Laying Siege to the Tourism Machine in Cappadoccia

Sigh...

Istanbul- you were my lover for 19 glorious days but ours was a love that couldn't last. Dozens of painful goodbyes later, I'm finally free from the dark spell that you used to hold me in place for so long; finally free to wander where I may.

It took a previously unseen grit and determination to pull it off, but so far my escape has been well worth it. In my latest destination, the beautiful but tourist-ridden Cappadoccia, the seeds of adventure are being sown and walls that previously seemed perilously unscaleable are being torn down...

When I first arrived in Cappadoccia, I wasn't convinced that the bitter sting of leaving Istanbul would ever lift. After a relatively eventless 18 hours in a 6 person sleeper cabin in a Turkish train (and by relatively eventless, I mean that it was eventless other than the violently angry Turkish screaming contest that took place for 2 hours between everyone else in my cabin, while I looked on from my bunk above, bemused and with no idea what the hell was going on) I was deposited in Kayseri, whose name I understand roughly translates as "blandest city in all Turkey". After being viciously mocked by a crowd of Turks at a bus stop for trying to walk all the way to the Otogar (bus station) in pouring rain, I figured catching a bus was probably the way to go; it was.

I reached the Otogar, relatively dry and only a little shamed, and after stumbling through a labyrinth of of bus company booths, booked a 10 lira ticket to Goreme (where my unbooked hostel was waiting). I went to the bus stop that my ticket directed me to, was let on that bus without any problems, and 40 minutes later found myself being dropped in Avanos- a city that I'm sure is wonderful, but also a city that is not Goreme.

I finally made it to Goreme with the help of some friendly locals, and proceeded to throw up a little in my mouth as I realized how touristy the place is. Every sign is in English, every word spoken seemed to be in either that or some other West European language, and even the giant rock formations sprouting throughout the city looked like big plastic models under the city lights at night. All in all, Goreme feels more like an amusement park than the humble Turkish village it tries so hard to impersonate.

In retrospect, my first impressions may have actually been a little harsh. The city is a giant tourist trap, but it's also a pretty nice place to spend a day or two. The cave hostels (which are cheap and adorable!), a series of dorms carved into the aforementioned rock formations, in particular make it worthwhile. And my cave hostel, Nomad, came especially cheap after I made a savvy deal with the owner, to give him a 100% rating in exchange for a discount. Sometimes it pays to be an unethical bastard.

More importantly, Cappadoccia isn't just a beacon for tourists; it's a beacon for adventerous souls. One of these bright-eyed and gallant wanderers- an amiable and incredibly resourceful Russian named Roman who hails from St. Petersburg- has even become my new travelling companion and mentor. In our time in Cappadoccia he taught me how to hitchhike and live off the land without paying a dime. Last night we hitchhiked, via 6 different drivers, into Selime Valley- a little known and relatively untouristed Cappadoccian location that also happens to be one of the most ridiculously beautiful places I've ever seen.

Then we set up camp in Roman's tent. Basically, we're Brokeback Mountain-ing it, minus the gay.

It was during the day, however, when we took action against the Goreme Open Air Museum, and it's absurd prices. Not only did they expect us to pay the 15 lira entry fee to see the series of ancient monasteries, but they also failed to mention that the biggest and best of the monasteries wasn't included in the price and would require another 8 lira to gain entrance. Thus, we decided to take matters into our own hands and do everything in our power to not pay.

First, we climbed up a nearby hill, to survey the scene and try to find a way in. From there we began circling the site, looking for a hill or wall we could climb down that didn't involve a treacherous fall. We couldn't find one. Looking down on all the ant-like tourists below though, we knew our egos wouldn't let us stop until we did.

Suddenly we heard shouting, and realized that there a man on top of a somewhat distant hill was gesturing for us to come. Was this the kind, anti-establishment soul who would make it happen?

We joined him, his wife, and his donkey in a bizzare caravan to what we naively thought would be a secret entrance to the museum. It wasn't; it was their home, a humble abode without a front wall, carved into the face of a hill. And then he asked us for money, so we left.

For a second we felt an ounce of hope when we saw looming above us a terrace full of tourists. After a quick water break, we readied ourselves for the treacherous climb up to the terrace and began climbing once the crowd had moved on. We got to the top and found... a wall, impossible to scale, and a guard in a tie, smirking and shaking his head.

I pleaded with him to tell me another way in. His smile only grew wider. "Everywhere impossible!" he announced smugly.

We moved on, back to the entrance, knowing that we had given it our best and that our best hadn't been good enough. We had spent a full two hours trying to find the weak link that would be our entrance into the area and had only found walls that prevented us from entering from below and falls that were deep enough to prevent us from entering from above.

I taught Roman a new English phrase, "The journey is the destination." As we sat at the entrance, however, carefully watched by a guard who had smartly sat right next to us, somehow neither of us could quite shake the sting of failure.

Finally, we collected ourselves for one last desperate search for a way. We would climb the nearest hill and if we didn't find a way in, we would accept defeat and go find somewhere more in our price range to hang out. We climbed the hill... and found a half open grate. Perhaps???

We climbed through the grate, walked a few minutes over some more hills and saw it- a series of rocks that we could slide down into Goreme Open Air Museum. We paused for a moment, exhaled... and took in that sweet, sweet waft of victory.

To be honest, as fun as taking way too many victory poses in my Cap'n America tee all over (particularly in front of the ticketed entrance) was- not unlike a dog peeing on a fire hydrant or Neil Armstrong planting the American flag on the moon- the place itself wasn't all that cool; most of the monasteries were either devoid of frescoes or had long ago had their frescoes scratched out by Muslim invaders; meanwhile, being surrounded by German tourist groups taking pictures of every rock and every monastery didn't help.

Still, the moment I saw the confused look on the previously smug guard-with-tie's face, it was all worth it.

Our break-in to the Open Air Museum is just the beginning of bigger and better things, however. Together Roman and I have cooked up the boldest, most dastardly plan I've ever taken part in. The plan involves a great deal of hitchhiking, camping, and a region of the world that's drawn a lot of attention over the last... oh, 8 years or so.

And it's only hours away from being put into execution.