Like Water for Camels
Our last day of riding was not really about riding, but more about mimicking a caravan across the Silk Road. The path was arrow-straight for 130 miles from Konya to Cappadocia and we flew like the wind in our set formation. The only stop we made was at the Sultanhanı Caravanserai, conveniently positioned just off out path and about half-way between the two cities. In the heyday of the Silk Road, these caravanserai were spaced about every 30-40 miles, which was a reasonable day’s journey. It seems that pirating caravans was a real risk, so traveling at night was not considered prudent. We were attacked by three small boys looking for a handout and a sit on the bike. One chocolate bar and a few motorcycle poses later, they were off running wild again. I imagine boys who looked just the same did likewise over the years of the caravan trade, pulling on the not-bemused camels’ tails.
The Silk Road was “in business” linking east and west via trade from 200BC through 1800AD. Technically, according to the coffee table book in our hotel lobby, the last camel caravan to traverse the Silk Road was 1997, but by then the traffic was light to nil thanks to more efficient means of caravanning. Operating for two millennia is an amazing accomplishment for any mode of transportation. I recall being amazed in the opposite direction when I learned that the Wabash and Erie Canals, which are memorialized as the great economic can-opener for the Midwest of America, took longer to build than the twenty or so years it was actually operational. Technological innovation in the form of the steam engine, put a quick end to the economic utility of a river barge pulled by draft animals. By contrast and for various reasons, the camel caravans that plied the Silk Road were not so put-off by the sailing ships that rounded Africa, India and Southeast Asia for most of two millennia. Not even steam impacted the caravan trade enough to kill it. WWII actually added value to the route since mining harbors forced the Chinese to work with the Russians to pave parts of the road to bring in needed supplies through the back door of the world. The Silk Road persevered.
After an appropriate amount of time gawking and taking pictures of the famous sandstone structures in the Göreme Valley, we went to see a Whirling Dervish ceremony. Strangely enough, it was held in another caravanserai that was equally restored to its former glory. It was an appropriate setting for this Sufi ritualistic and mystical dance that has existed for 700 years as an important meditative state. We are told that when describing the Whirling Dervishes, it is best to avoid calling their state of being a trance (they suggest that their meditative state is hyper-aware of its surroundings), and it is best not to call what we saw a show (there were set times and we did pay an entry price to get a seat…and there was not an empty seat in the house). It was all supposed to be a religious experience of great enlightenment. That said, the “event” went off on time and lasted an hour or so, and the four Whirlers were accompanied by a three-piece ensemble (flute, drum and mandola) and a senior staging person (Imam?). It was all quite interesting to see and buy the t-shirt at the souvenir store at the exit…once.
This place of Cappadocia is the stuff of legends. People lived here in caves hewn from old volcanically-generated and naturally-shaped (wind and water erosion) hillocks. It must have been a VERY strange place to come across in the olden Silk Road days. I imagine a weary merchant traveler finding this mystical valley set in the middle of an otherwise desolate plain that stretched as far as the eye could see (think Kansas). He stops on his trek from China with several camels full of silk and spices which he feels will net him a tidy profit and make the two-year journey worthwhile. The whole thing has been a great adventure with many hardships and wonderful things to behold. He has passed all the dangerous parts where “Manifest-Destiny-Driven” Mongols, Krazy Kurds and Extortive Sultans hung around every curve in the road. There were taxes to be levied and paid. There were strange meals to be shared. There were even marauding sand pirates out to get you if you tried to take one short-cut too many. But you and your trusty pilot (the unusually calm bald guy who had been this way many times before and seemed to speak all the languages) have made it through the worst of it unscathed, or at least more or less intact. You’re in the home stretch and you can smell your wife’s lamb stew and warm bed awaiting you in Byzantium. Then, the southern route you’ve chosen to take through Anatolia finds you in this strange place. These are like-minded Muslims and not the pagan idol-worshipers of the inner steppes. But they wear funny tall felt hats and spin around with their heads back and their arms raised to heaven and are clearly in an altered state. You slowly back away saying polite things about what a fine rapture you have had and the spiritual pleasure to share with these men of God. All you can think of as you glance back over your camel-galloping shoulder is, “Get me outa here!” At least you have one more great story to tell your kids and their kids for years to come.
This is how I feel as we prepare for our morning balloon ride over the strange and exotic landscape of Cappadocia in the middle of Asia Minor, with the Mongol Swarm now transposed into busloads of fishhead-eating Chinese budget tourists. They have replaced camel prods with selfie sticks, but a camel prod in the eye feels little different in the face of silent nudging Asians doing what they have only always done; jockeyed for position in an otherwise over-crowded world. We actually commented amongst ourselves that the lovely and fully-booked restaurant at our Argos Hotel was devoid of Chinese, which seemed strange in a place so heavily travelled by the Chi-an Mafia. We assume that the current wave of Chinese in town find other accommodations more pleasing to their budget- consciousness, not unlike when they lodge and dine in Jersey City before and after taking Manhattan.
The Mongol was a noble savage that quietly conquered as far as this world with a few horses and camels, all by the nourishment of a fully tenderized goat or two. The Chinese do the same with their Belt and Road Program, not to mention their $9.95 tourism agency. We are witness to the ages and the ongoing repetition of history in this place of mystical enlightenment. We seek knowledge and experience with the daily grind of the camel-back saddle. We feed our camels 95-octane water for their journey back to Byzantium and wonder as we squint into the sunrise, will all my silk and spices fit into my bags for the journey home?