COTTON CASTLE

We've spent much of the last two weeks on the road with little time or energy for reflection or writing.  Now its time to catch up.

On Nabil's return from Istanbul, we  decided to strike out on our own to see Pamukkale, considered one of the 10 most amazing geographical formations in the world, and a World Heritage Site. It is nearly a seven hour drive from Ankara, so we marked up our map, packed the Tom-Tom and an overnight bag and hit the road.

With a few months of driving experience under our belt and a better sense of the idiosyncrasies of Turkey, we set out with a growing sense of confidence in our ability to navigate not just the roads, but all things Turkish.   We took a detour about 90 minutes east of Ankara to a small village outside of Polaltli, where an archaeological dig has unearthed the burial mound of King Midas (yes, the legendary king renowned for his ability to turn everything he touched into gold!  We drove through miles of field where migrant workers were harvesting onions and potatoes,  before arriving at a small museum centered around the burial site.  Deep inside the earth, we viewed a massive wooden tomb, that looked like a petrified log cabin that still smelled of fresh cedar. Midas was apparently a Phrygian monarch, who lived more than 3,000 years ago and the museum did a terrific job of detailing the history of his people and showcasing their artifacts.  We spent a few minutes bargaining with a souvenir hawker and then meandered down the road to view another open dig site that was baking in the high noon sun.

Hot and hungry, we stopped for lunch in Polatli, working class town near the highway, and enjoyed a traditional Turkish meal of kebabs, rice, salad and yogurt.  The yogurt was exceptional, made fresh on the premises.  It was thick and creamy, with a thin crust of hardened milk solids.  We sipped Turkish coffee and ate honey soaked pastry as we chatted with the owner before pushing off to Pamukale, the meaning of which is COTTON CASTLE.

The modern highways are well marked  and we passed our milestones with increasing ease as the broad rolling plains of the dry plateau  gave way to steeper hills dotted with farm fields and evergreen patches. Highway construction was the only challenge we faced.  Periodically we would hit a stretch of road that was being repaired or widened, and we would be shuttled to the side of the highway that was temporarily delegated for handling two way traffic.  Sharing the road with Turkish drivers who see nothing wrong with passing on blind curves or driving the wrong way on the shoulder of the road does raise your stress level.  Still we plowed through the gravel stretches with relative ease and made it to the halfway point in Afryon in no time.  After miles and miles of rural villages and vast plains, Afryon emerged as  a glistening commercial oasis centered around a bustling outlet mall anchored by a Starbucks!  We stopped for coffee, basking in the comfort of franchised  familiarity, and then took off to try to reach our destination before sunset.

Within ten minutes, we drove past another village with houses fashioned out of mud bricks and people sitting on dirt floors watching their chickens scratch out a meal outside their front door.  The striking contrast of modern and traditional living side by side never ceases to amaze me.

The hills turned to mountains.  The forests grew more dense. We trucked along without once getting lost and pulled into Pamukale just as dusk was settling on the town.

We stayed in a small bed and breakfast tended by a local woman and her family. Luckily she spoke fluent English as well as German and Turkish.  Our rooms were not luxurious, but comfortable and spotlessly clean.  The proprietor encouraged us to walk up to the cotton cliffs before the sun set.  Needing to stretch our legs after spending the better part of the day in the car, we took her advice and snaked our way through the dusty streets  to the Nature Park centered beneath the cliffs encrusted in sparkling white calcium carbonate.  A blue green man-made lake captured the water from the thermal streams above and served as the focal point of the park.  Souvenir stands, restaurants and flocks of ducks, swans and geese edged the lake.

Pamukkale long been considered a center for healing, with ancient Romans and Greeks having built a spectacular hilltop city above the thermal waters. From the vantage point below the cliffs, the city was obscured, but the cliffs shimmered in the moonlight.  Spotlights illuminated the thermal pools and as the sun set, the people wading on through them formed giant shadow puppet forms against the screen of the mountain wall.  It was beautiful and eerie. The illusory winter wonderland scene flowed down the mountain to meet the dry dusty concrete of a summer night.

We stayed for a while, enjoying the view, trying to re-align our confused senses, then headed into the village, resisting the restauranteurs who begged us to try their cuisine and poking into a few of the small shops bedecked with tourist trinkets. We strolled back to our hotel.  Though hoards of tourist come by bus to visit the area, the town is dirty and decrepit. It could be charming but it is not.  Many of the local hotels are run down, and marginal at best. We felt fortunate to have chosen one of the better ones.  We walked past locals slouched on plastic chairs grouped in small circles, with cigarette smoke encircling their heads.  Some looked sinister and others bored.  All looked unwelcoming as if they were annoyed by their responsibility host the strangers wandering their village.

After a few wrong turns, we finally found our hotel, where a home cooked dinner awaited. We indeed felt fortunate to have stumbled on this oasis of hospitality in an otherwise desperate and indifferent setting.    We drank beer and  feasted on salad, lentil soup, and chicken and vegetable served over rice, followed by baklava with ice cream and tea.  Tired and on a full stomach we rolled into bed and were asleep before 10:00.

We were up before sunrise and headed to the hilltop to explore Heirapolis and the thermal pools before the crowds from the tour buses arrived.  We drove up to the South entrance and parked, and it wasn't until we walked through the ticket gates that we could appreciate the grandeur of this old city or the beauty of its setting.  The remains of the city were spread for miles a across the broad expanse of a mountain top.  An ancient theater, public bathroom, tombs, agora, thermal baths, and various monuments and cathedrals  littered the mountain.  The skeletal remains of roadways and building foundations hinted at the overall city plan.  The city boundary was marked by the cliff, where volcanic waters sprouted from deep inside the earth, and spilled over into pools and eddies  formed by a build up of calcium carbonate clinging to rock formations on the flanks of the hillside. We waded in the water and trekked for hours through the ruins, marveling at the sophistication of the ancient architects of the city.  We applauded the  Russian tourists sauntering through the complex in their swim wear; the women wearing bikinis that barely encased their ample breasts and wide hips, the men leading with their bloated bellies. Totally un-self conscious! We imagined Cleopatra wading into the healing waters.  We felt sad thinking about that so many lives lost to history and  wondered how much of our own cities would survive an earthquake.

We returned to our hotel for a late breakfast of eggs, cheese, olives and home-baked bread, settled our bill (less than $60 for room and board for the two of us) and then headed south to Aphrodisias. There is a seemingly endless supply of historical sites tempting us to drive on....