April 22

It was 9:30 when our tour left Goreme. There were eleven of us in the mini van, plus driver and tour guide. The eleven were made up of a fellow from Holland, another from South Africa, a couple from Australia (there is representation from Australia on every tour), two ladies from Italy, three twenty-something girls from New Zealand and two Canadians (that’s us).

Our guide told us she remembers seeing frescos on the walls when she came at the age of six, but moisture has since caused them to vanish. Joining room to room were narrow passageways, low tunnels and winding staircases (some of which also have very low ceilings).

When the Muslims drove out the Christians and peace came to the region, the underground cities were forgotten. In 1960 a farmer stumbled across one of the openings. An international team of archaeologists began to document these underground cities and items were moved to the Archeological Museum in Ankara. In 1965 four of the cities were opened up for tourism.

Forty-five minutes away the tour entered the Ihlara Valley. We joined others hoofing down approximately 400 stairs to the valley floor. A green banked small fast moving river stream flows through the narrow gorge. Vertical rock walls soar straight up except in a few places where time, erosion and earthquakes have caused parts of the walls to collapse, shattering slabs of rock into pieces as small as pebbles and as large as school buses. Looking up ... way up ... we were surprised to see sheep grazing at the very edge.

Following them were a dozen or so children around ten to twelve years of age in what appeared to be school uniforms with one carrying a flag and two carrying a large picture of a man (we believe to be Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, a revered leader who orchestrated a united Turkey in the 1920s); then little girls, some with cheerleader pompoms and boys with the word "Soccer" across their chests. Walking at the edge were women. Bringing up the rear of the parade were little children accompanied by mothers. Some were dressed in fancy dresses while others were in school clothes. Most wore a hat on their head. Each brightly coloured hat a little different than the others but all tall and decorated, many with polka-dots and multi-pointed brims.

We went to dinner at the Orient Restaurant. They sat us next to the fireplace in a large atrium. Only one other table was occupied at the far end of the room and soon they left. Also near the fireplace was a sofa and chair set. Some men were having tea. They left and we were alone. The food was good. We could imagine that during the height of tourist season, this place would be busy as it is recommended in the guide book. Another man came in to sit on the sofa and have a tea. The Turks drink a lot of tea. Soon he was asleep. Beautiful music with a French singer was playing in the background and the sound of snoring joined in the chorus. When he fell into a deeper sleep his snoring became quite loud and the staff began to giggle. We told them it was fine with us. He must be very tired. As it continued they woke him up and he left embarrassed although we called out to him to stay.

In the evening we went to see the Whirling Dervishes. They asked that no photography be taken during the ceremony and told us they would return after for photo opportunities. Three instruments accompanied the Dervishes, a sort of lute, a pipe and a hand drum. The drummer also sang. We were given a brochure which explained the symbolism of the different steps of the ceremony. There was a lot of bowing and eventually the whirling (spinning around) which represents being in tune with everything from the electrons in an atom to the universe. There were three separate segments of whirling each lasting about 3 minutes. It was interesting to witness.

We left our room just before 7:30 with our backpacks and coats ready to walk out the door after a quick breakfast. The son was no where to be seen but the father was there bundled up in his coat against the morning cold. He got up from where he was having his cigarette and shuffled some papers behind the bar counter. We walked over to the window noting there was not a table set, nor was the son anywhere in sight. We paced back and forth wondering why we could not hear the clanking of dishes nor the kettle on to boil. On one of our rounds he told us the amount owing on our bill. We confirmed the number and then Terry said, "your son told us he would have breakfast ready for us at 7:30 because we have a bus to catch at 8:00." This statement caused a look of wonderment in the father’s face. We stepped aside and he picked up the cell phone. After a minute with few words spoken from the father’s end, there was an animated conversation and then silence. Still no activity. "May I help you by setting the table?" Sherrie asked. "No. I do this," the father said. At seven minutes to eight the son walks in the door with bread. "Please just make a sandwich," we suggested as we did not have time.

The rest of the day was made up of bus rides from Goreme to Konya and then to Antalya on Turkey’s south coast. Even with making excellent connections we did not arrive at our accommodations at the Sabah Pansiyon until sunset. Our first glimpses of Kaleici (Old Town), where we were staying, created a sense of anticipation for what tomorrow would bring.