for a few days we stayed in konya; evenings and mornings with the lovely baha’i coupple Bulent and Filiz and ther incredibly energetic 3 and 4 year old boys. the were on a suggar free diet which ment that they where permanently super hyper. a good dose of sugar would have been wonderfull for giving them a little peek followed by a more mellow mentality. in the daytimes we would ride in to the middle of the city to link up with your new young sufi friends for adventure, hardcore tea drinking and mystical music. we went to visit caves and to sleep out in old houces in the surounding country. one night a bigger group developed and we went busking in a buisy street in the evening. we played soulfull sufi songs, i played rock and role, olive sang old folk songs, turkish songs. a croud gathered arround, at the end of our set a gentle ode to all glory was played by an increadibly luminos youth on an oud (lute), the croud gathered close and crouched down all around us and listed with great tendernes.
we had come to konya to visit the toomb of the mystical poet Rumi. every time we tryed to go something glorious stood in our way or destracted us. and never managed to arive in the holy spot. the sufi master had told us; “rumi said ‘dont look for me in a tomb'”. in konya we found many people joyfuseeking union with the Beloved, we found and hurd stories of beautifull sufi masters who expounded great truths, masters who both aided and hindered lovers journeys to the Beloved, and we deepend our connection with tea (our sufi friend Kevsar had said ‘without tea, there is no me’). all of our time in konya people had been telling us about capidocia. whilst we didn’t understand what capadocia was, everyone was adement we should go there and told us there where caves. it was 300km in the wrong direction but we let ourselves be convinced anyway.
after a final visit to our favret teehouce with the young shawl wairing sufi krew. we loveingly said good by and rode out of the city escorted by a gang of naughty biking boys, who had incredibly loud horns made of a air horns connected to a bike pump. they tried to ride us off the road but we were too strong and beat them off there bikes.
the road from konya was flat and long and buissy. the first evening we got a puncture, and then another at a petrol station, and then another in the same petrol station. the enthusiastic petroll attendantds gave us tea and then told us we could camp in the picnick arior and then cooked us some increadible eggs that we ate with them surrounded by maggazeens and engin oil in the petroil staion shop. the next day was long and flat and straight and unaventfull. towards late afternoon the top of an incredible looking volcano appeared out of the haze. we campped after having ridden 120km. the next day was hot. my bike was developing broken spokes. we rode out of the massive flat plain we had crossed, in to slightly more hilly reality. down a side track we found a village. we asked some men playing rumikub if there was a bike fixing man in the village, one of the men stood up and took us to his houce where he bodged my wheel back together with a hammer and gave us tipps on super fantastic puncture fixing techniques. it turned out that we where close to a 1500year old underground village. the man at the ticket ofice ghave us tea and let us in for free. into a hole we found a warren of tunnless and rooms winding down underground. it was a dwelling dug in to the softish rock by christians who needed places to hide from angry villans. emerging back in to an incredible outside sunset reality we climbed up a little cliff to see the sun setting behind an old volcano. this seemed to endeer us to a group of laffing women who sat on the edge of the little cliff. one of the women and her daughter befrened olive and within moments we had been given some mellon and were envited to stay in there houce for the night. they led us to their too roomed houce. olives hair was washed and brushed by the womans two wonderfull daughters whilst i drew pictures with her 9 year old son. one of the daughters then taught us to dance turkish steps to banging tradtional tunes played on the tv. we all sat down for dinner and the man of the houce arrived home in hiss big ruggerd truck in which he had been driving mellons around. me and olive slept in the kitchen and the family slept in piles in the lving room.
after breakfast we mounted our trusty steads and rode off intent on reaching capidoca. the going was steady and slow, olive was developing a cold but trouped on regardless up and down the dry rizes and falls. we stopped for lunch by a caravansery; a old giant stone buildng where the cammels and traiders, the truck drivers of a tme passed, would rest enroute to far off places. as the sun was going down we arrived in the town of Nevsher and asked a group of kidds where capadocia was. they told us that we where in cappadocia. confused we desprately tryed to escape nevsheer as the darkness swepped in. lost and surrounded by confusion in the countryside a campsgight told us that we couldnt camp with them. neering desperation we rode down a steep hill around acorner and were met with a fully crazy sight. lit up in the night time in frount of us were a collection of giant and big pyramidic rock formations peppered with holes.
so this was the land of capadocia every one had been urging us to go to. we had hured roumor that one would be able to sleep in the caves and so with the help of a sweet man called mustafa (there are many sweet men called mustaf in turkey) we pushed our bikes up the steep hill to the cavey place. ariving up amoungst the towering pillars of rock a happy man appered out of one of the holey mounds with a massive smile on his face. he noteced our bikes and our bags and instantly invited us to stay in his cave houce cafe free of charge. up a ricketry staircase we entered his home, inside he gave us the grand tour; 7 floors of cave all couvered in turkish and persian rugs, insome places the rugs covered all the walls and the roofs also. he told us that he was the cave man and gleefully shreeked “yabadabadooo”.
sitting outside the cave, getting to grips with our reality we where suddenly surrounded by a gaggle of turkish hippies. they informed us that they had just occupied an old cave hostle. they took us with them to behind a friendly turkishmans tourist tat stall, where the rest of their gang was making dinner. in the semidarkness we sat and chatted and then food was produced, all fed furiously like a pack of lions then sat back with tea and ciggarettes. myslef and olvive retired to our cave dwelling and the cave man and to sleep…