What constitutes a natural wonder? It has to be unlike anything else in the world, aesthetically beautiful and ripe for exploration. And it needs to be supported by a mammoth marketing campaign.

Since before the time of Christ people have been living here, chipping holes into the chimneys and sleeping beneath a solid ceiling

After two years of public voting, seven natural wonders of the new world were unveiled last year. One is Table Mountain, a flat expanse of rock that stands at a paltry 1,000 metres high.

Another is a 10-kilometre cave, and then there is the ludicrously inaccessible Amazon Rainforest and Angel Falls.

The next round of voting is under way for the seven great cities. Valletta is currently fourth bottom of the candidates, ahead of Luxembourg (population barely reaching five figures), Oslo (obscenely expensive Norwegian capital) and St Peter’s Port in Guernsey (no, I haven’t heard of it either.)

There’s no question the new seven wonders riled me, especially when I discovered Cappadocia in central Turkey.

It’s spring, a gentle cover of cloud floating along the horizon. My room is a cave in the rock face, bringing an irrevocable smell of damp.

But it feels natural; for 26 centuries people have been sleeping in these geological holes. Not that there is an alternative, as each hotel is built into and around the unusual terrain. For a popular tourist attraction, the lack of a four-star concrete monstrosity is impressive.

“Don’t worry,” says the owner, “you get used to the smell”.

I won’t get used to the view. From the chopped out window, a lunar landscape unfolds. Officially, the cylindrical rock formations are called fairy chimneys, a description dreamt up by the idealists.

Since it has wings, the constricted space of a chimney seems like the last place a fairy would reside. A field of giant mushrooms is my initial reaction.

Tubular creations pop out of the ground, each clearly distinct but retaining harmony with each other. Certain vantage points are popular with the tour buses, places where the landscape’s bounty can unfold in a single camera shot.

For me their beauty lies in exploration. A dozen steps off the road and I’m lost within it.

Some rise high up to 40 metres high, like flagpoles awaiting assignment. Others have been squashed by a giant’s boot, squat affairs that could be houses for hobbits.

Over a period of 30 million years, volcanic eruptions created hot lava which set above the surface, resting on pillars of softer rock. Wind, rain and snow gradually eroded the softer rock, creating the unusual conical structures.

Since before the time of Christ, people have been living here, chipping holes into the chimneys and sleeping beneath a solid ceiling. The soft basalt rock was also a saviour of some of the first Christians.

Fearing persecution from the Romans, they built underground cities, accessed by concealed ground-level entrances.

It’s narrow and cramped, and I duck my head as I drop down five storeys. Corridors jut off at random angles, each revealing a succession of caves where families would live.

Several underground complexes have been discovered and I’m stood in Derinkuyu, which was home to 20,000 people. My guide points out different caves: homes for livestock, presses for oil and wine, refectories and chapels. Using rocks weighing over half a ton, each floor could be closed off to intruders.

On the bottom floor, 55 metres below, the passageway opens onto the city square, and it’s possible to imagine the gloomy space illuminated by lanterns and the gossip of residents.

Fast forward a few centuries and the acceptance of Christianity brought people above ground in spectacular fashion.

Celebrating their once hidden culture, ornate churches were built as years of oppression exploded with lavish brilliance.

Over a dozen 11th-century churches remain, each carved into the rock and bursting with elaborate scenes from the New Testament.

Tunnels and archways lead me on a merry dance, into the last supper and a thousand evangelical faces painted onto domed ceilings.

After the Turkish invasion, the Karanlik Kilise church was abandoned and became a home for pigeons for over 400 years. It took a dedicated team 14 years to carefully scrape away the bird droppings so the Byzantine art on the wall could be opened to tourists.

Surely multiple generations of disrespecting biblical art would see the pigeons reduced to avoiding catapult-wielding churchgoers? But no, it’s somehow given them a place of sanctity, and they’ve relocated to Pigeon Valley.

According to my guidebook, the valley has a popular four-kilometre walk where hundreds of pigeon houses have been carved into the fairy chimneys. I decline; any creature which covers George slaying the Dragon in poo can’t be celebrated.

As my journey continues, the chimneys slowly abate before the landscape cracks in front of me. A startling canyon appears from nowhere, filled with flowers.

My hiking trail descends sharply, throwing me out beside a stream that flows at an oddly slow pace. I’d appreciated it before, but Cappadocia’s empowering silence is most imposing as I stand below the landscape. The greenery is a shock, the blaze of colour such a contrast to the sandy tubes which make the region famous.

Finally, my route turns northward, back to the moist caves of my hotel. As I watch a soothing drizzle send people scurrying into the different cave hotels and restaurants, I realise why Cappadocia truly deserves to be recognised as a natural wonder. The seven chosen wonders are stand-alone pieces of natural beauty, undeniably impressive in terms of aesthetics. But most extraordinary about Cappadocia is the sense of a community living in harmony with the environment.

For thousands of years they’ve been maximising the natural resources in a sensible way that has preserved the splendour and advanced their people. They’ve made a home among the beauty, without destroying what made it so desirable in the first place.

And it is this synchronisation of nature with civilisation that gives Cappadocia its wow factor, its triumphant feature that makes a mockery of its rivals.

But perhaps, in ignoring Europe, the voting for natural wonders has had a silver lining. Ignored by the masses, the advancement of tourism will continue here at its organic pace and Cappadocia’s special coherence will remain intact.