A Premature Burial

We rode down to Goreme. It all started looking a bit odd.  The rocks became boulders.  The boulders turned into giant lurking formations.

We stopped in the 50 degree heat to sit in a cave.  It was 2000 years old. It had shelves cut into the rock, steps and a fireplace. You could see where a very long time ago someone had put a beam up to hang their pots off. There were miles and miles of caves, as far as you could see, with a whole lot of nothing in-between.

It was very hot. The road had a heat haze on it. I had a heat haze on me. The sweat made big white marks on my trousers.

Goreme was a little tourist town, only there because of the rocks. There were bars with Shisha pipes, embroidered wall hangings, floor cushions, and backpackers in various stages of decay.

We got lost in the sand-towers. A dog adopted Adam. There was a cave-house, still obviously occupied by someone, with vegetables planted in neat rows in the cave entrance, and pictures on the walls.

Further on there were cave-churches from early Christian times, with blood-red decorations painted on the walls, and crosses. I walked into one to find myself quite obviously in a grave.  I decided it was a little premature, and scarpered, spooked.

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