Almost all of our tour group has signed up for the optional hot air ballon ride for 210 Euros each. Only a few acrophobic or claustrophobic people have opted out. Two vans pick us up and we drive 30 minutes in the darkness to a hilly site outside of the village. We are deposited on empty spot on a rocky grass field. Even more than the ride itself, I am excited about the process of launching a balloon. It’s still dark but as my eyes adjust I see other groups of tourists gathered in the field and each group seems to have a limp balloon reclined on the ground nearby. Within minutes, many of these balloons begin to inflate and I hear the exciting whoosh of air as huge propane burners pump hot air into the balloons. Dozens of spots of fiery light dot the field and balloons glow in the dark, their colorful company logos becoming visible. Our trailer with our balloon is no where to be seen and I begin to worry. Where is our promised balloon? I am anxious more for the ballon company than myself. I relate all this to setting up a Marty Magic booth in the dark and think that “I would never be late to set up a show!” Minutes later our pickup truck and trailer arrive and I watch with fascination as the 4 man crew quickly unload, tether and inflate our balloon. Flames whoosh, our balloon grows quickly and we are not late for our launch. The balloon carries 24 people and is divided into 6 egg carton type sections, each accommodating 4 passengers. Our balloon is soon tugging at its tethers and we are told to get inside. Art and many of our group easily climb aboard. Someone brings a step ladder over, I climb up and am hoisted from behind and Art pulls me from within. I am suddenly standing securely within our egg carton section for 4, the rim of the basket around armpit height. The grey morning light creeps over the fields and we are airborne along with a hundred other colorful balloons. Below is an alien landscape of eroded cliffs sculpted by wind and water over centuries. Many of the tufa cliffs are perforated with caves that I know we will get to explore later today. The landscape is grey and tan with rivulets of green and patchworks of cultivated farm land. I see the impossible fairy chimneys with boulders precariously balanced at the tops of their eroded pinnacles. Colorful balloons like ours drift with the wind and we watch the sunrise. The sunrise fades into a grey dawn and we float in limbo watching the landscape below and the doing our best to absorb and lock this magical experience into our memories.
We drift lower and I’m aware that we are nearing our landing site as we drift within a few feet of roof tops. Some of the balloons have already landed and they look like soft pillows as they slowly deflate and lie on the ground. I spot our trailer below and am amazed and delighted when our ground crew manages to catch our tether to land our egg carton balloon basket upon the trailer. A few agile guests climb out. A stepladder is raised to those of us less athletic and I climb up and swing a leg over the edge of my basket and a pair of hands grab my waist and lift me down onto the field. I watch the crew secure the basket to the trailer, deflate our huge balloon and tuck everything into a van. Several champagne bottles pop, plastic glasses are passed around and the pitch for tips begins with a suggested tip of $5 each. Most of us dig into our pockets and awkwardly place paper lire into the proffered empty glasses.
Our transport vans are waiting and we are soon back at our cave hotel in time for breakfast. We are all exhilarated and we chat excitedly over a delicious buffet breakfast similar to other’s we have enjoyed but somehow tasting better due to the magic of the morning.
I could use a nap but we gather at 10:00 A.M. for a village walk of Mustafapasa. Our hotel is in a small hilly town with cobblestone streets and many of the houses are literally built into the hillside. Its spring and bougainvillea climb ancient walls and trellises. Jasmine and wild roses perfume the air. We pause to take photos of picturesque wooden doors with peeling paint and tilting fences. Dinner tonight and tomorrow will be on our own so Taylan is orienting us to our village and he points out a few local cafes and restaurants where we might want to dine.
After our 45 minute walk of Mustafapasa Village we board the bus for the short drive to the Open Air Museum in the Monastery Valley of Goreme. By 11:30 A.M. we are hiking towards the entrance. It’s hot already and I look with dismay at the long uphill path we have to walk. There are multiple early Christian monasteries and churches carved into the tufa rock walls. Many of the interiors have detailed fresco paintings on the walls and ceilings. We climb many staircases to access the various cave churches and monasteries. Two other caves that we enter have long tables with benches carved into the rock floor. I think of the complexities of feeding everyone. It is obvious that this is and was a fertile valley so the area was a thriving village of farmers, cooks and every possible trade needed to support the chain of supply. Incredible effort and manpower would have been needed to supply water, provide sanitation and to feed those who feasted at these in-ground banquet tables. We have several hours to explore the area. I am surprised when I see a Cafe sign outside one of the lower cave entrances. It’s cool and dark inside and I rather want to sink onto one of the worn pillows and pay the inflated tourist price for a cup of coffee. Art demurs and we explore more of the caves before returning to our bus.
If anyone is wondering why Art is continually carrying a large green tape measure or film reel in many photos, it’s neither of those. During the entire trip, my kind husband packed a green telescoping stool for me to sit on. Although my adventuring spirit is still bright, I’m an old gal now and my back is bad. Whenever our tour group would stop to listen to our guide, Art would inconspicuously unfurl the stool so I could sit. At Monastery Valley a woman in our group asked him what the green thing was and Art who had just visited the restroom flashed “Oh Sh*t” and ran back into the restroom to retrieve it from the hook on the stall door.
It’s nearly 2:00 P.M. before we arrive at the private home of a wrinkled old woman for a simple but flavorful lunch of beans, bulgur and salad. Our group of 28 crowd into a sunroom off her simple terraced house and she and her son serve us as Taylan translates for her as she talks about her life. Many of the members of our group, myself included, are as crinkly and smiley as she is. After lunch she pulls out some of her crochet work and offers it for sale. Several of the women in our tour buy a crocheted edged scarf or a babies sweater. I consider a sweater for our future grandson but come to my senses realizing how truly unsuitable it is and that I have little or no extra room in my suitcase. I do not want our son or his girlfriend questioning our sanity or taste. Our sanity is already in question.
There is no rest for the curious on a Rick Steve’s tour. Don’t sign up for one if you want a laid back day! We bid goodby to our lunch time host and hostess and drive the short distance to the underground city of Kaymakli. Predating back to the second millennium BC when invading armies were common, locals built warrens of underground cave cities where a thousands could shelter for months at a time.
Taylan cautions that any claustrophobics might want to forgo this visit explaining that there is a long section where one must hunch and once past a certain point, you must commit to the entire visit. It’s extremely interesting and I am not claustrophobic but my legs are wobbly from days of over exertion and I go only as far into the complex as the point of no return. Taylan leads several of us back to the blinding light of day and I wander the usual tourist gift shops outside the cave entrance. I am not much of a souvenir shopper but wanting to sit at a shady table, I choose an ice cream bar, the price of a seat and sit happily and wait for our tour to return.