CRF: The Best of Slovenia

"CRF" is not a crime show you've never heard of, it stands for "Cutting Room Floor." It's been more than a year since we returned from Europe, and we've started to get seriously nostalgic.  To give us all an extra travel fix, we're posting some of our favorite photos that never made it onto the blog.  Here are our favorite unpublished memories and pictures of Slovenia - truly one of our favorite countries.

Slovenia held a special place in our heart years before this trip and we were a little worried about tarnishing it.  You see,  it was the first "weird" place we had ever travelled together.  Our former trips included the post-collegiate trifecta of France, India and Amsterdam.  One of us had read an article about Slovenia in a magazine and the idea of the place stuck (along with Lake Baikal in Siberia, which seemed a little less doable).  We went, in 2006, without knowing how to pronounce the name of its capital and came back its biggest ambassadors, dubbing it "The Vermont of Europe" and encouraging everyone we knew to visit.

It was both more "European" than we'd expected (what does that word mean anyway?) and quirkier than we could have imagined (a doormouse museum?).  It felt like a discovery, a magical place.  One day we were driving through foliage that could rival New England, the next we were eating shellfish on a blip of Mediterranean coast.  There were gorges and caves, castles, horse burgers.  Our farm stay had a pet bear, the capital had parking spots dedicated to electric cars ("way back" in 2006) and a Sunday flea market that finally served up that slice of Slav we were expecting.  Revisiting the country, after traveling to places even further afield, we worried it would feel…. predictable.  Or, dare I say, average.  And then, this happened...

The water caves of Križna Jama are special.  They really are.  They are that solitary, unknowable, ancient thing that lurks at the edges of human existence.  There are human remains in the entryway that date back ten millennia.  One travels for hours by headlight, in blowup rafts, past the oldest of earth's rocky bones.  There are creatures there, in those depths, that exist literally nowhere else in the universe.  No more than eight people a day are allowed in.  All of this, accessed through a rock in the deep Slovenian forest.  By some wonderful twist of fate, our guide was a photographer himself and the photos he prompted us to take are some of our favorites of the trip, inextricably linked to the memory of snapping them.
When we're asked that inevitable question - "what country did you like best?" - we have no idea what to say.  Phrased: "what was the most memorable experience you had?" the answer would be easier.  Križna Jama is the experience we call up when we mean "unbelievable."

The Slovenian karst is full of caves - there's the theme-park-like Postojnska jama and the outlandish cave-castle of Grad Predjama, with hundreds of other caverns in between - but there is none to match the grandeur of Škocjanske jame.  We've been twice, but photos aren't allowed in the main caverns, so we never blogged about it.  This is a picture of the exit, which actually feels small at the end of the tour.  Notice the full-grown trees being dwarfed by the archway.

The main cavern in Škocjanske jame is so large that standing inside, with the lights off, feels like standing outside on a dark night.  You can hear a river flowing, a hundred feet below the walkway.  You feel damp cave-breezes and gusts.  It's the largest enclosed space you can imagine.  A friend brought along on our second visit was nervous.  "I'm claustrophobic," she explained, logically reasoning that this would make spelunking unpleasant.  Škocjanske jame conjures the exact opposite feeling.  All you feel is the expanse, your own smallness.  You feel anything but trapped.  You feel like you're on the edge of something that is somehow even bigger.  

At the very top of Rogla Ski Resort, in the Zreče region, we came across this funny group of schoolchildren filing onto a down-slope chairlift.  Even though it was midsummer, it was cold and blustery in the Julian Alps.
We had hiked up from the endearing, bizarre deer farm that we were staying at, Tourist Farm Arbajter.  Our hosts cooked us venison dinners and gave us homemade borovnica (blueberry schnapps).  We loved it there and promised to return with our family one day.

Slovenia's glamor spot is lake Bled.  It's the Slovenian stuff of postcards.  The rolley-bags outnumber backpacks and footwear gets noticeably less clunky.  It's easy to see how one could be content dropping in on Bled and being whisked back away without ever setting foot in the more rugged landscape surrounding it.  Retirees rent rowboats by the hour.  Young, fashionable people sunbathe on the grassy shores.
Slovenia is very much a tale of two lakes, Bled and Bohinj.  Both are beautiful, but we actually prefer Bohinj, nearby, which has zero luxury hotels.

At some point in our trip, we began taking photos of local candy.  It's the little things.  These were a cross between Necco wafers and hole-less life savers.  We just liked the packaging, really.

We considered doing a post about the unusual and emblematic Slovenian roofed hayracks (called toplarji), but never got all the pictures we wanted.  Here's an old toplar surrounded by modern digging equipment.  It's not easy to find prime examples of the old Slovene way of life, because the country doesn't dwell on its past.  History in Slovenia has been relegated to the national parks, culinary tradition, a few quaint castles and their excellent museums.  Everyone looks forward.

Despite its diminutive size, Ljubljana (pronounced "loob-lee-yah-na") easily feels the most modern of the former Yugoslavian capitals.  It's demeanor mirrors the national spirit: lighthearted, friendly, unpretentious.
Slovenia was the first republic to gain independence from post-Tito Yugoslavia, and there wasn't much violence during the breakaway.  Compared to Bosnia, Kosovo, Serbia or even Croatia, the country has few scars and better memories.
We love this red picture of a tiny, communist-era Zastava (nicknamed "Fičo" in Slovenia and "Fikjo" in Macedonia, where we posted about them) against a high-tech construction site. About a block from here, we saw a tractor pulling bales of hay through downtown Ljubljana.

Like Slovenian food, Slovenian wine is pretty basic.  It's also cheap, tasty and plentiful.  For a while, we were working on a vini-post that didn't get finished.  It was going to be about the vineyards of the Vipava and Štájerska regions, but we never got the cornerstone picture or experience that a good piece needs.  It was still fun to try.
We took this picture at a  courtyard "vinotok" in the colorful wine town of Slovenska Konjice. Underripe grapes hung from an arbor over our heads.  If it had been September instead of July, we probably would have had a great, boozy post.

We're still crazy about Slovenia.  Comparing it objectively to its neighbors, it might seem a little boring.  It has nothing to rival the history and cuisine of Italy.  It's mountains aren't as impressive as Austria's.  Ljubljana doesn't hold a candle to Hungary's Budapest, and it's tiny bit of coast is barely a blip next to Croatia's sprawling seafront.
But Slovenia has a bit of everything, and also possesses maybe the most pleasant vibe of any European country.  It's always at the top of our list of recommendations - especially because of all those caves
To see all our posts from Slovenia, just click here.
To see all the Cutting Room Floor posts, with great pictures from the other 49 countries, just click here.

The 700 Club

Today is our 700th official day of the trip and, in a bizarre coincidence, we just happened to publish our 700th post.  So, in honor of both milestones, we've decided to pick a favorite post from each block of the trip.  Looking back, we're a little embarrassed by some of our earliest writing and photography.  We didn't quite have a knack for the whole blogging thing yet.  There was also a matter of learning to balance the time spent experiencing things and the time it takes to sit in a dark hotel room and plug away at documenting it all.  We hope you enjoy reminiscing a little with us.
Centrāltirgus, Riga - Lithuania
1-100, Holland to Estonia.   The snow began to fall in Riga and we didn't see uncovered earth again until Ukraine, well into our next block.  This was the beginning of our Slavic winter and wandering into the Centrāltirgus in Riga was surreal.  We had never seen a market like it and still count it amongst the best we've ever encountered - and we got to a lot of markets.  They're perfect gateways into a new place, an accessible entry into the authentic life of a place.   Looking back, it was probably our experience at this one in Riga that really taught us that lesson.  Monumental Brest - Belarus
101 - 200, Russia to San Marino.  We began in one place and ended in quite another.  In between was a lot of snow, a crash-course in Russian language, two Pope Benedict sightings and the last remaining dictatorship in Europe.  Belarus.  Monumental Brest was an experience of true Communist grandeur, propaganda and pomp.  We are forever grateful to have made the effort, obtained the visas and crossed the border into Belarus at this point in its history.  We've no doubt it'll be very different in the not-too-distant future.
Puszta Horse Show - Hungary
201 - 300, Switzerland to Croatia.  Sometimes we resent this blog for keeping us in on a sunny afternoon, keeping a camera in hand when it only adds to our conspicuousness, taking up time we could be spending doing something wonderful and exotic... but more often, we realize that actively thinking about content has lead us to do so many things we wouldn't have otherwise.  For example, the Puszta Horse Show.  Basically a Hungarian rodeo, how could it not make a good post?  It also made for a hysterical, wonderful afternoon.
The Water Cave - Slovenia
301 - 400, Slovenia to Spain.  Like Marketplaces, Caves are a common theme for us.  We love spelunking and never would have even known it had we not gone to Slovenia a few years before this trip began.  That time, we went to the Škocjan Caves (which doesn't allow pictures).  On our return trip, we upped the ante with this once-in-a-lifetime tour of The Water Cave.  One of our very favorite days of this entire trip. 
In a Land Far, Far Away... - Azerbaijan
401 - 500, Georgia to Malta.  At the beginning of this year, we became backpackers.  Our loyal companion Nilla (our Subaru Outback) had been sent home.  We left Christmas with our families and took one, two, three planes to get to Georgia.  It was exhilarating and scary and with our comfort zone punctured, we decided to really just go all-in.  We never would have driven to Xinaliq, Azerbaijan ourselves.  And staying with a family whose house was heated with dung was a homestay to remember.
The Beautiful Lake Komani Ferry - Albania
501 - 600, Albania - Bosnia & Herzegovina.  We found ourselves missing Nilla a lot.  Wishing we could camp, have our own cooking equipment, just have the freedom to get from point A to point B on our own time.  But any time we start thinking this way, we inevitably think of all the experiences we never would have had if we'd kept the car around.  All the situations we were thrown headfirst into.  We always think of the Lake Komani ferry, a bus made to float which carried us, a man showing off his machine gun, elderly people in traditional clothes and whoever they randomly picked up at the water's edge of nowhere to northern Albania.  It was beautiful, yes, but also bizarre, adventurous and unlike anything before it or since.

Forty-Eight People - Iceland
601 - 700, Iceland - United Kingdom.  Iceland is sort of Europe and sort of nowhere.  At the edge of the Arctic and in the middle of the Atlantic, it's very much its own thing.  Huge swaths of the country can only be seen by hiking for days with everything you need on you.  In some places, we got a tiny insight into what it must feel like to be in space.  The deepest sense of isolation in an unimaginably beautiful place.  On the eastern coast of the Westfjords, only a small number of resilient people have remained.  Forty-eight to be exact.  We contemplated staying put and bringing their number up to fifty.

Cave People

Sometimes, people just don't know what to do with us.  We arrived at Magura Cave to find a sign posted near the entrance.  It stated that all visits must be on a guided Bulgarian-language tour which leaves every hour on the hour.  It was twenty to, we don't understand Bulgarian and when the ticket seller asked "group?" we shook our head and figured we'd totally struck out.  After more was said that we couldn't understand - we shrugged, she sighed, smiles all around - she ripped two tickets out of a book, told us the price and pointed to a staircase.  Down we went, not knowing that we wouldn't emerge for almost an hour and, when we finally saw light again, it would be overlooking a lake somewhere that was clearly not where we'd parked our rental car.

The cave is very, very big - a series of galleries and halls which span 2.5 kilometers.  It is dimly lit and slippery, devoid of metal staircases and colored lights.  Let's call it a more naturalistic approach to tourist infrastructure.  For a few moments, I was worried we were going to get lost.   Even a movie theatre aisle gives you more direction via runner lights than parts of Magura.  But, caves have a certain serenity to them and being on our own, it was easy to just forget about the outside world (and the fear that we would never again see it) and get swept up at the wonder of our surroundings.

Magura Cave is famed for its cave drawings.  Painted in bat guana, they depict people dancing and hunting; there are instruments, plants, animals, and a solar calendar which some say is the earliest one ever found in Europe.  The cave art dates back to the Epipaleolithic, Neolithic and Bronze Ages - a collection and layering of drawings that span thousands of years.  We kept looking out for them, not knowing whether they were open to the public or not.

It seemed unlikely that they would have just let us spelunk unsupervised with the paintings just out in the open.  We never did find them, but a random bench set up facing a beautifully craggy wall made me remember that everything we were looking at was art in and of itself.  Sure, we may not have seen dung paintings from 12,000 years ago - but we saw formations that began to get sculpted 15 million years ago.

As it turns out, the "Art Gallery" is in a wing of the cave that is now closed to visitors due to renovations.  Magura Cave is on a mission to earn UNESCO status, which probably accounts for the sprucing up.  Hopefully, when the drawings are once again publicly accessible, the rules will change about flash photography and smoking in the caves.  The smell of cigarettes and a flutter of camera bulbs up ahead informed us that we were not alone after all.

Our fellow cave people were IBM employees on a bus trip from Sofia.   It was a large group which included a convivial fellow who struck up conversation with us and translated a few bits and pieces of the tour guide's spiel.  There was information about a sanatorium which was opened inside the cave in 1989, but closed just a year later.  No one knows why.  There was the mention of a wine cellar in a wing we hadn't visited, which produces sparkling wine which is said to taste very similar to bubbly from Champagne.  A big stalagmite that looked like a mushroom was identified as "The Mushroom."

I wish we could have understood more.  I happen to be fond of cave tours.  The dates and geological details never quite stick in my memory, but stories about first discoveries and expeditions, folk legends about certain features and charmingly hyperbolic statements about the country and its cave are all wonderful parts of any spelunking experience.  And even though it feels more adventurous, more magical and more exciting to explore a cave on our own, there's a unique, quirky, community vibe that comes with being underground with a bunch of strangers. 

We laughed along with jokes we didn't understand.  We passed along alerts about a particularly slippery spot.  We joined in when everyone began to place coins on this special wishing stump.  Sometimes, it's pretty easy to figure out what's going on without knowing the language.  Speaking of making a wish... Yesterday was Merlin's birthday and a high school friend sent him this greeting: "Happy bday!!! Don't get lost in a cave, or go OD on yoghurt."  He knew we were in Bulgaria where both things are very, very possible.  (He also sent this amazing Bulgarian birthday song which is too good not to share). 

Quirky Gozo

This is Manuel Xerri. His grandfather, Anthony Xerri, discovered a cave beneath their house while digging for a well. Anthony stopped his digging when he hit the impressive system of stalagmites and stalactites - and moved onto another spot, still intent on finding a well. "Water was the most important thing," Manuel told us. Since then, his find has been carved out a bit more to make it walkable and visitable. Manuel, who grew up and continues to live in the house above, acts as guide.
Amazingly, there are two caves inside private homes in the little town of Xaghri on the island of Gozo. We only visited Xerri's. A buzzer at the entrance brought Manuel down and he let us in with all the casualness of someone who listed a washing machine on craigslist which you are there to inspect. Grandfather Xerri's framed portrait hung on an otherwise bare wall. Manuel led us down a very pretty, tightly wound spiral staircase, with his cordless phone in one hand and a laser pointer in the other.
What are you to do when giving a tour of your very own cave? Instead of the lengthy facts about how stalagmites and stalactites are formed and how old certain elements of the cave are, Manuel walked around pointing at formations that resembled animals. Above is a sheep. There was also a turtle, snake head, ostrich "or flamingo." There was a formation that English visitors had told him looked like a castle on a hill and a wall that resembled lava, according to Sicilian tourists who had seen real lava before. Xerri's Grotto was a hoot. You could imagine what it must have been like to grow up with this cave in your basement - carving them into figures like you would clouds. In just two days in Gozo, we've seen a trio of places that are equally impressive as they are quirky - and undeniably memorable.
The first was the village of Gharb's Folklore Museum. Set in a 300 year old farmhouse, it is the private collection (or "brainchild," as they say) of Silvio Felice. A man who seems to have obsessively collected as many tools of any and all trades. When we arrived, Gharb's pretty square was being torn up. They just got a big shipment of tiles from Italy and are in the midst of paving the street. The private museum was closed and, without a cell phone, we couldn't call the number posted on the door. Instead, we hovered, kicked at dirt and moped until the overseer of the construction telephoned Marian Felice - wife of Silvio Felice, whose collection it is. People on Gozo have been incredibly intent on helping us out at every turn.
Still in her gardening shoes, Marian gave us a full tour of the 28 room museum. The old farmhouse was impressive enough, but the stuff inside was remarkable. Each room had a theme, the blacksmiths room, the mill room, the "liquid candle" (wax) room. Above, a display case from the "baby Jesus making" room. Hey, its an age old craft. Not only did she know every nook, cranny and British biscuit maker in the place, she regaled us with stories of what Malta was like when she was growing up. When showing as a traditional black silk għonnella (a black cape with wide stiff brimmed hood) she told us how an old woman wearing one would push a baby carriage full of capers, marjoram and basil through her village every morning. Door to door she would go selling her herbs in Sliema "before all the buildings."
All her sentences ended with 'dear,' and every room was fascinating. From an ornate children's hearse to a room full of paraffin stoves to hundreds of molds used to make toys, the collection was impressive and all over the place. A much hyped Christmas crib (which I only later realized meant 'nativity scene') was given its own little room. There were loads of people at this particular depiction of Jesus' birth- near to a hundred tiny statues. Lights and music came on via a motion detector. As she spoke about the crib, the music and lights would shut off and she'd wave at the sensor. It was a bizarre addition to this awesome house of curios.
Before we left Gharb's Folklore Museum, Mrs. Felice told us where to find her (exact address) if we should need anything. One couple called her for help with medication once, another with a broken down car. We hoped that we'd have no disastrous need to call upon her, but appreciated the offer. When told that we were off next to nearby Ta' Pinu, the national shrine to the Virgin Mary, Marian gave us specific instructions to go the Miracle Room. Difficult to find, its door was pointed out to us in a photo of the interior of the basilica. When we arrived, we bypassed the prayerful visitors and made a b-line to the hallway behind the altar. The Miracle Room was a trip.
Framed letters, photos, casts, prosthetic limbs and locks of hair filled one, two, three hallways from floor to ceiling. A bent bicycle wheel punctuated a wall full of framed onesies. It felt like the inside of a very grim person's locker, lined with newspaper clippings about car accidents and photos of people in hospital beds. Being as this was the Miracle Room, we could assume that everyone shown had survived - which took a little bit of the grave edge off of things. Letters from around the world thanked "Il-Madonna ta' Pinu," to whom they'd prayed during their time of need.
Of course, the word "miracle" is relative. In the photo above, Beverley Bracken from Manchester, England writes : "Thank You Our Lady of Ta Pinu. You answered my prayers. I passed my Nursing Exams." A little bit of a stretch. Still, the rooms were absolutely captivating to walk through. What an amazing hodge-podge. What a quirky island, that Gozo.

Malta's Old Necropolis, St. Paul's Catacombs

Shipwrecked and sodden, the apostle St. Paul arrived on Malta under less than ideal circumstances. The people he met there were apparently gracious and friendly - Roman citizens, technically, but far removed from Rome and with their own customs and habits. During his three month stay on Malta in AD 60, Paul converted Publius, the island's de facto leader, cured an old man of dysentery, wowed the population and established a strange relationship between Christianity and Empire in Malta.

Some two hundred years later, as they were digging graves in the Maltese limestone, the residents of Melite (now Mdina) mixed these two influences in a strange and fascinating way. Above, a marker for the subterranean grave of a doctor.

On a recent sunny morning we descended into the cool, dark world of St. Paul's catacombs, where about 1,000 people were buried during the third and fourth centuries. We were in the relative center of Malta, just on the edge of Mdina and Rabat, the twin "cities" (villages is a more appropriate word) that constitute the old capital of the country. The towns occupy a pretty little bulge in the land, where yellow limestone rises above the green fields below.

Underground, a maze of interconnected caverns and passageways spreads out into the rock, the walls pockmarked with hollows and archways - the biggest necropolis found on the island.
St. Paul's catacombs actually have nothing to do with Paul, other than that they are nearby to the cathedral built in his honor. They were dug to house the remains of Melitta's dead, which - under Roman law - were required to be interred outside the city walls. Compared with similar catacombs in Italy and elsewhere, the complex is only of middling size. But, at 24,000 square feet, the place feels huge. Graves were dug into walls, next to one another and, eventually, into the floor as space grew scarce. There are markers adorned with carvings that gave some information about the person's livelihood and guild. Most of this is normal.

But because Malta was isolated to an extent from the rest of the Empire, the architectural style of the tombs is unusual and distinctly local, particularly because of how varied the different graves are. A few badly damaged remains of murals also survive, which are almost unique to the site. But the main point of interest is that the catacombs seem to have been (at least in part) a Christian necropolis dug in the time before Rome converted.

St. Paul's cathedral stands on the spot where Paul and Publius, according to legend, were said to have met. It's a large, rebuilt structure - an older church was destroyed by an earthquake, the current iteration was constructed around 1700. It soars suddenly out of an open square, a surprise in the tangled, cramped lanes of Mdina. When the Normans conquered Malta from the Arabs, during the 12th century, they cleared a large part of the city to build the church on ground they considered especially holy. Today, Malta is the most religious European country, and one of the most homogenously Roman Catholic in the world - the tradition of Paul and his miracles still runs very strong here. But, surprisingly, there is no proof of Christianity in the years directly after the apostle's visit.

It's been suggested that early Maltese Christians were too afraid of Roman reprisals to express their religion outwardly. After all, Publius himself was killed by emperor Hadrian for his beliefs. One of the most important parts of the catacombs is that they represent the earliest concrete evidence of Christianity on the island, apparently while the Empire still condemned it. Tomb inscriptions and figures of the cross show up in both wall carvings and in the mural fragments, and some of the stranger features in the underground architecture have been attributed to a non-Roman religion.

Probably the most curious and illustrative Christian features of St. Paul's catacombs, though, are the "agape" tables. Circular, low and carved directly out of the rock, the tables were probably used for feasts during the burial, as well as on the day of the dead, on which it's believed that Roman Christians held a festive dinner near the graves of their relatives. Agape tables are common only in Christian necropolises, and are almost always surrounded by a kind of "banquette" made of stone, where the family members could lie down to drink and eat. There are several at this site, all with a strange notch in one side that's hard to explain.

Unfortunately, the human traffic and the humidity we bring in has all but destroyed the paintings and the more important inscriptions. Wandering around the catacombs is a tight and confusing experience. At times, there's quite a bit of space, but often the going is narrow and low. There's interesting variation in the size of the graves - some are tightly packed in small alcoves, other feature large, carved stone drapings and deep troughs. Quite a few feature small headrests, like pillows. Only a small part of the entire complex is open to the public, but it still takes more than an hour to explore.

The Caves of Heaven and Hell

Heaven and Hell are more similar than you would think. Formed by the same underground river, they sit side by side, both enormous mountain chasms in the town of Narlikuyu. Heaven is deeper and more easily accessible (doubly ironic). You take a lovely ramble down 450 odd steps into the mouth of the cave. At the bottom, surrounded by red-rocked cliff sits this church - the Chapel of the Virgin Mary. It kind of appears out of nowhere, obscured by the twists of your path and the twisting trees all around. From down in Heaven's mouth, it's hard to imagine anything in the world exists besides the chapel. Looking up at the ancient house of worship, silhouetted against the sky by a blazing sun, made me wonder if the cave itself isn't dubbed "heaven" but, instead, the view from it.
It's an amazing thing to be right at the bottom of a cave, where the water that began forming it thousands and thousands of years ago still seeps out from the earth. You know that it is, drop by drop, still changing the landscape - like the longest ceramics project in history. In some caves, you can hear a drop here or there. Here, it rushed from a few different points in the rock and mud floor. The echo was loud and the air was humid. This is the same water that the locals drink, as it flows out into their cove, giving the warm, salt water a cold fresh water cover. It's also believed to be the River Styx - the boundary between the Underworld and Earth according to Greek mythology.
It was hard not to poke around the 5th century Byzantine church a little longer on our way up. It was brighter and less slippery and there were so many little details to notice. The Chapel of the Virgin Mary is beautifully ruined, a partial skeleton with half of its dome remaining. On it, you can still make out a few frescoed apostles out of the dozen that used to be there.
What's nice about Heaven is that it's just so pleasant to walk around. It was a new definition of "cave" for us. The sun was our flashlight, the clouds swirled like bats and twisted trees were our stalagmites. About 600 ft tall, 270 wide and 210 deep, this is where Zeus is said to have been imprisoned by the 100-headed dragon, Typhon. He's rescued by Hermes and Pan, who must have left his mark on the place. The Chasm of Heaven is a really perfect picnic spot and would be an ideal backdrop for flute-playing nymphs.
Once he was free, Zeus didn't travel too far to punish Typhon. He buried him deep into the ground, in The Chasm of Hell, only a few feet away. When we saw a woman coming back from the site in high heels, we wondered how in the (insert cave's name) she did it. The powers that be wisely keep you away from the massive hole in the earth. It's really only impressive as a companion piece to Heaven, or if you're a mythology buff, but how can you resist taking a peak? Near the viewing platform, two camels for rent stood tied to a rock. Another version of Hell.
If the first two caves take your breath away - or the massive amount of stair do - there's the nearby Asthma Cave! This is a much cave-ier cave, complete with metal staircase, crazy drip-stones and spot lighting. A man sat at a dusty staircase, ripped off two tickets from his pad, took our money and pointed toward a spiral staircase. It kept going and going at such a tight wind it was almost like descending a fireman's pole. The arcade at the bottom was stunningly large. A testament to Turkey - if this place existed in so many other countries, it would be a heralded tourist attraction. And not just for its "asthma healing capabilities" (aka its humidity), but for its beauty.
There were some really amazing formations, ranging from whimsical to sort of demonic. What struck me was the variety and how closely they coexisted. Stalactites that looked like large bundles of fanned out parchment paper hung right above dark pillar-like stalagmites. The bundle in the picture were a common design and reminded me of melted skulls. I'm not very well-versed in speleology, but I love to walk around and make out shapes, like you do with clouds. Well, the asthma cave is a really amazing place for that sort of exploration. Especially because you are able to walk around without a guide.
This, of course, has its downsides. It was difficult to tell where you should and shouldn't walk and I'm sure very delicate structures are touched more than they should be. It's very slippery and could be dangerous and, well, there's the whole "carve your name into a cave" urge. For now, not enough people visit to make a guide necessary. The proprietor at Hotel Rain, who kindly offered to drive us to and from the site, told us it was his favorite cave, but it generally gets overlooked. Too many people exhaust themselves on the first two and never make it to the third, he lamented. Personally, I think it just needs a sexier name. Like Purgatory.

Note: Three different people reiterated that we only needed one ticket for Heaven and Hell, not two. We assume this means that visitors are sometimes scammed by people who hang out and try to get them to pay a second entrance fee. This didn't happen to us, but we figured it was worth mentioning. The Asthma Cave does require a separate ticket - and it's totally worth it.