Ding Ding Ding

On Sunday morning, I went to Goreme to try to find a charger for my camera and to visit the Buckle Church at the Open Air Museum. I had forgotten that on winter Sunday mornings, very little is open. While I was wandering around looking in carpet store windows, a man opening his shop asked me inside to warm up by the fire with some tea. A fine way to occupy my time. Soon, his friend and shop partner joined us. We had a lovely chat in French. After two glasses of tea and offers for another, I finally excused myself to head to the museum with a promise to stop back on my return because one of them wanted to ask about Christian iconography that he never understood.

The Buckle Church was as wonderful as it was last year. I took a long time to study the paintings on the walls, identifying the stories told during my years in the Catholic school and from my Art History lessons both learned and taught.

On the roads to and from, there are signs with arrows pointing to the direction of churches not in open air museums. There are many in the Goreme area. I had often passed a sign for El Nazar church and decided to follow the direction of the arrow. Since the top layer of snow on path to the church had been cleared, I thought it was near enough to the road to take a short detour and make it back to the hotel for lessons. I walked. And walked. The path curved once, then again. I thought about turning back, but decided I’d come this far and it would be stupid to give up. I walked a little more until I saw another sign but no sign of the church. At this frustrating point, I took a good look around me and thought it would be better to appreciate my surroundings than complain about the distance. Finally, I spied to church with cleared steps and a closed door.

Fortunately, I spied the ticket office, from which a man in slippers greeted me and took my 5YTL entrance fee. I was charmed by the church interior, its form and paintings.

As promised, I stopped to visit my new friends before taking the bus to Uçhisar. Since it the bus comes less frequently on Sundays, I had to wait an extra half hour. In that time, two others stopped by for tea near the fire, one carrying a welcomed box of fresh baklava. As promised, I answered questions about the relationship between Jesus and St. John. One man asked about the henna on my hands and who my new husband was. I almost missed the bus.

The following morning, the hotel manager looked at me with a mischievous smile and asked, "Do you have a boyfriend in Goreme?" Ummm, what? These towns are so small, and there's so little going on that gossip travels fast. Apparently, word got out that I stopped for tea at the carpet shop. Even though my intentions are to talk and look at things, the men think there’s going to be a little ding ding ding for one of them with the lone foreign lady. Sorry. No there will be no dinging.