kars

As the time we had carved out for The Great Anatolian Road Trip was running short, we realised that Kars would have to be a stop to get some sleep and get going. The images of a bleak and melancholic town were written in my head by Orhan Pamuk from his novel Snow, and I expected to find a poetic greyness about Kars. Instead, the town was quite pleasant and seemed like any other town, were it not for the occasional linear touches of Russian architecture. I think I imagined it on a hill or something, and a bit more run down. After spending the night in a quirky hotel and marveling at its mournful receptionist in his old-fashioned navy blue blazer, ruby ring, and tragic black brows— a character made for a Wes Anderson film— we bought some honey, and headed for the ruins of Ani.