Pilgrimage for Abraham

Istanbul-Urfa

The bus from Istanbul to Sanliurfa (Urfa) was interesting. I'm sitting in the lounge of the bus company in Istanbul and this guy of about 50 comes over the sit beside me. Gihan appoints himself and my minder to get me to Urfa. He rearranges the seating so we can sit together for the 19 hour journey and tells me this is the first time he has ever tried to speak English. Before the bus leaves he rushes off to the toilet. He comes back just as the bus is pulling out, totally out of breath. He went to buy me an English copy of the Turkish Daily news so I knew the local gossip!

The film comes on the bus. I'm told that the English subtitles were his request, specially for the tourist on the bus. The bus really is made for a long journey and I slept like a baby for most of the night. I wake to Gihan grabbing my arm. Look, we are in Antep. I succeeded in biting my tongue!

Urfa

It's early morning when I get to Urfa, so I find a pension to get a few hours sleep. Aziz, the owner, is a real talker, but isn't going to keep me from my sleep!

I head for the beautiful Golbasi area, just five minutes away on foot. The area is a beautiful green park with people sitting out eveywhere enjoying the sunshine. Two ponds are filled with overfed carp. These sacred fish follow the story of the prophet Abraham, who was born in the city. Abraham was condemned to burn on a pire for destroying pagan gods. But the fire was turned to water and the coals to fish. Abraham was hurled into the air from the fire, but landed safely on a bed of roses. One end of the garden houses a beautifully maintained rose garden to complete the dedication to the prophet. The roses are in full bloom, so the area is beautiful.

Because of it's historical links to the prophet, the city is a place of pilgrimage. The two days that I had been traveling since leaving Bulgaria has really moved me to a different world. Urfa is in Kurdish Turkey and there is no doubt that you are in the East. While maybe the skin colour is darkening in Istanbul, it is not until I got to Urfa that the Eastern feeling was in the air. The park is alive with people, most women wearing the traditional head scarf with some trendsetters putting tradition behind them to go with their heads uncovered. I wondered what those that wore scarves thought of those without, but got it difficult to find an answer to this question.

I sat and drank tea with some locals that I had met and the setting couldn't have been any better. Overlooking one of the sacred ponds with my first Turkish cay (tea) in hand, in the traditional tulip shaped glass. We were sitting on the mens side of the pond. The ladies congregated for tea on the other side. There is no doubt from the guys that I was sitting with who they consider as their leader, Mr Abdullah Ocalan, a terrorist to the Turkish state but a hero for Kurds in their battle for Kurdish 'rights'.

From there I wander to Dergah to visit Prophet Abrahams cave, his supposed birthplace. Nothing spectacular inside the cave, but a holy place regardless. Maybe there was something better on the female side of the cave? I wandered into one of Urfa's main attractions, it's rambling bazaar. A market for regular people. Alleys for shoes, clothes, pots, all the rubbish that a market usually sells!! When headed for the main street to check out the rest of town, I come on a covered bazaar of butchers, if I can call it such a thing? These butchers though, are not selling beefsteak or lamb chops. They all seem to special in offal from sheep. I'm a novelty going around this place and one group sit me on a high stool in the middle of the stall and summon the traveling tea salesman. I drink it, only able to dream of the diseases this place could breath! The guys treat me like a king, barely a word of English between them and are genuinely happy to see someone to break up their day (see the photo). When I'm there, there's a special order for a big bag of intestines. Obviously a party on somewhere!!

I head up through the town, but there's not too much to catch the imagination. Some old famed houses with ornate windows extending over alleyways. That evening I consume my first kebab. Nothing to write home about, but I'm sure I'd be able to compare it to the competition over the next few weeks.

Harran

Next day I head for Harran, which is about 18 km from the Syrian border. After the 90 minute Dolmus (minibus) ride, I have a welcoming party off the bus. About 6 teenagers are full of information and tips. They were very clear that as well as being my guide, they offered a whole lot more: protection! Kids around the castle haven't got the best reputation for driving foreigners nuts. They appointed Jahal as my guide for the morning. He looked streetwise, but also very nervous. Probably because I told him he was getting no money. Not nice I know, I didn't want him getting cocky on me!

First stop an old mosque that originally served as a university looking out over the plain. An arch and minaret are all that survive. Then on to the village that have made Harran famous, for the beehive houses. They were not the crumbling relics that I was expecting, but actually lived and maintained in by the locals. The roofs of the houses are in a beehive shape, built internally with brick and then encrusted on the outside with mud.

On the edge of the village is an ancient castle. Jahal is doing his job. There are actually lots of people there to trouble me. He is telling them that I'm from Istanbul. Not sure if they buy it but they stay off. The local language is Arabic, so maybe they know no better? The castle isn't much, but Jahal is doing his best to show me the highlights. The real highlight is the view over the flat plain into Syria. Before the Turkish irrigation projects, wheat was the only crop the locals could grow, but now they have more scope growing more lucrative cotton crops. The damming and irrigation caused a lot of problems with their neighbours, but it certainly has made a difference to the people here.

I head back to Urfa (and throw a few bob to Jahal) and the only thing left on the agenda is the citadel that overlooks Golbasi from on top of the hill. The weather has clouded in, but nothing more serious than a few drops of rain. Waking around it, it really is a perfect location for a fortress. A natural gorge runs around three sides with the front easily protected with the steep hill running into the town. I sit in the Golbasi park and watch the world go by. The shoe shine boys are on their daily rounds. They really do seem to so a good job and the locals have no problem using them. They carry a pair of flip-flops with them for the comfort of the paying customer, all part of the service.