Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Four: Walk by the Bosphorus

So here I was standing in front of Blue Mosque…

In fact, the Sultanahmet Tram Station is quite a vantage point… it is close to all the prominent tourist attractions of Istanbul… when you face the Blue Mosque… the Basillica Cistern is at your backside… and Haga Sofia, Topkapi Palace to your left…

My refuge for the night… a place called Sindabad Youth Hostel… was about 500 meters from the Tram Station… Youth Hostels, though cheap and devoid of any snob value… are often are great place to stay… they are full of information, floating around, to be picked up… information on… cheap but great place to eat… the cheapest place to shop… cheapest way to travel… etc. They are often also a great place to meet people… as I did the day next and many other days to come. You don’t feel the corridor-claustrophobia of hotels, when you are in a Hostel.

At Sindabad, I was greeted by a cute Turkish girl… the place was tidy, full of information… as was expected.

I was famished… there was a nice place to eat, a couple of yards away. When I reached there… I was offered some liquid from a bottle… I wondered what it was… the owner told me that it was scent to be applied on hands and on face… this is a ritual in Turkey… and very soon I got used to it.

I was ready for a good night sleep… it was only 8 pm… but felt like it was 11 pm already. Turkey is further in the north, and in winters it has very small days… something, which I got accustomed to, in next few days to come. My Dorm had 6 beds… only two were occupied… one by a Canadian, and other by a Romanian… when I went to sleep, they weren’t present… and the day next, when I woke up and left the Hostel… they were sleeping… so I didn’t get to meet them at all.

The restaurant owner had told me that I must walk by the sea nearby… in the morning… so the very next day, I woke at 5 am… took a shower… packed my bags… and deposited it in the reception… and went out for a walk.

The walk was refreshing… I must have walked about 7-8 kilometers… and while walking, I realized that horizons to walk are a virtue….For my last few months of existence in Kandahar, I wouldn’t have walked this much… a prison like existence that had bruised my soul… was healed by this walk.

While walking, I met two elderly gentlemen… who smiled at me… and smiled back. They beckoned me and asked… my nationality… mamlakiyat… I became used to this word, after this. Hindistani… marhaba… have a tea with us. This was the first of so many teas that I had with Turkish people, thereafter.

Back at Sindabad… I had a sumptuous breakfast… meant to keep me going during the day ahead. And then ventured out… but before the sight seeing, I had one more job to accomplish… get a bus ticket for Selcuk.

It was then I met Yusuf… it was serendipity, yet again… I saw Yusuf, an elderly gentleman, sitting quietly in his Travel Agency, munching a Doner Sandwich. I went it… Marhaba… an affable smile greeted me… I knew I am at the right place…

Yusuf gave me a number of travel tips… what to see and what to avoid… how to travel… and yes, he arranged a bus ticket for Selcuk… at 8 pm… it was a pleasure meeting him… he said that this is not the tourist season… and moreover the Eid is nearing… he hardly has any business… and is sitting at the shop more out of habit than anything else. He told me not to miss Kars… as I would love it. (More on what Yusuf told me in another set of blogs- called Musings from Anatolia… these sets of blog wouldn’t deal with the travel per se… but important events or thoughts, which set me thinking)

Thereafter it was the turn of sight-seeing… I first went to the Blue Mosque… like I have mentioned elsewhere in this blog… blue mosque evokes an emotion within me… its domes, which can be seen from afar… and which have defined the landscape of this momentous city, which has a plethora of other things to be defined with… have always beckoned me to come and see them. Standing within the confines of the Blue Mosque was a dream-come-true…. I couldn’t help marvel the beauty of the place.

A couple of yards away is the Haga Sofia… the single most poignant and historic building in Istanbul… it started as a pagan temple… then became a church… and then a church and a mosque… and then a mosque. After the modern secular Turkey came into existence… it was turned into a museum… the history of Haga Sofia is therefore the microcosm of the history of Turkey. A huge park separates Blue Mosque from Haga Sofia… and in the park… there is a beautiful fountain… often called German fountain, because it was, apparently, built with German help… the sight whispered in my ears… you are in Europe… for years together, I have visualized Europe through the lens of Yash Chopra movies… fields of flowers… neatly manicured and pedicured parks and lawns… as if Europeans know no misery, no poverty… and while standing in the park between Haga Sofia and Blue Mosque, I couldn’t help but saying to myself… yes I am in Europe.

It was here I met this Egyptian Copt couple for the first time… they, apparently, were on a honeymoon. I overheard them while going towards Haga Sofia… words like aiwa, istanna, dilwaiti… hallmark of Egyptian Colloquial Arabic. It was really nice to hear these words after so many years…

Intu Masryeen… Are you Egyptian…? Kunt fi masr lil Sanateen… I was in Egypt for two years… abl kida… sometime ago… while speaking with the two of them… I realized for the first time… languages become a subconscious part of one’s persona… you don’t forget language… you just are out of practice… talking to them, I was very happy… the two years of American University in Cairo… were not all that wasted. (More on Egyptian Arabic and instances regarding it… in the Musings from Anatolia).

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Three: Another Delayed Flight

My tryst with Turkey started in 2006… when, while sitting in the class of American University in Cairo…I noticed that one of my classmates was reading a book by Orhan Pamuk… “Istanbul”.

Who is he…? I asked, ignorantly. He had an exclamation mark over his face… what you don’t know Orhan Pamuk, the Nobel Prize Winner Literary figure from Turkey… you must read him… he is a great writer.

And so I picked up his first book Istanbul, a non-fiction… graduating to “My Name is Red”- one of the most interesting books that I have ever read…. Then “Snow”- book that earned him a Nobel Prize. Snow, incidentally, is set in the city of Kars.

So here I was in Kabul International Airport… waiting for another delayed flight, this time to Istanbul. The last night was uneventful… it wasn’t meant to be that way… my friend had organized a get together at his place… and a number of my friends had poured in there… in anticipation to meet me. But they all left; after waiting for more than 3 hours… one of them quipped… knowing my determination to travel… I would even cycle all the way to Kabul… and right now must be atop the Hindu Kush…

The delayed flight opened a new opportunity… of seeing the Kabul-Mashhad flight. The Hazara community of Afghanistan is Shiite… they have extensive linkages with Iran… and therefore any Iran bound flight ought to have a number of Hazaras flying in it. Slowly poor, unkemptly dressed Hazaras started trickling in the airport waiting lounge… I couldn’t help noticing the beautiful Hazara women… their beauty have surreal and poignant proportions… one of them, wearing a Chador (an Iranian dress prescribed for women) was particularly beautiful… she had two daughters… less than five years of age….

Somebody tapped my shoulder… “Are you by any chance from Kandahar”… Yes! I am, but how do you know… wait don’t you work for the Afghan Turk High School in Kandahar, and met me in a local marriage party. Yes you do. He was a Turk; working for the Turk School… was on his way to Turkey, where he lived in Izmir.

I started chatting with him… he knew a little bit of English and that helped… he started boasting about his school and how his students perform well, wherever they go- India, Pakistan, China and Turkey…

Turkey operates a number of Turkish High Schools all over the world… especially concentrating on countries in Central Asia, Afghanistan, Pakistan and Azerbaijan. It is step to promote Turkish language and culture… as somebody confided in me, while I was in Turkey… that though Turkey thinks itself as an emerging power… it also realizes that due to lack of economy of scale (of population), the idea of Turkey could always remain stunted… it wants to propagate its idea through these schools.

I was curious… how your student do cope in China… they go to Urumqi and Kashgar… the cradle of Uighiur culture… and the Uighiur speak a variant of Turkish language. Interesting information, both of them.

We were joined by two of his friends… both Turks… from Kars… when they realized that I was going to Turkey for a visit, they invited me to Kars. Its beautiful… they assured me… you wouldn’t regret.

The flight was getting more delayed… I cursed the flight when I paid 100 Afghani for a cup of coffee… why did I even bother to use Ariana Airways… for an extra 100 dollars, I could have got a connection via Dubai… Safi Airways and Turkish Airlines.

I strayed back to the same Hazara family that I had admired a few hours ago… this time two Turks were playing with the two little girls… trying to strike a conversation with them, know their name… the girls were giggling incessantly… it was a beautiful sight… I photographed them and thereafter joined the four of them. And became their interpreter… broken English to broken Dari; and perfect Dari to perfect English.

What is their name… a Turk asked me… “Naam-e-shaan chi ast”… I asked their father… Nargis and Nazia… the Turks exclaimed- it’s a Turkish name!!! And broke into an animated conversation about the probable nationality… Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan… No, they are Afghans… I told them… but they have a Turkish name… No they have a Persian name… and lectured them about the assimilation of languages… my area of expertise… they sounded unconvinced. The debate however was short-lived… Iran bound flight was about to fly…

I had to wait for 2-3 more hours… the Istanbul flight took off at around half past two… some 6 hours late. Flight was uneventful. It passed through, what I presume was, Caspian Sea and then Black Sea… the terrain that I was looking below… was so very different from what I have seen till date… a red desert… probably Turkmenistan… a mighty river… probably Amu Daria…

And then I saw lights… a huge city… huge for even me… who had seen Delhi, Mumbai, Cairo and Kolkata from air… it was Istanbul. I had nurtured this dream for last few years to see this city… so momentous that even history pales into insignificance in front of it.

Istanbul Airport is huge… with terminals reading 203, 339… I presume that it must be having at least 350 terminals… was it bigger than Dubai… I really don’t know… but certainly more methodical… makes more sense… and arrow heads telling you where to proceed… or probably, by now, I was more attuned to international traveling than I ever was…

A metro ride to Zeytinburnu… and then Tram ride to Sultanahmet… I was standing in front of the site, where I have been dreaming to be… for years altogether… I kept on hearing the names of places as were being announced in the metro and tram… was comparing them with their spelling in Turkish Script (that is Latin-based)…

A tout approached me at Sultanahmet… I told him, I have a reservation… he smiled asked me where I am from … I replied India… he said Welcome to the second paradise on earth… and then without bothering any further… left for other potential customers.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Two: A Delayed Flight

“Kandahar is an island”… these were the first words that I heard, when I landed at my workplace about ten and a half month ago…

With every passing day, I realized the true meaning of these words… arrested, literally, in a high wall prison that insures my listless existence over here… I often wonder… Why the hell I am here, far from my two lovely sons and a caring wife… far from my parents, who need me in their old age… and far from precious friends… who I have carefully gathered amidst the hurly-burly of life.

My saga begins here… when on the night of 26th November; I was sitting in Ariana Airlines office in Kandahar International Airport… waiting for much delayed Kandahar-Kabul flight.

The flight was late by over 10 hours now… so the flight that was supposed to take off for Kabul at around 1 pm… took off only at 1130 pm… I reached Kabul… literally in the dread of night at 1 am. Not the best time to be in a city, which falls in the high-risk category even in the day.

There are two ways to handle such fiascos… brood or smile… I brooded for a while and thereafter called up my wife at about 6 pm… when the flight was 5 hours late and still counting… she changed my paradigm… smile, your adventure has already begun. I got back to the VIP waiting room and saw a person sitting over there… he must have been there for last 2-3 hours… just that I didn’t bother to strike a conversation.

“Dari?”- I asked. Afghanistan has two major languages… Dari, a variant of Persian- and Pashto… now a few people, especially in southern areas, know Urdu as well.

“Ba’laa”… (Yes)… Most of the educated Afghans know Dari… whether or not they are Pashtoons. It connects them to larger world… to books, to knowledge… there is hardly any literature or books in Pashto… and they rely on Persian books for knowledge. His name was Mohammed Musa, an Ariana Airways employee… who was half Tajik and Half Pashto. He had come to Kandahar on a temporary Hajj duty… and was on his way back.

We started talking… people started trickling in… they were surprised to see an Indian… an Indian VIP… and an Indian VIP speaking Persian.

Someone in the gathering said something startling- India has so many religions and so many sects… and still you live so peacefully… we are just four ethnicities, all Muslims- Tajiks, Uzbeks, Hazaras and Pashtuns… why can’t we live peacefully like you. There was a craving for peace… I had seen this earlier… I have a gut feeling that slowly but surely… Afghans are raising their voice for peace; they are fed up of 30 years of war… destruction… and when they are fully awake- they wouldn’t spare anybody- not the US, not the Warlords, and certainly not the Taliban. It is just a matter of time.

8 pm… I wondered how long I would have to wait… by now the VIP room was empty; sans me… an old, unkemptly looking man entered my room… I thought he must be the cleaner or janitor. I thought- how on earth he would know Dari… I tried my little Pashto on him asking if he knows when the flight would take-off… he replied in English… at least 2-3 hours from now… Appearances are surely deceptive…

His name was Haider… a trained Aeronautical Engineer… he sat beside me and started chatting… after all, it was not everyday that he found an English speaking person. He was trained by the American in early 70s… when American not only set up training facilities at Kandahar Airport, but also- more or less- operated the airport. It was the time, when Afghanistan was pursued and cajoled by both the super-powers, the US and the USSR. King Zahir Shah played a balancing act… allowing USSR to help northern parts… and the US to help southern areas. However, little did he realize that he was scripting a violent tug-o-war between the two… which would gobble his future and that of his country.

10 pm… I was fidgety at best… I started playing with the only computer in the room… stumbled upon a folder called music… opened it- the subfolders read- Arabic, Persian, Indian, Pashto and Tajik… I opened Arabic and then Indian and then Persian and then Pashto… nothing could actually entice me… with least of a hope; I opened the Tajik sub-folder… the files read… Maniza 1, Maniza 2, Maniza 3… I clicked open one of them… and saw a very beautiful Tajik girl… singing Tajik (again a variant of Persian) songs… with an equally beautiful voice… I was mesmerized… time started moving fast.

“Your flight has arrived, it would move in another half an hour”… the Ariana employee, who owned the work-station, entered the room and told me… it was time to leave. I sighed relief. Before closing the music video… I asked him… who she is… “Maniza Daulatabadi, a famous Tajik singer”… I mentally noted her name… she had a sweet voice.

While boarding my flight… I couldn’t help thinking about the prophetic words of my wife… smile, your adventure has already begun… she sure is my guardian angle… and my source of inspiration.

I smiled… this night has taught me so many things… when I was stuck in Kandahar Airport, and the threat of flight cancellation was looming large… I was worried… it was a bad option to call-back my driver to the airport so late… and staying in the airport among bearded, ill-trained, gun-wielding guards (who look more menacing than the Taliban) was also a bad option… however, gathering courage, I approached the Airport Security Officer… and explained my position to him… he was so happy to welcome me… and assured me that if, at all, the flight gets cancelled… he would open one of his rooms and arrange night stay for me… thereafter, his men came at regular intervals… re-assured me… offered me tea, biscuits, water… whatever they can…

The night taught me… that appearances are actually deceptive… everyone, despite his appearance, is similar… the human empathy is an overwhelming feeling.

I reached Kabul at 1 am… my friend has sent a car and a guard to receive me.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part One: The Last Day

It was the last day of my stay in Turkey… tonight, I had a flight from Istanbul to Kabul… and here I was in the Eastern-most border of Turkey, in Kars… I had a flight to catch to Istanbul in the afternoon time.

I woke up at around five in the morning… parted the curtains of my room and looked around… no snowfall and an overcast sky… this means that the day would remain overcast throughout… you keep learning these wisdoms along the road… a night of snowfall generally means a sunny day… and no snowfall and an overcast sky… offers you a gloomy day ahead…

The last few days had given me another horizon to grow. Man, it appears grows gradually, but the path of growth is not a smooth curve but a series of small inflexions, coming at regular intervals. For some… life is all about experiencing the same thing many times over… and for some… life is all about experiencing new things, intermittently… Fortunately, I had been following the second path.

I left my bed and put on my clothes… it was time for one last walk around the city… I also packed my backpack… as I was supposed to leave the room by 9 am…. And then I set out for a walk…

Kars is an impressive city… full of vintage buildings of Soviet era… when for a few decades it was under Soviet occupation… it is an interesting activity to just walk around aimlessly and see the distinct Soviet architectural nature of the city…

Kars was one of the frontier cities during the First World War… no wonder that all around the city you find a number of go-downs and underground cellar… which were used to take refuges during hostile bombings… Soviet, Turkish, Allied Forces… every type of bombings… Today, these cellars are used as storages… in the morning, when shop-owners are opening these cellars; you get an opportunity to look inside them. They are spacious, often having shelves- indicating that they were meant for long stays- and sometimes, more than one compartment- indicating that they could be used by a family, and sometimes, a few families… it transports you to the tragedy of the world wars…

I walked down to the streets… practicing the art of walking on snow… which was taught by a person, yesterday… on how you need to walk with your legs further apart than your normal posture of walking… this extra partition gives your body an extra dose of equilibrium… which in turns helps you in walking without slipping.

I went hungry, yesterday evening… so by 8 am, I felt a huge hunger pang… I went straight to the shop, where I had my lunch… yesterday… the owner had become a friend of mine… I had taken a number of photographs of him and his friends… laughed and chatted with him… he in Kurmanji Kurdish… and I speaking in Persian… by this time, I had started understanding the expressions… if not the language… it happens, when you travel… the language of love and empathy, it seems… is one.

I had yet another Tavuk Doner (chicken sandwich), and a glass of Ayran (salted yoghurt)… my staple food for last few days… while I was having it, my friend’s father entered the shop… he was pleased to see me… apparently, his son had told him about me… he was seeing a Hindistani (and not Hindustani) for the first time… he, as opposed to his son, knew Persian… therefore, I could engage in more meaningful conversation with him… he asked me a number of question about India… and about how they perceive it as a growing power, even in far flung Kars… for sure, Indian footprints are making significant forays…

It was about 9 am… I got back… vacated the room and placed my backpack and sleeping bag in the reception of the hotel… there were a few more errands to complete… before I took the 1130 Turkish Airlines shuttle to the airport.

I went to the nearby shop… whose owner had become a good friend of mine… yesterday… when I went to his shop to purchase a bottle of water… he didn’t know much about Hindistan… but had a good friend from Bangladesh, years ago… when he used to live in Marmaris. For him, I represented his friend… he hugged me, when he realized that I am leaving forever… urged me to have one last cup of Turkish tea with him…. And then while parting, he said something in Turkish… it didn’t take me a lot of effort to realize that he was telling me to come and see him… when I again come to Kars. As I said- Love and Empathy have a universal language.

While I was coming back from his shop, I actually had a teardrop in my eyes… love is the only thing that chains this pondering vagabond… family, friends… or these strangers in far flung lands.

The flight was uneventful… I sat next to a very pretty Turk girl… I was sitting on the aisle and she on the window side. I couldn’t strike a conversation with her, thinking she didn’t know English… when we reached Istanbul… it appeared that it was raining… I asked her casually- is it raining? She smiled and replied- Yes, it is … a golden opportunity lost.

Sitting in the airplane… waiting for the flight to Kabul (which to my amazement was before time… Ariana Airways is actually not that bad)... and while I was on my flight to Kabul (where I noticed that the one of the Afghan Airways Airhostesses was perhaps one of the most beautiful girls I had seen in last few days… Afghans are a very beautiful race, I must say)… I kept thinking about the last few days…

These last days were again… a step towards my further evolution. Every travel has given me a new horizon to grow… a new paradigm to think… whether in Konkan… on in Levant… or the Western Desert… or the rural Bengal… or the Sinai.

I was thinking about the days gone by… a journey… which started from a distant place called Kandahar… where people struggle to live, everyday… where I conjured up this saga… I knew it would again be the journey of the life time.

Record of Event during my Anatolia visit

Day One- Reaching Istanbul in the evening, exploring Istanbul and night stay therein.

Day Two- Istanbul sight-seeing, going Asia and coming back, taking a night bus to Selcuk.

Day Three- Reaching Selcuk, sight-seeing therein, night stay therein

Day Four- Morning bus to Pamukkale, sight-seeing in the afternoon, stuck therein in the night due to last day of Eid holidays.

Day Five- Morning Dolmus (mini-bus) to Denizli, Dolmus from Denizli to Sparta, Dolmus from Sparta to Egirdir, Bus from Egirdir to Konya, night stay in Konya.

Day Six- Sight seeing in Konya, afternoon bus to Goreme, watching Whirling Dervish show in Goreme, Night stay in Goreme.

Day Seven- Sight-seeing in Cappadocia- including Underground City, Ilhara Valley trek, Selimiye Monastery, Night Bus to Kahta.

Day Eight- Reaching Kahta, Taxi to Karadut, Afternoon hike to Nemrut Dagi, sight seeing in and near Karadut (Arsamea, Yeni Kale, Eski Kale, Roman Bridge over Euphrates), night stay in Karadut

Day Nine- Taxi to Ferry point on Euphrates, Taxi to Diyarbakir, sight seeing in Diyarbakir, Taxi to Yuvacali Village near Hilvan, night stay in Yuvacali Village

Day Ten- Taxi to Urfa, sight seeing in Urfa and nearby Harran, night stay in Urfa.

Day Eleven- Early morning bus to Mardin, sight seeing in Mardin and visit to the nearby Saffron Monastery, Bus to Hasankeyf, evening sight seeing in Hasankeyf, sleeping therein

Day Twelve- Morning sight seeing in Hasankeyf, Bus to Batman, Dolmus to Ziyaret, Bus to Van, reaching Van by evening, evening walk and night stay in Van

Day Thirteen- Early morning Dolmus to Dogubayezit, sight seeing in Dogubayezit, Dolmus to Igdir, Caught up in Kurd-Police riot, bus to Kars, night stay in Kars

Day Fourteen- Sight seeing in the Armenian ruins of Ani, sight seeing in Kars, night stay in Kars

Day Fifteen- Morning stroll in Kars, afternoon flight to Istanbul, Late night flight to Kabul.