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I’d seen the photo on the Lonely Planet Guide cover and was hooked, but feared disappointment. The palace stood alone on a wide open plain. Red earth stretching in all directions, nothing else in sight, no houses, no town.

My journey took 12 hours by bus over the vast wheat plains on roads with only an occasional lorry.

Last night I stayed at the Dogubayazit hotel, where the bar tender warned me off my normal neat vodka, pleading with me to drink it with the local equivalent of Coke. He was right. It was oily, but helped me sleep after a day on the road.

After a breakfast of fragrant rose petal jam and bread I booked a taxi to take me to Ishak Pasha. I can’t believe the mystery of this place, a ruin with the walls and central tower still standing. I’m looking out across the Anatolian plain from an empty window and feel the hot wind lifting my thin wool shawl, worn over my head to show respect in this Muslim land.

As I cross the floor I’m aware of the curator, a wizened elderly man in a shabby suit. I realise he wants paying for my entry and quickly take coins from my pocket: ‘How much?’ He waves away the money. ‘Aspirini,’ he responds. Luckily I have some in my rucksack and offer him a strip of four tablets. You’d think I’d given him the moon. ‘Chai?’ he enquires. ‘Evet,’ I respond.

He boils the kettle to make the tea and fills the tulip glasses. In the metal saucer are four sugar lumps. The tea is rich and dark, no milk, and needs the sugar. The English may think their world turns on a cup of tea, but perhaps they have never been to Turkey.