Mt. Erciyes

Mount Erciyes, an extinct volcano, sits on the surrounding desert plain as though dropped directly from the French Alps. It is simply out of place. The grey, rocky, snow-capped peak is uncontested amongst the yellow, rounded, dusty hills which sit around its base.

I had vaguely planned on heading ten hours east to Diyarbakir, but when Tony mentioned a peak at 3917m just outside of Kayseri, an hour’s coach ride from Cappadocia, I snapped-up the chance. I wasn’t ready to leave behind the outdoors quite yet. The coach ride gave us our first glimpse of the mountain; beforehand we knew little, except that it was a decent altitude and accessible. Negotiating our way from the shiny, new Otogar to Kayseri’s centre, we reasoned that the village of Hacılar seemed like a reasonable point at which to base ourselves for the ascent. Arriving in Hacılar by bus, we were far from inconspicuous with our backpacks, and lost look. Within a minute or so, a couple of local lads approach us, asking us in Turkish what we are looking for. A few minutes later, we are at the centre of a dozen people, a couple of whom spoken very, very broken English. Despite living under the shadow of Erciyes, they didn’t seem to know how we could access the approach, estimates coming between ten and twenty kilometres away. I was passed a mobile phone where I was told we would need a guide, map, axes, cramp-ons, and we have to register with the police. One thing they could agree on was that there were no hotels or places to stay in Hacılar.

Cue a bus-trip back to Kayseri.

Just before we left, we stumbled across a French girl who had just moved to the region to be with her Turkish husband, who just happened to be a mountain guide. His services were way out of our budget, but we did manage to find out that from Kayseri, we could take a bus in the direction of Develi and get off at a little ski-resort which sits at the bottom of the mountain.

The next day, after a thirty minute minibus ride, we were at 2100m, looking for a hotel in the collection of buildings which goes by the name of Erciyes, excited by the prospect of what this mountain had in store for us. Wandering around, we were stopped by the military, who operated a check-point on the pass, and instructed that if we wished to climb the mountain, we would have to bring our passports to them. We’ll climb tomorrow, we told them, offering to register the next day as their massive guns hung across their chests.

Noon was fast approaching by the time we stepped out to the mountain, so today would just offer enough time for a reccie. We walked up the snow-less pistes to get a better view of the ridge which would offer passage to the summit. Here, we were alone with the mountain. We soon passed the point after which the military required declaration, but thought to just rise a little further. We had no food, no water, and were just wearing light clothes; we hadn’t intended a big climb today. An hour later, I was clutching at the crumbling rock on a rocky ridge, the years of freeze-thaw rendering it brittle, it breaking away as I moved. Things were getting a little sketchy as we passed the snow-line.

At around 3700m, with only a very sketchy climb separating us from the peak, we decided to hold-off until the next day, and tentatively made our way back down the craggy rock, before a 500m descent of scree running.

Once back down we registered with the military, not wanting to waste time in the morning: we’d need an early start. They warned us of the “glacier” on the approach to the summit, and looked worried as we told them we had neither axes, cramp-ons, nor a map or telephone. They also laughed-off our estimate of reaching the top of the chair-lifts in less than an hour. (We’d done it in 45 minutes this morning, but hesitated making reference to today’s ramble.) Our details were written in the log-book, along with estimated return times (which again, they thought laughable) and we noticed that it had been quite a while since they’d seen other people heading for the summit.

Our planning was less than ideal: daylight-savings had just knocked-off an hour evening light, we had little gear and no map. These points, however, weren’t what kept us from a good night’s sleep; it was excitement that kept me awake.

We started off early, and had reached the bottom of the ridge in about an hour. The ridge was drowning in sunshine on its southern face, and the shaded, northern face harbouring shadows and snow. The wind up here brought the temperature down on my perspiring body, and I was glad of the beanie I’d bought in Göreme.

After reaching the top of the first ridge, at around 3600m, we had to cut back down, around a massive rocky outcrop. This involved traversing an icy snow-field, which threatened to take us back down to the bottom of the valley. Coming up to the other side, we were offered magnificent views of the barren plains below, the odd volcano dome rising up, reminding you of how this landscape was formed.

A scree-climb reminds me that my fitness leaves a lot to be desired, particularly with the altitude twisting its knife in my side. The summit is within site, and only a snow-covered, steep-sided ridge separates us from our goal. From a distance, we questioned whether we should attempt it, but getting closer, it was hard to refuse. Several minutes later we had views of Kayseri’s high-rises to the north, and the volcanic plains to the south. A pillar of rock, scarred with the cracks of constant freeze-thaw action, crowns the mountain. I am exhilarated.

The rocky, scree covered descent, which we opt-for slices open my fingers as I slide down, but they are already numb from the cold so the pain is preserved for later.

We arrive back, an hour and a half earlier than expected, and the military welcome us with çay. I’m not sure if they’re happy to see us because they don’t get many visitors up here, during their National Service; it makes a change to see foreigners; or just because it means they won’t be dragged onto the mountain to rescue the naïve English- and French-men. Whatever they’re reason, they’re keen to have their photo taken with us.

Several hours later, we are waiting for the bus in Kayseri to take us to Kahta, a short trip away from Mt. Nemrut.

(More photos here on Facebook, courtesy of Tony…)

Call to prayer

The muezzin echoing throughout the valleys surrounding Uçhisar in Cappadocia.

Cappadocia

Staying in one of the cheaper hostels in Göreme, I met Tony, a Frenchie from Savoie. His traveling began three months ago, as he set off à pied to traverse the Alps, as far as the Italian/Slovenian border. The next couple of days were spent with him as we rambled around the volcanic-formed valleys of this part of Cappadocia, exploring caves & the rock-cut houses whilst picking quinces, apples & grapes.

The valleys are immense, the landscape like nothing else I’ve seen before. There was some dodgy climbing going on to reach some of the dwellings carved into the rock, as well as some tight squeezes to fit through some of the passages! After having hiked up onto the big plateau which borders the edge of the region, a tactically placed cart provided tasty tasty pomegranate & orange juice on the road below. Further down the valley, amongst the labyrinth of these fingers of volcanic rock, a farmer had set-up a little make-shift café, where his dried apples provided the base for the most delicious apple çay I have ever tasted.

Come evening, we were happily chowing down on the local börek - pastries filled with roasted aubergine & peppers, or spinach and the Turkish feta.

We tried hiring mountain bikes to get out a little further, but within half an hour, two bikes had four flat tyres. A ramble up to the caves & castle of Uçhisar provided a picturesque alternative.

Back in Istanbul

It’s been a little over a year since I was in Istanbul; the last time, battling to get my visa for Iran.

It was a somewhat shorter and more relaxed affair on this visit. I’d already seen my fair share of the sights, so concentrated less on feasting my eyes on the mosques, and more on feasting: lokum & baklava were a welcome return to my taste-buds.

Feeling a slight longing for Paris, I decided to check-out the Istanbul Modern (the Modern is in partnership with the Centre Pompidou) It would possibly be my last opportunity to see some art from the current period, before I immerse myself in that of civilisations gone by.

Instead of hitting the Modern, I stumbled across a series of exhibitions — the Istanbul Biennial — that were taking place throughout the Beyoğlu district, and so spent the day trundling around the back-streets, searching them out. The title was “What keeps mankind alive”, a question particularly pertinent to my current frame of mind as I start this journey. There were some really interesting pieces based-on the military operations in Bosnia and the work of the UN Peacekeepers across the globe. I really enjoyed the collection of posters charting Lebanon’s Civil War - (Signs of Conflict, Çatişma Belirtileri) - both from a political, and graphic design, point of view.

I finished my time in Istanbul as I had a year previously: a ferry across the Bosphorus to Haydrapasa, where a night-train waited to take me off east. This time, I would stop in Ankara, before heading south to Cappadocia.

Ihlara Valley, Cappadocia

After checking into a hostel in Göreme, Cappadocia, I swiftly met an Ozzie overland (who, admittedly, was very hard not to meet) and we plan to leave the next day to head down to the Ihlara Valley. Most people seem to have traveled there just on a day-trip, taking-in just 2km of the route to visit the carved-out churches, but after having spoken to people who have taken these tours, it seems a real shame not to explore the valley in its entirety. (How to get there.)

The trail snakes 14km or so between the cliffs of the valley, running from Ihlara, via Belısirma, to Selime. The valley dives down into the landscape as though sliced from the rolling plains in which it sits, the sheer cliffs of its sides dropping down as if a waterfall. There are several churches which line the route along the valley, all carved into the rock-face, and are decorated by seccos, although they are almost all heavily damaged by graffiti.

Upon starting the hike, I was glad that we wouldn’t be whizzing through. This place is stunning. The valley floor is surprisingly green at the Ihlara end; we followed the river along, picking wild blackberries, occasionally having to cut our track through where it is overgrown. Not many people take this route, it seems. Near the start of the valley the water is deep enough to swim in, and so we felt compelled to oblige, stripping down to undies for a quick dip.

We arrived in Belısirma as night was falling, hoping to find a place to eat. There were two restaurants, although both offered over-priced food which tempted little - wallets replying with a firm “no!”. We headed a little out of the valley & up into the village, sharing the dirt-track with cows & chickens, and after exhausting all the synonyms for “shop” in any language we knew (before discovering the Turk to be simply “market”) we found the local shop to be closed.

It would be a night on the hillside with empty stomachs. The call to prayer, however, bouncing off the rock-faces from the minarets of the village mosque, added a wonderful soundtrack as I set-up bed for the night, consisting of my sleeping-bag laid down on the dirt, under a clear, starry black sky.

I was dreary-eyed when the morning muezzin echoed through the valley; despite day-time temperatures upwards of 30°, it gets pretty chilly here once the sun disappears, particularly after not having eaten the previous night! But the view, as the sun rose over the valley, made it all very much worthwhile.

We continued our hike up towards Selime, watching the landscape & flora change, and taking another dip in the (freezing) river in lieu of a shower, if not for my sake, for that of the people with whom I’d later share a bus!

I got the adrenaline pumping a second time as I climbed a bit of the rock-face to reach one of the caves, the rock crumbling as I gripped it, several metres up. Muchos respect to the guys who, several hundred years ago, carved-out these caves.

More farmland appeared as we approached Selime, with fields of pumpkins — littered with their fleshy remains after having been raped of their seeds — and the odd apple tree providing a little breakfast.

As the valley opens out, there are some phenomenal cones protruding from the dirt, some of which have been carved-out and were used for dwellings. This volcano-formed landscape is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.

It was market time when we reached Selime, so plenty of opportunity to stock-up on fruit as we waited for the bus back to Aksaray which, incidentally, holds the record for the cheapest chicken kebabs yet - 1TL (~ 0.50€).

If you visit Cappadocia, I would highly recommend making time to come & hike this valley. It takes a bit of effort to get here (unless you spend the money on a tour), but to escape a little, the valley offers great seclusion, and is simply beautiful.

More photos on Flickr here

Traveling to Ihlara from Göreme

A bus (15TL) links Göreme to Aksaray, and from here it is possible to get another, local, bus to either Ihlara or Selime, both of which are around 2TL, and run every couple of hours. To hike the entire trail, without having to speed through (thus giving time to explore a little), involves an over-night stay. Campsites exist in Belısirma (half-way up the valley), although we decided to just take sleeping bags and bivouac under the stars.