Leaving Rhodes,Greece by a small vessel, I arrived in Kas, Turkey. It was a beautiful, small town where I visited sunken antiquities and marveled again at the crystalline sea. But the inland rests foremost in my memories.

I made my way to the surreal landscapes of Cappadocia and walked along the Ihlara Valley. Most tourists visited just a portion of the Valley but I was able to negotiate a ride to the beginning and a pick-up hours later at the end. The terrain was sublime. The path was well marked and the only people I encountered were locals on foot or donkey. At one point, a woman walking the same way attempted to communicate with a word in German, “milch.”  I was pleased I understood the word for milk and that she was on her way to get some. I hadn’t brought much with me and I was content to buy a few things at the store too. After some time, crossing streams and following an increasingly narrow path we arrived at a large field of goats; she turned toward me, smiled, repeated “milch” and went with a pail in hand to acquire what she had set out to obtain. Noting my silly assumptions, I continued on my way.

The Turkish language was extremely difficult to pick up and it took a good part of my stay to say “Thank you” before I had any hope of being understood, but the words for water, bread and yogurt were fortunately, more manageable. There were a few areas, where I spent at least a week, getting by with pointing and no one to converse with at all. But when I finally found English speaking tourists, I recall thinking their discussions were excessive and mundane.

I took a few night buses to avoid the heat and arrived in one town, very late. With nothing open nearby. I followed a young boy who had approached me at the bus station, through the twisty, dark lanes, promising a place to stay. We finally arrived at a small but welcoming hotel. There was never any sense of discomfort or fear.

My presence in these small towns prompted curiosity and was often asked where I came from. The response was always one of delight but the attention could be tiring. The only incident with a negative aspect was when, because of my fatigue,I attempted to ignore one of these inquiries. The man, who spoke some English, was deeply insulted by my behavior and let me know it with harsh words and an angry tone. His message, if not his means, was appropriate. I had been rude and made a point to address, even if very briefly, any future inquiries. I follow this rule of etiquette today; it has served me well.

While in Turkey, I was often invited into the ubiquitous carpet shops and sometimes accepted the constant offers of tea. Chatting with the sellers, in the coolness of the shade, was a pleasant way to pass the time. I did eventually purchase and carry home two small kilim rugs and carpet.

Making my way by ferry to Istanbul, seeing the Grand Bazaar, Hagia Sophia, Basilica Cistern and the Topkapi Palace was the culmination of a magnificent voyage before heading home.

Thank you for taking the time to read my post! Welcome to the tales of a woman solo traveler and thoughts to make today the start of something new. I hope you find information and inspiration in the text and images and join me in my quest for growth, wonderment and self-improvement