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After traveling south for a few weeks along the historical
coast of Turkey, enduring the constant chatter of sales pitches
and haggling, we ventured inland to the small village of Goreme
in the Cappadocia region, known for its simplicity and beautiful
landscapes.
Thousands of years before, the Ercyies Mountain erupted,
covering the whole valley with volcanic ash. Over centuries,
wind and water erosion formed tall cones of soft ash called
"fairy chimneys". Later, fleeing Christians settled
in this valley and carved out these chimneys to create their
homes and temples. This allowed them to hide within the landscape
itself, but caused their homes to look like something from
the Flintstones.
Fuelled by yet another Turkish breakfast - bread, jam and
honey, olives, cucumber and sheep cheese - we left the comfort
of the hostel rooftop to explore the intriguing view of fairy
chimneys before us. The streets of this village provided us
with sights of Turks engaging in daily games of backgammon
at local cafés, donkeys tied outside buildings awaiting
a day's work, and occasional views of horse drawn carts roving
the streets. We wandered through a few back lanes and came
across a crop field. A figure appeared at the far end and
motioned for us to come closer. We started awkwardly stepping
through the field, trying not to leave a souvenir footprint
in the various crops blocking our path.
As we reached the other side, we were greeted by an elderly
woman, dressed in light clothing with a sack of produce sitting
by her feet. As we began to thank her for letting us cross
the field, she started ranting in Turkish and motioned to
something behind us.
We turned to find a rusty bucket near our feet, filled with
another produce sack. We stared first at the bucket, and then
at the woman who was now making lifting motions. After a charade-like
game of words, hand motions and looks of confusion, we caught
on and together lifted the heavy bucket and followed the woman,
who headed for a nearby dirt road.
Following a narrow path through the grass, we arrived at
the roadside and placed down our load. The old woman started
to speak once again, which we assumed was a "thank you".
We said goodbye and turned to continue on our journey. She
raised her voice and pointed toward the ground. In our confusion
we remained silent and still, while she began to unwrap one
of the bags and rummaged through its contents. Rising up,
she presented us with three tomatoes each as gratitude for
our help. By city standards a few tomatoes seem worthless,
but out here things seem to acquire a new value. We exchanged
smiles with the woman and accepted our sincere reward, said
goodbye, and continued along the road.
As a horse and cart approached the crop fields, combined
with the alien landscape of fairy chimneys surrounding us,
it felt like we were wandering though an unspoiled Turkish
past.
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Text © Paul Cook, all rights reserved |
Travel Writers: Turkish Tomatoes By Paul
Cook
