fit for legends

The Ishak Paşa palace complex rests upon a desolate hill above Doğubeyazıt, and was once a part of the famed Silk Road. Its ornate blend of Seljuk, Persian, and Upper Mesopotamian architecture gives it a bit of a fairytale or mythical feel— and when the light is just right, it's easy to imagine silk and velvet robes swishing through the corridors lit by candles, scented with frankincense.



I could have spent all day here, letting my eyes trace the fine details of the stone carvings.



The walls of the palace kitchen are blackened with years of grease and smoke, and I wonder, what meals were prepared here? What were the smells that teased stomachs?

shadows of white

palace on the silk road

A peek at the storybook-gorgeous Ishak Paşa Sarayı.

the violets in the sky

yoghurt is good for the skin

Doğubeyazıt reminded me a bit of some parts of Kathmandu. Streets were full of potholes, buildings were incomplete or leaning a little to a side, and the Western tourists (the first we had seen in a long time) were geared up for treks in the Ararat area. This was the farthest east I had ever been in Turkey, and it seemed as though we had crossed a border into another land— in fact, I heard more Kurdish spoken than Turkish. With the Iranian border a mere 35 km away, the military presence here is strong; army barracks and lots lined with tanks and other armoured vehicles are prevalent. Despite this show of force, I took an instant liking to Doğubeyazıt.

We wandered up the busiest street that we believed would have the most potential for lunch, and soon found in one of those leaning buildings a most marvellous establishment for kebabs. Judging by the stares I received, this was a dude's joint, and perhaps a place not usually frequented by foreigners. The waiter seemed delighted by our presence, and quickly brought us two succulent kebabs and beautiful copper mugs of the frothiest ayran.



No matter how delicately I tried to sip my ayran, I ended up looking somewhat like this:



Naturally, the initial two swigs I took were closely watched with glee by the two guys at the next table, who did their best to giggle discreetly— and I deeply appreciate that Pedro did not photograph my foamy moustache and nose. Anyway, yoghurt is good for the skin, isn't it?

the first glimpse of ararat

the lava fields

Vast expanses of ancient lava fields stretch out on either side of the road between Van and Doğubeyazıt.

the van cat

Before we leave Van for vast lava fields and the Iranian border, there's something peculiar about Van that's worth mentioning. For all you cat lovers out there, the region has its own unique breed known simply as the "Van cat". I don't know much about cats nor do I really want to, so I admit that I have not researched this feline or its history. What I do know about the Van cat is that it is always a short-haired white cat, with one blue eye and one green eye.

Van cat:



Not a Van cat:



Perhaps the reason why this fellow was wandering the streets and not in a cage by the castle for tourists to tease and photograph. Ok, curiosity got the better of me. I just read that Van kittens can go for near $300 each, especially if they are pure white (apparently some can have a reddish mark on their heads and hind legs), and that the cat is claimed as a national symbol by Armenians, Kurds, and Turks.



It was even featured on a series of Turkish postal stamps in 1997.

carnets de voyages

A few months ago, I received an email asking if Pedro and I would be interested in showing our sketches of Istanbul and the Occupy Gezi protests in a carnets de voyages group exhibition at the Centre Culturel Bellegarde in Toulouse. It didn't seem real at first, but as time went by, it began to hit us that this was actually happening. The theme of the exhibition is "The Orient", and it is one of the reasons that drove us to take on a cross-country road trip through Anatolia this summer with our sketchbooks. The past few months have been intense, as I worked furiously on the four large-scale ink portraits that were also to be included in the show, and tried to balance this, my home life, and a full-time teaching job. In the end, it all came together in a beautiful way, and I am very honoured to be a part of an exhibition with such talented, skilled, and lovely people.

Our sketches will be on display along with the work of Maya Andersson, Frédéric Rudant, Christophe Pons, and the Atelier multimédia Bellegarde, from November 6th until December 30th. Their stunning drawings, paintings, and videos will take you on a journey from Istanbul to Aleppo and Damascus, from Alexandria and Cairo to villages in Morocco.



Pedro and I have just returned yesterday evening from an exciting four days in Toulouse. I will be posting photos of the event shortly, but first, let's get back to the eastern edges of Anatolia.

the contours of a scar

Atop a hill overlooking the lake, the ruins of Van Castle, an ancient Urartian fortress, crumbles into the grasses below. The castle dates back to the 9th–7th centuries BCE, and sections of its walls are inscribed with declarations from the Persian king Xerxes the Great. Having only heard of the Urartians when we visited the Museum of Anatolian Civilisations in Ankara, I read up on them out of curiosity, and discovered that some of the descendants of the Urartians are the Armenians.



Van had at one time, a very large Armenian population. The only traces left behind from the once thriving community are the scars of walls, buildings and roads etched into the earth— their contours clearly visible from the top of the castle rock.



Van was rebuilt about four kilometres away from the castle, where it still stands today. It's hard to imagine, when looking out into the violet-blue of the lake, that this peaceful place was a scene of such unimaginable horror— but then again, isn't that how it always is? The rain washes, grasses cover, and the wind whittles away, but some scars never fade.



Some wounds cannot heal.

entering van

We entered Van just after the sun went down, and drove by an armoured car and a couple of TOMA vehicles, sending chills down my spine. TOMAs are the tank-like trucks that terrorised Gezi protesters with chemically treated water last year— and have been involved in nearly every protest since. The Eastern part of Turkey is predominantly Kurdish, as is Van, and I couldn't help but wonder if the ridiculous amount of armoured vehicles that we kept on seeing had anything to do with that. There's a lot that isn't spoken about in Turkey; certain topics that are impossible to get a clear view on, probably due in part to the fact that you can be imprisoned or physically harmed for saying something that someone considers "anti-Turkish."

I realise that I am a foreigner and will always be a foreigner with an outsider's perspective, and I struggle with the idea that I am not able to express myself freely on some issues. There are people I have met who vehemently deny that Kurdish people in Turkey are treated any differently than Turks— and yet, those same people will openly express their distrust of "people from the East."



I am torn over what to say about certain observations I have made over the course of this adventure. I will say that Van felt depressed, and traces of the massive earthquake in 2011 were still evident.



On a far lighter note, Van has some of the most marvellous roundabout sculptures.