Kapadokya

Exhausted as we arrive at the hostel in Goreme, Kate is in dire need of a quick nap but I decide to bask in the warmth of a continental sun. The hostel manager is a friendly plump woman who tries too hard to know everyone's business and repeatedly tries to sell us tours we cannot afford. I still like her, though. One of her recommendations is a restaurant specializing in traditional Turkish pancakes, which happens to be run by her husband, "Topdeck". Kate and I get the spicy sausage Gozleme (more like a crepe than a pancake) and it is really quite good. Our server and co-owner of the restaurant is Rafik, who happened to live in a little town in southwestern Denmark for 15 years. He starts speaking rapidly in Danish to me upon seeing my fjallraven backpack. Denmark is like his second country. Unfortunately I have to let him down but he is still very friendly and recommends some beaches I must go to.

Still sore and pretty dehydrated, Kate and I decide to take a hike upon Rafik's suggestion. Now midday, and we are sweating into the desert under a full sun. We decide to skip the open air museum and climb on our hands and knees up sandstone slopes to explore some of the lesser known caves.. In conical mounds like elongated beehives, we discover separate rooms, corridors and the barrel vault of a pre-Byzantine Church. We move on and an a little later realize that we have forgotten our map. Assured by the fact that the town remains in our sight, we ascend and descend among the rolling and peculiarly pointing landscape along lightly treaded trails. We disturb a few tiny lizards while walking through the rough grass of the valleys and try not to think about any possible poisonous creatures unknown to us. We see a jackrabbit but otherwise we seem to be alone.

Upon reaching a high and grassy plateau we are in awe again of the landscape and its hazy blending with the sky. Turning away from the town we are stunned by a grand geologic formation I can only refer to as postcard-perfect. In all seriousness, the mountain we are facing looks like a great, pink layer cake. We later find out this is Mount Aktepe, one of the most sought-after sights of Cappadocia, but something about our own ignorant discovery makes it all the more special.

Descending once again, the land around us becomes fluid, but what look like sand dunes are certainly not as forgiving. On occasion our silent hike is accosted by the sound of ATVs and the young Turkish men (always in pairs) riding them. So far our experiences with young men on the streets has not been favourable and so we do our best to look cold and ignore them. For their benefit, the hike seems to have passed surprisingly hassle-free. This is good, because we are kind of lost and are vaguely hoping that that town which has come into view is Goreme. We are taking orthagonally routed roads through farmer's fields and realize that we are probably not on a trail anymore. But then we come upon rows of white marble stones and recognize it as the cemetary Rafik had mentioned. There are bundles of blue irises among the headstones and all anxiety evaporates with the sweat that doesn't have a chance to stick to our skin. We are covered with a thin layer of dust and smiling, and we walk into town.