Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Twenty Five: Reaching Urfa

The next morning I woke up at 6am… and went for a stroll in the village… Faruk could speak a little bit of English… even though in monosyllables.

Our first destination was the mound behind Pero’s house… it was about 30 meters high… the slope was gentle… and while walking up the mound… I could see, here and there, some pottery pieces… I remembered Alison’s word… quite a few of them could be almost 1000 year old… it was a humbling experience to walk amidst the littering of history. Equally humbling were the views of endless Euphrates flood plains from atop the mound… almost endless… where-ever I looked till the horizons… it was plain… green.

Earliest Civilizations were all river-based… these rivers- Nile, Euphrates or Indus… had vast flood plains amidst desert… and thus they provided much needed fertility. However, they did something more important… they used to flood regularly… thus providing water beyond their immediate surroundings- and did not let dense vegetation to survive… and therefore allowing easy agriculture in their flood plains. In comparison Gangetic Civilization came much later because Ganges did not use to flood regularly… and therefore allowed very dense grasses/bushes to grow in its vicinity… so man had to wait for the invention of iron-based tools to use these areas… to cut grasses etc.

Thereafter, we took a walk around the village… met many people… who were starting their daily chores… it was a beautiful village… almost like an Indian village… with kind people… smiling and welcoming us anywhere we went.

After an aimless walk we went to the village pond… which has almost dried up… Faruk told me that every year villagers dig the pond a wee bit deeper to find some more of water… and somehow things keep on moving for them. But now the water has become a scarce commodity… A few years ago the local government arranged piped water for the village and constructed a reservoir at the top of mound… but that water is only able to meet the personal needs of the villagers and not the irrigational needs.

I asked him if he wanted to stay back in the village… he refused… and said that nearly every second house-hold in the village has at least one young male-member working in cities… he said that there is very little of future left in the village.

It was time to move back… we went home… (And I purposely call it home, because I had started feeling as comfortable therein) and I got ready to move…

At 8:30 am Alison and Omar joined us for breakfast… the breakfast like yesterday’s dinner was fabulous and lavish… the cheese was absolutely delicious and melted in my mouth… the fruits smelled fresh and sweet… I stuffed myself… not sure if I’d good such a home-like food anytime soon.

Alison asked for my honest opinion and I told her… I relished being here… and promised to keep in touch and be back with my family soon… I hugged Hilal, Faruk and Fatih and said good bye… it was time to move… when I was going Pero said that she was very happy that she had an Indian visitor for the first time… she said that unlike other visitors, I did not have any problem in adjusting with her family… and frugal facilities like squat toilet and eating with hands… I smiled… and said something from the bottom of my heart… I felt as if I was in India…

Omar drove me to Urfa… my next destination… before starting I asked Alison if she could recommend me a place to stay… She said that there is one Lizbon Guest House… however; she warned that Aziz- its owner- is a wee bit eccentric. But the Guest House is cheap and comfortable…. So! Lizbon it was….

We stopped briefly in Hilvan… where Omar showed me a Kurdish wedding… almost like the one which I had seen in Diyarbakir… thereafter, we restarted our journey to Urfa… 50 kilometers away.

We reached Urfa at noon… Omar dropped me in a street leading to Lizbon… I waved him good bye… and started searching for Lizbon.

Much of Urfa (the older parts) is built on a hill. The newer parts of Urfa, however, have been built in the plains surrounding it… and smaller hills in the vicinity. Searching for Lizbon in the old city, therefore, entailed a small walk uphill… which lead me to the gate of Lizbon.

The door was opened by an old lady… Aziz’s wife… she gave me a room to stay… and told me that Aziz is out on a trip with two Dutch tourists… to Gobekli Teppe and Harran. I sighed… I missed an opportunity to see these places… both the places are not served well by public transport (Harran, may be… but not surely Gobekli Teppe)… and are the biggest attractions in Urfa.

Urfa, according to legends, is the birth and the resting place of Prophet Abraham… and Harran some 60 kilometers away in South… was a place where he rested and preached for monotheism, while going on a Hajj to Mecca.

Apart from Harran, Urfa is famous for one more place… a pond full of fishes…. When, Prophet Abraham started preaching monotheism… the pagan king of Urfa got annoyed and order that Prophet Abraham should be thrown into fire. But when he was thrown, Allah intervened … the fire turned into a pond… and the burning charcoal into fishes… the pond remains. With thousands and thousands of fishes… it is believed that if somebody catches a fish from the pond… he would go blind.

After a quick lunch at Lizbon… it was time for some outing… to see the pond- the birth and resting place of Prophet Abraham… and then the Urfa citadel and the souk of Urfa.

Urfa lies at the Turkish-Arab frontier… it is very difficult to decide whether culturally its Kurdish or Arab… perhaps a mix… I felt very comfortable speaking Arabic in Urfa… quite a few people understood me.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Twenty Four: In the cradle of civilization

I first heard of Yuvajali while surfing on thorn-tree forum.

Thorn-tree forum has been refuge while digging out information on my Levant trip… and Anatolia trip. It has been a treasure trove of information. I have always maintained that the best travel (and not tourism) information are not to be found on Lonely Planets, Footprints but on travel forum… where avid travelers talk to each other… there you find real information- on and off the beaten tracks.

It is near the Kurdish town of Hilvan… some 5-6 kilometers from it. An enterprising Alison Tanik, who runs a small tourism outfit ‘Nomad Travels’, arranges village home-stays in Yuvajali- a Kurdish village…

I contacted her once I landed up in Turkey… and she worked out a package for me… which was fetching me from Euphrates river crossing at Siveric- dropping me to Diyarbakir for sight-seeing- and then arranging a village home-stay in the night – and in the morning- after a breakfast dropping me to Sanliurfa… my next stop… all for USD 75. It seemed a shade expensive by backpacking standards… but the experience was something really unique. And I promised to myself… that I would come again to Yuvajali… with my family.

My first stop was at Alison’s house… she had made a dream-like cottage for her amidst a pistachio orchard… the location was so scenic… that I sighed out a cold breath.

Alison is a British national… and came to Turkey years ago and fell in love with the place… she never went back and settled in Turkey… marrying a gentle Omar… and recently the couple was blessed with a daughter, whom they named… INDIA. Life is full of surprises… meeting India in a remote village in South-East Turkey… who would have thought?

Alison offered me a hot cup of coffee… and then we spoke about a lot of issues… Kurdistan movement – which, according to her, was depleting… and then we moved to the topic of India… surprisingly, she was wonderfully well-read about India… and we shared an excellent discussion on India, its governance and the British effects on India… it was one of the most intellectual stimulating discussions discussion I had had in many years… I, thereafter, realized… Alison is a Cambridge alumnus… writes for Newsweek… and teaches, online, in host of US universities… ‘Nomad Tours’ is not a business- but a mission for her… to bring livelihood, employment and education in a distant Kurdish village… which thereafter replicates itself everywhere.

Yuvajali village is located a kilometer away from Alison’s house… presently Alison arranges village home-stay in Pero’s house… Pero, incidentally, is Omar’s sister… (Though recently, I heard from her… she has started arranging village home-stay in a few more homes in the village). Pero’s family consisted of husband Halil… and three sons- Faruk, Fatih, and Aylin.

It was wonderful meeting them all… the family was very kind… and went out of the way to make me comfortable… initially, though, I felt a hitch… I felt as if I am being too well-treated because I am a customer… but then later I realized that Kurdish hospitality in like this… a guest is always first and foremost.

It was, soon, time for dinner… a lavish dinner comprising of cottage cheese, honey, jaggery, country bread, rice, chicken and potato-puree was laid before me… Alison had earlier told me… that all the ingredients are from the village itself and nothing is brought from outside… the dinner was heavenly… it was after many days that I ate such a refreshing dinner… compared to it, the dinner at Cappadocia Carnival night was… too artificial.

I was tired because of continuous traveling… moreover I wanted to see the village in early morning… Alison told me that I can have breakfast at 9 am and then Omar would drive me down to Sanliurfa. So, she suggested me to wake by 6 am and have a walk around the village…

Yuvajali village lies in the Mesopotamian plains… the Euphrates flood plains… and adjacent to it is a small pond, which used to get flooded by floods every year… however, today, because of an upstream dam… floods don’t happen… the village pond- which was the only source of water for the village has dried- and water has become the biggest problem for the villagers… Yuvajali is on the verge of extinction…

What is even more worrying is that Yuvajali is not a new dwelling… but, like multitudes of its sister villages, is perhaps among the oldest villages in the history of mankind.

Euphrates flood plains are endless plains… but at some places, suddenly, some hillocks crops up… according to Archaeologists… such sudden change in contours are artificial… and hide a history. Pero’s house is located just below one such hillock.

About 50 kilometers, archaeologists dug one such hillock and found Gobekli Teppe… a 10000 years old pagan temple… which predates any other human dwelling… even the early Egyptian monuments… similarly, few years ago- there were heavy rains in Yuvajali… and this rain revealed some ancient Mesopotamian cuneiforms… Alison’s guess is that these cuneiforms were about 3-5000 years old… and they were revealed from the top soil of the hillock (and therefore are among the recent phases of history)… her eyes sparkled when she said… “Imagine what lies beneath the hillock… perhaps another Gobekli Teppe.”

I was sleeping in the cradle of perhaps, the first ever civilization in the world…

It is ironic that a water dam on Euphrates is going to destroy a 10000 year old way of life… for better or for worse… life, after such monumental changes… doesn’t remain the same… I don’t pass value judgments… still… we need to look back and question… some introspecting questions to ourselves as a society…

The Yuvajali pond… would never get flooded again… Alison told me… that people have started leaving the village… the new generation has moved to coastal Turkey… and would never come back… and if the pace is anything to go by… Yuvajali may become deserted in next 20 years… after almost 10000 years of existence.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Twenty Three: Lost in the Maze

I was ushered into a room, where some elderly people were sipping tea… and animatedly discussing something

Even before I could speak… I was handed over a cup of hot tea… south east Turkey surely is much colder than its coastal counterpart… and a cup of tea was most welcome even at 12 in the noon… I sipped it… Kurdish tea is sweeter but stronger than the Turkish tea.

“Country”… an elderly gentleman with an white-black Arab headscarf asked me… “Hindistan”… “Sipas”… Persian for hello…

Few days back, when I used to study Persian, my teacher told me that Persians have many ways of greeting somebody… from the religious Salaam-alaikum to Marhaba to Sipas… he also told me that whereas Marhaba is more popular in eastern Iran… Sipas was more popular in western Iran… so, it seems, Kurdish and Persian inter-mingle a lot in western Iran and eastern Turkey.

This elderly gentleman, I found out, was one of the leading literary figures of Diyarbakir… he knew apart from Kurdish and Turkish… little bit of English, Arabic and quite a bit of Persian… and thereafter, we started talking in Persian… understanding a bit and inferring another bit… the conversation henceforth became easier.

The first part of conversation was about establishing my religious identity… he grilled me on fundamentals of Islam to establish that I was a Muslim… little did he know… that he was chartering in my very own territory… Islam and its philosophy has, by now, become an interest area for me…

The second part was about the Kurdish problem… he lamented that Diyarbakir- despite its historical richness- remains a neglected city… no one comes here… and return after seeing the superficial coastal Turkey. And then came a zapper… Kurdistan is very much like Hindistan’s Kashmir… under the yoke of Hindistan… and tried to ascertain my feelings for Kashmir. I changed the topic diplomatically.

Kurdish movement, incidentally, started off as a communist rebellion… supported by the Soviet Union… PKK (the Peasants and Workers Party) still sounds a communist group for peasants and workers… (and actually Kurds formed a disproportionately large peasant and worker group in urban Turkey)… however… in recent years Kurdish movement is getting more and more radicalized… it is being hijacked by Islamists… the Kurdish population- especially the younger generation- is more susceptible. In a way, however, Kurdish rebellion is following the general trend of Turkish society.

In fact, the Tayyip Erdogan government of AKP (Justice and Development Party) is said to have used soft Islam as a vehicle to win over the alienated Kurdish population… and till a few months ago, it was working well… till, some people allege, Army struck back… turning small mole-hill like Kurdish incidents into mountains… and deploying itself in Kurdish cities… the cleavage resurfaced yet again.

The third part of the conversation, however, was the most interesting… I am least interested in politics… only to earn my daily bread… I am more interested in culture, linguistics… and in the third part of the conversation… he told me about various dialects of Kurdish… and how Kurmanji Kurdish is almost same as Persian… the numbers for instance are the same… Yak, Du, Sey, Chahar, Paench, Shish, Haft, Hashd, Noo, Daa….

While I was leaving the place… he arranged for a tourist map of Diyarbakir… I asked for the Armenian Church… and Syrian Church… he raised his eye-brows… why, as a Muslim, I would like to see them… and showed me the directions.

The Armenian Church… lies in a dilapidated state… William Dalrymple mentions it as a cattle-shed… now there is not even a cattle-shed but a crumbled old building… the Syrian Church- the Mariamma Cathedral… exists… I met its patron… who spoke a wee bit of Arabic… “Today only 14 families remain… most of them elderly… once Diyarbakir had almost 10000 families… now only 14…. Most of them have migrated to the West… some have shifted to Midyat… where a number of Syrian families still live”…. I could sense a fear and a melancholy in his eyes.

It was time to visit other sites of the city… I walked up the wall… at a distance I could see the magnificent views of Tigris… some 3 kilometers away… the walls are majestic… I met a few locals… one of them- a fan of local football club- Ultraslan… made me shoot a few of his photographs with a banner of it…

While walking aimlessly in the citadel… I met a few mischievous kids, a Kurdish marriage party… with very beautiful girls dancing to the tune of Kurdish pop… a luxury which has been realized only recently… till a few years ago… Kurdish music was banned in Turkey.

It was time to stroll back towards Ulu Cami… I saw the Karavan Serai… which has been the second most evocative building of all the Diyarbakir… the Nabi Cami… built by one of the blood relatives of the Prophet… the birth place of Ziya Gokalp… one of the leaders of Young Turk Movement… his lineage is Kurdish, but he fought along with the Turks… and always refrained any divisions between the Kurds and Turks… his place, therefore, is surprisingly well kept- as compared to other monuments in Diyarbakir… and the house of great Kurdish poet Cahit Taranci… who, again, is remembered as a great Turkish nationalist.

Diyarbakir… is a city of confusion… the oppressors who feel oppressed… the oppressed who no longer exist… where those who stood for Turk-Kurd unity and those who opposed it… are venerated in the same breath.

It is, like its architecture, a maze… one needs to seep into its street deeper and deeper to understand the nature of this momentous city… I couldn’t… for the lack of time… I had to move on… though after being here I had heard one part of the story… and waited for the other…

I met Omar exactly at the agreed upon time… and started by journey towards the small Kurdish village of Yuvajali

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Twenty Two: A strife-torn citadel

Diyarbakir… is an uncut diamond

History is littered all around within the confines of its citadel… whose walls are so magnificent that other such structures just pale into insignificance…

For instance… when I saw the Lal Qila in Delhi for the first time… I actually gasped for breath and wondered… would I be able to see anything of equal magnificence ever… and then when I saw Tughlakabad in the same city… I knew that I have to see a lot in this world. Diyarbakir reminded me that a lot remains to be seen.

For last one week, people had been telling me to avoid Diyarbakir… some rejecting it as a group of crumbled monuments… some terming it a badland… and some saying that it was a rendezvous of thugs and con-masters. Diyarbakir- if is anything of the above… I didn’t see any evidence.

For instance… its mighty ramparts… they are about 1500 years old… and everybody warned me that don’t go atop them… they are infested with drug-addicts and petty criminals- who won’t blink before mugging me. And yet when I dared to I got a fresh whiff of air, a scene so majestic that I was dumbstruck… at a distance, I could see the Tigris River… the sister of Euphrates… along the banks of which Mesopotamia breathed… almost 7000 years ago.

Diyarbakir has a checkered history… in old ages it lied at the cross roads of mighty empires like Assyrians, Persians, Byzantine and the Armenians… changing hands from one to another… seeing bloody battles every time it changed hands… it, perhaps was important as an important trade and agriculture center… sitting beside the Tigris… and overlooking all the important trade routes… everyone, therefore, wanted to control Diyarbakir (or Amida).

Diyarbakir, however, was captured in the early years of Islam by the invading Arab Armies… and thereafter became a Muslim city… first ruled by Kurds… then by Kurdish governors of the Selcuks… and then by the Selcuks… and then Ottoman.

Realizing the importance of the city, Kurdish rulers strengthened the might citadel… with massive ramparts of black basalt stones… the walls of Diyarbakir are almost 6-7 kilometers long… originally built by the Roman rulers… they were added and strengthened by the Kurds… and now even after 1500 years of that strengthening… they engulf the entire city in its strong clasp… as if they have been built only a few hundred years ago… no sign of decay… no sign of weakness… these walls define Diyarbakir.

And no place can be more poignant a reminder of the history in the heart of Diyarbakir… than the Ulu Cami (the grand mosque) revered to be 5th most revered mosque in the Arab, Levant and Anatolia combined. Omar dropped me at a market place in-front of Ulu Cami… I roamed inside the mosque… and everywhere I could see the traces of the grand history…. Foundations of a Pagan Temple… Roman pillars with Greco-Roman artwork… a solar clock built by Byzantine… and then finally the Mosque built by the Kurds… it has seen all and weathered the history.

The streets of Diyarbakir are a maze… and therefore finding the uncut diamonds littered all around is difficult. I was told that there is a functioning Syrian Orthodox Church and an Armenian Church somewhere… but finding it was difficult… the Turkish Government has hardly made Diyarbakir geared for tourism and therefore there are no road-marks anywhere.

Someone told me that I should try to go to Behrampasha Mosque… there is a small tourist office over there… I started navigating the place… to reach the non-descript tourist office, which in other tourist spots should have been right in the heart of the city.

The modern history of Diyarbakir is written with blood, cruelty and deceit.

Once Diyarbakir had a huge Armenian and Syrian Christian population… but during the Young Turk movement… the Turks and Kurds came together to flush them out… Armenians had no place to go… they were mercilessly butchered in what is today known as Armenian genocide… while Syrians were only a wee bit lucky… many of them migrated to Syria- which due to its historical eclectic nature provided them refuge… and some others migrated eastwards in Syrian dominated areas like Mardin and Midyat… one of my next destinations. It is indeed an irony that today… the Kurds, who betrayed their neighbors during the flushing out of Orthodox Christians… are at the receiving end… and Diyarbakir has become a battle ground between the Turks and Kurds.

I finally found Behrampasha mosque tucked away in one of the non-descript quarters of the city. It was, apart from its anonymity… a very visit-worthy building… made up of black and white stones… a typical Seljuk building.

A couple of steps away, I found the tourist office… which was converted from an old Diyarbakir house… the place didn’t looked anything like a tourist office… but more of a tea-house… a number of locals sitting here and there… and sipping tea… and smoking Sheesha…. The environment of the place was very informal… and it had an air of comfort all around… I felt that I have come to a right place…

The people were rather surprised to see me… for they were not accustomed to see a tourist walking into this office… and occasionally if somebody walked in- he used to be some white man… not a South Asian…

They tried talking to me… but nobody knew English… they first tried Turkish… and then they spoke something which distantly resembled a language that I knew… Persian.

I said a few words in Persian… and that seemed distantly similar to them… and the ice broke.

They were using the Kurmanji Kurdish.

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Twenty One: Road to Diyarbakir

Early morning, I woke up at 5 am… I went out for a walk for one last time before leaving Karadut… the beauty of Karadut could be compared to a Himalayan village… pure and sublime. I had an eyeful… of early morning, the whiff of fog, farmers tilling their field and mosque’s call… in this wilderness… I couldn’t help noticing that the prayer-calls are so blessed a sound… it brings so much of serenity.

By 6 am it was time to move… Aly had told me that the first ferry from Siveric to the other side comes at 6:30 am and leaves at 7 am… accordingly; I had packed my bags in the night itself… I had a quick breakfast… and was on my way to Siveric

The drive to ferry point… like any other drive in the area is extremely scenic… from a distance you start seeing majestic views of Euphrates… the mighty river, which gives life to a region- which otherwise would have been a dry desert.

Aly left me at the ferry point and told me that ferry would come in a few minutes and I can board it for free… I liked the idea… I didn’t want to be guided any more by anybody… and wanted to roam free meet people and if possible talk to them…

The place was full of people… it was a daily chore for many of them… crossing the river… and going to the largest town in the vicinity- Diyarbakir… the lifeline of this region. Eavesdropping into conversations, I could hear the name of this momentous city- again and again… in fact I had been hearing the name of this city, ever since I had expressed my wish to visit the Kurdish region… the Turks detested the city… it was the epicenter of Kurdish rebellion… while Kurds sighed at its mentions… saying the Diyarbakir was so much better than crumbled Greco-Roman sights littered all over the coastal Turkey… and how Turk-dominated governments have not let Diyarbakir achieve its full tourism potential.

Anyway you looked at it… Diyarbakir was the key to understanding Kurdish problem first-hand.

While waiting for the ferry, I tried talking to some of the people… the problem was language… nearly nobody knew English… till I was approached by a bearded man… his first question- Muslim?... I gambled… Yes!.

He showed me a book… Hajj… trying to say that he had just been to Hajj… probably he was a local Maulvi… who lead his group to Hajj… Turkish Maulvis are surprisingly well-dressed, western-looking…

I looked at the book… it was a translation guide… Turkish to Arabic… I started reading the Arabic effortlessly… more effortlessly than the Maulvi… and this won the day for me… I became a sort of celebrity… people start pouring in and shaking hands with me… an Indian, who knew Arabic, must be a very religious person.

I made a few friends during this small ferry journey… but surprisingly… I could understand Kurdish more than I could understand Turkish… there was some strange similarity between Persian and Kurdish… something which I came to realize in Diyarbakir.

The ferry journey was amazingly refreshing… beautiful sceneries… migratory birds… very friendly people… a few days ago in Pamukkale, Sultan had told me… Kurdistan is beautiful… and I’d forget Turkish sights once I am there… he was not too much way off the mark.

On the other side, I saw a well-dressed man waiting for me in a car… I guessed he must be Omar-Alison Tanik’s husband, who assists her in running Nomad Tours.

Omar, too, recognized me almost instantaneously… I was the only person in the ferry who was looking different… like a tourist. A relatively black-complexioned Indian among fair complexioned Kurds.

Omar was not able to talk much in English… he put me in touch with Alison, on phone … who had chalked a perfect program for me… Omar would drive me to Diyarbakir… and leave me in the city… with some packed lunch… and then I was free to explore the city all by myself… for 4-5 hours, and thereafter Omar would meet me at a pre-decided spot, and then drive me to Alison’s house, where I can have a quick coffee before proceeding to Yuvacali village- to stay with Pero and her family… and relish Kurdish hospitality.

The drive to Diyarbakir started unfolding the complexity of Kurdish problem… all along the drive… at regular intervals; I could see Gendarmerie (paramilitary) pickets… stopping all the buses… lining people out and checking all their wares… the whole area appeared to be a war-zone… Omar tried to tell me… I have seen nothing… a few days ago… Army was manning these pickets… and now things are under control… a few kilometers ahead… I saw remains of a charred vehicle… which were torched by the Kurdish rebels… Omar explained- violence has become a never-ending cycle in this region… interrupted by brief periods of peace… where Army lets down its security apparatus and then rebels strike… leading to re-deployment of security forces… Gendarmerie, apparently, represents the peace time.

We started approaching Diyarbakir… it, strangely, at the first sight didn’t appear to be a rebel-dominated town… there were signs of development… Omar told me… the government has, off-late, started developing these areas… a lot of industries have started coming to Diyarbakir and other Kurdish towns… and the government anticipates that the Kurdish youth would get jobs and eventually the Kurdish rebellion would die a natural death. He admitted that of late Turkish government has become development oriented viz. Kurdish region, unlike in the past…

Beyond the veneer of modernity… lied the old citadel of Diyarbakir… and one look at the citadel area… and I gasped… this place is special… indeed very special…

The walls and the ramparts of the citadel were amazingly grand… announcing the historical profundity of Diyarbakir… the citadel was huge… and I could see a sea of people still residing inside the citadel… I smiled… and uttered prophetic words… Aleppo!

Reminiscence from Anatolia- Part Twenty: Amidst peace and tranquility

These were the lean tourist seasons… no one was present at Nemrut… leaving the entire place to myself… winters are generally very severe in these parts of Turkey… and before reaching Nemrut, I was wondering as to whether I would be able to make it there or not… would Nemrut be snow-bound (In fact a few days after my departure from the place… heavy snow was reported in this area… I was definitely lucky)

The vantages from the summit are commanding… the hill is surrounded by Euphrates from three sides… and at a distance you can see majestic views of Euphrates… the river which harbored, arguably, the oldest civilization in the world… (Yes, the oldest… I discovered its timelessness at a place called Urfa)

I left Nemrut Dagi with a sense of fulfillment of having come here and seen it… one of the most enduring images of Turkey- along with Istanbul and Cappadocia.

It was time to drive down to other sites in the vicinity… apparently, the whole area was a Commagene empire stronghold… and therefore they constructed a number of sites all over the place… the ruins of these places are dotted everywhere in the vicinity.

The drives around the place are simply breath-taking… the vantages, the landscape are surreal… as if you have been transformed in a dream world… hills all around… covered with shiny golden grass… as if they are made up of gold… steep roads… and then a straight road… a strip of tarmac amidst the golden surrounding… for miles and miles… I was blessed to be here.

We reached to a place called Arsameia… which arguably represents the zenith of Commagene kings… a hundred years before the fall of it under King Mithradates… it served as the summer capital of the kingdom… a rock edict facing the Euphrates valley stands today- bearing testimony of the great empire… so does a statue of Mithradates shaking hands with Hercules… and besides a never-ending cave, which goes down and down… some 150 meters… I tried going inside with a small torch, but after 20 meters I started feeling claustrophobic and came back.

A few more steps atop the hills, one can find the ruins of Eski Kale… the old Arsameia fort… the dilapidated ramparts and rubbles indicate that it must have been a great fort… the views are majestic… you can see all around… views of the Euphrates Valley… perhaps that’s why this fort was impregnable… the enemies could had been sighted from miles…

It was time to move… while going back…I met a English guy traveling with her Hong Kong based girl friend… they planned to go to Nemrut in the night and try seeing the Sunrise from there… I wished them good luck…

A couple of minutes of drive ahead is the Yeni Kale… the new castle… probably erected by the Selcuks… a fine work of masonry… this fort is made up of thin bricks, held together by limestone… the works looks majestic… but lies in a dilapidated state… a villager told me… nobody comes here, not even the authorities, to maintain this place… I realized I have started seeing the Kurdish heartland… where there is a deep resentment against the government in Ankara… which is dominated by the Turks.

A little further ahead… is the Roman bridge… constructed in 2 Century AD… this bridge was constructed by Romans after the conquest of Commagene empire… in the honor of their mighty general Septimius Severus… the bridge was constructed over one of the tributaries of Euphrates… Numphaeus… and despite being 2000 year old… is in working condition… (Though heavy vehicles are not allowed on it because of preservation purposes).

I went down the bridge and touched the water of the river… touching water of a river, which has nurtured the oldest civilization of the world… Euphrates and Tigris… and the Mesopotamian Civilization… I had heard stories about Dajlah and Farrat (Euphrates and Tigris) since childhood… I felt sad that when I was in Syria in 2007… I didn’t go to Deir-Ez-Zor… where I could have seen Euphrates… but when I touched the waters of Euphrates… I felt blessed… I could feel a shiver down my spine and a tear drop in my eyes… civilizations are ephemeral… but this river would always communicate stories about those who sat by it… those who relished it… FOREVER.

It was getting darker…I had to move… we drove through the villages of the area… where school kids were returning home… I could see the idyllic life of the villages… many a times... I wondered if I could just stay in these charming vistas a wee bit more… but knew I had to move… tomorrow to Diyarbakir… the headquarters of Kurdish militancy… many had deterred me from going there… they told me that Diyarbakir is a dangerous city… any time… but more so, these days, when Kurdish riots have broke out all over the place.

A day ago, I spoke to Alison Tanik… who runs Nomad Tours in Urfa and adjoining areas… and arranges for village homestays in Kurdish Villages… she offered me to pick me up from Kahta-Diyarbakir Ferry Point (there used to be a bridge on Euphrates, on the road connecting Kahta to Diyarbakir, however, it got destroyed by a flooding and now… people use ferries to cross this stretch of Euphrates)… she told me that I can see Diyarbakir and then in the evening stay at Village... and enjoy the Kurdish hospitality… all for 75 dollars… it sounded nice… Aly agreed to drop me at Ferry point in the morning so that I can take the very first ferry across Euphrates.

I came back to Karadut Pension at around 5 pm… it was already dark… Aly told me that dinner would be ready by 7 and I can take a walk around the village… I was waiting for this hour…

Amidst the prayer calls… small kids saying money money… people winding up their daily chores… and a burbling brook… the walk was heavenly… serene… words were not enough to capture… I looked around, the sun had set… there was an orangish hue to the sky… I started missing my family… I wondered how much my sons would have relished this serenity… how romantic would holding hands of my wife been in these heavenly surrounding.