(Second of two parts)
MANILA, Philippines - One of the best meals we had on the trip was the first one we had at the Seten Restaurant. Located a few steps uphill of our hotel, the restaurant is accessed through an arched courtyard offering outdoor and indoor seating. Since it was below zero, we opted for a table nearest the radiator. The attentive and helpful waiter guided us through our choices and made recommendations for a tasting menu of Anatolian cuisine.
For starters we went for the mixed appetizer platter that was a feast in itself: mashed chickpeas with garlic; vine leaves stuffed with rice, onions and tomatoes; artichoke hearts stuffed with peas and potato; fried pastry stuffed with spinach and red chili pepper puree with walnut and pomegranate sauce, among others.
For the main course, we shared an oven cooked lamb shank, chicken wrapped over spinach and walnuts and stuffed squash flowers served with garlic yoghurt. All of these washed down with a carafe of warmed red wine. For dessert, we chose the figs filled with walnuts and boiled in sugar syrup.
The dinner for three didn’t cost more $20 per head after what the restaurant called a “winter discount.” And the red wine was offered compliments of the house.
We tried two other restaurants in town – the cozy Top Deck Restaurant where you had to sit down on the floor and dine at low tables and a small cafe restaurant beside the carpet shop which only had two tables. The owner happily served us big helpings of his home-cooked specialties while regaling us with tales of how he inherited the menu from his parents.
A feast after frustration
Early morning the next day, all geared up for high altitude, we were told that all balloon trips were cancelled due to foggy conditions. We were disheartened. Weather could change anytime and mostly during the winter season. Visitors had been known to add more days to their trip just to get the right balloon weather. We all confessed that we didn’t want to leave Cappadocia without doing the balloon flight but there were airline flights and hotel reservations that couldn’t be budged. A light flurry had started and these pretty and featherlike heralds of snow didn’t augur well for our dreams of flying.
The breakfast buffet though lifted our spirits: a genuine feast comprising of freshly picked fruit, home-made yoghurt, honey on the comb, plump tomatoes, different kinds of olives, assorted biscuits and freshly baked breads, eggs anyway you like – boiled, fried, scrambled, omelette – chocolate, tahini, molasses and various other jams and sauces, cheese pastry and Turkish tea, fruit juices and coffee.
Kelebek Hotel also ran an organic farm and organized hands-on tours during the spring and summer season. Whiskey, the resident pooch, quietly stared at us from his plastic crate as we took our bountiful plates to a table near the window to plan out the rest of the day.
The road to Derinkuyu
To get to the subterranean city of Derinkuyu, it took the whole day with a few sightseeing stops along the way. There was a brief stop at a scenic point called Imagination Valley – a site earning its name from rock formations suggesting different animal and human forms. Think sculpture garden on a lunar landscape for your imagination to run wild. We thought we saw a towering phallus. Our guide named Jihad just smiled and pointed to a road side store selling what it advertised as “Turkish Natural Viagra” – which turned out to be apricots and almonds.
We tarried at the town of Mustafapasa. On an overlook reached through a short littered pathway, one could see where the small bustling village receded into hillside ruins. Only the mouths of doors and windows remained of what once was a thriving Greek community of wealthy merchants.
According to Jihad, the houses have stood empty since the 1920s, when the forced population exchange between Greece and the newly independent Turkey saw the expulsion of Greek Orthodox Christians. At the center of town was a well known university in the region where most of the hot air balloon pilots trained.
Back on the bus, the road took us to the abandoned village of Soganli. After taking a look at another Byzantine era cave chapel, we followed a trail beside the stream that gradually led up the mountain. Carpets of snow covered the grassy field on the mountain side while the vista of the valley opened up to the hiker on the cliff side. Except for a shepherd dog, his master and a flock of sheep, there were no other people on the trail, making it the perfect hike for travelers who prefer to be away from the crowds.
The ascent was made effortless by the constant taking of selfies: faked a steep climb on a low ice-covered boulder, balanced carefully on the ruins of a small chapel built at the edge of a steep crevice, shared the frame with the bubbly posse from Singapore, pointed to the top of the trail from the bottom of hill – all taken to impress friends and relatives on Facebook.
Archaeologists believe there are hundreds of underground cities in Cappadocia but only a few have been excavated and opened to tourists. The deepest is Derinkuyu while the widest can be found in Kaymakli. It was baffling to disembark at the parking lot in the middle of tourist souvenir shops without seeing any structural indication that there was a major archaeological site in the area. Past the turnstiles, there was only a small concrete cubicle that indicated the entrance to the underground city. A sign warned those with hypertension, heart condition and asthma not to enter. My companions and I secretly ticked all three in our minds and gingerly followed the group down the steps to the underground city.
Eight floors deep (around 280 feet), the underground city is composed of extensive networks of inclined passages, low tunnels and dark corridors that connect spaces where people would sleep, work and worship. These subterranean structures came with water wells, ventilation chimneys, nooks for oil lamps, stables for livestock and even temporary crypts for the dead. Strategically positioned stone doors were devised to slide in and quickly block the corridors in the event of an attack. These were specially put to good use during the centuries of Roman persecution.
Halfway down, the air got mustier. After our guide warned that the tunnels and ceilings would become narrower and lower, my two travel companions decided to wait it out on the halfway level which conveniently had a bench and an illuminated bulb. I followed down to the lower chambers.
Of course, what goes down must necessarily go up. It became difficult to manage the more than 80 steps in complete darkness (there were guide lights built in the walls but fellow travelers in front easily obscured them) and then deal with your stomach pressing against your chest as the ceilings got lower. Heart beating fast and gasping for air, we stopped every few steps to catch our breath and were happy to rejoin our friends in the afternoon sunlight.
Sunrise over Cappadocia
The knock on the door at five in the morning was the signal that the hot air balloon company had come to fetch us. A simple breakfast was served while we waited at a restaurant for the clearance from the weather station. The first flight was cancelled due to light snow and there was a big chance that ours might be cancelled, too.
We crossed our fingers for this was our last chance to get on the balloon since we were scheduled to fly out to Istanbul early the next day.
And then there was a flurry of activity – we were made to hurry because there were just a few hours of clear weather. We were speeding up the plateau in no time before we caught sight of magnificent hot air balloons waiting for their eager passengers.
The pilot introduced himself and asked if it was our first time and then, injecting a note of levity, announced that it was his first time, too. Our travel companion, who confessed too late that he had a fear of heights, laughed nervously.
Before the lift off, we were taught how to brace ourselves for a possible hard landing – hunched on the floor, knees against chest and head down. Fortunately, we didn’t have to do this as the balloonist landed the gondola perfectly on top of the trailer at the end of the trip.
We left the ground gently. A farm dog barked excitedly inside a ranch that grew smaller as we floated up and joined the multitude of balloons meeting the morning sky. Except for the sporadic bursts of the gas valve, everything was quiet and peaceful. I didn’t know how many times I said “Oh, my God!” under my breath as the wide expanse of land below with its cluster of villages, olive groves, ravines and rocky ridges unfolded; of sky above breaking into shades of blues and oranges the color of Allah’s eyes and pomegranates; of the horizon beyond disappearing into rapturous dawn.
If hot air balloons were vessels to the afterlife, then this is how it might be for souls on their way to heaven. There are startling moments in one’s travels when everything just seems to fall into place – this time it was the very soft, almost whispered, lifting into air, the tranquil widening of the horizon, the wind song breaking on burnt cheeks that made my heart swell with thankfulness.
Balloons can only go up or down and rely on the wind current for direction. At one time, we went down a ravine and flew precariously close to the fairy chimneys before rejoining the other balloons up in the air. What will happen if the balloons bump into each other, we asked our pilot. It is okay for balloons to “kiss” as long as the gondolas don’t entangle, he assured us. There had been accidents in the past when a sudden gust of wind caused two balloons to collide and send the wicker baskets full of tourists hurtling to their deaths.
Near the end of the journey we observed the truck and trailer cutting dust below, anticipating where the balloon might touch ground. We closed in on a small clearing beside a small ranch. Brawny assistants jumped out of the truck, positioned themselves on the ground and caught the rope thrown by the pilot. Goaded by the ground staff the basket landed perfectly on the trailer bed as the passengers broke into applause. Champagne was popped and we toasted the journey, still giddy with excitement.
Our certificates were handed out and we discovered that our names were horribly misspelled. We laughed it off and agreed it added to the charm of the unforgettable hot air balloon ride over Cappadocia.
On the morning of our check out, the landscape had completely changed. Everything had transformed overnight as the fairy chimneys, alleyways, roofs and arches were blanketed with fresh powdery snow. The sight was so achingly beautiful, I decided it was the wrongest time to say goodbye to Cappadocia. Photos by BOK MUÑOZ