I'm back now, with the best internet connection available in days— which is not saying much. Nevertheless, I am grateful for it. We left Konya some time ago, but let me get back to where I left off. When I think back on Konya, the memory at the forefront of my mind is being trapped in a carpet shop by a rabid fanatic who has a real bone to pick with England. We didn't even want to buy a carpet, but we were too polite to decline his invitation to look at some fine kilims. His rant ran from chemicals in food to Communism, from yoga to the evils of Western Europe and America, from religion to the superiority complex of professors. We desperately hoped for a pause in his nonsensical meandering tirade, and thankfully, it came when he realised we were not going to purchase any of his wares. Sadly, this experience is what first surfaces and then, the mad drivers and roving bands of unpleasant young men.
Yet Konya has an interesting history which has left beautiful architecture and some of the world's most cherished poetry behind. It is the heart of the famous whirling dervishes, of Sufism, and Rumi. I will show you a bit more on that in another post, as Rumi and the Mevlana Museum deserve their own post.
What we have here are some stunning examples of architecture built and expertly embellished by the Seljuk Turks, who had made Konya their capital between the end of the ninth century until the 11th. The intricate details are exquisite, and the city boasts some true beauties that I would have loved to sketch, were it not for the oppressive heat and the aforementioned roving men, who made me quite uncomfortable.
There were of course, lovely people who made us feel welcome, and I thank them with deepest sincerity— this is the best part of travelling; meeting the kind souls out there in this odd, wonderful world.