Bordertown Kilis

Gazi to Kilis

Distance: 59 km
Time elapsed: 3:28:00
Average speed: 17 km/ hr
Max speed: 49.1 km/ hr
Temp: 22 C
Weather: warm and dry, fair amount of wind. Not as sticky air as Greece :)

Chris and I packed up and said goodbye to Devon, then biked up away from the university which sits near the edge of town. There is a ring road behind Antep's backdrop of a hill, connecting the opposite highway exit out of town and toward Syria. The road was only smoothly paved on the other side, so we biked against traffic, but there were so few cars it wasn't a problem. 


Gazi's abundant and pricey bakalava shops


One final round of fresh squeezed OJ

Heading toward Syria there is little by way of vegetation. I wonder if this sparse desert will continue for the next several weeks, or even the rest of the trip. Recently NYT published a story about Syria's state of escalating drought, in part due to global warming but also because of Turkey's large scale dam projects (again to GAP) that are sucking up the flow of the Tigris and Euphrates, Syria's two main water sources.

Late in the day we pulled in to the first of a series of gas stations near the small town of Kilis, hoping to find some snacks after the 50 km ride. Suprise! Nothing inside. Any of them. Until that moment I would have bet my life that Fritolay and Cocacola had wrestled their products into every shop on the planet. We biked onward.
 
Once in town, Chris suddenly voiced the idea What if we go to the highschool and simply ask the English teacher if (s)he would host us? My first thoughts were: That's crazy! How ackward. No they would never agree. But then I started thinking about how overwhelmingly welcoming Turkish people have been, and heck, what is the worst that can happen?

We turned around and entered the school's gates, immediately swarmed by uniform clad boys. They are all curious- Foreigners? Bikes? English?

A few seconds later a woman appeared, introducing herself (in English) as the literature teacher, and explaining that they have no English teacher. As our conversation carried on and we grew more comfortable, Chris and I tried to discretely and politely ask if she could help us find a host. Homestay didn't make sense to her, but when we made the bold (and feeling rude) request simply put Can we stay with you? the lightbulb flashed and Behara exclaimed Of course! You'll come to my house!

So that was that. We waited for her final class to finish, meanwhile entertaining a posse of boys who were likely ditching class, then we followed one of them to Behara's apartment.


Chris and the schoolboy crew
 
We spent the evening with her and her husband, Mustafa, playing games and talking. Chris and I took a walk after sundown to explore the town a bit and stumbled upon the country's cheapest and most delicious bakalava shop. The nice old man behind the counter gave us samples-- walnut yes!-- so I bought a kilo to take back to our hosts as a thank you. Luckily they let us eat some too. :)


With Behara and Mustafa

Heroic Antep

Gaziantep (the prefix Gazi meaning heroic, or victorious, was awarded to the city of Antep in 1921) is known for one thing: fıstık. Surrounded on all sides by what would otherwise be a barren wasteland, instead there are endless pistachio plantations in all directions.


Upclose and personal with Antep's fıstık

The first 30 or so km out of Urfa are dry, flat, and empty, then suddenly wide fields of corn (and cotton evidently, judging by the army of overstuffed cotton trucks barreling down the highway) pop up, very much the landscapes of Iowa...


Having a cotton pickin' good time!

Gaziantep is said to be one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, encompassed over the centuries within the Hittite, Roman, Persian, Assyrian, Armenian, Umayyad, Seljuk, Mongol, and Ottoman empires (plus many more). The old town itself is full of pink and black stone-cut mosques dating back to the 11th century. In some ways they are similar to the black and white cut designs prominent in nearby Diyarbakir, however upon closer inspection the pink stone and inner structures, as well as ornately cut wooden minarets, are unique.

Pink and black entrance to the Şirvani Camii


Interior of one of Antep's unique mosques

There is also a central fortress, dolled up with lifesize bronze statues of war heroes, and harbors little more than a museum inside. It still boasts a drawbridge over the now-dry moat, though the view over Antep's metropolis, congested with pollution and traffic, pales in comparison to Urfa's fortress panorama...


Turkish pride...

Restored drawbridge over the moat

We couchsurfed with an American girl, Devon, who teaches English at the university and lives in a small but cozy nearby flat. Some meals we shared were cooked, others take-out, and all eaten Kurdish/ family style on the floor.


Eating Kurdish style with Devon

At one point we accidentally stumbled into Antep's Culinary Museum, an old house that has been restored with modern rooms displaying photos and descriptions of Gaziantep's extravagant cuisine. Actually, it's more like large printed menues mounted on the walls, but of course interesting (we must be foodies!) and mouthwatering by the end. I never knew how many ways pistachios can be manipulated!

Chris chows down at a crowded kebab stall, in the heart of Antep's shopping district, while a dj across the street blares an arab-electro mix whose lyrics scream facebook, facebook...! repeatedly

Ahh that brings me back to Gaziantep's famous fıstık. I have been hearing for weeks now about this place, the land of baklava. Maraş specializes in dondurma (so thick it must be eaten with a knife and fork), Antakya has kadayfe, Silifke produces amazing yoğurt... I've been eagerly waiting to sample the tatli here more than any other, and, with over 180 baklavasies in town I should have plenty to choose from.

However, I sadly realized (2+2= 4) that the gooey, crunchy, flaky baklava pastries that I have developed an addiction to (perhaps Alexi or Meghan can attest from our adventures in Shqiperia), when filled with pistachio are simply not up to par. In fact, I vehemently detest fıstık bakalava. Ruined I say! To rub salt in the wound of my utter disappointment, each and every Antep shop proudly displays large windows full of the green nutty sweets, never swaying in variety (blasphemy! taboo!). I long for the succulently nutty walnut bakalava, but I'm trapped in a city of naysayers...


One of 180 baklava shops around town, do you prefer fıstık, fıstık, or perhaps some lovely fıstık?

On the other hand, Chris LOVES all things fıstık and totally went to town on them. I secretly hoped he could eat enough to gain a pound or two, but that boy's metabolism is like a racehorse!


Chris digs in to MADO dondurma(ice cream), note the knife and fork!

Final thank you's to Devon, who shared her living room and library of English books for the weekend, then we hit the road to Kilis, Syria's closest border town.

Urfa the Glorious

Şanlıurfa

The city of Şanlıurfa (Şanlı meaning dignified/glorious, added to Urfa in 1984) sits in Turkey's southeastern basin, at the steps of the eastern Assyrian/Kurdish crossroads. Gone are the arabesque courtyard compounds, Kufic symbols, and Assyrian churches, though what remains are possibly even more devout, conservative Muslims.

We were able to stay a few nights couchsurfing with two Turks, Ozan and Hulya (both microbiologists studying/working at the city's university). Although we didn't spend much time with Hulya (whose name means hallucination by the way), because she was away interviewing for a position in another town, we did enjoy lengthy evenings cooking and talking with Ozan. One of the funniest and most interesting Turkish men I have ever met! Never in a million years would I peg him from Turkey; not only from his impeccable English skills, but also for his intense interest in microbiology and water systems. One minute he's explaining lengthy chemical reactions, the next he's debating the historical consequences of American politics in Turkey, then switches back to technical aspects of water treatment facilities...

Ozan the Cook, probably discussing microbiological compounds

One of the coolest things Ozan taught me is the logistics of hydroponics. While it still seems to me that a personal hydroponic system requires a lot of equipment and fertilizers, which I feel should not be necessary in a natural garden, after watching many YouTube videos together and discussing closed-circuit systems I'm convinced that hydroponics is fantastic for large scale commercial growing because it produces no waste or pollution. I especially like the use of fish (specifically fish pee which is rich in ammonium) to fertilize the plant roots. I'm still a big advocate for permaculture, but at least for lettuce greens, hydroponics is a good way to go (and to avoid nasty E Coli outbreaks!).

Çorba and the Urfa's-everything-plate, recommended by Ozan

We spent two solid days wandering downtown Şanlıurfa, mostly the area around the Golbasi, which includes the beautiful city park, tea gardens, mosques, and Balıklıgöl (Pool of Sacred Fish), as well as the bedestan and castle. The bedestan is a labrynth of covered shopping streets, packed with rows of rugs, clothes, spices, shoes, hookahs, and eveything else you can think of, and of special notice are the lilac purple headscarves donned by an extraordinary number of both men and women here.

Lilac scarves for sale inside the bedestan

Spices, dried eggplant and pepper strings, and shoppers near the Golbasi

The emaculately landscaped (and heavily guarded) Golbasi park sits adjacent to a large mosque, Halil-ur-Rahman, where the pool of 'sacred' carp originates. From there the water channels throughout the park and down through the nearby mosques, althewhile lined by old men selling packets of fishfood. With so many Muslim pilgrims (Urfa is supposedly the biblical city of Ur), families, and young couples tossing in pellets, these must be the fattest carp on earth.

Channels extending from the Sacred Pool of Carp

I think its a bit odd that there are so many policemen employed-- seemingly-- to guard the carp, but in any case I appreciate them because they effectively shooed away all the boys pestering us.


Night view of Balıklıgöl

Up in the castle, which is no longer a castle or anything really except the peak of a hill (Q: How can they charge for this?? A: Stupid tourists like us who are duped into going) at least there is a nice view over the park area, greenspaces, and nearby mosques (or a contrastingly dismal view of the slum housing on the opposite side).


Overlooking the mosque and park from the kale


What remains of the 'kale' from the top of the hill (pillars where İbrahim was launched into the fire)

Legends claim that Şanlıurfa is the birthplace of the prophet Abraham (İbrahim) (Ok I'll believe that). They say that he lived until the age of 7 in a cave, just below the castle, hiding from King Nimrod. A prophet told the king he would be dethrowned by a young boy, so all of the city's male children were killed (hence Abraham hides in the cave). Well, finally Abraham comes out, and one day is walking around smashing idols, which the king does not like so much. Nimrod orders Abraham to be immolated on a funeral pyre (Really? Did they do that to little boys? Because the boys I've seen here are wild little devils that no one seems to chastise) but instead God turned the fire into water and the sticks into carp. Voila! Magical spring full of fish! (In the Islamic version of the story İbrahim is catapulted off the citadel into the fire, represented by the 2 remaining pillars up there) I loved hearing Ozan's explanation for this story, adding sarcastic emphasis in all the most outlandish places.


Sacred carp in front of the Halil-ur-Rahman


Backside view of the Balıklıgöl, from Halil-ur-Rahman's courtyard

So Golbasi park is a lovely area; we pretty much hung out there for hours on end, writing and sketching. Near the park are a few more mosques, one of them containing the cave where Abraham supposedly hid out during his early years. Funny that the cave was so close to the castle! You'd think if his mother really wanted to hide/protect him, they'd leave town...


Mini carp pool inside the mosque near Abraham's cave (see up top?)

On our way home the final night we stopped in (for a kebab and then) baklava (even though the town is famous for künefe, which is cheese coated in flaky kadayfe (shredded wheat), baked, then drizzled with sweet syrup before serving), as a warm-up for Gaziantep, apparently the motherland of bakalava. I've been so good, refraining from more than a taste of the flaky little pillows... But its time to unleash the beast!


Chris drools over his Urfa kebab, a lamb skewer grilled with eggplant

More Assyrian Goodies (Mardin)

Midyat to Mardin

Despite the beautiful fluffy white clouds dotting the sky all day, we woke in the night to a light rain. Chris rigged a blanket overhead so we could stay relatively dry, but the family's father appeared and beckoned us indoors. Fine by me, but a shame because I was really looking forward to waking with the sun illuminating the sand colored rooftops.

Summer platforms are perfect for camping (except when raining)

The girls woke us a few hours later, clearly too excited to wait for the day to start. One of their mothers returned from the village, with a few more children in tow, all curious as to who the strange foreigners are. We ate a quick breakfast of olives, dry herbed cheese, rosehip jam, and dense homemade bread with the parents, then hung out in the courtyard for awhile. We found ourselves at the neighbor's house, taking more photos as the girls prepared to leave for school.


Successful kını! (On left communal bread oven)

This family has goats in a little pen, and a personal bread oven (actually communal), something we have seen in many villages out east. They beckoned us to sit and eat grapes and pomegranates from their tree while the father tied up fodder for the goats.


Laughter in the compound


Hanging out with the Midyat family

When the girls took off we politely made our exit, biking out and up toward an old monastery. Instead we found a quiet mosque, locked the bikes around back, and wandered the old town streets on foot. It's difficult to really see anything from street level, except for the top half of the 2nd floor windows, ornately carved out of sandstone. There is a newly restored hotel, Kasri Nehroz Hotel, built by a family who moved west and grew incredibly wealthy, which was previously a 12th century Assyrian temple. The nice caretaker gave us a tour of the compound and some rooms- super luxurious- explaining some of the historical features.

Touring the ancient temple chambers

Behind the bar lounge is a room with Assyrian script carved into the ceiling, and behind it an alter room. We thanked him kindly and assured him when we are the type of travelers who can afford $100+ hotel rooms we would definitely stop by.


Touring the Kasri Nehroz courtyard

Leaving town was pretty easy, stopping again at yesterday's lokante, this time only for water from their machine. Standing out on the street I was suprised when an oddly shaped armored tank rolled by, too quick for me to even think of grabbing my camera.


Final look at Midyat's Assyrian architecture

We biked out to the highway, where the road literally ends, shifting instead to a long ribbon of mud. A young guy, Tarik, gave us a lift in his truck, heading to Mardin. Amongst other conversation he explained that he is Assyrian Christian, which I'm starting to gather is a basic distinction people identify with. I didn't ask him how devoutly he practices (although I assume it is Christian-Lite along the same lines as Turkey's Muslim-Lite crowd).


Welcome to Mardin

Mardin is a big city, with an Old Town up on a steep fortress-topped hill. Also a crossroads of Assyrian, Kurdish, Turkish, and Armenian cultures, the Assyrian churches and decor are the most obvious architectural hints of the town's history. According to Wiki Mardin, in 1915 all Arab, Aramaic, and Armenian Christians were massacred or driven away; that same year a pubic auction of Armenian women was held. (not so fun fact...)

We pulled the bikes several km up the inclined road, stopping at a hole in the wall lokante for some food once we reached the peak. The owner told us of an area with cheap hotels, though when we followed his map we ended up in a giant outdoor produce market. The nearby Yeni Otel (New Hotel, that's a lie!), a total dump probably crawling with cockroaches, wanted 50 TYL each ($60 ish) which we promptly turned down. We thought we saw a karavanserai sign pointing up a set of stairs, which turned out to be a terrace with nearby cafe, where a handful of old men sat playing rummie. We asked the owner if he'd let us set up a tent on the terrace; he seemed suprised but very welcoming.


Almost the most eco friendly transport (I bet they fart a lot)

For the evening we went on a walk through the upper streets, getting a feel for the place. Around 8 or 9 the shopfronts began pulling down their metal grates and the streets emptied out. While oggling some bakalava through a window the man behind the counter beckoned us inside, then presented us with a plate of some fistik (pistachio) rolls. So nice! And convenient I suppose, because they throw away the unsold tatli (sweets) to make room for a fresh daily batch. We promised to come back at noon the next day, right when they pull the hot trays out of the oven.


Dungeonlike shops among the dense streets

The next morning we woke early, packing our bags and leaving them in the corner with our bikes. Leaving to explore the city, we first stumbled upon the produce market as the shop keepers were spreading out their fruits and veggies. We stopped at a few, picking up some breakfast goods, along with olives and cheese from a dungeonlike shop along the alley. Hidden within the alleys are old Assyrian churches, most of which have been converted into mundane shops or offices, as well as some cheap hamams and mosques. We visited one (just to see), steamy and full of toweled men, where a soak runs 4 YTL and scrub 6 YTL (approx $6 for the works). Typically people pick up their own bar of olive or other herbal soap from one of many shops nearby.


Soap for sale in a dungeonlike shop near the hamam

From there Chris and I wandered in switchbacks up the hill, following random staircases that seemed to lead up to the castle. We made it as far as a service road (or something), just below the barbed wire fence. Skirting the bottom of the fortress, we ended up at a cemetary, full of ornately carved tombs. Most of them were Christians, which is funny because they look identical to the Muslim tombs around Turkey, except with Assyrian script. Its interesting to see the similarities in religious tradition from long before, and, I always wondered where the shape and style of Albania's tombs originated from-- not here per se-- but perhaps from this time period?


Ornately carved Assyrian Christian graves

Then we found ourselves atop a beautiful medressa, overlooking the inner courtyard and a panoramic view of the rooftops and lower valley. Directly ahead we could see 3 minarets: one 'pointy' in the Turkish fashion, one rounded in the eastern Assyrian fashion (may have been a church at one time), and one somewhere in between, with Kufic emblems on the sides. We sat at the top, writing and sketching until the sun began baking us and the flies appeared.


Overlooking the Zincirye Medressa from the castle

Climbing down (tricky!) we managed to find the front entrance to the Zincirye Medressa, escaping the heat and entering the cool inner chambers. The first room on the left is a typical prayer room, similar to any other mosque, except for the stone carvings and marbled mantle.


Cool hallways in the madressa


Prayer room inside Zincirye (with scarves for unprepared womenfolk)

Then the cooridor opens to one of several courtyards, this one containing a reflection pool, çesme (spring), and some tables set up for drinking tea and relaxing. The view from the tables is beautiful, perfect for contemplating spiritual thought (I presume).


Central pool at the madressa

Chris and I wandered the madressa a long while, taking in the views and peaceful calm amid such a congested city. Finally taking leave, we followed the streets, crisscrossing downhill back toward the main road. Off to the left is another neighborhood full of crumbling arabesque architecture, and teeming with children. Even without the bikes we were a target for them, and we swiftly escaped the annoyances of apparently bored little boys.


Peaceful Quran reading in the medressa's courtyard

One last baklava stop, though our friend from before wasn't working now, then we returned to the terrace to grab our bikes. Final order of business was to stop at a bank for (hopefully) our final dollar-lira change, where we learned how far the dollar has dropped in only two months. This seems to happen every time I'm abroad-- when I want foreign currency the dollar becomes worthless (Mexico 2006/7, Asia 2008), but when I want dollars they go up (Albania 2010). Such luck!

One final mosque courtyard!

Assyrian Outpost

Hasankeyf to Midyat

Distance: km
Time elapsed:
Average speed: km/ hr
Max speed: km/ hr
Temp: C
Weather:

The journey to Midyat took several hours, through a beautiful landscape but with terrible roads. At some points the road disappeared completely, buried underneath construction rubble and a blanket of chalky dust. For awhile it felt like we were biking across baseballs, large rolling globs of rock.


Hasankeyf region lies in a wide basin

After passing a mediocre town we climbed (walking mostly) up a steep mountainside, tired but admiring a spectacular view of the patchy valley below. At the top we pulled over to sit with some truck drivers at an ayran trailer. Chris chugged a glass with them- they assured us the rest of the road is flat- and then we took off down into the valley. The road did wind gradually downhill for many km, and in general wasn't the worst, but the poor quality asphalt really slowed us down. We arrived in Midyat late in the afternoon, at once pounced on by young boys, and Chris' tire suddenly popped. Patched up across the street, then through the town, in search of food. Not the best selection, but satiating enough, and we continued on to the section of old, fortified houses.


Chris entering an Assyrian church


Assyrian Christan script above the doorway

The streets wind uphill, lined by tall brick walls, with some Assyrian churches and mosques scattered throughout. Many of the families here are Assyrian Christians, having lived in harmony with the Muslims who moved in (I say that lightly) around 1200 AD or so. The city seems like it may have previously been wealthy, full of tightly clustered family compounds with a very arabesque architecture. Now pretty much everything lies in ruins, most of the houses crumbling and abandoned.


High walls of Midyat's Eski Şehir (Old City)

We ended up befriending a cluster of neighborhood girls, all too anxious to speak with us, and asked if we could camp on their roof. Everyone has a summer platform up on the roof-- I assume they put on the pads and hang out up there, maybe sleep there, when it is so hot. They very eagerly agreed, pulling us inside and helping get the bags up the steep stairs.


Behar (meaning Summer) on left, Gül (meaning Rose) on right


Rooftop views

We spent the evening inside though, painting henna on the girls and one of their mothers, who didn't speak so much as grunt happily. The inside of their house felt a lot like a Gjirokaster storage room, but filled with carpets and padded cushions, and with nostalgic Kurdish music playing on TV. I really like the way Kurds use music to fight for their cause, really eliciting sympathy with the background montage of poverty and unjustice. The really folky stuff reminds me of Albanian music, but everything after 1970 or so is quite lovely.


Everyone is excited by the foreign sanatçi (artist)

After all the kids went home for the night (early school day tomorrow!) we climbed up to the roof, escaping for a cool night on the platform.