The cool morning air blew through the windows and startled me awake just as dawn broke. I showered and dressed, heading out to take a seat in the garden. Greeted enthusiastically by the young guest manager, I was offered coffee and breakfast. I sat there watching the village come alive sipping coffee and studying my new map of the town. We would not get lost today!
Nabil wandered out soon after, and the staff began preparing breakfast. We had low expectations, but we're surprised with a delicious spread of eggs, fruit, cheese, bread and olives. There were turtles wandering in the scrubby plants that fringed the stone wall that surrounded the patio and we fed them cucumbers and watermelon, while we sipped coffee and sucked in the quiet of the morning.
After taking pictures with the staff , we checked out and climbed back into our car for a quick ride to the overlook for some pictures. Another mistake. The village roads were clearly not made for luxury sedans and more than once we found ourselves jammed into a passageway with no exit, or trying to navigate a hairpin turn on a steep slope that could barely accommodate our wheel base. After an hour in a panicked cold sweat, we decided to ditch the car and head out on foot.
Our first stop was the tourist office and luckily it was staffed with a well informed, helpful English speaking staffer who was helping two young Korean women on holiday. They, like we, we're interested in touring another set of caves outside of town as well as an old aqueduct. They were scheduled to meet up with a tour operator who had already booked two other Korean tourists for the trip, so there was no room for us in the minivan. We were offered to tag along in our own can for free And gladly did so. As we crisscrossed the mountains heading to the caves we said a prayer of thanks for the escort, as we would have surely gotten lost without it.
The entrance to the cave was perched on the side of an unremarkable slope, but required a 10 minute climb up a seemingly endless stairway. Thus cave was cool and damp, and we spent nearly an hour exploring its passageways and strange rock formations, taking pictures, and trading observations with the young Korean women. Afterwards, we headed to the other side of the valley to view an ancient aqueduct built by the Ottomans, then travelled to another smaller village that was much like Sanfranbolu, though less touched by tourism and in more disrepair. We toured a house museum, wandered the empty streets, chatted with locals and then headed back to Sanfranbolu for lunch.
After a traditional Turkish meal of kofte, salad, yogurt and tea, we felt refreshed and tackled the steep climb to the city museum that stood at the top of a crest overlooking the old town. Another mistake. It was hot, the cobblestoned street uneven, and the climb was steep and long. All made worse when Nabil spotted a parking garage right next to the museum entrance. Of course you can imagine that conversation, too! Exhausted but proud of our tenacity we wandered the grounds, viewed the old jail, the museum and the watchtower, and then slip-slided our way down the hill back to town center.
An ancient Turkish bath still in operation, a converted caravan stop which is now a hotel, refurbished storefronts and bazaars, and three large mosques were all on our list of must-sees. At some point in our wanderings Nabil ducked into an impossibly small antiques store tucked into the elbow of a street corner. He struck up a conversation with the owner in a curious blend of English, Turkish, Arabic , sign language and palm writing, and then traded stories of their youth, sports accomplishments and life journeys. Soon the shop was crowded with locals all jamming about Nabil's remarkable fitness level, his age and his travels through Turkey.
This happens over and over again no matter where we go or how far we travel, and more often than not his "Rambo" persona is our ticket into the unexpected and authentic encounters that so many tourists never have the chance to experience.
Eager to see the blacksmith bazaar, I dragged Nabil to the most remote corner of the village. Again, as I perused a stall of hand crafted metalware, Nabil slipped into a workshop of a metal artist who wanted to know what sport he played and how old he was. The conversation flowed from one thing to another, when Sakim took us into his "man cave"', a dilapidated low ceilinged room at the back of his work shed, wall-papered in yellow tinged newspaper and magazine articles. Sakim, it seems, was world renowned for his craftsmanship and had traveled the globe sharing his skill and his art with universities and artists guilds. And yet here he was working in obscurity, in facilities that were barely habitable, happy and proud of his work, his life and his family. He then took us to another of his shops and shared a secret window with us, a small opening behind the entrance door that looked into a cavernous maw of steel grey rock spilling into a small stream below. Pigeons guarded their posts and bits of plants and vines decorated the step walls as a surreal shaft of light streamed from some hidden break in the rock deep in the ravine. It felt as if this was an entrance into some mystical unknown world and that we could tumble into right from Sakim's shop.
After meeting his family and making a small purchase, we dragged ourselves back to the car, booted up the Tom-Tom and started on our two hour ride back to Ankara. There was little conversation and we barreled down the highway in the fade light. Spent and in awe, we watched the mountains and greenery disappear as we returned to the high dry arid plateau that has become our temporary home.
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