Armenian ruins, Large castles and a long bleak border.... that might soon open.

In the fifteen years since I first visited Ani I have noticed that the weather has had a negative effect on the ruins of Ani. The department of culture and antiquities has, where possible, added discreet metal supports. The steel shafts are painted a similar colour to the stone, but there is no mistaking the force of the elements. We were free to wander around and take photographs. But Ani was not deserted, a large group of Turkish university students being expertly guided around the site. The security guard at the entrance told us to go through and pay when leaving. We turned right instead of left and we were easily able to avoid them.

What was strange was that the Armenians had chosen to open a quarry on their side of the border. The once green hills and cliffs had been scarred by the cranes and trucks. I looked at the lada’s and the Russian digging equipment. The effort seemed half hearted. We walked from the cavernous cathedral to the inner castle and it started to rain. Not wanting to enter the forbidden zone, I stood by a final white Turkish border post and had my photo taken. In this modern world of no borders, it is fun to come to a border where they still use posts. As the drizzle came down, we went inside one of the small churches where the paintings were still visible. We photographed the faded but impressive images of 12 apostles.

All in All Ani, was still spectacular. We walked out and paid. Semsettin bey, our our taxi driver asked us what we wanted to do next. He offered to take us to Cildir and the devils castle. While this cost us 200Ytl for the taxi, we agreed and he drove us back towards Kars, and then north towards Ardahan. I had been down this road in 1994 and 1998. In the first instance the road had been a muddy slope.
“It’s a 24 hour road” explained the bus conductor.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“The army keep it open all day and all night because it serves the border guard stations”
“And the tarmac road?”
“That closes after 8pm as it becomes too dangerous- you know terrorism”
In 1998 the situation had been easier, but the road as bad.

Now we zoomed along well maintained tarmac. The atmosphere was one of fun and happiness. The cross roads north of Kars had once been guarded by a small checkpoint with a heavy machine gun. Gone were the soldiers, sandbags and big machine gun. Instead there was a small fish restaurant. The taxi cruised past the same rich earth we had seen earlier, and the new tractors. Kurds, Turks, Turkomans and the occasional Kafkas would plough the fields. Semsettin bey pointed out the salient points and the rich villages. No one it seemed was suffering.


The tarmac road may have been new, and the fish restaurants abundant, but some things had not changed. The road went around lake Cildir and past three small villages. Each village had a gendarmiere and some had a large infantry barracks. The Armenian frontier was on one side of the village and the Georgian frontier on the other. While I saw less foot patrols and much less civil interaction between the military and the people, I saw more armour and more activity. The searches were gone, but the number of Tanks and howitzers and BTR troop carriers was up. I was left with the distinct impression that this army was not here to ask questions of its own people, but to protect them. Surprisingly, the Georgian border was as well defended as the Armenian. One can only suspect that Russia’s recent Caucasian ventures have made the Turks “double the guard”.

The road came to Cildir, a town of Kafkas, causcasians, half muslim half nothing. Semsettin did not like them.

“Bad people. No tea, no cakes, no nothing.” He grumbled, “What kind of people are these. Now had they been kurds, cakes, tea bread and food. Here…. Nothing”
We stopped at the main army barracks and Semsettin called the sentry over. He would not approach the car, but stool holding his g3 rifle across his chest. He was incredibly disciplined, eventually Semsettin had to get out of the car and ask where the reporting place was. The sentry replied politely while pointing, standing straight and keeping a firm grip on his G3. I looked at his webbing, and counted five full magazines. This boy was not taking any chances. Before we could drive off, he retreated behind his 5ft high sandbag screen.

The army told us, that the requirement for permission had been rescinded and that we could wander as we pleased. We drove on to a small village and we got out to walk. The path was broad but was cut into the side of the cliffs. We walked along this path, looking down on the tiny river below until we popped around the corner and saw the Devils Castle.

We drove back with Semsettin and stopped at a lake side government rest house. Here they plied us with tea and would take no money. We looked at the grey skies and low cloud and sipped our sweet but strong Turkish tea.

“Is there any terror here?” I asked Semsettin
“No no, its all gone.” He said proudly
“Was there any?”
“There used to be some in Digor but that is now finished.” You will see, you go there tomorrow. You can see it tomorrow. That is where the Armenian frontier comes right down to the village. And the terrorists came across easily.” He explained in a benign way. “But that’s all over now, gone, all safe.”
“How did they end it, did the Armenians close their border effectively? Or did the locals loose interest?”
“No, no. the Armenians never changed anything, our army just came and sat on the village and closed the hole/ But understand, we get on fine with the Armenians. Our animals wander over the border and they give us our sheep back and we give them theirs when the reverse happens”
“ Are there any families living over the border like Syria?” Asked Cisca
“Of course. Plenty. Many Turks live over the border, we have contact with them. The same families. Of course they have become Armenian citizens now, but that’s ok” Soon it was time to head off to Kars again for our ritual Turkish dinner and sleep.


The next day our Semsettin took us to Kars airport so that we could link up with his friend a shuttle bus driver and his service to Dogubeyazit.

We boarded the ford transit and after a run around the terminal to try unsuccessfully to get a few more passengers Mehmet engaged the ford duratorque engine and we took off, The turbo kicked in on the airfield approach road and we hit 100kmph. He slowed to turn right and then literally pointed the ford towards the mountains and we sped along at a safe but pleasantly fast 120kmph.

The road climbed almost immediately into some mountains and then down towards Digor. As Semsettin had said, there was a minor army base there with a BTR or two but nothing special. The place looked quiet. But after a while the road ran within 200metres of the Turkish Armenian frontier. Rising and lowering hills and guard post after guard post sat on both sides. This was a real and long border.
“Look that’s Armenia” Said Mehmet, pointing without loosing a hint of speed. ”See the Russian army. Not an Armenian to be seen. Only Russians. Russians everywhere.

The road was probably the most dramatic I can remember. The high mountains of Armenia towered just over the river as we dropped down to our tea stop, I took pictures of the Soviet side and drank my tea one handed. This was cold bleak but incredible border. I had to stop myself from giving the Russians the Bird, and had to remember that I rather liked Russia and the Russians. It was just this border. There were our troops and towers, no barbed wire, just a river and then the Soviet Union. Armenians and Russians all together.



We reboarded and Mehmet carried us on his Turkish Magic carpet towards Dogubeyazit. As we paralleed the river and turned east, we passed a cluster of buildings on either side of the border.
"See" said Mehmet "The closed border gate, soon to be opened, and then life and business will be even better"
"Looking forward to it?" I asked
"Oh yes....."

The road climbed up still parallel to the border and we passed an artillery firebase with 105mm howitzers guarded by a pair of Battle tanks in the hull down position. A few soldiers stood languidly keeping guard, they had fixed bayonets and steel helmets but they did not look at all bothered. They were confident and not overly unhappy. These guys were quite obviously protecting Turkey, not fighting a counter insurgency campaign. We zoomed through two commando checkpoints. Mehmet dropped his speed to 90kmph hooted furiously and waved. The Jandarma commando at the head of the checkpoint smiled and waved us through. Mehmet dropped a gear in the middle of the checkpoint and ostentatiously accelerated out of it. The gendarme at the end of the checkpoint stepped smartly out of the way and smiled again. He was probably thinking “Its just Turk Hava Yollari Mehmet trying to break the sound barrier in his Ford transit”. We never stopped at a single check point, arrived in Dogubeyazit, dropped off the other clients and went straight to the Hotel Tahran. We checked in, dumped our kit and re boarded Mehmets flying Transit van. Mehmet had (for a small cash fee) adopted us on Semsettin’s orders. We had half a day to see everything that Dogubeyazit had to offer.

“Now, I will take you to Isak Pasa’s Saray, Noah’s Ark and the Meteor crater”
He said authoritatively, as he engaged gear, and thankfully, drove off at a much more sedate pace……..

---

---