Of course most of our visitors come from fairly predictable countries -- Americans, Canadians, Australians and New Zealanders in summer, Koreans and Japanese in the winter. Most have come to Cappadocia to enjoy themselves and learn a bit about the troglodyte lifestyle, but a few of those who pass through hail from less obvious countries, and sometimes, sadly, they have wound up in Göreme for reasons that have nothing to do with holidaymaking.Last summer for example there were two refugees living in the village. Under the terms of the 1951 Convention Concerning the Status of Refugees Turkey is not required to accept refugees unless they are from European countries. However its geographical location means that it cannot help but serve as a conduit for people fleeing the troubles of the Middle East. Our two refugees came to us from Syria and Iran. Their stories and circumstances could hardly have been more different.
Let’s start with Mr. T. In a country where spying on your neighbors counts as normal behavior, he was a young ex-tour guide who had fallen foul of the Syrian authorities because he refused to become an informer. Time and again he was thrown into prison. Then word reached him that his next stretch inside might be forever, whereupon he packed up and fled to Turkey. Mr. T. lived largely on the kindness of strangers, attracting a wide circle of sympathizers who helped out with money and accommodation. Sent by the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) to live in Kütahya, he regularly sneaked away to Göreme, where at least he could find other English speakers.
Mr. O. arrived in the village with his pregnant wife. Their offense was to be Baha’is, adherents of a religious faith that is abhorrent to the Iranian authorities. When I asked Mr. O. if it had been difficult to escape, his answer was simple: “No. They don’t want us, so they are happy to see us go.”
Mr. O. found a job as a waiter. It was work far beneath the level of his qualifications, but he threw himself into it heart and soul, and was soon sneaking Iranian chicken and crispy rice onto the menu alongside the soup and gözleme. Eventually his wife gave birth to their son, which meant it was time to move on.
With the help of UNHCR, Mr. T. was eventually resettled, somewhat reluctantly, in Vancouver, Canada, while Mr. O. and his wife went to join family in Orange County, California. Their worst traumas may lie behind them, but still they face the uphill task of rebuilding their lives thousands of kilometers away from their original homes and culture. As the summer season gets into its stride, I remember them with affection. They may be with us no more, but their memory lingers on.
Pat Yale lives in a restored cave-house in Göreme in Cappadocia.
