September 5, 1996

Our postcard adventure began in Zelve. We'd driven there, the white VW following the blue, in a whirlwind of sand and desert dust. The clean look of our vans disappeared with the first whistle of wind. Our clothes too were covered, our hair, our skin, a fine overall coating that shifted with each additional wafting breeze. I ran my tongue over my teeth and made a face. If it weren't for the continual eye-shielding, pummeling we were receiving, we might have spent more time exploring the mushroom rocks and climbing into and around the sandstone cave homes. The grit got to us thought and we ducked into the souvenir stalls, blew off the sand to inspect a few items and made a dash for our vans. Luckily we'd had the foresight to close the sunroof. But it didn't seem to matter. Later when I ran a sponge over the stove top I considered serving mud stew for dinner.

We didn't do much driving after Zelve. We made it nine kilometers to Urgup before a sign pointing to "Wish Hill Viewpoint" brought us to a stop on the crest of a hill. Children poured from the crevasses. The eye-lashes painted on Hana and Craig's van were a curiosity. So was the steering wheel on the wrong side of the van. "Where are you from?" a boy asked. "Come see the view," another said. "Good view, this way. Up there." One boy pointed up a set of steps. With our band of guides ahead, we climbed to the top of the hill and ducked into a courtyard. "In there," the boys said. They pointed to a tunnel, a passage to an underground city.

Inside the tunnel entrance we were instantly relieved of the wind and swirling dust that had gained momentum since we left Zelve. Only a small whisper of wind could be felt circling the dark cave. The boys lit three stubby candles and together motioned me to follow one of them into the darkness. I hesitated, but the "Go Madam" that sounded all around me urged me inside. Instantly the flame on the boy's candle went out. He pushed past me and re-lit it from the other two. A bit further into the tunnel the flame blew out again. "No problem Madam," he said. But the second and third candle had gone out as well and I wondered whether following this group of children had been a good idea after all.

"Let's get out," John said. I hadn't realized that he and the others were even behind me. "I'll go back and get a flashlight."

Back at the cave entrance I could see that the group of boys had multiplied. All the village children must have been crammed into that small opening. "Come Madam, Mister," they sang. It was difficult to explain to them that John had run back to the van for a flashlight. This was their playground, their fort. They could probably navigate these tunnels in the dark. "Auto light," I said. "It's better than a candle. We have to wait."

John brought back only one flashlight, all he could find, but that made all the difference. We crouched forward in the tight tunnel and emerged in a small chamber. Next to the entrance was a huge millstone. I'd read earlier that these stones were used to seal off the underground cities from enemy invasions. There are about forty of these underground cities in Turkey. Some of cities stretched as deep as 20 stories below the surface and were able to house as many as 20,000 people. Each had dormitories, dining halls, sewage disposal systems, ventilation chimneys, cemeteries and prisons. It was hard to imagine that here we were crouching in a piece of history over 1990 years old.

After two more lengthy tunnels that ended in small chambers, we finally emerged into daylight again. We stood at the edge of a drop off. The city of Urgup lay far below us. We had reached the viewpoint. The boys all insisted that the best view was over the edge and that always ladies should go first. "Do you know how to fly?" they asked me. Instead of flying we took their picture; Mustafa, Aman, Ali, Mehmet, Nagil, Cemel, another Mustafa and Rocky. I hummed the theme song to the Rocky movie as we headed back through the tunnel and they all laughed. One little boy commandeered the flashlight halfway through and couldn't grasp the concept that shining it on the floor would be better than in our eyes. With big pupils we emerged on the other end. But we didn't head to our vans just yet.

"Now we give you kisses," the boys said. The two Mustafas pushed their cheeks into mine. One for each side. Rocky had his turn, then three others. "We love you," they said. The smaller boys grabbed our hands to walk with us. We had half expected the words that came next. "You give us money for the tour?" Hana was the first to say it, "We have no money." The boy closest to her puckered his lips. "No money, then I want a real kiss." After more pleas for money I told the boys that our kisses were better than gold. "You should feel rich from receiving them." They didn't buy it.

Back at the van Craig decided to give the boys fresh candles. That truly was better than money. We surveyed our stock and gave Rocky (the Chief) our last chocolate bar. We watched as he doled out the squares to his comrades. When everyone's mouth was stuffed with chocolate they turned and waved good-bye. We stuck our heads out our windows as we drove away. "Good-bye," we called, "and thank you."