Assyrian Outpost

Hasankeyf to Midyat

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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.