Mehmet picks us up for another busy day. Our first stop is a steep climb to a marvelous view of an ancient and still partly used Güzelyurt cave village, originally populated by the Greeks, until they were forcibly repatriated in 1924. We see a small unprepossessing church entrance, which turns out to reveal Christian frescos, partly defaced by Moslems when Christianity was outlawed. In the village we visit the former church of St. Gregory, now serving as a mosque with whitewash over the ancient frescoes. Above the former pulpit is a balcony reserved for the women, who are expected to go to the mosque only at Ramadam, the rest of the time only the men go there. In the course of our conversation Mehmet shows us a photo of his family, where he appears to be, as he says, ‘the king’ (or ‘sultan’, if you wish). He is a non-practicing Moslem, although his wife prays the required 5 times a day. She does not cover her head, and their daughter is just finishing her education to be a math teacher.
We proceed to the Ihlara valley, which is a 15km long gorge, probably created by an earthquake, with a stream running through it. We descend the many stairs and Mehmet leaves us to move the van to the other end, but not before showing us another Byzantine church, The Church of St. Daniels (or “Under the Tree Church - referring to the hidden entry) deep in a cave with the most beautifully colored frescos in lighter tones of orange, yellow, green, and blue.
We continue down into the valley. The sound of water running, bees and songbirds is most lovely - really, we couldn’t be happier. We have an hour’s walk though this paradise, stopping to rest and take pictures every now and again. We are intrigued by a very loud noise, like a flock of geese fighting or so, and after much searching we find that the source is a large green and blue frog, maybe two. Mehmet meets us halfway when we have just found a little forest snack bar, where we enjoy a cold drink sitting in the shade on tree stumps. Then Mehmet leads us at a fairly fast clip to our lunch restaurant, Belisima, which turns out to have floating decks in the middle of the river, where we lounge on low sofas flung with colorful carpets and, as usual, make friends with some cats and a duck swimming hard against the stream to get at our bread. Even an intrepid sparrow flies on to our deck and demands food.
Mehmet herds his dazed group out of there and on to a very different scene: the Derinkuyu underground city. Descending hundreds of steps though dark, damp caves, we discover how little man needs to survive. We shudder at their security system, which involved rolling millstones in front and in the back of the enemy, thus trapping them there until they would die. We are glad to be up in the sun again. Mehmet takes us to another stupendous view and then to the lovely Kelebek hotel, where we are installed in an exotic suite, part cave (or cave-like) with a rose garden out front, where we are promised (and find, sort-of) wireless internet.
Before leaving for our Turkish night program, we lounge in the rooftop bar of the hotel and chat with two young American women, one of whom graduated from Rochester University, where Keith taught, and the other from Berkeley, where Oswaldo also studied. Small world.
Two bottles of wine later, around 9pm, Mehmet takes us to a ‘cave’ show house, where we are herded in with many other (elderly) tourists from all over the place. Drinks are included, so unspeakable wine is produced in great jugs, as well as delicious nuts, cheese pastries and fruit. We opt for Raki, the local Pernod like drink. The show starts with some pretty lame Whirling Dervishes and is followed by an energetic group of youths in national costume, who dance around, and show, for example, a red-veiled maiden rejecting many suitors, who prance and jump to entice her. At the end we are all invited to dance and Mehmet gets me on the floor with Oswaldo. We dance in a long snaking ring out into a courtyard where a huge bonfire is burning, and there is a distinct heathen feel about it all. When we get in I am chosen to be ‘the maiden’ and sat in the middle of the suddenly vacated floor, on a little stool next to the former bride. I get to wear the red veil and she instructs me how to pout and shrug my shoulders rhythmically to indicate my disdain for the many athletic suitors and their antics. Finally I am marched around, arms linked with one of the young dancers. I get to choose a suitor. I choose Oswaldo of course, who has to dance enticingly for me holding a red and a white handkerchief, but refuses to do the push-ups. I think we show that we are very good sports. That whole Angra training worked.
The main attraction is still to come. Everything gets dark and from the ceiling descends a red-lit cage with a swaying woman in it. This is the long-awaited belly dancer. She languidly dances around a bit, swaying those rather generous hips, shoulders, breasts, the whole thing, separately and together. Then she looks around for volunteer men, all of whom have protruding bellies. She makes them lift up their shirts and ties a little gaily colored veil around their hips, hung with shiny golden coins, and proceeds to teach them her sinuous movements. They dance together and then each does a solo. This is something very special, and they actually steal the show. Incredibly good sports, bless them.
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