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Published: November 15th 2011
As I left the palm-lined boardwalk of İskenderun and headed towards the snow-capped Taurus Mountains, I wondered if I had made the right decision trading t-shirt and shorts weather for subzero temperatures. But, as the fairy chimneys and cave dwellings of Cappadocia came into view, I knew that I had. Few places in the world match Cappadocia for the sheer awe that the landscape inspires (among them, for me, are the Yosemite Valley and the Namib Desert). In a way, Cappadocia one-ups them all because an ancient city is flawlessly integrated into the natural beauty. Walking through the valleys, you’ll suddenly come across a cave church with the vibrantly painted faces of Jesus and Mary staring out at you. It’s also a landscape that had the 10-year-old inside of me suffering from an extreme case of the snickers. As hard as I tried to see the fairy chimneys as oversized mushrooms, I couldn’t see them as anything but enlarged phalluses. Maybe some day I’ll grow up, but it probably won’t be anytime soon.
The downside to Cappadocia’s appeal is that everyone finds it so appealing. Even in winter, it’s crawling with tourists. After being the only tourist east of Istanbul,
it was a bit of a shock to be suddenly surrounded by people that looked just like me - greasy-haired, wrinkled-clothed and wide-eyed with wonder.
Wanting to get away from the crowds, I set out to lose myself in the many valleys surrounding Göreme. After an hour of walking, I felt free to break into a little song and dance number. With my hand in the air, I gave a dramatic half-turn to find a group of Germans quickly closing the ten-meters between us. Trying to appear nonchalant, I lowered my voice and ended my dance with a little shimmy. Germans customarily shun public greetings, so I didn’t take it personally when they avoided eye contact as they passed. Heavens knows that if I ever come across someone dancing by his or herself in a valley, I’m going to ask to join the party!
Obviously, I hadn’t lost myself far enough, so I continued on a tapering path until I found myself in a narrow ravine, clambering to find holds on chossy rock. Scenes from the movie “127 hours” flashed through my mind. I’m always armed with my Swiss Army knife, but I don’t think that I have
what it would take to cut my own arm off in the event that a boulder should come tumbling down on me. Per usual, I made it out with no more than a few scrapes and bruises and carried on deeper into the valley. Hours passed without seeing anyone or anyway to return to civilization. It was perfect!
I know that I’ve been alone for too long in the wilderness when I start talking to myself. I point out any signs of human activity to myself. “Hey!” I’ll say, “a cigarette butt!” All navigational queries and obstacles are voiced aloud, “Hmmmm. There appears to be no way to cross this canyon.” Looking for confirmation of my brilliance, I often ask myself, “You know what I mean?” And I exclaim to no one in particular, “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Recently, I’ve also developed the strange habit (as if talking to myself wasn’t strange enough) of swearing at things that I find particularly beautiful. “F**k you!” I’ll say to the stunning rock formations, “This is the s**t!” I blame the Canuck in me that can only truly express itself through the use of profanity.
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Ellen
non-member comment
Next you'll be dancing with yourself...
Well there's nothing to lose And there's nothing to prove I'll be dancing with myself.... I can't but notice that your pictures of the area, although very beautiful, are quite phallic.... Do you have something on your mind? Maybe that is why your and your Canuck self are talking to yourself, you are going mad and need to knock one out -- with a Turkish boy with long greasy curly hair... Come-on you are living my dream now!