You know, it would be wonderful if you could have some way of taking the thoughts and words that appear as you go through the days and nights and have them form themsleves in black and white. Sometimes I liken it to knowing a song. Being able to hear the words, the melody, the sounds. Yet unable to hum or say them, let alone sing them. Sometimes the hardest part is knowing where to begin. How to condense a million and one thoughts, sights, sounds and scents into a structured and understandable whole. Truth be told nothing starts until you begin, and for myself I needed to come away from Turkey to be able to bring the rest of Mums journey to you all.
Ever since I left there has been that constant back thought of can I, will I make it. Is adding an extra day here, visiting an extra place there putting an uneccessary risk to the journey. Tempting fate for a problem that cannot be overcome, and ultimately would it lead to failure. If I truly felt that way then I guess I wouldn't of taken half of the roads i've taken. I wouldn't have made tyre tracks and foot steps in half of the places that Mums bus has taken me to, and if I am honest I wouldn't have felt that I had taken Mums true spirit of adventure with me and would not of been fulfilling her wish. In some small way the attempt to give back to her what was taken from her grasp, to simply say thank you the only way I know how for having the foresight to dream in the face of death. For simply being her. People ask why I didn't just fly or come straight to Turkey. To them I have no answer other than if you need to ask, then you wouldn't understand any reason I could give.
Why should and indeed do we live our lives in fear of tomorrow when our only guarantee is today? Is it that bleak to accept everything is finite, or does it open up a whole new world of opportunity. Should we allow each set back to detour and detract us from our objectives, our hopes, our dreams? Or should we take them as experience and guidance of new knowledge to allow us to find new paths to succeed. I'm sure the saying everybody loves a trier didn't come from random thought after all. Knowledge and learning should not become blinkers, as a set back should not be an end to opportunity. More an insight into how we can proceed through change. Medical science didn't get where it is today by giving up at the first sign of failure. Is it fair some of us lose loved ones to the attempts of medical science to advance in the face of terminal diseases such as cancer? To me if it means that someday the objective of cure is achieved, that parents will no longer have to suffer and endure watching their children die before them, then that my friends will surely be the greatest reward, and one that I am positive Mum would be proud to of been a part of.
Turning left would take me to the centre of Turkey, into it's heart. It would take me to a place that Mum and I had spoken of often, and the place that had been in the back of my mind since the day I left the UK. When Mum spoke of this place it was one of the very few that could bring that magical glint of excitement and belief back to her drug dulled eyes. She would enter into a round of questions, "could we really go there?" "will we have time?" "but isn't it so far" "do you think it is as magical as it sounds and looks in the pictures?"
Nowhere is to far to go for a smile.
My heart goes out to anyone who has had to stem their tears when those eyes of your loved one in front of you are searching and looking to you for the hope and belief that is fading inside of them. You never become desensitised to looking into the eyes of someone you love and only seeing pain and anguish that you have no way of relieving.
The region is Cappodocia, and at it's heart hidden within the valleys is Goreme. From the moment I arrived I knew that here was the place above all of the others I had ventured as I searched Turkey. It is the polar opposite if you like of Pompeii. Whereas the volcano brought life to an abrupt end there, here in Cappodocia the three volcanoes are the creators of this magical landscape and the life that has thrived and co-existed with its constantly changing nature for centuries. Having spent almost six weeks trekking the many valleys, touring the surrounding villages, exploring the cultures and meeting it's people, I can honestly say that you never lose that initial lost for words feeling each and every time you re-enter it's embrace. The valleys change with the light, their colours and shapes altering with the path of the sun and the sometimes sudden advent of rain.
I had never planned to stay for so long, but circumstance was to dictate that if I was to give to Mum what I wished for her, then I would have to remain patient and allow the time to come to me. From the very day of my arrival I began putting my request to those that would be able to fulfil it, only to find the doors closing rather than remaining open. Our cultural differences meaning burial is what is recognised and respected as opposed to cremation and the scattering of ashes. But then if we are unable to learn from what can't be done in the first instance, we'd never arrive at how something can be achieved in the second. I was to be fortunate, even with the impending and then passing change in season. Through a chance meeting with a now dear friend, Nicole and her friendship of a fellow German, Petra,it would mean that I could make happen what I had hoped.
Goreme is talked of by the locals as being a door. A door to the Middle East, a door into Europe, and a door into Africa. The village is part of the once silk road. It is constantly a buzz with people from all over the world, though in a relaxed harmonious way as opposed to the hectic uninterested nature of many travellers and tourists stops. I am sure Mum would of loved the constant changing supply of people to talk with and the stories to share. The gentle manner of it's local people and their love of their surroundings. She would of loved the dogs and cats that roam free, yet all are taken care of by someone. The sunrises, the sunsets, the star hungry night skies, the rainbows ever present after a sudden down pour. The distinct four seasons which, depending on who you talk to, each are adored as they explain to you the changes which happen as if someone has flicked a switch. I bore witness to the one. From Summer to Autumn, announced by thunder rolls which seemingly had no end and lightening scattering across the skies. The following days temperatures dipped, the sun still in a cloudless sky, the nights bringing small fires to the valleys, and the talk of Winter and snow became common place.
I am going to allow the pictures to take you through some of the many valleys. Valleys that hold such names as Love, Rose, White, Cat, Zelve, Zemi, Monks, Pigeon. To the hidden churches created in a reverse of architecture that stem from the 11th century. The insides created by carving and not as a result of a man made outer structure. Stained glass windows replaced by frescoes decorating the whole and geometric patterns enhancing the carved structures. The multiples of flowers and trees, the grapes, apples, tomatoes, peppers growing wild that you can pick and eat as you trek (which is a little like Mum in Tescos from memory....), the butterflies, tortoises, birds and horses, and the sights that are like no where else I have ever been.
This is the home of the fairy chimneys so dreamt of by Mum and so fitting to her love of fairy tales themselves.
No comments:
Post a Comment