Cappadocia

We didn’t intend to stop in Sultanhanı, but it was fortunate that we did. We’d spotted a campsite on Google maps and decided to give it a go. The owner greeted us warmly, and gave us the tour, it was a tiny campsite in the middle of the city, but well maintained and had what we needed. We got chatting to the owner’s uncle who was very helpful in determining our route through Cappadocia.

In Sultanhanı itself there is a beautiful caravasaray, with a huge ornate stone carved doorway. The inside was under renovation but we were able to walk around, and get a sense of the massive space.

We cycled on to Selime and the Ihlara valley. The valley runs Selime to Ihlara, with a little village Belisırma in the middle.

As we cycled into Selime we began to see what all the fuss was about. Towering cliffs riddled with windows and doors, some of the entrances impossibly high. The cliffs themselves jaggey imposing things, and down at the base totally normal houses nestled in their shadow.

We rounded the corner to see the Selime Cathedral, which is a multi-story complex from the 8th century including a fantastic kitchen with stone carved basins and loads of cubby holes for storing all your tupperware. The views from the complex were fantastic too.

Having dithered about whether to go in we were really pleased we’d made the effort.

As it was getting on in the day we decided to try and find a camping spot in the Ihlara Valley itself. There were a couple marked on our map that looked possible.

The Selime – Belisırma section was blissful. Amazing little tracks running past people’s tiny allotment-like fields. Towering rocks on each side of the valley and lush green grass and willow trees on the valley floor. More caves carved in to the rock faces, high up above us. We found the camping spot – no more than a flat area by the stream which was dotted with firepits. Delightful.

While cooking dinner I saw wild dogs and something that was probably a fox trotting down the road in the dusk. As the sun set the cliffs glowed red.

In the morning we carried on up the valley, and the path got more rugged. We left our bikes to clamber up in the cave houses, each one more astonishing. We found a mosque carved in to the rock, complete with carpet facing Mecca.

We had to carry the bikes through some of the paths at this point, a little nervously. But soon the path was ridable again and we rolled in to Belisıma in time for a cuppa on the river before tackling the more popular section of the valley.

In the section between Belisırma and Ihlara village there are at least 10 churches hollowed out of the rock by Byzantine monks, most with frescos still visible. The valley itself is stunning, though much busier than the previous half. The flowers and the trees all in blossom. We negotiated the tourists and clambered the step staircases to peer in and around the churches. Outside each were noticeboard which would tell you which scenes were depicted, but not why so many churches were needed in such a small area. A particular standout for me was the fresco of the women being bitten by snakes for failing in their duty. Quite right I’m sure.

We came back to Belisırma for lunch on the river again, watching the parade of geese, dogs, cats and an interesting donkey/cow friendship. We lingered long wondering whether to stay another night or carry on. Eventually we hauled ourselves back on to the bikes and peddled up the steep hill out of town, and the steeper hill over to Güzelyurt.

Güzelyurt has two underground cities. We decided to explore the first we came across, which is definitely not one on the main tourist trail. There were no lights, so we descended with our head torches. We found about three stories, with rooms and passages leading off, but with no guidance and the realisation that it was very near closing time and no-one knew we were here I lost my nerve and we headed back up.

We wound our way down in to the Güzelyurt valley – the second most important valley in the area, according to the guidebook. This felt completely different, women herding goats, houses tucked around the cliffs. The valley itself much closer. We rode on as far as was easy and found a spot to pitch our tent. Unfortunately not as nice as the previous night, and the water in the stream smelled grim. But it was too late to change our minds so we settled in for the night.

I was awoken in the middle of the night by a loud, repetitive noise. My mind raced. We were too far away from town for it to be someone’s alarm, but the tone and timing sounded like it. It went on for a long time, meanwhile I tried to come up with rational explanations for what it was and how out was very unlikely to have anything to do with us, falling miserably.
Eventually it stopped.
Then started again further down the valley at a slightly different pitch. A bird, I realised. Doh.

However, perhaps my intuition was on to something, because just as we were packing up our tent in the morning a motorbike came down the track. A man dismounted – we guess the man from the ticket office at the beginning of the valley – complete with gun and handcuffs. He informed us grumpily that we weren’t allowed to camp or have a picnic in the valley. I was ever so apologetic and tried to explain that we thought it would be ok because there was already a fire pit there. Clearly he was relieved that we were already packing up and he rode off.

We finished our pack and set back off, detouring briefly to one of the valley’s rock cut churches. A little further on we passed a police car going the other way, and wondered whether they’d been sent after us. Instead of leaving the way we came, past the man in his ticket office, we took the back way, got lost and failed to see the other things we meant to see in the village. Well, you win some…

Narlı Gol is a gorgeous little crater lake, presumably forged out of one of the prolific volcanoes which sculpted the region. We sat at the top and ate strawberries we’d bought from a woman at the side of the road, across the road from the workers harvesting them. The thunder rolled around us dramatically.

Derinkulu has a more tourist friendly underground city, with 8 levels of city to explore. This time lit, with arrows and signposts we were able to explore it in relative safety. The general consensus is that these cities were used in times of danger, when one invading army or other was on its way. The people could take underground and live down there for years if needed.

From Derinkulu we peddled over to Goreme, the base we’d chosen to explore the main section of Cappadocia. The approach is absolutely astounding. You look down across the central belt and it is like another world, these strange and outlandish rock formations in reds, pinks, yellows and whites. Each valley has different features, some look like someone’s gone mad with a bowl of icing and a spatula, some look like they’ve grown like mushrooms. Some hard and spikey, some look almost soft and pillowy. We looked from the top and just said wow.

We meandered our way down to town and found a friendly hostel to be our base for a few days.

The Goreme Open Air Museum is a big attraction, but having seen a lot of caves and churches in the preceding days we were suffering a little from cave-fatigue. However the frescos were lovely. We were particularly impressed by the ‘Dark Church’ which has had its frescos restored, and is really very stunning.

The sheer number of tourists was pretty crazy though. It made the experience quite different from the previous days. It felt unreal somehow, very hard to engage with, just things to look at. We did a quick round of the sites and left them to it.

We cycled on from there and explored a few of the valleys by bike. They were amazing but I do not recommend trying to do this on a touring bike. The trails are very dry and sandy, which would be ok if it weren’t also for being on the edge of a steep mountain and very likely to give way. Again, my nerve gave out and I walked a fair way. Jamie did much better, unsurprisingly.

It was an upsetting experience to be honest. I know that if I’d had my mountain bike, my gloves and helmet, maybe some knee pads, I’d have felt more confident. I really wasn’t expecting to be unable to ride. Having ridden over 5000km suddenly having to get off and walk felt quite destabilising. However, these things pass… We got back and had a good lounge about, and I was awarded a couple of beers – my demand for having a less good time than Jamie.

We met some fellow cycle-tourists, of the mountain bike variety, and spent a great evening chatting with them.

The following day was declared our day off (the bikes). Much needed as some people were suffering from their brand new Brooks saddle. After a lazy morning we spent some time doing some overdue bike maintenance. 5000km means an oil change for the Rohloffs. Afterwards we went for a walk through the pigeon valley with its melting overhangs.

Goreme the town was a strange one. In some respects I quite liked it, people were friendly, we found great food. But as far as I could see it exists solely to serve the tourists who stream in night and day. There are multiple hotels on every street, and more and more being built. All the shops seem to be aimed at the tourist market selling tat of one sort or another. Towns like these seem to have a glossy veneer over them, you can’t quite see what’s really going on. You get the tourist smile from the locals, but rarely have a proper conversation despite them knowing more English than most of this bit of the country.
The tourists, well they make me wonder. Tottering amongst the ruins in heels, posing with their selfie sticks. Bused in to the scenic bit of the valley for a quick snap then bused on to the next spot.

Jamie and I console ourselves that we aren’t like that, are we?

We pack up the following morning and take a meanderous route out of town. We stop by to see the iconic ‘love valley’ with its alarmingly phallic pillars. We swing by the famous fairy chimneys and camel rock before turning our backs on that weird and wonderful land.