Seeing my sullen face, Yasin (my host) suggested a hike with me along the Rose Valley. We walked to the town center and stopped briefly at Hitchhiker scooter rental company where his friend worked. One comment led to another; I rented an ATV so we could explore the massive valleys. I hesitated at first since the 85 lire rental (4 hours including gas) wasn’t included in my budget. But hey, I could either doing nothing to hold on dearly to my money and bored myself to death, or I could do something fun to lift my mood.
Wow! The adrenaline-charged ATV ride was worth every single minute of it. All of my trouble was gone either because I was hanging on for dear life on the back of the speeding vehicle or the unbelievable landscape around me made it a sin to have lingering trouble in my head.
If on the regular tours I hiked on the path on the top of the rocks and looking down the valley from above, then on the monster ATV, I zigzagged through the rocks, facing them and viewing from the bottom. It was amazing just the same.
We rode on various terrains from sticky, muddy dirt path to a rocky surface and smooth country road. We drove along Rose Valley, the most comfortable Valley to spot because of its unmistakeably pinkest color and hiked uphill to visit an old church. Then we zoomed to Red and While Valley to Sword Valley and finally to Love Valley. Why Love Valley? Yasin explained that the Valley was the closest to the village, convenient for dating-age boys and girls to meet each other secretly there.
One advantage of traveling during the winter was that I feel as if I owned the entire valley as there was another single soul lurking around.
We had dinner at Dibek, a traditional Turkish family restaurant serving homemade Turkish dishes. It was cool to hang out with Yasin because he knew a lot of people in town, for example, the son of the owner of Dibek. There I didn’t feel like a guest who came only to eat. I show the host how to use watermark software to write trademark text on the photos to prevent them from being used by others. I chatted with him about a lot of things from his recent redecorated restaurant, the restaurant’s longer review in the newest edition of the Lonely Planet to a Turkey travel guide writer who frequently visited Cappadocia and left a trail of boyfriends along the way.
I had ravioli pasta cooked in yogurt with sour cabbage, sour gozleme and bread. I never thought I would order pasta in Turkey as I did not want to contribute to the global spreading of Italian food. Don’t get me wrong, Italian dishes are delicious, but I rather enjoy them only in Italy. Also, I had horrible experience with Italian food in the heavy cuisine Czech Republic. The Czechs had successfully ruined Italian pizzas and pasta by either flooding them with creamy sauce or over-poured greasy oil. However, the ravioli or manti was a traditional Turkish dish I hadn’t tried. Slowly I scooped one small spoon of soaked yogurt ravioli and felt the juiciness and tenderness of each bite melting in my tongue. Half-sitting, half-lying on a floor cushion, running my fingers through the red fabric of the ground carpet, listening to the unmistakably distinctive Turkish melodies and waiting for the muezzin chants from the mosque across town, I experienced one of the most surreal moments in this enchanting country.
“Your country is beautiful!” I replied to Yasin’s question about his country. “We have an incredible country except for the Kurds.” Yasin continued.
“Why don’t you guys give them independence?” I could not help avoiding a political discussion even though I was not sure he was the right one for such topic.
“No. Never they will never have independence.”
“Why not? You have a big country. Why don’t you give them a small tiny piece of land to make their country?”
“No. they will not have independence in Turkey. We will never give them any land.”
Yasin was adamant with his opinion even though he could not give me the reason not.
“Why do you care about the Kurds?” Asked the host.
“I don’t care about the Kurds. It is simply a conversation.” I chuckled to ease the tension.
“Well. We don’t care about anything.” He grinned. “We make a lot of money and burn it.”
“OK!” I grinned as well.
It was totally not the right time, the right place and the right people to get into such topics. What was I thinking? But I was glad to know their opinion.
A perfect environment was spoiled somewhat. Nice Turks probably depends on how you look at it. (But Cindy, why do you keep bring up politics?)
But the food and the middle-eastern atmosphere in Dibek was fantastic. I will just eat from now on.
[slickr-flickr type=”galeria” tag=”cappadocia” caption=”on” description =”on”]
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.
