Visiting a picture

Champagne lake, Rotorua- New Zealand

An abstract oil painting. It looked like something someone rich would hang on a wall and swish wine in front of while boring friends discussed the merits of the bold color choices and nuanced brush strokes. The picture was the cover art on my New Zealand travel guide; I was determined to visit that spot (Rotorua) while I was there. I couldn’t tell you why, other than something that beautiful in nature was something I wanted to witness firsthand. And so a few weeks before I departed from New Zealand for good I found myself intermittently holding my breath (it wreaks of sulfur) and gazing at the art of nature. Rotorua is flush with all sorts of bizarre colors and designs. Boiling mud and sulfur smelling winds that colorful designs are stamped into my brain even all these years later. It is a memory I have because a picture lured me to that spot.

I’m susceptible to suggestion, photos of the Danakil Depression inspired me return to Ethiopia. It wasn’t the only reason but it was one of those things I was determined to see. The alien landscape rich with color and texture. Everything I read talked about how dangerous the journey, how hot the temperatures, how volatile the region. All of those warning were drowned out by the possibility of experiencing the landscape of science fiction movies in real life.

I never made it. It was the wrong time of year, too hot. Too dangerous. And so it lingers in my mind, in my imagination. This place that is real to me only because I saw photos that urged me to seek it out. Some mystical image acting as lure. If it were audible it would be the tune that I hum without realizing I’m humming, always there on the edges of my mind.

Recently, the desire to go to Turkey emerged and would not be silenced. I don’t remember every talking about Turkey until it became the only thing I talked about, edging out Brazil and Mali. I’ve been researching the local food of various regions. I’ve become obsessed with Turkish breakfast and have steeled myself to at least try Turkish coffee. 

In between websites dedicated to Turkish cuisine I ran across a picture of Pamukkale. I don’t even know how it happened, but all of a sudden I was gazing at what appeared to be iced wells clinging to the side of a mountain. It was immediately familiar. Something I’d seen before although I don’t know when or where. However I saw it, I didn’t realize it was in Turkey until a few weeks ago. 

Danakil Depression (http://www.sefere.net/place/danakil-depression/)

So now my attention is turned from Istanbul, and cooking classes, and cruises, and baths…to Pamukkale. I don’t even believe there is much to do there. I haven’t read that it is a place that must not be missed. But something about the pictures stirs me. Something about the beauty of the clear water in calcified wells cluttering a hillside is something I want to witness. 

It feels as if it could be a quieter version of Victoria Falls. There was nothing to do there but lay down beside the thundering water, droplets clinging to my hair, and sleep to the lullaby of raging water. There was nothing to do there but sit. Watch. Listen.  It is still one of the most beautiful places I’ve been. More than beautiful… it was powerful; something pictures can’t convey.

I hope to sit on the lip of one of those calcified puddles in Pamukkale, dangle my feet in it- if permitted, discover the view looking out. Maybe the breeze will be warm on my face, the water cool on my skin, the birds light in my ears. Maybe the vision in reality will match the one in pictures…I doubt it, the actual is almost always better than the imagined.