Anyway, I want to write a little about my weekend. The best I've had in a long time. Maybe ever--in some ways.
Alan and I ditched complicated plans to visit a waterfall with friends in favor of a self-directed hike in Cappadocia. We went to the other side of a valley we had previously visited, and wow. It was spectacular. Cappadocia's whimsical forms look good in every season--but on the first day of warm sunshine after a month of drab gray winter-ish weather--I mean, güzel (beautiful). The wildflowers were blowing, the bees were buzzing, and Alan and I were happily strolling a dusty trail together. We nibbled on sandwiches and skipped over small creeks. We explored ancient caves and marveled at the sheer cliff faces rising from the landscape.
And then...we found the staircase.
Alan found it. I was pretty satisfied NOT going in, but Alan pulled out his flashlight, and got on hands and knees to enter the three by three hole leading into complete darkness. He illuminated a staircase leading upward into an abyss of blackness with a cool breeze rushing out. "Come on," he said.
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| The staircase (the opening was just tall enough to crawl through) |
"No thanks, I'm good."
"No, just come in and look up. That's all."
I did, and then somehow he convinced me to keep climbing in the darkness, no doubt passing spiders and crawlies and ancient omens. My hands were covered in the ancient dust as I searched for the handholds on the walls, hunched over, but climbing.
A precarious turn in the stairway held us up a little, but through the dusty cavern we could see the sunlight from a window above. Alan urged me on, and somehow we made it to a look out, about six stories up.
Alan got really nervous about climbing back down the stairway. He was really worried that I would fall because of the worn away steep steps. "If either of us fall," he warned, "we are in big trouble."
Somethings I wish he'd consider before we are at the top of a dangerous stone tunnel staircase.
Anyway, Alan worked his way back into the staircase, wedging himself precariously as to create a block in case I slipped. I cautiously scooted my butt inch by inch down the ridiculous stairs. Once I got close, Alan descended a few more stairs and blockaded again. The descent was admittedly WAY worse than the climb, as the steps were narrow and angled downward, not to mention covered in an inch of powered rock. A perfect recipe for slipping down a 30 foot shaft of rock.
Somehow, we made it to the bottom safely. I think my positive out loud self talk really helped. "Jena, you're doing great. One at a time. One at a time."
I emerged, dusty and a little shaky from adrenaline, but accomplished.
We hiked for several more hours before deciding to reward ourselves with a cold beer on the roof of our favorite cafe. The waiter has seen us every two weeks for the past few months, so he greeted us warmly and proceeded to dust me off. It was pretty funny. He asked whether we would be ordering our usual hot, spiced wine. This guys knows us too well. "Two beers, please."
We even got to see our buddy "Long Dog" (Corgi and German Shepard hybrid) and meet two new friends, "Mop Dog" and "Big Dog" (like the Beast from Beauty and the Beast) on the streets of Goreme.
It was a great day.
