Hasan, the Cappadocian

June 12: Ugürp, Cappadocia

Travel is exhausting because everything is new. The routine tasks of home are mini adventures (and sometimes failures) abroad. And often accompanying exhaustion is vulnerability.

In our most genuine travel moments here, when we have truly departed from our normal lives (not just physically but emotionally), it seems natural to feel some anxiety and even fear. These may be our most memorable travel moments, but there is nothing relaxing about them. We abandon our rules and customs and voluntarily submit ourselves to an immersive guessing game of sorts.

For seven hours in Kapadokya we did just this. Meeting a man on a desolate desert road in his horse and wagon, we accepted his offer to take us to a scenic point, mostly due to exhaustion. From there we were pulled into situation after situation, never fully knowing what was about to happen — or even happening in that moment. Because we didn’t understand his motive for unexpectedly hosting two foreigners for half a day, without asking for a dime in return, we were both skeptical and curious. Was this true Turkish hospitality or something else? Why did we keep ending up in desolate places?

This was a night we will remember for the rest of our lives. Genuine vulnerability opened our eyes to another person’s life in a way that would have been impossible in a contrived way.

As we alternated songs on weak speakers from our cell phones for entertainment, we conversed in creative English. Initial talk of music, family, food, and natural scenery evolved into Hasan sharing his personal stories of suicide, murder, prostitution and betrayal. We simultaneously felt empathy and fear.

Perhaps the fear was never justified, or maybe we did something reckless in trusting strangers so much. But everything worked out in the end. We still don’t understand what transpired that night, or what to make of it, but we know we spontaneously took two feet out of our world and truly stepped into another. We did it as genuinely as we were capable of — even if for a moment.

Moments after we hopped on a local man's horse carriage. His name was Hasan and an unplanned afternoon evolved into an adrenaline-fueled night.

View from the wagon, on the way to Sunset Point in Rose Valley.

On our way into town, we passed trucks filled to the brim wıth oranges, grapefruits and lemons. Hasan's friends took a few off the top of the pile and gave them to us as we trotted by. They were delicious. Cappadocians store citrus grown on the Mediterranean coast in local "lemon caves" for up to six months to increase the juice content in preparation for the markets. These all-natural lemon caves are the primary source of income for some of Kapadokya's villages.

After Hasan left, his younger (very, very drunk) cousin, Hasan, joined us for several çays and a half pack of cigarettes or so, which Ro begrudgingly accepted to be polite.

We stopped at a small produce store to buy fruit and vegetables to eat with our Raki.

A small town grocery store probably looks the same, no matter where you are.

More friends, everyone having a good time.

Looking out from the fruit store. Note Hasan's six month old pitbull in the left corner, who would accompany us for the entire evening...

With Hasan's pitbull, a bottle of Rakı, plastic bags heavy with fresh fruıt, fermented carrot juice and vegetables in hand, we hike to the hill above Ugürp to drink, slowly enjoy bites of seasonal fruit and watch the sunset.

Hiking up a hunger, to our Raki ledge above the canyon.

Family and Friends, Left to right: Hasan, young Hasan, Mustafa

Raki accessories

Ro trying to sober up from the Raki to an anything but sobering view.

Literally, heavenly.

We'd never felt a place as naturally ancient. Ugürp, a tiny town ın Kapadokya (Cappadocıa), Turkey

After a bottle of Raki, Hasan challenges Ro to an arm wrestling match. Mustafa looks on.

Starting to get serious, no messing around. Mustafa still entertained.

Ro knows he's almost beat.

But Hasan lets him off easy because his girlfriend is watching. "It wouldn't be good to lose in front of her," he says quietly to Ro before publicly pronouncing it a draw.

As dusk falls, we amble down a valley below the main village highway to have a barbeque, fully feeling that we are being held hostage to Turkish hospitality at this point. Mustafa uses a bundle of plastic wrap and small sticks stripped from a tree to create a fire for cooking the chicken. Wıth a single satchel of spices and a massive bag of salt, Mustafa roasted the chicken using a simple metal grate. It was as good as anything we'd had.

Watching a fire = universal