Borat Homero Mama and an Islamic Phil Collins.
Dinner 144 and bed number 61
August 27th 2010
Homeros has been the type of Pension that can hold you up for a few days. It is a family run place, of sorts. Over 4 days I am not sure I comprehend the exact nature of “family” as the cast of characters appears to come from far and wide. However sitting in the centre of it all, dutifully preparing breakfast and dinner for 25 each day is “Mama”. With a typically round face, framed by a purposeful headscarf, a jacket that hangs like a sack and balloon type pantaloons that look like a family heirloom, she epitomises Turkey. Her adult children wear the clothes of the West, but Mama clings, like all her generation out of the massive cities, to the traditional past. It takes only a spoken “Merhaba” in the morning to win her affection, but other communication is left firmly in the hands of the younger generation. The food is fresh and simple, superb after a few weeks of trying 26 versions of kebab, rice and bread. Homeros has resisted the temptation to turn all spaces into bedrooms, and the Pension has loads of rug filled rooms
to relax in, a nice terrace for meals, a rooftop area for wine and sunset viewing each evening, great food and, most essentially, quiet air conditioning. It has been astounding on our travels how the most predominant groups of travellers have been the French. We laugh as the ever present German tourist appears to have gone AWOL in SE Asia and Turkey. Whatever economic turmoil has occurred in France has seemingly not affected their capability to travel. Night after night on this trip, we are lone English speakers, surrounded by Francophones with their Camels and Gaulois. Surely the French 35 hour working week must be taking a terrible toll on their economy? It seems to have just led to people still working 40 hours and generating another 6 weeks of leave each year. Add that to the 4 they already have and one has to wonder how the French economy can maintain itself when so many have 10 weeks leave each year. We kid you not, if we saw a tourist in IndoChina, I would not have bet against them being French. While Malaysia was different, it’s initially back to business as usual in Turkey. We move on from Selcuk, heading inland to Pamukkale, home of the Travertine Terraces. Here the heat really starts to bite. It’s also the first time we frustrate a hotel owner by telling him on arrival his place is not up to standard. In reality, we walked past a place en-route from the bus offering a massive swimming pool and the chance to relax for a lower price. The swimming pool sucks us in and we see tiny of the town. Despite our goals, it’s hard to sensibly sightsee in this heat. However, The Roman Ruins of Hierapolis and the Travertines await, and we commence our assault on day 2, late as always and well into the heat of the day. Most European visitors select to ascend the Travertines, swim on the way, and visit a couple of key ruins at the top, before descending for another swim. Foolishly, we follow the guidebook and bus to the top gate that forces us to march through a kilometre or 2 of ruins before we arrive at the Travertines. We also leave our togs behind in the hotel to dry. What fools we are. However, there is a pleasant unintended consequence of the others’ approach and, despite the heat, Bernard lingers as long as possible in the ruins, happy to while away hour after hour watching the modern European statuettes among the Roman ruins. (Note: Now is the time to check out the photos!) We are very much on the tourist trail again and the ever present French have been outnumbered by the Italians. With the whole of Italy on holiday in August, many of them flood to Turkey. In addition, we are in the midst of Ramadan. The impacts of Ramadan we find amusing. Turkey is 98% Muslim (though only 50% practising). While the history might be firmly Christian for the first 1100 years AD, the Ottoman empire and subsequent modern Turkish state successfully expelled or did away with Orthodox Greeks, Balkans and Armenians. While Ataturk might have turned it into a secular state, Islam is pervasive. Even in the smallest village a minaret roars into life 5 times a day, pleading the case for Allah, and beseeching adherents to drop to their knees. Often we are sleeping close to a Mosque, the last call might be boomed out at 2230 hrs, the next one at sunrise around 6.00 am. Double glazing seems a popular choice among pensions seeking western visitors. But in Ramadan things get even more exciting. At wake up time (around 4.00am) the fanatical Imam, or one of his loopy assistants, drives down every street he can find, banging away on a set of drums, a rhythm designed to wake and stir the faithful and infidels alike. It works, morning after morning, the terrible din has Bernard awake at 0400, mulling over the futility of this forced fasting for a month in heat like this. It is 50 deg during the day, and even children of 12 are forced to abstain from food and drink from sunup to sundown. While many have abandoned this adherence, there is still a massive proportion of “fanatics” and we develop a watchful eye on our bus drivers to ensure they are not in the group fasting and suffering! With 78 million people, and half of them sleeping all day every day, the hotels, restaurants and buses have somewhat emptied out making it a tiny easier to find what we want, when we want it. This proves especially useful in Fethiye, on the southern Mediterranean Coast. If it is not 46 deg in the sun, then I will go grant that Turkish masseur loose with the lights off. It is absolutely roasting and we move hotels, just to get access to a great pool. We later hear it hit 51 deg (that’s centigrade in case anyone was in doubt). Cruising the Med coast in a Turkish gulet is a highlight for many visitors. Originating back in the 1950’s, when road access was non-existent to most of this area, the “Blue Cruise” is huge business. The yachts are a Turkish design and build. The crews are all local people and the experience is quintessentially Turkish. We book a one way passage for 3 nights. In the end, we are so relaxed that we stay on board and return to Fethiye extending the cruise to 6 nights. We have 12 on the boat with 3 crew. Other than swimming, eating, drinking, learning to play backgammon and taking simple money off South Africans (thanks to the AB’s), there is tiny to do. Lauren finds all sorts of new friends – Italians, South Africans, Americans and a couple of Turks – and develops water confidence to a new level. Molly finally, after over 4 months, has tweenie company, albeit, a couple of boys. They get on well for 6 days, but tiredness and forced association lead to a spat over some cards on the second to last day. While most of us sleep on deck it’s pretty tough on Lauren and Frances who usually hunker down in the sweltering heat of the cabins with some early starts, night breezes and sunrise at 6.00 am to keep them from joining the rest of us, but we love it and the memories will last a long time. “Blue” comes from the description of the turquoise waters. The clarity and colour of the water is amazing. In some bays there is no sand and the surrounding land masses are all hard rock with almost no vegetation or soil. The lack of runoff means there is nothing suspended in the water, and to swim and see your toes as clear as looking the wrong way through a set of binoculars is amazing. I worry about the appallingly small size of fish that our crew catch each day, but, in retrospect, I anticipate the water clarity and lack of runoff don’t really support much of a fish population at 12 metres. The extra 3 days on the boat has tightened up our time in Turkey so we elect to do a 13.5 hour bus ride to Cappadocia. (Actually, it was meant to be 12 hours, but Turkish bus trip estimates have always been a bit shy of reality!) From the south west coast, this trip will take us almost to the centre of Turkey. We want to avoid a night bus so manage to find one that arrives at our destination at 2300 hrs. In the end, we arrive at 0030 hrs and, as usual, we are unceremoniously dumped on the side of the road. A phone call (local SIM cards are a great idea when travelling) to the Pension, has us collected and in bed within an hour. The bus services are amazing; our crew of 3 are on a trip of 1800 km’s, from Fethiye to Van in the far east of Turkey. By my calculations, the 2 drivers are driving for 30 hours, operating “two up”. Despite the demands of the trip, these Turks have got long distance bus services absolutely nailed. We are with a small company so, while we do not have all the extras, the comfort (Mercedes 0403 Travego for the enthusiasts) and calmness of the drivers are amazing. I think pics are the ideal way to try and outline Cappadocia, but first a basic outline. This region has three interrelated attractions.
UNDERGOUND CITIES Since the Hittite era, 2000 BC, people in these regions have dug tunnels and living quarters underground. Up to 36 “cities” are thought to exist within an area no bigger than 600 km2 (my rough guess). These cities were dug to 8 or 9 levels (say 70 metres) below ground, and even featured connecting tunnels, one of which we saw was 10 km’s long. While the Hittites may have used them to live in permanently, later civilisations chose to extend these diggings deeper to provide hidden shelter for themselves and animals from invaders. The digging is possible thanks to the back filling of a lake by a volcanic explosion aeons ago. This lava and ash flow, when cooled so quickly, left extremely soft rock, with just enough stability to be simple to dig, but solid enough to not collapse.
ABOVE GROUND “FAIRY CHIMNEYS” VOLCANIC TUFF The opposite of the underground cities, fairy chimneys are where erosion has wilted the soft volcanic ash, leaving only the
harder consolidated ash structure. In phallic-like structures, the locals have carved out caves, churches and cavities for all manner of use. All above ground, all extremely susceptible to collapse and all utterly beguiling.
CENTRES OF CHRISTIANITY Among all this hiding from invaders and heat, lie major centres of historic Christian worship. Using the soft rock, an incredible number of “churches” have been carved from the rock, both above ground and below. The nature of construction and the adorning frescoes really are something else. We must have seen 25 on our visit and maybe we scratched the first 10%? Indeed it epitomises the challenge Turkey and other centres have with archaeological sights. The cost of simply maintaining the known discoveries must be extraordinary. The cost of finding more? Inconceivable. Fortunately the major research centres of Europe quickly fill the void and sponsor many major digs, but the price is high. Anything of value is quickly and quietly whipped out of the country, and proudly placed on display at the sponsor’s museum, headlining the next display in Vienna or Moscow or London. Incredibly, after 300 years of raping and pillaging sites all over the world, the leading “learning institutes” of Europe
still play the game of “Finders keepers, losers weepers”. However, to put history into balance, it’s worth noting that much of what constitutes Turkish relics, are indeed reconstituted Greek, Persian or Egyptian artefacts. Once a piece of art or a fancy Doric column was constructed, it only stayed in the same place as long as its masters stayed in power. Lose powerand the temple was doomed to destruction and redistribution. No doubt, the British Museum is acutely aware of the strength of the argument that possession is 9/10ths of the law. We manage 4 nights in Goreme, at the centre of the Cappadocia area. Our Cave hotel room is gorgeous, exuding Fred and Barney Flintstones panache and memories. Molly and Bernard sign up for an early morning balloon flight, one of almost 40 balloons to launch that morning. Our fellow Indian guests at the Peri Hotel manage to prove me right about Indian timekeeping, as we sit in the minibus from 5.15 am to 5.30 am waiting for them to arise. Feigning a mild apology they manage to act as though nothing was wrong, while 12 other mild mannered Europeans quietly fume about missing 15 minutes of sleep. We try and avoid their gaze for the rest of the morning and focus on overcoming our fear of heights (well, some of us!). Murat the pilot has come up through the international tourism training school and keeps us all entertained with trademark wisecracks. Apparently it’s his first flight this day and later, we all have to wave to Mama as we dip to almost scrape her clay roof tiles and pick a grape or two. He is slick, combining a Turk’s natural charm with jokes from tour guides’ commentary manual 101. Murat does a fine job, but in reality, with this surreal landscape and gorgeous sunrise weather, he could have been Borat and still won our affection. We land in a wheat field, crack the champers and stand around like Muslims at a Jewish wedding for 15 minutes as the formalities are dispensed with. Fifty meters away, a balloon lands; a group of cackling and laughing passengers are obviously all together as a group. Sadly I cringe and slink away as a haka explodes over the wheat stubble. I struggle with watching the AB’s perform this primeval chest beating Polynesian war dance. What place it has at 0700 hrs after a serene and magical float over this Turkish geological and anthropological marvel escapes me. I keep my head down, hoping the Indians don’t try and engage with me. The moment passes, no-one seems to have noticed, and Murat hands out certificates. Molly gets more than she anticipates when Murat the Turk plants two great kisses on her cheeks and tells her how beautiful she is. While it seems to wash over her, the compliment is incredibly valuable in balancing the ledger with the affection Lauren receives at every interaction. The Turkish men appear infatuated with our kids. Lauren receives almost no affection from women (what are they??) but is constantly cuddled and patted by all manner of men. She seems to have differentiated Turks from Chinese and responds with relative enthusiasm, as long as Mum or Dad are on hand. It just underlines the mystery that remains in my head about Turkish women. Yes we see them, yes they have equal rights, yes many of them have thrown off the full body coats and veil. But seriously, what place do they have in society? That question I am unable to answer, but while they are there physically, it seems to me that women have a long way to go here to attain any presence in the day to day interaction with people outside of the family. It’s a nagging feeling, after almost 4 weeks, that while we have laughed, joked and talked politics with men, conversations with women have been negligible. Maybe reflection will help clarify things, but it seems to me that, while the younger generation no longer wear Mama’s clothes, they sure as hell have Mama’s values and position in society. 
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Submited at Sunday, September 5th, 2010 at 6:01 pm on Middle East by john
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