Swimming in Velvet Clouds in Turkey
My first and only visit to Turkey was in the summer of 1997. This continues the previous post. What I describe in my travel journal is a place that tourists can no longer visit overnight because of the environmental damage.
I awoke to the morning sound of doves. I finally drew out of the clerk what the problem was. Yes, they did have rooms available, and yes, they were the rooms with the nice view and private pools, but the travel agency I had paid in Urgup, Cappadocia, had never faxed my confirmation that was their agreement to pay the hotel. A phone call to Urgup produced only a ringing and no answer.
So, the voucher saying I had paid in Urgup held no guarantee that the Palmiye would ever get the money. Once they straightened it out, I would have to wait until check-out at noon. He asked what would help while we waited, and I said, too tired to be angry, “a place to sleep.” He put me in the office in back where I was able to push two chairs together and lie down. The noise from the loud music at the pools outside the window mingled with the multi-lingual squeals of children jumping and swimming in the pools.
Somewhat refreshed, I emerged at 12:15 to claim my room and a “real” bed, but the clerk looked once again dour and said I’d have to wait for the manager to come back. I went for a brief lunch. Having had a little sleep and some food, I was beginning to get angry. I got the impression I wasn’t being given the whole story.
As I wavered between patience and anger, the manager finally came back and gave me a key at last. I walked through to my room and noticed an extremely large swimming pool. When I entered the simple, but large room, my eyes widened again at seeing a private pool right out the back door of my room that appeared to go over the edge and into a very wide valley. This view was definitely BIG. I briefly wondered why so many people were walking by on the edge of the cliff, and then, with joy in my heart, I fell blessedly asleep.
July 22, 1997
My place is even more idyllic than the guidebook had described it. Although the days are too hot, my little porch near the pool stays in the shade until late afternoon. The water is indeed special. It is untreated in any way and has a softness and gentleness that is unlike any water I’ve swum in. It is said to be medicinal and I can actually feel my blood pressure lower as soon as I enter its velvet touch.
Sun-drenched and waterlogged, the day tourists climb onto their tour buses and go away. When they leave, it becomes a more personal place. The evenings are cool and perfect for photography and walking around Hieropolis, the ancient city that has left its ruins all around. I often sit on my balcony, sipping delightful sour cherry juice.
Unfortunately, the natural travertine terraces no longer resemble their postcards. They, like so much of nature, have been overused and abused. The water is no longer allowed to fill the dainty pools among the terraces because the multitude of footsteps is destroying the travertine they are made of. The incredible water that was here even before Hieropolis was an actual city instead of ruins has somehow survived. From the old pictures I’ve seen, Mammoth Terraces in New Zealand was probably much like this before the volcano took it away. While nature destroyed the terraces there, it is people who have destroyed these to the point that the government is closing this area to overnight tourists by next year. How lucky I am to be one of the last to sleep here.
July 23, 1997
Trouble again! Reception tried to throw me out saying that the agency only paid them for two nights and they have no rooms available tonight. As a tourist, I wonder if I have any rights. Are they trying to cheat me, or is it just poor organization? My blood pressure needs those soothing waters again.
It all turned out well. With the help of a local agency, someone came to my room that I was refusing to leave, apologized reasonably profusely, and said he had arranged for me to go to another hotel quite near. When I saw it, I wasn’t reluctant to change. The room was uninspiring except for an incongruous print of people ice-skating in Holland. But the pool, oh the pool! How can I possibly describe it?
Surely the biggest and most scenic pool I’d ever seen reached out seemingly endlessly over the cliff and into the valley beyond. Filled with that dreamy, gentle water that made me feel like I was swimming in a cloud, I luxuriated rather than swam in its deep, deep water. Swallows flew under the eaves to their nests. The hotel and pool were unusually uncrowded.
I was able to appreciate the depth and beauty of the pool that night when they drained it and cleaned it out. They whitewashed the cement man-made portions. I could easily see without water that the largest huge cavern of the pool was a natural travertine terrace.
I awoke early the next morning intending to swim. The pool wasn’t quite full yet, so I went to the pool at the Pamukkale Hotel with its unique Atlantis quality. For 45 magical minutes before the tour buses started rolling in, I had the pool all to myself. I glided over the real ruins of ancient columns and pieces of Hieropolis. I pinched my arm to reassure myself that I wasn’t dreaming. It was too perfect.
Turkey has certainly been a place of unique sights where the east and the west come together.
Tags: Pamukkale, Travel, Turkey;, Turkey; Hieropolis
