I made a half-hearted mental note, but by the next morning had forgotten all about it and was happily reading my newspaper in the hotel dining room when suddenly I became aware of people milling around on the terrace outside and pointing up at the sky. And there, sure enough, were the storks, hundreds upon hundreds of them, swirling around the minarets of the Blue Mosque before heading off towards Kadıköy where I could see them swarming in an enormous circle like a hot-air balloon over the harbor. I glanced down at my watch. It was 10:30 a.m. Now, how do they manage to do that, I asked myself, without the aid of calendars or watches, and yet with such spot-on regularity? But then it's a bit like that in Göreme right now. The evening air has started to have a distinct nip in it, and the nights are drawing in. My neighbors are busy with their preparations for winter -- the pekmez (molasses) making, the salça (tomato paste) making, the yüfka (flat bread) making. Anyone who hasn't got their coal in already is starting to fret about availability and price. And amongst those who are able to, plans are already being laid for the massed escape from the Cappadocian winter.
Just as the storks were heading for Africa to while away the winter months in comfort before heading north again in the spring, so several of my friends will be shipping out to escape the snow and ice. Last year we were blessed with an exceptionally mild winter, so no one is holding their breath for anything but misery this year. India, Australia, New Zealand -- they all sound infinitely more appealing places in which to hole up until the sun starts shining again.
For myself there can be no such easy escape though. Having spent much of the summer in İstanbul, I'm resigned to the prospect of six months cooped up in the house with an anxious eye on the electricity meter/bill. There are consolations, of course. Come November, and the village will revert back to what it still is at heart -- a small Anatolian community in the middle of nowhere. A few intrepid tourists will grace us with their presence, but mostly the restaurants will close down, and the population will dwindle to a core few hardy souls, and those who lack the means to run away. After the long, busy summer, it's the time when we'll be able to sit down and get to know each other again. Sure, we'll be huddled round stoves while we're doing it, but still, it's a wonderful re-bonding experience.
Then some time around April, the evenings will grow warmer, the nights will stretch out again and the escapees will come trickling back with stories of adventure. Now all I need is for someone to tell me the precise day and time on which those storks will be flying back over Sultanahmet…
Pat Yale lives in a restored cave-house in Göreme in Cappadocia.
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