Day 44
Wednesday 10th December
Egidir, Turkey - Antalya, Turkey
Continuing south now the coast is in sight, hopefully with associated sunshine. Grandpa Pete and the Child Bride pause at the Yazili Kanyon National Park to walk up the Candir Kanyon. In the fresh sunshine they meet a hunting party. A beared Turk is leading a German equipped with rifles to find Ibex in the gorge. Asked if he thinks they will find any, the Turk says under his breath and out of earshot of his client "well, we might". With them is a government licensed guide, who looks like he is of the mountains and on passing the pair hands them chunks of chocolate.
Inscriptions of poetry on the rock valley walls give the park its name (Yazili means written) and they follow this inscribed path up through trees to a grassy clearing with a river rushing buy. Here water tumbles into fairy pools overhung with trailing trees in a good rendition of paradise.
Reluctantly moving back down the path, they come upon the hunting party who have spotted Ibex and baby Ibex on the craggy mound above and offer up their binoculars to let the pair see.
The coastal town of Antalya brings a coral sunset over the sea and palm trees. They cut huge zig-zags back and forth along the ring road before hitting the town centre which is brimming with promenading families and posing teenagers, enjoying the evening sun. Traffic crawls through the balmy streets and after a good hour in traffic, GP and the CB quickly abandon the idea of the attractive mansion hotel in the old town, preferring not to test these ancient walls against Gordon's bull bars. Throwing themselves at the first alternative they can find, The Hotel Divan is a pricey swish number, with a guarded car park. They are able to keep an eye on Gordon from the balcony of their room, his nose pointing out from behind the azure swimming pool. The view is better in the other direction, over a twinkling sea.
By the time they have unpacked and got back into town, the promenade is over. The old town streets are deserted and misty with the smoke from woodfires, a smell and a sight that will become a feature of these Turkish towns in winter.
They track down the recommended German-run Güll Restaurant for some good Turkish food. They eat overlooking a garden full of orange trees populated, they slowly realise, by a colony of large bats. The owners are artists and tempting artwork hangs on the walls. The Child Bride enquires over prices but they are prohibitive.
Day 45
Thursday 11th December
Antalya, Turkey
Drawn out of bed by the sun, and by the sparrows that have popped in through the windows, Grandpa Pete and the Child Bride head to the ruins of Termessos. The drive through green mountains is on a twisting road that offers better views of the ravines than feels healthy at times. Valleys fall away below and finally they enter a forest where they can park up and walk to the ruins.
The Termessians were apparently a fearsome bunch who fought off Alexander the Great and the Romans to preserve their city and their independence. Higgledy-piggledy the remains tumble over the hills, strangled with undergrowth and with no clear path from which to find and view them. Unrestrained by the fetters of guard ropes, they are able to trample indiscriminately over priceless antiquity. A unique approach to a Doric column as you climb over it to reach higher ground is to appraise it on its merits as good purchase.
The wild environment and the lack of presentation and the dressings of tourism do, however, provide a thrilling atmosphere for exploring the site. Clambering over rocks and pushing past trees to uncover sarcophagi, a gymnasium, temples to Zeus and Artemis makes them feel like the first explorers here. The centrepiece of the whole walk is the amphitheatre, climbing down the rows of seats and onto the stage; the wings provide a panoramic view of the valley tumbling below and mountains beyond.
They sit on a bench just outside the old wall to look back down the valley before heading that way for lunch. At Nigel's restaurant they are entertained by his stories of teaching in London in the 70's and the Turkish-Cypriot war, while a white rabbit flits surreally across the scene. His wife, he says, is a very good cook. Unfortunately his wife is not there, and the fish is raw in the middle.
They are back in Antalya too late again to promenade and so head back to the old town for a meal in a more authentic Turkish restaurant where traditional bouzouki is playing. The waiters here are also practised in the subtle art of up-selling, GP and the CB are persuaded to order too much, and pay for it all.
That night later more unorthodox promenading is going on. The streets of the new town are full of teenagers cruising through the streets in their cars with the Turkish flag flying and horns blasting. The Turks love their flags in any case but tonight is the last night of freedom for boys going off for national service and the streets are full of end-of-era nostalgia, rite-of-passage self-consciousness and a nationalistic pride to cover up the nerves. Naturally at points the police are in attendance.
The military is in evidence throughout Turkey, from the huge ostentatious tank parking lots designed to show off their strength, to the sloganeering adorning the army bases. Checkpoints are manned and armed further East, the focus of Kurdish militancy, and while the pair are in Syria, Turkish soldiers will be killed on the Iraq border.
Day 46
Friday 12th December
Antalya, Turkey - Sedre Camping, Turkey
Antalya is a good base for exploring ruins so on they journey out today and visit Aspendos, to see another stunning theatre, built by the Romans during 161-80AD. At Aspendos Gordon shares the car park with camels. They leave him in good company to climb up to the theatre. The claim is that it seats three thousand which seems a little overoptimistic. There must have been much sitting on laps if this is true.
As they come out the car park is now swarming with army and police, an official visit is taking place amidst much security. They ask an onlooker who indicates the visitor is a very important "Chef", or more plausibly "Chief".
They press on, trying to get to the coast, with no clear idea of where they will stop for the night. Lots of Turkish families have taken to the roads for ruin visiting and are parked up in the country side. In the tiny villages that pepper the orange groves in the valleys, more Turkish good cheer is in evidence on the streets. Old men in suit jackets and pantaloons are larking about, sprightly and stop to giggle as Gordon trundles past.
Keen to camp and exploit the clement weather, they have stocked up at the bounteous supermarket for supper. The coast though is offering up neither campsites nor hotels nor discrete spots for wild camping and it is getting dark. At the last minute, Grandpa Pete pulls over at an unpromising unlit sign for Sedre Club Camping (www.sedrecamping.com). The gates are locked but just as they are turning away, a figure appears and beckons them in.
In a small strip of land alongside the sea Gordon is pitched and hooked up to the electricity. Next to him is the only other resident, a big mobile home with a pair of Turkish children buzzing about and their mother shyly smiling.
As the Child Bride starts to cook the children arrive with a neighbourly greeting in Turkish, and an offering. The family have sent over a plate of chips and some salad. Much smiling and eating and the Child Bride is wondering what the form is for returning the greeting. Consulting the store box she decides that an appropriately English dish would be semolina and sets about its preparation. The mobile home has gone quiet by the time it is ready but, unperturbed, they knock on the door and deliver the dishes, to a cacophony of smiles and giggles. They return the salad dishes cleaned at the same time and return to their tent with a clear conscience - they have discharged their neighbourly duties.
It is only when the children return again, this time with a plate piled high with cakes and chocolate, that they realise that they have only upped the stakes. This could go on all night, and if semolina didn't put them off, nothing will. GP and the CB agree to call it a day and maybe pop over with a little something for breakfast.
Day 47
Saturday 13th December
Sedre Camping, Turkey - Oracik Büyükeceli, Turkey
For fear of reprisal perhaps, the family next door flee early. Grandpa Pete and the Child Bride rise to an empty camp site. This morning Gordon is scheduled for a tyre change and his spares will be switched into use so that his tread wears evenly. As GP starts to jack him up, the CB heads to the kitchen to wash up breakfast. She emerges later to find Gordon balanced on 3 tyres, GP underneath and at his feet, a row of observers in identical bright yellow Wellingtons peering critically and helpfully shouting out instructions. In Turkish.
The crew are keen to have their photo taken mid-way through the project but lose interest before the second wheel is off and wander away. They do however rouse themselves to give the re-equipped Gordon an enthusiastic send off after more photos.
Further east along the coast they drive in the sunshine, stopping only for what is becoming a stock lunch of fresh Turkish bread (they have learnt the word, "Ekmek"), cheese triangles (these will be a staple further down the road in less gastronomically blessed countries), tomatoes and sweet Clementines.
Traffic slows to a crawl and then a stop around a headland. Clouds of dust rising in front bode ill. Apparently the rocky slopes ahead are crumbling into the road, stopping the traffic in both directions. To their amazement it turns out that this is no natural disaster but planned road works. A big yellow bulldozer is clearing boulders from above on to the road, while the traffic waits not 50 metres away. Another bulldozer clears up the shattered boulders from the road and after half an hour the road is clear-ish again and the traffic streams through. In the case of Gordon, it streams through extremely fast, before they start to demolish the next bit on top of them.
Another evening trawl through villages looking for a campsite turns up a holiday home with cabins in a bay. It looks closed but the receptionist waves generally towards the bayside and Gordon's tent is pitched near the water's edge. A short trip back to the main village for supper reveals a strange anomaly with Gordon's headlights in that they don't appear to be working. More maintenance will be required.
Back at camp they begin to wonder whether they have camped in the campsite or in the town square which is the sight of many night time assignations as cars draw up to the waterfront, stay for a while and then leave again. Sleep soon comes to the pair, accompanied by the sound of lapping waves and squabbling cats.
Day 48
Sunday 14th December
Oracik Büyükeceli, Turkey - Nigde, Turkey
Gordon is examined. As Grandpa Pete strips his wires down a Turkish Artful Dodger turns up to 'help'. A small wiry boy of about 12 with movements as quick as a cat he darts about the car inspecting, his keen eyes fixed on our breakfast. He accepts happily some bananas and watches the steering column come apart. The Child Bride decides that it is best for GP to get some experience in these car matters and decides to let him work out the problem without her guidance. Packing up Gordon's tent she discovers that the roof is a veritable suntrap and that the vista over the bay provides a soothing backdrop for a morning snooze.
The secrets of Gordon's electrics are eluding GP, his lights fail inconsistently and occlude the cause of the faults; his headlights shine weakly if at all, or his indicators will randomly spark to life when not asked for. The Child Bride decides that he should be broken and clean rather than broken and dirty and throws some water over him to get rid of mud and silt picked up on this drier and sunnier part of the journey.
Finally the breakthrough comes as GP cleans the Verdi-gris from the switch contacts; headlights, sidelights and indicators all jump to life in perfect order.
Some negotiation ensues when the Artful Dodger suggests that they pay him and not Reception for use of the shower block. He is bought off with the last of the chocolate biscuits. When they go to Reception to check out, the lady in charge graciously refuses payment before biscuits are even mentioned.
They take off on their last stretch of twisting Turkish coast road before they head North. Sun shining down on them, drawing out the scent of the pines, they pass the grand Kastel Kalesi hovering in the sea and at Bogsak enjoy stunning views of the bay.
This stretch of road close to the Mediterranean is obviously a well worn path for travellers. As they stop to picnic at a deserted ruined castle by the shore line, a Frenchman on a bicycle draws up. He is cycling around the Mediterranean, having travelled all over the world he says he has just found out what beauty is on his doorstep. We pass more earnest souls on bicycles punishing themselves up hills and down. Then with a flourish of horn and flashing lights a motorcycle flashes past and dances in the lane in front of Gordon for long enough for them to read the English number plate and return the greeting.
As they turn off the coastal road a tougher drive begins in the dark, thick with lorries and roadworks, the road pushes through hills North to Nigde, another smoky busy Turkish town and the Hotel Nahita.
Day 49
Monday 15th December
Nigde, Turkey - Göreme, Turkey
It is Monday morning in Nigde and the streets are full of figures in black streaming, heads bowed, to work and school. Grandpa Pete and the Child Bride are surprised to find it is Monday morning; they have lost track of days and no longer utter the Monday morning prayer of thankfulness that they are not making their way to work.
Nigde for them was only a town on the way to somewhere else and they head today towards Cappadoccia through the hills.
The air turns colder as, from Nigde to Neveshir, they streak across endless flat sandy coloured plains with wheat stubble and snow. Small clumps of trees have the bark of the silver birch and the silhouette of the poplar and ancient ruins are scattered amongst modern hovels. As they reach 1300m and a fog descends, it feels like a lost land. The CB notes that fog only comes when she drives. GP thinks she is confusing it with a red mist he sees on these days.
The landscape will get stranger still as they near Göreme. Houses now are built into the rocky hillsides and then, dramatically as they round a small peak, a vast valley opens out before them, peppered with hundreds of rock towers. They have to stop to take it in, unlike anything they have seen before.
Acres and acres of extraordinary geological formations, pink in the late sun, are made from soft layers of sandstone overlaid with volcanic basalt. Basalt has formed a roof and protected columns beneath from erosion - creating fairy chimneys. In these chimneys and in caves carved from the rock are churches and houses, cities inhabited since 1800BC.
The road carves round the valley and takes them into the twisting narrow streets of Göreme to Canyon View Hotel (www.canyonviewhotel.com) which is built in a series of caves. Hassan, the owner, settles them into their cave room, sits them down with a cup of çay to give them a brief history of Cappadoccia. He then commandeers Gordon to give them a guided tour of the landscape. He takes them through the Rose Valley lined with a cliff escarpment 200ft high, half a mile long of deep pink rock. They visit an ancient village abandoned in the 1950s when the houses started to collapse through erosion; and an ancient church cut into the hillside.
Going back through villages Hassan chuckles at the men in the cafés wiling away the afternoon. "They are sitting there telling anyone who will listen what they could have been had they not fettered themselves in marriage. Their wives are at home complaining that they were the most beautiful women in the village when they were young but got trapped by their husbands. Same song, second verse."
Supper at the One Way Restaurant is taken cross legged on cushions. The waiter had tried to persuade a bashful musician to play guitar to them, to no avail, he was too shy - "I told him not to worry - he is just an old man" the waiter says, gesturing at Grandpa Pete.
Day 50
Tuesday 16th December
Göreme, Turkey
The next view of Göreme's wonders is at dawn from a hot air balloon. As the fiery breath of the balloon raises them gently upward, the frosty landscape is beginning to feel the warmth of the sun. They float on the breeze in silence and wonder as the ground shrinks beneath them and plains and valleys open up around. A fox darts through the silver undergrowth unaware of his silent observers hovering above.
Mount Erciyes, Hasandag and Golludag were active volcanoes in the Miocene and Pliocene eras, together they laid the foundations of all this landscape. Now from the vantage point in the balloon they appear to rise from a sea of cloud.
They float up to 650m, and a chilly -5C, then the pilot brings them down into a valley, hovering metres from the valley walls, close enough to peer into the caves. The only sound is of a whinging Australian, complaining about a delay in the launch.
The balloon is brought to a gentle halt and the basket sits gently on the ground. The crew then bring out champagne and in seconds wrap and stow the balloon on a trailer. The crew is consummately professional but also great fun, so they start to pick up the more petite passengers and throw them into the folds of the balloon. Finally they form a team to pick up Grandpa Pete, throw him on as well, and all pile on top after him.
The balloon ride has only fuelled their desire to explore this landscape so GP hires himself a Quad bike ride, the Child Bride will take to horseback. GP's guide is a 15 year old speed freak riding a 175cc Suzuki motorbike, constantly daring GP to go faster. They take the bikes up through deserted villages and into the Rose Valley. Here GP comes upon the Child Bride mounted atop a tiny pony. For a fleeting second the eye of man meets the eye of the beast, and each understands the other's burden.
The pony is small and a bit too skinny, but determined and it bears its burden resolutely. The guide has obviously had a skinfull the night before and spends most of the time telling the Child Bride how tired he is, before changing tack and asking for her phone number. She has a glimpse of what travelling without a male escort in Turkey would be like. Wonderful as it was to canter through a roofed rock cavern, she would have preferred the pony to have been shod and the guide gelded.
GP has also been seduced - by the owner of a café at the Church of St George who finds in GP a keen consumer of wine from his vineyard.
Dinner is eaten to the sound of pretentious Yanks. A trio of women, a guru figure and two younger followers, basking languidly on the floor cushions, are talking new age nonsense. Loudly. "I don't know that I want to play in the world like I did anymore", "we all have the ego to go out into the world". The CB yearns to urge them either to conquer their egos and stay home, or to search for answers through meditation, which she understands, is mostly silent. The younger girls are complicit in perpetuating their idol with their yearning, naïve questioning. The guru herself neatly side steps the conversation at any point that the girls look like moving her to intellectual analysis or solid conclusions.