More Christians took refuge there in the eigth century, after the Byzantine Emperor Leo III forbid the worship of icons. Emboldened by the remote location, artists tackled daring themes like the Nativity, Last Supper and Crucifixion.

Thirty spectacular painted churches stand in Goreme Valley, now an Open-Air Musuem (and a UNESCO World Heritage Site). The tufa retains colour well, so the scenes are startlingly vivid at times. But rumours of ham-fisted restoration - read "repainting" - circulate through the crowd. Then an American woman does the unthinkable: loudly questions the horrific graffiti.

Some marks are clear-cut vandalism, the likes of "Yusef loves Elmas". Others smack of iconoclasm, however, especially the violent scrapes across the saints' faces. On high ceilings, overlapping pockmarks - perhaps from repeatedly hurled rocks - blend their accusing almond eyes back into creamy stone.

An earnest Turkish student, clad in a traditional headscarf and trendy denim jacket, tries to explain. "The painting is very old, it decays,"

"Just around the eyes?" pursues the dogged New Yorker. "I should be so lucky."

"We did not do this. The Turkish people, we make the painting better again." She is so clearly unhappy, the subject drops and the tourists, eastern and western alike, shuffle off awkwardly.

Cappadocia's other big draw - the Caravansaries of the Silk Road - is less controversial. The Selcuk Empire renewed the area's trade ties, shuttling spices, ivory and fine cloth from the Far East. In return, they gathered slaves there, trained them as soldiers and sold them to the south.

Travelling merchants could stay at each caravansary free for three days, under the protection of the sultan. These vast complexes included baths, mosques, stables, sleeping quarters and marketplaces. Many, like the splendid Agzikarahan outside of Aksaray, now display carpets.

Expect an unusual degree of hustle and desperation among the rug and bauble merchants of Cappadocia. Hotel proprietors lurked on dirt roads, during this last desolate "high season". They chased after cars, bellowing the merits of their €12 double room, pleading for their children's bread.

It's a far cry from McClintock's vision where "a lake of stew and of whiskey too" provide easy livin'. But these Big Rock Candy Mountains hold pleasures aplenty for visitors open-minded enough to talk Turkey. (CONTINUED...)