In the caves of Cappadocia, I heard the earth breathe

In the caves of Cappadocia, I heard the earth breathe

When I landed at Nevşehir Kapadokya Airport, the midday sun was scorching the ochre rock pillars. Dragging my suitcase across the gravel path, I looked up and was greeted by a "sea of hot air balloons"—dozens of colorful balloons swaying as they rose into the sky, like rainbow candies crushed by the wind, floating above the fairy chimneys. This was my third trip to central Turkey, but the first time I chose to stay in a cave hotel. It turned out that this decision gave my Cappadocia journey the closest experience to "living like a local."

The "paradox" of cave hotels: a subtle balance between primitive and refined

I picked an established cave hotel called "Kelebek Special Cave Hotel" in the center of Göreme town. When the front desk handed me the key, they specifically reminded me: "Our rooms are not those luxuriously renovated 'fake caves'; the stone walls were dug by miners in the 19th century, and even the bed frames are embedded in the rock walls." The moment I opened the door, I understood what they meant—the 20-square-meter room was an irregular polygon, the ceiling naturally formed with stalactite curves, the entire left wall was unpolished volcanic rock, and from a crack in the stone on the right, a few withered wild mint plants poked out, their faintly bitter aroma noticeable up close.

But "primitive" is by no means synonymous with rough. The mattress was handwoven wool felt, lying on it felt like sinking into clouds; the showerhead was hidden in a rock alcove, water flowing along the stone veins into a sunken bathtub, and after showering, you could look up to see light spots filtering through cracks in the dome; the biggest surprise was the niche by the bed, where local craftsmen carved a small candle holder from leftover volcanic rock. Lighting an unscented candle before sleep, the warm yellow light cast the natural patterns on the stone wall like an abstract painting.

The owner was a white-bearded Turkish uncle. Seeing me crouched at the door playing with a stray cat, he brought over a cup of apple tea: "We don’t call it a 'hotel,' but a 'cave house.' Miners originally dug these caves to hide from wars and store food. Now, you come here to listen to the stones speak."

24 hours in the cave: a clock slowed by nature

At 6:30 a.m., I was awakened by birdsong. Drawing back the lace curtains, the morning mist still wrapped around the distant rock formations, and the hotel’s open-air terrace was already set with rattan chairs. Holding freshly brewed Turkish coffee, I sat down as a Korean girl in the next room raised her camera to shoot the hot air balloons—they were rising one after another from the valley, some like jellyfish dragging long tails, others like giant strawberry gummies, with farmhouses, olive trees, and clotheslines on the ground reduced to miniature models. Breakfast on the terrace was freshly baked sesame bread with pomegranate jam, plus cheese omelets made on the spot by the auntie. The warm aroma of butter wrapped in the hot food filled my nose, more effective than any alarm clock.

At 2:00 p.m., the scorching sun made me too lazy to go out. I nestled into the cave room’s lazy sofa flipping through old books, the coolness of the stone walls seeping through the wool blanket like a gentle pat on the back. An elderly couple in the next room chatted in Turkish in the corridor, their voices bouncing off the rock walls, creating delicate echoes. Suddenly, I heard a "ding-dong"—the hotel’s pipes dripping water. Later I learned this was Göreme’s unique "natural alarm clock," as all the rooms’ pipes are directly connected to mountain spring water, dripping continuously from morning till night, becoming the most soothing white noise.

At 7:00 p.m., the sunset dyed the rocks honey-colored. I joined a hiking group organized by the hotel to Rose Valley. The guide, a young man named Aiden, pointed out as we walked: "Look at those jagged rocks—don’t they look like dinosaur teeth? Actually, they are limestone covered by volcanic ash, shaped by millions of years of rainwater erosion." Passing an abandoned cave church, he suddenly stopped: "Medieval monks held mass in caves like this. Although the frescoes on the walls have faded, you can still see the original blue in the eyes of the Virgin Mary." The sound of wind passing through the rock crevices was more powerful than any explanation.

At 11:00 p.m., back at the hotel, I found a telescope set up on the terrace. The astronomy enthusiast owner was teaching some guests to identify constellations: "See that brightest one? That’s Venus; the handle of the Big Dipper now points to Polaris..." Looking up, the Milky Way stretched across the sky like scattered diamonds, with hot air balloons slowly descending overhead, their ground lights making them look like glowing pumpkins. Lying on the mattress by the stone wall, listening to my heartbeat and distant insect chirps, I suddenly understood why people say "Cappadocia’s nights can cure insomnia"—every inch of air here carries primal vitality, making you want to put down your phone and just breathe deeply.

Practical tips for travelers:

Three things to check when choosing a hotel:

Location: The center of Göreme is most convenient (5 minutes’ walk to terrace restaurants and car rentals), but hotels in Uçhisar offer better views (overlooking the whole town);

Type of cave: Genuine "original caves" (like Kelebek) have thicker stone walls, better soundproofing but darker lighting; "semi-caves" (modern expansions) have better lighting, suitable for those afraid of the dark;

Details: Ask in advance if there is underfloor heating (essential in winter), whether the shower has non-slip mats (stone floors are very slippery), and if free shuttle service is provided (some hotels are on hills, making walking inconvenient).

Hidden perks of cave rooms:

Stone walls have natural temperature regulation, staying 3-5°C cooler than air-conditioned rooms in summer, and just right with thick blankets in winter (but don’t expect air conditioning—locals believe "airflow disrupts the cave’s spirit");

Most cave rooms have "private terraces," where you can enjoy tea in the morning watching hot air balloons with half the crowd of public areas;

Be cautious choosing ground-floor cave rooms! Although convenient, they may have dampness issues (especially in rainy seasons); rooms on the second floor or above have better views and ventilation.

Must-try "non-touristy" activities:

Get up early to learn how to make Turkish flatbread with the hotel auntie (made from homegrown chickpeas, crispy and crumbly fresh from the oven);

Take an evening stroll in the olive grove behind the hotel (Göreme’s olive trees are centuries old, and you can pick and eat the fruit directly);

Reserve a day for "unplanned wandering": rent an ATV and drive deep into the valleys, chat with shepherds you meet, and maybe get a taste of freshly squeezed sheep’s milk.

On the morning I left, I stood on the terrace waiting for the hot air balloons again. The scent of pancakes frying in the next room floated on the breeze, and the white-bearded owner brought over tea: "Next time, remember to come in winter. When snow falls on the rocks and the cave has a fireplace, we’ll brew saffron tea."

Watching the hot air balloons gradually ascend, I suddenly understood Cappadocia’s magic—there are no fancy hotel lobbies, no promises of 24-hour hot water, not even perfectly smooth roads. But it gives us the most precious things: a sense of security wrapped in nature, a relaxation slowed by time, and the courage to realize "humans can live like this too."

Perhaps the meaning of travel is to occasionally step out of the "comfort zone" and see those "uncomfortable" yet vibrant ways of life. For example, listening to the stone walls breathe all night in a cave, then carrying a pocketful of stories to embrace life more fully.