Frozen air slipped past my layers of clothing, slowly penetrating my hands, feet and face. The snow came thick and fast, whirling and dancing, a decadent snowstorm to satisfy even the most ambitious of snow-day fantasies. Below me, the small town of Goreme, the centrepiece of this snow-globe world, the bright green minaret of the Mosque surfacing for air from amongst the drifts, the Muslim call to prayer echoing across the land. Cappadocia’s famous fairy chimneys, pinnacles of rock inhabited for thousands of years, reaching out into the sky like outstretched fingers, the hands of a giant preparing to scoop up a mighty snowball with which to wage war upon the world. I worked my way through the slushy streets, my brother Alex at my side, my beard catching as many snowflakes as possible, my transformation into a mountain man nearly complete. We walked to the edge of the town, a cold wind howling from the north, the trees rustling like live things. We stopped, gazing outwards, t...