Wednesday, 21 November 2007
Habibi
The finest place to relax in Damascus is at Al Nawfara coffeehouse nestled under the stairs that leads to the Umayyad mosque. The place makes for an excellent setting for a Turkish coffee with cardamom along a water pipe. Or as we found out one afternoon it is also perfect for shooting an Iraqi music video. The song was as usual about habibi (=sweetheart) and there was a lot of fog.
Monday, 5 November 2007
Holy fools
What would you think about a man who climbed a fourteen meter high marble pillar because he wanted to be closer to God, and then stayed there at the top for the next forty years? I think most people nowadays would consider him mad but if you lived 1500 years ago you might sit below the pillar to listen to his wisdom, together with hundreds of others.
S:t Simeon the stylite did exactly this, we saw what is left of his pillar and the amazing ruins of the basilicas that surround it. These were erected after his death to his glory.
We camped outside the sight and in the evening had chamomile tea with the local guards and a Spanish man on his way to Jerusalem – by foot! It seemed appropriate to meet this pilgrim in such a place, and I couldn’t avoid making a comparison between the two men and their quests. José walks on average 35-40 km per day, every day for the last six months. It does seem like a kind of punishment of the body in the attempt to find some deeper meaning in life.
Asking the Muslim guards if they think S:t Simeon was crazy they strongly promoted the opposite. “Simeon was very holy man, very good man! He wanted to be close to God, that’s why he sat on the pillar. Very many people came to listen to him.”
According to the book The Street Philosopher and the Holy Fool the Islamic society has a different approach to madness than the western. People with mental disorders are considered closer to God, a thought that might have been more common in the medieval west but is now long gone.
S:t Simeon the stylite did exactly this, we saw what is left of his pillar and the amazing ruins of the basilicas that surround it. These were erected after his death to his glory.
We camped outside the sight and in the evening had chamomile tea with the local guards and a Spanish man on his way to Jerusalem – by foot! It seemed appropriate to meet this pilgrim in such a place, and I couldn’t avoid making a comparison between the two men and their quests. José walks on average 35-40 km per day, every day for the last six months. It does seem like a kind of punishment of the body in the attempt to find some deeper meaning in life.
Asking the Muslim guards if they think S:t Simeon was crazy they strongly promoted the opposite. “Simeon was very holy man, very good man! He wanted to be close to God, that’s why he sat on the pillar. Very many people came to listen to him.”
According to the book The Street Philosopher and the Holy Fool the Islamic society has a different approach to madness than the western. People with mental disorders are considered closer to God, a thought that might have been more common in the medieval west but is now long gone.
Trapped in no mans land
We came to Syria! But not without some troubles first. Since Turkey is relatively expensive we decided to leave it a bit ahead of schedule. We exited Turkey through the very small border of Kassab on the 31st of October. Peter handed over his passport to the Syrians and got it stamped. For me it was not as easy, - we had forgotten something. After being scrutinized by the border police my passport was handed back without being stamped, my visa started on the first of November and was not valid yet.
So there we were, Peter only had single entry to Syria and had already officially entered, I couldn’t until the next day. So we took out our kitchen and cooked some spaghetti, played some cards, had coffee, smoked nargile with the men in uniform, who were very friendly, and went to sleep between the border posts.
Next morning the border police invited us for coffee before my visa was stamped and we could enter Syria after about eighteen hour in no mans land.
So there we were, Peter only had single entry to Syria and had already officially entered, I couldn’t until the next day. So we took out our kitchen and cooked some spaghetti, played some cards, had coffee, smoked nargile with the men in uniform, who were very friendly, and went to sleep between the border posts.
Next morning the border police invited us for coffee before my visa was stamped and we could enter Syria after about eighteen hour in no mans land.
Who works in Urfa?
Some delayed comments on Urfa: In Sanliurfa, besides holy fish and weird demonstrations, we saw some other things of interest. Walking the streets and the bazaar it was impossible not to notice all the kids and young people working. They are not only selling chewing gum and napkins on the street as they are everywhere east of Slovenia, here they seem more systematically put to labor. East of Turkey sure is Asia. We asked a local guy about the laws and he claimed there is no law about compulsory elementary school in Turkey – something that sounds very strange indeed. But even if school is compulsory and child labor is forbidden, it seems these things are not enforced in this very Kurdish part of the country.
Tuesday, 30 October 2007
The Beach
We left Anatolia for the Mediterranean. What a change. Nights are warm again, mosquitoes greedy for a night company. The beaches south of Iskenderun are wild and empty. They could look Croatian if not for few minarets peering over olive trees. They are too out-of-the-way from major airports for tourists to occupy them. We didn’t mind. Hence we spent three nights on different beaches, swimming, reading and barbecuing. Short trip break after fasting in Iran and before entering the buzz of Syria.
Towed away in Sanlıurfa
We have stayed three days in this city of Abraham, who according to the local legend was born in a cave not far from the famous fishponds. The true history might be well different. We came to Sanlıurfa to enjoy the quiet yard of the bazaar that is for a change not hectic and to celebrate my birthday in a more luxurious environment that Shlakiyah could offer.
When we woke up in the morning the street in front of our hotel was fenced with police tape. There were some cars parked behind and some motorcycles in front of Shlakiyah. We could not get out. Later streets were filled with police forces carrying a lot of tear gas guns. ˝We are preparing for the afternoon demonstrations.˝ ˝Against what? ˝ ˝Against PKK killing Turkish soldiers.˝ Shlakiyah got towed away from the parking on the street. Apparently it was considered a terrorist threat. We got it back for 40 EUR paid straight to police pockets. They were extremely arrogant. The officer in charge didn’t want to identify himself nor issue us a proof of payment. We wanted to complain but there is no tourist police in a place like Sanlıurfa. Tourism in Turkey is not always as presented in the Berlin fair.
Then we heard the demonstrations. Ridiculous! The only demonstrating were school kids who were probably ordered to join. It reminded us very much of the staged Qod’s day demonstrations in Iran. The locals couldn’t be bothered. Some people told me demonstrators are ignorant.
When we woke up in the morning the street in front of our hotel was fenced with police tape. There were some cars parked behind and some motorcycles in front of Shlakiyah. We could not get out. Later streets were filled with police forces carrying a lot of tear gas guns. ˝We are preparing for the afternoon demonstrations.˝ ˝Against what? ˝ ˝Against PKK killing Turkish soldiers.˝ Shlakiyah got towed away from the parking on the street. Apparently it was considered a terrorist threat. We got it back for 40 EUR paid straight to police pockets. They were extremely arrogant. The officer in charge didn’t want to identify himself nor issue us a proof of payment. We wanted to complain but there is no tourist police in a place like Sanlıurfa. Tourism in Turkey is not always as presented in the Berlin fair.
Then we heard the demonstrations. Ridiculous! The only demonstrating were school kids who were probably ordered to join. It reminded us very much of the staged Qod’s day demonstrations in Iran. The locals couldn’t be bothered. Some people told me demonstrators are ignorant.
Thursday, 25 October 2007
Tur Abdin
Syriac Orthodox Church split from the Byzantine back in 451 due to different interpretations of the divine nature of Christ. Due to persecutions by the Byzantines the Suriani fled Antioch and retreated into obscure hills of the Tur Abdin between Midyat and Mardin. Monks in three hundred hidden monasteries successfully maintained the ancient liturgies in Aramaic, the language of Christ. Late Ottoman history annihilated thousands of Anatolian Suriani in a similar way as it did Armenians. Now there are only a few thousand left, plus few dozen monks and nuns in five remaining monasteries.
We visited two. Deir ez Zafferan and Mar Gabriel. They are completely restored and look new, though they were build in fifth century. The restorations are paid by Suriani diaspora, mainly living in Germany, Sweden, and Switzerland. Along with money the diaspora also sends their sons to attend classes in Aramaic liturgy, to help monks harvest pistachio trees, and to explain visitors that accepting Turks to EU would be a suicide.
One of the boys took us to a sanctuary hidden behind a small chapel. It was where Mar Gabriel, a great ascetic, punished his flesh to liberate his soul and to get closer to God. I tried it out. It is a narrow slit in the wall, where he would spend months standing up. As in From the Holy Mountain: ˝Mar Gabriel used to say no slave should sit or lie down in the presence of his master, and that as he was always in the presence of his Lord he should always stand up.˝ After the claustrophobic sightseeing the parish invited us for lunch and to camp in their gardens. Eating cold spaghetti in a Suriani monastery was an interesting travel experience.
We visited two. Deir ez Zafferan and Mar Gabriel. They are completely restored and look new, though they were build in fifth century. The restorations are paid by Suriani diaspora, mainly living in Germany, Sweden, and Switzerland. Along with money the diaspora also sends their sons to attend classes in Aramaic liturgy, to help monks harvest pistachio trees, and to explain visitors that accepting Turks to EU would be a suicide.
One of the boys took us to a sanctuary hidden behind a small chapel. It was where Mar Gabriel, a great ascetic, punished his flesh to liberate his soul and to get closer to God. I tried it out. It is a narrow slit in the wall, where he would spend months standing up. As in From the Holy Mountain: ˝Mar Gabriel used to say no slave should sit or lie down in the presence of his master, and that as he was always in the presence of his Lord he should always stand up.˝ After the claustrophobic sightseeing the parish invited us for lunch and to camp in their gardens. Eating cold spaghetti in a Suriani monastery was an interesting travel experience.
Camping with the ancestors
We drove into ancient Mesopotamia and reached the upper part of the Tigris river. Following a dirt road off the highway we came to the sandbanks and set camp there. The river was only about 20-30 meters wide here and on the other side was a hundred meter rock wall of red and grey sandstone, eroded by the water. A man picking up fishing nets quickly disappeared when we approached. We were alone except for the cows drinking on the other side, coming down a small pass in the rock wall. We made a barbecue and as the sun set we fed the fire with twisted branches and stared into the flames as people must have done here for thousands of years. The only thing spoiling the illusion of living the life of the first civilization was our yellow-striped aluminium chairs and the distant echo of the traffic reflected by the rock wall.
Southeastern Anatolia
Driving in southeastern Anatolia is not as relaxed as in Iran due to recent events on the Turkish-Iraqi border. There has been an increased tension between the PKK and Turkish authorities. We experienced a lot of unpleasant military road checkpoints and rushed through as soon as possible. People here are mainly Kurds and very hospitable. Highlights of transiting the region were a visit to the Ishak Pasha palace accompanied by a first cold beer after Iran, swimming in Van lake, driving Shlakiyah in the crater of the inactive Nemrut volcano, barbecuing on the banks of Tigris river in Hasankeyf, and visiting Syrian orthodox monasteries in Tur Abdin.
Iran from a distance
Looking back at the time in Iran – four weeks altogether, I realize that the deepest impression was made by all the people we met. The people of Iran must be it’s biggest tourism resource, they are extremely hospitable and helpful, I will mention some of them but (maybe paranoia) it could possibly be bad for them to be connected with this blog and therefore I have left out their full names and there are no photos.
First we met H. on the streets of Isfahan. He instantly asked us to go for a drink, then eventually invited us to his friends in the evenings that followed. It was very interesting to meet this crowd as they are very critical about the government, very non-religious and tries to live a western life as far as it is possible, they had vodka bottles in their kitchens and the girls instantly took of their hijab as soon as we came in. H. said that Islam is against happiness, “How can you forbid dancing” he said, “small children dance when they hear music, dancing is life!”
In Isfahan we also met Dr. T. he is equally friendly and equally against the government but deeply religious. His wife never took of her veil in front of Peter, even his daughter who seven years old had a scarf. Dr. T. drove us around to show all the monuments and holy places of Isfahan, for example the martyr cemetery where boys and men who died in the Iran-Iraq war are buried. He invited us to his house and we spent a night and several dinners with the family.
As we arrived in Shiraz we called a friend of a friend, Z. and she showed up with a rose for us and the news that she had taken two days off to show us Shiraz. Then followed a sightseeing frenzy that ended with us visiting more attractions in two days than we did in Isfahan in eight. Z. is also very Islamic and strictly kept the Ramadan fast, this means she didn’t even drink water during the day when we rushed through the hot and sunny gardens, museums and famous tombs of Shiraz. Z. makes half the money we do when working but she insisted on paying entrance fees and taxis. When we gave her a goodbye present she nearly cried.
I wish these people along with everyone else we met can make a brighter future in the multilayered Islamic Republic of Iran.
First we met H. on the streets of Isfahan. He instantly asked us to go for a drink, then eventually invited us to his friends in the evenings that followed. It was very interesting to meet this crowd as they are very critical about the government, very non-religious and tries to live a western life as far as it is possible, they had vodka bottles in their kitchens and the girls instantly took of their hijab as soon as we came in. H. said that Islam is against happiness, “How can you forbid dancing” he said, “small children dance when they hear music, dancing is life!”
In Isfahan we also met Dr. T. he is equally friendly and equally against the government but deeply religious. His wife never took of her veil in front of Peter, even his daughter who seven years old had a scarf. Dr. T. drove us around to show all the monuments and holy places of Isfahan, for example the martyr cemetery where boys and men who died in the Iran-Iraq war are buried. He invited us to his house and we spent a night and several dinners with the family.
As we arrived in Shiraz we called a friend of a friend, Z. and she showed up with a rose for us and the news that she had taken two days off to show us Shiraz. Then followed a sightseeing frenzy that ended with us visiting more attractions in two days than we did in Isfahan in eight. Z. is also very Islamic and strictly kept the Ramadan fast, this means she didn’t even drink water during the day when we rushed through the hot and sunny gardens, museums and famous tombs of Shiraz. Z. makes half the money we do when working but she insisted on paying entrance fees and taxis. When we gave her a goodbye present she nearly cried.
I wish these people along with everyone else we met can make a brighter future in the multilayered Islamic Republic of Iran.
Monday, 15 October 2007
End of the Road
The eastwards road ends for us in Shiraz. It took us more than 13.000 kilometres to drive here; now it’s time to turn back.
This is the south. The sky shines without a cloud. It’s still hot. Domes of the mosques that rise from the sea of countless mud roofs are adorned with pink and yellow flowers. In many of its city gardens cypresses shamelessly lean on palm trees full of dates; tangerines and pomegranates hang from the trees. Once, Shiraz has been famous for nightingales, poets, roses, and wine. The vineyards and famous grapes are replaced by fields of watermelons. The charm is long gone but is not forgotten in the poems of Hafez and Saadi.
This is the south. The sky shines without a cloud. It’s still hot. Domes of the mosques that rise from the sea of countless mud roofs are adorned with pink and yellow flowers. In many of its city gardens cypresses shamelessly lean on palm trees full of dates; tangerines and pomegranates hang from the trees. Once, Shiraz has been famous for nightingales, poets, roses, and wine. The vineyards and famous grapes are replaced by fields of watermelons. The charm is long gone but is not forgotten in the poems of Hafez and Saadi.
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