Hitchhiking across Turkey. The route of this trip that took place in the autumn of 2014 rarely coincided with the lines of tour operators. Unrest in Turkish Kurdistan, thousands of refugees from Iraq and Syria and the army at the southern border are the things one will not see in travel brochures. As well as many other cultural sites of this distinctive country.
A Night at the Mosque
A Georgian Orthodox church sat near a Turkish mosque. An invisible, hardly perceivable, line ran through Sarpi, a settlement on the shore of the Black Sea. The line separated two different countries and religions. A few steps and here I was having had my passport generously stamped by a border guard. Welcome to Turkey!
Would hitchhiking work out for me when I had only a couple of Turkish words in stock and the driver, alas, spoke neither Russian nor English? A wide smile, thank you – teşekkürler, and everything would be alright!
Seashore towns, resembling each other like twins, alternated behind the window: Hopa, Pazar, Rize... Gökhan, a medical worker, who was returning home from his service, offered me a stay at his house, but it wasn't dark yet and I chose to go on. 30-year-old Yusup was getting ready for a beer party in his van and also was glad to welcome a Russian, but it was too early to relax. Maybe they just did not inspire enough trust.
But a young lad who struck a conversation with me in one of Trabzon streets in the evening won my heart instantly. There was something appealing in Stephan. The next two weeks that I spent side by side with him I observed that strangers of different sex and age would fall under Stephan's charisma.
24-year-old citizen of Istanbul was half-Turkish: he had Bosnian roots and high-profile ancestors who had worked in the government circles of Atatürk, the founder and first President of the Republic of Turkey. His father lived in Germany therefore Stephan would spend several weeks a year in Europe. Hence he knew six foreign languages. In addition, he sang well and even knew a couple of lines from two Russian songs Kalinka and Katyusha.
Since he had nothing to do during his college break, he somewhat quickly set his mind on crossing Turkey from the East to the West and asked if he could join me. He wanted to test himself – to spend nights at random places, to eat irregularly without knowing what next day would bring.
For now, he lodged me in his dormitory and promised a tour around the city before the long road. From the sea perspective, Trabzon is situated opposite to the Russian city of Sochi. The two cities are linked by a ferry that departs two times a week. Trabzon has a number of Byzantine architecture buildings, including church-museum Hagia Sophia containing well-preserved frescos. And there is a Greek Orthodox monastery called Sumela at a distance of 30 kilometres from Trabzon. The monastery, nestled in a steep cliff, looks as if it had been carved in stone. The entrance fee was 15 Liras. Turkey was said to be one foot in Europe, so were the prices.
Islamic holiday Kurban Bayram started. Many cafés, stores and banks were closed. Children did not go to schools these days and grown-ups were on holidays. All rushed to their families and friends. Despite of heavy traffic, nobody wanted to stop for hitch-hikers. We spent the whole evening hitching, but failed to get out of the suburb. An unlocked mosque turned up where we spread out for the night. We set the alarm clock so that to get up before arrival of Imam, their worship leader.
Turkish-style Venice
In the morning, there was no end to drivers who wished to give us a lift. Haydar, driving a clunker, invited us to join him in a café for a small cup of tea. The word meaning "tea" in Turkish sounds the same as in Russian – "chai". Tea is the most popular drink in the country. It was served everywhere and they brewed it in a tricky way in two tea pots. Besides, we happened to be in the region with rich tea plantations. I mentioned "a small cup" not without a reason because we saw standard 100-gram tulip-shaped cups everywhere. This shape, also reminiscent of a woman's waist, was said to retain heat.
Some drivers offered tea, while others bought us soda water and chocolate bars at gas stations. Furniture-maker Charan went as far as to slip us a Soviet vintage camera called Zenith. How many years that “visitor” from the USSR had sat in the trunk only God knew but Stephan gladly jumped at the opportunity to possess it. Stephan also saved a book of Mark Twain that I had grabbed at the book-crossing point in one of Kursk libraries. The book was published in 1981 in a local typography, then it was kept at somebody's home for about 30 years, then soaked up a few times while with me on the road. Though the book looked miserable, it supplemented the book collection of intellectually curious Stephan in Istanbul. Two years ago I had had a "fault" with Anna Gavalda's novel "35 Kilos of Hope". I had been going to return it honestly but finally had presented it to a female friend in Mexico. Such were lives of books from Kursk...
Kemal Atatürk is an almost sacred name for any Turk. That's why my companion insisted on our visiting Samsun, a large Black Sea port situated on a bay of the same name. However, there were also other things to see: an old tobacco factory, blocks of low houses of the Ottoman Empire era, and a national park with more than 300 bird species. But the main historic feature of the city was that the Turkish national movement had begun here. The replica of Bandırma steamer that delivered Father of the Nation Atatürk to this port in 1919 was moored for good. There was a museum opened in honour of Atatürk where the politician's personal belongings were displayed: from furniture of his study to night slippers and pyjamas. Nisty and Nurtana, women we hadn't known an hour ago, showed us all that. As a matter of fact, we had just asked for directions but they had decided to walk the visitors the whole nine yards without failing to treat us to Turkish sweets in a café.
We got to Amasya late in the evening. The city of Amasya surrounded by apple gardens was hidden among mountains upon one of which a fortress sits. The tombs of the Pontus kings were carved at the foot of the cliffs. The facades of houses hovered over the Green River like in Italian Venice; water splashed against mill-wheels. The Amasya religious complex contains, among numerous 500-year old edifices, religious colleges, kitchens for the poor, baths, a library and giant sycamores of the same age.
Tea Party in a Morgue
As we travelled further inland of Turkey, the country's touristy gloss, still lingering from the coast for some time, was wearing off and at the same time people became more real and appealing to me. As usually, we hitched on a highway and, it was hard to believe it, a Lada "the ninth model" car stopped. Nuri said that in the 1990s Russian cars had been popular in Turkey, especially the Lada Niva model.
One of the drivers, a seller of motor oil, Hussein by name, used his contact to lodge us in Turkhal police hotel free of charge. The apartments of law enforcement personnel were up to the mark – a two level suit with a TV set, a fridge, a telephone and two shower rooms.
Döner kebabs, known to Russians more like "shaurma", were sold in the streets almost everywhere. In Turkey, where this dish was invented, it is the most popular meal for a bite and it is served with Ayran yoghurt drink. We had this dish for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Sometimes hitchhiking was a pure lottery. A new Peugeot delivered us to... the morgue of the city of Tokat. Ali worked as a janitor in sterilisation department where he sterilised appliances in special ovens. We had two cups of tea each while waiting for him to finish his job. Then Ali showed us around the main sights of the city, including the studio of a local woman artist.
After having parted with the medic, we stopped by a house to ask for water. However, owner Asumam and her pregnant daughter Biket didn't confine themselves with just giving us water. They invited us to kitchen and served festive dishes: stewed meat, home-made cheese and dolma wrapped in grape leaves. The people outside of large cities were very hospitable.
Picturesque Sivas where we were taken to by Iskham, a resident of this city, abounded with mosques. The oldest mosque called Ulu Jami was built in 1197. Divriği was slightly newer but was listed among UNESCO world heritage sites.
A business-class car pulled over, which had never happened to us before. It was rather scary even to touch the new Mercedes with expensive wood trim interior, not to say about sitting on the leather seats in our hitchhiking outfit. Though, our appearance did not bother Usamettin. The now retired impressive Turk had lived in Germany for 44 years, where he had worked as a controller at BMW in Munich.
The next driver was not that stately but he asked more questions. He was interested what I, as a journalist, thought about the merger of Crimea with Russia. He also shared his opinion on this account. According to him, regular Turks supported our country in all aspects because they had felt secure in the Soviet time near the great neighbour. They had believed in the power of Russia. Mukharam did not reply if he was a communist but he apparently had a liking to reds. He was reluctant to part with somebody born in the USSR so fast, therefore he invited us to have barbecue at his friend's farm not very far from Kaysery. We could see Erciyes volcano from there.
Cappadocia Mystery
Erciyes, a giant with a snowcap, didn't disappear from our view for quite awhile. Eruptions of this volcano around three million years ago and ongoing erosion of magmatic rocks formed the mysterious region of Cappadocia in Turkey. "Fairy", "not of this Earth", "Martian" were the first words that came to my mind at the sight of these naturally-created posts, cloud-high cones, giant mushrooms, columns, canyons and tuff valleys that would become blood-red in the rays of the setting sun.
On approaches to the first Cappadocia city of Ürgüp, driver Memduh, by the by, the hundredth one starting from Kursk, narrated how his ancestors had lived here. Indeed, the moon-like landscapes of Cappadocia enchanted people at the dawn of mankind. Everything that in those two days went before our eyes with such revelation had been created by many generations and by several nations. Göreme ans Zelve listed among UNESCO World Heritage sites featured early Christian rocky temples and monasteries whose domes were carved in stone and walls were ingeniously decorated by frescos depicting Bible scenes.
Taking advantage of soft rock, Cappadocians used to cut their dwellings in it. The government had imposed a ban on this practice only two decades ago. 60-metre rock Uchisar was riddled with caves – rather a common feature for local surroundings. Cone-shaped natural sculptures sitting both in clusters and separately had dwelling places inside. People lived there. Some had...satellite dishes attached to them, with electricity and water supplied. As a rule, those were hotels. In fact, not every such "birdhouse" had even doors or windows therefore it wasn't uncommon for us to incidentally drop in someone's apartment. Not to mention orchards, melon fields and vineyards with which the surroundings of Cappadocia villages were planted. The locals traditionally live off wine-making, farming and tourism. Hot air balloon flights are among the most popular services for visitors.
My travel companion Stephan managed to find wild mountain poppies and irises. But it wasn't enough to drive through vast Blue, Rosy and Monks Valleys, so different even in colours, to get the whole picture. The grandeur of the Cappadocia kingdom could be felt in full only after having gone underground. Derinkuyu underground city that was within an hour ride from Göreme was 40 meters deep. Eight levels with hundreds of rooms and halls connected by stone galleries once had been accommodations for up to ten thousand people.
We continued to travel across the heartland of Anatolia. We passed many hamlets where the families of rural dwellers worked out in the fields harvesting potatoes and cotton. Hitchhiking was an easy ride there – even a biker tried to offer us a lift. Hasan Dagi volcano hid behind rain clouds. When it started drizzling, we called in the first house we encountered at the edge of Aksaray city. The owners let us wait the rain out and gave some cherry juice.
Turkish "Leniniana"
A 29-year-old native of Istanbul, Ibrahim by name, had crossed Salt Lake Tuz a hundred of times without ever stopping. But he broke the pattern for us: we left his Opel on the highway with hazard lights on and walked a kilometre toward the lake. The Turkey's second largest water body stretched for 80 kilometres. The southern coast is a habitat for flamingo but even without this feature Lake Tuz is among the most remarkable natural places on the planet.
The largest part of the lake dried up in summer. As a result, a thick white ice-like layer deposited on the bottom. The endless salt desert looked lifeless. However, at a distance there were three salt-producing mines. More than a half of salt consumed in Turkey came from this lake. Tuz is sometimes called "Phrygian sea", though water in any other sea would seem sweet as compared with this. Spitting out and cursing this pure concentrate, we drank down all Ibrahim's supply of mineral water in the trunk.
Having appreciated the stamina of the Russian gazeteci ("journalist"), our new friend insisted on our tasting Turkish drink Şalgam Suyu – juice of red carrot pickles and turnip. What that drink didn't lack at all was pepper – it was burning inside in earnest.
Ibrahim's occupation was scientific activities. When we already had coffee in Ankara, he told us with fervour about his treatise. Ibrahim had studied political history and religion for seven years and developed his own alternative to the existing political systems. "Why do people in the USA suffer from obesity while African children die of hunger?" he would ask a rhetoric question. "Unbalance, injustice. My system will help correct this. It is a little bit like communism but with private property and religion allowed. It will be a sort of democracy but the working one, not the kind when we are to choose one of two options profitable for someone else. My worst enemy now is lie. When people know how to live, how to create a just and free world, nobody will ever want to live the old way..."
We spent the night in a cheap hotel and went to see the capital's sights in the morning. Ankara is a large city with a population of five million people but crowds and traffic jams are not the only things to see there. After visiting Aviation Museum and downtown that did not impress us much, we found some comfort in the old town with its fortress, narrow but cosy streets with flea markets and coffee made on sand before your eyes.
In this city, one couldn't help but embrace the personality of the founder and first president of the Republic of Turkey Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. In principle, it was impossible not to embrace the personality while travelling across in the country because portraits of the reformer looked from buildings, from public institutions and even from ubiquitous cafés. Each Turkish city or town had statues and busts of Atatürk as was the case with Lenin in Russia, the only difference being that it was hardly possible that a new monument to Lenin would be installed nowadays. That the cult of the personality was the reality was easy to ascertain oneself by rummaging in one’s pockets: all local currency notes and coins depicted Him.
Stephan walked me around the mausoleum of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. Apart from the tomb, the impressive site included the Ceremonial Ground, Turkish War of Independence Museum and a display of Atatürk's black Cadillac, the boat and the gun carriage, which carried Atatürk's coffin. Also, a portrait of Kliment Voroshilov, a Marshal of the USSR, with his personal signature was on display. On October 29, 1933, he inspected the military parade on the occasion of the 10th Anniversary of the Republic of Turkey. Stephan's grandmother heard the speech that Atatürk had then delivered to the people. She had been 16 at the time. "She would recollect that as if God himself had been speaking in such a deep voice," my friend explained animatedly. "First time she saw him had been four years before the event when he entered their classroom during a history class." Understandably, those historical facts were a matter of pride for his family.
Over the Expanse of the Sea of Marmara...
It took us the whole evening to get out from Ankara. We beat the hoof for so long that I don't want to mention. We found a mosque at the outskirts, luckily not locked, and rested there till morning. There we met a Muslim guy. We were not still sure if our idea wasn't the violation of the sacred place. After brief introduction, we had the following dialogue:
– Where are you going to spend the night?
– We have a tent, but it's chilly tonight...
– I think you'd better stay in the mosque.
– Frankly speaking, we planned so.
Thus, religious sensitivities were not offended. Our new acquaintance worked in a restaurant, consequently one hour later he brought us vegetable stew, beans with meat and bread. The meal did not cost him a dime, neither did we pay. To our shame we slept through the alarm clock and missed the arrival of the Imam but he said it was alright. "Kak dela?", "Khorosho", and... for some reason "kartofel'" ("potato"), – he had learnt some words in Russian when he had visited Moscow and Saint Petersburg ten years ago.
Further on the road, everyday topics were increasingly frequently alternated with the disturbing news of war from nearby Syria. People who hailed from there recommended to keep away from the borders and not to go to the South-East at all. That day we travelled together with Romani man Erdjan and a Kurd called Byulant. The majority of the Kurds we met blamed the Turkish government for not bringing the army to the conflict area and for not trying to defend their people from attacks of Syrian and Iraqi militants. The Turks and Kurds had been in confrontation even without that. After another dispute at a gas station, where, as bad luck would have had it, we were invited for a cup of tea by a die-hard supporter of the separation of the Kurdish lands from Turkey, Stephan became seriously upset. He loved his country too much; therefore, he could barely stand any mention of free and independent Kurdistan.
Eskisehir justified the title of Turkey's student capital. The city's Anadolu University is the largest in Turkey and the fourth largest university in the world by enrolment. And the city is also a large industrial centre. On the territory of one of enterprises our attention was drawn by a car kept under glass – the last specimen of Devrim, the first automobile designed and produced in Turkey in 1961. The car was never mass-produced – only four prototypes were assembled almost manually. Today, Turkey has two plants that produce cars, buses and lorries – BMC and Tofas. The other automobile plants work under licences of European companies.
Another symbol of Eskisehir is sepiolite or the foam of the sea. The world’s largest reserves of the mineral occur at the outskirts of the city. As for us, we visited the workroom of Mehmet Bashsava, a 71-year-old artist, who dedicated all his life to transforming the pliant white material into pieces of art.
A driver wearing a red shirt and stylish big hair turned out to be a hairstylist. Sezgil, a wealthy man, stayed in one of the best hotels of Bursa. To our great luck, he checked me and Stephan in the same hotel, having paid ten times more than we used to pay for three-star hotels. In a suburb, we caught a ferry to Istanbul. The ship rocked on the waves of the Sea of Marmara...
Diverse Istanbul
In less than two hours the ferry delivered us to Istanbul. The city with a population of 14 million residents is the largest one in Turkey. It is often erroneously taken for the capital of the country. Of course, the main city of Turkey is Ankara. To happen to be in Istanbul with the local was a great advantage. We found a hostel for 20 Liras in the historical district Sultanahmet. So, we decided not to bother Stephan's family.
The terrace of the economical hostel overlooked the backyard of nothing less than Hagia Sophia, a structure of controversial architecture. Hagia Sophia had been the main church of Orthodox Christianity for Byzantium and for the world at large for almost a thousand years. In 1453, Constantinople was conquered by the Ottoman Empire and the church was converted into a mosque. Minarets and Islamic internal features were added. In the XX century, it was opened as a museum.
Istanbul resembled a mosaic of various religions, cultures and eras, which has been redone many times. That's why the diversity was the city's second name. Hence, modern trams rushed against the canvas of old mosques and a historic red tram crawled past new fashionable boutiques along the ever-crowded street of Istiklal. And the vicinity of luxurious sultan palaces didn't divert young maximalists from covering the walls of houses with graffiti on branching streets and from painting the steps to a hill as rainbow. The city of contrasts, indeed...
Boats and yachts were quickly manoeuvring between clumsy sea liners and square-cornered bulk-carriers. Screaming seagulls, a dolphin popping up now and then, and a sea of cats on the coast, – yes, that's one king of animals in Istanbul! Fishermen cast their lines from the Galata Bridge and their catch immediately went to kitchens of small restaurants and street stands around the corner that sold a balik ekmek, a specialty fish, onion and lettuce sandwich, at a price of five Liras.
The Republic Monument towered in the heart of Taksim Square, the place that had seen many mass demonstrations and clashes of protesters with police. Kliment Voroshilov and Mikail Frunze statues sat to the right of Ataturk figure. These were placed to commemorate the gratitude for the help of Soviet Russia during the war for independence.
Refugees from Syria arrived here with families. In fact, they were more numerous here than at the border. The refugees begged from rambling crowds of tourists from America and Europe. Whether rich visitors or wealthy Turks were the customers of shoe shiners with brass stands I couldn't make out, but they were seldom seen idle. Generally, there was a good deal of options to part with your money.
It was enough just to visit the famous Grand Bazaar. Locals chose not to go there, using regular shops instead, because the Bazaar sellers inflate prices enormously for future "discounts". When we visited the place on the second day, we instantly understood its hazards. Never ending mazes of stores with tea and coffee, rahat lokum and baklava, myriads of carpets, hand-painted bowls, jewellery and silk – that was very luring. However, I strongly doubt that Russian shuttle traders, who had flooded through borders in the 90s, bought their commodities here.
Near the Walls of Troy...
Among hundreds of sky-penetrating minarets sounding a loud Azan calls five times a day, a light of Orthodox Christianity glimmered. Several Orthodox churches, the legacy of Russian emigration, were clustered in the lanes of the port neighbourhood. They were at the upper levels of residential buildings. Only small domes with crosses identified where parishes were. The main temple, that was the Church of St. Panteleimon, was nested in small premises on top of a drab building. There was no elevator, so we ascended by staircase following the signs until we saw Russian Bible-styled letters on the wall of an entryway: "Entrance to Church"... And this was in the former centre of Orthodox Christianity, Constantinople.
Thanks to Stephan, who had lived in Istanbul for twenty years, the city appeared diverse to me. The independent recreation program included bonus sightseeings like his kindergarten, his university, temporarily inactive Haydarpaşa Railway Terminal built by Germans, a lighthouse and other sights dear to my friend's heart. But prior to leaving, we caught a ferry to the Prince Islands.
Asia was to the left, Europe was to the right. Istanbul, which vanished in the haze when looked at from the middle of Bosporus, is located on two continents at once. The destination of the one-hour trip was Buyukada, the largest island of the archipelago. There were hundreds of old mansions and rickety wooden houses. Many of them were abandoned, like the crumbling villa of Leo Trotsky on Khamlaji Street. The Russian revolutionary had been expelled from the USSR in 1929 and had lived there for four years in exile.
The endless traffic of horse-drawn phaetons created the impression that we had been lost in time. Automobiles are banned on the Prince Islands. All internal transportation is limited to horse-drawn carriages or rented bikes as was the case with us. One of the sights is St. George Monastery located on top of a hill. The sight offers unparalleled views of the Sea of Marmara with vessels lined up and waiting to enter the strait.
Next morning, we crossed not the Bosporus but the Dardanelles. For quite a long time we could see from the ferry a memorial depicting a soldier and the following words: "Traveller halt! Remember those who died for Turkey and are buried in this soil." A memorial to those who had been killed in the Dardanelles Campaign of World War I was nearby. In 2015, the Turks commemorated the 100th anniversary of the battle.
The "wooden horse" from the historical movie Troy starring Bred Pitt was exhibited on the seafront of Çanakkale, another Turkish city and a seaport. The symbol of the legendary battle had toured for quite awhile across the world before it was gifted to the city. After film shoots in Malta and in Mexico it was delivered to Berlin's Potsdam square for the world première, then it was transported to Japan.
The horse installed near the ruins of Troy that was only 30 kilometres from Çanakkale looked more modest. In compensation, when I showed a cover letter from my university at the entrance to the sight, a Turk exclaimed: "I also studied in KSU!" Gekan, a graduate of philology faculty, now worked as a guide.
I got distracted for a fraction of time when Stephan fainted – he got a heat stroke due to a scorching outside temperature. A considerate woman in the nearest house poured us some water and gave us the Turkish-style food: bread with home-made cheese, organically-grown olives, tomatoes and green paprika.
Russified Turk and Italian Prototype
The highway ran along the Aegean Sea where the islands belonging to Greece could be seen on the horizon. We rode with a young couple, Chalar and Ayşe. The young woman born in a conservative Islamic family fled from home for the sake of being together with her darling. By night we were already in Izmir where we stayed overnight at Stephan's girlfriend's place. That was where we parted – he had to come back to Istanbul on business, whereas my journey continued.
The South-West of Turkey is a paradise for admirers of the ancient world: semi-ruined ancient Greek towns stretched in a line. Chances were, non-historians would be bored with so much archaeology. However, I never regretted a single minute on my visit to Ephesus. As compared to Troy, it was better preserved. Maybe that's why the heroes of legends and myths sprang to life in my imagination more willingly at the Temple of Artemis, the Hercules Gate, the library of Celsus and the Great Theatre for 25,000 spectators.
While Ephesus was only expected to enter UNESCO's list of World Heritage sites, the natural phenomenon in the vicinity of the city of Denizli had been listed there back in 1988. I visited a similar natural site Hierva el Agua in the state of Oaxaca, Mexico. Turkish Pamukkale was called its younger brother for a reason. As was the case with latter, water coming down from the mountain slopes formed fantastic snow-white travertine terraces.
When it was already dark and my hope to stop a car faded, a white Renault slowed down. When I tried hard to speak my lame Turkish, the driver responded in very good Russian to relax and have fun while we would be going two hundred kilometres to Antalya. My doubts if he was the Turk at all were completely dissolved only when Aykhan spoke on the phone. As opposed to his many compatriots, he had never been in Russia, but nevertheless he had guided tours for Russians for the last 16 years. Prior to working as a guide, he had studied in Izmir, his home town, for four years.
Contrary to the Sea of Marmara, the water in the Mediterranean was warm even in the middle of October, therefore there were a lot of vacationers. How many Russians were there was difficult to say but, beyond any doubt, there were a lot both in Antalya and eastwards along the coast in Alanya. There was an utter resort-like atmosphere: sun-bronzed people leisurely strolled along shop posters "We Speek Russian".
Long-haired driver Daut turned out to be hippie. Last summer the 39-year-old Turk organized a music festival, but before he had travelled 800 kilometres on a bicycle across Iran, hitch-hiked in Georgia and Armenia. The latter doing was remarkable enough since the relationships between the Turks and the Armenians have been strained to this day and the border between the countries is closed.
When I was getting in the next car, I had no opportunity to examine it well out of lack of time and darkness that fell upon the coastline road. Some vague unexpected recollections from childhood made me understand that it was that exactly Fiat model that back in 1970 had been used as the prototype for automobiles of the first Lada series manufactured at Volga Automobile Plant, now AvtoVAZ. Everything inside the Italian car from the dash board to soft perforated trimming of the ceiling was exactly as in the Soviet Lada model 01, or kopeyka as it was facetiously called in Russia, meaning "a coin with the lowest face value". Or, rather, everything inside the Soviet car was like in the Italian one. And it was easy to imagine that the dark-haired boy on the lap of his mother had been myself many years ago... Funny, but he looked like me, indeed.
"Suria is Problem"
Wild cacti that were a delicacy in some countries of Latin America stood dusted along the road. The surroundings of Anamur and Selike towns were a patchwork of orange and lemon orchards, however the local stores were dominated by another fruit. 34-year-old school teacher Ayun who invited me to have breakfast at his sister's, called his homeland the "banana centre of Turkey".
My way from Mersin, a seaport city on the South-East coast, was a bit toward inland, to the place where the 23d movie about James Bond Skyfall had been shot. It turned out that it wasn't that simple to get to Varda viaduct – the nearest village of Karaisali was located rather away from major highways. Darkness fell very fast, but Russian-speaking tractor-driver Zulfikar and his aunt offered me to stay at their house. In the morning, it took me several cars to get to and to take a picture of the railway bridge that 007 had made famous. The total length of the arch span is 172 meters, and the height equals to that of a 30-storey building. The viaduct built for Baghdad railway in the early previous century is still in use today.
Arif, Ismail and Abdullah, carelessly laughing, rolled another cigarette. A cloud of smoke in the car became thicker thus reducing visibility almost down to zero. It took awhile to reach Adana as the guys before headed for a picnic. There were mountains with forest already turning yellow due to autumn, a lake and a rapid river with a manual cableway across.
The whole rear seat in the next car was occupied with boxes – Nazut was taking fruits to the marketplace in Gaziantep. The city was one of the trading centres on the historical Silk Road and it is claimed to be the oldest one in the world, therefore a number of ancient sites was beyond imagination. Families of refugees were everywhere – on the streets, especially near mosques and in ghettos.
Armoured vehicles with armed soldiers were departing from here to Kilis that was adjacent to Syria. The Gendarmerie patrolled the road. However, the border looked quite peaceful on that day: shabby-looking teenagers loitered around, sellers sold goods more or less successfully. However, cars with Syrian licence plates were unusually numerous and every now and again the locals would say "Suria is problem". The north of Syria wasn't under the government army's control any longer – it was completely occupied and administered by self-declared ISIS. Lounging about a checkpoint meant asking for troubles. Less than an hour I had been there when two undercover policemen were already checking my passport and inspecting the interior of my backpack. After mandatory medical examination for Ebola virus they took me to a precinct.
They made no secret of the reason for my detainment – they suspected that I might have been willing to join ISIS militants. According to the officer, hundreds of Europeans and Russians (mainly from Chechnya and Dagestan) came here with this purpose. Of all personnel in a spacey room only Ali spoke some English, so it was him who dealt with me. He acted friendly and considerately, offered me coffee with pastries. Unintentionally he took me to the window – now and then smoke raised after American air assaults on the Syrian territory.
At the Border with War
- What is this marked in green?
- Monastery.
- Why is it hatched?
- Lake.
- What did you see in Trabzon? (They checked whether I had been there for real).
And so on. They didn't confine themselves with the examination of my maps. They got interested in my pad full of notes. I felt sorry for them trying to decipher what was a challenge even for the owner sometimes. As ill luck would have had it, there was a load of phone numbers with Arabic names. So, I had to explain each entry: who, why and what for.
Four hours had passed and I still waited what would come out of it. To some extent, it was even fun that I was examined as a spy, but the outcome was unexpectedly unpleasant. It was because of the word "deportation". They sent documents to a special department and made several calls. Long seconds of despair: "How come?" Then only blunt indifference followed... But when I ceased to expect any miracle, one paper helped me to avoid the expulsion from the country. That was the cover letter, which was found at the very last moment.
That was when I saw the silver lining. When in my mind I parted with freedom and then regained it, I felt as if I could have flown like a bird. I went back to Gaziantep and then to Yavuzeli, Adiyaman, Kakhtu... Car by car. I had to walk 10 kilometres to ascend Nemrut Mount. In a café on top, I met Anna from Moscow and Tomas from Switzerland. Each one of them travelled alone.
Anna, a graduate of Moscow State University, travelled throughout Europe, Asia and Africa. She lived in different countries, wrote to English-speaking magazines as a freelancer and kept a blog. Photographer Tom from a village near Zurich gathered material for an exhibition dedicated to mysterious Nemrut Dagi. For this purpose he came to Istanbul and rented a car for three days. During dinner, the native of Switzerland narrated how he and his compatriots prepared survival bunkers at the homes for the occasion of the end of the world or a nuclear war. Not that they were all paranoid individuals obsessed with the safety concept, though, in Tom's opinion, they slightly were. The thing was, starting from the 1960s this requirement had been reflected in the civil defence legislation and thus had been obligatory.
Stars fell. Anna was singing accompanying herself on a small four-string guitar, which she always carried with her. After a cold night in the tent, a new day dawned. Nemrut Mount looked truly beautiful in the first rays of the sun. There was nothing around except bare rocks and crimson valleys stretching as far as one could see. And here, at a height of more than two thousand meters, there were colossal statues of Apollo, Fortune, Zeus, Antiochus and Hercules all covered with ladybirds carrying dew on their wings. The western terrace that was behind a tumulus contained the same five nine-meter sculptures but they faced the sunset. The shrine was created by Armenian King Antiochus I who had lived before Christ. The lofty ruler decided to become famous by positioning himself next to the ancient deities. Whatever his reasons had been then, now it looked awesome.
To Free Kurdistan
Anna and I travelled the same way to Diyarbakir. She stayed in the capital of Turkish Kurdistan via Couchsurfing – this network was created to connect members to a community of free travellers offering a free place to stay in any point of our planet. As for me, I stayed at home of our driver Seifetin. Though he lived in a flat, the interior was austere. There were a wicker decoration and a picture of his parents in the corner, flat pillows instead of sofas, and a TV set stand, being the only piece of furniture. The Kurd's wife Jamile put a big tray with greens, eggplant stew and a water melon on the floor. Only Seifetin and I ate, but all his five kids sat nearby out of respect. It was Abdullah's birthday that day. I presented the kid with some trifle souvenir from Russia. The house father objected a lot to this out of fear to hurt the guest's feelings. When he gave up, he presented me with a gift in return – snow-white trousers. It was a very needful thing for a hitch-hiker, needless to say. Amazing enough but all our communication was through the Google-translation service on the phone.
Next day when I waited for Anna with a book in my hand at the appointed place, I heard girls "twitting" around me. It had never happened before in Turkey where Islam prevailed that young women were the first to strike up an acquaintance with me. Tyube, Benozer and two Jiyans tried to invite me to ride horses. Each one of them gave me a present: a kerchief, a stone and even a beaded bracelet with inscription "Geritam" – that's how they called the Kurdish soldiers fighting for Kurdistan independence. They said that their people needed support, that the Turkish government suppressed the national minority, infringing their rights. Indeed, the people in this part of Turkey lived much poorer.
Diyarbakir was the place of recent Kurdish riots. Therefore, there were armoured vehicles with water cannons on the streets. Reinforced teams of special forces guarded state and public institutions. Looted ATMs and other reminders of recent disorders could be seen here and there.
A camp for 4500 Yazidi refugees from Iraq was located 20 kilometres to the south. I heard that conditions there were worse than in other camps: hundreds of people lived without tents outdoors, many of them were ill and there was a lack of food and medicines. Winter was nearing but almost nothing was ready to meet the cold weather. What charity organizations could do was to give two blankets to each person.
The refugees were not allowed to leave the territory, therefore it was fenced with barbed wire. Security guards explained that they were not authorized to let outsiders in. But Anna turned out to be experienced in such issues since she had gathered data about the situation at the border for a long time. By the moment when our attempt to introduce ourselves as musicians (we carried the guitar) failed, a considerable group of Iraqis had clamoured at the checkpoint to let us inside. Finally, they gave in to the demands of the crowd.
According to local activist Vulcano not all humanitarian aid from Europe made it to the place. People were at a loss – the refugee status didn't allow them to find a job and nobody knew what to do next. He told what the people contained in the camp had gone through. Iraqis had to walk with kids and their meagre belongings they could salvage from their houses through mountain passes for tens and sometimes hundreds of kilometres.
Vulcano and his friend Nikhat had to leave their native Sinjar two months ago. In the early August of 2014, a bloody massacre took place in the city and its surroundings: ISIS militants killed thousands of civil people in villages; executions happened. Yazidis fled to a mountain range and militants tried to surround them there. ISIS actions against Yazidis have been classified as genocide. Militia units were formed from those who could handle arms, at the same time Iraq and USA air forces started air strikes against ISIL who were trying to siege the refugees.
P.S. I could continue writing about other curious incidents and dramatic encounters during the travels. In some other time I would have dwelt on how I met Vedat, the main Turkish Molokan and an offspring of Tsarist Russia emigrants, and I would have told in detail about the world's largest soda lake near the city of Van. But where the war is so close and the situation is unstable, where even there is controversy among the residents of one country, usual things fade into insignificance. In the other, non-resort, Turkey...
