It was Harold who had made it possible. A clever boy, and a wonderful son…

When it had become quite clear that she could no longer afford to keep the

house up, that it would have to be sold, it was Harold who had persuaded his

firm to buy it. Their interest, he had told her, lay not in the house, but in the

site – as would any buyer’s. The house itself was almost without value now,

but the position was convenient. As a condition of sale, four rooms on the

south side had been converted into a flat which was to be hers for life. The

rest of the house had become a hostel housing some twenty young people

who worked in the laboratiories and offices which now stood on the north

side, on the site of the stables and part of the paddock. One day, she knew,

the old house would come down, she had seen the plans, but for the present,

for her time, both it and the garden to the south and west could remain

unspoilt. Harold had assured her that they would not be required for fifteen

or twenty years yet – much longer than she would know the need of them…

John Wyndham,  Stitch in time

’Then stay in Istanbul,’ said Ipek.

            Ka looked at her carefully. ’Is Istanbul where you want to live?’ he

asked in a whisper. His greatest wish just then was for Ipek to ask something

of him.

            Ipek sensed this, too. ’I don’t want anything.’ she said.

            Ka knew he was rushing. But something told him he wasn’t going to

be in Kars much longer, that soon he would be unable to breathe here – so

he had to rush, as if his life depended on it. For a few moments they listened

to snatches of a distant conversation; then a horse and carriage passed

under the window and they listened to the wheels rolling over the snow. Ipek

was standing in the doorway slowly and meticulously removing the hair that

had collected in the brush in her hand.

            ’Life here is so poor and hopeless that people, even people like you,

forget what it’s like to want something,’ said Ka. ’One cannot think of life

here, only death… Are you coming with me?’ Ipek didn’t answer. ’If you’re

going to say no, then don’t answer me at all,’ added Ka.

            ’I don’t know,’ said Ipek, her eyes on the brush. ’They’re waiting for

us in the other room.’

Orhan Pamuk,  Snow; translated by Maureen Freely)

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            The main attraction is Mangapu Cave, better known as the Lost

World. The cave was first discovered in 1906, when two railway surveyors

almost fell into it through a sinkhole. They described the sunlit, ferny gully

100m below as “a fairy-land without the fairies, a lost world“. The name

stuck and 100 years later it has become the setting for one of the top

adventure daytrips in a country famous for them: an exhilarating “wild

caving“ experience.

Wild caving involves exploring caves without the aid of formed pathways and

fixed lighting found in so-called “show caves“. An experienced guide leads

the way and participants are supplied with wetsuits, helmets, head torches,

climbing harnesses and gumboots. Wild caving also demands a reasonable

level of fitness, agility and endurance.

The trip starts with a 10-minute drive from Waitomo over rolling hills and

through farm gates to the shed that is the base for the day’s expedition.

Then it’s a short walk to a large, gaping hole.

It takes about half an hour to reach the bottom, so there’s plenty of time to

enjoy the view of ferns wallpapering the cave walls and to notice a sound

that begins as a whisper and grows into a rushing roar close to the cave

floor. Like many of Waitomo’s caves, the Lost World has a river running

through it.

Luise Southerden,  New Zealand

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I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him to

secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to

details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not

understand my German. This could not be true, because up to then he had

understood it perfectly; at least, he answered my question exactly as if he

did.  He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other

in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had been sent

in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count

Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife

crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply

refused to speak further. It was so near the time of starting that I had no

time to ask anyone else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means

comforting.

Just before I was leaving, the old lady came up to my room and said in a very

hysterical way: -

‘Must you go?’ She was in such an excited state that she seemed to have

lost her grip of what German she knew, and mixed it all up with some other

language which I did not know at all.

Abraham (Bram) Stoker, Dracula