Having been a townie for three-quarters of my life I was astounded at how easy it was to settle back into the rhythm of a big city. If you'd asked me, I'd have said I would have had trouble coping with the traffic, with the noise, with the having to plan everything days ahead of time, but, no, in a matter of weeks I'd readjusted and was happily queuing for the buses and grumbling about the traffic snarl-ups with the rest of the commuters.Most of all I readapted to the anonymity of big-city life. Sure, there was an outside chance of bumping into someone I knew in Sultanahmet, but for the most part I could go about my business without having to factor in time for the passing pleasantries that are an essential part of village life. So what would it be like, I wondered, to go back to the goldfish-bowl conditions of Göreme? Would I resent everyone knowing my business before I did? Would I want to hide myself away from the constant familiarity? Most of all, would I be just plain bored after all the excitement and stimulation of the city?
Well, now I know the answer, and thankfully it's no on all fronts. On the contrary I was astonished and gratified by the warmth of my welcome. “When did you get back, kız?” everybody chorused, which certainly reassured me that my absence had been noticed. Then there were the invitations for meals, the long, cozy catch-up chats, the extraordinary sense of being part of a community again. During the course of my absence, a Göremeli encountered unexpectedly in the İstanbul backstreets had told me that I should hurry home as I was part of the mosaic of the village. Wonderfully romantic, I'd thought at the time, but not necessarily all that sincere. Now it feels as if there was actual meaning behind those words after all, that I do have a role here in the village in a way that I wouldn't necessarily have if I lived full time in İstanbul.
What is perhaps strangest of all is the renewed sense I have of Göreme as one big outsize family. For many locals this is quite literally the case, of course, but for me it's more about the way in which we, all of us, of all age groups and backgrounds, manage to rub along so well together. I'm quite sure that some of the people asking me when I'd gotten back don't even especially like me, but somehow it doesn't seem to matter -- I'm like the aged aunt who must be tolerated at Christmas. An ex-landlord summed it up perfectly once when he said to someone who didn't know me, “We're used to Pat.” That's how it is for me with Göreme, too. For richer, for poorer, for better or worse -- this is clearly where I'm meant to be.
Pat Yale lives in a restored cave-house in Göreme in Cappadocia.
