But the truth is that when I arrived in Göreme in October 1998, I only planned to live there for a year. By then I had six years of guidebook-writing about Turkey under my belt and it was the “spare” year between two editions of the book. High time, I reasoned, to add depth to the breadth of knowledge I already had of the country. I’ll go to Göreme, I thought, live there for a year, learn Turkish and write a book about the experience. Of course with hindsight I realize that it was hopelessly over optimistic to think that a linguistic dullard such as me could achieve mastery of another language in 12 months. I was also fooling myself if I thought I could become privy to Göreme’s secrets in such a relatively short space of time.
But no matter. I found a house to rent in the old village and decorated its contents with Post-it notes to help with the Turkish. I even made a start on the writing. Then four months into my stay a friend mentioned that he wanted to sell his derelict cave house. After just one look I knew I had to have it, but Göreme property sales are rarely that straightforward and mine was no exception. The house had four owners, only three of whom wanted to sell. The fourth, ensconced in Ankara and estranged from his family, dug in his heels and refused to agree.
Over the next eight months I scoured the village for suitable alternatives but none of them was ever quite right. From time to time I would enquire whether Obstinate Osman had changed his mind but the answer was always negative and so I prepared to return to England as planned.
My flight ticket home was booked for Jan. 10, 2000. Three weeks before I was due to leave my friend made one last trip to Ankara to plead with Osman. Then on Christmas Day the phone rang with the thrilling news of his surrender. With just four days to go before offices closed for the Millennium break we managed to push through the requisite paperwork and I boarded the flight back to the UK clutching the title deed.
It took a year to raise funds to start work on restoring the house. Then it needed two building seasons to make it habitable. It was October of 2002 before I could move in and only then, as I stood on my terrace gazing out at the beautiful Aktepe plateau, did I realize that the Bristol terrace no longer felt like home. The fact remains, though, that had the obstinate Osman held out for one more fortnight I might still be living there now.
Pat Yale lives in a restored cave-house in Göreme in Cappadocia
