It was another dismal day today, so I totally failed at taking some photos.

But tomorrow I’m going to write (a small bit) about my trip to Turkey, with some photos to accompany it.

I was truly awful at updating my previous journal with details on my travels, hopefully I can make amends — to myself, and to my friends and family — by trying to chronicle a small fraction of what I actually got up to.

To keep you sated, here’s one picture from the Topkapi Palace, overlooking the Bosphorus: [SinglePic not found]

Well, the rolling edelweiss-covered hills of Austria are kind of similar to the black, imposing mountains of  Eastern Anatolia, in that they’re both big and mountainous… but I guess the similarities stop there.

BUT it is a good title, as I’m going to tell you about the start of my trip to Turkey, which begun in Istanbul: Constantinople, the home of Christianity until ‘The Great Schism’ (a great name) in the 11th century,  when Roman Catholicism split from Eastern Orthodoxy (the Greeks, the Balkans, etc.)

In fact, an awful lot of early Christian and Islamic history occured in Turkey. People forget that Christianity was even larger before the Great Schism. After  its ‘ratification’ by Roman Emperor Constantine in 313 AD, and then being made the official religion in 380 AD by Emperor Theodosius, Christianity grew at an immense pace, dwarfing and absorbing any of the existing polytheistic religions in Europe, and later North and South America.

After the Schism, Christianity left much of Asia Minor, allowing the new (relatively) Islamic religion to flourish, resulting in the almost polarised West/East Christianity/Islamic geographical split that we see today.

Enough basic history of the region. Nowadays, Turkey is a secular/Islamic nation — Islam is certainly the national religion, but it’s not forced like in many other Middle-Eastern countries, and it’s also not run with ‘Islamic law’ — it has been a democracy since the fall of the Ottoman Empire, shortly after the First World War. Atatürk (Mustafa Kemal), with his revolutionary party formed a new, democratic government. It was a single-party system for about 30 years though, which made Atatürk a bit of a tyrant… but who cares, democracy is over-rated anyway. Maybe I’ll rant about benevolent monarchy one day…

So… fast-forward to June 2007, and I’m at Heathrow airport. For some reason I booked a 7am flight to Istanbul — something about making the most of my time there — and as I simply couldn’t get to Heathrow at 5am in the morning, my dad had taken me there at midnight, to wait for 5 hours. It’s amazing just how hard it is to sleep on a steel chair, with solid metal arm-rests between each. No way to lay down, no way to sprawl, and a camera and laptop worth worth over £5000. There was no way Iwas going to be able to sleep, surrounded by other crazy travelers that also thought a 5-hour nap on a metal bench was a good idea.

After a 3 hour flight (about 90% of the cute girls I saw in Turkey were on the planes), I was in Istanbul, tired, but ready to go! The first thing I noticed were the cobbles. Ancient, well-worn and gappy cobbles. If you’ve been to Rome, you have some idea of what it’s like to walk on cobbles that have irregular few-inch gaps between them. Luckily I had hiking boots, or I’d probably still be nursing a complex ankle fracture. These cobbles surrounded the Sultanahmet region — the core of old Istanbul — the region that features both the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia. The Hagia Sophia was the largest cathedral in the world for over a 1000 years. It’s been standing since 500AD, and for a long time was the center of the Eastern Orthodox religion, until the Ottoman Turks came marching in, in 1453AD, and converted it into a mosque.

Not many people know this, but most mosques and old Christian churches look almost identical, because almost all early mosques were converted sites of Christian worship — and the design of the basilica (dome) goes back even further, to the Roman and Greek pantheon of Gods. Religion is awfully incestuous and plagiarised…

After an awe-inspiring trudge around both of the mosques (in the Sophia I had to pretend I was a Muslim so that I could get inside the area of worship to take some photos — I’m such a rebel), I stepped outside into a beautiful day now wide-awake, and ready to absorb as much of Istanbul as I could in 4 days. Little did I know, I was about to be accosted.

While I was trying to find my bearings, I asked a pleasant-looking man if he knew the way to the Grand Bazaar. ‘Just head in that direction, it’s about 15 minutes away.’ Giving him my thanks, I headed off, big camera around my neck, and looking every part the affluent tourist. It was after the second road-crossing that I noticed the guy that gave me directions was following me. He was keeping his distance, but he was certainly following me… and gaining.

As my pulse picked up its pace, so did my stride. It seemed I was about to have my very first chase around the dirty back streets of Istanbul only hours after arriving. I was about to be Aladdin, fleeing from the guards, with just an apple for protection. Sure, I didn’t have a pet monkey called Aboo, or anywhere near the same amount of dexterity, but damn, I was excited!

Find out what happened next, in part two!

Read part one from yesterday, before reading on…!

Ducking into a side-street I quickly caught my breath. Being a computer geek, it probably comes as no surprise that my muscle tone isn’t fantastic. My fingers, well, they are finely-honed, agile implements capable of typing at 150 words per minute. But my legs and heart? Not so great. Back at university, when I was a little more active, it might’ve been a different story, but now I’m in some dark alley panting and wheezing.

It wasn’t until last year that I finally caught up with all of the Godfather/American Gangster films, so at the time I didn’t realise this, but the sun coming from behind me created a perfect silhouette. My persistent pursuer saw me clearly in the alley, smiled a little creepily and started to close the gap. It’s then that I did something I hadn’t done for about 10 years: I sprinted. With my legs wobbling beneath me, head pounding and my heart trying its best to leap out of my chest, I started to put some distance between us.

I should’ve figured at the time, by the way he was striding quickly but with delicious intent, that I wasn’t going to get away. He surely knew it; it’s just a shame I didn’t — I probably took a year or two off my life, running around Istanbul like a spastic, with hardly any sleep (and a meager Turkish Airlines breakfast).

Eventually, I found myself outside the Grand Bazaar. It wasn’t quite what I expected — I expected more of an open-air affair, like the one in Aladdin. Apparently that kind of bazaar is more common in Egypt and Morocco. In Istanbul you have this massive maze of crisscrossing streets; narrow streets, lined with shops, each one armed with an owner trying to sell you his wares. I explored for a while, figuring the guy couldn’t possibly be following me through such a massive throng of people. I even stopped for a 20-cent class of freshly squeezed orange juice and marveled at how the same thing could cost 8 euros in the Istanbul airport.

I even bought a nice piece of silk that my girlfriend would later turn her nose up at, because she preferred the emerald bracelet I bought. Women, huh. I thought it was diamonds that were the key to a girl’s heart…

Before long, I caught a glimpse of my predator behind me. Somehow he’d kept up with me; I guess he just knew the area a whole lot better than some pesky tourist. My trip to the Bazaar was over and I headed out, along some tiny street, back towards the mosques. To be honest, I was starting to tire, and my rationality had started to kick back in. I really doubted that he wanted to kill me, in broad daylight, surrounded by hundreds of tourists. So I promptly stopped and sat down with my back against a wall, waiting for him to catch up.

Muhammad: You come buy some carpets? My uncle’s shop is just around the corner.
Seb: wheezing. You must be kidding. You followed me, to make sure I went to your uncle’s store to buy a… carpet?
Muhammad: Yes. Follow me, sir.

And so I had my first, true Turkish experience. ‘Apple tea, sir?’ Sure, don’t mind if I do. I found out later that if they really like you, they get out the liquor — some kind of brandy — but they obviously didn’t like me all that much, after I hauled ass half way across central Istanbul, as they only offered me apple tea.

For about an hour a guy tried to flog me carpets that ranged from 250 euros to about 4000 euros — and that was just for the small ones.  ‘This one would be a lovely gift to your mother.’ Sorry mum, but I just don’t love you enough. It was informative though, and I learnt all sorts of exciting things, like the number of knots per square inch, and how silk carpets are far superior to other threads. It takes about 9 months for some young woman, in a hut somewhere in the Eastern mountains of Turkey to weave a 1 meter silk rug — thus the insane price, the man said.

I finally managed to get out of the shop — it took about 20 minutes from me standing up, to actually being allowed out of the shop — I couldn’t help but think I’d really upset these guys by not buying a carpet. I’d sipped their tea, and rubbed my feet on their rugs. I’d flaunted their hospitality.

Then I reminded myself that a creepy guy called Muhammad had stalked me across Istanbul. Something told me this was just the opening act of  a trip that would turn end up being far more interesting than I had anticipated.

(This follows on from my eventful stay in Istanbul — you can read part 1 or part 2 of my Istanbul story, if you want to ‘catch up’! There are photos in this story, towards the end.)

After a 3 day stay in Istanbul I said goodbye to the creepy carpet salesmen, the beautiful mosques and ankle-breaking cobbles (Rome was worse on the cobble-front, but only just). I jumped on a rather large commercial jet down to Antalya, the beach tourism capital of Turkey — Istanbul has the culture, and Antalya has the mile-long golden beaches and 18-30 clubs. Just a slight change from its role as naval base for Pergamon back in 150BC.

I didn’t see much of the beaches, mind. I was too busy exploring the lovely ‘old city’ of Antalya (called Kaleici) which was a lot more exciting than the over-developed touristy strip that ran the length of the beach (and thus the entire city). It was on the way back to lovely hotel (some kind of huge, converted barn), from the old city, that I took a shortcut through the ghetto.

I didn’t know it was the ghetto at the time, obviously. You see, I have a very good built-in compass. I can run around a very busy city all day and then work out which side-road I can take to ‘cut the corner’ back to my hotel. It’s a great ability, and it’s saved me a lot of time during my travels. It’s also led me into some interesting places… like the Antalya Ghetto. I think the first hint was the smell; the smell hit my senses like hammer. Hoping to ‘push through’ this entirely new and unpleasant smell, I started to descend into some kind of subway (I have no idea why in hindsight, but it was in the right direction, so…)

I reached the bottom of the stairs and looked around.

Now, I’m sure most of you will agree that pet stores are fairly cruel to the animals. It can’t be fun for the animals, caged up day after day, awaiting some kind soul to buy them. I tell you, pet stores had nothing on this underground pit of animal depravity. I’d found the source of the smell; hell, I’d hit the mother lode of all disgusting smells — pet shop after pet shop. In what was obviously some kind of shopping mall 10 or 15 years ago, there was now about ten (10!) shops peddling poorly nourished pets. This was pet central for Antalya, I guess. I won’t go into too much detail, as it’s probably fairly upsetting to read about, but let’s just say that you shouldn’t put 10 rabbits in a meter-square cage. And not clean it out for a week.

Moving on from the Petshop Promenade of Doom… the highlight of my stay in Antalya was undoubtedly my trip to Thermessos (historically Termessos), the unsurmountable and unconquerable Pisidian city that sits a mile up the mountain of Solymos (it’s actually in the Taurus Mountains, which I didn’t know until now — that’s my star sign!). Because of its location (at the top of a damn mountain), and because Alexander the Great decided that it wasn’t worth the effort, it’s now one of the finest-preserved ancient cities in the world.

About half way into the climb up the side of the treacherous rocky mountainside, a path strewn with sharp-as-glass ancient marble chips, I began to realise why Alexander gave up. It was that kind of wise decision that probably let him conquer and rule the expansive Macedon empire.

Being less-wise than the Great, I continued to pick my way up the path. I knew I was getting close when I started walking over meter-thick chunks of marble that were once the outer city walls. It was rather odd climbing up steps made of the crumbled remains of a 2500 year old city. I knew now why the guy at the ticket office (you have to pay about 1 euro to be allowed onto this highly touristic mountain climb of death) took one look at my tarantulan legs and said in broken English ‘They will be useful!’

I finally crested the last few meters of the climb and was rewarded with a staggering view over the valley below the mountain.

The photo shows what much of the run-down city was like: nature meets ancient civilisation. The past 2500 years have left the city in pretty bad shape, with all sorts of rare plant species growing through and around ancient temples of Zeus and Artemis. It was pretty spooky walking around an ancient city, not a sound to be heard except for the chirp of crickets. I didn’t see a single person for my entire stay… in June!

I think my favourite moment was standing at the focus of a 5,000-seat theatre and singing at the top of my lungs. Well, more like shouting. For a brief moment I was transported back in time, to a time when great Greek orators and philosophers such as Demosthenes or Plato ruled the roost and enlightened people the world over hung onto their words. For a moment, standing there, I was one too! Hopefully I wasn’t just experiencing the past; hopefully it was more of an omen of things to come.

I’m afraid there’s no cliff-hanger to this little story, I just wanted to talk about my exploration of Thermessos. The next story is a whole lot more exciting though, as I decided to venture into a rather deep cave, a mile up another mountain and about 10 miles from the nearest town. Obviously I didn’t die or anything, or I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale… but it was a close call. My bones almost joined those of our ancestors that made their home in the caves of Karain 200,000 years ago!

(Assuming we have a maker, of course… It would be hard to meet a big primeordial clump of star dust. He wouldn’t be very talkative at least)

This continues from story from Thermessos, Antalya in Turkey.

Descending from Thermessos was a lot quicker than the hazardous climb up. I got to enjoy the view all of the way too, as I was less focused on trying not to pass out from the strain. The only exercise I get is when I’m on holiday, so it always comes as a bit of a system shock when I decide to throw my unfit and moobed geeky body into a mile-long hike up a mountain.

Catching my breath, I knocked on the window of the taxi to wake up my driver (he’d locked the door, even though there wasn’t anyone else for miles around). For most people, a trip to Thermessos would be enough to fill a whole day of a holiday; not for a traveller that’s travelling alone! I could hardly head back to the hotel in the middle of the day. I didn’t fancy sitting on a beach. The only real option was to continue exploring; it was why I came to Turkey, right?

So I’d hired this taxi driver to drive me around Antalya for the day. It worked out very cheap — far cheaper than one of the tour groups — and I could go anywhere I liked! I think it cost about 30 euros to be driven around for 6 hours; I couldn’t complain… or could I? <dramatic beat>

We had arrived at Karain. The taxi parked and I stepped out. I was greeted with a little museum with yet another ominous path leading up an even steeper-looking mountain than Thermessos’.

‘Here we go again…’

This time it only cost me about half a euro and at least the first 100 meters of the climb had a nice all-weather path. After that it turned into rocky shelves cut into the mountainside, but beggars can’t be choosers. God knows there was no one to complain to anyway. It was well into the afternoon now and I was getting pretty hot. I was running out of water fast. I figured I should probably take some nice photos, so at least when the hunting dogs finally discovered my corpse I would have a lasting photographic legacy.

I was almost the top when I took that photo. Apparently the plains you see below are highly fertile, and the reason the cave of Karain has been inhabited since the Paleolithic age. These cave men would’ve gone out to hunt and then returned to these caves (safe havens, due to their seclusion, and the fact they’re a mile up a mountain…) to prepare and cook their food.

The caves of Karain are incredibly special because historians have tracked continued inhabitance for 25,000 years. People lived in them until 1700AD! That means while the Egyptians were building pyramids, or the Sumerians were discovering polytheism, people were hanging out in the caves of Karain. They might’ve discovered how to work iron or bronze in these caves; they are old. Prehistorically old.

Tt was pretty cool, then,  to be traipsing around these dark, deep caves. Sitting and enjoying a sandwich where cave men might’ve once sat and spit-roasted wild boar. Of course there was a few romantic scrawlings carved into the walls, but I felt that was only fitting, considering how many people have probably had sex there, over the years. Imagine how many generations were conceived there, over a 200,000 year period. I was probably sitting in the most sexed-up spot in the world!

It was after eating my sandwich, and a little more wondering around, I suddenly wished Turkey had embraced tourism a little more. I’d taken one turn too many and suddenly found myself in a rather dark and dank portion of the cave. Quickly whirling around, looking for some hint of the way out, I lost my footing and fell onto my ass.  I then started sliding down a rather steep ramp and finally faceplanted into one of those rather spikey-looking walls that you can see in the photo above.

‘Ow.’

I sat still for a while, trying to regain my senses. I was concussed, but fortunately I’m blessed with a very rational mind. I only screamed for help a couple of times before I realised it was stupid. No one could hear me scream (hah). I’m not sure how long I was there — there’s no sunlight in there — but it was probably for an hour or so. It was actually the thought of my poor taxi driver sitting, waiting at the foot of the mountain that drove me to think of a solution; well, and the fact that I was way too young to die.

Extending my telescopic monopod, I used it to support my weight as I slowly got to my feet. I gradually worked my way out of the cave, one step at a time. After a day trip into the middle of no where, it was definitely time to head back to civilisation and the associated luxuries… like paths… and other people.

I did manage to take one hell of a photo from outside the cave though. It was ironic that the profession that had almost killed me — chasing the perfect photo — also saved my life. Go monopod!

I spent another couple of days in Antalya (you can find more photos in my Turkey collection) but finally I said goodbye to the tourist trap, packed my bags, and headed off to Izmir… and Ephesus!

Oh wait, that was me, on my own, walking into a cave-bar in Cappadocia, Turkey.

Cappadocia is utterly unique in its geology and geography; so fantastically unique that a bar in a cave is nothing special. It’s often referred to as a ‘moonscape’ purely because it looks so other-worldly.

Before you an appreciate the oddness of the landscape, you need to know how it was formed. The area was once volcanic, and over thousands of years massive amounts of volcanic ash were deposited. Finally there was a huge eruption that covered most of the area in hard, metamorphic rock (like basalt or onyx). Since then, the mountains of ash and rock have been eroded to form quite unique and stunning formations, like the Penis Valley.

It’s actually been renamed ‘Love Valley’ in recent years — damn local tourist board! — but it quite clearly shows you just how weird Cappadocia looks. Newlyweds are meant to stay the night at the foot of the giant penises as some kind of fertility ritual. I’m not sure if ‘modern’ couples do it, or just the cave-dwelling types.

And so we’re finally back to the topic of caves and troglodytes again.

This continues on from my stories of Istanbul and Antalya, and I suggest you read both for some backstory, some history of Turkey, and some pretty photos.

Flying into Cappadocia I was greeted with a fantastic view; I was also greeted with the shortest runway I’ve ever seen. We were in a large, commercial jet (200 seats), and somehow our pilot was going to squeeze this thing onto a runway about a mile long. Obviously we made it, or I wouldn’t be here now, but it was mighty close. The airport itself was more of a warehouse, with a rusty corrugated iron roof. Bag reclaim was… well… it’s hard to explain just how much of a joke it was. But I’ll try.

We were on the tarmac having just disembarked, watching our bags being unloaded. About 20 feet away was the entrance to the terminal, and an ominous looking hole in the wall with a plastic curtain dangling down to cover it. We walked through some double doors, and to our right was a conveyer belt about 10 foot long. About 100 of us were in this tiny reclaim room — it can’t have been more than a few meters across — waiting for our bags to arrive. And sure enough, the bags arrive, pushed through the plastic curtain onto a static conveyer belt. Obviously the motor that drove the belt no longer worked. The bags quickly began to pile up, until all 100 of us lurched forward into the messy morass of bags, hunting eagerly for our possessions.

I finally escaped the fracas, and the airport, to find my cave hotel pick-up waiting. We made quick progress to Urgup, one of the few towns in central Cappadocia. As we drove, the landscape became more and more… penile. Finally, after driving up a few steep inclines, I arrived at my base of operations for the next few days — a cave. It was a very nice cave, with a bed, a shower and even electricity, but it was still a cave that had been carved into the ancient volcanic ash by special cave crafting troglodytes. Just kidding about the troglodytes bit — but there are specialised cave makers in Cappadocia!

The entire area is literally covered with caves that have been carved out of the soft, volcanic pummice. Until the 1970s the caves were actively populated, until the government finally deemed them unsafe for living in (something about cave ins killing some poor nomadic hippies). Nowadays you can’t technically live in a cave, but through some loophole, if the cave is attached to a normal dwelling, it’s OK! As a result, you can stay in a handful of cave hotels in the region. It was quite a unique experience; made even more so by the fact that I had wireless internet, a comfy bed and then, when I looked up, I could see proof that I was living in a cave that had been lovingly hand-crafted, perhaps thousands of years ago.

The highlight of my trip to Cappadocia, and the main reason I’d flown 2 hours to central Turkey, was for an at-dawn hot air balloon flight over this volcanic Turkish moonscape. I set my alarm for 4am and prayed I’d be awake and ready for a 4:30am pick-up. Before I knew it, we were driving across the backroads and rough-hewn mountainside looking for a good place to take off from.

I’m not going to ply you with thousands of photos taken high in the sky (you can view lots of them in the Turkey gallery), but I’ll give you one of my favourites. Our balloon was being piloted by Lars, one of the most experienced balloonists in the world. Apparently he had more total hours in the air than anyone else in the region, possibly the world, and he liked to prove it by dipping into valleys, jetting along, not more than 6 inches from the mountainside, and then lifting quickly out with a thrust from the massive burners above us. We’d quickly ascend thousands of feet and  look down at where we’d just been.

If you look at some of the photos in the Turkey gallery you can see this valley far below the balloon. Quite a thrill, I assure you, especially during the rapid ascents, and definitely one of the highlights of my short-but-eventful life.

Lars ended the amazing flight by landing the balloon on a trailer the same size as the basket. I kid you not: he landed it on a trailer about 2 meters long and 1.5 meters wide. What a hero!

That concludes this entry, but next time I will talk about the other important factor of Cappadocia’s history: its ancient civilisations of cave-dwellers and their churches. In their caves you can find sites of Christian religious significance dating back to 300AD — the oldest remaining sites in the world.

This continues on from my hot air balloon flight over Cappadocia in central Anatolia, Turkey. If you like, you could also read about all of my adventures in Turkey.

Below us, as we flew over the unique, wild moonscape of Cappadocia, were thousands of hand-carved dwellings and churches. From above, we couldn’t make out much — just valley after valley of ancient villages and cities. I couldn’t wait to get down there and actually explore on foot; getting lost in some of the most ancient man-made structures on Earth is a dream very few people can fulfil, but I was about to!

I’d booked a small tour to Goreme (Göreme) National Park for later that day. Just three of us, and a tour guide. To say I was excited would be an understatement. Fortunately, I would be sharing the tour with a lovely, young American couple — and Americans can’t get enough of hairy, bouncy easily-excitable British guys!

Cappadocia and its ancient cities are so unique and so special that it’s actually a UNESCO ‘World Heritage’ site. That’s no surprise, considering some of the world’s most ancient, recorded history occurred there: It was the home of the Hittites in the Bronze Age and later provided considerable resistance to Alexander the Great, even as he was riding high on the wave of a world-spanning empire after destroying the Persian Empire.

Coming up to ‘modern’ history, and birth of Christ, Cappadocia was a safe haven for religious types. While Christians the world over were being persecuted for their cultish beliefs, priests were holing up in the hand-hewn caves now found in Goreme National Park. While it’s impossible to date when the structures actually became churches, it’s believed there were sites of Christian worship long before Emperor Constantine ratified Christianity as the religion of the Roman Empire.

Today, Goreme has the remains of the oldest churches in the world. To tell you that it’s weird to walk through a hole in the wall and find a 10th century Byzantine fresco would be a gross understatement. Around 900AD, the monastic complex at Goreme was carved out, and within 300 years, scores of churches were cut into the earth itself. Fast forward to today and there are still more than 10 fantastically preserved churches; churches that you can simply walk into!

What I found interesting was how small these churches were. Perhaps due to the constraints of their tools, or their knowledge of engineering, the largest churches were only 3 or 4 meters square. You’re walking into a single room — soom of which were vaulted — literally plastered with murals and frescoes. I wonder if they were small for another reason though: perhaps these churches were built back when religion wasn’t about being grandiose and self-important. Once upon a time, religion was probably about prayer, and finding solace in some greater entity than ourselves. A small room, with a priest, would be more than suitable for that, right?

Somewhere along the line, probably hand-in-hand with advances in engineering, churches became bigger, vaster and more pompous. If you’ve been to a truly huge cathedral, I think you can relate to that feeling of awe and wonderment as you cross the threshold and look up at the stained glass window above the altar — but that’s the majesty of the building, not God touching you. I assume that churches grew in size as faith swelled, and their eagerness to reach the firmament increased. It’s the same reason banks are always large, imposing structures — they inspire you to trust and believe in whoever dwells within, whether it’s the bank manager or high priest.

I don’t want to get too stuck into the topic of religion, as it’s rather obvious that the churches in Goreme were certainly not used as some kind of control structure; there were simply too many Churches for a single priest, or some particular rites of worship, to prevail! They were meant only as places of worship; vestibules of silence where you could be on your own, or with God.

We poked around for a few hours, scampering from room to room, trying to avoid the incredibly hot summer sun. There were houses, baths and even halls where they would gather to eat (but again, they were small, only a few meters across). My favourite features, though they scared me senseless, were the pitch-black escape tunnels that ran out of the city into adjoining valleys.

Building a city at back of a valley is already fairly hard to penetrate — you have to climb a mile-long incline to get there, with almost no cover — but, if an aggressive force actually made it to the top, there were a few tunnels that had been carved, by hand, out of the solidified volcanic ash.  These tunnels — which could be longer than a mile! — would enable the women and children to safely escape to another valley.

They also enabled poor, hapless, home-sick tourists like myself to escape to… ’safety’. Egged on by some hopelessly enthusiastic American (’Dude, I bet it’d be totally awesome…’), I finally steeled myself and climbed up some near-vertical stairs into the escape tunnel itself.

What followed was an experience I don’t really want to relive, but I will anyway, for your sake and certainly not mine. The stairs you see in the photo were just the beginning — there were two more flights, each one more run-down and life-threatening than the next. On the last flight, before the tunnel itself, the American in front of me slipped, fell, and broke the torch he was holding.

We were plunged into complete darkness. Most people have never experienced real darkness — the kind of darkness that you only get when you’re surrounded on all sides by at least 100 meters of rock. You’d probably consider a dark, moonless night ‘quite dark’; dark enough to bump into other people, at least. Let me tell you, a moonless night is about 10 times brighter than that escape tunnel — an escape tunnel that I was sure would shortly become my final resting spot. How ironic.

‘Eric?’ I called out quietly. I don’t know why I called out quietly; probably because of some primordial urge to lay low and pray the velociraptor doesn’t eat me.

‘Seb?’ came back the hushed, not-quite-so-enthusiastic voice of Eric the Enthusiastic American.

‘You’re right, this was totally awesome.’

‘I think I’ve busted my ankle, Seb. I can’t move.’

And so we crawled on in darkness. Or rather, I crawled on, using my super-human inner geek-strength to drag Eric behind me. Minutes went by, and soon hours. Scrapes from the jagged lining of the tunnel turned into bruises when we tumbled down some stairs and ended up in a pile of scared, sweaty man flesh. But we persisted, and eventually — about 2 hours later — we emerged into another valley to be greeted by a beautiful Anatolian sunset.

We were cut up and bleeding, shaken and stiff, rendered blind by the return of the sun. Worse than all that though: we had no idea where we were. The agreed meet-up time had long past, but when you don’t know where you are, it’s very hard to know where to go. Somewhere, Eric’s wife was eagerly awaiting his return.

I stood up, and looked down at Eric’s scratched, crumpled heap of a body.

‘She’ll be wondering where I am, Seb…’

‘I’m not the most athletic person in the world, Eric. I’m not sure I can carry you all the way to safety, after dragging your broken ass through a mile-long half-meter-wide tunnel…’

He grunted pathetically up at me. I sighed deeply.

And that’s how I walked off into the sunset, with an American called Eric in my arms.

Phew, I almost missed Watery Wednesday! Well, here in the UK anyway — I guess it’s still the early evening over in America. And if you’re in the Far East, well… sorry, it’s Watery Thursday!

This photo was taken from Topkapi Palace in Istanbul, Turkey, the home of Turkey’s sultans for hundreds of years. Then Turkey became a democracy, and it’s now just a tourist attraction.

As I was walking around, a HUGE storm descended, and within a matter of minutes, a beautiful, blue sky was replaced with, as you can see, a very angry looking cloud indeed. The massive flow of the Bosphorus instantly peaked up, ready for action. And that’s when I took the photo (which is incidentally, one of my favourite photos!)

If you’d like to see some more photos from my trip to Turkey, have a look in the gallery!

You can find more watery, and alliteration-friendly photos over at Watery Wednesday.

Phop, phop, phop.

The sound of a fan mere inches from my gonads. The slightest of  slips and, in spectacular fashion, all hope of future Sebastians goes down the drain. Earlier, some of my leg hair got caught between the blades and it hurt like buggery. A small price to pay for wind-chilled testicles though; if they get too hot it can make me impotent, right?

I took my shirt off hoping for a slight reprieve and it worked for a while. But now I’ve soaked through the chair I’m sitting in and not only am I hot, I’m sticky. Sticky.

I’m amazed that my keyboard hasn’t yet short-circuited. I’ve been looking into getting one of those plastic covers that they use in McDonalds to prevent them from getting gunged up with grease. Mind you, death-by-keyboard-electrocution has to be the best way a geek can go…

It’s made all the worse by spending 80 to 90% of my waking life in front of three computers, four screens and an amplifier that generates enough heat that my cats always flock to it in the winter. It’s about 3 kilowatts in total, which is great in winter… but not in the summer. Perhaps I should get out more I often find myself thinking as I swing around in my computer chair, waving my arms about like a retard and desperately trying to create a breeze.

But in a brief moment of clarity I realise I shouldn’t be moaning or despairing: melting into an amorphous puddle of goo in a bedroom surrounded by high-tech equipment with a tall glass of cold, clean water is a lot more desirable than passing out in the wild undergrowth of Central Anatolia, Turkey.

And so it is, with gooey stumps that would make a leper proud, with gangly digits that were once well-formed and finely-honed typing machines, I write this entry.

I had planned to write something else, something deep, but the pervasive heat is debilitating. Instead, I’m going to tell you about the few times I’ve almost died of heatstroke or dehydration. What a thrilling topic for a blog entry. I’ve interspersed a few pretty photos to make it less boring.

June 29th 2009, Sussex, England

(See picture at start of entry)

Consumed four pints (2 litres) of water… and sweated it all out again through my fingers. Laptops should be outlawed in the summer. Sat outside in the sun for a while hoping the breeze would somehow utilise the sweat that glistens from every part of my body. No breeze, just felt like my brain was being baked while still safely within the confines of my skull. The feeling of sweat dripping from under your arms onto your hips and legs is quite unique, but not entirely unpleasant.

July 2007, Cappadocia, Turkey

In hindsight it was perhaps rather stupid to take a taxi ride out into the middle of nowhere and then pick my way over the weird and wonderful ‘moonscape’ terrain of Cappadocia. On a normal day I guess it would’ve just been silly, but in the middle of summer with temperatures reaching over 40C (100F) and only a small bottle of water it was stupid. I was very nearly a winner of my very own Darwin Award. As with most of my recent exploits, it was obviously to take photos — and it was probably worth it, despite the near-death experience. Check out the lovely hand-carved cave that I found while crawling along the ground, gasping for air and praying that someone would find me, or I would find civilisation. This is probably over 1500 years old!

Somewhere in South England, 1996

I actually keeled over in some woodlands by school, back when I was 12. We’d been exploring (as kids do, when they go to private schools in the countryside and they’re skipping a class they don’t like) and… I guess I pushed it too hard. I’ve never been the fittest person in the world — the thought of exercising just for the sake of being fit is completely foreign to me — I always thought I’d rather be reading or sitting in front of a computer learning something.  The pen is mightier than the sword, right?

Anyway, where was I…

Yes, I passed out in the woods and my friends had to carry me back to school. I am told that, to avoid getting into trouble, they conjured up a great story that involved me being bitten by a snake. Unfortunately, we had leaves and twigs in our hair — oops!

Ostia Antica (30 miles from Rome), October 2008

Instead of Pompeii I decided to go to Ostia Antica, an ancient ruin that has always been overshadowed by its volcanically-preserved sister. I think Pompeii is meant to be in better condition but a) Ostia Antica is only half an hour instead of 4 hours from Rome, and b) it’s almost completely devoid of tourists — so I went to Ostia and it was awesome! Except for the nearly-dying bit.

For the 8 hours I was there I saw three people — and we’re talking about a large city that once had a population of 75,00 people! Originally it had acted as the harbour city of ancient Rome between the 7th century BC and 4th century AD, and some pesky Arab pirates finally caused its downfall in the 9th century. Anyway, I ended up very lost in some ancient Mithraic catacombs; lost and without water.. in the dark. Let me tell you something: ancient religious sites are scary. Dark and scary and damp and silent… except the occasional skitterings of creatures you will never see. I will write about it properly as my travel stories of Italy have finally reached Rome — but the point is… actually, I don’t know what the point is.

Why am I writing in this weather? I’m going to look for another fan…

These are my legs, Jesus sandals and shorts.
Sorry for opening with such a picture, it’s unforgivable. But all will become clear as you read on…

Being a man, body hair, schlong and all, there are some things that do not come naturally. Remembering anniversaries. Washing my hands after using the bathroom. And organisation, planning. Lists, I hate lists. I might come across as a deliberate, slightly-gay, well-measured guy that organises his books and DVDs alphabetically, and makes sure everything is just so, but I assure you that isn’t the case. There are a few things that I’m good at: photography for one, I’m perfectionist in that regard. Video games? I’m down-right pro at video games. Rational thought too: if you want someone to make the right choice at the right moment, I’m your man.

But these are living-in-the-moment affairs. It’s the long, over-arching planning that I suck at. If the devil is in the details, I’m Jesus. I don’t keep a diary or even a wall calendar marked with important dates. The only birthdays I usually remember are my parents’. When someone asks me if I’m available next weekend I shrug non-committally, say ’sure!’ and pray no one else has requested my presence elsewhere (I don’t have many friends so I’m usually safe in this department…) In short, I’m a man and I require a good woman to do my thinking and planning for me. Currently this is a role fulfilled by my mother, but I’m sure there’ll be a lucky wife eventually…

[If you can't deal with vivid 'male bits' imagery, the next bit is probably not for you. If you do like stories of this kind, go check out Lilu's blog!]

Anyway, to cut to the chase: I’m the kind of guy that packs his bags only a few hours before he leaves. And I always forget something. I’m fairly experienced at the whole bag-packing thing so I rarely forget anything important — I’ve only forgotten my mobile phone charger once and I’ve never left my passport at home! — but on more than one occasion I have forgotten to pack… underwear. That’s right, I spent 12 days in Turkey, in 40-degree (104F) heat with just a single pair of boxer shorts. (Don’t worry, I had two pairs of socks, my hygiene wasn’t that bad…)

I’m going to use the same picture so you can look at them again but with this new information in mind!

(See those crinkles? They are well worn. They say ‘kiss’ all over them, if you can’t make it out. And those are red lips printed on.)

You’ve probably heard about the ‘back to front’ and ‘inside out’ techniques of odor-mitigation and boxer freshness longevity (or more simply ‘the underpant inversion method’ as I like to call it). You’ve probably seen it joked about in films like American Pie or Van Wilder. You probably laughed and said ‘Eww! Gross! No Way!’

What you didn’t know is that men actually do it.

I know, it’s too disgusting to contemplate, but men actually wear the same underwear for days or even weeks at a time! With creative folding, those sprays that people use to remove the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and a radiator or hair dryer, a man can stretch out one pair of boxers an awfully long time.

In my case, on no less than three different holidays, I’ve taken only one pair of boxer shorts.

I wore them while clambering over the ancient ruins of Thermessos in Turkey. It’s safe to say I perspired rather heavily in the process. Six days later I was still wearing them when I went for a hot-air balloon ride with five other people — they kept throwing odd glances in my direction (which is not unusual) but instead of staring as they usually do, they grimaced and pinched the bridge of their nose, a look of revulsion spreading across their face.

Then in Prague, through 3 days of drunken debauchery and sweaty hiking around the city, I wore the very same boxers. I had washed them since Turkey though.

Finally, during a 4-day LAN Party, I forgot to bring spare underwear. Four days of sitting on my ass, four days of no showers. In the middle of summer and surrounded by 1000 other gamers and computers.

I had to use rubbing alcohol and a chisel to prise them from my skanky, geeky legs. I even had to get my mother to come and help. What can I say, we’re close.