July 2022

Cappadocia: A Stone Slalom through Time

I squinted at the wrecked bike and thought of Attila, the large Turk who owned it. My pre-dawn ride down this sandy stretch of road was the first speed bump on an unreal trip. I’d ridden 400 kilometers the week before and just spent three days racing a 125cc Yamaha dirt bike down every hiking trail in the Cappadocia region of Türkiye. Still, I didn’t like to owe my damage deposit to a guy named for the barbarian warlord ‘Attila the Hun’.

Goreme is the dusty village at the center of tourism in Cappadocia. It is absolutely unique. The road I’m on leads into the Deverent Valley, one of five small valleys that surround the village. Each valley for 40 square kilometers is studded with narrow rock towers called Fairy Chimneys. The distinctive geological features are formed by volcanic activity and erosion. They spike the landscape like baby asparagus. In the third century, early agricultural societies began to hollow out their stone interiors for homes. Centuries later the homes have been updated with modern plumbing and converted into cave hotels.

It seems like every natural surface in Cappadocia sports two windows and a door. The hillsides are pockmarked with homes, monasteries, and churches. No matter how far I wander, there’s a historical site beneath my feet. The city of Zelve next door to Goreme has no modern buildings. The caves there were habited until WWII when frequent rockfalls forced villagers to abandon the site. Goreme endures thanks to the quality of its stone and a strict municipal building code that preserves its charm.

The hotel I slept in the night before belongs to the manager’s grandparents who combined their home with the homes of two neighbors to make a hotel with 16 rooms. Each is a cave, ascending a steep wall of rock overlooking town. The hotel won’t serve breakfast for another three hours so I zip-tie the cracked fairing and keep riding.

I look for horse trails, which make excellent single track. Their hooves cut slalom-like grooves into the white sandstone that form gently curving trails that run along the tops of ridges and into the valleys. The trails meet in dry stream beds where the rocks are eaten through by flash floods. Short sections are frequently sheltered by natural tunnels. I never thought I’d be able to combine my passions for spelunking and riding dirt bikes. The combination boggles my mind.

I crest a ridge and see the valley floor illuminated by glowing orbs. Hot air balloons are a local pastime in Cappadocia and when the winds are light, the balloons fly. Within a few minutes of the Muslim call to prayer at 4:30 am, trucks pour into the street loaded with massive baskets, silk balloons, and liquid propane. Each two hour flight burns 60-110 gallons of fuel. The balloons are big business and locals work like NASCAR pit crews to set them up.

Balloons dwarf the 50′ chimneys around me even as they continue to inflate. A balloon pilot later explains that flying a balloon is like having a steering wheel that only goes up or down. The balloon rises when the pilot pulls on his single cord burner. I watch a basket carrying 20 people roar upward and thread between two sharp stone spikes. It clears the ridge top by just a few feet. By mid-morning the sky is filled with beautiful, suspended baubles.

I explore a different valley each day. I pass through an Off Road Vehicle (ORV) park that could be a National Park back home. The noise and dust from an army of tourists on four-wheelers is apocalyptic. I go unnoticed outside its boundaries. There are so few dirt bikes in Cappadocia that the locals haven’t learned to be annoyed by them.

I reach the corner of a watermelon field and find a collection of caves more extensive than the others. 11th century churches are ubiquitous in Cappadocia. The religion of the land is Islam but its history is Orthodox Christian. The best churches are preserved as outdoor museums. In others, livestock shelter beneath 900 year old frescos. This is likely a crypt. Its coffin shaped sconces now provide sepulture for empty water bottles and beer cans.

When I reach a cave too narrow to pass my handlebars through, I leave the bike behind and explore the rest of the valley on foot. The trail leads between tall cliffs into an apricot orchard. A ladder reaches to where a farmer has hidden their tools and irrigation equipment. Discovering the stone alcove feels like finding an illicit grow operation: contraband fruit in the middle of the Indiana Jones ride.

I return to the hotel for a large, leisurely breakfast followed by sweetened Turkish coffee in a lavender scented garden. The fragrant air is stained by smoke from a coal-fired boiler nearby. The antique appliance is an almost endearing side-effect of the same building code that has preserved the city. Change arrives in Cappadocia at a geological pace: something more beautiful emerges as erosion degrades the surface of the stone. I hope Attila feels the same way about his cracked motorcycle fairing.

Istanbul

Beams of light shine through a domed ceiling onto a white marble slab. A large Russian man lays faced downward on top of it, naked except for a red checkered towel wrapped around his waist. An equally large Turk sets down a soapy bucket beside him. He begins to scrub the Russian roughly with a large, natural sponge, using both hands from the back of his neck to his ankles. He gives the Russian’s back a heavy slap. The Turk’s push-broom mustache is stern and unsmiling, like he’s washing a diesel truck. Istanbul has the grand decay and perfect symmetry of a Wes Anderson movie. Four other bathers and I fill buckets of hot water from the dingy bathhouse’s six marble basins and pour it over heads. Out on the Bosphorus, white ferry boats pull away from the wharf blowing anachronistic clouds of black smoke from their gold smoke stacks. Clarinet bands busk for tourists at sunset, as if to play the country off the stage of its acceptance speech for best foreign trip.

Bike rental: The agency in Goreme that has motorbikes is Fairyland Travel. Don’t tell Attilla I sent you.

Hotel: Cappadocia Village Cave House Hotel has rustic, comfortable rooms and fantastic views from the terrace to enjoy with a homemade breakfast. Five stars for all but the severely asthmatic.

Shopping: Take American dollars and go prepared to haggle over carpets. For fair prices and good conversation try Tribal Carpets in Goreme. The shop has high quality Killim rugs and is owned by a lovely Kiwi woman named Ruth.

Istanbul: Stay in Kadikoy for sunset views of the Sultanate and easy access to Istanbul’s ferry system. The city uses ferry boats like a bus system. They will take you everywhere you want to go up and down the Bosphorus.