Göreme, Turkey
Tourist brochures peddle an opportunity of a lifetime: a sunrise view, from a hot-air balloon, of a city of stone pillars—a geological graveyard unique to Göreme, 450 miles east of Istanbul. But hiking provides the best views of Göreme’s ever-emerging landscape.
We had just finished a 3-mile uphill trek through the hamlet of...
Göreme, Turkey
Tourist brochures peddle an opportunity of a lifetime: a sunrise view, from a hot-air balloon, of a city of stone pillars—a geological graveyard unique to Göreme, 450 miles east of Istanbul. But hiking provides the best views of Göreme’s ever-emerging landscape.
We had just finished a 3-mile uphill trek through the hamlet of Cavusin, passing a Muslim graveyard along the way, when we caught a welcome sight for weary legs: two roadside chairs.
The owner came forward from his nearby camper with a smile. Turkish not being our cup of tea, with hand motions, scribbles and a cellphone translator, we quickly picked up the basics. Mid-50s, broad-shouldered, he was Osman Hoca from Nevsehir, who spent much of his time in Göreme.
It appeared that nothing could survive semiarid Göreme, but Osman had planted an orchard of 50 quince, peach, cherry and pear trees. A truck brought in water once or twice a week. Just enough to keep them growing. A hardscrabble existence.
Osman pointed to a dozing dog and her eight 10-day-old nursing pups under the axle of a trailer that serves as his office and sleeping quarters. Osman lifted one of the puppies, eyes still closed, and handed it to my adoring wife. Wandering dogs, surviving on handouts, are common in Turkish towns, but Jessie, the mother—silver, bushy-tailed, collared, Akita-like—had the bearing of pedigree.
Starting up his van, Osman took us to Love Valley, one of Göreme’s spectacular spots, with dozens of asparagus-tipped pillars. (Others had more licentious interpretations, the reason the sight is dubbed Love Valley.) You could tell this was a high-value tourist spot: Four camels and a pony stood ready for photo-ops.
Now, it was on to Ürgüp, a marketing center where we hoped to buy Turkish dried apricots. But first, lunch at the Osmanli Simit ve Ekmek bakery. The baker stretched the dough, folded in feta cheese Osman had brought, cracked in a few eggs, and after a few minutes in the oven, out came lahmacun, Turkish pizza. A steady stream of customers, bringing in their own ingredients, filled the shop.
With heavy stubble and rumpled pants, Osman was a man of the earth. But when he stopped at a mosque in Ortahisar, answering the call to Muslim prayer, Osman showed he was a man of learning: shrill notes, mesmerizing intonation, delivered with passion and precision. He had memorized large portions of the Quran, he intimated by pointing to his head.
Then Osman insisted that we return to his homestead for Turkish tea. Jessie was up and about, showing no sign of postpartum depression. Paws in motion, she fixated on a spent bone but soon shifted attention to leftover lunch meat.
After Turkish tea, we had questions for Osman, which we framed carefully to require yes-or-no answers, “Ya” for yes, “Yo” for no. Are there deer around that eat your pear trees? Yo. Does it snow here in winter? Ya. Osman stretched his arms to show how deep. Was this Jessie’s first litter? Ya.
It was beyond my smartphone to pin down Jessie’s husband. None of these puppies had Jessie’s clear, silver face. They looked more like Karabasche, a mournful mongrel who was also part of the family but didn’t merit a collar. We walked from the edge of Osman’s homestead to the top of a steep knoll, with vistas in every direction. Jessie followed, abandoning her bone midway.
The Turkish lira was tumbling, but Jessie was unfazed. We wanted to leave Osman some money for lunch and fuel but didn’t want to insult him. I handed him 50 liras, then worth around $5. “It’s for her,” I said, pointing to Jessie.
Mr. Kolatch writes on China, Japan and the Middle East and is author of “At the Corner of Fact & Fancy.”
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