Turkey (III.) - Black walls, flying kites and flying drones

From Sanliurfa we headed to Diyarbakır: the first really Kurdish stop on our way. The guide (at least the old downloaded one I had) introduces the town with an attractive "Black the walls, black the dogs and black the hearts in black Diyarbakır", and mentions stone-throwing youngsters as one of the local specialities (and just afterwards talks of the town's slowly rising tourism industry - I wonder how with that kind of presentation anyone goes there at all).

Well. From all those promises we only got the black walls - Diyarbakır's famous city walls are made of black basalt. Ah no. And also one kid threw a pebble at us. There you go.

True, we didn't find Diyarbakır as enchanting as Sanliurfa. It seemed more... rough, but at the same time it also felt very authentic. Plus it had interesting things to see, so it was worth spending a bit of time wandering around. There was an old stripy caravanserai (a word which wasn't in my dictionary - a roadside inn for travellers along the old trade routes to rest and recover), which is now full of cafes.

Hasan Pasa Hani, an old caravanserai

As everywhere else, there was of course the Ulu Camii - the Great Mosque, here built in the 11th century (!). It's big, simple, beautiful, and with a large peaceful courtyard, where it's nice to watch the birds at dusk.

And of course, there were the men sitting and drinking tea.

Now the black walls.

6 km long, they go all around the old town, and somewhere they say that they are the second longest walls after the Great Wall of China - which admittedly I question, but it doesn't make them any less worth a visit.

From the walls you can just about see the Tigris.

You could notice that Diyarbakır isn't particularly prosperous (the whole province apparently ranks quite low in most socio-economic indicators). It had some strange blend of polished and poor places very close to one another - like the renovated castle with shanty houses and donkeys just underneath it.

And a walled home-made swimming pool in between all that...?!

And you could also notice you are in Kurdistan - barbed-wire military posts abounded around the town, as well as armoured vehicles. Seeing one was curious. Seeing five of them, after dark, accompanied by a helicopter, just as you are having your dinner... was just sliiiiightly uncomfortable.

From Diyarbakır we took a dolmuş heading south towards Mardin. Now I'm not sure quite what happened there, but clearly we didn't realise that we were in Mardin when we were in Mardin (the dolmuş often doesn't pass through the city centre), the driver didn't think of telling us either... so we just didn't get off and continued further south. We realised the mistake after a while, but from the driver's Turkish explanation we guessed we'd get off in the next town where the minibus was ending. Only when, as we were approaching this next town and we started to see around the road tents and quite a lot of military, did we check where exactly this place was. Turns out it was Kiziltepe. And turns out Kiziltepe is about 10km from the Syrian border. All of a sudden, all the tents and tanks made more sense. Not a pleasant feel.

No worries mothers, nothing happened of course. As soon as we got to the minibus station, the driver put us on another dolmuş going back to Mardin, about 20 minute drive. Still, makes me insanely thankful I live in a place with peace.

Mardin itself, though not exactly far from the border either, feels just fine. It seems to be a major destination of Turkish tourists - which makes sense, considering its golden stone houses, mansions and mosques, layered on a hill.

But what is probably most impressive about Mardin is its location. Perched on a hill, the old town gives impressive views over the vast flatness of the upper Mesopotamian plain. The first time I got a glimpse of that view (not easy because of all the walls and houses), I almost thought I was looking at the sea.

Having a tea with that kind of panorama... priceless.

In the evening, when the sun started to go down and the wind started to lift, kites appeared above the town.

Watching the kids playing with the kites, it was like being in Khaled Hosseini's The Kite Runner. 

Add to that the setting sun, the call for the prayer from all the mosques below...

Well, everything was very poetic, mostly until the moment a drone appeared among the kites. Judging by the reaction of the locals, it was not something which was happening regularly, and you just sort of hoped that it was for taking pictures for tourism publications and had nothing to do with that conflict across the border.

But in spite of the drone-raised expectations, the town was not annihilated overnight, and the following morning we could peacefully take in more of the view over the breakfast...

... and then we moved on.

More on Turkey here.