The morning starts in Istanbul with the city still rubbing the sleep from its eyes — ferry horns in the distance, minarets catching the first cold light. By the second day you’re standing where legends began: Troy’s battered walls, a bronze Trojan Horse staring out over a scrubby plain. On day three white terraces of travertine at Pamukkale appear like a river frozen in chalk; the thermal water hisses and nudges visitors toward the ancient springs of Hierapolis. By the time you reach Cappadocia, the ground has been reworked by fire and wind into chimneys and caves; hot-air balloons lift at dawn and scatter like lanterns across a landscape that looks determined to keep you moving.