A Trip to Kapadokya

[Colwyn]

Thanks HB. The next posting will be advice on what NOT to do.

[Colwyn]

Day 9: Part One

When you are travelling there are good days when some decisions, coincidental events, and accidental happenings conspire to produce a good result. And days when they don't. Our day in the Ihlara Valley was a very good day. It was followed by a bad day.

We had decided to break our return journey from Kapadokya with another lakeside overnight stop - this time at Beysehir. The original plan was to travel from Aksaray to Konya to go to the Mevlani (Whirling Dervish) museum and then on to Beysehir Lake. It would have taken about three hours. However, I didn't fancy travelling that awful road for a second time. In addition Konya is a large city and I suspected that the museum would not be very easy to find. And we had already gotten to see a Dervish performance. So we decided to travel by a more roundabout route via Nigde after which our map promised a "scenic route" southwards. A bad decision.

Things started well. We headed south from Selime coming soon to Guzelyurt at the top of the Ihlara Valley. This is a formerly Greek town where today the main occupation is walking in the middle of the road - a popular pastime all over southern Kapadokya. We discovered that its sole ATM was kaput, but fortunately we had enough petrol to get us to Nigde that is quite a large town.

GUZELYURT



After Guzelyurt we followed a secondary road to reach this destination that took us up a long narrow valley, with a pleasant river, to the top of the mountains at the pass of Guresentepe (2180m/7150ft). Below us was the town of Nigde. This was an extraordinarily quiet place with the few citizens who were outdoors walking quietly in the middle of the road. This may be the home of the first prototype quadbike in that we saw a motorbike for four wheels but, unlike the more conventional version, this had one wheel at the front and three at the back. It looked rather like one of those children's bicycles with stabilizers except that the two outside wheels were nearly the same size as the one in the middle of the back three. In near silence we found an ATM, filled up with petrol , and headed south. We were now leaving Kapadokya. Things started to deteriorate.

The so-called "scenic route" was not very interesting - unless you are turned on by large fields of giant cabbages - although after a while the Bolkar mountains (part of the Toros/Taurus range) decorated the horizon. Signposts indicated the direction of Adana which reminded us just how far east we had driven. Dismissing the temptation to go there and asking whether they had any spicy kebabs, we turned instead for Ulukisla on the Konya road. It was soon clear that this was a main industrial route to/from eastern Turkey; a convoy of lorries spaced 20 metres apart. Progress was frustratingly slow. We decided to take an alternative route and swung south at Eregli and began to pass through places of which we had never heard. We were now crossing the Central Anatolian Plain again, and it was every bit as boring as the stretch between Aksaray and Konya - but it is wider here.

At least progress was rather faster than it had been on the direct lorry-congested road to Konya we had just left. Until, that is, we came to the roadworks. There are a number of different styles of road building and maintenance in Turkey. One is the way we generally do it in the UK. On a short stretch of road one carriageway is repaired with lights directing single line traffic alternating in using the open lane. This however is rare. More common is the mode in which several miles of one carriageway is replaced in one go with traffic being crammed close together on the remaining road and verge. A third form is simply building an extra two lanes parallel with the existing road (as between Konya and Aksaray). The most annoying, however, is undoubtedly when gravel is simply dumped on top of the road surface for stretches of 10, 20, perhaps 30 kilometres after which the road builders leave for some indeterminate period of time - probably months. When fresh this throws up vast volumes of dust and the gravel constantly threatens to smash your windscreen This is was the form of road "improvement" we now came across. For 20 minutes and more we travelled along a white road, under a hazy white sky, through a parched beige-white landscape, in a white dustcloud that strained my eyes and clogged my chest. Quite horrid.

Eventually we emerged from this dustbowl and came to the industrial city of Karaman with its huge factories - one of which would have rivalled Henry Ford's famous River Rouge plant in its 1920s heyday. We next came to one place that had a familiar name Kazim Karabekir - not because I knew of the town but because it was the name of the revolutionaries who fought alongside Ataturk in WWI and the War of Independence. He seemed to be a cross between a general and a warlord. I doubt whether he would have been very impressed with the little town that carries his name.

Finally, we got to the turn-off that would lead away from this horrible road and into the hills at the western border of the Central Anatolian Plain driving through Bozkir and on to Seydisehir. Storm clouds had begun to gather and hung dark and heavy over the mountains. We still had a long way to go before getting to Beysehir.

STORM CLOUDS AT SEYDISEHIR

[Colwyn]

Day 9: Part Two

Finally, in late afternoon, we arrived at Beysehir. It wasn't what we expected. We had thought that a town on a huge lake would focus itself around the water. But it didn't. It treated the lake as some sort of inconvenience that prevented the town from expanding westwards. The main street had one rather tatty looking pansiyon and an even tattier hotel. A little way out of the centre there was a rather better looking pansiyon. But nothing seemed all that attractive. I had taken an instant dislike to the town. So we consulted the map again and thought that perhaps the southern shore of the lake, a little out of Beysehir, would offer better possibilities - another bad decision.

We set off along the shore of the lake and soon came across a fish restaurant and hotel. Just the sort of place for which we were looking. It was closed and locked. Still, there would be another one a little further on; wouldn't there? We turned west and found that the road, which appeared a short route on the map, was a narrow and very twisty lane. We got stuck behind a bus with no chance of overtaking. But there was a small village ahead. Perhaps that would have a pansiyon. No. But up ahead was a National Park (Milli Parki) where, surely, there would be places to stay. We finally got ahead of the bus when it stopped to let off some passengers. At the next village we stopped and, after making our way slowly around a large funeral party that must have consisted of nearly all the adults of the village, came across a few people who were not attending the ceremony. They assured us that there were some pansiyons at Yesilda&g (Green Mountain) - the next but one village along the lake shore. We tried to discover the correct road out of the village, got lost, arrived back where we started, tried again, and finally set off in the right direction. And soon found ourselves behind the bus - because it had been tortoise to our hare and thus gotten ahead of us again. We came across another little village that was something of an oddity. Sometimes, in Turkey, it seems that building are either over 2000 years old (and ruined) or less than 50 years; with nothing in between. In many cases nineteenth and twentieth century houses have collapsed - either due to poor construction or earthquakes. But this village was of an age that, had it been in Britain, would have been called "medieval". We were tired, hungry and thirsty by now and so did not stop to take photos. Instead we pressed on to Yesilda&g.

We pulled into the village square (a car parking area) and approached three men chatting outside a local shop. We asked if there was a pansiyon in the village. There then began a pantomime that will be familiar to anyone who has travelled off the beaten track and asked directions, in scant Turkish, to people who have no English. Once our requirement was realized there was scratching of heads, and deep frowning. One chap looked up the road to our left; another stared hard to the right; the third looked back in the direction from which we had come. None was going to admit: "I don't know". [This is rather like ordering a meal in a restaurant when you have asked for lamb and are told "Chicken is very good". If you insist that lamb is what you would really like then, and only then, are you told: "Kuzu yok - there isn't any lamb. Tavuk var - there is chicken"]. We were directed across the square to someone outside the bank, who went inside and phoned, and we asked to wait. The storm that had been threatening now began with big juicy raindrops and we sheltered inside the bank. Finally a chap arrived and with a brisk command instructed us "Come". He led us across the road, up some stairs above a shop, and showed us his "pansiyon". It was a doss house. The room contained a bed; and nothing else. Not even a "Turkish wardrobe" (i.e. a nail banged into the wall). The bed had sheets but God knows how long they had been there. I hesitantly asked about the tuvalet (toilet) and dus (shower). These were communal facilities; one a hole in the floor, and the other a dripping pipe loosely connected to wall. When I say "communal" that would be the case if anyone else was staying there. There wasn't. Indeed I doubt whether anyone had stayed there in a very long time. Not only were we the only tourists in the village, we suspected that we were only ones they had seen in ten years - if ever. Hilary gave me a look; she does that well. I said "I think we will go on to Beysehir, thank you" - or as near that as my Turkish would allow and we made our escape. Hilary muttered: "I would rather sleep in the car". With the UK running out of prison cells I think I have a recommendation for where our surplus convicts might be accommodated. But only the worst cases of course.

[Kernowrebel]

Brilliant narrative and photographs. Thank you so much for sharing this with us all. We are planning a trip to this area next year and this has given us so much information, particularly what not to do!!

[Colwyn]

Day 9: Part Three

I couldn't face retracing our journey along the winding road to Beysehir that would take well over an hour so decided instead to follow the road northwards along the western shore of the lake. This, at last, was a good decision. Not only was the road much faster but there were glorious views over the lake. There are no photographs though as dusk was approaching and I was hoping to get onto the main road to Beysehir before it got dark. There was very little traffic on the road except for some strange vehicles we had not seen in other parts of Turkey (the reader may have noticed my mild obsession with forms of transport). They looked like farm trailers that one would expect to be towed by tractors but these had small engines - they looked and sounded like lawnmower two-strokes - bolted onto the front so they were independent. [The next day I managed to get a rather poor shot of one ot these driving past]. Hilary enjoyed the scenery whilst I pushed on to see if we could get a place to sleep. Travellers are recommended to follow this tour around the lake - but not at the end of a day of very hard driving.

Finally we got to the main road and began heading south towards Beysehir. So it was that we unintentionally came to Sarki Karaa&gaç for the second time on our trip. When we arrived at the main square we were greeted by a heartening sight; on one side of the road an hotel and on the other a restaurant. We pulled up outside the Otel Korkusuz. It was rather an oddly designed place. On the ground floor were shops and at the side a petrol station. There were some steps up to the first floor where we found a deserted reception. An inquiry at the mini-market underneath brought a guy running from the petrol station. He showed us a room which we could have for 60 Lira. Rather a lot we thought, but we were in no mood to bargain. We had travelled 587 kilometres (365 miles) over difficult roads and I had been driving for 11 hours. We gratefully accepted the offer. We discovered another oddity of the hotel. We had been given a room at the front of the hotel overlooking the square. It had a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling picture window. Not the sort of place to forget to pull the curtains at night because you would be in full view of the everybody in the main thoroughfare in the morning. After we had put our suitcase in the room we went to search for a beer. of course there were no bars open. We went to the first mini-market to see if they would sell us some Efes; "Hayir, Ramazan". And a second: "Hayir Ramazan". And a third; "Evet". Great. We sat in our room and drank the beer until we calculated that the evening food rush (the breaking of the day's fast) had finished, had a simple meal in the "restaurant" (lokanta really) across the road, and then collapsed in our room.

MAP OF DAY 9




OTEL KORKUSUZ (our room second floor left)




THE LOKANTA




MOTORIZED TRAILER

[Colwyn]

Day 10: Part One

We were up early the next day, too early for breakfast, and took a stroll around the little town. Stallholders were setting up for the weekly market in a little square the main feature of which was a waterfall in a tree. We'd not seen one of those before.

SARKI KARAAGAÇ WATERFALL




Soon we were heading south towards Beysehir. In the morning it looked rather better than it had the previous afternoon. Perhaps I had been tired and not given the place a decent chance. We headed for the town's most famous building - the Selcuk mosque Esrefoglu Camii. But the mosque was locked with huge padlocks. We walked all round and tried every door. No way in. Damn. We were standing outside wondering what to do next when the door opened and a coach party of city women emerged - readily identifiable by their uniform of slim long coats and tightly wrapped scarves. It seemed that they had booked a private service, but now the mosque was open to the public; which consisted of us.

Although Hilary had brought her own scarf and shrug (which is, it seems, a sort of cardigan thingy) a local woman insisted on dressing her in Turkish gear. We went through a beautifully tiled entranceway into the lovely mosque. This is a wooden construction built between 1296 and 1299. The flat roof is held up by 42 cedar treetrunk columns with carved and painted capitals, with a pool in the centre, under what used to be an open roof - now covered by glass. There is a magnificent blue-tiled mihrab (prayer niche indicating direction of Mecca) and a carved walnut mimber (pulpit). After we had been admiring the building for about quarter of an hour we were approached by a man who introduced himself as the imam. He told us about some of the history and features of his camii. Then he said that, as it was ramazan, he spent much of the day singing. He took a step back, so that he was about four feet from us, and proceeded to demonstrate for a couple of minutes. It was surprisingly loud and powerful; quite magical. We felt very privileged. I recalled something that the Turkish guide of the film crew had told us in Selime; that the imam at Beysehir had won a national prize as the best religious singer in Turkey. When he finished I said, "I think you have won a prize for singing". Modestly he turned his head to one side and shrugged his agreement. He invited us to contribute to the mosque preservation fund. Unfortunately we had left wallet and purse in the car but I emptied my pocket of all the change I had which he happily accepted. When we left and returned shawl and scarf the woman outside the mosque she tried to sell Hilary some trinkets I tried to explain, "Yok para. Imam - para", that we had given the imam all our money. She clearly didn't believe me. Oh well.


GETTING DRESSED




ENTRANCEWAY




PILLARS




POOL




CAPITAL




MIHRAB




MIMBER

[Colwyn]

Day 10: Part Two

After the mosque we set off southwards again. It would be another long drive (566k/350m); but this time we had already booked our hotel and  knew where it was. We were heading for Çalis. It was where we had had our first three holidays in Turkey and we would laze about, visit old friends, and indulge in some nostalgia.

MAP OF DAY 10 (red route)




We travelled a pleasant road through wooded mountains towards Managvat until we arrived at the Mersin-Antalya road. I had driven this before so knew what to expect; a straight, flat, boring road congested with traffic.


BEYSEHIR TO MANAGVAT ROAD






OUR LITTLE CAR




If there was any scenery worth viewing on thir road, which there isn't, it would be obscured by thousands of huge hoardings. After some time we approached Antalya with some forebodings. When I had been there before we had gotten comprehensively lost. We weren't looking forward to replaying the experience. Here is the problem. Antalya doesn't believe in the usual signposting of Turkey. Instead of nice big clear signs indicating the next city it assaults the eye with dozens of nasty little yellow signs that might indicate cities, nearby villages, or even suburbs of the city. Antalya distains to mention Fethiye, beneath its contempt, and - as far as we could see - makes only one mention of Mugla. We figured out that we would have to travel north on the Burdur road before turning left to go via Korkuteli to Fethiye. After travelling to and fro in the traffic-jammed centre of Antalya we spotted a little yellow sign indicating the road to Burdur. It was only a little while later that we discovered the underlying meaning of this sign. Which was "This is the direction you should take for Burdur. If, that is, you want to travel by the most miserable, convoluted, roundabout, route through broken down suburbs, along roads that are mostly under construction (or deconstruction), without benefit of any further signposts, and where the local citizenry are outstandingly stupid and have no idea where the mythical Fethiye might be except that if you wanted to get there you should not be on this road in the first place, so it is all your fault". Now I realize that it would be difficult to fit all this onto a nasty little yellow sign, but it would be more honest if it was done. After much cursing, backtracking, stopping and asking, and hoping for the best we found ourselves travellihng westward - at least in the right general direction - along a tatty narrow road which inexplicably ("This is Turkey") converted into a brand new, empty,  six lane highway for one kilometer until it ended its brief existence at the main Antalya-Burdur road that the local transport authorities had tried to hide from us. There were, of course, no signposts. Nevertheless we finally managed to discover the turnoff to Korketli and were able to continue our journey. It had taken an hour and a quarter to get from one side of the city to the other. Should you find in some market some tee-shirts saying " I HATE ANTALYA " could you get a couple (one small, one large) and I'll buy them from you when I'm next in town.

Now we back on the right road we travelled over relatively low mountains, separated by plateaux, on another good route through forests. We found Korketeli to be a pleasant, surprisingly large, town (with excellent signposting!) and the bitter taste of Antalya had cleared from our mouths.


ANTALYA (Boo!!! Hiss!!!) TO FETHIYE ROAD




It was late afternoon when we pulled off the main road and headed into Calis. We crossed the little canal, turned right, and parked behind the Nil Motel where we would stay for three nights. We had booked a large room at the front looking over the prom onto one of the best coastal views we have seen anywhere. Later, as we relaxed with a couple of Efes, I took the obligatory "Çalis Sunset" photograph. It never fails to please the soul.


Çalis SUNSET

[Gorgeous_bird]

Excellent - really enjoyed the read- Thanks Colwyn

[Colwyn]

Conclusion

After three nights in Çalis we set off again for Akyaka. Hilary asked if we needed to stop at an ATM before we left. I replied that we only needed 30 YTL for petrol and wouldn't be needing to spend anything else before we reached our destination. But, of course, that was because I hadn't anticipated being caught on speed camera just after Goçek. Two policemen called me over to the side of the road and, once they had established that we spoke English, happily chatted with us about our holiday while one filled in a form specifying my offence (111 k/hr in a 90 k/hr zone) and the other filled in my fine. "You pay cash?". We scrabbled around and Hilary fortunately managed to come up with most of the money and I added a few extra coins. Total 87 YTL (£40). We paid up and they wished us well on our way - smiling and waving. As we got into the car Hilary said, in a voice loud enough for the policemen to hear, "Yavas, Colwyn, yavas".  And closing the door muttered; "I told you. You drive too fast". Which was the only thing she said for the next half an hour. Subsequently it was surprising just how often she was able to get the phrase "paid your fine" into conversation: "We'll have to stop at an ATM because I don't have any money now I've paid your fine"; "Do you think we'll be able to afford a meal this evening - having paid your fine?"; "Quite an expensive trip wasn't it? Especially after paying your fine"; and so on.

Our journey had taken us over 1500 miles and used up over £200 of petrol (plus 87 TYL fine). It was an absolutely wonderful experience. I think the seven nights we were in Kapadokya was just right for a visit that took in all of the top must-see/do things without anything being repeated (except visits to rock churches and monasteries). I thought our time there just about perfect, but Hilary found some of the tracks rather difficult. Getting there and back was different. If I never see the Central Anatolian Plain again it will be too soon. Perhaps the best way to see Kapadokya would be to fly to Kayseri airport and skip this part of the trip.

I started this travelogue with some hesitation. I have posted thousands of words and over 150 photographs. This is the longest "postcard" I have ever sent and the most "holiday snaps" I have shown anyone. I wondered if people would get fed up with it. If you have been following the thread I hope that, if you have never thought of going to Kapadokya, it has made you start considering it; or if you have thought of going it brings it closer to the top of your list and offers some suggestions on what to see and do; or if you have already been that it brings back some good memories. It really is a most magical place.

Postscript

Back in Akyaka, on market day, we were walking towards the marketplace when we spied a couple of people walking determinedly up the hill in the opposite direction. "Look who's coming" I said. It was - I imagine you have guessed - the travellers we had met in Kapadokya, the former BBC foreign correspondent and the travel writer. Sitting and drinking some fresh orange juice at the market cafe we learned that they had booked in for three nights in camping ground in the forest - and had then added a couple of extra nights. The pronounced it "Absolutely delightful". I was pleased to hear that he had also been fined for speeding (87 YTL for exceeding the limit by a mere 6 k/hr; apparently if you didn't have cash it would be 110 YTL). We said our goodbyes to this very pleasant and interesting couple. She had told us earlier that she would get a few articles from their trip; perhaps getting them published in the Guardian or the Observer. We shall look out for them.

[calvin 1949]

Amazing glad you shared this with us all
Regards Calvin