THE VISA

As I mentioned in the previous blog entry, I spent the New Year’s weekend traveling in Syria. It was a tour organized by a local travel agency and I was the only non-Turk. The only problem with that is that Turks do not need a visa to travel to Syria and Americans do. Getting the visa was an almost surreal experience, somewhat Kafkaesque.

Fortunately there is a Syrian consulate here in Gaziantep, not too surprising since we’re less than an hour from the Syrian border and Gaziantep is the only large city in southeastern Turkey. The travel agent said she would find out what kind of paperwork was needed for me to go on this trip. I didn’t hear for quite a while. She informed me very tactfully that the person she needed deal with didn’t appear to keep regular hours. Anyhow, she finally got through and told me I needed to get a letter from the rector of Zirve – essentially the university president – saying I was employed by Zirve and wanted to participate in such and such a trip. Naturally she needed it immediately. Amazingly I was able to get such a letter – with help from my friend Filiz who’s a business school faculty member at Zirve. I delivered it to the travel agent and then began waiting – and waiting and waiting. The trip left on the morning of December 31^st. On the afternoon of December 29^th I got an e-mail telling me to go to the consulate at 10 AM on the 30^th with a passport and a surprisingly hefty sum of money to pay for the visa. I teach at 10:30 AM but was giving a test that day. I arranged for someone to start the test, thinking I’d only be slightly late.

I arrived at the consulate a bit early, thinking they’d just take my money and put the visa in my passport. Surprise. There were two police security posts outside the consulate walls, and one of the officers directed me to the front gate. I rang the bell and a rather threatening type – sandy hair, crew cut, scowling expression, not such a great complexion -- opened up. He could have been a character out of a James Bond movie. Anyhow he directed me to the other gate and led me up to a window that obviously served people needing some sort of paperwork from the consulate. I think I must have been expected because the man behind the window signaled my escort to take me to the front door. We went through some bushes in a planter that separated the two areas and I was led into a beautiful waiting area – highly polished wood floors, gorgeous carpets, tasteful furniture and at least one picture of President Assad. I’m sure there are plenty of pictures of our presidents in the embassies and consulates around the world so I didn’t think too much about it.

Now began the waiting. To my right there was a corridor with lots of doors – which reminded me a bit of Kafka’s The Castle. If I had proceeded straight ahead after coming through the front door, I would have encountered a flight of stairs leading to the floor above. Behind me was a door into the booth that faced the outside. It was very quiet and nothing was moving. Finally a gentleman, I’ll call him Visa Man, came out of the booth and brought me what were essentially two visa applications to fill out. Then he left. He did return after a while and help me fill out a couple of items I found problematic – like where I’d cross the border. He then took my passport and the papers and disappeared upstairs. Frankly, I was never quite sure where he went between times. He kind of appear from an unexpected direction. Meanwhile, a young man that came downstairs on several occasions and disappeared into a door in the hallway. After doing this a couple of times, he asked me if I’d like coffee or tea. I replied tea. He said fine and disappeared. I frankly gave up on the tea because nothing came and I never saw him again.

After an extremely long wait, Visa Man came back with my passport, two application forms and a document written all in Arabic with my name spelled out in the middle. I thought maybe this document was the visa and that I was nearing the end of the process. He then asked me for the 265 TL and two photos. Two photos!!?!! No one told me to bring photos, I explained. Just a passport and the visa fee. This really threw him. I told him I had passport photos at the office. He said, “Go get them.” I explained that the office was far away but that I could come back with them in the afternoon. I’d clearly thrown him for loop; this was’t how things were supposed to unfold. He disappeared up the stairs, and this time stayed away for a long time. The tea finally did appear, and fortunately I’d brought along a good book (The Bastard of Istanbul by Elif Shafak – worth reading, by the way). He returned about 11:30 AM and told me to come back in an hour with pictures. I briefly considered taking a taxi to Zirve and back but that might have taken more than an hour and would have cost $75. So I walked toward the downtown and located one of those stores that takes passport photos. I was back to the consulate by noon, quite proud of myself. Now, I thought, we can finish this off and I can make it back for my 1:15 PM class. Wrong.

Back to the aptly name waiting room. At one point I had to use the restroom. I left two photos on the coffee table, just in case. When I returned, they were gone. Finally, Visa Man came back with my applications forms, pictures stapled to the corners. He motioned me to follow him upstairs. Visa Man had his bent arms pressed to his side – holding my paperwork in his hard. He sort of bowed as he entered the room – it was almost like we were approaching the Queen of England. It turned out I was being ushered into the office of the Consul General for an audience. Actually, the Consul General asked me few questions. He was actually quite charming, telling me about his two years in New York and three months in Los Angeles. Then he described the importance of Syria in Christian history and how from Damascus was from Beirut and Amman Jordan – only 45 minutes by can in either direction. He suggested I spend two weeks in Damascus and see the whole area. I told him I’d love to but he needed to tell our rector – which whom he apparently good friends – to give me more time off so I could make the trip. He said, jokingly, that he would do that. However, the whole time he was flipping through my passport, probably looking for offending visas. Fortunately, this was a relatively new passport – the old one would have had Chinese and Rwandan visas in them. He didn’t find anything so he finally handed the paperwork back to Visa Man and I went back downstairs -- to wait. I was ever so glad I’d purchased a cell phone the week before. I’d actually only used it once to make a call. However, I was able to call back to campus and get someone to tell my class that I’d be late but that they should wait for me. I left the consulate a little after 1:00 PM, visa in hand. Fortunately there was a taxi stand around the corner, and the driver was able to get me to campus by 1:30 PM. The students had their second listening test of the quarter scheduled for that day, and I didn’t need the whole period for that. And I was able to flash my fancy new visa; they were quite impressed. It took over three hours of mostly waiting, but I had IT – less than 24 hours before departure time. I’d be able to make the trip after all.

Goodbye 2009, Hello 2010

Yes, it’s Merry New Year again. This time from Aleppo, Syria, where I had gone as part of a three-day tour of that country. I knew when I signed up that the hotel was hosting a New Year’s Eve gala and the price of the tour included this event. It sounded like a meal and some music. I had no idea this festivity would turn out to be spectacle. But let me backtrack.

We didn’t get into our hotel rooms until around eight. We were told to be downstairs at 9:30 PM. I’d planned to shower and change into my party duds, but first I wanted to rest a bit – it had been a long day. Well, my roommate woke be at 9:15, no shower and not much time to change. That was okay. Only half our group was there on time and the official event – there was a program on every table – didn’t start until 10:00 PM and was scheduled to end at 5 AM! Our group was assigned the tables on either side of the door. I sat with my back against the wall, which allowed me to watch everyone make their entry. And making an entry was what they did.

First you had to walk through a little tunnel of arches, designed to look like a snow scene -- yes, those are little Santas waving from the "snowy" arches. If you look into the ballroom, you can see that each chair has been covered with a sheet of satiny fabric. A big red ribbon -- probably 10" wide -- has been tied around the back. That was our table.

They began bringing appetizers somewhat after 10 PM. We'd had such a big and late lunch that appetizers were just fine for me -- you ended up with a plateful of food just sampling. When the music started at 10:30 PM and the room was only about one quarter full -- I wondered if it would be a meager crowd. I needn't have worried; people kept entering. Yes, here and there a family with younger children or someone in a headscarf and conservative dress. However, for the most part it reminded me a bit of a scene out of the Godfather with women almost over dressed, over coiffed and over accessorized on the arms of dark-haired men in suits. Of course, that's from my more conservative Northwest vantage point. Actually, I quite enjoyed the people watching aspect.

The Western Music portion of the program was performed by a duo, a violinist and a keyboardist. The keyboardist had a whole band in his instrument, and he also provided the occasional vocal. The music was sort of Western pop, meant to be danceable. I got a kick out of watching couples dance to a bouncy version of Silent Night. Quite a switch from standing in a darkened church on Christmas Eve, everyone singing Silent Night reverently while holding a candle in one's hand. As midnight approached the dance floor filled. The musicians launched into a medley of Christmas carols. It was a hoot to see everyone out there bopping away to "Angels We Have Heard on High" -- and I could belt out the Gloria in Excelsis Deo part without anyone even noticing. That portion of the program ended at 12:20 AM, followed by -- not what you might expect after Christmas caroles -- a voluptuous belly dancer who really brought the crowd to its feet.

This belly dancer was quite an energetic person. She actually took one very short break and then came back. When she was finished, the musicians continued playing and one of the guests came out on the floor and did her little belly dancing routine.

Then the fun really began. A Syrian pop singer and his band came on stage. I found out later was the most famous pop singer in Syria. They played Arabic pop and the dance floor was packed. It's not so much couples dancing but rather everyone out there doing their own thing. Some get into lines, some just twirl around to the beat. Hard to describe but very infectious. You could hardly keep from smiling, in fact, you could hardly watch and sit still. Eventually I even had to get out there. And if that weren't enough, sometime just past 1:00 AM they brought out the main course! A traditional breakfast was scheduled for 4:30 AM but I gave up at 2:30 AM.

There was one touching incident that I really didn't understand until the following day. Abutting the other table occupied by our group was a table of eight. They were a very energetic group. All the women were tall and blonde (not naturally so, says my catty self). Just before I left one man from our group went over and dragged a couple of men from that table onto the dance floor. They started doing a sort of traditional Middle Eastern line dance and then were joined by other members of the group. They were all laughing and goofing around. I couldn't understand why this guy would have gone to a table of strangers like that. It turns out members of our party had been talking to this group. One of them had gone to the university and lived in Istanbul. However, he had returned to Damascus because that's where his family was. The group had come all the way from Damascus for this party -- a group of Armenians. It turns out the pop singer was also Armenian, so perhaps there was some connection there. Anyhow, I think it was a gesture by the Turk to reach out to the Armenians. Of course, it doesn't undo the past, but it's nevertheless important to build these relationships in the present.

Remember -- It's not a Christmas tree!

There's a lot holiday cheer in town, but lest you mistake it for Christmas, I have to tell you it's all about the New Year's holiday. Gifts are exchanged, and there are lots of musical events, meals, etc. In fact, I had a conversation with one of our Turkish colleagues yesterday about whether we got Christmas off or not. I assured him we didn't, and he thought that was awful. Then I reminded him that if we took Christmas off, he and the other Muslim teachers would be teaching our classes -- end of conversation. This morning he came in and said I was mistaken; we did get Christmas off. Turns out he was talking about December 1st, New Year's Day. He thought that was the Christmas holiday. Looks like the marketing professionals have done a good job sneaking that commercial holiday into this Muslim country.

Tree in Sanko Park Mall -- looks like Christmas to me

Last Friday night three of us went out to dinner with a member of Zirve's political science faculty. His wife and two children are still in Istanbul, so he usually flies home every weekend. This weekend he stayed in Gaziantep, so we decided to do something together. We ended up going to the restaurant in the Bayazhan. A "han" is a kind of inn or even commercial establishment dating back to the days of the camel trains across central Asia. I'd been told that a han was a caravanserei -- and you will find that same information in guidebooks. However, I was also told you'd never have a caravanserei that close to town -- I guess because camels smell. This person said a han was a kind of mall. Cities liked to keep those traders all in one place so they could collect their taxes. Whatever -- it was part of that famous trading system that grew up along the Silk Road. This particular han has a central courtyard surrounded by a two-story a building. The Gaziantep city museum occupies part of the building, and it houses other commercial establishments, including a fabulous jewelry store. You can sit in the courtyard and drink coffee or tea or even be served a meal. The back portion is occupied by a lovely restaurant.

Restaurant in the Bayazhan

This was my first real restaurant meal -- other than kebab places. We started with several "meze," which are a bit like tapas. They are more than appetizers; they are really smaller portions of quite complicated dishes. One was actually small, well prepared brussell sprouts. Another was something that looked like a large caper with tomatoes and walnuts. And then there was a yogurt dish of some sort. Our Turkish colleague did the ordering. He's not from here but he quizzed the waiter quite extensively and ordered things typical of the region. We had two plates for the entree. One was a platter of eggplant kebab accompanied by what seemed like nicely spiced lamb meatballs. The waiter came over and showed us how to eat it. He very deftly scooped the eggplant out of the skin and placed it in pieces on a piece of flatbread (really just a white flour tortilla). They he cut up the meat and put that on top of the eggplant. There was parsely along with other garnishes on the plate. You then roll up the flatbread and eat it like a burrito -- quite a fancy burrito, however. For dessert we had baklava (what else) and Turkish coffee. At the end they brought the ubiquitous tea. It was a lovely evening. We all agreed that next time we'd just order a meal of mezes. Apparently people do that.

Entrance from the street into the Bayazhan courtyard

By the way, the Bayazhan itself is beautifully decorated for the holidays. The picture above is the entrance into the courtyard -- notice the little poinsettias (artificial although I've seen the real thing around) on either side. The courtyard is also well lit. On the table at the restaurant was a flyer advertising the New Year's festivities -- three days of music and other events. So Merry New Year's to you all.

Hamam

This weekend’s “culture of Gaziantep” outing was a visit to a Hamam or Turkish bath. There is
no soaking in a tub. It’s all about scrubbing and dumping bowls of hot on oneself and then getting a thorough scrubbing from one of the two attendants. You’d be surprised how much dead skin they can get off.

Entrance to the Hamam

We went to the B. Pasa Hamam, just down from the castle. Historians have reckoned that it was constructed in 1564/65 and was once part of a complex containing a mosque. You enter a small door, which you might miss if it weren’t for the historical plaque outside. The Hamam itself is underground. The first area you enter is a kind of domed atrium with domedm raised changing areas on either side. There were benches on the three sides of the tiled changing area, with hooks on the walls above. There was one woman there waiting to enter, stripped down to her underpants. So we figured out that’s what you did. We were give plastic flip flops and ushered into the bath itself.

Historical plaque. Click on this and you can read the text.

This was an amazing space. Under a large dome was a raised, octagonal marble slab. It was a dark coral in color and about three feet off the ground. This area is surrounded by eight arched alcoves, each with a marble basin on the back wall. The idea is that you sit next to the basin on a low stool, turn the hot and cold water on full blast, and use bowls to scoop out the water and dump it over yourselves. One woman had brought soap and shampoo, but we had to be satisfied with dousing ourselves – and it did feel good.

We were then summoned to the marble slab. We discovered it was heated from beneath somehow. Boy, did that drain the tension out of your body. It could have lain there forever, looking at the doom above me. There was an eight-pointed star cut into the center of the dome. The rest of the dome was pitted with octagonal openings. Actually, the dome itself appeared to be about a foot thick, and the actual openings to the outside were just rough-hewn circles topped with glass that wasn’t very well sealed; occasionally you’d watch a big drop fall toward you. After a while you felt like you were in a kind of planetarium, looking up at the stars. There was one woman who spoke a bit of English and asked us where we were from and what we were doing in Gaziantep. I can see how these baths could have provided a real social outlet, a kind of place for female bonding (the men get the evening timeslot – after 5 PM). I wish I actually spoke Turkish. I would liked to have known more about those other women.

It didn’t take too long to feel thorough enervated. Then one of the attendants, clad only in black shorts, motioned me over. She commenced a thorough, almost rough scrubbing with a mitt that was strapped onto her wrist. When she finishes scrubbing a person, she tosses several bowls of water over that part of the slab and squeegees it off.

After the scrubbing you return to your stool and rinse again with bowls of water. Then one of the attendants came over with a bottle of shampoo and scrubbed our hair. I’m not certain that’s a regular part of the service. Everyone else did their own hair, but we obviously hadn’t come prepared. When we finally left to return to the changing room, I was so relaxed I wasn’t sure my knees were going to hold me up. And all this for a mere 4 TL – less than $3. I should add that there much fancier hamams, equipped with saunas and masseuses – probably more like a spa. This was more of a “just folks” hamam, which is frankly perfect for me. And nearly 600 years old at that. A return visit is definitely right around the corner.


Update: I'm a bit late in publishing this. We returned to the hamam this weekend. We only went about a half hour later, but the place was packed. There were lots of little kids, even a baby. Not quite the quiet experience of last weekend but fun and ultimately relaxing the same. In fact, we almost fell asleep on the bus home. Also last week we somehow didn't pay the 10 TL to actually use the hamam. The 4 TL payed for the scrub. But at 14 TL it's still a bargin.

Mardin and Sanliurfa

After leaving Midyat we traveled a bit over an hour back to Mardin. The travel literature calls it “magical Mardin.” It sounds a bit hokey but in a way it’s true. The town really does hang on a hill below ruins of a fortress of some sort. That much we could see on our way through town to Hasankeyf. It was dark when we arrived back in Mardin, and there were spotlights shining on the upper cliffs. The hotel was wonderful. It had a pillow-top bed with a real down comforter and a large bathroom with a bathtub (haven’t even seen one since arriving in Turkey) and shower with actual doors. I had planned to have a good soak after dinner, but the metal stopped operated by pulling a handle in the tub was missing. I assumed that meant they didn’t was us to take baths to conserve water. However, those staying in other rooms reported – the next morning – that their rooms had stoppers. Oh well. I had a great sleep.



The next morning we all pilled into the bus to visit an active Syrian Orthodox monastery on the backside of the mountain. Someone asked the young guide if he were Christian, and he answered yes, Orthodox. The little chapel was touching. There was one old fresco visible, apparently the only one that survived the rampaging Mongols. For some reason. I just started to tear up standing in that little chapel. I don’t know exactly why. Perhaps it was the perseverance against terrible odds that the monastery represents. I wanted to spend some time just sitting there and our guide said okay. But she came looking for me very shortly – afraid that I might somehow get left behind – so my moment of contemplation didn’t last long.

The only survivng original fresco in the chapel

From there we visited a madrasa. Like the Church after the fall of the Roman Empire, it had assumed many of the civic functions. It had been not only a school but a hospital and many other things. And Timurlane is said to have beheaded its founder – legend has it that the redddish stones in one of the interior walls were colored by his blood.

Mardin-Style Garbage Collection

Having visited two sites outside the town, we drove back into Mardin. There are actually only two real streets in the old town, streets that can be used by cars or buses. However, there is a network of winding, narrow streets – some residential and others shopping streets. In fact, the streets are so narrow that they use donkeys with wooden boxes strapped on either side. We visited a mosque with a little niche that had four hairs purported to come from Mohammed’s beard and a Syrian Orthodox church, where someone I assume to be a clergyman gave quite a long talk in Turkish. The members of our group listened intently and I recognized the words for “bread” and “wine,” so I assume he was talking about the schism between his church and the rest of orthodox Christendom. I asked on of the English-speaking Turks in our group to ask this gentleman if any baptized Christian could take communion in his church or if you had to be of their father. He answered in perfect English that anyone who believed in Jesus Christ was welcome to participate fully in their services. Too bad we didn’t know earlier that he spoke English because some of us had a lot of questions for him.

Hairs from Mohammed's Beard in a little vial on the pedestal

We were then turned loose to explore. Some of us decided to visit the local archeological museum. The building was more impressive than the collection. We had been told we would see more Syrian-style architecture. The buildings were all quite boxy with lots of pointed arches and intricate decorative stone carvings. They appeared to be limestone, clearly the color of the surrounding countryside. That’s probably why you have to be almost there before you see it.

Archeological Museum

After a very late lunch, we left of Sanliurfa, about an hour east of Gaziantep. They like to claim that they are the site of the Biblical Ur, Abraham’s ancestral home. Biblical scholars pretty well agree that they found Ur of the Chaldees in the southern end of the Tigris-Euphrates basis, in Iraq. But we didn’t argue. We had been scheduled to stop at Haran, which also figures in Abraham’s story, but it was too dark. Instead we stopped at a famous carp pool, part of a large mosque complex and pilgrimage site for Muslims. Legend has it that Nimrod tried to burn Abraham to death. However, God turned Abrahams tears into the pool and the fire into carp. For 50 cents you can buy fish food. It’s then that you see how many carp there actually are in the pool.

Drummer from the traditional "band" We were sitting on the floor around low U-shaped tables.

We finished off the evening listening to traditional Turkish music, eating (again) and dancing. I really enjoyed that evening – too bad it didn’t happen earlier because the group really jelled having fun together. A young couple joined us in Sanliurfa, friends of some of the people on the tour. They were celebrating their first anniversary. At the end of the evening, they dressed the couple in traditional costume and several of the girls danced around them holding candles. A fitting end to the tour.

Tuer Abdin and Midyat

It was getting dark as we left Hasankeyf heading for the unofficial capital of the Tuer Abdin, Midyat. For centuries this high limestone plateau has functioned as the heartland of the Syrian Orthodox Church, which split with the Greek Orthodox church due to a theological dispute over the “nature” of Christ. They still use the ancient Syriac language in their literature. It is a form of Aramaic, which was the language Jesus spoke and itself a variety of Hebrew. In fact, many of the villagers still use an Aramaic dialect, Turoyo, in their daily lives.

The plateau is scattered with small villages, six of which are wholly Christian and two partly, but the center of religious life is the monastery Mor (St.) Gabriel. It was established in 397 and is still operating as a monastery. Records show that Christianity was preached as early as 120 AD in Tuer Abdin, but it was not until the establishment of Mor Gabriel that the new religion was truly established in the plateau. Then it really took off. Every village established its own monastery, which in turn nurtured a deep religiosity among the people.

The archbishop of Tuer Abdin has his seat in Midyat. Until the early 1990s, there was a vibrant Christian community in Midyat. However, the violence directed against the Christians during the Kurdish war caused many to flee – to the US and France, mostly. Many of the émigrés became quite successful and are now investing heavily in their home communities. It would appear that the out-migration has stemmed – at least for the time being.

It was after dark when we arrived in Midyat – about 5 PM. The bus parked just off a traffic circle in the middle of town. Looking back across the traffic circle you could see windows on two sides of a one-block area glowing. It lit up the whole night. It turns out those were the silver shops. The merchants display their wares in the window and shine bright lights on them. The town is famous for its filigree jewelry. I had seen a demonstration of how this jewelry is made at a museum in Gaziantep. It is amazing what they can make out of what is essentially silver wire.

Martha and Fatma Goecek, the woman who makes everything sold in the store

Frankly, I was overwhelmed with the offerings and decided to visit a textile shop I saw at the end of a passageway from the street. They specialized in items decorated with woodblock prints. The designs were all taken from the stone carvings in the facades of the old houses in the city. If you click on this link you can see some of the designs If you scroll about halfway down, you find a photo of a colleague and I with the woman who does the printing and embroidery sold in the shop. http://www.midyatsanat.com Quite soon after we appeared in the shop, the gentleman who appeared to be the proprietor fetched a young man from a small restaurant next door. He was born and raised in Midyat but now lives in Frankfurt, Germany. His German was amazing. It turns out he had come back to help his brother open up a restaurant in Midyat. He was the one who told us about the significance of the prints. We asked him how to get to the old city to see some of these houses. He then sent us off with his brother, who took us to the most famous of these houses, Konukevi. It sits on a hill above the town, and we found out taker that some Turkish TV show that everyone knew had been shot there. We wended our way through darken streets to get there, but there was an almost full moon that night so it had a mysterious, almost romantic feeling. I’d love to go back and see this little city in the daylight.

Hasankeyf

Last weekend was the 4 ½ - day Bayram weekend. Most of my classmates took off for Istanbul or cities in the western part of the country. I felt the need for a some peace and quiet and decided to spend the weekend at home. In the end I did get tempted into taking a two-day (Sunday-Monday) trip to Mardin and environs. A colleague and I had checked into going to Mardin via public transportation but the bus schedule made a weekend trip difficult. This seemed like a good opportunity to see that area.

View dropping down from the Tuer Abdin into the Tigris basin.

Actually, Mardin is located high on the slopes of a mountain, looking across into Syrian and what was anciently known as Mesopotamia, the Tigris-Euprates basin. Today that area is found in parts of Syrian and Iraq and even Iran and southeastern Turkey. The trade routes between Mesopotamia and Anatolia (roughly modern Turkey) ran through Mardin, across the Tuer Abdin (the e stands for an umlaut over the u), over the Tigris and up to Diyarbakir.

Looking downstream at the ruins of an ancient bridge in Hasankeyf.

We traveled first to Hasankeyf on the Tigris so now I’ve been to both of the “cradle of civilization” rivers. In fact, I actually stepped into the Tigris. That wasn’t possible where we stopped on the Euphrates, but I’ll get it done before I get home. Hasenkeyf is known for its medieval ruins of Selcuk, Kurdish and Arabic origins. The town was originally founded by the Romans and passed through the hands of many ruling groups until the Ottomans finally took it over in the early 1400s.

Couldn't resist this shot from the trail up the gorge, looking across to the town and some now abandoned cliff dwellings. Click on the photo and you'll see an almost full moon in the center right.

Behind the village that lies on the Tigris rises some impressive cliffs, cut in at least one place by a canyon or gorge. Trails lead up the canyon walls to the top of the cliff where there are ruins of a palace built by the Artuid kings (12th century). All sorts of dwellings have been carved into the cliff all along the pathway. In fact, part of the cliff looks a bit like a honeycomb. The local guidebook says that it’s not know when people began inhabiting these particular cave but it is believed that people were living nearly 4,000 years prior to the birth of Christ. People from neighboring societies called these people “kefenen” or “people of the caves.”

Eating fish on the banks of the Tigris.

Before attempting the climb up the gorge, we at lunch at one of the little fish restaurants built on stilts along the banks of the Tigris. We didn’t actually start our walk until about 3 PM. It’s pitch dark by 4:30 PM so we didn’t make it to the top. Too bad. The place was also overrun by tourists – all Turkish as far as I could tell – and the attendant peddlers selling everything from scarves, woolen rugs, and local crafts to clothing imported from India. They had set up booths along the main street and the road into the gorge but also all along the path to the top. Many of the caves not house little shops – even places to buy tea. Sometimes it seemed like a bit much, but how else are those people supposed to make a living. When our bus pulled in we were stopped by police armed with machine guns. On the sidewalk next to them were barriers that could be used to set up a roadblock. I assume that even though the government has made peace with Kurdish insurgents, the area is still considered a bit risky. I supposed it’s just like Northern Ireland. There are still people on both sides who just won’t give up the fight.

Looking upstream in the late afternoon. The sun is shining on one side of the mausoleum.

Before leaving we crossed the river to get a good look at the Zeynel Bey tomb. It was build as a mausoleum by Zeynel for his father the Akkoyun ruler Hasan. Akkoyn or Ak-Qouyn means “White Sheep Turkmen.” They were rulers of the small Turkish principality where Hasankeyf is located. (For me it’s almost impossible to untangle the history of Turkey from the time that the Turkish tribes appeared on the scene until the Ottoman Empire finally solidified.) The monument is important as the most Timurid-influenced monument in Turkey – think Tamurlane and Samarkand, where he had his capital. Actually, Tamarlane and his hordes did actually invade Mardin and surround areas. He was an equal-opportunity killer, slaughtering Christians and Muslims alike.

Close-up of the mausolelum

When we got off the bus at the monument, children seemed to appear from nowhere. They tried out their few words of English and tried to teach us to count in Kurdish. Little did they know they were approaching English teachers! Soon after two well dressed men appeared. I thought they were other tourists, but as our bus pulled away they were standing with a group of children that had grown to about 15. At first I thought they were just other tourists visiting the monument or at the end, perhaps teachers of the children. But we were later told they were security personnel.