Cappadocia and Goreme, Turkey

Fairy Chimney rock formation.

      I could not stop thinking about a place my friend Adam had told me about. “Bri, make sure you make it to Cappadocia. You should really plan on going there.” Being the procrastinator that I am, I had not followed his advice. Seeing a picture of the unique rock formations convinced me that I had to go. My every thought became engulfed with thoughts of visiting Cappadocia. I had to be there before I left Turkey. Now that I decided to go, I had to convince my traveling companions. My obsession with rocks and geology alloted me a thousand reasons to go here.

     Unfortunately, neither of them felt quite the same. “Bri, I mean, it would be cool, but I could live without seeing it. I really don’t want to spend more money traveling across the country. And we already paid for our hotel.” And my exasperated response “What? When are we ever going to go here again, this is so cool!” And my incessant begging began. I could not give up on my newfound passion-Cappadocia. 

     Even the name was magical. It became a land of whimsical beauty. I tirelessly researched transportation. Last minute flights were too expensive, there was not a train path yet, but there were buses. Now, I usually don’t take buses in the United States. They’re full of uncomfortable situations. However, numerous locals assured us that the buses were very comfortable, very nice. My constant nagging and eventual plan to go alone convinced Rebecca to join me. She sighed, packed a small bag, and we set of for our journey that night. We would only have one day in Cappadocia before we needed to leave for Istanbul and our flight home. 

     I’m thrilled, finally complete now that my newest dream was becoming a reality. We leave our hotel, Rebecca finally becoming more excited that we’re actually going.  We bounded down the street, armed with the small amount of information the concierge could give us “Go to the end train stop. Then find a bus to take you to Cappadocia.” But I wasn’t worried; we’re resourceful and could find our way. Hopping on the train, we realize that we only have enough change for the first leg of the train journey. When we have to get off to switch trains, we search for an ATM. Usually there are many around, however, this time there weren’t any. After a foray into a hotel, where the metal detector alerted everyone to our entrance, and a venture down a dark alley, we discover a little bank with an ATM. Perfect. We thought that leaving at night would be great, we could sleep on the bus and arrive refreshed in Cappadocia. Except wandering around a city at night looking for an ATM doesn’t seem like the best plan in the evening.

     Armed with cash, we now have to break our large bills in order to pay the train fare. We stop in a restaurant and buy some oranges, eliciting laughter from the clerks who don’t understand why we’re in such hurry and only want to buy two oranges. Frantically paying, as we don’t know when the last bus leaves, we sprint to the train. Hopping on, we relax and wait for the last stop.

      Arriving at the end of the train line, we cautiously get off and attempt to get our bearings. Glancing around, we see buses three stories below our level. We walk down the damp, dark stairwell and wander around the buses. One portly Turkish man takes pity on us, and gestures upstairs. Apparently we went the wrong way. We clomp back upstairs in our shiny sandals, and look in the direction gestured to us. There’s a strip mall across the street. Except it’s a bus strip mall. All the glowing signs written in Turkish were advertising different bus lines. We sprint across the street and start bombarding the men with questions. Unfortunately, not one of them understands English, and we have absolutely no knowledge of Turkish besides no and thank you. We finally scuttle together a semblance of understanding, they hear Cappadocia, but say that Goreme and Nevsehir are the same thing. We shrugged, taking the advice of strangers has become routine. Especially since we have only a semblance of understanding. 

     Ticket in hand, we walk through the strip mall/store/ticket buying center and enter the bus depot. There are rows upon rows of buses, waiting to take people to many places throughout Turkey. We settle into our Van Galder like bus, and Rebecca abruptly decides to find a bathroom. Her pea-sized bladder is the beginning to many entertaining stories. As she leaves the bus, a teenage girl climbs aboard. She looks at me, looks at her ticket, sighs in annoyance and stomps off. Five men then join her and start talking to me in rapid-fire Turkish. “Umm…English?” I smile uncomfortably. They all laugh in unison and the girl shows me where our seats are. And so our trip begins.

     Rebecca returns and we settle into our real seats, taking note of the empty seats around us. We envision a row for each of us and a lovely night’s rest. The bus’ attendant hops aboard and we’re ready to go to Cappadocia! As the bus starts moving, Rebecca scoots to the seat in front of me, and we put in our headphones ready to drift asleep. I’m abruptly startled fifteen minutes later by our bus attendant, grunting and motioning for Rebecca to move back into her assigned seat. Grabbing her ticket, he forcefully points to the seat next to me, and grunts unintelligibly until she moves there. Garnering the attention of the entire bus, our laughter is greeted with annoyed looks. We clearly weren’t making any friends. Ipods back in, we closed our eyes.

     And were awakened again by families and children boarding the bus, filling in the empty seats. Okay, now we understand the emphasis on assigned seats. Hopefully that was the last stop. 

A music video abruptly turns on at full volume and the bus attendant, affectionately deemed "bus mom," storms by. He hands out cups to everyone, and just as quickly, rushes through the aisles, pouring water for tea and instant coffee. The bus mom had taken it upon himself to focus all of his attention on us after the seat mishap. Rebecca had taken a cup, but decided that caffeine would not be the best way to fall asleep. She politely refused the bus mom’s proffered hot water until he became visibly agitated. The grunting and mumbling began again, scrunching his face to epic proportions. After numerous exaggerated gestures and grunts, Rebecca finally gave up her cup to be filled. And just as quickly passed it off to someone else. As the bus mom came by to collect our cups, he seemed utterly confused as to where Rebecca’s had gone. Dismissing the issue, the music video was turned off as abruptly as it was turned on.  We finally settled in to sleep.

     And then the bus mom was next to us, grunting and motioning for Rebecca to hand over her iPod. Bemused, she handed it over. The attendant wandered down the aisle, jamming out to her music. We watched him for the next twenty minutes, unsure of what we were supposed to do. He eventually returned the iPod, and we saw that his taste revolved around the Beatles. It's interesting how music transcends language barriers. Laughing and earning more disgruntled glares from bus goers, we went back to our music and the elusive goal-sleep. 

     Elusive it was. The next thing I know, we’re being shaken awake and grunted at to get off the bus. But only us. Hours before we’re supposed to arrive in Cappadocia/Goreme/Nevsehir, we’re being told to get off the bus. Grabbing our totes, we’re hustled off of the bus and onto the side of the road. Our bus mom waves as the bus drives off. A man in the same uniform as our bus mom gestures for us to follow him. At this point, we have no other choice but to trust him. Slightly panicked but again relying on the kindness of strangers, we follow him through a maze of obstacles. Across a parking lot, through a building, down an escalator, our final destination is a train station. Apparently, we’re in a bus depot in Ankara.

     Our guide leaves us by more of the glowing bus signs and disappears. And we’re left to figure out how to get to our destination. Pieced together through hand gestures and written numbers, we buy tickets to Goreme. Unfortunately, our bus doesn’t leave for hours. This cuts into our time in Cappadocia. But we’ve come this far, and I am not one to give up on an ambition. We lounge in uncomfortable plastic seats until it’s time for our bus to leave. We find our new bus, and are pleasantly surprised by the televisions built into the back of every seat. But we still don’t understand much Turkish, especially rapid-fire abnter. We embark on the last leg of our journey, and I’m so excited to get to Cappadocia. 

Outside of Goreme's open air museum.

     This part of the bus takes longer than expected, taking numerous stops in neighboring cities. We finally make it to Goreme, and it’s beautiful. Unfortunately, we only have four and a half hours to experience this whimsical city. We stumble off of the bus, exhausted from an erratic sleep pattern, but ready to make the most of the next few hours. The first thing we saw was a sandwich board for a travel agency offering free maps. We walk in, and the owner was more than friendly. He could not believe that we had traveled twelve hours on a bus to spend four and a half visiting his city. He spent the next twenty minutes discussing our different options for the day, and trying to convince us to stay longer. I wish we could have stayed, there was so much we didn’t get to see. Armed with a game plan, we set off for a walk down Pigeon Trail, viewing the awe-inspiring fairy chimneys.

     Fairy chimneys are an amazing geologic formation. They are immense, thin spirals of rock formed at the bottom of an arid drainage basin. They are soft easily molded sedimentary rock that is covered by a stronger stone that holds the shape. I was enthralled. There are houses, hotels, even a castle carved out of this stone. The geologic formations in this region are beautiful. 

Becca and I on top of Uchisar Hill and Castle, overlooking Cappadocia.

     We toured a bit by foot, and then stopped back by the travel agency. The owner insisted on helping us for the remainder of our time. He drove us to the outdoor museum, because he didn’t want us to miss seeing the paintings within the churches.  Goreme was gorgeous, and I don’t regret a minute of the twelve hour bus ride there. The twelve hour bus ride back was however, a struggle. Exhausted and dirty from spending the day trekking around, we clambered aboard the bus, an hour and a half after the scheduled departure time. I forgot-Turkish time.