Coming out of the mosque I put my purse down to free my hands and aid in my safe journey back down the awkward, eroded carved steps. Suddenly the world was in slow motion as I heard my bag shift. Even though the top was sealed with Velcro, the only two objects similar in size and shape came rolling out. In dis­be­lief I stared as a red shinny apple and my 50-millimeter Canon lens dropped-off the mosque steps.

It all started when the four of us, Ben, Pen, Chris and I piled out of the car to hike the Ihlara Valley. I had hiked the valley 11-years ago with my mom, dad and two friends, so it held a special place in my heart. To help you with the THEN and NOW feel­ings I was having, here are some photos.

We spent five hours hiking and explor­ing the Ihlara Valley with Ben and Pen. I hiked the same valley with my parents and two friends back in 1999. See the next photo.

Laura, on the right of the Ihlara Valley sign 11-years ago. My friend Lindsey on the left.

Hiking through Ihlara Valley with Chris, Ben and Pen in 2010.

Laura (15-years old) and her friend Casey, hiking the Ihlara Valley in 1999.

Laura and Chris at the same loc­a­tion and view point at the Ihlara Valley as Laura was 11-years ago.

Group shot at the Ihlara Valley view point. Laura, Casey, Lindsay and in the back Laura’s mom and dad.

We were extremely excited to hike the valley because of the tunnels, pigeon holes and churches carved into the steep cliffs.

One of the many rock-carved churches found in the Ihlara Valley.

This is a paint­ing on the central dome in one of the rock-carved churches in the Ihlara Valley. In the past many of the churches were painted. However, over the cen­tur­ies most of the fres­coes have been van­dal­ized or faded.

While hiking we came across a con­veni­ently placed res­taur­ant with log stumps for seats and each table equip with the Turkish neces­sit­ies, an ash tray and sugar cubes.

A con­veni­ently placed res­taur­ant along the hiking trail of the Ihlara Valley.

Above all, we were espe­cially excited to locate a hidden mosque the owner of our hotel told us about. We hike further and further into the belly of the Ihlara, never boring of the mag­ni­fi­cent landscape.

The Ihlara Valley in Turkey.

Rounding a curve we were sud­denly sur­roun­ded by giant cliffs. High up we could see carved door­ways. Was that the entrance the hotel owner tried to describe? And is this the cliff edge he haphaz­ardly marked on our map with an “X”?

The Ihlara Valley in Turkey.

Without further hes­it­a­tion we pulled out our head­lamps and flash­lights. One by one we entered the small, claustrophobic tunnel. What a dis­cov­ery! We had found what appeared to be an old well, a bar­ri­caded door, a small church and two grand rooms meas­ur­ing 5 by 10 meters. Only twenty more meters down the valley we found the mosque.

A mosque carved into the cliffs in the Ihlara Valley. This is a sight rarely seen by tour­ists. It’s off the beaten trail.

...I stared as a red shinny apple and my 50-millimeter Canon lens dropped-off the mosque steps.

“Oh no...” , I muttered. Time froze as both apple and lens gain speed with their descent, each one boun­cing harder and further the more it crashed down the Ihlara Valley. The apple, like a runner in a mara­thon only feet from the finish line, flings itself off the hill dir­ectly into the gushing river below. “Oh no...” I think, being even more intel­li­gent than I was a few moments ago. “Perhaps the lens will stop boun­cing. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough that it just stops and doesn’t follow the apple into the river. Or perhaps because of the ten bounces and bangs this unpro­tec­ted 50-millimeter Canon lens has just endured down the moun­tain side, I should hope it puts me and itself out of misery by landing in the river.”

What does the lens do? It stops-dead 2/3 of the way down the hill. Collecting the lens cap which popped off at the top of the hill, I slowly make my way down to my injured 50. “It might still work”, I think. “Sure. It’s little.....and tough?” I pick it up. Its glass eye star­ring at me, still intact. “Um?” Chris tries the lens on his camera. “ERROR”. My heart sinks a little. “Darn it. I’ve already des­troyed a lens and we’re only two months into the trip.”

Two days later I try the lens out on my camera and the most amazing and impress­ive thing happens. It works! It’s been a week since my poor 50-millimeter rolled down the Ihlara Valley, but remark­ably it is still pro­du­cing quality pho­to­graphs! So for you photo buffs out there who need sturdy, reli­able equip­ment, I think this one passes the test.

Updated on March 28, 2010.