We have been riding the bus between increasingly steep hills for some time now. We left Kusadasi two hours ago. This means that the Aegean coast is two hundred kilometers behind us. We are slowly entering Anatolia proper, the area where – according to the latest scientific hypotheses – humanity may have originated. Certainly its European substratum.
In fact, we are driving through Phrygia, a long-vanished land. Herodotus believed that the Phrygians came from Macedonia and Thrace as allies of Troy. And that they stayed there. So, in a way, our proto-Balkan compatriots settled these regions four millennia ago. Back then, they were – probably – called Brygians or Brigi.
The bus arrives at a parking lot surrounded by huge blocks of rock, obviously worked by human hands. It's as if giants were playing with huge dice.
We arrived in Hierapolis, the Holy City. It was built around a sanctuary of Cybele back in Phrygian times. In ancient Roman times, 100 people lived here.
In fact, the lure for tourists is the Cotton Fortress – Pamukkale. At the foot of the ruins of Hierapolis are the famous thermal terraces that made the city famous two millennia ago. White sediments left by water from as many as 17 thermal springs rich in calcium carbonate for thousands of years have covered the entire hill all the way to the valley. The opening lines of Hasanaginica come to mind: What is white in the green mountain? Is it snow, or are they swans?
The hill that imitates a snowy peak in the middle of sunny Anatolia looks fascinating. But more on that later.
THE HOLY CITY ON THE BRIDGE TOWARDS THE EAST
First, we will focus on another place that reached its zenith during Roman rule, before being reduced to a pile of stones and memories by earthquakes and invaders.
Hierapolis was wealthy. The hot springs attracted visitors from all over the empire. The white water was used to dye wool and was famous far and wide. We stop in front of a panel depicting the city as it was at the height of its power.
They say that the main goddess in Phrygia was Cybele. There is an inscription in an old Anatolian dialect – the oldest branch of the Indo-European language group – matar kubileya. It was carved in a Phrygian rock sanctuary, in the first half of the 6th century BC. It was translated as “Mother of the Mountain”. That is how she is depicted, as a stone goddess on a throne surrounded by lions.
The museum at the entrance to the archaeological site allows for a close-up look at the rich reliefs on sarcophagi, Roman statues and everyday objects. Artemis ruled in Ephesus, Aphrodite in Aphrodisias. Here we stop in front of a statue of a priestess of the ancient Egyptian goddess Isis, whose cult later spread throughout the Greco-Roman world.
Of course, we must not forget that we are in a city ruled by Cybele, whom the Romans celebrated under the name Magna Mater - the Great Mother.
Apparently, goddesses of Eastern origin held the upper hand in ancient Asia Minor.
A little further away is the statue of Athena, the goddess of wisdom. Far away from here is the Athenian Acropolis. I cannot help but feel admiration for the cultural strength of the Greek world of that time, which conquered all conquerors, including the Romans, leaving its mark on the empire. And this culture, which is in our foundations, has been a bridge between Asia and Europe since ancient times.
Hierapolis was a significant pillar on that bridge.
ABOUT KINGS AND OXES
Trade developed here during the time of the Persian rulers, and reached its full bloom during the Roman Empire. This is evidenced by the magnificent monuments in the local necropolis, which contains 1 graves. One wealthy merchant bequeathed to his descendants that his tombstone record his having traveled to Italy 200 times during his lifetime. Phrygia minted its own currency even in Roman times, and the language was preserved until the 72th century AD.
When the Phrygians fell silent, related Greek sources spoke of them. It is recorded that the first great ruler, Gordius, was actually a peasant who had two oxen. The Phrygians asked the oracle who they should choose as their ruler. The oracle answered – the first man they met when they left the temple. They met Gordius. He was a good ruler. Apparently, if a man can handle oxen – he can handle people too.
There is also a legend about the Gordian knot that Alexander the Great cut with his sword. And about King Midas. He turned everything he touched into gold. There is a golden grain of truth in the legend, because Phrygia was famous for its gold deposits. Midas, they say, killed himself by drinking bull's blood after a defeat that cost him his kingdom.
The inhabitants of this city are no longer there. The inscriptions on the tombs and the legends remain. The local theater, actually an odeon which, unlike the ancient theater, was covered, gathered 10 people. According to the construction – the stands were raised a meter above the podium to protect the audience from wild beasts – it is clear that in addition to poetic and musical festivals, gladiatorial fights were also held here.
Interestingly, the “Phrygian cap”, a symbol of the French Revolution and freedom, actually arrived in Phrygia with one of the conquerors, but the local people adopted it. It was worn by the Persian god Mithras, then Orpheus and the son of the Trojan king Priam, Paris – the one who kidnapped the beautiful Helen and thus caused the war. It was worn by freed slaves, only to be turned by the French into a symbol of the fight for freedom. And Disney into Santa Claus’s hat.
HILL OF COTTON
From antiquity, in a few steps we reach the white thermal terraces.
This calcium carbonate decided to first dissolve in warm water, and then to sediment into snow terraces whose petrified waterfalls extend all the way to the foot of the hill. Chemists say that the same substance could be limestone, chalk or marble. Nature is a miracle. That thought must be running through the minds of people who, like us, see the terraces of the Cotton Fortress – Pamukkale for the first time.
The inhabitants of Hierapolis must have felt rewarded by living in a city perched on the flank of a hill, like the cottony lap of the Great Mother. Although the ancient city was nestled against the terraces, the people of that time had no idea what Turkish tourism workers had done in the last century. They cut a road through the terraces and built a hotel on the archaeological site. Times have changed. The hotel was removed, the road was transformed into a series of shallow pools. Thus, both the ancient city and the thermal terraces have been a World Heritage Site since 1988.
The line of the former road is the only place where visitors can step into the spa water. And they do so without apology. Some even sit down to chat.
I admit that I myself had a childish desire to take off my shoes and step into the water that looked like whey. But the thought of having to jostle with grandmothers and children dissuaded me from that intention. I decided to walk along the marked paths through the area. Only when one moves away from the cafe in whose shade visitors seek refreshment on a hot day, and where I left my companions, can one take in all the beauty of the place with one's eyes.
Rarely has nature been so generous. Thermal springs were suitable for baths. One of them in Hierapolis was located at the city gates. Visitors were required to bathe in order to enter the city clean.
This is the only place in the world where Roman tombs protrude over the edge of white limestone terraces. The surrounding areas are full of history, to which the ornate nature is completely indifferent. Thus, a lone tree, behind whose crown the snowy peak of the mountain is visible, actually explained with its beauty perhaps the main reason why people stopped here. And built a city. And why they rebuilt it several times after earthquakes during the reigns of Trajan and Nero.
A long walk can help you sort out your impressions. It's a good thing we saw the ruins of the city on the white hill. Many people come here just for the cottony whiteness of the terraces, for the travertine that covers the surroundings like a cloak. The archaeological museum and all the points of the former city – the agora, the temple, the baths, the gates, the remains of early Christian places of worship – speak to us in the muffled language of transience.
Here, one of the apostles, Philip, died a martyr's death on the cross. Our church sources say that he died in the "Phrygian city of Hieropolis", crucified upside down on a tree. I imagine biblical characters preaching Jesus' teachings on the streets of the city, incurring the wrath of the adherents of the old cults.
From here to the Aegean are scattered the ruins of cities that ancient sources – Homer or the biblical writings – mention as significant. If we want to understand the foundations of our own culture, it is good to come here, to listen to the silence at the source.
The night awaits us in the hotel under the terraces. The short ride to the hotel shows us through the bus windows a white hill in the orange light of the late afternoon. As soon as we settle into the hotel, where the hosts offer belly dancing, we go for a walk. We can't get enough of this whiteness.
THE OLDEST LANGUAGE
While this hotel was up on the hill above the terraces, it drew water from the thermal springs. It purified it for its guests. This made it unusable for the constant renovation of the terraces. When the Turkish state decided to intervene and limit mass tourism, it removed the hotel. The water from the springs began to flow down the hill again. The terraces, which had dried up a bit, were quickly restored.
Below the hill is a lake that collects water from a spring. We were told that future couples are coming here more and more often. A photo in a wedding dress in front of the white walls of Pamukkale is probably one of the most sought-after products on social media and the covers of family albums.
It is certainly an unusual sight. I look towards the top of the hill and the plateau on which the city stood. I try to imagine its streets as the sun sinks somewhere into the invisible Aegean Sea. I try to imagine the language people speak on the street.
Herodotus left us a record according to which we must admit that the Phrygian language is the oldest in the world. This record describes a kind of experiment conducted in the 7th century BC by the Egyptian pharaoh Psamtik I. He wanted to find out which language was the oldest in the world. He singled out two newborn babies and forbade his subjects to speak in their presence. He wanted to hear the first word of these babies. After two years, one of them uttered “bekos”. The pharaoh found the word in the Phrygian language. It was the word for bread.
The next morning I see balloons behind the hotel that will carry tourists in baskets to see the white stone waterfalls from the air.
Nearby, in Cappadocia, a hot air balloon pilot was killed and tourists were injured when the balloon crashed due to a sudden change in weather. Tourists are becoming more demanding, and the offer is becoming more and more daring. Although statisticians say that most accidents happen at home, this bird's-eye view doesn't really appeal to me. Let's stick to mother earth.
We board the bus that will take us back to the Aegean coast. As we pass, I wave at the Cotton Fortress bathed in the Asia Minor sun and the deserted Hieropolis. I have learned a Phrygian word. Bekos. Bread.
It's a shame that I can't say in that ancient, extinct language: Hosts, your homeland was beautiful.
Bonus video:
