South East Turkey Diyabakir

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I decided to take the trip to South East Turkey during the Bayram holiday that precludes the end of Ramazan in the Muslim calendar, and was to be held from the 14th december to the 18th in 2008. I was currently studying in Turkiye at this time, but unlike my fellow Turkish students I was not going to be visiting family during the weeks celebrations, so i headed off on my own expedition.

The trip started with me getting a 24 hour train journey from Turkey's capital city Ankara to the South Eastern Anatolian city of Diyabakir. The train left very early in the morning, and had started its journey in Istanbul the previous night. Very few passengers were boarding the train in Ankara and i noticed that it was pretty much alredy full with passengers that had started their journey in Istanbul. I took the last remaining bed in my cramped sleeping carriage that held 5 others, and whilst i was worrying about what to do in order to pass the time I promptly fell asleep. Once everyone had woken up in the carriage a few hours later lively conversation followed. None of my fellow travellers could speak English, so i had to rely on my incredibly basic Turkish in order to communicate.

It was only men in the carriage, they spoke energetically on several subjects, and they were all incredibly friendly. They were all Kurdish, all making their way to areas of south eastern anatolia in order to spend the holiday with their family, and they were all working in Istanbul each doing a mixture of Jobs. One of the guys was also going to Diyabakir, and it didn't take long for him to invite me to stay at his house. I was to experience this high level of hospitatility throughout the region, and as the list of invites grew longer I realised i was going to have to get better at politely saying no. We played Turkish card games, (my favourite is Batak), and ate plenty of nuts throughout the night, until finally arriving at Diyabakir, as promised, at 7 am the next morning.

Having negotiated my way out of staying round my new best friends house, and politely turned down an invite to his sister's wedding, I was obliged to accept a car ride from the train station to the centre of town from his father, where we would find a suitable hotel and haggle needlessly over the price. I ended up atying in the Aslan Palas Oteli, in the centre of town, and promptly went out to explore the city. Diyabakir is surrounded by stunning, huge black basalt walls. Built between AD 350-500, the walls are apparently second in extent only to the great wall of China. Within these walls is a beautiful city, clearly designed and built long before the invention of the motor car, the city is full of narrow, unmarked alleyways that will eventually meander their way back to the main road - Gazi Caddesi, if followed long enough. It was Gazi Caddesi that I first walked down, it was clearly a busy market day in the lead up to the celebrations. I bought myself some watermelon, and Bought a cheap camera. I then headed south along Gazi Caddesi to the point that it is safest to walk atop the city walls.

I couldn't believe that I was the only person on the walls at this moment, because the views over the houses and fields below were absolutely stunning. Albeit on a cloudy day. And walking on the inside perimeter of the walls, around the city was just as rewarding. The city of Diyabakir was the centre of the Kurdish resistance movement, and the scars of the gunfighting between the Kurdisan Workers Party (PKK) and the Turkish army is still evident. Although the city centre is clean and attractive with its black and white paved streets and central market place, signs of struggle are still abundant in the local communties as families still have to contend with the complete lack of infrastructural investment in the city during the terrible years that civil war engulfed the city. The age demographic was very different to any thing else that I had seen in western Turkey also. There were many more children around, much more similar to a third world country, and I got the impression that these children were regarded with suspicion by the local authorities. I had been (willingly) hassled into buying a group of five boys, aged no more than 8-9, into buying them a new football, as theirs had gotten lost somewhere apparently. Anyway, I joined in their game for a few minutes, but we were interupted by the emergance of two policemen. We were in the smll park in the south west corner of the city, which seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to play football. The presence of the policemen however caused all the boys to scatter in different directions and hide under parked cars or something, while I was left to get a stern ticking off from two very rude, and ridiculously over armed policemen. I know that the city has a history of rebellion and warfare, but the rebels left Diybakir a few years ago, and whilst pro Kurdish/anti Turkish sentiment may remain in the city, the presence of over armed, bored and angry policemen doesn't exactly make one feel safer in any place. Anyway, what is wrong with a group of young boys playing football in an empty and underused park?

Later than night i began a new love affair. Mercimek Corba or Lentil Soup. I still salivate now, served with piping hot bread and freshly squeezed lime it is absolutely incredible, and one bowl costs around 50p. Serve some fresh local salad on the side and you have a wonderful meal. Two or three bowls later and you cant possibly eat anymore, but still finding ways to shovel it in. Incredible. The restaurant I chose to ate in was very quite when i arrived, but became incredibly busy, and I was obliged to share a cup of tea with every table before leaving. I was very proudly informed by the restaurant owner that the tea was from Iraqi Kurdistan, and i have to admit it tasted really good. The locals thought it very entertaining to try and teach me Kurdish, obviously not content with seeing me drown in a sea of Turkish words.

Upon leaving the restaurant I felt so content and comfortable I did something that i had previously thought it would be a good idea not to do. I went for a stroll throught the narrow alleyways of Diyabakir as dusk approached. This was perhaps a bit brave, not because of fear of getting robbed, but rather it would have been very easy to get lost in the dark and unmarked alleys, especially at night. But i was rewarded. I accidentally stumbled across the house of the old poet Cahit Sitki Taranci. His old house has now been converted into a museum, which contains some of the poets old belongings, but on this night they were having a recital of his work. I had heard the noise from further down the alley, so out of curiousity i banged on the door, where i was promptly shown into a room containing a few other guests, who had presumably been invited to this event. They stared at me for a brief second before the performer continued. Each poem was delivered beautifully, in a half singing, half speech way. After each poem there followed a silence of a few minutes before one of the other members of the group stood up and recited another.

At the end of the evening pleasantries were exchanged and tea was drunk. I was then walked back to the hotel by a man who knew the infanate alleys like the back of his hand. He walked with me for aroungd half an hour even though it was completely th wrong way for him to go. At the door of my Hotel he swiftly turned around and went home.

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