Cappadocia- as seen from a more earthly perspective.

As enjoyable as it was to soar over Cappadocia in a hot air balloon, the limited amount of fuel (not to mention the lack of a bathroom, kitchen or bar on board) dictated that we had to return to terra firma, sooner or later. This left me with nearly four days to explore the tiny town of Goreme and its surroundings. I was on my own and the daytime temperatures hovered in the 105 degree range, so I was not very motivated to do the public bus shuffle all over this very scenic desert. Instead, I opted to join the two ubiquitous tours offered by every hotel, hostel, tour agency and/ or street-side carnival barker.

I set mine up at what has to be one of the coolest hostels I have ever stayed in. As with most of the accommodations in the area, Yasin's Backpackers Cave Hotel is located inside one of the rock formations. This means that some of the rooms, mine included, are actually natural caves. Uh huh, that's right, I spent my vacation sleeping in a cave. That alone would have this trip a success.  And before anyone has visions of prehistoric-era deprivations, I should point out that my cave had free wifi, something that the four star hotel I am writing this from currently lacks, and managed to remain cool and comfortable when everyplace else was roughly the temperature of the sun itself.

With the southern and northern tours, otherwise referred to by everyone, inexplicably, as the green and red tours set up by the helpful (and handsome) Yasin himself, I was free to spend my first day enjoying my cave sweet cave and hiking up to a recommended sunset point. I would have probably have enjoyed the hike a bit more had I actually made the effort to find out when the damned sun was going to set.  Instead, I got all the way up there, hung around for about thirty minutes, wondered what the symptoms of heat stroke might be, returned to the cave, learned there were still about 2 hours to go, grabbed a beer and eventually, returned up the same steep path, cursing everyone including Helios himself along the way. The scenery, and the long-awaited sunset were spectacular, as is everything else about this area. Still, that evening, I crankily wrote in my journal "I am either going to leave here fit or in a body bag".

My very own cave bed in my very own cave (dorm) room.

View from the lookout point way before sunset.

The path back down to town.

And finally, we have a sunset.

Day 2: After a balloon-filled morning, I was picked up for the Red (or was it the Green?) tour.  Either way, it is the one that covers the Northern section of Cappadocia. At first, it was myself, four Italians and the guide in a van configured with three seats facing forward and two facing the rear.  I got one of the backward facing seats and was none too uncomfortable, particularly because the Italians, who were well-versed enough in English to take an English language tour refused to indulge me in even the most basic niceties in our common language, but I was certain we were on our way to meet a larger group with a different mode of transportation. When we stopped right outside of town at a scenic viewpoint (really a misnomer because the entire region of Cappadocia qualifies as a scenic viewpoint) and our guide, Faruk, began explaining the history of the region, it dawned on me that I was wrong. I was to be stuck with these people all day.  I considered ditching them all and trying my luck elsewhere, but since the tour included the admission to the Goreme Open Air Museum, I decided to at least tough it out through the first stop.

The Open Air Museum, deservedly a UNESCO World Heritage site, is a monastic grouping of churches that were carved into the rocks sometimes between the 9th-12th centuries.  In an effort to preserve the frescoes in this heavily visited site, photography is not permitted in any of the churches, but by clicking on the link at the beginning of this paragraph, you can get an idea of work on display.  Faruk did a fantastic job of explaining the history of each church and the meaning of the frescoes, but where he (and even the Italians) won my heart was when he suggested, and they agreed, to enter into the Dark Church.  It went from being a church, to being closed off and used as a pigeon coop, thus preventing sun light from entering and destroying the amazing frescoes, resulting in the best preserved artwork in all the complex. Thanks in part to a recent costly restoration, it is not included in the entrance price and requires an additional $4 payment, resulting in most groups skipping it altogether. The fact that ours did not made me abandon my abandonment plans.  So what if I did not have the same conversation with them all backpackers must have (Where are you from? How long are you in Turkey?  Where are you going next?), I got to see the Dark Church and it was incredible.

I remained with them as we visited Cavusin, a ghost village, where all the inhabitants were moved from their rock homes to alternate accommodations, when large chunks of the formation started crumbling to the ground.  It now has a new life as a tourist attraction, but still looks like it is one good sneeze away from turning to rubble.

After lunch and the obligatory factory stop, this one in Avanos to watch pottery making, we were in for some of the coolest fairy chimneys in all of Cappadocia.  In between Pasabag and Dervent Valley (more aptly known as Imagination Valley), we saw rock formations of all shapes and sizes.  Faruk explained all about the continuous volcanic eruptions followed by millenia of erosion that led to the creation of nature's very own Alice in Wonderland-like dream scape and set us lose to try to take it all in. 

I like to call this one 'Little Bunny Foo Foo'

The camel.

We finished off with a drive through the tony town of Urgup and hugs all around with the still uncommunicative Italians.

Back at Yasin's Place.

Day 3:  Time for the Southern (or, oh, let's call it Yellow) tour.  Things started off hectically when I screwed up the time and was still lounging in bed when the driver arrived for the pick up but quickly improved when I realized that I was to have Faruk as my guide once more. I already knew him to be a well-informed fun-loving guy, who was maximized his guests' enjoyment at all times.  I figured this was going to be necessary because I was dreading the first portion of this tour.  There was to be a 4 kilometer walk through the Ihlara Valley.  I had no doubt it would be beautiful but, in case I have not mentioned this enough, it was hot...scotch bonnet hot, inside a microwave set to 20 minutes hot, sitting inside of a sauna while eating fire on a stick hot!  It was fricking hot!!  I could not fathom walking for 4 kilometers in this.  Yet again, my concerns were unfounded.  This lush green valley was a good 15-20 degrees cooler than the rest of Cappadocia.  It is so different that there were many crops which would only grow within the temperate climate of this valley.  We leisurely strolled along the river, occasionally passing rock churches or pigeon coops, until we came upon a series of river-side restaurants where we relaxed with an early lunch.

It was great that we got that chance to take it easy because next came the workout for the day.  We stopped at the Selime monastery, a rock-cut church that requires a nerve-wrecking amount of climbing up steep rock and slippery tunnels to access.  With a lot grumbling from me and some help from Faruk, I was able to reach rooms that were used as kitchens, stables, classrooms, dining rooms, living quarters and churches.  I was fascinated with the work that had gone into this complex but horrified at the knowledge that all this climbing up was inevitably going to result in an even scarier climb back down.

Faruk and I atop the Selime Monastery

A lot of the same work and a very similar layout was to be seen in inverse at our next stop, the Derinkuyu underground church.  This is one of over 300 churches that was built as a hideout to protect Christians from persecution. This particular church goes eight stories deep and features many of the same rooms we saw at the Selime Monastery, only in a much more accessible manner.  It was fascinating and cool and the perfect site for a party or ghost tour.

The tour ended with a stop at yet another scenic overlook at Pigeon Valley.  There was a wish tree where you could tie an evil eye purchased from the nice vendor who probably planted the tree in the first place and make a wish, but I was too contented with the last couple of days to be able to think of an evil-eye worthy wish, so I just hung out, trying to absorb every detail.

Day 4:  I was taking an 11 hour night bus back to Istanbul, so this was to be my 'relaxing' day.  For the first time in days, I managed to sleep in but of course, this was also my last day in Cappadocia so sitting still was not even close to being a realistic option.  I had been seeing walking trail signs for days, so I decided to find one and follow it.  Then I realized I am the person that manages to get lost in the middle of major cities with a map in hand and directional signs all around.  Here, I had neither, so I never actually followed any trail to its conclusion, more like wandered until I could no longer see a particular landmark and then doubled back.  Not surprisingly, it was still a worthwhile endeavor that allowed me to visit a rock church that had not been included in either of the tours where I spent some nice heat-free time examining the interiors and see yet more phallic rock formations.  By the time the bus came, I was happily exhausted.

Now having experienced Cappadocia from both land sky, it is hard to say which was better, or if such a comparison is even possible.  Suffice it to say that both were as magical as they were unforgettable.  And did I mention I got to sleep in a cave......

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Flying high over Cappadocia

I'd watched videos, I'd scrolled through a bazillion photos, I'd made half a dozen attempts to get here, but finally on August 15th, 2010, I was on my way to board a hot air balloon and soar over the surrealist landscape of Cappadocia, Turkey.  It was something I had been wanting to do for so long, and it was so disturbingly early (5am!), that I remained in a perpetual haze as a Spanish couple and I made our way to the Voyager Balloons office.

I assumed I had an idea as to what would take place next. We would be served coffee and hopefully pastries (the presence of pastries was, for me, to be the determining factor into whether the hostel had steered me towards a legitimate or a Mickey Mouse balloon company), asked to sign some releases and be given a safety briefing that most of us would snooze through. I was joyfully right on  the one count that mattered.  There were pastries, some kind of cheese rolls, Turkish breads...Yasin's Backpackers Cave had done me right.  It soon became clear that there was some concern on the part of the staff, but it had nothing to do with releases or safety briefings, neither of which materialized.  They were agitated to the point of fixation on the unlikely topic of penmanship.  We had been asked to write our names, and this was stressed, neatly on a sign-in sheet.  The Spaniards had not complied to the staff's satisfaction and were now being asked to re-write their names. It was suggested that the female half of the duo give it a shot this time. The reason for such consternation was that there were to be certificates handed out at the end of the flight. They did not want to take any chances on having typos on said certificates.
All of the travel agencies in Turkey, and there are almost as many as of them as there are kiosks selling evil eye trinkets in Istanbul, advertise balloon rides in Cappadocia. They all, when making their sales pitch, stress these certificates. They will not let you walk past them without insisting that their chosen company will provide you with a certificate...a nice one. I even asked one guy what purpose, exactly, this certificate serves, other than its obvious souvenir value. Does it bestow college credit of some kind? Can I claim flight hours if I ever choose to become a balloon pilot? Will it help my credit? Nope, it is intended to prove to friends that the recipient was truly in a Cappadocian hot air balloon. I explained to him that I have a pretty good record for honesty amongst my circle. If I said I was in a hot air balloon in Cappadocia, they were likely to take my word for it. He looked befuddled.

Handwriting issues resolved, sixteen of us were loaded into a mini-van and shuttled past open fields, all of which were quickly sprouting hot-air balloons.  The balloons were in various stages of inflation, some lying limp on the ground while crews worked feverishly to bring them to life, others already taking flight. Ours was somewhere in between.  We watched as what appeared to be an over-sized zippo was used to inflate it.

At this point, I was certain there would be something approximating a safety briefing and I was partially right. As we all climbed into the basket, which was divided into four compartments, each holding four people, a man off in the distance yelled something about a brace position we were to assume when landing.  He yelled this in English, which was great for me, but not so much for the three Japanese people I was sharing a compartment with. I figured once it was time to land, we would review this once more.

This being my first time in a hot air balloon, I had no idea what the take-off would be like.  I imagined that the crew, hanging onto ropes all around us, would start running with us, kite-style until we caught some air. Turns out I know woefully little about inflatable aviation.

We rose up so gently that the Spaniard, who had his camera ready to videotape our departure, missed the whole thing.  I was only certain that we were off the ground because the Japanese trio in my little "space" had all huddled together into a corner, leaving me a large area to maneuver around in, and I was using it to hang over the side and check for balloon to ground contact.

Our Captain, the first female balloon captain in all of Turkey, introduced herself and pointed out all the different valleys we were floating over.  I  was busy putting my camera into overdrive to catch everything she said, but one thing that was clear was that she was enjoying the hell out of that balloon.  She told us the wind controls all the horizontal movement of the balloon, while she is in charge of the vertical positioning.  This troubled me when I saw that we were smoothly, gently careening into the side of a valley and there was another balloon directly above us.  Foolishly, I had not counted on the state of the arts technology at our disposal.  Derya, our Captain, put two fingers into her mouth and let out a whistle that would have made a steam engine proud.  Now with the full attention our overhead neighbor, she waved him away.  He climbed higher, we climbed higher and a wall to balloon collision was successfully avoided.

About 30 minutes into our flight, the sun began peaking out over the mountain range.  What was already a spectacular sight was getting even better.  I began to wonder when was the last time I had re-charged my camera batteries. 

Flying over Love Valley, named as such presumably because the name "Cock Canyon" was already taken.

As we moved away from the valley and its fairy chimneys, we soared over hotels, parks and one very conveniently situated campground.  Up on a rooftop, were about 15 people slumbering away in sleeping bags.  Derya bought the balloon so low over their accommodations, that it was easy to make out the surprised and/ or horrified faces on the campers as they awoke to find a big-ass balloon almost resting on their foreheads.  It was impressive how much control Derya had over this unwieldy-looking thing.

After approximately an hour, I noticed the landscape was becoming littered with deflating balloons.  At one point, I had looked around and counted 41 balloons in the air with us, but now, most were choosing landing spots.  The benefit of having a Captain with such an infectious passion for flying is that while others' fun had come to an end, we continued onward, passing by the ghost village of Cavusin, with its now abandoned cave dwellings. It was like looking at a collaboration between Hieronymous Bosch and Salvador Dali come to life.

Eventually, Derya chose her spot, radioed to her crew and began the final descent.  Someone on board read my mind and asked her about this bracing position we were supposed to assume.  She laughed and pointed out that the winds were good. As if to further confirm the state of the winds, I glanced down in time to see one of her assistants on the ground bend down, pick up a handful of dirt and toss it in the air.  This, in balloon world, is how you measure wind direction.  It may not sound very scientific, but there certainly is a science to it.  With Derya's expert handling and her crew's fervent rope pulling, they managed to gently land us directly onto the back of a waiting flat bed truck.  Amazing!!  I have seen so many airline pilots with multi-million dollar machines, miles long runways and every kind of technological gadget at their disposal totally screw up simple landings, yet this woman with a zippo, some ropes and a reading of dirt nailed it.

But, of course, this, one of the coolest experiences ever, would not be complete without a celebration...

...or a certificate to prove to one and all that after wanting to do this for so long, I had finally taken a hot-air balloon flight over Cappadocia.

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