One of the most distinguished parts of travelling is the way you are touched in the heart. This could happen in many ways through our senses but the stroke that left a deep mark in my emotional psyche came from the blessed opportunities that came unexpectedly from our interaction with the warm people of Erzurum and Mardin.
Two towns that couldn't have been more different. One bore a mild autumn coolness in the air as the university town sprang forth in its infectious vibe. Rows of shops trading perfumes, kebabs, Turkish tea served with a lemon twist to scarves and scallions, onions and peppers intermixing with the best Seljuk monuments in the country. The latter stood starkly in its exotic desert demeanour yet the fields of the Mesopotamian plains glowed with the intense lust of well irrigated possessions honed daily by the faithful farmers. Donkeys and horses roamed the cobbled streets that were shared with packs of children filling the morning days with their laughter and thick Arabic accents in the midst of a chorus of sparrows and crickets. Old men greeted us in the streets. Young lads made sure the right bus was stopped and informed to drop us exactly at the many revered camii and medressi built from honey-hued rocks that were overshadowed by the Mardin Kale that was claimed even today, by the army. Soldiers on off-duty requested to be photographed with us as we stopped by the many springs that spurted life-giving cool water to quench the burning desire that could only come from an excited soul. It felt like we had moved in between a snowy jewel box and the pages of Jerusalem.
One didn't have to wander far to stumble upon the many cay evi that dotted any clear space on the five-footer. Big imported cars squeezed tenaciously with a precarious precision while many more cups were sipped noisily as their buyers debated furiously about the passion of politics and the recent price of corbasi. Nearby a kofte seller energetically fanned his baby coals to start up his evening business but he seemed to be more interested practising his English with us and knowing our background. Many children passed by with friendly Merhaba and women on the bus made sure that I got a seat in front. There you go, the female traveller is well protected and smiling.
Valleys and public baths boasted about their Roman heritage and it wasn't hard to match them both with the rolling hills of olive groves and chimneys exhaling forth steamy lines cutting the blue dome covering the cities. You really can be hard-pressed to begin two steps down your planned day-walk to be stopped by a stonemason inviting you to see his workshop and then having a few cups of Arabic tea (solemnly sworn by the Mardin Arabic-dominant Muslims to be better than the Turkish counterpart) and greetings of blessings upon you. Curious eyes of jade, aquamarine and gray gazed shyly over to you as you learned to practice your Turkish competency. You marvelled at the well kept effort and recognition bestowed upon both Christian and Islamic architecture. Everyone seemed to be too proud and only too eager to ensure you came to enjoy your learning experience about this part of Turkey that could only be summed up to be so different from their Western sister towns.
As I mixed with a dose of vulnerability in the rose garden facing the Double Minaret Medressi where families, lovers and children mingled freely to take advantage of the waning warmth of a summer evening, I soaked in the attention that most came forward to enquire about my well being. Some young lads even chased after me as I was strolling along the main road, thinking I was shying away from them when they asked if I needed help to locate a place to stay. My confused smile probably rendered them to grab the next old man on the street to ask more regally (and in their mind, perhaps more respectfully) the same question, only to have another family of smiling women swooping in to repeat the question in English. It was impossible to feel lonely in these two cities. Everyone wanted to know you and help you without absolutely anything in return.
Even the old matron nibbling quietly on a corn on the cob while chaperoning one of her daughters with her "friend" (later to be introduced in between my smattering of Turkish command and their English) Hussein, waved at me with her umbrella (you never know when it might just rain - good old fashioned preparedness that Lord Baden Powell will be proud of) initially to catch my attention. I panicked, thinking I may had offended her with my photographing the rose garden picnic soiree. She got up and moved towards me. Before I dared to look up from where I was sitting, the tall looming black chador kindly looked down at me with the chocolate brown melting eyes and spoke. I didn't understand but I smiled. An assuring grandmotherly hand reached out to pinch my cheek indulgently. Then she grabbed and led my hand to sit with her on the side platform of the medressi. I had used up all known Turkish phrases that I had come to learn but more importantly, I felt the kindness of a stranger ensuring that I was not left out in the mass. Between laughs and her insisting that I shared her corn on the cob, she made a gesture of musafir - meaning I was not considered as an outsider. The greatest honour showered upon any visitor is to be reckoned as a guest and we had too many invitation of such to dine and stay in their many houses of the people of Erzurum and Mardin.
Our greatest regret is to disappoint them because we had to move onwards. Here I have tried my best to photograph and share the same threads of two different fabrics through their people, history, culture and colours. I sincerely hope you will like it and that they will remind all of us that there is still goodness in the world that no amount of value can be tagged upon it.
Enjoy, with pleasure.
Enjoy, with pleasure.
