A Cappadocian Diary

Day 1: Above the ground

It’s six o’clock in the morning, and the world has barely woken. We’re in a hot air balloon, drifting over a field full of apricot trees. Every now and then the basket skims so low alongside the tree-tops that we can lean across and pick the velvety ripe fruit from the branches. Moments later – gently, imperceptibly – the balloon is half a mile above the earth, floating over a silent canyon where rose-pink or honey-coloured rock formations are rising to meet us like the turrets of giant sandcastles. This is Cappadocia – a realm that’s at once as alien and as eerily beautiful as a moonscape. To view it from the air, to see what the eagles see as they circle and swoop below you, is one of the most magical experiences imaginable.

Cappadocia is a region not a country. Located deep within central Turkey, it’s a land-locked triangle – enclosed by Kayseri to the east, Aksaray to the west, and Nigde to the south – that has been designated as a National Park. But that isn’t how it feels. With its pale-golden landscape of sculpted caves and cones, and its strange exotic name (‘Cappadocia’ is said to be a corruption of the ancient Persian for ‘the land of beautiful horses’), it feels like a mythical lost kingdom out of fantasy fiction. Timeless, tranquil and surreal, it’s like nothing else on earth. Small wonder that it featured in the Star Wars films as Tatooine, the deserted planet home of the Skywalker family.

Cappadocia’s other-worldliness has its origin in a geological phenomenon. A series of three volcanic eruptions (the first of them over 10 million years ago) left the region thickly layered with a soft porous stone known as tufa, formed from hot volcanic ash. Since then, wind and rain have eroded the rock to create spectacular lunar scenery, encompassing – across a central area of some 300 square kilometres – hundreds of weirdly shaped pillars and pinnacles. In this crazy, improbable, sherbet-coloured wonderland, the landscape wraps itself like a mis-shapen stone forest around the cluster of small towns and villages that lie at its heart. They include the small town of Urgup (where we’re staying) and the nearby village of Göreme – home to Kapadokya Balloons, the hot air balloon company that has organised today’s adventure.

The launching place selected for our flight was a short truck-drive away from the village, along a winding road edged with toffee-coloured sharks’ fins of rock. Although barely an hour ago, it now feels as if years have passed since our four-by-four bounced across a field pitted with craters, towing our balloon on a trailer behind us. Ten minutes later we were in a clearing, watching the ground crew unpack the balloon, inflate it and fire in jets of flame to heat the air inside – all in the pink light of dawn. Then came an undignified scramble into the high-sided passenger basket and – finally – the thrilling moment when the balloon first lifted upwards and we were air-borne. Into the sky we floated, like a bubble rising through water.

Flying in a balloon has to be one of the dreamiest sensations ever – totally different from any other form of flight. There’s almost no feeling of motion. And apart from occasional roars from the burner when the hot air needs topping up, the only sounds in the sky are of bird song. Cappadocia’s orange hoopoe birds have been active since dawn. They’re cart-wheeling below us, calling like mini alarm clocks as the world begins to stir. As they fly, their wings flap and spread to reveal vivid bars of black and white. Meanwhile, the balloon glides over gorges and ravines, and we dip down into a succession of rocky valleys bristling with wigwam-like formations and monoliths.

Many of the valleys have names, helpfully translated from the Turkish. Red Valley is so-called because it’s unusually rich in iron. Nearby is Imagination Valley – although it occurs to me that ‘Hallucination Valley’ might be nearer the mark. So many of the rocks appear to be shaped like animals – there are camels, seals, snakes, dolphins, even an elephant – that the balloon seems temporarily to have drifted into Disney’s ‘Fantasia’. Most famous of all the valleys is Peribacala Vadasi – the Valley of the Fairy Chimneys – with its extraordinary outcrops of tall sandy-coloured pillars capped by larger, tawny-pink boulders.

Long ago the pillars were regular in shape, uniform in colour. But contrasting layers of rock have been eroded at different rates, and today they’re like something from a fairground Hall of Mirrors – quirkily distorted, and an amusing psychological challenge for onlookers. To some people they’re giant phalluses. To others they’re magic mushrooms. To others they’re exploding cigars. But the Cappadocians keep it safely whimsical. They’re known as ‘fairy chimneys’ because only fairies (though presumably rather sturdy ones) could possibly have lifted such heavy boulders and positioned them atop such narrow columns.

Every now and then the basket of the balloon rotates gently, as our pilot uses guide ropes to open and close the flaps in the bag. Devon-born Kaili Kidner and her Swedish husband Lars-Eric More founded Kapadokya Balloons in 1991. Since then, ballooning has become one of the most popular ways of showing visitors the sights of Cappadocia and a number of competitors have sprung up. But theirs is the longest established company in the region, and she and Lars have personally flown over 50,000 passengers without mishap. Lars is piloting another flight at the same time as ours. Cream, shot with blue panelling, his balloon hangs in the air like a piece of the sky. It’s strange to realise that’s how we must look, too. It’s only when you catch sudden glimpses of your shadow on a rock face, or on a cornfield far below, that you remember how far away you now are from the earth.

Cornfields are far from being the only type of farmland in Cappadocia, as we’re soon to realise. Away from the barren moonscapes, there’s a strongly agricultural community. The combination of volcanic soil and long hours of sunshine is perfect for growing grapes, and the region has many fine wineries. The hundreds of dove-cotes, hollowed out of distinctive rock cones that curl upwards from the plains like huge horns, are there to attract nesting pigeons – not for their eggs, but for their droppings (a rich source of fertilizer).

As if as a reminder of this, our balloon starts to float south-westwards over a plain, crossing row upon row of vines, of mulberry trees and of walnut trees, alongside broad patchwork expanses of green wheat-fields and yellow vetch. Weaving through a swathe of poplar trees, we drop low over the crops to see hares hiding from crows and a fox returning home to his family after a night’s hunting. Squat cement farmhouses, their yards a muddle of dusty tyres, cement sacks and rusty olive oil cans, come into view. We’re so close to the land now that the smell of manure wafts into the basket, and a local farmer – up early to hoe the soil in readiness for the rain that is forecast – waves up at us.

Within moments, he’s joined by a crowd of children – and, all too soon, a whole cacophony of farm noise envelops us. Cockerels are crowing, chained-up dogs are yapping and snarling, goats are bleating. Most bizarrely of all, a frog chorus is croaking at full volume. Scouring the countryside for signs of anything approaching marshland, we see that an enterprising colony of frogs has taken up residence next to a network of water channels cut into the stone. The channels themselves lead to inconspicuous square holes, which in turn lead to vast underground reservoirs, as Kaili explains to us. In the same way, the heavy stone blocks that are just about discernible at a number of cave entrances conceal huge underground store-rooms stuffed with grapes, lemons, potatoes and flat breads. In the cool of a natural cave environment, supplies keep fresh and dry for over six months.

This balloon ride has been the perfect introduction to Cappadocia – although, sadly, it’s now coming to an end. Keili and Lars are in radio contact discussing where to land, and the truck that has been shadowing us discreetly since take-off is executing a deft three-point turn in a cornfield and heading over in our direction. It still looks like a Dinky toy from above, but we’re definitely on the descent. Our landing, in a field of cornflowers, is as soft as they come – the basket settles on the ground like a feather. Nobody speaks. In a moment, the ground team will reach us, and we’ll alight from the basket to share in the traditional toast of champagne and cherry juice that follows each flight. But for now it’s good to savour the silence. In a corner of the field, in this land of beautiful horses, a chestnut pony is drinking from a water butt. He doesn’t look up.

Day 2: On the ground

After yesterday’s morning in the air, today is the day for exploring Cappadocia at ground level – in our hired car. Fairy labourers apart, Cappadocia’s marvels have not been moulded by nature alone – and it’s not only the fairy chimneys that make its landscape so distinctive. The tufa rock that characterises the region is distinctive not only for its form and colour, but also for its softness when moist. Early settlers were quick to discover how easy it was to carve storage chambers into the honeycomb cliffs and to create fantastical dwellings – themselves as weird and wonderful as any of the stark stone totems that stud the landscape. Our home village of Urgup, together with Uchisar and Goreme, forms part of a small inner triangle of so-called ‘cave villages’ – small, oddly timeless, communities where generations of residents have led a troglodyte existence over the centuries.

Even today, many people are happy to live by choice in the warrens of homes chiselled into rock-faces that still survive in the older quarters of the villages – albeit now with satellite TV and the Internet. In fact, a lucrative re-development programme is underway – creating luxury cave houses as second homes for wealthy city-folk, as well as cave-hotels for visitors. We’re staying in a gorgeously snug little cave house. Converted from a natural cave in 1996, it’s called Magari Evi – Turkish for ‘Mary’s House’. It’s owned by Mary Hall, a British woman teaching English in Turkey, and has been furnished with kilims and antiques galore. It’s totally delightful – like living in a treasure chest.

We spend time in all three of the trio of cave villages – easily done, as they’re only seven or eight kilometres apart from each other. The most picturesque is definitely Uchisar. Unmissable from miles around, it’s topped by a castle built into a high cliff – a bulbous rocky palace of windows, tunnels and passageways. There are panoramic views across to snow-capped Mount Erciyes in the distance. Goreme, where yesterday’s flight started, is the most awesome. Its Open Air Museum, a fifteen-minute walk from the village centre, is rightly at the top of every visitor’s ‘Must See’ list. It’s just astonishing – a complex of primitive churches built into cascading walls of rock. The stone falls away into folds like the carved drapes of a statue, and small doorways and stairways lead into tiny chapels that blaze with jewel-coloured frescoes dating from around 1100AD.

But Urgup, where we’re staying, is my favourite. Larger and scruffier, it feels more of a working town, less of a tourist curiosity. As well as our lovely cave house, there are a number of luxurious boutique hotels in the posh Esbelli neighbourhood. But there’s also a bus station, a library and assorted shops selling brooms, buckets, toys and real clothes – not just craft shops and awful stalls flogging Evil Eyes and tufa ash-trays. Urgup also has a couple of lovely restaurants – a real relief when you don’t think you can face another Turkish meatball. The Somine (over a shopping arcade, but don’t let that put you off) is the smartest place in town, serving specialities such as Guvek – a stew of beef, tomatoes, garlic, cumin and paprika, baked in a clay pot that’s ceremonially broken as it’s brought to your table. We ate there last night, still exuberant after our balloon ride. For tonight’s supper, we’ve earmarked Han Ciragan Restaurant, in a vine-covered courtyard. It serves fresh fish from Kizilirmak (the ‘Red River’) in nearby Avanos – and an exquisite mint and lentil soup.

It’s late afternoon and supper calls. But first we complete our mini-tour of the region’s townships – and investigate the provenance of tonight’s fish – by taking a detour to Avanos itself, some 13km from Urgup. There are hacking stables there, we discover – and I resolve immediately that my next visit to Cappadocia will include an ‘On Horseback’ day. The town is also home to a thriving pottery industry, using the distinctive red clay from its river-bed. Do-it-yourself pot-throwing establishments line the streets, and the otherwise unremarkable town centre is dominated by a huge monument depicting a potter at work. Cappadocia’s other key industries are carpet-weaving, carving animal ornaments from onyx, and – not so surprisingly, remembering those vine terraces we floated across yesterday – wine-making. Signs pointing to wine-tasting outlets abound along the roadsides, and we eagerly sample a beaker of local red on the way home. Alas, this turns out to be not such a wise move. I wish I could tell you it tastes wonderful. But maybe we’re just unlucky…

Day 3: Below the ground

Day three is a half a day really – but we’re determined not to waste it. Exclusive Escapes have booked a local guide for us – and we’ve decided that today’s the day for going below the ground. The hidden reservoirs and storage caves we saw from our balloon ride are far from being the only underground secrets in the region, as archaeologists have been discovering for some time now. Fascinatingly, there’s almost as much below the ground in Cappadocia as there is above it. Well over thirty subterranean cities have been uncovered to date – huge labyrinths (some descending through eight or nine storeys), where whole communities took refuge from invaders. They were hidden by massive millstone doors that could only be opened from inside.

Today, accompanied by our guide, we visit the largest of these, Kaymakli. The experience is unmissable. Kaymakli was first dug out by the Hittites in 1200BC, we learn. It was opened to the public in 1964, and it’s thought that up to 5,000 people may have lived there at one time. A massive ventilation shaft plunges 40 metres down through level after level – imagine an upside-down multi-storey car park, if that’s not too mundane a comparison. Or a giant-sized badger set. Four of the levels have been excavated and can be accessed by visitors through an elaborate maze of interconnected tunnels.

Now, of course, they’re lit by light bulbs – but the walls are still thickly blackened by the residue from the linseed candles used originally. The smoky stone, the low lighting and the silence all give a slightly spooky atmosphere – like visiting a ghost village after a fire. But the major surprise is how extraordinarily sophisticated an underworld this is – furnished with living rooms, dining areas, stables, a wine cellar and a small chapel. The only clue that this was a refuge from danger rather than a deliberate lifestyle choice comes from the presence of a communal kitchen. Food had to be cooked centrally, to create as little smoke as possible and avoid too many separate tell-tale trails escaping into the world above.

Our visit to Cappadocia has taken us above the ground, over it and below it. It’s been a magical trip that I wouldn’t have missed for the world. As we re-pack our bags for our return flight to Istanbul from Kayseri airport, I promise myself that my next visit will be for longer. And that I’ll definitely go back to those hacking stables.