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| Şanlıurfa |
This was mostly been written sat by a lake of scared carp, a glass of strong black çay before me and a castle rampart up above. Though I'm now in a seedy internet cafe full of adolescent boys playing videogames, please imagine the former. Imagine the lake and the holy carp and the passing Arab women in purple headscarves and flowing gowns, the old men in keffıyeh and baggy pantaloons that smoke hand-rolled cigarettes and clack their rosaries. For we are in the beautiful old town of Şanlıurfa.
But waıt! I must rewind a week or so through my jumbled memories of the last few towns. From Konya, we headed south to the coast and a castle afloat on the waves. We were in Kızkalesi, where a colony of concrete hotels had made their home amongst Alexandrian battlefields, Byzantine castles and the footprints of Zeus. Along the coast, we dropped into a deep canyon known as the Chasm of Heaven. Followıng a path that wrapped around boulders and twisted walnut trees, we came across the cave of Typhon, a jagged black opening in the rock. Inside, dark waters could be heard a'rushıng. It was said by the Greeks that the underground river was a tributary of the river Styx (over which one crosses to the underworld) and as we slipped over the rocks into the blackness, the deafenıng rush of the water did indeed sound somewhat demonic. As the light failed and the black water slid by, we decided the overworld was good enough for us and returned, slightly disturbed to the sunshine. Its neighbouring chasm, the Gorge of Hell, was positively cheerful in comparison. Having had enough of melodramatically named holes in the ground, we fled east to ancient Antioch through a blur of olive, pistachio and citrus trees.
Antioch may now be called Antakya but we'll forget that for the moment, it's not half so evocative. It is the birthplace of St Paul and we duly visited a rock-hewn church (the ancients here couldn`t get enough of hewing things from rocks) where he preached about his then bizarre little sect. It is perhaps the oldest church in the world. More interestingly for us, Antioch could also be considered the western terminus of the Silk Road, where the riches of the east were shipped off to (among others) Rome.
The highlight of this Biblical city though, was none of these things and it involved a fair deal of robot dancing. The previous day, we had been strolling the rugged streets of concrete, as per usual, we were the only foreigners in sight. We were busy picking our way through vegetable carts and over-excited school children when a car screeched to a halt beside us and a hyperactive woman bowled out. She explained she was an English teacher at the local high school and begged us to come to her class the next day. So, the next day we turned up, sodden from the ropes of rainwater that gushed from every ill-built roof. Students were summoned to fetch us hot tea. We were pretty shocked however, to find that it was all really informal. We were led to our classroom, pushing our way through excitable smiles and handshakes and 'how are you?'s. In class, we asked if anyone had any questions. The first student to speak, a sweet-looking girl stood up and asked `Do you like street dance?`. Before we had time to answer, some hip hop was switched on, a boy was pushed forward and he started to jolt and judder as if auditioning for Turkey`s Got Talent (which, by the way, appears to have been won by a performing dog). It was all entirely and wonderfully mad.
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| At school |
A few hours later, we were bussing through snowy valleys to Gaziantep (Antep), culinary Mecca of eastern Turkey. I will leave the food bit to Nic (click here for Nic's blog) and concentrate on our experience as Gaziantepspor FC's newest fans. Fresh from a rather cultural morning examining some lovely Roman mosaics, we were wandering past the football stadium when we discovered it was match day and were suddenly sucked into another surreal encounter.
I was thinking of getting tickets for the game when we were adopted by a gang of cheeky teenage boys in full Gaziantepspor paraphernalia. They handed us tickets as a gift and guided us toward the gates. They didn't speak a word of English and our Turkish is sparse to say the least, but they were soon inducting us into the stand of hardcore fans. Before long we had linked arms with our fellows, begun jumping on the seats (for they are not for sitting) and singing along with a stand full of fanatics. The crowd is 'conducted' by an angry man at the front flanked by two drummers. He leads the songs and chants, the hand movements and Mexican waves. We were competing with another stand of Gaziantepspor supporters who countered our chants and movements with their own. Police and stewards with full riot gear looked on unbothered as a fight broke out in our stand, but it was largely good natured (if a bit shouty). 'If you cut me, I bleed Gaziantepspor' Nic declared after about 5 minutes. No one seemed to take any notice of the football, they were having far too much fun. Waving goodbye to yet more unexpected and ridiculously generous friends, we headed here to Şanlıurfa.
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| Gazıantepspor - before the game has even started |
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| Nic with the Gaziantepspor massive |
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| Şanlıurfa |
Havıng finally managed to upload this blog after days of trying, we are no longer ın Şanlıurfa but in icy cold Erzerum (in an equally seedy internet cafe). So, with the smell of Lynx Africa ın my nostrils, I bid you farewell...
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| In an old caravanserai, Şanlıurfa |
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| Kıds on a bread errand Şanlıurfa |
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