In search of the fallen heads:
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| Bodies in the east, before sunrise |
The heads were scattered on the snow-covered mountain. Some men; some women. They were exquisitely beautiful. Their bodies were further away. The heads had probably rolled away from near the bodies, due to wind or snow. No, this is not something out of a macabre murder mystery. To see these heads, we’d driven across the country to Eastern Turkey, to Nemrut. Landscapes changed dramatically. Rugged mountains & snow replaced the pleasant & colourful spring that had set elsewhere. Tourists were few & far between. Our Kurdish guide walked about nonchalantly in a sweater even as the rest of us looked equipped for an expedition to Antartica. He shrugged his shoulders….it’s warm today; just 10 below freezing. Brrrr! We’d woken up in the middle of the night & headed (pun intended) to see the heads at sunrise. We climbed up the slippery, icy path, glimpsing the snaking Tigris River; along-with the Euphrates River, it formed the core of the Mesopotamian civilization. Though you’re expecting it, it stuns you to see heads in the middle of nowhere & you wonder why they’re there. They’re there because Antiochus I (who was a king for about 30 years from 64 BC) constructed a tomb & a temple here, in the hope that his spirit would join Zeus after death. So, to the Eastern & Western sides of the artificial mound, are gigantic sculptures of Antiochus seated with Apollo, Fortuna, Zeus and Heracles; all the gods whom he believed were his ‘relatives’. The better-preserved statues on the western side were still covered in snow in April while the eastern statues glowed in the warmth of the rising sun.
We were near the Syrian border; re-iterated by the billowing chadors, as women walked across the mosque. Urfa is a pilgrimage town & we were conspicuously non-pilgrims. We visited a cave, said to be the birth-place of Prophet Abraham (Ibrahim) and then went to the nearby mosque. Later, walking through the maze of streets, we stumbled upon a local coffee house. Soon, we were seated on the low wooden seats in the courtyard, drinking Turkish black coffee that was much stronger than what our palate could handle. To revive our taste-buds after the coffee, we headed to the nearest bakery to gorge on baklavas. The next day, we visited another unique town; the nearby town of Harran, said to be one of the continuously inhabited spots on earth. Even more unique were the local bee-hive houses; once, a way of life & now a rarity, with many families moving to ‘modern houses’.
Food adventures:
We stopped at a remote village for lunch. “Bread & potatoes for us please, as we’re vegetarians”. “Oh, maybe some honey to go with the bread?” “Sure thing!” The ‘honey’ was served on a plate & was neatly sliced. I wondered if I was hallucinating. “No”, egged my guide….”go ahead & place a slice between the bread & eat it. See, like this”. I watched as he devoured his sandwich & made me one. Maybe people here extract the honey from the honeycomb themselves, just before they eat? Nope, they eat the honeycomb, with the honey still in it; neatly sliced to fit between the bread! Definitely one of the ‘weirdest’ things I’ve eaten. I’m not even sure if it qualifies as vegetarian, assured though I was that “all the bees have left from it”. Hmm….crunchy & sweet.
“Every time!! How can this happen every time?” I thought, annoyed with my clumsiness. I’d once again dripped sugar syrup onto my jacket, tried to clumsily wipe it off with my hands, touched my handbag with the same hand by mistake & now had 4 items on me that were covered in the sickly-sweet syrup. Only my mouth let out sounds of delight. Did they have to make the Baklava so syrupy?? But, the pleasure that you get in this one messy mouthful is hard to beat! My jacket still has a ‘souvenir stain’ from that day, stubbornly refusing to vanish despite my laundry-wala’s many ‘treatments’.
One cold, winter evening, a few of us sat at a small café, knife & fork in hand. Soon, our food arrived; a perfect square, looking all white & creamy. I struggled to cut myself a piece & waited until the food warmed a bit. Warmed? Yes, I was trying to eat an ice-cream; the dondurma, that’s only available in Kahranmanmaraş, in Eastern Turkey. So hard, you have to use a knife. Yet, melt-in-your-mouth & incredibly creamy….like double fat icecream! We packed a few tubs to go. Four hours into the drive, we satisfied our ice cream cravings once more. It had just begun to show signs of melting.
My first meal in Turkey was a hurriedly grabbed shawarma from a street stall. In its vegetarian avatar, it resembled a falafel more than shawarma. I had no trouble finding vegetarian food in Turkey. The Mediterranean has blessed this country with fresh veggies, lovely olives, apricots & figs, sweet fruit, olive oil & feta cheese. Combine all this to make some fresh salad. There’s freshly-baked bread for every meal….nobody eats bread that’s been baked earlier! Add some rice wrapped in vine leaves, gozleme, boreks, pide, shorbas, mezze & yummy desserts…..you needn’t go hungry at all!
To tide you through the day, you have a lot to choose from: The sweetish Apple tea, the stronger çay, some very strong black coffee or refreshingly cold ayraan. At night, the Turkish liquour, raki, it is. Made from anise, it was too strong for my liking, but is a local favourite. If it’s a particularly cold day, warm your innards with salep, a unique Turkish drink made from crushed orchid roots.
Ruins, history & lore, some more:
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| Entrance to the han |
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| The stage for the sema |
The han was in the middle of nowhere, partly in ruins; yet, beautiful enough to cause a sharp intake of breath in me. Of course it would be in the middle of nowhere….why would they build a resting place / re-fuelling stop for weary silk route travelers in the middle of bustling towns? I imagined the relief I would have felt a few centuries ago, had I been trudging through unknown, desolate lands with my camel or horse laden with goods for sale. The han would have been a life-giver. Today, I sat inside around a dimly lit stage, with a hundred others, waiting for the whirling dervishes. Soon, the sema began. We’d been told not to be noisy or click photos. I don’t think we would’ve been able to, in any case, hypnotised as we were. Accompanied by mellifluous instruments & the head priest’s chants, the dervishes whirled themselves to a trance; their eyes closed, one hand pointing up & the other pointing down, symbolizing the receiving from god & giving to the needy. It made me question all laws of science known to me: Doesn’t any centrifugal force affect them? How do they not fall down? How do they maintain balance while looking graceful at the same time? Have they really moved to another world, forgetting our presence?
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| Remains of an aqueduct |
I noticed this as I walked through Selçuk: Aqueducts on the road, for a few metres at a stretch, with stone arches supporting them. Some arches were now used by nesting storks. What a fabulous system it was, for carrying water across towns. I thought of the dull & drab pipes that run underground, bringing us our water. And, look at Istanbul’s Byzantine era water storage, the Basilica Cistern. Compare that to our monstrous concrete water tanks! Why do beautiful things become outdated? And why can’t functional things be beautiful? Weren’t the aqueducts both?
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| Medusa |
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| Nike |
I bumped into a lot of Greek goddesses, across Turkey. Medusa, of the (in) famous curls can be spotted at Ephesus and also at the Basilica Cistern. Here, her head is upside-down, supporting a column. Legend has it that Medusa was actually ethereally beautiful. Athena, the goddess of wisdom, caught Medusa with Poseidon, the sea god. Jealous at the thought of losing the man she loved, she cursed Medusa & turned her into an ugly monster with snakes for her hair. Looking at Medusa was also supposed to turn you into stone. In Ephesus, I also saw the goddess of air, Nike. One look at a carving depicting her & suddenly, the origin of the contemporary Nike’s ‘swoosh’ was clear to me. Another interesting goddess is Artemis, the goddess of fertility & animals; In Ephesus, she is depicted very differently, with multiple protuberances on her chest.
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| Aphrodisias |
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| Hierapolis |
What we call ‘amphitheatres’ today would be put to shame by amphitheatres built by the Greeks. I saw at least 5 of them: at Ephesus, Aphrodisias, Hierapolis, Priene & Miletus. At Priene, the front row had special ‘VIP’ seats in marble, with a high back-rest. The stage & skene (backstage) area at the amphitheatres in Hierapolis & Aphrodisias are reasonably well preserved. It felt nice to be able to walk through the remains of dressing rooms, prop storage areas & other spaces backstage. And, since we were alone at Aphrodisias, we could test the acoustics without being a nuisance to others. We were skeptical about it, but, we discovered that despite speaking from the stage without a mike, the audience can hear you, even those in the uppermost row! Respect & admiration for the architects & designers of that time!
More tales of 2 cities:
The Blue mosque (aka Sultan Ahmet camii) & Aya Sofiya (aka Hagiya Sophiya) are Istanbul landmarks. Luckily for me, they were very walk-able from my hotel at Sultanhamet, the heart of old Constantinople.
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| Aya Sofiya at night |
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| Blue Mosque |
Aya Sofiya was built as a church & served as one for over 900 years and then, after the Ottoman conquest, used as a mosque for about 500 years. It was finally declared a museum by the Turkish President Attaturk, in the early 20th century, after Turkey got its independence from Greece. Mellow-looking from the outside, it has a huge central dome that refused to fit into my camera frame, from within the building. The grey & yellow interiors are unique: you can see beautiful Islamic calligraphy as well as stunning mosaics depicting scenes from Christ’s life. The ongoing UNESCO renovation meant that there was scaffolding all over that detracted a bit from the experience. The Blue mosque, in comparison, is stunning from the outside as well. I donned my headscarf & went in to be greeted by the sight of lovely stained-glass windows & mosaic work using ornate blue Iznic tiles, which is what gives the mosque its un-official name.
Kariye museum (originally, Chora church) took quite an effort to reach, as it is located in a little-visited area of Istanbul. But, it was well worth it. Every inch of the interior is filled with stunningly brilliant, multi-coloured mosaics depicting scenes from the lives of Jesus & Mary. I gaped open-mouthed, even as the impact of the artistry knocked my socks off!
More fun, laughs & surprises:
The emperor’s pool at the ruins of the ancient city of Hierapolis: the guard looked suspiciously at my swimming trunks. I’d arrived in Turkey without swimwear, with a prejudiced notion that in an Islamic country, I couldn’t wear one anyway. K’s spare swimming trunks were handy but the guard shook his head “No shorts or T-shirts, madam”. “But, but”…..I spluttered, casting a longing glance at the emperor’s bath, filled with people in swimwear….”but, this is swimwear; just that it is men’s swimwear”. “Okay for the trunks”, said the guard “But the tee won’t do. We need to maintain the pool’s cleanliness”. “I swear this is a clean, washed tee & not the one I’ve worn the whole day…please???” And I showed him my other tee in my backpack. He relented. I jumped in. The gargoyle spat hot spring water on my back. I bobbed around the mossy, algae-filled pool. This was where the king used to bathe. Of course, he didn’t have people sitting around the pool at tables, eating food from the food court & watching him in the pool. He didn’t have bus-loads of people arrive & point cameras at him to shoot a photo of the pool. I tried hard to ignore these people & enjoy the water. It didn’t work so I used the ostrich technique….I buried my head in the water & closed my eyes. Now, it was just bliss….
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| Girls in Eastern Turkey |
Hawa, sabun, shorba, hisaab, pardah, duniya, sheher, subzi, bhai, behen….I’m not spouting Hindi words suddenly. These are Turkish words. Surprised? So were the Turkish, when we told them. And they mean the same as in India: Air, soap, soup, accounts, curtains, world, city, veggies, brother, sister (the last two though, are pronounced ‘bai’ and ‘bain’). Also, funnily, in an airport announcement at Istanbul, they pronounced my tongue-twister of a surname perfectly; so perfectly that I was shocked & it took me a while to realise that the call indeed was for me. Many people back in India struggle to pronounce my name!
Mehmet & Mustafa, two names that a lot of Turkish men answer to. We met so many during our visit that we had to give them pre-fixes, so that we wouldn’t have embarrassing mix-ups. So, our gracious host at Pamukkale was ‘Pamukkale Mehmet’ while the manager at Istanbul was ‘Istanbul Mehmet’. We were soon foxed at our plan; sometimes, we met two people with the same name in the same city! We had to devise other innovative ways to refer to them; in Cappadocia, we had a ‘Guide Mustafa’, a ‘Planner Mustafa’ and a ‘Manager Mustafa’.
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| Cigarettes, tea & coffee at a coffee house in Urfa |
Everybody in Turkey smokes all the time: the young & the old, men & women. It’s either cigarettes or Nargileh (a water pipe, a hookah). Even during overnight bus journeys, people would rush out as soon as the bus stopped for a break. To pee, I would think. But it turned out that the rush was for a fag. Bathroom breaks were secondary. Worked for me, though; I would happily rush to the free bathrooms & then wait around the bus with the others, looking odd without a cigarette dangling from my lip. And, to add to my happiness, there were always small stores selling hot tea & biscuits, much like the chai stall in India. A puff & some hot tea later, the bus would set off again into the darkness. Only too soon, somebody would feel like a smoke & the next thing you know, everybody would be craving for it, enough to request the driver to stop for a bit. Oh well, I could have another cup of tea…..
Delicate, white, intricate….the lace-work in small towns & villages in Turkey enamoured me. I resisted the urge to buy it; where would I use this back home? Finally, when I gave in to temptation, ironically, I couldn’t spot a single shop that sold lace. By then, I was at Pamukkale. Sensing my distress, our hostess, Ulmi, graciously offered to give me the lace curtains that she had just purchased for her house, if I liked them. Love them, I did & I bought it from her. It’s still lying wrapped neatly in a paper bag; it’s too precious to be used in an apartment….maybe someday when I own a large villa, with French windows opening to a gorgeous view that’ll do it justice.
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| Our cafe bouncer smoking a nargileh |
What better way to spend my last night in Turkey, than by the Bosphorus; the very same strait that was my first view of the country. Having climbed to the top of the Galata tower in the evening for a view of Istanbul, I headed to the Galata Bridge. Mehmet, our hotel’s young manager, had told me about seesha cafes & eateries under the bridge which are popular haunts for youngsters. Being a youngster myself, he thought I’d like it. It turned out that a lot of youngsters had the same plan that night. We struggled to find un-occupied tables. Finally we were seated at a small table outdoors, with bean-bags for seating. We sank into them thankfully & spent the next couple of hours aimlessly munching on assorted mezze & guzzling drinks. The sun set over Istanbul, which slowly lit itself up in response. I wistfully gazed at the minarets, the ferries, the sea & my plate of mezze; the next evening, I would be landing at Mumbai airport. Oh, how I hate the end of holidays!
Link to Tales from Türkiye – 1:
Curious to know more about our itinerary in Turkey? Read on:
Inspired by the Palace of Versailles, the Dolmabahçe palace is a worthy replica. The Baroque overdose & bling hits you in the face as soon as you spot the gates at a distance. I watched the change of guards & then walked into the manicured garden. We were all given protective covers for our footwear; maintaining the parquet flooring & carpets is difficult enough without visitors like us bringing in dirt & grime. This palace had everything that would probably make even Louis XIV nod approvingly: Baroque? Check. Bling? Check. Ornate columns? Check. Domes & cupolas? Check. Freshly waxed Parquet floors? Check. Un-imaginably large, heavy & ornate carpets? Check. Gilded walls & ceilings? Check. Stunning paintings & frescoes, in vibrant colours? Check. Gardens & fountains? Check. A view of the sea? Check…..why, it’s right by the ocean! Doesn’t that beat Versailles?
Aishwarya! Shah Rukh! Sometimes, Salman. This is how we were hailed by shopkeepers at Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, asking us to look at their wares. They knew where we were from; our un-mistakably Indian features being a dead give-away. An elderly gentleman sang a Raj Kapoor song as I debated whether to buy those expensive Turquoise earrings or Amber pendant from him, which he insisted were ‘original gems set in pure silver’. His song swayed me & I bought both. The Grand bazaar is as grand as it sounds; a planned, covered market, heaped with carpets, onyx, blue pottery, jewellery, lanterns, evil-eye charms & the works. Built more than 5 centuries ago, it is still as bustling & wallet-draining as it probably was, then. When all the shopping tired me, I popped into one of the numerous cafés for some çay (Tea). I silently thanked the person who had designed the bazaar & thoughtfully sprinkled it with cafes. 
In the days of yore, when a Turkish woman was hunting for a groom, she had to undertake a carpet-weaving test. The more skilled you were, the better the husband you’d bag. For a Turkish man, it was a pottery test. A man had to use the potter’s wheel & produce a jar & a lid. If the lid fit the jar perfectly, he was said to possess enough skill to earn money & hence, take care of his family. I tried my hand at weaving a few knots in a carpet. The giggling girls at the weaving school proclaimed me fit to marry; not necessarily to the best groom, though. K sat at the potter’s wheel & produced a jar with a hole at the bottom. His lid looked like a mashed potato. He was deemed unfit to even dream of marrying!
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