çatalhöyük

Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I had gone down the art history and archaeology path; digging up ancient figurines in Middle Eastern dust, sketching and writing about my findings while wearing a wide-brimmed hat. I have always had a keen interest in history— from our Paleolithic ancestors to the New England whaling industry of the 1800s. Turkey is built upon so many layers of history, that I feel lucky to be living in a place where I can explore Neolithic settlements, Greek temples, Roman temples, Byzantine basilicas, Seljuk tombs, and so on. The depth of time can overwhelm, and I find myself getting lost in circles of thought, wondering about peoples who lived and loved and fought and died.

Knowing that the Çatalhöyük archaeological site was so close to Konya, we made a special detour on our way to Akseki to see what there was to see. I had heard that the site was not much to look at, but I couldn't resist and had to find out for myself. The sun was mean, and as we pulled into the graveled parking lot, I felt the back of my skirt stick to my legs with sweat when I shifted in my seat.



We were met by a friendly face who introduced himself as Tunç. Tunç was volunteering at the site as a guide, offering his knowledge of the excavations and the region's history to curious visitors. He led us up the dry hill to the first dig site, which was buzzing with activity. Archaeologists and their students from Turkey, the US, Spain, Italy, and Poland were busy scraping, brushing, and measuring in the yellowed dirt. Ancient walls formed the remnants of homes made of mud brick, which were then plastered smooth— in some places it was possible to see the intricate designs that had been painted on the plaster in red ochre.



Çatalhöyük is the oldest human settlement of this size found so far— at its height, there were an estimated 8000 people living here. There appears to have been no system of government, and no organised religion, according to Tunç. People buried their loved ones beneath the ground of their homes, in small graves like the ones pictured above— you can see a skeleton in a fetal position being excavated in the upper grave. When there was no more room beneath the floor, or when a house needed to be renewed, it was demolished, and a replica was built directly on top of the site of the old house. This created a layered effect, and made the mound that is visible today.

Though the heat had begun to soak through my shirt as well, there was some shade available from the shelter built above the excavations, and we couldn't resist taking the opportunity to sit on a ledge and sketch the scene below. The archaeologists were very welcoming, and I met two fellow Californians amongst the teams whose enthusiasm reminded me of my old home, which felt like it had existed in a dream. Soon, they trickled out of their work spaces for a lunch break, and though we encouraged Tunç to join them, he decided to sit patiently with us. After a delightful conversation about the cinematic disaster that is known as the "Turkish Star Wars", we were joined by another curious visitor:



On a tangent, some of the voluptuous female figurines I showed you in the Ankara museum came from Çatalhöyük, and though I had referred to them earlier as goddesses, Tunç was adamant that the teams believe the ladies were talismans for protection and fertility, and not necessarily goddesses. He then told us about a group of contemporary Mother Goddess worshippers who visited the site some years ago to carry out a series of rituals. Though they were granted permission to do so, no one expected the nudity and dirt-eating that followed— and the reaction from the nearby villagers was nothing short of outrage!



When you scan the land near Çatalhöyük, several more mounds are visible which almost certainly contain a significant piece of our collective history. In fact, Pedro and I have begun to notice that throughout the Anatolian portion of Upper Mesopotamia, there are so many suspicious mounds that happen to be located near a water source and village, that we've made a game of spotting them. Can you imagine what else might be hiding under the earth?

göbeklitepe

Pedro and I left the hotel around seven. The light was pale and golden, and the sky seemed forgiving— though I suspected a drizzle was on its way. As we slowly drove through undulating fields of yellow and green grain, Crested Larks and shrikes went about their morning business, hunting for insects. Invisible partridges called out from somewhere in the wheat, and a little owl glared at us from a rock pile we passed.

We arrived at the entrance to Göbeklitepe at the agreed upon nine o' clock, but the rest of the group was nowhere to be found. After waiting for some time I called Ayşegül, who told me there had been complications, and that they would meet us at the site at around ten. Since we had an extra hour to ourselves, we decided to try and enter the site and get a head start on some sketching.

The actual temple site was a lot smaller than I had imagined, though no less amazing— I couldn't believe I was standing at the very spot I had read about, and the guy in the green shirt just on the other side was the Klaus Schmidt, the German archaeologist who first began excavations at Göbeklitepe in 1995. I wanted to bother him with all sorts of questions, but since he and his crew were working, I thought it best not to disturb him. I wondered if we were allowed to just walk right in, but no one stopped us. We each picked a T-shaped pillar and started to sketch.

As I mentioned in the previous post, Göbeklitepe is the site of a Neolithic sanctuary built by nomads in the region, around 10,000 BCE. The sanctuary is a series of circular arrangements of T-shaped pillars, which vary from 3 to 6 metres high. It is believed that the T-pillars are stylised representations of the human form, as some have reliefs of arms carved into them. What I found most intriguing were the beautifully rendered animals— foxes, boar, birds, and other animals were carefully carved into the faces of the pillars, some with great detail. Göbeklitepe is the oldest example of a religious site ever found, and its complexity is baffling.



While sketching, a man with an impressive beard and brow greeted me with a smile. His head was wrapped in a red checked scarf, and he donned a long black robe over his plaid shirt and shalwar pants. He wore a name tag that read "Mahmut Yildiz"— and it wasn't until I returned to Istanbul that I learned that Mahmut bey is the owner of the land upon which Göbeklitepe sits. He leased the land to Klaus, who is working with both the German Archaeological Institute and the Şanlıurfa Museum to unearth the sanctuary. Mahmut bey told me that the animal on the pillar I was drawing was a fox, then pointed out a small, faded rabbit shape, which I had neglected to notice and include in my sketch. I thanked him and pencilled it in, which pleased him.



At around half past ten the artists from karala(ma) arrived, along with Turkish archaeologist Mehmet Önal, and members of the university who were documenting the event. The artists took to drawing immediately, spreading out along the wooden walkway with tools and books in hand. I was impressed by the speed of their sketching— I was still on the one I had started an hour and a half ago!


Me, Pedro, and Orhan, one of the founders of karala(ma) 

I felt so lucky— lucky to be sketching this monumental piece of human history, lucky to be drawing with a group of Turkish artists, lucky that it didn't rain. The stone pillars at Göbeklitepe were more impressive than I had imagined, so well preserved and readable. What did these animals mean? Why did nomadic people decide to haul and erect 40– 60 tonne stones here? I wish I could have stayed all day and sketched every single pillar, but eventually we had to move on. There was still a lot to see.

the necessity of quiet

Not too far away from Évora, near Guadalupe, stands the largest group of standing menhirs in the Iberian peninsula. The Cromlech dos Almendres is a double ring of 95 stones, some carved with mysterious patterns, the oldest of which date back to around 6000 BCE. It's smaller than Stonehenge, but such a lovely place— no one around but the birds, bugs, and cork trees. Being a fan of both Neolithic structures and lichen, I was happy to spend an hour watching the shadows from the stones lengthen, examining the different patterns and colours of the lichen. It made me miss calm green spaces, which are so hard to come by in Istanbul. With the horrendous traffic, the few parks available feel so far away, and it often seems as though you're swimming in a sea of concrete. If you cannot see the Bosphorous, you can begin to feel a little suffocated. I was thankful for this little cromlech, for the twisted corks and olive trees. We all need expansive sky and quiet every now and then.