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Tale
7 - Pakistan/Iran/Turkey - by Malik
Into Turkey from Iran
"I'm from Pakistan. I've got a lot to declare", said
I entering Turkish Customs. "Musheriff eldum", replied
the officer (he meant he was honoured). "Gule, Gule",
(go laughingly) he continued and I was out in a wink with my
backpack remaining unzipped!
I went to a roadside shack and said loudly, "Salaam aleikum".
Words of "Waleikum es salaam" echoed back. Muslim
greetings had been exchanged. I was overjoyed to see that people
were having curry with red chillies like us. I sat there for
a while and got a free cup of kahve (thick, heavily sweetened
coffee). With sign language, I was told that the nearest town
was Dogubayazit and a dolmush (mini-bus) would take me there
in about two hours.
The dolmush ran swiftly on the asphalt road, skirting the outer
flank of Mount Ararat. The mountain had a cone-like peak rising
to 17,000 ft. It was sunny, warm and dry. The terrain was endowed
with natural beauty. I saw a lot of movement a little beyond
the road. Being summer, whole villages were moving to pastureland
to find fresh grazing for their herds of sheep, goats, cattle
and horses.
Dogubayazit was a small town. The population was a mix of Turks,
Armenians and Greeks. In the evening, I went to an open-air
cafe famous for its donner kebabs. The glittering snow-capped
Ararat was in full view. I had a good chat with a Catholic Priest.
Pointing out to the mountain, he said, "Surely you know
about the Great Floods. Over there, Noah's Ark came to rest
". I remained unmoved and uninterested (as per our Holy
Book - The Koran, the Ark was resting on Mount Cudi (pronounced
Judi), 240 km southwest of Ararat).
Next morning, I took a bus for Erzrum. The road was bumpy with
tight hairpin bends. A truck had slid off the road the night
before and was being hauled back. The bus crossed Tahir Pass
at a height of 8,122 feet. At one stop, school children surrounded
the bus and demanded pens. Some threatened to stone the bus
but that was just a bogy. They looked smart in uniforms with
military peaked caps.
Erzurum
Erzerum was built at an altitude of over six thousand feet at
the top of a hill. Towering mountains surrounded it, many over
10,000 feet high. The climate was refreshing. I took deep breaths
to store as much oxygen as I could muster. A double wall surrounded
the city. There were plenty of mosques and churches. Its bazaars
were large and well crowded. Called souqs, they provided scenes
described vividly in the folk tales of "One Thousand and
One Nights". The streets were narrow, one could touch the
walls on both sides by stretching your arms. There were no fixed
prices but whatever the seller could get through cunning, cajoling
and conniving. The shops were piled with olives, herbs, spices
and handicrafts. Worth seeing was shoemaking with the tapping
of hammers on leather - embroidered for the wealthy and crimson
for the poor.
A covered market called a "Souq"
In the afternoon, I boarded a bus bound for Trabzon. On the
way, the bus was frequently stopped and searched. Foreigners
were required to flash their passports - blue, green or pinkish.
Locals held out their IDs. Kurds had their IDs marked with a
red stamp. Many times, they were singled out for intense questioning
(born unlucky, they are spread in Turkey, Iran and Iraq and
are fighting a losing battle for a separate homeland).
Trabzon
Trabzon was located in lush green forests on the coastline of
the Black Sea. Blue and green colours mingled well. In the city,
many historical building stood like old guards amidst unspoiled
beauty and splendor. Narrow streets, small earth-roofed houses
were still medieval. Raised gardens and landscaping gave a dazzling
view. The beauty was enhanced by contributions made by a nearby
University of Architecture & Landscape. Other things which
jacked Trabzon to glory were: birthplace of Sultan Süleyman
The Magnificent, a top football team (Trabzonsport) and fine
golden bracelets made by its artisans.
In the evening I went to some suburban areas. I walked past
vineyards, apricot orchards and melon fields. Mustafa Pasha
(who wanted to sharpen his English) joined me. He must have
regretted it as my accent was horrible. Nevertheless, he remained
glued as my name was like a magnet to a Muslim (Hafeez is one
of the 99 names of God). When I told him my plan to go to Ankara,
he reacted sharply as if stung by a bee. "Ankara!! A cluster
of modern buildings!! Is this what you came for? No dear no,
go to underground towns. Get to the heart of Turkey. Go to Cappadocia
(pronounced cup-uh-doh-kee-uh)." He was so insistent that
he changed my mind. I asked him to draw my itinerary in his
language. He started scribbling in Roman alphabets, emitting
words like Erzincan, Sivas and Kayseri as if in a trance.
Next morning, I went to an Otogar (bus station). I stretched
the handwritten paper towards a bus operator. "Murhaba",
he uttered and personally led me to the front seat on the bus
to Erzincan, 330 km away. What was written was so appealing
that I became the personal responsibility of whosoever read
the message: always front seat, convenient route and time. Many
places, I was asked to wait and take a rest as it was cumbersome
to proceed on. Pushed from one bus to another, at long last
I reached Kayseri at 5 in the morning, half asleep, covering
770 km since Trabzon, in 13 hours of bus rides. Luckily, every
other hour, the buses had been halting at brightly-lit cafeterias
affording me an opportunity to shake the swollen ankles and
have tea.
Hafeez ur Rahman Malik, Karachi-Pakistan.
Submitted: 26 December 2002
Next: Tale 8 - Pakistan/Iran/Turkey |
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Malik
- Pakistan
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