yesterday i went on a rather rushed tour through and underground city at Selime, from there to the Ihlara valley which is left over from the eruption of mount Hasan, and back, on a hot hazy dusty afternoon. definitely rushed though and our guide, who had a little punk black leather and chrome studs thing goin on, did not give any information that i could not have figured out myself -- except that they call it the pigeon valley because the people who lived there would cut little bird houses into the clay for birds to use. then they would collect the droppings for use as fertilizer.
i figured it was useful to get me out of the hostel and also to introduce me to some new people. and they got us lunch, lentil soup in tin bowls and sizzling entrees cooked over coals in clay plates, and oranges for desert. we ate down by the windy river that runs through the ash brown soil and the volcanic rock, the tall narrow trees that are the ihlara valley. 
then from there a siesta for the hot hour-long drive back through little villages with mosques at either end, houses with garden walls piled out of loose stones, school children doing drills with umbrellas on the asphalt in front of their schools. sometimes only one house on each of the four horizons, the turned over soil rich and dry, and ashen plants, but also the impression of rust: rusting street signs, rusting gates, rusting farm equipment idle in the fields.
then when we arrived back at the hostel i was anxious to get off and out of the hot bus. i forgot to say goodbye to my passing acquaintances on the bus. so, not quite a social experience. not quite an anything.
