Part 5, Turkey 2011: Gateway to the Middle East, Urfa & Harran
From Cappadocia we embarked on the long drive out of Western Turkey and into the East where Westerners rarely tread. Our first stop was mere miles from the Syrian border in Harran. Famous for being the home of the prophet Abraham, its beehive dwellings and for being a top contender for the oldest continuously inhabited settlement in the world, it's impressive to say the least.
(Lots and LOTS of guns here hanging on the walls and in the bazaars -- they seem to like anything old-school and AK)
In addition to these structures (which are surprisingly cool and well-ventilated inside), nearby are the ruins of the oldest Islamic university in the world:
(a camel and her young, she was mean as Hell)
And some tired, hot camels:
Fortunately for humans, there's always some chai on hand to soothe your parched throat:
Being here also leaves the visitor with little doubt they are truly in the Middle East. From the dusty, sand-colored cities thick with mosques and palm trees (the view from out hotel was strikingly similar to images I'd seen of Baghdad) and heavy use of Arabic to the fact that the camels here are actual livestock (and not for tourists), it meets every expectation I had of the region.
In Urfa, the large city we stayed in and visited after Harran, this was both good and bad. First, the bad: Women are clearly isolated here, it was exceedingly surreal to see a city the size of Atlanta which had a female:male ratio of 1:9, it also made me feel rather uncomfortable about the prospect of going out and about alone, for fear I might draw undue attention or get a shaming from someone (as I had seen happen). Even more isolating was the fact that often, when a man approached us, he would always introduce himself and speak only to the men, acting as though I (or any other woman) were invisible. Of course, I wouldn't expect someone who was very religious to shake my hand or embrace me as those in Western Turkey did, but being completely ignored is a bit of a culture shock. It didn't make me particularly angry, just a bit jilted. That's not to say I was always ignored, when we went to the bazaar there were several men eager to tell me (with the aid of our guide/translator) that I was a woman who looked beautiful in hijab and who had "Kurdish eyebrows."
And speaking of Kurds, we were surely soon to meet a few, as Urfa is the birthplace of the prophet Abraham and is thus a major pilgrimage site in Islam. People flood in from all over the Middle East on foot, camel, car and horse-drawn cart to be here:
So, along with the hordes of pilgrims, we went to visit the cave in which Abraham was said to have been born, and along the way I snapped some photos of the lovely people who had come to see it. Fortunately, this was one part of the city where I didn't feel quite so alone as a woman:
I also got a shot of the pilgrims entering the cave, itself:
The purple headscarves you see are unique to this region and represent a large clan of Arabic-Syrian peoples. And though both men and women wear the scarf, nothing is quite so striking as the women who sport it:
(Alas, I was able to say all of three things in Arabic to them, but they were gracious and lovely all the same)
At the pilgrimage site we also met some Kurdish men from further East who (again through our guide/translator), who were elated to learn we were heading deep into their homeland. Although you can barely see it in the photo, the man in the purple shirt has a traditional blue tattoo dotting his cheek and a thin blue line down the other side of his nose. This is a traditional tattoo meant to ward off the evil eye.
Though people watching was entertaining enough, it was hard not to be dazzled by the adjacent site of the Sacred Carp pool.
It is here, according to Muslim belief, that as Abraham was tied to the stake and due to be burned alive, God, at the last minute, turned the fire into water and the burning embers into carp. And thus, for more than a thousand years, it has been believed that these carp are their sacred descendants.
After nurturing the soul, it was time to empty the wallet, so we headed to the Urfa Bazaar which, unlike the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, is not oriented toward tourists at all.
Instead, it boasts a plethora of the authentic and, well, truly bizarre. Take, for instance, these double teapots:
These ingenious creations ensure that you can brew a mild, watered-down tea for delicate palates whilst simultaneously brewing stronger tea for those who prefer something more robust. And, if you fancy a pair of shoes, a cobbler can churn out a pair of knock-off Nikes in an hour:
Also in the bazaar are functioning blacksmiths who make and sell basic, everyday goods like chains and bolts:
And the selection of hand-hammered metal goods, often inscribed with beautiful Arabic script for incredibly low prices cannot be overlooked.
They're so inexpensive that Westerners like me feel ashamed to barter for them, but that's the way of the culture.
And speaking of cultural miscommunication, we had an incident of epic proportions once we got to the spice market.
Surveying the bounty of delicious looking nuts and spices, we attempted to purchase a SMALL bag of pumpkin seeds. The man in the stall requested only 50 cents, which we thought was a steal, we had no idea. Much to our shock, he takes out a very large bag and begin shoveling in pumpkin seeds. Seeing this, we rush to stop him but he doesn't seem to understand and waves us off as he continues to shovel ever more seeds into a bag the size of my torso. When it was all said and done, we probably had 10 kilos of seeds that we had no idea what to do with. Thus, we hauled them around for the remainder of our trip, doling them out to grateful beggars and street children like a Thanksgiving Santa Claus.
Fortunately, people around here were grateful for any gift and, as we would learn as we headed further east to Nemrut Dag, they often gave far better than they got.
(Lots and LOTS of guns here hanging on the walls and in the bazaars -- they seem to like anything old-school and AK)
In addition to these structures (which are surprisingly cool and well-ventilated inside), nearby are the ruins of the oldest Islamic university in the world:
(a camel and her young, she was mean as Hell)
And some tired, hot camels:
Fortunately for humans, there's always some chai on hand to soothe your parched throat:
Being here also leaves the visitor with little doubt they are truly in the Middle East. From the dusty, sand-colored cities thick with mosques and palm trees (the view from out hotel was strikingly similar to images I'd seen of Baghdad) and heavy use of Arabic to the fact that the camels here are actual livestock (and not for tourists), it meets every expectation I had of the region.
In Urfa, the large city we stayed in and visited after Harran, this was both good and bad. First, the bad: Women are clearly isolated here, it was exceedingly surreal to see a city the size of Atlanta which had a female:male ratio of 1:9, it also made me feel rather uncomfortable about the prospect of going out and about alone, for fear I might draw undue attention or get a shaming from someone (as I had seen happen). Even more isolating was the fact that often, when a man approached us, he would always introduce himself and speak only to the men, acting as though I (or any other woman) were invisible. Of course, I wouldn't expect someone who was very religious to shake my hand or embrace me as those in Western Turkey did, but being completely ignored is a bit of a culture shock. It didn't make me particularly angry, just a bit jilted. That's not to say I was always ignored, when we went to the bazaar there were several men eager to tell me (with the aid of our guide/translator) that I was a woman who looked beautiful in hijab and who had "Kurdish eyebrows."
And speaking of Kurds, we were surely soon to meet a few, as Urfa is the birthplace of the prophet Abraham and is thus a major pilgrimage site in Islam. People flood in from all over the Middle East on foot, camel, car and horse-drawn cart to be here:
So, along with the hordes of pilgrims, we went to visit the cave in which Abraham was said to have been born, and along the way I snapped some photos of the lovely people who had come to see it. Fortunately, this was one part of the city where I didn't feel quite so alone as a woman:
I also got a shot of the pilgrims entering the cave, itself:
The purple headscarves you see are unique to this region and represent a large clan of Arabic-Syrian peoples. And though both men and women wear the scarf, nothing is quite so striking as the women who sport it:
(Alas, I was able to say all of three things in Arabic to them, but they were gracious and lovely all the same)
At the pilgrimage site we also met some Kurdish men from further East who (again through our guide/translator), who were elated to learn we were heading deep into their homeland. Although you can barely see it in the photo, the man in the purple shirt has a traditional blue tattoo dotting his cheek and a thin blue line down the other side of his nose. This is a traditional tattoo meant to ward off the evil eye.
Though people watching was entertaining enough, it was hard not to be dazzled by the adjacent site of the Sacred Carp pool.
It is here, according to Muslim belief, that as Abraham was tied to the stake and due to be burned alive, God, at the last minute, turned the fire into water and the burning embers into carp. And thus, for more than a thousand years, it has been believed that these carp are their sacred descendants.
After nurturing the soul, it was time to empty the wallet, so we headed to the Urfa Bazaar which, unlike the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, is not oriented toward tourists at all.
Instead, it boasts a plethora of the authentic and, well, truly bizarre. Take, for instance, these double teapots:
These ingenious creations ensure that you can brew a mild, watered-down tea for delicate palates whilst simultaneously brewing stronger tea for those who prefer something more robust. And, if you fancy a pair of shoes, a cobbler can churn out a pair of knock-off Nikes in an hour:
Also in the bazaar are functioning blacksmiths who make and sell basic, everyday goods like chains and bolts:
And the selection of hand-hammered metal goods, often inscribed with beautiful Arabic script for incredibly low prices cannot be overlooked.
They're so inexpensive that Westerners like me feel ashamed to barter for them, but that's the way of the culture.
And speaking of cultural miscommunication, we had an incident of epic proportions once we got to the spice market.
Surveying the bounty of delicious looking nuts and spices, we attempted to purchase a SMALL bag of pumpkin seeds. The man in the stall requested only 50 cents, which we thought was a steal, we had no idea. Much to our shock, he takes out a very large bag and begin shoveling in pumpkin seeds. Seeing this, we rush to stop him but he doesn't seem to understand and waves us off as he continues to shovel ever more seeds into a bag the size of my torso. When it was all said and done, we probably had 10 kilos of seeds that we had no idea what to do with. Thus, we hauled them around for the remainder of our trip, doling them out to grateful beggars and street children like a Thanksgiving Santa Claus.
Fortunately, people around here were grateful for any gift and, as we would learn as we headed further east to Nemrut Dag, they often gave far better than they got.