Christians, Coughs and Cappadocia

I'd like to extend an apology to Istanbul: I have become one of those people who cough on public buses. And in the office. And on small children with weak immune systems.

Two weeks ago, I boarded a bus headed for Cappadocia with The College Friend and her Mom. Eleven hours later, we were deep in Anatolia surrounded by the former cave houses of early Christians, and the so-called "fairy-chimneys", towering phallic rock structures that... well, I can't really finish that sentence without it turning into the punch line of a penis-joke, now can I?

It feels flippant and even cliché to say that Cappadocia was amazing, but it's the kind of place that defies description and demands awe. I kept thinking -- with my camera pressed to my face -- that I could take thousands of pictures of the region's underground cities, iconoclastic remains and cave-side homes without ever conveying how special, how amazing the place really is.

I crawled through so many fresco covered eighth- and ninth-century churches and soot covered former kitchens, all carved into the soft rock faces of the region's strange and alien terrain. The underground city was ten stories "deep", complete with winery, stable, monastery, wells... Of course, despite the awe-factor of the place, I couldn't help but wonder who would want to live underground, where you tell day from night by peeking up a chimney that reveals a postage stamp of sky.

Turns out the Christians who lived there weren't too keen on the whole troglodyte thing either since they only took to the underground city when the Romans were in town. In fact, the passage ways in the city were [are] purposefully tricky, full of bumps and ceilings that rise and fall before you have a chance to duck. Giant mill stones, once used to close off rooms and halls from enemies, sit as a reminder that the Romans were some nasty bastards.

After four days in Cappadocia, I was ready to petition the government of Turkey to change the word's official meaning. "Cappadocia" is an ancient Persian word which means land of beautiful horses. I think the word should translate as, "Life for early Christians was hard."

Back to my cough: after five days in Cappadocia, I was sick. Things stayed under control until the Ankara bus station where I stumbled into a bathroom and joined the line for the Western toilet. Turns out all I needed was a place to throw up, in which case a squatter seemed fine. My advice is to reject this thought if it ever occurs to you. The custodian assigned to the bathroom began yelling at me in rapid Turkish which only became more strident when I began using the sink to wash the vomit off my shoe. I'm not sure what she expected me to do. It was very hard to remain polite.

Somehow, I found my bus again and managed nine more hours on the road without incident. When I finally arrived home -- I left for Istanbul at 8:30am and arrived at 9:00pm -- I literally fell into bed and stayed there for a week. My neighbors, who are also my co-workers, rallied to my aid, but it was nevertheless a truly horrid week.

So, hence the lack of posts lately, and hence the cough.

(Note: More pictures soon. The wireless I am borrowing from my neighbors is painfully slow tonight.)