Morning reflections at Pamukkale
The morning sun filters through my hotel window, casting a soft glow on the white walls. It's 8:30, and I've been up since 6:15, unable to sleep longer despite the overnight bus journey from Cappadocia that brought me here late last night.
I'm sitting on the small balcony of my hotel room, sipping a cup of Turkish çay that the receptionist kindly provided when he saw me wandering through the lobby earlier. The tea is strong and sweet, nothing like what I'd make myself, but somehow perfect for this moment.
Pamukkale. The "cotton castle." I can see the white travertine terraces in the distance from here, glowing in the morning light. After 170 days on the road, I've reached another place that has been on my mental list for years. The terraces look like snow against the green landscape, which feels strangely comforting.
Last night was a blur. The bus from Cappadocia arrived just before midnight, and a local minibus driver who was waiting at the station offered to take those of us heading to Pamukkale to our respective accommodations. I remember stumbling into the hotel reception, grateful that they had 24-hour check-in as promised.
This morning, I've just been organizing my thoughts and planning the day. The hotel serves breakfast until 10:00, so I have time to jot down some reflections before heading down. According to the weather forecast the receptionist shared, we have a sunny morning ahead, but clouds and possibly showers will roll in by midday. Perfect timing to explore the terraces early.
It's strange to think that just yesterday I was hiking through Rose Valley in Cappadocia, and now I'm here, looking at an entirely different natural wonder. The contrasts of Turkey continue to surprise me. From underground cities to fairy chimneys to these calcium deposits forming white pools – this country seems to have an endless supply of geological marvels.
I've noticed a pattern in my journey lately. I'm increasingly drawn to these natural formations – places shaped by time and elements rather than human hands. Perhaps there's something in watching how the earth transforms itself over millennia that puts my own brief 500-day journey into perspective.
On the practical side, I've mapped out a rough plan for my time here:
- Today: Explore the travertine terraces early before the clouds roll in
- Tomorrow: Visit the ancient city of Hierapolis and its museum
- Day after: Perhaps a day trip to Laodicea
- Final day: Whatever I feel I've missed
The receptionist mentioned that the site opens at 9:00, and it's about a 15-minute walk from the hotel. If I head down for breakfast now, I can be at the entrance right when they open. The morning light should be perfect for photographs of the white terraces against the blue sky before those clouds move in.
I've read that you can walk barefoot through some of the thermal pools, which sounds both strange and wonderful. Water that has journeyed through the earth, picking up minerals along the way, creating these otherworldly formations over thousands of years... and I get to wade through it.
I can't help but think about the third of my journey that has already passed. 170 days gone, 330 remaining. Each place I visit now feels more precious somehow, knowing that my time to experience the world like this is limited. Not that I'm counting down – rather, I'm counting up, collecting these moments like photographs.
Time for breakfast and then to see these famous white terraces up close. I'm curious if any trees have managed to grow near the calcium-rich waters – nature always finds a way, even in the most unusual environments.
Posted: Thursday, February 12, 2026, 08:50