When the recession first hit, I wondered briefly if the work would stop, but so far it seems to be proceeding -- as, come to that, does work on the replacement bus station (or rather the replacement for the replacement as we already have a temporary new bus station), albeit so far out into the countryside that they might as well rename it Acıgöl bus station and be done. My great hope is that the new shopping complex will incorporate a cinema. There's nothing on the sign to suggest that that will be the case, but other Forums around the country have them, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed. You see, I'm really a very big film fan, and although Digitürk does its best to keep me happy, there's really nothing to compare with the sense of occasion that comes from sitting down in front of a full-size screen to appreciate a film in all its glory with no distracting phones ringing, knockers banging or, worse still, power outages.
Of course, we can always shlep over to Kayseri for a night out at the movies, but let's face it folks, that means a bit more of an occasion than even I have the heart for. Otherwise the local options are somewhat disheartening: a cinema in Nevşehir that I've been advised against frequenting and a sort of cinema-cum-theater-cum-anything else you care to mention place over in Ürgüp.
Actually, that was the setting for one of the more unexpected episodes in my life in Cappadocia. Harry Potter had come to town, and I wanted to take my neighbors' kids along to see it since they had never been to a cinema. The fly in the ointment was that one of the Gulf states had banned the film on suspicion of I can't quite remember what. I had also read that it included some very scary scenes, and not wanting to cause upset by taking him to something inappropriate, I suggested to my neighbor that I shouldn't take her youngest, then only 7, along.
Shortly afterwards, there was a bang on the gate, and there was her eldest in a bit of a stew since his brother was crying and his mother had now said that if he couldn't go, then nor could anyone else. Irritated by such blatant emotional blackmail, I nevertheless caved in, not wanting to be the one to have raised expectations only to dash them again.
By evening, our party had grown to around 10 plus a dog, and we borrowed a pension minibus for the excursion. The air was filled with a sense of anticipation which lasted for a full 10 minutes into the film. The youngest was glued to his seat, terrified of incurring my wrath if he so much as whimpered. His bigger brother, though, was already out of his and was whispering “Will it finish soon?” to me.
Somehow we got through to the end, although I'm sure that at least six of the party would happily have left at the interval. There's never been any mention of further cinema outings since then.
Pat Yale lives in restored cave-house in Göreme in Cappadocia.
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