Nevsehir and What I Saw There

There are places in the world that look like God is trying to play a trick on us. Nevsehir, or rather Cappadocia, is such a place. A quick glance leaves you feeling as though you've entered a less mountainous New Mexico, though you'll soon notice a vast landscape of phallic-shaped dry rocks and ancient rock-dwellings in the distance. Cappadocia, to me, didn't feel real. It's a the home of the first great Christian civilization, which carved their dwellings into underground spaces, rock structures, and naturally-formed caverns to protect themselves against encroaching armies.

Our lively group of five found a great deal on ATV rentals, and tore through the "fairy chimney's" as they're referred to, for a good two and a half hours. Because Turkey isn't obsessed with safety regulations and precautionary measures, and because they know what "fun" means, we had ourselves a hell of a time on those ATV's. It was a beautiful day, and the views of the mountains and the caverns and the rock formations were seen from what could have been miles away. In this picturesque environment, where humankind and nature come together in harmony, our small group revved our engines loud and shattered any modicum of peacefulness in this otherwise serene and happy place. Our engines, with a noise of a thousand angry bulls, shook the earth, and the birds, normally at ease, fled in great despair. We had a blast.

Cappadocia is also known for its wine. I must admit, it wasn't bad contrary to what I'd imagined. The wine I've tasted thus far from Anatolian vineyards has been hard to swallow, literally. But our wine-tasting at a nearby orchard was rather nice. A subtle blend of oak and clove, with flowery overtones and nutty undertones... A cacophony of spices, herbs, branches of trees, and fruits is how I'd characterize every wine I've ever tasted. But trust me when I say the stuff from Cappadocia is good.

I'm running into moments, usually when I'm by myself (which is pretty much all the time), when I realize just how much I'm going to miss this place. I haven't experienced a place, other than my parents' places in Greenfield and Turners Falls, that feels like home the way Bilecik does. I've grown so adjusted and satisfied with my surroundings. It's a fortress in some ways, that remains so far from all else. It means the comfort of relative anonymity and the ability to do what I want, when I want. I've fallen in love with this place, and waves of appreciation sweep over me abruptly and without warning. I lay in bed last night looking out the window and doing my best to soak it all in - the musty scent of my room, the double-layered sheer curtains, the prayer rug that protects my bedside table.