I conned ya, Konya!

I had a long day yesterday, my friends. Shall I tell you about it? OK.

I woke up AGAIN at 5 am and actually got to fly in the hot air balloon. I was thinking the whole time while they were filling it up and then heating it up, "How does this work? Why does this work? Does this work?" Although I had to share the occasion with more becamera'd bus people, everyone was quiet once we were aloft, so intent were they on their viewfinders. Next to me in the basket were an Indian couple. Remember them because they appear later in my story. The trip seemed to last more than an hour, but I wasn't keeping track because I wanted to enjoy the flight (during which I was wondering what it would be like to jump out at various elevations). We soared over the valley in which Goreme sprawls, up the canyon wall, and then over another valley with tall stone structures with little stone hats, which is why it is known locally as Phallus Valley (or Fairy Land, perhaps, but what's the difference?). When we landed, we got our traditional glass of cheap champagne and a certificate that said something like, "Congratulations. You have enough money to take vacations in Turkey and go hot air ballooning. You are a nob." Now I have to carry that around, too.

Next step: three hour bus to Konya, a city famous for being religiously conservative (just screams PARTY! doesn't it?). Konya was once a Turkish capital, maybe for the Seljuks, and there are still some old buildings from that period and more than one mosque (though I didn't feel the need to visit more than one). The only reason I went to Konya was to visit Çatal Höyük, a 9000 year old neolithic city that looks much more impressive in my Encyclopedia of Mysterious Places than it does in real life. In the picture, there are hundreds of plastered mud brick houses clustered against one another with ladders connecting the roofs at different levels. In real life, it's an excavation trench with a giant steel roof. Getting there was a bit of an ordeal. Once I arrived in Konya, I had to take a minibus to the other side of Konya and from there another regular bus to a city called Çumra, 14 km away from the ruins. According to my Lonely Planet, there is no onward transportation to the site, but it's possible to hire taxis for 14 euros return. Now I'm not exactly sure what the euro is worth today, but I know it's a hell of a lot more than the dollar, so 14 euros might as well be a hundred dollars, because there was no way I was going *anywhere* in a taxi for that much money. So off I went down the untrafficked road, in the hot sun, without sunblock, thumb out. After an hour, I started to question my wisdom, though the heat made me dizzy enough that I wasn't too self-critical. Finally, a car did stop and the nice, nice man took me the rest of the way. And then I wondered whether or not I should be disappointed. Well, at least it was free to get in, and there was a cool reconstruction of a Neolithic mud brick house next to the site museum. And the adventure there was something to write about? I even convinced the museum guard to make tea, and we sat drinking it for quite some time until three people arrived in a private car. Turning up my charm to MAXIMUM POTENTIAL, I smiled my way up to the driver and asked if I could have a ride back to Konya. The driver consulted with his passengers, and it was alright. Alright!

Back in Konya, I was dropped at the Mevlana Museum, the former lodge of the whirling dervishes. Inside, the founder of the order, the famous poet Rumi (everyone has a copy of his works, even me; nobody has read it, including me), is interred. I noticed quite a few people praying to his tomb, and I wanted to point out to them, having recently finished reading the Quran, that they aren't supposed to be doing that. They also have a small box containing the prophet Mohammed's beard. Believe it? I don't! But people were going so far as to kiss that one! Muslims! You aren't supposed to idol worship! Sigh. Allah is right: they will never learn. To hell with them all. In the evening, I walked way over to the Kultur Center to buy tickets for the whirling dervish show. Here is the conversation I had with the guards:

Me: I would like to buy tickets.

Guard: No tickets.

Me: Is it sold out?

Guard: No tickets.

Me: Where can I buy tickets?

Guard: No, no ticket.

Me: No ticket? Do I buy it later?

Guard: No. No ticket. No money.

Me: No money?

Guard: Mo money.

Me: Really?

Guard: Yes.

Me: It's free?

Guard: Yes.

Me: Really?

Guard: Yes.

Me: Really?

Guard: Yes.

Me: But this is Turkey. You have to pay to piss here. Really no money?

Guard: No money.

Me: Really?

Guard: Yes.

So I walked all the way back and ate a kebab. And then walked all the way back again for the show. Which was so boring! Lonely Planet, which I am getting ready to plan suicide attacks against, says it's the most amazing sight in Turkey or something and much better than the one in Egypt which I also so and can't remember. But this one was pretty boring, actually, and I almost fell asleep like my dad always does during performances, so I am becoming like him already. I thought they were going to spin really, really fast, but they just sort of turned around and around slowly. And then it ended too late for me to get a minibus back to the bus station, so, finally getting screwed, I had to take a taxi. But I managed to do everything else for just about no money, so I feel satisfied.

I had to get back to the bus station, because I had yet another night bus (an "express" service) to, finally, İstanbul (note the dotted capital I). What is with Turkish buses? They turn on the A/C at the beginning of the ride, turn it off halfway through--so everyone starts sweating like animals because there's no air circulation--and then turn it on again just before you arrive so the sweat has the chance to dry and make you feel clammy and disgusting. Must be to save fuel while still pretending to provide comfort.

Anyway, I arrived in İstanbul at around 7:30 am, took a service bus to the Asian ferry terminal, ferried over to Europe, and met up with Selin, the friend of Seda from Ankara, with whom I am staying here, because I can't afford hotels in Europe. Characteristically, for this trip anyway, I got very little else accomplished today. I went down to the tourist section of town (=the old town, and I wonder how I feel about all the old parts of old towns becoming tourist traps in the modern world--what's the point? Are we being exploited or educated?) to look for my friends Michael and Jessica, who happen to be here right now. I missed them, so instead I sat down to drink some Turkish coffee when who should walk by but that Indian couple from the hot air balloon ride in Cappadocia! I hadn't even spoken to them there, but they recognized me and sat down. Naturally, I was my usual charming self, and we had a nice chat, short because they had a bus to catch to the airport, and the husband even paid for my coffee behind my back! What am I doing right to be catching such good favor these days? It makes me paranoid.