In Dogubeyazit people were celebrating Bayram, the end of Ramadan, and what this meant I found out soon enough: no food! All the restaurants in town were closed, and there weren't many to begin with as Dogubeyazit is very small. My hotel had no lunch, only breakfast which was far away, it was early afternoon now. I asked where I could go eat and the answer was:"Wait until tomorrow, then some of the shops will open."
In a slightly forlorn mood I wandered outside, found a supermarket and bought some cookies. The streets were empty, deserted, since everybody seemed to be home, celebrating. Finally, after a long walk, I spotted a street stall. Salvation from the churning feeling in my stomach arrived in the form of kofte in a bun. Finally! Some food to eat, other than biscuits. I was saved.
Down at the end of the long street I could see the foot of Mount Ararat. And some way up the mountain slope, the place of my dreams that I had been cherishing for the past 5 years: Ishak Pasha Sarayi, the Kurdish palace.
This was where I headed now. I asked someone and people told me to take the dolmus, the mini bus, up the mountain as it would be a rather long walk otherwise.
I descended from the bus in the palace's parking lot.
There was a gate through which I walked in. The palace seemed built of sandstone, it's truly exotic shape of a dome shaped roof and several little towers perched on the mountain side. There was a corridor in the middle, leading through several large decorated halls behind each other and then there were rooms- the harem, some other rooms for sleeping and sitting- and each room had a window that, like a picture frame, opened to some breathtaking view. One has to be in Kurdistan to comprehend it's incredible landscape- endless spaces stretching over rolling hills, rocky cliffs, harshly beautiful dramatic mountain slopes, and endless space. No wonder the Kurds who live here are a proud people with a love for freedom. This landscape is indominable. It is also nourishing in some places, the Kurds seem to have a special love for vines and climbers trailing around their houses, grape leaves obscuring part of the view from the window with their lovely green shapes, and the rest is partly a rocky desert and in part, green hills. I was in awe. I took lots of photos while I explored the rooms of the palace, and from each window frame I shot the view.
That night I finally discovered what may have been the only open bar in town. It was called Simorgh, like the legendary Persian bird. And the owner was a young man who served me mezze with a smile and made me watch some bits of the movies that he showed in his bar, projected onto a screen.
I asked for a sheesha and he took me upstairs where I could sit on the kilim cushions while I smoked.
And then I walked through the night back to my lavender coloured room at the Tahran. It was not as easy as it would seem, in this small town, as the electricity went out and almost all the streets were pitch dark. I was glad I did not get lost.
In a slightly forlorn mood I wandered outside, found a supermarket and bought some cookies. The streets were empty, deserted, since everybody seemed to be home, celebrating. Finally, after a long walk, I spotted a street stall. Salvation from the churning feeling in my stomach arrived in the form of kofte in a bun. Finally! Some food to eat, other than biscuits. I was saved.
Down at the end of the long street I could see the foot of Mount Ararat. And some way up the mountain slope, the place of my dreams that I had been cherishing for the past 5 years: Ishak Pasha Sarayi, the Kurdish palace.
This was where I headed now. I asked someone and people told me to take the dolmus, the mini bus, up the mountain as it would be a rather long walk otherwise.
I descended from the bus in the palace's parking lot.
That night I finally discovered what may have been the only open bar in town. It was called Simorgh, like the legendary Persian bird. And the owner was a young man who served me mezze with a smile and made me watch some bits of the movies that he showed in his bar, projected onto a screen.
I asked for a sheesha and he took me upstairs where I could sit on the kilim cushions while I smoked.
And then I walked through the night back to my lavender coloured room at the Tahran. It was not as easy as it would seem, in this small town, as the electricity went out and almost all the streets were pitch dark. I was glad I did not get lost.
