Those of a superstitious nature will be tossing salt over their shoulder and going out of their way to avoid stepping on cracks in the pavement, muttering that the village is jinxed. As for the locals, I'm sure there will be some who are fretting about the evil eye and fishing about in cupboards right now for blue-eye beads and other protective amulets.
Because Göreme has been going through a rough patch lately. One might have thought it was bad enough that we suffered a recent hot-air balloon accident with fatal consequences without fate piling other misfortunes on our doorstep, but unfortunately that turned out to be just the first in a string of mishaps, some of which even occurred on the same day.
Cirit is a game played on horseback, a kind of Central Asian version of polo, but without the class pretensions and snobbery. In Turkey, it's a game generally associated with the areas around Uşak in the west and Erzurum in the east, but a couple of years ago, a traveling cirit team showed up in Cappadocia and quickly attracted an enthusiastic following who enjoyed watching the riders attempting to hit each other with their sticks. I hoped this was something that would become a fixture on our social calendar, but instead several years passed before they decided to visit us again. It's a great shame that they chose to do so now when it feels a little as if fate has it in for the village.
The game had barely got into its stride before two of the riders collided with each other head on. One of the horses was so badly injured that it had to be put to sleep while its rider was whisked away to the hospital, thereby putting somewhat of a damper on the occasion. Later that day, a friend was just getting over the shock of that accident when she heard an almighty bang outside her shop. Rushing to take a look, she found that a driver passing through the village too fast and too carelessly had collided with a pickup truck belonging to her business partner's grandfather. Only by a stroke of good fortune had the pickup come to rest on the curb before it could be tipped over into the rainwater channel.
More than enough drama for one day, one might have thought, but then came another loud bang. “Through the window, I saw something flying through the air,” my friend reported. A car had knocked a motorbike head-over-heels and sent the rider soaring upwards. Miraculously, he was not killed, which doesn't mean that there won't be any long-term consequences. A tourist's baby arriving prematurely and, tragically, failing to survive, a pet dog dead from distemper -- with every call, there seems to be more bad news. I'm almost afraid to answer the phone now. It's certainly enough to leave even the least superstitious amongst us crossing our fingers, touching wood, tugging our ears and wondering if it's safe to cross the road.
Pat Yale lives in a restored cave-house in Göreme in Cappadocia
