Posts tagged ‘UNESCO World Heritage sites’
Places we’ve loved: Cappadocia, Turkey
Formation from soft volcanic rock in Cappadocia – it’s supposed to look like a camel but kind of looks like a snail too
This is the first of a sporadic series of posts highlighting places we’ve been to and found to be especially memorable and enjoyable. Whenever either of us is asked where’s the most interesting place we’ve traveled we answer “Cappadocia”. If you aren’t familiar with it Cappadocia is a region in Turkey. (It is also a region in Turkey if you are familiar with it come to think of it.)
Blonde was planning the Turkey trip and Brunette immediately piped up that we definitely had to go to Cappadocia. Blonde had never even heard of it but quickly realized that going to Cappadocia wasn’t “on the way” to anywhere and would add time and cost. But it sounded fascinating and Blonde was a high-roller at the time (at least she was working for a living) so off we went.
There are a number of ways, all inconvenient, to get to Cappadocia. We flew to Kayseri where we were picked up by a van and then seemingly kidnapped. The countryside was dark, the roads winding and the driver quite possibly lost. Although it should have only been about 80km from the airport to where we were staying it took a couple hours to get there. But we did get there (possibly the driver called in a ransom for us and realized that we weren’t worth kidnapping).
We had arranged to rent a little restored home in Uçhisa for our stay and it was cold and pitch black when we arrived. The house (more of a housette) didn’t have central heating, a microwave, TV or even a hair dryer (quelle horreur ) which officially qualified it as being a primitive location. However, on rising the next morning all was forgiven. Brunette got up first and looked out the kitchen window at a bright, sunny day and saw colorful hot-air balloons floating over what looked like a lunar landscape.
Outside the front door was an old Muslim woman wearing a headscarf and with a child, both being pulled in a cart up the cobblestone street by a donkey. That was the first sign of something that fascinated us about Cappadocia – the frequent sense of being in another century. The women all seemed to be working hard – in the fields, taking care of children, making food, and gathering wood to burn. The men all seemed to be sitting in cafes smoking and wearing sports coats or suits that looked like they were 40 years old and which, if inhaled, probably could have instantly given the sniffer lung cancer. The men managed to look very serious at the same time as looking very lazy. The women were unsmiling, and all appeared to be ancient. It boggles the mind to picture the Cappadocia selection for Match.com.
In the window of our kitchen there had been placed a basket containing fresh French bread (a French couple owned the house), feta cheese, eggs, yogurt, coffee and tea and apricot jam. Fortunately, Brunette has the wherewithal to take baskets of food items and turn them into meals and the whole experience was quite pleasant.
So why did we love Cappadocia so much? Not because it was a hotbed of beauty tips or boy toys but because it is unique, uncrowded, not commercialized for the most part and fascinating from a historical and visual perspective. Also its museum is outdoors – no need to stare at exhibits and try not to giggle because we’re giving a dirty or snarky interpretation to everything. You don’t need headphones or have to ponder the artist’s childhood – you just look around. The outdoor museum is Goreme Open-Air Museum. It’s a Unesco World Heritage site and consists of a bunch (archealogically precise term) of rock-cut churches, refectories (dining hall if you have a blank look on your face like we did) and frescoes of early illustrations of Christianity. It was built in the 11th, 12th and 13th centuries back when all of the coffee drinking men last went shopping for clothes. There’s a fee of 15 TL to enter. It can get very hot in Cappadocia so go in the morning or late afternoon or you may end up feeling like you’re in an ancient pizza oven.
Another thing that adds to Cappadocia’s lure is its underground cities. There are supposedly more than 40 underground cities although only a couple have been excavated because of a lack of funding to do more. The various theories about the cities mainly describe them as places to endure harsh weather and harsh invaders who were not bringing good news of religious tolerance. They have many levels, entire underground kitchens with underground chimneys, stables where animals were kept, water supplies, basic toilets and satellite TV and free wi-fi. (OK, the last two aren’t true but they at least made you think for a second there.)
Another thing unique to Cappadocia is the “fairy houses” nature has built from the effects of years of wind and rain eroding soft volcanic rock created in the time period from the 4th to 13th century AD. The fairy houses make you feel like you’re a character in a Smurfs cartoon. There are also cave houses that were dug out of the same soft rock and which were homes to people well into the 20th century when most of the residents were “relocated,” although some remain.
It would probably be possible to roam around Cappadocia on your own – if you don’t mind waiting for donkey traffic jams to clear up – but we used a private guide – Suleiman – who drove our pampered Rich World butts around. He was excellent and even took us to his uncle’s cave hotel for dinner where they treated us as honored guests and refused to allow us to pay for our meals (saving us the usual bolting when the bill comes).
If you’re feeling jaded, bored, the need for some history or just in a search of a place you can mention at the next family get-together your obnoxious brother-in-law can’t claim he saw from a cruiseship, then consider Cappadocia – but bring your own date.
Picture the World Photo Contest entry – Turkey
“Camel rock” in Cappadocia, Turkey
This “camel” was formed by the erosion of soft stone from volcanic eruptions that occurred millions of years ago. It appears to be looking across the landscape from its location in central Turkey. Cappadocia has been inhabited since B.C. and has been home for Christians, Jews and Muslims over the centuries. It is a popular tourism region and UNESCO World Heritage site. Cappadocia is a representation of Turkey as much has changed and much remains constant. Turkey is neither entirely European or Asian; entirely modern or old world but always beautiful, unique, fascinating and rich in history.
Brewing storms, stewing sisters and an Eid al-Fitr traffic jam in Indonesia
When Blonde and Brunette began planning a trip to Singapore, Bali and Indonesia, Brunette did her customary thorough advance-work. Several travel forums warned that no matter what you do not want to be on the roads, in a populous Muslim country, during Eid al-Fitr.Blonde can barely remember what’s the idea behind Christmas, so this holiday had her newly befuddled. Turns out it marks the end of Ramadan. To celebrate it Muslims travel to visit their families. Apparently no one’s family lives in the same town they do in Indonesia. Also, remember that these are people who have just come off a month of fasting and think about how great you’d be feeling after that.
As we were using a travel agent for the Indonesia part of this trip we asked her about the Eid al-Fitr traffic warnings. She repeatedly said it wouldn’t be any issue at all. She was basically right, it wasn’t an issue for her as she was in Italy. But it caused us to spend a day of our vacation in an 11 hour traffic jam.
A private driver picked B&B up at the shocking hour of 7:00 a.m. at the Yogyakarta airport . We were going to visit Borobodura (http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/592/) and Prambanan (http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/642/) on the way to where we would be staying for two nights, the Losari Coffee Plantation Resort and Spa (now MesaStila http://www.mesahotelsandresorts.com/mesastila/). The drive was going to be a couple of hours, plus the sightseeing stops, so we were anxious to get on the road. Our driver had his own agenda and kept insisting that we take some time to “relax” at the airport before setting off. Who the fuck relaxes at an airport? In Indonesia? We were anti-relaxation and pro getting our asses on the road.
We finally got his ass on the road and he began extolling the merits of a fascinating silver jewelry workshop where, as a special treat for us, we were headed. Despite our repeated statements that we had no interest in going there, especially if it took us an inch out of our way, you can probably guess that he drove us to the silversmith. (The “relaxation” suggestion had been to delay us until they were open.) We spent about 2 minutes looking around, 3 peeing and then got in the car and demanded that we get going.
What we didn’t know at the time (but definitely suspected) was that the trip to the silversmith was waaaaaay out of our way. Golly, what could have motivated the driver to do such a thing? (If you really don’t know, then you’re lucky. The answer is that drivers take you to those places then get a percentage of what you spend. In our case a satisfying zero.)
By the time we were headed in the right direction it was late morning and we were screwed. We could see a major storm brewing in the direction we were headed and there were now forty-seven bazillion (estimate) Indonesians on the roads. And they were on the roads in ways we never imagined; motorcycles with four people on them, horses and buggies (WTF there are Amish Muslims?) cars, vans, small over-crowded buses and trucks. Not only was there transportational variety but the various options occasionally traveled against traffic which greatly facilitated complete gridlock.
There are very few advantages to gridlock but there is one: gawking at people in other vehicles. Normally you don’t see most of the other people but when they’re going against traffic and are inches from you, you can get an alarmingly good look. Many were startled and seemingly delighted to see Blonde. We got quite a few thumbs up, waves and shout-outs. Blonde is a total attention whore who thrived on the friendly acknowledgments of her blondicity. (There aren’t a lot of blondes in Indonesia, actually there never seemed to be another one anywhere.)
But gridlock, especially when the temperature is 130 degrees outside and 139 degrees in the van, and you’re seething with anger at the driver, sucks. Normally Brunette is the patient half of the B&B duo. But not this time. She was pissed beyond her massive limits (please refer to previous blog posts re her husband whom she has endured for the better part of, well, many years). It takes a lot to push her buttons but the van driver ‘s actions were pushing those suckers big time. As the storm continued to head our way and the traffic didn’t, the situation reached its tipping point.
Allegedly we were very close to a restaurant where we would be stopping for lunch (if you eat lunch at 4:00 p.m). Feasting on the views of fellow travelers, while intriguing, does little to fill empty stomachs. And, surprisingly, the normally mild-mannered Brunette turns into a crabby high maintenance pain in the ass when she needs her calories. And she needed them NOW.
Suddenly Brunette opened the door of the van, jumped out and began to walk, with unusual levels of speed and determination, to the restaurant. Blonde decided that this was a good time to follow her sister’s example so she also exited the van (to the protests of the driver). With Brunette leading the way we hoofed it through traffic to the restaurant. Fortunately, it was nearby.
After lunch, which was excellent, even to the discerning palates of two massively pissed off Americans, the driver came slinking back. He had been the target of many toots and derisive laughter when his female infidel passengers had exited the van in the midst of traffic. Although he was unlikely to be invited to join MENSA any time soon he had finally realized that it was time to quit screwing with us, at least with Brunette, the female Forrest Gump of traffic-walking.
He drove us to Prambanan and we enjoyed it thoroughly by giving it the full two minutes it deserved after we’d traveled halfway across the world to see it. We speed-viewed it because the storm was becoming more aggressive. The next stop was Borobodura, another UNESCO site we had wanted to see for years. As we reached the temple the storm struck us with a full-fledged weather bitch-slap. The entire place is ancient smooth stones and everyone who was already there was now descending the narrow steps in a monsoon. It was amazing that the always clumsy and now dripping wet Blonde managed to get to the top without medical intervention. After making it back down we ran to the van and headed to our resort.
In another several hours we were there, in the late evening and having missed one of our two (expensive) days.
(We did get some limited satisfaction by ratting out the driver to the hotel management as he was from a service they contracted with and they told us he wouldn’t be used again.)
Ever heard the joke about Irish Alzheimer’s? Here it is: They forget everything but their grudges. Suffice it to say that we have a lot of Irish in our genetic slop pots.
So, if that driver ever shows up in Boston asking Blonde for advice on how to see Maine and Montreal she’ll be happy to tell him the best way to go is via Cape Cod on a Friday afternoon in summer. Suffice it to say that that would be wrong and horrible and result in a large withdrawal from Blonde’s Karma bank, but it would be very satisfying. Oh, and she’ll tell him to put the travel agent in the car with him.
Find your crotch in Cinque Terre! Blonde did!
Prior to departing for a trip to the Liguria Region of Italy Blonde and Brunette each went to their respective hair salons to get chic new Euro-adventure haircuts. Apparently Blonde had unknowingly not been tipping her hairdresser well for years. The request to “cut it short but stylish so I don’t have to fuss with it in Italy”, followed by reading a book and not looking up until the hair was gone, resulted in the most appalling haircut of Blonde’s adult life. Brunette had most likely dropped into “JCP” at the mall yet unfairly emerged with a cut superior to Blonde’s high-priced Boston follicle massacre.Several men at Blonde’s office (back before the wonders of prolonged unemployment) convinced her that people thought she was a man. In hindsight it was kind that they didn’t say an ugly man. Add to the tragic ‘do some less than stellar wardrobe selections and noticeable extra poundage and Blonde was not meeting her, or her (imaginary) adoring public’s visual standards. The only good thing was that Blonde now looked like a German lesbian and not an American tourist.
One of the goals of this trip was to hike the Cinque Terre. The whole area is a UNESCO World Heritage site and is composed of five villages: Monterosso al Mare (where we stayed), Vernazza, Corniglia, Manarola and Riomaggiore. Due to the unfortunate lack of gambling casinos, Elvis chapels, strip clubs and Wal-Marts, visitors to the area often hike the 11 kilometer Sentiero (trail) No. 2. If the entire hilly, dangerous trail is open it takes about 5 hours to complete.
Blonde and Brunette were looking forward to doing the hike – or perhaps more accurately, to having done it. The first day the weather resulted in the trail being partially closed. Mixed emotions ensued – relief and annoyance
On the second day the weather, though overcast and grumpy, was good enough to have the trail reopened. Brunette always insists on “making hay while the sun shines” so she ushered her sister’s recently expanded ass and shrunken pate onto a train.
We were staying in the town at one end of the five, so took the train to the other end and hiked back. For about the first 50 yards of the “trail” (as descriptively inaccurate as saying “celibate NBA player”) it’s paved, smooth and doesn’t seem to be at all daunting. If you have advanced macular degeneration the trail could even look quite appealing. Then it immediately begins a rapid, rocky, completely unprotected ascent above the vicious seacoast. It’s such a blatant case of bait and switch that Italy deserves a U.N. censure (those are always effective).
Europe is to safety as the Catholic Church is to moral authority so we knew we needed to be un-American and take responsibility for our own safety. Don’t kid yourself about Socialists controlling behavior; one more citizen toppling off a hill is money in the bank for the government. And tourists? As long as their wallets are empty by the time they plummet, that’s fine.
Blonde is famously clumsy and impatient and Brunette non-clumsy and patient thereby being ideal hiking buddies. As Blonde lumbered androgynously (at best) along, sending gravel and small trees flying down the mountain, Brunette petitely minced cautiously.
Although not a sunny day, it was a very humid one.
Blonde is not fond of humidity and was getting grumpy as she sweated in her intended-to-be-adorable-in-a-Dora-the-Explorer-way hiking pants. The pants began to droop more and more, to the point that Blonde’s thoughts were completely obsessed by the uncomfortable sensation.
After several minutes of this disconcerting wardrobe malfunction, Blonde clutched a handful of fabric in the crotch of her pants and called out to Brunette “Hey, this is where my crotch is”!
Other hikers in the area looked alarmed and stumbled by as quickly as they could. A few elected to voluntarily plunge to their probable deaths.
Brunette, in her unfazed way, called back “I know, that’s where I keep mine too”.
The inevitable giggling attack ensued as the mannish woman with the apparently unsurprisingly positioned crotch and the well-behaved crotch reassurer had to sit down along the trail and try not to water it.
The moral of the story is that even, perhaps especially, when your sister appears to be your unattractive brother she’s still your sister and needs you to let her know everything is as it should be.
Galapagos Islands on a Hyundai and a Prayer
Several years ago Blonde and Brunette’s parents passed away within 15 months of each other. It had been a sad and very stressful time for the entire family and, as the only offspring, especially so for B&B. It made a strong impression on B&B that both parents, in their last months, spoke of their fond memories of travel. We inherited a few things we didn’t want- big thighs on Blonde and no butt on Brunette – but we were happy to have inherited the love of travel.
Brunette, being both the good daughter and the one who lived near our parents, was the unlucky recipient of all of the estate settling work. We are not talking about having art appraisers come in, Sotheby’s begging to list the house and men wanting us for our money (or much of anything else). We’re talking about selling a house in a declining steel town in Pennsylvania, an old Hyundai and a smattering of assorted possessions.
One task that Brunette was particularly not looking forward to was selling our mother’s old Hyundai. Of course, even in the midst of mourning, we were still interested in future travels. Blonde had a massive trip-Jones to go to the Galapagos Islands. Brunette also wanted to go but is annoyingly financially responsible and kept pointing out the prohibitively high costs of such a trip.
Then we hit on the idea of trying to sell the Hyundai for enough money to fund a trip to the Galapagos. Brunette began to refer to the car as “the Galapagos tortoise” and developed a never before displayed ruthless drive to get top dollar for the less than stellar car.
Blonde knew someone who knew someone who had been to the Galapagos and who had reportedly had a wonderful experience so she tracked down the name of the company the person used to book the trip: Myths and Mountains (http://www.mythsandmountains.com/).
Blonde also mentioned the upcoming trip to two friends, both actuaries, famously some of the most fun people on earth, and they decided to accompany Blonde and Brunette on the Galapagos trip. The friends, Suki and Russ, were not particular fans of boating or swimming and were generally clad in Armani and Prada not RashGuard and wetsuits, but WTF.
So unaccustomed to adventure travel were Suki and Russ that Blonde had to take Suki to the local REI and tell her what types of clothing and gear to buy. For someone accustomed to designer clothing the apparel at REI seemed to be practically free and Suki filled two huge bags with gear and clothing. She bought the same things for Russ as she purchased for herself. Russ, besotted more with Suki than Tom Cruise is with Scientology, serenely wore women’s water shoes, hats, and Rash Guard apparel for the entire trip, to the astonishment of B&B. The answer to the song “What’s Love Got To Do With It” is apparently “everything”.
Is that an iguana on your head or are you just happy to see me?
While spending a week on Curacao at the absolutely lovely Lodge Kura Hulanda and Beach Club http://www.kurahulanda.com ) Brunette and I took advantage one day of the free shuttle to their sister property in the capital city of Willemstad. The city center of Willemstad is a UNESCO World Heritage site and if you find yourself there be sure to go see their aquarium. (More about that in another post about underpants insecurity in the bird world.)
The day we were in Willemstad was perfect sunny hot weather and we sat down at an outdoor cafe along the waterfront. We snottily pride ourselves on being “travelers not tourists” and eschew anything touristy – unless we want to do it. Then it’s funny, ironic, camp or anything else we choose to label it . So we were enjoying lunch and some refreshing adult beverages which compromised our normally poor judgement and rendered it really poor.
A local “character” came up to our table and asked if we would like to handle his iguanas. Blonde has been asked this a lot and is generally more agreeable to the idea than advisable. Well this one really got lucky as the sister act eagerly handled his iguanas and actually paid him a little for the privilege. At least we made his day!
I still don’t know what made us think this was some sort of enjoyable idea but there we are with iguanas on our heads! Sometimes our hygiene standards slip (or vanish altogether) on trips but iguana feet in our hair was a new low.
Only later, after we got home did we bother to find out if iguanas can be dangerous. It turns out that they can be very nasty biters. (And they look so cute and friendly!) One site mentioning that proclivity reassuringly offers the following advice:
“When and if you get bit by an iguana, the best way to deal with it is to not pull away, stay calm and attempt to calm down the iguana if it still has a hold of you. It may also be a good idea to move to a place in your home where a little spilled blood won’t make too much of a mess. Attempt to calm down the iguana and control your bleeding if possible. If the iguana has latched down and you’re bleeding profusely, there may even be a time when you’ll have to decide to take other actions, which may include a trip to the emergency room. One of the most popular tricks in getting an iguana from unlatching its bite is to take a small towel with some alcohol on it and place near the iguana’s nose and mouth. The smell usually triggers the iguana to let go, but this trick doesn’t always work. There is much debate on whether rubbing alcohol is too dangerous to use for this purpose. Drinking alcohol, if available is better to use, and a drop or two can be placed directly in the mouth of a stubborn, latched on iguana.”
Are you frickin’ kidding me??? Stay calm and try to get the iguana to have an alcoholic drink? Move to somewhere where a little spilled blood is no biggee? WTF?? Another thought provoking piece of information is that iguanas can be a welcoming breeding ground for and transmitters of salmonella. That leads Blonde to ponder if the incapacitating barf-inducing illness she came down with the following day wasn’t in fact food poisoning from a highly suspect local place where we had dinner. Hmmmm….
The point of this story is, buy an iguana a drink if you must, but don’t lick it or try to give it any sort of unexpected dental exam.
BlondeBrunetteTravel 