At the end of Ramadan 2011 I took a Pegasus flight from Istanbul to Van. Having never been to Eastern Anatolia before, I was suitably apprehensive, not knowing what to expect. Would I have to wear a headscarf to stop people from staring at me and think of me as a Western tourist of uncertain morals who was breaking the Islamic rule that a woman should not travel alone? Would I run into terrorists, be kidnapped by the PKK or die in some dramatic car crash on a bad road? Would people refuse to serve me in a restaurant, possibly, because it was all only for men?
No, none of that. My worries were dispersed the moment when, after I had taken a cab across town to the minibus station for Mt. Ararat, I shyly wandered into the waiting room and uneasily sat down, one of the moustached Kurds got up and asked me in Turkish:"Would you like a glass of tea?"
Ice broken, tension gone. My ice, my tension, not theirs. ; )
Finally our dolmush arrived, we all got in, all of them Kurdish men plus one Iranian and his hijabbed wife and their little son, and me. About 12 people squeezed into a vehicle, headed for Dogubeyazit.
The ride led us into the Kurdish landscape- vast planes with very little vegetation, harsh barren mountains rising up with ragged edges, endless views of vast empty spaces, and not a single human being in sight. We did not see even one car during the 3 hour drive. I was already in love with their landscape, as rugged, hardy, and passionate as they were.
My Lonely planet guide had informed me that in Dogubeyazit there was one hotel that was "suitable for lone women travellers." Ironically, it was called Tahran and run by an Iranian manager. Bilal, who had once been called Ahmet or whatever, but received this name when he joined the Hezbollah in his youth. He told me, he no longer prayed because "I have done so much praying when I was young, it is enough now." We all laughed.
Bilal, thank God, spoke English and had accepted my reservation on the phone.
So now I was in Dogubeyazit, got off the bus, and walked with my big suitcase through town. At the far end of the mainstreet I could see Mt. Ararat rising up in the distance, and up on the mountain slope, the place of my dreams- Ishak Pasha Sarayi, the beautiful Kurdish castle that I had been too scared to visit for years but had dreamed off seeing since autumn 2006, after I had met my first Kurdish friend. I was finally here!
The streets were deserted, it was the end of Ramadan, Bayram, and everybody on holiday, somewhere, in their own home.
I found the Tahran Hotel in a side street, and when I walked in, I saw a Kurd, very much looking like my first friend, with a sharply cut beautiful face, deep set eyes, chiseled eyebrows. These eyes now set on me, opened wide and emitted one bright turquoise flash, like lightening, and then narrowed again and assumed their normal expression. This handsome young receptionist, not Bilal, did not speak a word of English, but he handed me my key, explained that I could use the tea kitchen downstairs and pointed me to my room on the second floor. My room turned out to be simple, spotless, and indeed, "suitable for women"- it had lavender walls and white curtains! I felt safe here.
I settled in, took a shower, went down for some tea and then asked about a restaurant. It turned out that since it was Bayram, every restaurant in town was closed and he said, I should wait "until tomorrow", then they would all be open again.
I had to wander through several streets til I managed to find one street stall that was selling kofte, and that was my lunch. But I was happy to fill my stomach at last, and now, off to Ishak Pasha!
No, none of that. My worries were dispersed the moment when, after I had taken a cab across town to the minibus station for Mt. Ararat, I shyly wandered into the waiting room and uneasily sat down, one of the moustached Kurds got up and asked me in Turkish:"Would you like a glass of tea?"
Ice broken, tension gone. My ice, my tension, not theirs. ; )
Finally our dolmush arrived, we all got in, all of them Kurdish men plus one Iranian and his hijabbed wife and their little son, and me. About 12 people squeezed into a vehicle, headed for Dogubeyazit.
The ride led us into the Kurdish landscape- vast planes with very little vegetation, harsh barren mountains rising up with ragged edges, endless views of vast empty spaces, and not a single human being in sight. We did not see even one car during the 3 hour drive. I was already in love with their landscape, as rugged, hardy, and passionate as they were.
My Lonely planet guide had informed me that in Dogubeyazit there was one hotel that was "suitable for lone women travellers." Ironically, it was called Tahran and run by an Iranian manager. Bilal, who had once been called Ahmet or whatever, but received this name when he joined the Hezbollah in his youth. He told me, he no longer prayed because "I have done so much praying when I was young, it is enough now." We all laughed.
Bilal, thank God, spoke English and had accepted my reservation on the phone.
So now I was in Dogubeyazit, got off the bus, and walked with my big suitcase through town. At the far end of the mainstreet I could see Mt. Ararat rising up in the distance, and up on the mountain slope, the place of my dreams- Ishak Pasha Sarayi, the beautiful Kurdish castle that I had been too scared to visit for years but had dreamed off seeing since autumn 2006, after I had met my first Kurdish friend. I was finally here!
The streets were deserted, it was the end of Ramadan, Bayram, and everybody on holiday, somewhere, in their own home.
I found the Tahran Hotel in a side street, and when I walked in, I saw a Kurd, very much looking like my first friend, with a sharply cut beautiful face, deep set eyes, chiseled eyebrows. These eyes now set on me, opened wide and emitted one bright turquoise flash, like lightening, and then narrowed again and assumed their normal expression. This handsome young receptionist, not Bilal, did not speak a word of English, but he handed me my key, explained that I could use the tea kitchen downstairs and pointed me to my room on the second floor. My room turned out to be simple, spotless, and indeed, "suitable for women"- it had lavender walls and white curtains! I felt safe here.
I settled in, took a shower, went down for some tea and then asked about a restaurant. It turned out that since it was Bayram, every restaurant in town was closed and he said, I should wait "until tomorrow", then they would all be open again.
