On the one hand, we think it’s an ugly town full of concrete high-rises and shops selling the strangest combinations of items -- key-rings and tombstones, for example, or children’s bicycles and foam. On the other hand, we’re totally dependent on it for the sort of shopping that tourists don’t require (i.e. almost anything except books, music and souvenirs). What’s more, Nevşehir is where we must come whenever we need anything official such as a residency permit or a driving license.When I first came to live here the town seemed stuck in a timeless groove. Nevşehir (”the new city”) had been founded by Damat İbrahim Paşa, grand vizier and son-in-law to Sultan Ahmet III (1703-1730). In his official capacity he had borne responsibility for organizing many of the Tulip Age parties that took place at Topkapı Palace, parties attended by the great and good, their paths illuminated by tortoises that trundled through the tulips with candles strapped to their backs.
In his unofficial capacity, İbrahim was a great builder. It was he who repaired Kız Kulesi (the Maiden’s Tower) in İstanbul after a fire, and it was he who paid for the graceful Vezir Han buried deep in the heart of Kayseri’s old covered bazaar. Perhaps inevitably, poor old İbrahim came to a sticky end, strangled by a member of the Janissary Corps. Still, I thought, his was the sort of story that would have set the hearts of British tourism officials aflutter.
Not in Nevşehir, though. Of the town that İbrahim built, little now remains apart from the splendid mosque and hamam complex in the center. When I did eventually track down a statue of the great man, it was hidden behind a row of bus ticket offices without even a sign to identify him.
But since the last election even Nevşehir has perked up considerably. It now boasts not just a smart new conference center but also several small parks, plenty of fountains, a clock tower that declares Cappadocia the peace center of the world, and a string of cheery wooden kiosks selling organic produce. In the ironic way of things a town that has ruthlessly demolished all its fine old stone mansions now boasts a model of one of them to remind us of what has been lost.
Best of all, Damat İbrahim himself has been rehabilitated. The statue has been dragged out from behind the ticket offices and re-erected in front of the museum with a sign outlining his role in local history. Across from him a road now bears his name. Where before İbrahim’s out-turned hand looked like a gesture of despair at what had been done to his handiwork, now it looks more like a sign of welcome to visitors.
Pat Yale lives in a restored cave-house in Göreme in Cappadocia.
