of the rock-cut churches incorporate tombs for their saints, which deserve the utmost respect.

The other peculiar carvings are the pigeon houses, little niches cut into the rock (at perilous heights), designed to entice pigeons to perch and deposit their phosphate-rich number twos. A man’s wealth was often indicated by the number of pigeon houses he owned, correlating to the fields he was able to fertilise with the pigeon poo.

Today people still live in cave houses. We managed to sneak our way onto a tour of local homes. A number of foreigners, drawn by the laidback lifestyle, have taken the Backyard Blitz approach and redone their caves into lavish, split-level summer homes and getaways. The locals, not so well off, get by with less impressive furnishings, but everyone still has satellite TV and the Internet next to their hand-woven rugs and piles of hay. But the most common property type by far is the cave hotel (below), which is the flagship of Göreme’s burgeoning tourism industry.

Other highlights:

Walking through Göreme’s many valleys – Rose Valley, Valley of the Swords, Ihlara Valley and Love Valley (below), so named for its supposed aphrodisiacal inspirations.

Hot-air ballooning over the Cappadocian landscape. The most fun you can have at 6 am.

Vicky reading two Marian Keyes books in five days. Limmy reading half a Marian Keyes book. Note: not our books.

Meeting interesting people. For instance, a married Kiwi couple: grape-growers who both were one-time New Zealand barbershop singing champions. They were preparing for a barbershop convention. Also, a doctor from the world-famous Mayo Clinic in Minnesota. They have 85 neurologists there, as well as more endocrinologists than the entire nation of Canada.

Seeing all kinds of weird rock formations.

Limmy getting a “local” haircut. Desperate to be rid of his helmet-like do, we came across a family-run establishment in the back-streets of Göreme, and “short, but a little longer at the front” was requested. Twenty minutes later, at Limmy’s request, a student hairdresser - who also happened to be the proprietor’s son - had managed to craft, with scissors alone, a hairstyle reminiscent of the Asian youths who had dominated Russell Street in the early nineties: an all-over buzzcut, with bangs. It also looked remarkably similar to … his father’s haircut (the proprietor’s, not Limmy’s dad’s).

“Good,” encouraged the father. “Cigarette?” he offered to Vicky. After some tactful negotations, a satisfying final result was achieved, though later it was debated as to whether simply asking for a “number three” would have saved more time. An unusual conclusion to the hair-cutting component was the unexpected dumping of all shed hair into the customer’s right shoe. Intentional?

In Turkey, there are two major differences with the hair-washing phase. One, it comes after the haircut (sensible, in a way). Two, it is performed with face down in the sink (moderately frightening). However, they redeemed themselves with the subsequent head, neck and shoulders massage, with particular focus on the glabella. All for the low, low price of nine lira (A$8). The price also included a traditional Turkish shave – needless to say, deemed unnecessary – and the close-range spraying of torso and head with enough aftershave to leave a thin film of what can only be described as Turkey man smell.

And so ended Göreme, and Turkey in general. Sad to leave such a friendly, beautiful and heavily-moustachioed country.