The Journey from Van to Dıyurbakır and the 8th Wonder of the World...

I'm inserting a picture of Turkey to help give an idea of the areas we traveled through...

Ori returned from the ancient city of Ani with Aurel, a Hungarian tourist he had met en route to Ani. Aurel was about 60 years old, friendly and currently on his umpteenth
raod trip around Turkey. The guy was a walking encyclopedia of information about every Turkish tourist attraction and tiny village. In fact, he carried with him a small notebook containing every detail about his previous travels. How much he spent on hotels, where he got discounts, and how many km/liter his car was doing. He was bitter and complained constantly about the Turkish. He swore at the drivers in Hungarian and littered the conversation with racist remarks here and there. But he was going the same way, so we humored him and helped him fight off loneliness for a day, visiting the Pasha Palace, Mt Ararat and driving south around Van Golu to the city of Eastern city of Van.

We tried to get close to Ararat. Aurel had promised his mother a stone from the famous mountain. Checkpoints were everywhere, however, and without a permit we could not get close. We checkout out a few dirt roads, nearly got the car stuck in sand, and finally give up on our quest toward the ark. We saw the Isak Pasa Palace, an impressive structure with dungeons and elaborately decorated tombs that was built in 1685.


We were close to Iran and began seeing periodic checkpoints along the way. Aurel, dedicated to using only Shell gas, spent an hour driving up and down the highway looking for the yellow sign. I couldn't stay awake in the back seat, and thus abandoned Ori to the endless stream of complaints, profanity, factoids and incongruous stories that poured forth from our driver's mouth.

Eager for some quiet time, we told Aurel thank you and headed out on our own in Van.
We explored the city streets, tasting the sweet sticky Turkish ice cream that resembles taffy in consistency. As we toured through an alleyway looking for a venue that sold a beer or glass of wine, the lights went out across the whole city. Van had seemed like one of the most modern metropolises of our journey thus far. There were chic stores and trendy looking restaurants. But at 9 at night, with the power our, and only men in the cafes and city streets, we saw another side of this "modern" locale. Within a few minutes, every restaurant and cafe had brought out a generator and business continued on as if nothing unusual had occurred. Men drank tea and played backgammon, others watched soccer games or ate doner kebabs.


We left Van the next day and our friendly and loquacious Hungarian friend early in the morning. Heading south we followed the shoreline of the enormous Van Gulu. (Lake) This lake, expansive, beautiful, half the size of Israel - is blessed with beautiful shores green islands, and plenty of fish. And yet the Turkish population rarely swims, sails or otherwise makes use of it in any recreationally way. The one exception is the frequent ferries that carry tourists to some of the islands where visitors can see old mosques and castles.

We skipped these castles, having seen enough the previous day, and loaded our bags on our back, stuck out our thumbs and waited for a ride. Hitchhiking became our primary mode of transportation for the next week and we had nothing but great experiences and mostly immediate success.

Our first ride was from a police officer - not the only police officer who would help us out along the way. He was not from the area, but was stationed there. Next, we hopped aboard a very pimped-out Audi and tasted our first anti-Israeli comments ("Israel bad. Palestine good") from an Istanbuli. (His Ankarian friend who was driving assured us that he was harmless and made peace.)

Our next ride, with a father and his young son, brought us to a checkpoint. There, the soldiers told us to get down and then arranged for us to ride free on the inter-city bus to the next town. Within 10 minutes, we had boarded the next passing bus service (a bus from Van headed all the way across Turkey to Istanbul!) On the buses, we were served drinks, coffee, snacks, and wet clothes. Each bus had a steward who gave out endless water and took good care of the passengers on the long stretches of burnt-golden fields that laminate the Turkish East.

The bus took us to Bitlis. This is a working-class town, built spanning a river and in the shadow of steep hills. The streets cross the river, which is littered and clogged with dirt and trash. Still, there was something charming about the city and its residents. The castle was closed, but we met a French-speaking local who invited us to tea. While he and I chatted, his companions excitedly called everyone they could think of who might speak a word of English. Soon, I had several cell phones shoved toward my ear. I would say, "Hello?" and a strange, accented voice would say, "hi, how are you?" as if they had to hear for themselves that a real live American had made it to Bitlis Turkey. Still other locals snapped pictures of me with their phone with an air of admiration and pride ("tourists! all the way from America, in MY town!!!") opposed to ludeness.

The French-speaking man treated us to tea and than walked with us for awhile looking for a vegetarian optiont. After several failed attempts, we were served up giant platters of Lahmajun, which, in the end, was pizza with (yes) meatsauce. It was admittedly delicious, and there wasn't cheese. So another lamb died, but at least I wasn't totally traif. The French-speaker invited us enthusiastically to his house in the west of Turkey and we snapped pictures and exchanged addresses before heading out of town.

Here too, and during the rest of our time in the Kurdish areas, we saw no women. I kept my head covered, and Ori and I became "Adam and Rachel" the married couple from New York, New York with no kids and a cat. Most Kurds love Americans because the Kurdish people of Iraq were liberated by the war there and the fall of Saddam Hussein. We encountered a lot of nationalism, some anti-Turkish sentiments and an unending supply of hospitality.


From Bitlis, we hopped aboard one of our best rides. The man was going far along our route and was an experienced driver - a salesman who had spent the past 15 years driving across huge regions of Turkey selling wholesale goods. We communicated as best we could with him, often with the help of our treasured dictionary. He happily treated us to bottles of water, and invited us to join him in prayer at a mosque when the sun began to set. The man, who in every way appeared modern and westernized, dutifully pulled over when the call to prayer was recited. We wrapped a hippie skirt around my head and I went to the women's side while Ori and the salesman washed their hands and feet before going into the main mosque.

As I watched the women swaying in eager prayer, I couldn't help but connect them to the prayer of religious Jews. Today I learned the Hebrew expression "בני דודינו" Literally translated it means "our cousins," but it is simply a generic term for Arabs in popular Israeli discourse.

Before separating from the salesman outside of the city of Batman - yes, it's called "Batman," he warned us to be careful in the Kurdish areas and especially in the capital city, Diyurbarkir.

Our next ride picked us up as the sun had set. We were about an hour outside of Diyurbakir and anxious to arrive. The truck driver's name was Osman and we climbed in the cab beside him. When he heard we were American, he was excited to express his love for our country and our President. Most of our conversations went as follows: We named a country and he said "good!" or "bad!"
US? - good! very good! Go Bush!
Iran? - bad!
Iraq? - bad! Saddam - very bad!
Turkey? - bad!
France? - eh!
Israel? - "I PISS ON ISRAEL!"
hmmm...
and Palestine? - bad too!

We gritted our teeth and moved on to other topics, especially when he began lauding the PKK - the Kurdish separatist group behind the bombings in Istanbul.

Politics aside (very, very far aside) he was a nice man. He stopped for us beside a famous bridge that spans a tributary of the Tigris, and snapped pictures. He excitedly called his cousin in Diyurbakir - an English speaker - and handed me the phone. Both him and his cousin offered to host us for the night and were eager to help us in any other way they could. WE even talked to the man's wife and she also wanted us to join them. Still, despite his family's hospitality, we couldn't quite swallow Osman's politics, so we allowed him to drive us to the city center, and flag us a cheap cab to our hotel.

HASENKEYF Aizeh Kef!
The next morning, in 113 degree heat, we set out for Hasenkeyf. We knew little of this ancient town on the Tigris - had heard it was "definitely worth seeing" from the Israeli journalist who sat beside us on the plane, and from Aurel. 2 bus rides and a few hours brought us to this small village. Hasenkeyf was quite possibly the highlight of our trip. We spent hours exploring the village, the river banks and the rock formations before sunset was upon us and we'd barely seen the main attraction.

The ancient town has ruins of a giant Roman bridge that spans the Tigris. Local boy were jumping from its remaining pillars into the river, while dogs, goats and even local women waded in the water for relief. Men and little boys dragged nets through the river catching plentiful fish in the simply woven threads. Inside the main bridge, a family had biult their home. They had orchards full of fruit trees, a chicken coop and a vegetable garden. A satellite dish perched upon their ancient roof and water pipelines wove in through windows that had one stood guard to the entire village. A colorfully dressed woman watered the ground and smiled for our pictures. We saw kittens and turkey, goats, cows and more.

And yet.... in 2 years, all we saw in Hasenkeyf will be drowned beneath hundreds (yes, hundreds!) of feet of water. Damns are popping up all over the regions. The enormous Turkish damn project, with the Ataturk Damn as its crown jewel, is designed to bring water to the southeastern desert, to allow for farming and ultimately to feed the mass of population. Meanwhile...thousands of people are being displaced when their villages are flooded and archaeological and historical landmarks are being buried beneath the waters like another flood of Noah.

Along the river, we ate in one of the many hut-restaurants that served up fresh fish and salad. There were tables and chairs set up in the water, so that customers could bathe their feet while they ate. We choose to sit on one of the raised perches where cushions and a low table made for our own private bungalow-table over the river.

We explored the mosque and talked the shopkeepers who sold wool products, magnets, snacks and knickknacks to the mostly-Turkish tourists. With only an hour until closing time, we made it to the main archaeological site. High above the river were the intact remains of an ancient city. The ruins covered endless hilltops' each time we thought we'd reached the city limits, we would spot the next hill. There were clear store front, latrines temples and cemeteries. The rest of the tourists were long gone so we were on our to watch as the setting sun blanketed the ruins with multi-colored light and long shadows. We saw as much as we could before finally heading back to the modern-day city around 8:30.

The buses had already stopped running, so we hitched a ride quickly with two young professionals. They were traveling on business from Istanbul and Ankara with the largest oil company in Turkey- - based out of Batman. The men were amazing! Neither were from the area, but they spent a long time on the phone and driving around Batman in search of public transportation to Diyurbaker (where our hotel was.) They offered to help us find an affordable place to stay in Batman, they bought us water and they even wanted us to join them for dinner. Finally, we found a midnight bus headed our way. AS we waited for it to embark, our two new friends waited with us.

The next morning, we set out in the streets of Diyurbakir to explore the walls and the market. We quickly met a man named Ali who spoke great English and claimed to be a former UN worker who now "works for the BBC." In fact, the man had an elaborate stream of stories, that appeared to have one of two goals:

1) His whole tory was an elaborate scheme to sell carpets. He did, after all, get us into a carpet store as we sipped tea with his friend/store owner.

2) He is lonely and truly loves meeting tourists. He implored us to stay in his home and offered to tour us around the city, cook us dinner etc. We had little doubt, actually, that he would have done these things, but he was a bit sketchy and not terribly enjoyable to hang out with.

Regardless of his motives, we spent a few hours bargaining and playing backgammon with him. He even offered to play for a carpet (which we would have won!) but instead took home a free musical instrument for Ori's old roommate. Like most of the Turks we met, he was extremely disappointed that he lost to some Americans... but then again, Ali didn't know about Ori's years of sheshbesh playing here in Israel.

Our decision not to stay with him was confirmed when he gave us his clearly bogus email address. It ws his name-bbc @ hotmail.com...

As if Ori's email were to be OriMicrosoft@gmail. very plausible...


Anyway, we weathered our largest scam(?) of the trip and made the obligatory tour around the city before heading eagerly on a bus headed south and away from the harsh urban environment.