Jezebel

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Thanks to my CS host in Mardin, Emrah, I had my own set of wheels to explore the remote historical sites around the Prophet’s city, Şanlıurfa. I rolled out of town, the sun a distant thought on the horizon, with Dixie Chicks blasting over my headphones. Not very culturally sensitive, but a girl has to indulge in guilty pleasures every once in a while.

The first stop on my itinerary was Göbleki Tepe, the earliest site in human history with evidence of religious practice. National Geographic ran an article about it right after I bought my ticket to Turkey and I couldn’t wait to see the 11,000-year-old ruins. With most of the pillars boarded up and my unofficial guide trying to warm my hands with uninvited kisses, I couldn’t really get a feeling for the site and left feeling disappointed.

Next on the list was the once hometown of the prophet Abraham and, reputedly, the longest occupied city in the world: Harran. Today’s inhabitants are strict adherents of the Islamic faith and the women cover themselves from head to toe in burkhas. With all my clothes drying on a rack in Emrah’s living room, I had no choice but the wear my purple “wrap-around” pants. As the name implies, these pants wrap around the waist and hang freely around the legs to flow with the movements of the body – and with the slightest breeze. They’re perfect for the still, humid air of the tropics, but they’re not so well cut out for windy, desert plains. Every gust of wind caught the loose corners of my pants and sent them dancing around my bare legs below. A modern Jezebel in the biblical city, I caught stares from men, women, children and dogs alike. Scandalized, I left for the bigger city of Şanlıurfa, hoping to lose myself in a crowd.

Back in the day, Şanlıurfa was the stomping grounds of Job and Abraham, where they busied themselves with the routing out of pagans. Today the city is still a great pilgrimage site and the air is saturated with religious zeal. I shuffled through the congested passages of the bazaar, into the courtyards of several mosques and past the lake of holy carp, keeping a tight grip on the loose flaps of my pants. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a horrible offense to the modest Muslim sensibility. I would have liked more time in the sacred city but, as it was, a drizzle and an insistent man following me around every corner drove me back to the car. On the road and out of pious eyesight, I embraced my wanton ways, shaking everything I could from my seated position to Shakira songs. I laughed as signboards counted down the remaining kilometers to the Iraqi border. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

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