57. THANKSGIVING TO WONDERFUL TURKEY

I'm about to board for another destination.  

I've spent a month in this wonderful country, in this wonderful city. I've had pedestrian rage, and I've been sucky lonely, and I've been cold, and I've sweated, and I've flirted and I've laughed and I've OD'd on pomegranate juice.  I've slept in a crappy hotel and in a magnificent hotel and in a hotel that very quickly became a home to me - from giving wallpaper advice to getting complimentary coffees just because I was here.

It's difficult to believe the month has gone.  While I was in it, as I made every second count, it seemed ages.  Then, like every ending, it falls on your head and knocks you off your feet, so you pack your bags and close the door and kiss farewell and walk away, and an hour later you try to remember the feeling of BEING there.

When I'd recovered my land legs and got enough oxygen in my head to start behaving normally after the balloon flight, and the champagne showered all over me didn't speed up the process, I took a tour to South Cappadocia, through green fields and stone houses, and men harassing their donkeys through crumbling villages. Wild red poppies and purple flowers and yellow wild daisies tumbled over stone walls as we went to an underground city to see how the ancients lived when the armies across the Silk Route were invading.  I've never understood wars, or the reasons, or the results, but Turkey is such a rich, vivid, vibrant, proud country with so many resources, on such a strategic route that I do understand why they have to hold onto it in every way they can.  I remember being in Gallipoli years ago, just wandering around the slaughterfield and being upset the senselessness of it all;  but Turkey retained it's land and its dignity.

There are so many astonishing ruins of old civilisations, so many glorious promenades where people like Constantinople galloped with their horses in shows of strength and power.  So many places were engineering feats even now leave one speechless, yet they worked with the stars and abaci and plumb lines.  You can feel the ancient in this country, and they'll do anything and everything to preserve it.

I walked four km through a limestone valley of strange creations, bisected by a river. I walked with my new best friend Sara from Brazil, who lives in Houston and teaches English to Turks, and has just finished four months in Milan learning Italian.

Following the bubbling water, we hopped over rocks and ducked under spring branches and plucked wild flowers and ohhed and aaahed over the staggering beauty of the soaring limestone pinnacles that towered above us, where in ancient times we would have been watched over with fear and probably had bushels of oil or rocks or water or pellets thrown over us. We talked about goddesses, and witches and the freedom to make choices that lead us down new paths, and right then I there I decided that she had to be part of the goddess circle, and promised her that when we returned to Istanbul, I would give her a hag stone.  We had a fabulous day, laughed ourselves silly, shared many crazy stories of what brought us to travel and how we survive, and to our delight we were on the same bus back to Istanbul, which, shared, wasn't such an ordeal as I bought us some bread rolls, cheese, bananas, water, biscuits, nuts, apples ... all for less than $5. Luckily the bus was almost empty, and the engine had already had its once over, so although we stopped often, we arrived back in Istanbul on time, having dozed a bit because we could spread out on the seats. Anyway, in the scheme of things, 20Euro for a return ticket to Cappadocia should have some dramas!  And again, if I wanted comfort and first class, I should have been far more sensible and found a Turkish fella with a Ferrari in his pocket ......

This photo shows how a large section of rock fell away after thousands of years of holding on, revealing the larger holes which were previously hidden ... from a distance the openings in the rocks are almost invisible.  You can see the scale of the dwellings, and inside the rooms are large, and airy, with astonishing views that you can believe their invaders would kill for!!  This particular structure had a missionary school, a large kitchen, toileting facilities, nooks in the cave walls for candles, complete with dark smoke smudges of yonks ago;  you can still see the chisel marks on the floors and walls.

Mountain sista asked to see some of the paintings on the walls ... here ya'r!  Incredible to believe they are 2000 years old.   The oval "hole" is of course a window .. there wasn't any glass of course, and some of the holes were used to collect water.  The pigments were taken from local crushed stone or vegetable dyes.

By the way, my hair is really long, so I have to tie it up most times now as I'm afraid of doing an Isadora Duncan and getting it tangled in some jewellery!

When I returned to Istanbul, Sara and I found an evil eye bead to hang in the middle of her hag stone; we met up with Julianna who was also in Cappadocia, a Brazilian girl who is living in Japan, working in a factory, who had a Peruvian boyfriend with Japanese parents. Phew! Now she's off to Israel to see her new boyfriend! Phew!  I acted as tour guide around the grand bazaar, took them to the free show of the whirling dervish at the Arasta Bazaar, treated them to gosleme and humous because they are poor students, and came back to my lovely Star Hotel very happy indeed, wondering how I could ever have been lonely!

The following morning I cruised up the Bosphorous, to the Black Sea, on a small cruiser.  I stood in the street, waiting for the bus, drinking in the early morning of Istanbul. The muezzin wailed, and got wailed responses in return. Men carried hundreds of loaves of fluffy Turkish bread into the popular Sultanahmet restaurant adjacent to the Star holiday Hotel. Men washed windows, and sprinkled rose water outside their doors. Men carried bunches of flowers.  Newspapers.  Clean towels were delivered to the hotels.  Everybody was happy, patient, friendly.  A stranger offered me a complimentary cup of coffee from his trolley because he saw me waiting. Another man sprinkled fertiliser on the potplants outside his shop.  The trams clattered by, filled with sleepy Turks. Dazed tourists started their tours, following numbered flags.  The cobbles in the renovated square are almost in place .. I've watched their progress.  When I arrived, black tulips were everywhere .. now there are pansies and snapdragons and beautiful bounteous bushes of roses.  Herbs grow everywhere.  The blossoms are replaced by leaves that shade the wide streets. The watermelon seller has replaced the chestnut seller - the sock knitter has moved on and there is an umbrella seller in her place.

The amazing sights of this city surround me every moment:  I have visited them before, and this time just wanted to BE here, surrounded by it all, rather than hassle my way through crowds and wait for hours in queues.   Most of my days here were overcast, so I spent them deliriously happy in the Karpali Karsi, the Grand Bazaar. I think I visited almost every one of the 4000 stalls - at least it felt that way.

My taxi awaits.  But from my next stop, I will tell you the story of the Guide on the Bosphorus. He's worth his own entry.   Till then.