If you ever fantasize about living out a Flintstones life, just grab your bags and book a flight or take a bus to the stunning Cappadocia. Chance are you will choose to stay in Goreme, the backpacker mecca of mushroom, ice-cream-cone-shaped rocks connecting through miles and miles valleys.
I overlooked this region when I first read the guidebook to make a travel plan for the trip. Only when scouting travel forums for tips did I see “Cappadocia” suggested by other posters. Searching for images on the Internet finally convinced me to completely changed my Westward route from Istanbul-Izmir-Antalya to Istanbul and then eastward down to Cappadocia. While in Istanbul, I could not escape the luring of this region since every few hours I looped back and forth the street behind Anya Sofya which lined up with travel agency offices flashing Cappadocian tour fliers. I entered five such agencies to and came close to purchase a package for 245 lire. Only to resist my temptation after reading the guidebook advice to buy the tour once in Cappadocia. Remember that each regular tour costs only 50lire bought in any office in Nevshir, Goreme or surrounding villages. Add this to 13+-lire for a dorm bed and X lire for transportation cost from Istanbul to city Y to Cappadocia, it will still come up less than the price of the cheapest tour sold in Istanbul.
You read about it. You saw its pictures. You can not believe it once you get there as if you have just left reality into magic. Massive valleys filled with irregularly shaped rocks circle the lovely tiny town called Goreme.
Goreme in the winter could be depressing with most business closed for the season. The businesses made enough money during the last summer and now hibernate until springtime comes. At 18.00, it was already dark. Unless you traveled with a friend, you could not help feeling a bit lonely. Not only that, frustration started to get the best of me as I was stuck here for five days waiting to fly out of Kayseri on Friday morning. Having done two tours, I had seen most what I came here for and not sure how to fill the rest of my time. As the only guest at my hostel for some day, there was no other backpacker to connect with; if there were they scatter all over Goreme in 70 plus hostels, pensions, and hotels. On the second day, I seriously thought about canceling the flight on Friday, and either follows the other Asian tourists to Pamukkale or return to Istanbul early. My reaction surprised even myself as I usually didn’t become sissy this quickly. I guess I had tried to map out my trip in details and expected to have everything under control. Now when my plan didn’t pan out the way I wanted, on top of the somber mood in Cappadocia, the occasional loneliness and a running nose drove me mad.
Standing in the center of the town trying to figure out the way back to the hostel when two men walked by and offered help and of course an invitation for a drink. Hesitation was my natural reaction; I declined them at first. But after circling the center for the 2nd time and seeing those men again, I said to myself “What the heck!” to one man’s plead, “Please you are the first Vietnamese we see here. You come with us and watch us play Backgammon.” “What? Backgammon. What’s going on here?” My curiosity about the backgammon business in Turkey had finally won over beside the dread that I was about to return to my cave–yes I do sleep inside a cave-made-into-a-dorm, to write my journal in a low-lit and damp room all by myself. Did I mention I was afraid of ghost? I don’t know why. I am Vietnamese I guess.
There were already a few people at North Star Nagrile bar, claimed by Yasin–most men were named Yasin here–to be the best water-pipe place in town, laughing and munch snacks. Yasin and Cha order Efes, wave to the singer who was their childhood friend before playing backgammon. Two men sitting at the next table did the same, asking for a backgammon set. A group of Japanese/Korean tourists entered the bar, ordered beer, chitchat with the Turkish couple next to them and also played backgammon. I played this game only twice three years ago with a friend and simply forgot about it; Americans and Czech don’t exactly go to the bar and draw out backgammon boards. I watched them play a few games, trying to remember the rule and picked up a few strategies but these guys were playing so fast, I got bored and directed my attention elsewhere. A meter from our table sits a local singer behind a keyboard strumming on Turkish traditional guitar and crooning Turkish folk melodies.
After backgammon, we hopped to Fat Boys bar to shoot some pool. A tomato-red nose from having to blow it every few minutes in the past few days gave me the perfect reason to refuse alcohol invitation from men, but there was the temptation to try a Cappadocian local wine, unofficial national drink, convinced me to violate another rule: no alcohol handed by stranger in a strange place where I didn’t see how it was made. I guess a week in Turkey has relaxed my view on men. They are natural flirts and quite harmless.
The milky drink, Raki, made from the local grape, was served with a glass of cold water. It had a special aroma but unfortunately tasteless as most alcohol drink. With considerate effort, I managed to finish the drink and won only one pool game by technicality before moving on to another disco tech down the street. The bar’s previous owner had recently quitted to server out his military duty. The new owner probably completed his mission and now looked for a new venture or would quit in a couple of years to join the military. It’s easy to understand why military service is mandatory in Turkey. It’s a big country bordering eight countries some of which are politically tense. Also, the founder of the modern Turkish nation, one of Turkey’s greatest son is a military man, Attaturk.
If in Silicon Valley, youngsters rush to enter the dotcom during the late 90s and the Web 2.0 internet fever; here in Goreme, young men pay their due in the military and run toward the lure of the booming tourism in this magnificent region in the heartland of Anatolia. Running a cave business: hostel, pension or bar can be simple. Entrepreneur enthusiasts pay a fixed tax to the government and rent a piece of land around the cave, and voila a new business is opened. A lot of businesses are family-owned passing down from fathers/uncles to sons. Everybody knows almost everybody else in this tiny town. So are their businesses. A hostel owner refers only tours run by his childhood buddy. He takes you to rent scooters or bicycles from the shop where his other buddy works and recommends you restaurants owned by his other friends. Vice versa. Competitors don’t stab each other’s back, but they are not shy from one or two negative comments. One tiny village is hidden deep in a valley. 70 plus hostels, pensions, guest-house and boutique hotels. That many for bars and restaurants. A bunch of souvenir shops. The competition is probably fierce, but still, you see the calmness and carefree of almost everybody here.
I promised to dance if the D.J. had my songs: the Romanian gay hit “Numa numaye,” Mika’s “Grace Kelly,” Kylie Minogue’s “In your eyes,” “Can’t get you out of my head” or La Bouche’s “Be my lover.” Shit, I am old. These songs are so yesterday. Lucky I didn’t have to show my robotic movement in front of a bunch of quizzing look from the locals since the D.J had none of my songs.
Cha left me with Yasin at the bar with our Efes Pilsen-style to move his body back and forth under the rotating light, completely ignoring the fact that he was the only person on the dance floor. “Oh, he’s happy with his new freedom. He’s celebrating his release from the military.” Yasin explained.
I got bored when the conversation with Yasin turned into lines of wooing suggesting me to move to a Korean-run pension where he stayed. “We have Korean breakfast with kimchee and dried fish.” Y. invited. “Come tomorrow at 8!”
Annyeonghi gaseyo! It was time to cut a tail and got back to the cave.
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My name is Cindy, also rhymes with travel junkie. A friend said I was probably a gipsy in my previous life. One of my many secret missions in life is to convert you to run off every once in awhile.
