Turkey: From Cappadocia to Istanbul, Two Weeks as a Couple

About a 4-hour flight to Istanbul’s SAW airport, one of the few where taxi drivers don’t pounce on you the moment you step outside. A bus to the Taksim neighborhood (27 Turkish lira, about €2.70, a 1 hour 45 minute ride). I get off at the stop, barely time to figure out where I am and where to go, and someone is already rushing at me — Madame Y! She’d been waiting for me there for a little while. She lives in Dubai, I live in France: finding each other again after all that time apart is an immense joy. Off to the hotel through crowded streets, more local than touristy, the main avenue alternating between international chains and traditional shops. Our hotel, tucked away on a side street, does the job, nothing more. An evening stroll through the neighborhood: hookah bars, fish restaurants, impromptu concerts, a surprisingly lively nightlife — as long as you steer clear of the fancier places, the bill stays reasonable. A funny detail: in this neighborhood, which is nonetheless touristy, English is surprisingly uncommon, whether at the hotel, the bar or the restaurant.

A late wake-up, relaxed preparations, booking a hotel in Göreme for the following nights (€51 for 3 nights) — not without difficulty, since Booking.com is simply blocked in Turkey and you have to go through a VPN to access it. A small scare with the hotel keys nowhere to be found as we were leaving, solved by the only real option available: hand back the card and let it go, since nobody seemed to be really in charge of the place. Off to the airport with a very 2021 undercurrent of worry: will we need an antigen test to board? Security waves the question away with an amused flick of the hand. A domestic flight at €36 a seat, barely 1 hour 15 minutes to Nevşehir, an airport so tiny that you step off straight onto the tarmac and walk to the exit through simple sliding doors, without a single corridor or jet bridge — the kind of detail that makes you smile after the usual international hubs. A minivan to Göreme (40 lira, a 45-minute drive), arriving at nightfall around 9 p.m. at a simple but well-located hotel, terrace with a view. First local dinner — a Testi Kebab, a regional specialty cooked in a fully sealed clay pot that the waiter breaks in front of us to serve it — 40 lira and rather tasty. A local EFES beer picked up on the way back to end the evening on the hotel terrace.

Turkish breakfast (cheese pancakes, Turkish coffee, 70 lira for everything) before setting off on foot for Uchisar, through a landscape of volcanic rock sculpted by erosion — Cappadocia’s famous “fairy chimneys.”

A forced detour through a first paid viewpoint (3 lira, the direct path being closed), then an almost solitary 1.5-hour walk, a few low vines the only shade, all the way to the village of Uchisar and its rock-hewn castle (20 lira entry), literally carved into a natural rocky outcrop. The visit leaves you a bit hungry for explanations — no indication of who lived in these rooms carved right into the rock, or since when — but the view from the top, over the surrounding rock formations, is well worth the detour.

Uchisar

Once back down in the village, Uchisar’s main street turns out to be far more touristy than the path leading to it, lined with souvenir shops one after another. A stop at a small café below, with an unbeatable view of the castle, while waiting for the right moment to start the descent to Göreme, punctuated by a sunset break and a walk through the Pigeon Valley, a trail winding through a much greener rocky landscape.

A late dinner in Göreme accompanied by a Turkish singer and his stringed instrument — a sort of harp laid flat. Excitement about the dawn wake-up the next day being what it was, there was no way to fall asleep before 2:30 a.m.

Wake-up at 5 a.m. for THE region’s emblematic spectacle: the first hot air balloons appear from 5:30 a.m. through the bedroom window, just enough time to pull on some pants and climb up to the upper terrace for a breathtaking aerial ballet — hundreds of balloons floating over the fairy chimneys in the early morning light.

Back to bed for an hour before a deliberately laid-back day: coffee in a local place frequented by regulars playing cards, a quiet afternoon at the hotel before the late-day heat. In the late afternoon, off to Love Valley, rock formations of suggestive shape that gave the place its name — less spectacular than Pigeon Valley, but with its share of couples having their portraits taken on horseback, under the eye of escorts who are half guides, half photographers, given how the directions fly (“this angle, that pose”). Back to dinner in a more authentic part of town, artisan shops and alcohol-free restaurants, before a quiet beer on the hotel terrace.

It’s Madame Y’s birthday: wake-up at 4:30 a.m. for a second balloon sunrise, this time from Rose Valley. After a pass through the big parking lot packed with tour buses, we push farther, higher, until we find a completely deserted viewpoint — the aerial ballet that follows will remain one of the great memories of the trip, surrounded by balloons in almost complete silence, far from the crowd a few meters below. Back to rest a little, then a detour through the center before check-out: a small balloon-shaped pendant to mark the occasion, which will join the charm bracelet I had given her earlier — a way of keeping a trace of this rather special day. An afternoon of waiting before the night bus to Antalya (100 lira, 8 hours on the road), then on to Kemer on the Mediterranean coast.

The bus turns out to be rather comfortable after all, not full, we spread out over several seats and get a few hours of sleep along the way.

Arrival at Antalya bus station around 8 a.m., a quick connection to Kemer (14 lira, about 1 hour 30 minutes). A walk to the hotel (Kubert Butik Hotel, €81 for 3 nights, a welcome little pool): it’s 11:30 a.m., the room isn’t ready yet, so we head back out to grab a bite while we wait. Then to the beach: pebbles, very narrow, sun loungers packed side by side from start to finish — the seaside resort in all its splendor. We walk down the main shopping street, shops and souvenir stores galore, before finding a small café for a Turkish coffee — accompanied, without our asking for anything, by a çay (Turkish tea) on the house. Back at the hotel for check-in: the double room with balcony we’d been promised is no longer available, and another is assigned to us until we can switch the next day — rather dark once the curtains are open, with a view of the parking lot and the staff taking their break.

A short break, then back to the beach late in the day, this time all the way to the end, where the loungers finally thin out: the water stays cool and pleasant, but between the uncomfortable pebbles and the crowding, it’s hard to understand the appeal of spending a whole week or more here, as plenty of people evidently do. Continuing along the harbor for a beer, the waitress spontaneously addresses us in Russian — the clientele is overwhelmingly Russian-speaking around here, to the point that the locals don’t even try English first anymore. Then to a restaurant for dinner: with Madame Y being vegetarian, it’s not easy to find something that suits her, meat dominating every menu by a wide margin. An hour of searching later, we finally sit down around 10:15 p.m.

A day that starts gently, the room finally changed (a balcony, which matters for drying clothes after doing laundry in the sink). We enjoy the pool for a bit, then head for a viewpoint south of Kemer for the sunset — the climb is steep and the heat crushing, a few well-deserved breaks along the way, but the calm of the forest (crickets as the only soundtrack) does a world of good after the seaside resort. We stop 300 meters from the summit rather than pushing on, the view of the sea, the town and the mountains being more than enough for a memorable sunset. We head down at nightfall, then stop at the same bar as the day before for an impromptu language exchange — she teaches me a few words of Russian, and I try to return the favor with French.

Up around 9 a.m., a bus to the town of Göynük (14 lira), then 2.5 km on foot under crushing heat to the park entrance — few people on this stretch, only a few tourists on quad bikes passing us, heading for the same entrance. A natural pool marks the entrance, crossed to reach the reception; breakfast and Turkish coffee on site before paying the 20 lira entry fee. The woman at reception runs through the whole commercial program — canyoning, boat trip — in Russian; we opt for just the entrance ticket. Inside, there’s no real hiking trail to speak of: a wide dirt road, driven every 5 minutes by another pickup in a cloud of dust, carries tourists to the various paid attractions (zipline, canyoning, boat trip). The view of the water below is still nice all the same. This “walk” comes to an end fairly quickly at a natural pool framed by bar-restaurants on both sides, with music and people seated at tables — rather disappointing, impossible to go any farther on foot, the rest being reachable only by boat or organized canyoning.

Canyon de Göynük

A few hiking trails do leave from the main road, but they lead to faraway viewpoints or to other villages 15-20 km away — the heat discourages us from venturing out on them. We’d rather get away from the crowd and find a quiet spot below: a tiny natural pool in the river, reached after a slightly acrobatic passage over slippery rocks, water at around 15°C but frankly invigorating in this heat. An improvised picnic (bread, cheese, cucumber, salami) along the river. Back to the park entrance, then a walk to the bus, almost as long as the one inside the park. A quick dip in the hotel pool, then dinner at what’s now our usual beach bar, the one we went back to every evening.

Waking up around 10 a.m., relaxed preparations while waiting for the last clothes to finish drying. When I hand in the keys, I’m asked whether I’ve already paid — I should have said yes, given how things turned out, but honesty wins out… Almost the whole day swallowed up by transport: a send-off Turkish coffee (advertised at 20 lira, paid 25), a bus to Antalya that goes all the way around Kemer under crushing heat (2 hours), a connection to Alanya found with no trouble (35 lira, a little over 2 more hours on the road), then a city bus to the hotel (10.50 lira per person), a stone’s throw from Kleopatra Beach. A decent room for the price (€68 for 3 nights, temperamental wifi, a single electrical outlet) where we wait for news from Madame Y’s friend, who lives there with her partner.

They pick us up around 8 p.m.: a warm reunion between the two friends, laughter ringing out in the back seat. We head for the castle perched on the heights of Alanya, a beautiful view on the approach, but reaching the summit proves impossible: streets too narrow for vehicles to pass each other, a hundred meters or so of collective reversing before we can turn around. Plan B just as successful: an alternative viewpoint right above the “I ♡ Alanya” sign, an equally spectacular view of the castle and the city. A drink shared at a bar-restaurant, we’re the guests, so we’re forbidden to reach for our wallets, it’s a bit of a tradition here… On the way back, a stop for grilled corn enjoyed in the car, a real favorite for Madame Y, then back to the hotel.

A classic Turkish breakfast (egg, cheese, salami, bread, jam, honey, cucumber) facing the beach, then a climb on foot up the same castle we’d tried and failed to reach by car the day before — there’s a cable car option, but we choose to walk, drenched in sweat under the heat but rewarded with a superb view over the whole bay. A rather quick visit, mostly outdoors, with little explanation on site.

Alanya Castle

A long, pleasant descent by a different path, pretty little lanes and sloping stairways, punctuated by a Gözleme break (a sort of savory crepe with spinach and cheese) and a beer with a view over the town, all the way to the harbor where fake pirate ships are moored, a local institution for day excursions — the entrance of one of them, decorated with a “Pirates of the Caribbean” theme, is worth a look. A more anecdotal detail: a surprising number of strength-testing machines lined up along the harbor, punching bag and score included. The evening, on the other hand, is tricky on the food front: the shopping streets near the hotel turn out to be a string of loud-music bars, with no real meal option.

A small odyssey to track down a scooter: the first renter only has a 50cc left in stock and warns us it won’t be enough to climb up to the cave, the second does offer a 125cc but too expensive — we finally find what we want right across from the hotel, a cheaper 50cc. Off to Dim Cave, about thirty minutes away by road — the first time Madame Y has ridden on the back of a scooter. A severe slope puts us to the test along the way: we try to climb it, but halfway up, not powerful enough to go any farther — the first renter was right, but no matter, we turn around and take a gentler route to reach the cave. The cave itself (18 lira entry) is visited in two parts: a small, not very interesting chamber on one side, then a far more impressive passage on the other, an iron staircase winding between stalactites and stalagmites down to a body of water evoking an underground river — all without the slightest crowd.

Back by scooter along the Dim River, a local institution where restaurants set up their tables right in the riverbed, feet in the cool current — but so tightly packed against one another that some of the charm is diluted. A coffee stop all the same on one of these floating terraces. The afternoon ends at Kleopatra Beach, a much more pleasant beach than Kemer’s (sand, then pebbles, then rocks), pizza and beers on a terrace before a cautious swim, Madame Y not being very comfortable in the water.

 Madame Y’s friend and her partner come back to pick us up for a dinner at the harbor, once again on them despite our protests, and even book us a direct shuttle to the airport the next day — much simpler than a chain of buses. Warm goodbyes after a second very good evening in their company.

Returning the scooter, then a shuttle to Antalya airport (a minivan far more comfortable than a regular bus) for a domestic flight to Istanbul — too short to enjoy the comfort of the aircraft. On arrival, there’s no direct connection to Sultanahmet: a bus to Taksim, then the tram (T1 line) to the Sultanahmet stop, in the very heart of the old city, the former Byzantine and then Ottoman capital and today a concentration of the city’s greatest monuments. Crossing the square that separates the Blue Mosque from Hagia Sophia, a discreet but real presence of armed police officers and armored vehicles at certain access points. We settle into a pleasant hotel, with a lovely view of the Bosphorus and the islands from the terrace — after a restaurant hunt complicated by particularly clingy touts, the evening ends simply, a beer bought at a convenience store and enjoyed on the terrace.

The Blue Mosque is closed to visitors, prayer time obliging: off to Hagia Sophia instead, whose entrance, paid back when it was still a museum, is now free — converted back into a mosque in July 2020, after spending eight decades as a museum. The interior, marked by stained glass bearing witness to its past as a church before the Ottoman conquest, can be visited without too much of a crowd.

Hagia Sophia Mosque

On to the Grand Bazaar through a maze of shopping lanes, then getting completely lost — on purpose, this time — in its covered aisles: jewelry, clothes, pastries, rugs, shoes and souvenirs galore, a true labyrinth to let yourself be carried through. We eventually find, as if by miracle, a small outdoor square, providentially quiet, the opposite of all that bustle, to catch our breath over a Turkish coffee before going to get lost a second time in the bazaar.

Back toward the hotel late in the day, a much less pleasant stretch: the whole street is held by restaurant touts, some of whom don’t hesitate to plant themselves squarely in front of us to force us to look at their menu, or to steer us gently but firmly toward their terrace. A small respite in a quiet pub spotted in passing, pleasant music, before heading out again in the evening to a restaurant we’d noticed that very morning: a dürüm (wrap) for me, a veggie kebab for Madame Y that turns out to be a simple mix of rice and vegetables, generous all the same. A warm welcome (Rainbow Restaurant), baklava and tea on the house at the end of the meal, then an extra slice of cake — a customer’s birthday that day, celebrated with the whole room.

A PCR test late in the morning (200 lira), then a walk to the port to cross the Bosphorus by boat (8 lira, about fifteen minutes on a large comfortable boat, the view of both shores worth the trip on its own). Once on the Asian side, in Üsküdar, a local bus (another 8 lira) to the Çamlıca Mosque, completed in 2019 and since then the largest mosque in Turkey — through the underground parking lot, plastic bags for shoes at the entrance, a main prayer hall impressive for its size rather than its refinement. The real highlight of the site is found when you step out onto the esplanade: a spectacular viewpoint over all of Istanbul from the heights.

A walk to the neighboring Çamlıca Park, an equally superb view over the city, a few cheap food stalls for snacking, a lively park without being packed — we settle on the grass for a while before hitting the road again.

On the way back, off to the metro, clean and impeccably maintained (13 lira): after a few stops, the announced connection turns out to actually be the Marmaray, a separate commuter rail line that runs under the Bosphorus. We finally choose to backtrack and take the boat again to cross the Bosphorus back: longer, but with a superb view and a sunset as a bonus. Dinner at the same restaurant as the day before, no baklava this time but watermelon for dessert — much lighter.

Picking up the PCR test results, then a new attempt at the Blue Mosque, still under renovation — a bit less photogenic than expected because of the scaffolding, but we finally got in. A detour through the Egyptian Bazaar (the spice bazaar), calmer and less sprawling than the Grand Bazaar — teas, baklava and spices in a single street, crossed quickly.

Next, on to Galata Tower, on the other side of the Golden Horn: it’s possible to go up to the top, but unfortunately it’s already full — we contemplate it from the base, with the bonus of the improbable sight of a young woman being filmed by her partner in the middle of a TikTok dance in the midst of the crowd.

The end of the day in the Ortaköy district, reached after a good hour by bus: a lively little square on the waterfront, dominated by its mosque and, right behind it, the Bosphorus Bridge — the first of the three suspension bridges linking Europe to Asia, a silhouette that’s not unlike the Golden Gate, and probably one of the most photographed views in Istanbul. The square has a bit of a Christmas market feel — except that instead of souvenirs, about twenty identical little huts all sell the same thing: kumpir (baked potato stuffed with your choice of fillings). For this last evening, we’re determined to find a restaurant with a nice view, even if it ends up boiling down to a kumpir (35 lira, but what a portion!) — a terrace overlooking the mosque, the strait and the bridge, a final evening capped by local wine enjoyed on the hotel terrace.

Waking up at 5:30 a.m. after a very short night: saying goodbye is never easy, she’s heading back to Dubai, I’m going back to France. A last solo trip to the airport — tram, funicular up to Taksim, then a bus, with an interminable wait for Pegasus check-in that was finally settled in a few minutes at the automatic kiosks. Three hours of waiting with no wifi before boarding, and back to France after three weeks of traveling as a couple, between Cappadocia, the Turkish Riviera and Istanbul.