After Michil and Judit left Goreme I stayed two more days and on the second night was aboard a bus to Antakya (Hatay). The last day in Goreme I walked up the other valley originating from Goreme village center (not pigeon valley) and had some rough moments climbing up icy domes and narrow twisting chutes in the soft white Tufa until I emerged with Uchisar in front of me and spinning around to look East my eyes were met by the stunning sight of a completely snow-covered Erciyes mountain. From its wide flanks and base to the dramatic cone – complete shining whiteness in the crisp frozen air. The creamy smooth curves and lumps of Goreme’s water-carved valleys squiggling away from my feet running to the faraway flats before climbing like rows of shark’s teeth to the mesa behind Rose Valley, the rumpled blanket of the hills wherein nestles Ozkanak – a heap behind the sleepy village of Avanos.

Walking my way along this brisk highpoint looking for the first dip in the flats, at the top of my valley I became excited at a squash patch and milked a weasel right there, eyes on Erciyes, mind on Australian wonder-woman Talia giving me a little help in the task.

I found the top of Long Valley at a point where it pinches in before seeming to continue up towards the highlands indefinitely, and wedged myself down the side into the valley though a narrow passage there. It took hours of walking through large tunnels, around points where the path flooded through the thorn bushes, and thin ice patches I would shatter with my walking stick sometimes.

Back at Paradise Pansiyon (the Goreme guesthouse) Mehmet sent me off reiterating his offer to me to work there for a month next summer as family.

The ride to Antakya (Hatay) was uneventful and I shared it unwillingly with a newly married couple who’s woman was an incessant chatterbox. I slept anyway and enjoyed the Kayseri sausage sandwich (with good black olives, tomatoes, hot green peppers, and mayo) and fresh tangerines I had taken along.

In the Antakya bus station I went straight in to the Aleppo ticket office and realized there that I had left my passport in the safe at Paradise Pansiyon 14 hours back in Goreme. I spent a day of incessant calls and reminders to Mehmet and his helper Yaush (who were very loosey-goosey about when the passport might arrive) waiting for my passport to arrive compliments of the same bus company I took from Goreme to Antakya the night before.

Got a great scrub at the Hammam near the bus stop for cheap (only 3 USD for the works) and fell asleep at 9 PM. The next morning the passport arrived, I hopped on the bus to Aleppo, Syria with an English couple I had met before elsewhere in Turkey (in both instances resulting from my attraction to the female followed by disappointment when I discovered she already had an assistant) following by joy when I realized they were both nice folks and good company. (both times when I met them the same exact pattern of emotions).

Rode over a rocky lonely border with a castle by the roadside and arrived in a very large and uniformly beige limestone Aleppo. I discovered the Citadel’s rude outcrop, the old city’s long angular backstreets, cobblestone and privacy, great Souk food temptations as I fasted for a day to feel Ramadan.

Next day was super rainy, got up and did yoga in my room, plotted and watched BBC with my English, roped a large and cool Canadian woman into the posse (turns out she speaks good Arabic – so handy) and bought and prepared good food together. We all ate in my room with a heater at our feet and told stories of travel and conquest, shared male bonding with the English gentleman and from the Englishwoman came the fuel of my heart’s jealousy pouring out:

They both are Oxford grads in Biology and thus easily found great-sounding jobs that agreed to wait for a year of travel: his investment banking, hers Accenture Management Consulting which begins with three months training in Chicago. She had lived for months as part of both a west and east coast US tall mast ship sailing crew. They both often ski in Quebec, she has been all through South America, Asia, Alaska, and Canada as a tourist and grew up in the Bahamas. Some of her friends only date Earls, others only rugby players etc. etc.

So, the feeling that old cheddar jealousy rising thick in my breast was made even worse by the speaker being an Oxford pussycat. These are the reactions programmed into me by my North Shore upbringing; respect for money, success, and worldly honor. Why? This couple is 22 years old. What do their stories and laurels have to do with my journey and the direct values I purport to have? Why do I DESIRE the life they have? Is it to please my parents? Is it to bring my parents a blond English aristocrat who is as peppy as a baby kangaroo and cutesier than a wee baby? Must be “yes.”

All of my values via a partner seem to need to have the gold seal in MY mind for my parent’s approval: they have made clear over time that they don’t even hold such material things to be of the highest importance – why do I? Perhaps I took one of my neighbor’s statements to heart when he said that his son’s greatest windfall in life was marrying a wonderful woman who was also wealthy and connected. If I am to “achieve” that, what does it say about my ideals about spirituality etc?

I know people are complex and can be generous in judging myself but… how can I free myself from this bond of desire? Do I not know that if I were to find such a woman most likely I would become a prisoner of her standards?