Spot
In my last few days in Cappadocia, I fell under the charms of Spotty, the dalmation-pointer cross living at one of the pensions. Most of the first day I was at his pension, he was sitting on some cushions outside watching everyone walk past, somehow being urgently inactive. Whenever someone walked out the front gate, he was off, bounding out the gate trying to lead them down the Cappadocian valley of his choosing, only to return, finally accepting his rejection, half an hour later.

The first day we (kiwis Craig and Jeff) went hiking in the valleys, there was no thought of luring Spot to join us – as promised had taken command of our route from the minute we looked like we were going to walk towards the gate. He stayed about ten metres in front of us the whole way, wagging his tail like he’d just won the doggy lottery. He always knew exactly which path to take on the trail, and even stopped at certain panoramic points where we were obviously meant to take some photos. Once he even stuck himself right in the middle of the shot and – I kid you not – struck a pose until he heard the last camera whirr.

He also took us right to the door of some of the churches carved into the rocks and waited patiently (in the shade, of course) for us to finish exploring. After stops like these he was sometimes a bit reluctant to get moving again in the midday sun. Especially at a cross road, he would just sit in his nice bit of shade and watch us schlep in one particular direction, looking at us like we were idiots. “Honestly,” he seemed to say, “you guys would be vulture food without me.” When we gave up on one direction and tried the other, he would be up and off, once again ten metres in front of us.

He knew the entire path back to front, showing us great views and hidden caves the entire time. The highlight was probably when he stopped in a group of trees and waited patiently for us to twig on that it was an apple orchid, and that not only were we meant to help ourselves, if we could throw one or two in his direction that would be great.

Like all tourguides, he seemed to be on commission to every place he took us. There were two drink stands on the trail, well, holes in the rock selling water, and Spot bounced straight in without hesitating. Maybe he went in because it was nice and cool, but just maybe it was because he was greeted by name, given a few pats and a large bowl of water. He would sit there for five minutes, presumably enough time for us to buy something and consume it in comfort. And it wasn’t just drinks guys that he favoured. Towards the end of the walk, we got a stop at a horse-drawn cart that wanted to taxi us back into town for only five million lira (would it have been four million without Spot?). Spot joined in the pitch by looking at us like he’d had quite enough of this walking thing, thanks all the same. We knew we were only a couple of hundred metres from the next town (and a minibus service that would take us home) so we pushed on. About five minutes later, Spot pulled another one on us by walking ahead and then disappearing inside a café. We found him lying by the postcards, refusing to look at us. I felt pretty bad that we’d walked him so far without a decent break, and through my extensive negotiation powers I managed to convince Craig and Jeff to have a beer and relax for an hour.

The café owner gave us a little nudge when the bus was due to arrive – although it wouldn’t have surprised me if Spot just started walking again at the right time – and we walked into the rest of the town. We had no idea where the bus stop was, or even what the bus would look like, but yet again Spot took the lead and delivered us in just the right place. The bus driver had seen nothing so funny in his life as three foreigners being led by a scrawny dalmation onto a bus, and told us about it for the entire ride home.

Spot was mine for the rest of the afternoon. Actually, I couldn’t have gotten rid of him, or his flies, to save my life. For instance, he decided that my pool chair really was big enough for the both of us – all it would take is some sort of yoga pose from me for the duration. As they say in England: “Awww. Bless.”

Day two
The next day my plans were to do not much in particular, probably plan my trek further east, have a swim and eat some food, but early in the morning there was an insistent pawing at my leg and then a very meaningful stare into my eyes. My services were required once more. Jeff and Craig had already left to hire scooters, and I gave in pretty much straight away. This time, though, Spot took me down the Zemi valley. Spot’s mum, Dawn, has warned me that his route through the Zemi valley got a little rough at times, so a couple of hours into the hike I thought nothing of the first few bushes of surprisingly spike plant matter. My memories of that hike in Slovakia came back to me, making me chuckle softly. Then, I remembered that I now hate an entire country because of that hike, and I began to wonder just where the hell this dog was taking me.

The track cleared up just after that and we started walking through some fields and some excellent grottos. I berated myself for doubting Spot the Wonder Dog. He’d come through with the good yesterday, hadn’t he? Showed me some sights well off the beaten track, that no other tourists get to see? And now, after being on a very popular and well-maintained hiking trail the previous day, Spot was obviously taking me on the advanced, far more rewarding path. I was loving the feeling of remoteness and isolation, as though I was the only person to be here in decades. ‘I have no idea where I am’, I thought, ‘and I love it.’ Pause. Sound of dropping penny. ‘Wait one second. Where the fuck am I? This may be a path that I’m walking along, but it sure looks pretty directionless to me! Where the fuck is this dog leading me?!’

By that time, we had begun gaining elevation, and with some determined pointing and direction-setting by me, we got to the top of the valley, among some vineyards. Relieving Spot of command, I broke for lunch and some shade and then applied my apparently embryonic orienteering skills to completely misunderstand our current location. Ignoring Spot’s desire to head south, I pressed north for 20 minutes or so until I saw our cart track disappear. Spot was loving every last minute of this, dashing in and out of the vineyards – no-one had even taken him here before – but there were certain aspects of our current situation that I could have done without. My skin peeling off in layers under the sun, for one. The featureless stretch of road that we eventually emerged on it, only one hour after I conceded south was wrong and let Spot take me north. The underwear creeping up my arse. The completely indefensible reluctance of Turkish drivers to pick up a man and his fly-blown dog.

I knew that while we were heading back to Goreme, we were also a very, very long way from it. I turned off the road into a hotel to ask about a bus into Goreme but the guy wasn’t having it. ‘Pah. Is only four kilometre. Will be faster to walk.’ He added ‘Your dog looks tired.’

‘Well,’ I replied, ‘I’m fucking glad he looks tired. He’s a useless piece of shit, the complete fuck-nozzle.’ (I once saw a book in Berlin called “English as a Second Fucking Language: How to swear properly in English” and apparently I was warming up to deliver a master class). The guy stared at me, and I walked away, trying to kick Spot as he followed me.

While he was completely exhausted, Spot the Demon Dog was ecstatic with our day. Well, between snoozes, that is. To celebrate our amazingly fun adventure, he tried to lick my cards as I played 500, and followed me to dinner, where, once again everyone knew his name, but this time he even got his commission – some salami – right in front of me.

The next day I caught a bus out of Cappadocia at 8am. When I left the pension, Spot was charging ahead of me once more, a little sleepy and perhaps confused that he hadn’t had breakfast yet. He got even more confused when I stopped at the bus station and put my bags down. I think he knew what was happening, though, when he sat down at my feet and waited with me until my bus arrived. When I boarded the bus, he ran back in the direction of the pension, to prepare his ambush for the next day’s suckers.