Land of the fairy chimneys 

The stark volcano-created valley of Cappadocia looks like a
moonscape, writes Ranjita Biswas

STILL bleary-eyed from an overnight bus journey from Istanbul, the first sight of Cappadocia in the morning light took sometime for me to register. Was it how the moonscape looked, I wondered, these stark snuff-coloured hills, some of them like gigantic anthills that showed up beyond glass window? I had never imagined as I left behind the blue waters of the Bosphorus in Istanbul that there could be a landscape like this in the same country — stark, unrelenting but eye-catching nonetheless — like a handsome woman past her salad days but standing out with a beauty, powered by experience and mellowness.

The feeling of unreality settled down somewhat as I arrived in Urgup, a thriving little town, and checked into a hotel that was once a Greek monastery, no less. Like thousands of tourists, who troop to Cappadocia in central Anatolia to experience this unique place, I, too, set out to discover the land of the Fairy Chimneys.

Thousands of years ago, Cappadocia was covered by ash from volcanoes Erciyes, Hasan Dag and Gullu Dag. With time, elements of nature chipped away the softer portions of the mounds and in its place left these conical hills made of cooled lava — tufa — as locals call it, which hardens at contact with air.

It is a land that shows how unpredictably nature can act. But even more a wonder is how humans adapt and survive amidst hostile landscapes. Impossible though it would seem, this stark volcano-created valley has been inhabited continually from the wake of civilisation. Invaders had passed through the land which bridges the east and the west — the early Hittites, Phrygians, Byzantines, Seljuks, Greeks, Romans, and later the Ottomans — leaving behind remnants of their cultures and genes to make Cappadocia a haven for anthropologists.

At each point of hostility, the local people resorted to their own devices to survive. As enemies entered the region, they hid in underground villages, sometimes for months, dug into the soft layers of land. Our guide warned before hand that people with claustrophobia or asthma should avoid going in as we bent, crawled and stumbled through labyrinthine passages interlinking the rooms at Kaymakli. The Derinkuyu underground town, spread across 4 km, could hold approximately 10,000 people at a time. Giant millstones blocked the interlinking passages to keep away intruders. The communes had everything organised: air shafts for fresh air to flow in, living quarters, granaries, wineries, tandoors for bread making, even for storing night-soil in clay pots and covered with mud, which were broken open and the content used as fertiliser once it was safe to come out from the caves.

The early Christians hid from persecution of Roman soldiers and later Arab invasions in these underground villages too as well as in caves in the conical hills. The Goreme Open Air Museum (Christians called it ‘Gor emi’ – ‘you cannot see this place’), a whole complex of monasteries with schools, churches, living quarters carved into the volcanic rock-hills. The beautiful frescoes on Christ’s life in Byzantine style at Tokali Kilise or the "Buckle Church" somehow reminded me of Ajanta caves where Buddhists hid and painted while escaping from the backlash of the Hindus.

In Monk’s Valley at Pasabag, the mushroom-shaped chimneys looked to me like veiled women with loads on their heads. The pockmarks on them were actually doors of homes where Christian hermits used to stay and pray, going up the steps — rather grooves — on the sheer rock-face everyday. They must have had been superbly fit indeed.

Another marvel is Pigeon Valley near Uchisar, a white complex of hills with hundreds of holes in them. The Romans used the humble birds as messengers but the villagers learnt something more. There is no water source nearby, only some underground holes. So they built dovecotes in the tufa hills and collected the guano for use as fertiliser. Even today when chemical fertiliser is widely used, some villagers still collect guano; they claim the lovely taste of the fruits of the valley is a result of this non-chemical fertiliser. The Christians also used the white of the eggs for their frescoes.

Back home, many memories crowd in while remembering Cappadocia: trekking 4 km down the cornflower-blooming Rose Valley and sampling sun-dried apricots and nuts an enterprising peasant was selling on the trek; sliding down precariously on soft tufa trails; the snow-capped Hasan volcanoes on way to Yahlara Valley where Christians built rock-cut churches, and lunching on freshly grilled trout while lolling on huge cushions in a floating restaurant on a stream; trying out my hand at a pottery wheel — the method same as in Hittite times; enjoying a wonderful show of folk dances and the nubile belly dancer while gorging on Turkish food; and the local peoples’ undeniable hospitality.

But Cappadocia will always remain etched in my mind as a place where people like us showed an indomitable spirit to adjust to a land as given, and making the best use of it, never giving up.

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