Having a Whale of a Time in Wales

St. David's Cathedral, St. David's, Pembrokeshire, Wales

I know, I know, it's a totally cheesy heading. I just couldn't resist.

One of the fabulous things about living in Austria is that it was SO easy to pop over to London for my cousin's wedding in May. I took off the last week of school to fly to London (which is ironic, since last year I had to take off a week at the end of my school year in May for my sister's wedding--such bad timing for taking a week off!), hang out with relatives, and then head down to Wales with some family for a few days after the wedding. This was my third trip to London, which was perfect for a wedding; since I'd seen the city twice before, I didn't feel pressured to go out and be a tourist. Instead, I visited with friends in the city and the relatives I rarely get to see. This really made for the perfect London trip. But since I've already been there and done that in London, I thought I'd tell you a bit about Wales instead.

Before I went to Wales, I envisioned a verdant countryside full of rolling hills and sheep. The day after the wedding, we drove in a rented minivan from London to St. David's in Pembrokeshire, on the far southwest coast of Wales, through a verdant countryside full of rolling hills and sheep. Yep, it was pretty much as I'd envisioned it. I'd also somehow gotten the idea that, since Welsh is one of those languages that looks like a grab bag of letters strung together to form words and sentences, the people of Wales would have a funny and barely intelligible accent. Not that I'd ever spoken with anyone from Wales, of course. To the contrary, I found that the Welsh accent just sounded British. However, the Welsh language is everywhere -- on every street sign, in tourist literature, and even on the radio and television; apparently children learn Welsh in school until the age of 16, and everyone I met could speak a bit of the language even if they didn't consider themselves fluent.

Verdant countryside full of rolling hills and sheep

St. David's is the smallest city in the UK and the second smallest city in the world, located within Pembrokeshire Coast National Park. With a population of less than 2000 and and a quaint city center, it seems like more of a village than an actual city. But Queen Elizabeth II granted St. David's city status because it had St. David's Cathedral (also aptly named for the city's patron saint), a pilgrimage site built in 1181.

The ruins of the Bishops's Palace, with St. David's Cathedral and the old city wall in the background

Our cottage was literally right across from St. David's Cathedral...and conveniently right behind the pub. We really couldn't have been in a better spot! Since the town was so small and walkable, we were able to see the biggest attractions in St. David's on foot (the cathedral and the ruins of the Bishop's Palace), eat (and drink) in the pub when we got hungry, and venture out further towards the coast for more fun and adventure. When I think about what made Wales so great, my mind comes to three things: going coasteering, walking along the coastal path, and meet even more super-interesting people.

I wasn't kidding -- this was the view from the cottage

Coasteering

I'd never heard of coasteering until I got to Wales. A relatively new adventure sport, the term "coasteering" was coined by a St. David's-based adventure sport company to describe the combined activities of swimming, scrambling, climbing, and cliff jumping at the base of the cliffs along the coastline. (Just as "mountaineering" is the stuff you do on a mountain, "coasteering" is the stuff you do along the coast.) This company also touts itself as the world's first carbon neutral company...which is understandable, since we outfited ourselves at the base and then walked down to the coast and back--it's all manpower, baby!

We were given a wetsuit, a helmet, old sneakers, a ratty pair of shorts to wear over the wetsuit (to protect it from being ripped to shreds on the rocks), and topped it all off with a life vest. Unfortunately I don't have any pictures of this getup, but as you can imagine, it makes for a funny sight. But so necessary. When we had walked down to the coastal cliffs of St. Non's (which is St. David's birthplace), our guide explained to us exactly what was going down. We'd take a fisherman's path down to the water (read: climb down the not-sheer face of the cliff) and then climb across some sharp rocks--being careful not to cut our hands on the barnacles--before jumping into the water breaking at the base of the cliff. From there we'd swim from rock to rock, playing in whirlpools and toilet bowls, jumping from rocks as high as 5 m, and scrabling along the coastal rocks. As the basics were being explained to me, I thought, "Wow, this is pretty much everything your mother told you not to do!"

Basically, you have the potential of being battered or shattered against the rocks at every turn. Or at least, that's what your mother would say. But since you're with a guide, all of these really fun activities somehow seem less stupid.

The water was a brisk 12 degrees Celsius, which was enough to keep my hands sufficiently numbed for the first hour or so (although the wet suit provided sufficient body warmth after I got over the initial shock), which is perhaps why I didn't notice that I actually was ripping my fingers to shreds on the rocks. At the end of our adventure, my fingertips had been sliced to smithereens by what looked like thousands of tiny paper cuts, so I would have been in the perfect position to rob a bank and leave no fingerprints behind...though I didn't plan my time wisely enough to fit that all in. My wetsuit didn't fare any better, and I noticed a few extra tears in the knees that hadn't been there when we set out.

But I was proud of my barnacle-sliced fingertips. It was worth every grunt and every momentary feeling of dread before jumping into lord knows what. Coasteering is such an exciting and unique experience, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Don't let this serene photo fool you -- there were fiestier waters at hand when we went coasteering!

The Coastal Path

Having been coasteering, I'd already gotten a taste for the shocking beauty of the coast. This was like no coast back home -- it was rich and rugged, high and dramatic, and the waters were a deep and wild azure. I had to go back.

Since none of my relatives wanted to go hiking with me, I bought a few maps and decided to head out our last morning in Wales by myself. I was just a tad bit nervous about this decision, since I would be alone...on a cliff. Not that I had any plans of falling in, but all of those stories of freak winds coming along and pushing people to their dooms or of rural rapists and murderers using such cliffs to get rid of their victims...yeah, I'll admit, a few of these thoughts ran through my head. What made me even more nervous, however, is that I didn't have any appropriate shoes. I'd only brought shoes with me appropriate for city walking...but I decided I wasn't going to let this stop me. The coast was just too spectacular to pass up.

Danger: Do not fall off cliff

I set out on the last morning in Wales from our cottage, returning to the path leading down to St. Non's that we'd taken the previous day when coasteering. From St. Non's I walked back towards the cliff with the fisherman's path, snaking along the coast until I reached St. Justinian's -- probably a distance of about 6-7 miles.

The coastal path as it should be: just for me!

It was incredible. I soon realized that there was no reason to fret the solitude, but to embrace it. It was perfect. (In fact, I was brought back to my farming experience in Tyrol last summer, when I climbed to the summit of an un-trailed mountain, "alm" by myself (sorry for the German-English pun...even if it's only funny to me, I couldn't resist).) In fact, I didn't run into any other hikers on the path until I was within a half mile of my destination, and by then I actually resented them for intruding on my coast. The coastline awed me at every turn. I suppose that if you're looking at my pictures, after a while it all looks the same. But when I was there and standing on those cliffs carpeted in wildflowers sliding into that deep blue ocean under a clear blue sky, my spirit was joyful and my heart was happy and I was full of praise for such astounding creation. It really gets me.


The magnificence of the scenery testifies to the real power of the landscape: all of this incredible nature was enough to distract me from my burning, blister-ridden feet, which could feel the contour of every rock through the thin, thin soles of my shoes. Fortunately, when I arrived at St. Justinian's, I was just in time to catch the local shuttle bus (which does not tend to run often during the day) back to St. David's. The £1 fare was gladly spent in exchange for the last 2 miles spared my aching feet on the road back to St. David's. And although it took my feet days to recover, it was well worth the pain.



More People Worth Meeting

We arrived in St. David's rather late on our first night in Wales and decided to head over to the pub around 10 pm.
"If we sit in the beer garden, I bet we'll make some new friends!" I said as we were deciding where to sit.
"No we won't," my aunt said quickly and confidently.
But an hour later, after we'd chosen to occupy a few free seats at the end of a table in the beer garden where a couple of musicians were playing, we were all engaged in conversations with the really interesting people around us.

My most interesting conversation, however, was with a guy known to the locals -- as he put it -- as "Crazy Joe." I can't verify that any of his story is true, and it very well could have been one of the best tall tales ever spun, but he was an inspiring character, regardless.
Apparently, this guy was one of the top 5 mountain climbers in the UK, but years ago he scaled a peak with his wife...and she didn't make it down alive. He felt terrible and blamed himself for the accident. In the midst of his depression, he decided to go to Antarctica in an act of self-punishment. This decision, however, started out as exactly that -- a decision. He had no skills and wasn't qualified at all, but he badgered the UK's Antarctic program until they let him in. He went as an engineer, though he wasn't one before, and stayed for 7.5 consecutive years with no visits back to the rest of the world. (Although, allegedly, his father came to visit him once during that time in Antarctica.) Crazy Joe truly loved the freedom of the Antarctic: "It's the only f*ing place on earth where there are no bloody rules!" He found respite there from authority and The Man, and he reveled in it. Re-entry into an organized, regulated society after 7.5 years of total (Antarctic) freedom was difficult for him, but he did have 7.5 years worth of unspent wages upon his return...after all, you can't really spent money while living in Antarctica, can you? So what did Crazy Joe do? He surfed. He came back home and surfed along the Welsh coast for months. When I met him, he was no longer surfing but was trying to sort his life out and figure out what to do. When I asked him what he was considering, he said that he "might have to make art for a living" but couldn't elaborate more. Those of you who know my secret wish to go to Antarctica can understand why wasn't totally put off by his annoying drunken demeanor and kept on chatting with him until the intriguing story came out. His advice for getting to Antarctica when you're not qualified? "Be a f*ing pain in the ass!"

The other person I met who spoke to a secret wish of mine was the travel writer. If you've known me for more than 5 minutes then you've probably ascertained that I like to travel. If you're reading this blog, well then, you know I like to write. So it's no big jump to conclusions to assume that I've toyed with the idea of travel writing for a long time, but just haven't known where to start. So when I met the travel writer who as "tagging along" on the coasteering trip for the travel guide he was working on, you can imagine my enthusiasm. Though I tried to show a dose of composed restraint, I pretty much kept the questions coming, concluding with an apologetic, "So do people always pick your brain like this when they find out you're a travel writer?" Surprisingly, they do not. His biggest advice for someone trying to break into travel writing is just to write -- there's bound to be someone out there who will take your work! Somehow it wasn't until I was talking to him that it became clear to me that travel writing tends to be lonely business -- you do most of your travelling alone unless you're writing for a publication big enough to have a photographer with you. Although traveling alone is not really my thing, I think I could hack it for the sake of being a travel writer. Now just to figure out where to start...

Cappadocia, Land of Beautiful Horses

We concluded our trip with a short but spectacular 3-day jaunt through the region of Cappadocia -- an area with an highly unusual natural landscape!



The wheels on the bus go round and round...
One of the best ways to travel through Turkey (if you choose not to fly) is by bus. In contrast to countries like Austria, it is actually more direct, faster and cheaper to travel by bus than by train in Turkey. Consequently, there is a thriving business for bus companies who provide transportation throughout the country. It's about 11 hours from Istanbul to Cappadocia on the night bus, which makes for a long and uncomfortable night if you have any difficulty sleeping on buses, but every few hours the bus stops for a bathroom and leg-stretching (or smoking, if that's your thing) break. To make your journey more pleasant, there is a steward who comes around (only once) to offer you drinks and Turkish soap operas (which are strangely compelling, even if you don't understand what they're saying!) playing on the TVs mounted to the ceiling. It's actually quite a nice way to travel, as the buses are new and modern and because you can reason with yourself that the mild discomfort of an 11-hour bus ride is worth the money you're saving on accommodation for the night. Oh, and I should also mention that when you book your ticket on the bus, they make sure that you are booked next to someone of the same gender -- there is no mixing of men and women as seatmates on the nightbus. (N.b.: Naturally, the booking agents do this to the best of their ability. On the night bus back from Cappadocia to Istanbul I was sitting next to an American woman who, on her night bus into Cappadocia, had been seated next to a guy. However, it's a small world for tourists, and this guy she was seated next to was a tourist I'd met in Cappadocia as well...unfortunately for the booking agent, his name was of Indian origin and ended in an "a," thus the assumption on paper that he was female.)

"What's the deal with [Cappadocia]?"

The biggest draw for visiting Cappadocia is the landscape. That, mixed with a dash of ancient and modern history, makes for quite an interesting destination.

The Lay of the Land

Cappadocia generally refers to the Nevşehir Province in central Turkey, though officially it is simply an area with no official boundaries. Generally understood to be a triangle formed by the towns of Avanos in the north, Nevşehir in the west and Ürgüp in the east, Cappadocia means "Land of Beautiful Horses" in either the ancient Hittite or the ancient Persian language, depending on your source. Settled first by Neolithic cultures and later by the Hittites, Persians, Greeks and Romans, and finally the Ottomans, Cappadocia has a rich blend of cultural history.

The defining feature of Cappadocia is its landscape. The entire area (roughly 250 miles wide and 120 miles top to bottom) is littered with unique rock formations, caves and gorges and is ringed by the ancient volcanoes that shaped the area. The most famous of these natural rock formations is the signature Cappadocian fairy chimney, a somewhat phallic column with a large round bit of rock balancing on top.

Formed over eons of time and erosion, the basic geological breakdown of these UNESCO World Heritage Site formations looks something like this:
First, way back in the day, the volcanoes ruled the land. They sent out a bottom layer of hard lava, which forms the geological base for these formations.
But as the saying goes, what goes up, must come down. So then, after the volcanoes erupted and the lava flowed, the volcanic ash, called tuff, rained down on the base layer of lava, forming a thick second layer of rock.
Finally, a tougher upper layer of basalt settled on the mix, providing the perfect geological conditions for some freaky erosion.
Over time, cracks and fissures developed in the upper layer of basalt. This allowed the rain, wind, and other elements to get to the softer layer of tuff underneath and do their dirty work. The basalt on top formed a protective shield for the softer tuff directly beneath it, but the rest of the tuff -- not directly protected by an upper layer of basalt -- was eroded away over time and exposure to the elements, leaving a rock formation topped by the tough basalt cap supported by a conical tuff column standing firm on a bed of lava. And this is the fairy chimney as we know it today.

Fairy chimneys

Because many of the rocks and cliffs in the area are also made of this not-so-tough tuff, the early Christians were able to carve out hundreds of cave churches and shelters where they escaped persecution. Even several multi-level underground cities were carved out, providing protection and shelter until Christianity became a recognized and accepted religion. Although the underground cities are now just empty shells, you can see what remains of the original frescoes in many of the cave churches.

Living Like the Locals

Traditionally, many residents of Cappadocian regions also lived in hollowed-out cave houses -- some on cliff faces, some at the base of fairy chimneys, and some into the sides of the mountains. Although a few people still live in such houses today, most residents live in what we consider "normal" houses. However, the thrill of living in a cave is still alive and well for the tourists who come and visit, and the hotels and hostels in the area -- especially in the village of Göreme where we stayed -- seem to be almost exclusively cave rooms. As one might expect, our cave room in the hostel was a bit chilly and damp, but well worth the experience.

A typical Cappadocian cave home

How to See Cappadocia in a Mere 3 Days

Because we were pressed for time, we only had three days to see this rather large region. Wanting to optimize what little time we had, we decided to explore the town of Göreme where we were staying on the first day, and then take two all-day tours (a North Tour and a South Tour) advertised at the hostel on the following two days. It was clear by the end of the first day that we easily could have stayed much, much longer in Cappadocia, so we really milked the time we had for all it was worth. I'm convinced we got the most out of our mere 3 days as was possible for two car-less, hapless tourists.

The Göreme Open Air Museum

The Göreme Open Air Museum is a classic but fitting first stop in Cappadocia. Located only a short walk or shuttle ride from the center of town, the museum is an outdoor complex of rock-cut churches and monastic spaces dating from the 10th to 12th centuries. You'll have to pay an entrance fee of about 15 lira to get in, but once you're inside you have access to a bunch of classic Cappadocian rock churches that are conveniently all in one place. The frescoes here are in remarkable shape, and the art history dork inside me really dug the fact that you can see both iconic and iconoclastic frescoes side-by-side. (I later found out that this is typical of many Cappadocian cave churches and monastic complexes, not just the ones in Göreme.)

Frescoes in the Göreme Open Air Museum

Even for an art historian (yeah, yeah, I use this term loosely), all of the churches and frescoes began to look the same after a while. However, the vantage point from the Open Air Museum provided an excellent view of the countryside, and after we left, we decided to walk through the rock formations and explore some trails before heading back into town.

Göreme Open Air Museum

Hiking and Biking Through Cappadocia

There are any number of hiking trails and biking routes through Cappadocia. If we'd had more time in the region, I would have wanted to go out exploring. As it was, we spent the morning of our second day exploring the nearby paths, romping through the hills, and exploring the rock formations and rock caves we encountered. It was like a giant playground for adults, and I could have easily spent all day out there without getting bored.

One of the many paths to explore around Göreme

Üçhisar Castle

Üçhisar Castle is a fortress carved into the highest peak in Cappadocia. People actually lived in the castle until the 1950s, when erosion became so bad that it was dangerous for people to remain. Today it reminds the modern visitor of a human ant farm carved into the face of the cliff.

The atypical castle at Üçhisar

Onyx Production

Cappadocia is also a rich source of onyx, which I learned is not just the rich black stone seen in jewelry today. Onyx is actually a type of quartz that ranges in color from white to black, and in Cappadocia it has been quaried, carved and polished for centuries. We went to an artisan center and watched a demonstration -- shamelessly aimed at getting tourists to the gift shop, but packed with interesting information nonetheless -- where they showed us the entire process of cutting, shaping and polishing the stone. Starting with a rough chunk of onyx, the demonstrator shaped it into the form of an egg on a pedestal before finally polishing the egg shape of a translucent shine. At the end of the demonstration, they asked if anyone knew the meaning of the word "Cappadocia"...and that person who answered just happened to get the onyx egg as a prize.

Lookey here! I guess she won the onyx egg!

Fairy Chimneys in Ürgüp, Paşabag / Monks Valley, Imagination Valley, and Pigeon Valley

Really, the names say it all. In Cappadocia there are any number of spectacular valleys with rock formations and hiking trails, each one slightly more psychadelic than the rest. Since fairy chimneys can range in size and shape, no two valleys really look the same. Many have described the landscape as something like a moonscape or an alien planet. In this case, I'll just let some of the pictures speak for themselves.

Fairy chimneys in Monks Valley. Some of these are remarkable because they have multiple basalt heads.

Pottery in Avanos

At the north end of Cappadocia lies the sleepy town of Avanos. There's really not much going for it, except for the fact that, well, they've been producing pottery for thousands and thousands of years. In fact, it was the Hittites who first started collecting silt from the nearby Red River to produce their signature red clay, and the same type of pottery is still being produced in Avanos today.

The Red River, aptly named for its red silt, is the longest river in Turkey. For millenia now, the local Avanos potters have gone down to the river to collect the red silt and then let it ferment for two weeks into a workable clay. This soft red clay is then thrown on a kick wheel the same way it was when the Hittites were around.

At the pottery center, we watched a young man of no more than 20 years old give a demonstration on pottery throwing, starting with a raw chunk of clay and ending with a beautifully thrown vessel. Our tour guide narrated the whole process in detail, and when the young potter was finished and removed the pot from the wheel, the guide said, "Now that you've seen how easy that was, who'd like to give this a try?" As soon as he posed the question, I knew that I really, really wanted to try throwing a pot. I've never used a pottery wheel in my life, but the idea of making my own vessel in the same way as the Hittites was irresistable. However, I'd already won the onyx egg, so I didn't want to appear overeager and steal somebody else's chance to participate.
To my surprise, the room stayed silent. No one said a thing. And after I looked around the room to see how other people were reacting, my eyes fell on the guide and we made eye contact. "You want to try?" he asked.
"Who? Me?" I asked, looking around at the people seated next to me.
But he clearly meant me, so I went up to the front (quite happy on the inside) and donned some giant puffy pants and footies caked with dried clay.
Taking a seat behind the wheel, I started to kick it rather awkwardly, but I just couldn't work up enough speed. So the potter came up beside me and kicked the wheel as I placed my hands on the clay, not having a clue what what supposed to happen. It quickly became clear that I didn't even know where to start, so he showed me how to dig my thumbs into the clay and bring up the sides to form a bowl. It was so much harder than he made it look, and I noticed that every little movement threw off the shape of my bowl, making it hopelessly asymmetrical. In the end, my wonky bowl looked nothing like the potter's, but I was proud of my very minor accomplishment. But what a unique experience it was to throw traditional pottery in Avanos!

A comparison of my attempt, on the left, and the potter's vessel, on the right.

Cavuşin Old Village

A quick stop, but interesting nonetheless, is the Cavuşin Old Village, a town carved entirely out of a cliff face. It's the kind of thing you expect to see in an Indiana Jones movie.

Once this was a thriving village.

Derinkuyu Underground City

An underground city is also something you'd expect to see out of an Indiana Jones movie, right? Derinkuyu is the largest of Cappadocia's underground cities, weighing in at an impressive 10 levels and diving as deep as 85 meters below the surface. The preliminary passages and levels were built by ancient peoples, but the city didn't become the underground metropolis that it is known as today until the early Christians expanded it to escape Roman persecution. (Are we noticing a trend here? The early Christians did not have it good in this area!) Equipped with chapels, kitchens, tombs, ventilation shafts, and even stables, the city could accomodate thousands of people at its peak. However, all of this was not accessible from the outside -- the original entrances were not from tunnels to the surface but rather from private houses on the land above. Such underground cities were not permanently inhabited, but rather only in emergency situations; the entrances could be sealed by large stones, and the extensive storerooms below could hold enough food for both people and livestock. Today, only 10% of Derinkuyu is open to the public, and not even all of it has been excavated. There are several other similar cities in the region, but Derinkuyu remains the largest and most popular for tourists.

A short, narrow passageway in the Derinkuyu underground city.

Ilhara Valley

For a nominal fee, visitors can also enter the Ilhara Valley and take a walk through the 10-mile long gorge carved into the volcanic rock by the river. Along the valley are more stone churches, walking trails, and now small restaurants for visitors who need a little pick-me-up after a long day of sightseeing. The nearby Mount Erciyes is probably responsible for much of that volcanic rock, but it hasn't erupted for over 2000 years.

The Ilhara Valley gorge

A Galaxy Far, Far Away

Finally, who can leave Cappadocia without a salute to George Lucas' very own planet of Tatooine? Yep, that's right -- filmed right here against the curious backdrop of the Cappadocian rock formations, this is the home to our dear friends, the Sand People.

Look familiar? This is the home of the Sand People.

More Turkish Potpourri and Food Basics

Turkish Potpourri -- Double Jeopardy Round

There are just a few more miscellaneous things worth mentioning about Turkey. Let's start with a classic:

Haggling

As previously mentioned in the Do's and Don'ts of traveling in Turkey, you should never pay full price for anything in the bazaars...and even in many shops, the price is often negotiable. For someone such as myself coming from a fixed-price culture, this can be a very uncomfortable experience.

Negotiating a price -- or haggling -- requires one to be direct, assertive and persistent...or, in other words, something that we're taught from a young age in Anglo-American culture is impolite. This direct confrontation can often feel like a test of wills, a verbal showdown between you and the seller. For someone unaccustomed to such practices, it really takes some willpower to suppress these feelings and get down and dirty in the negotiations. Unfortnately, as a tourist, you have a few natural disadvantages: you don't speak the language, you probably have more money to burn than the locals, and you're probably uncomfortable with the situation from the get-go. And the seller is going to capitalize on this and on that nagging feeling in the back of your head saying, "Just accept the price and be done with it. It's still cheaper than you'd get it back home, anyway."

But the skilled haggler knows that to successfully parry the asking price, you need a subtle blend of stubborness and meekness. You have to let the seller think that he has the upper hand while working him over to get him down to the price you predetermined for yourself before even starting with the negociations. I say all of this not as an experienced haggler, but as one who has watched a master at work. My travel buddy drew on her experience with price negotiation in Chinese culture to really pull off some gutsy yet successful transactions. Eventually I stopped trying to haggle myself and just sent her to do my dirty work for me!

My first attempt at negociating price was in the Grand Bazaar. I found a pair of silver earrings for 43 YTL (about $28), and as soon as I expressed interest the shop owner told me that -- since he could tell I was a serious customer -- he'd let me have them for 30 YTL (about $19). Unfortunately, having worked in a jewelry store for 5 years, I know the real price of silver. I realize that I can no longer buy jewelry for slightly above cost, but I still have a hard time coming to terms with retail prices. This first shop owner was unwilling to go lower in price, so I moved on. Eventually I found the same pair of earrings at another stand for the asking price of 30 YTL. I decided I wouldn't pay more than 17 YTL (about $11) and set to work. I used all my best haggling skills, starting low and letting the shop assistant give me the runaround about him being only a poor student himself who needs to eat, an argument I easily returned (being young and looking younger has its advantages in these situations). When we finally got to my ultimatum of 17 YTL or nothing, he agreed to ask his boss if he could lower the price. Of course his boss said no, so I said I'd walk. They then offered me the earrings for 18 YTL, which I politely turned down, saying it was simply too much and I couldn't go above 17 YTL. In the end I got my earrings for the 17 YTL, still more than they were worth, but a respectable enough price for an English-speaking tourist.

But the best negociation by far happened in Cappadocia in the town of Göreme. The friend I was traveling with set out to buy herself enough jewelry to last her for the next several years, and as we went from shop to shop, she managed to buy 14 different pieces of jewelry between 3 different shops for an impressive total of 112 YTL (about $71). Finally, we stopped in an antique store to look around.

The shop assistant was a very friendly young woman who immediately greeted us when we came in the door and made some pleasant chit chat. Then I noticed a copy of The Old Man and the Sea out on the counter, and I asked her if she was reading that book. It turns out she was teaching herself English through this book and a dictionary, and for the next 45 minutes we chatted about books and jewelry and everything else as we browsed and sipped the apple tea she offered us. After my friend decided on 4 more pieces of jewelry and negotiated another great price, I found a pendant that I really liked. The more I considered the pendant, the longer my friend had to continue looking around the shop; so by the time I'd decided to get it, she'd already found 2 more pieces she wanted and had begun haggling again. This time around, however, we were both having difficulty getting the price down. As the girl translated our offers to her father, the owner of the shop, he started to raise his original price instead of lower it! Seeing that we were going nowhere, I counter-offered as a last resort, "Ok, how about this: my friend gets those rings for 32 YTL and I get this pendant and the chain for 15 YTL, and how about I also send you a book in English?" My friend and I watched the shop assistant's short and rapid discussion with her father in suspenseful anticipation. After a few moments, he nodded. The transaction was approved -- and this time, a negotiation and a barter!

After we'd paid up and gotten a mailing address, the father invited us to another cup of tea. We stayed in the shop a little longer, just hanging out with the two of them and chatting. After this negotiation, the father gradually warmed up to us, and after serving us tea, he disappeared into the back of the shop. As his daughter translated, she explained to us that he had a very valuable gold and ruby ring that had belonged to his father, which was too valuable to keep out for everyone to see. He brought out the ring just to show us his family treasure, so that we could admire it; this was no sales pitch -- rather, it was an honor to be welcomed and invited in. We left the shop over an hour after we arrived, exchanging email addresses with the girl and having made yet another Turkish friend. Although all of this blossomed out of a business transaction, this was another one of those genuine experiences of small town Turkish hospitality.

Haggling for scarves

The Evil Eye

I was surprised to learn that the belief in the Evil Eye is not a mere superstition in Turkey, but a belief that is alive and thriving. Since I always saw the charm against the Evil Eye in the context of souvenir vendors and shops aimed at tourists, I'd simply assumed that it was one of the cultural cliches meant to boost sales of something "typically Turkish," much like a beer stein from Munich or a boomerang from Australia.

However, I had more than one Turkish person tell me how important these charms against the Evil Eye actually are. (And perhaps I should also clarify that none of these people were selling Evil Eye charms!) A man in Cappadocia explained to me that this belief of the power of the Evil Eye has been deeply engrained in Turkish culture for the past 1000 years. Many people, he told me, wear 2-3 small Evil Eye charms hidden away in their pockets or sewn into their clothes in order to protect themselves from the malintentioned thoughts and words of others. He'd had at least one on him at all times since childhood and pulled one out of his blazer pocket to show me. His charm was only about an inch in diameter, and as I fingered it and examined the blue glass, he told me that when you discover a broken charm, that's when you know that someone has wished you harm. You should then get a new one to continue protecting yourself against the ill will of others. His testimonial was sincere, as he had already discovered several broken charms in his lifetime.

A charm set into the sidewalk to protect against the Evil Eye

On the Road:

It's interesting to compare how people drive in different countries. Still, the most harrowing experiences in a vehicle I've had were in Romania, where I'm convinced any driver could be a stunt driver.

I didn't do any driving myself in Turkey, but I was the passenger a few times. My ride from the airport to the hostel was a bit frightening, with the driver exceeding double the speed limit within the city limits. All I could do was clasp my hands in my lap and pray I made it to the hostel in one piece.

Country driving proved far different. In Cappadocia, the drivers didn't seem to be drunk with speed, but this is where the concept of lanes got a bit fuzzy. Lanes, or staying in one's lane, were a mere formality in the countryside unless oncoming traffic was an immediate likelihood. Some of the country roads were in such bad condition, however, that it would have been impossible to stay in the lane even if you wanted to. When I could tear my eyes away from the road -- because somehow as a passenger I still think I have more control if I keep my own eyes on the road -- I saw clips of life as though seen through a documentary lens: goat herders in the fields, women sitting around the roadside in traditional clothes, farmers working in the fields, and families piled onto the tractor chugging along the road.

On the road approaching an ancient volcano in Cappadocia

A Monumental First:

One of the reasons I have The Gift of Travel, i.e., an immunity to jetlag, is because I cannot sleep in any sort of moving object. Planes, trains, cars, you name it -- the best I can hope for is a heavy rest. This is actually quite practical when crossing oceans because I'm so tired by the time I go to bed at the local time of my destination that I get a whole night's sleep and wake up perfectly adjusted to local time in the morning. However, my return flight from Turkey marked a major first for me: I slept on the plane.

I left Cappadocia Sunday night on the overnight bus to Istanbul. I arrived 11 hours later on Monday morning stiff, sore, and dead tired from a sleepless night. Despite the 2-hour nap I took at the hostel, I remained tired throughout the day and went to bed Monday night at about 9:30 pm. However, I had to catch the 3 am shuttle bus to the airport for my 6:30 am flight, so I got only a few short hours of rest before having to leave. By the time I boarded the plane, I was so tired that I couldn't even keep my eyes open -- it was a kind of fatigue I've never felt in my life. After settling into my seat, I crossed my legs and closed my eyes and waited for liftoff. It seemed that it was taking the plane an awfully long time to get going, and I figured we must be delayed on the runway. When I finally took the effort to open my eyes, I realized that we were already at cruising altitude! Somehow I'd actually fallen asleep and slept through the takeoff, which hasn't happened before or since.

And finally, I bring you... Turkish Food

One of best things about travel is experiencing the local foods. We had some really excellent dishes of roast meats, kebabs, and all of the typically Turkish foods, often from places filled with locals. But rather than go into detail about all the different meals we had, I'm just going to share with you the staples of our trip -- the regular, every day foods that we came to depend on.

Turkish Bread

Oh yes, the Turkish bread. It's big, it's fluffy, and you can eat disturbing amounts of it without becoming as full as you'd think.

Every morning, the hostel would provide us with a breakfast of bread and various spreads and vegetables to put on the bread. Any sandwich ordered for later would be put on a giant half-loaf, which at first glance looked impossibly large to consume, but which went down in one sitting every time. This bread was a staple of our diet every day in Turkey.

Turkish Tea

Turkey is very much a tea culture -- everyone drinks the tea for every occassion. For breakfast, for lunch, for dinner, for dessert, for entertaining, for hospitality, for boredom....for everything. It's very common for someone to offer you a tea, which will usually either be a strong black tea with sugar or a sweet apple tea (with sugar). The Pigeon Guy even admitted to drinking 22-25 cups a day! Tea is always served in a special Turkish tea cup and saucer.

Turkish tea: çay (pronounced "chai")

Turkish Coffee

Very strong. Very black. Rivals any Italian espresso I've ever had.

I only had two cups of Turkish coffee while I was there, but that was enough. Even a coffee at 3 pm kept me up way past midnight.

Turkish coffee with "toast"

Turkish Delight and Baklava

I've never been much of a fan of Turkish Delight. I think the first time I tried it was only because I'd read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and I wanted to know what could have enticed Edmund so strongly. Unfortunately that first experience left me wondering what Edmund saw in the treat, so I wanted to give the real Turkish Turkish delight a shot. It was all over the markets and the bazaars, so I gave it another taste...and now I know that I'm just not a Turkish delight person.

Baklava was also everywhere, and I have to say that I've now had the best baklava in Turkey. Yummmm.

Mounds of baklava and Turkish delight in a storefront window

Manti, or Turkish Ravioli

One day at the hostel, the proprietor decided to cook us a meal of Manti, or what is basically a Turkish ravioli. Like ravioli, manti is a pasta with a meat filling, and it is served with a yogurt/chili/garlic/butter sauce. I never would have thought of putting yogurt on pasta, but it was amazing. I've since adopted this meal as my own -- with store-bought ravioli as a reasonable manti substitute, I can easily make my own yogurt sauce. It's quick, easy, and now my flatmate has picked it up and even makes it for herself! A quick Google search can provide you with any number of Manti recipes.

Manti

...Next time, the final post on Turkey: Cappadocia!