A kind of welcome

Coming to Armenia, the plan was to go to Alaverdi. However, two things happened:

- the bus that was promised wasn't running, and the marshrutka driver that was going to Alaverdi wanted to charge us the same fare as for Yerevan.

- the bus that was running at 9:30 wasn't going through Alaverdi, but the snowy wastes of Western Armenia.

So we took the 9:30 bus, together with an elderly Japanese-American couple who were doing some kind of research regarding development. Soon it became apparent why it was going to take 7 hours to cover 300 km. The slightest hill, and the engine began to roar and the bus began to slow down to 30kmph. The further we went from Tbilisi, the worse the roads got.

Finally, the border crossing appeared and I had the pleasure of using the worst toilet since the Mongolian/Russian border: no door, a hole in the floor, excrement deposited in and around the hole.

At customs, I had the pleasure of being personally interrogated by the Georgian police. Luckily, it was standard procedure. After, had to run ahead of the bus to the Armenian police post to score a visa.

As soon as we entered, it became apparent that time didn't exist within this small, empty booth.

The officer opened up our passports and began to slowly flick through them. Then came the questions: 'why are you coming to Armenia? where will you go? what will you do?' His conclusion was this: 'I'll give you a visa, but she... she is a problem... Syria, Sudan, Pakistan - theses are all terrorist countries. Why is she here? How do I know she doesn't want to make trouble? Why didn't she go to an embassy? If I give her a visa, and she's a problem I loose my job. Show me one European visa in her passport. You say she's a tourist... why didn't she go to France, Italy - those are beautiful places.' And so began the half hour argument, during which I managed to convice the moron that 145cm Junko was not a terrorist, but a tourist and wrangle a 2 week visa out of him.

I was expecting the other people on the bus to be furious at the delay. To the contrary; the first question was: 'Did they get any money out of you? How much did it cost?' When I tried to apologise, they told me: 'It's normal. Bloody mafia... that's what they are.' Then they all tried to feed us food - the Armenian couple coming back from a holiday Abkhazia, the old guitarist with a Polish friend, the boxer who'd been KO'd twice.

In Yerevan, a marshrutka ride and we managed to find accommodation at the house of the Anahit - a nutty old woman who likes things in their place: 'When you close the door do it like this, when you wash the dishes rinse the sponge and put it here, when you cook, put the lid here like this, when you wash the teflon pan use this sponge and put it on a newspaper so that it doesn't get scratched by other utensils...' I'm more convinced than ever that it's better to not really know what's going on.

Georgia: A very brief summary

Given the lack of time, I've been forced to adopt this format. Sorry.

The general situation:

Since the revolution, the government sacked most of the corrupt police officers and put others in their place. Hence there are now few problems with bribes. Supposedly the power-station on the Abkhazian border is being rendovated. Consequence: some parts of the country have had no power for a month, 25% of Tbilisi has no power, water or gas as I write this. Sometimes you can see people burning tyres on the street to keep warm. Unemployment in the provinces is the norm, and not the exception. Aged pensions are about $15US per month.

Things I did:

Spent the first two nights across a river from Vardzia, a medieval cave city in the middle of nowhere. The lower Caucasus range was stunning, and I could hike in the mountains around the city and hang out with the caretakers of the place.

Then I went to Tbilisi, the capital, and stayed with my father's friend, Maria - a university professor. The city definitely hasn't yet recovered from 15 years of Shervanadze, civil war, revolution and the 2002 earthquake. Most of the lovely old houses are crumbling, but it's quite pleasand to just stroll through the narrow decrepid streets, occassionally munching on the very addictive Katchapuri (Georgian cheese pie). The museum has some awesome gold finds from Colchis (home of the Golden Fleece), and the incredibly under-funded Art Gallery also houses a couple of gems. Another thing I grew fond of, was visiting historic churches around 4 pm, when mass begins. Most of the more significant churches also house a choir, and this allows you to appreciate the bizarre Georgian polyphonic choral tradition in a very pleasing setting.

Sighnaghi - sown on top of a small mountain range overlooking the Great Caucasus and Azerbaijan. Saw my first Stalin portrait on someone's balcony. Otherwise the day was a mess thanks to bad transportation.

Gori - Stalin's home town. The house where Stalin grew up is well-preserved, as is his personal, bullet-proof train carriage. The museum was freaky. No light (another black out), we were lead by candle light to view Stalin's death mask in otherwise complete darkness. Aside from quotes and photos making Stalin seem like a nice guy, the museum featured personal accessories and birthday presents.

Mtskheta - The sprititual "heart" of Georgia, this is where St. Nino converted the country to Christianity in the 4th century. The Jvari church, perched up on a mountain was stunning (although it required a 6 km climb). The cathedral in Mtskheta was definitely the most awe inspiring building in Georgia for me, with a very stern Jesus gazing down from above the altar.

People I met:

The first thing I noticed in Georia was that people were a lot more reserved towards stangers than in Turkey. The "where are you from" question (spoken in Russian), was often not forthcoming, and when it was, it wasn't the first question in a conversation.

Generally speaking, the biggest arseholes in society seemed to be the marshrutka (private minibus) drivers. One day I even saw one kicking the crap out of a customer in the middle of central Tbilisi. The politicians on TV seemed to have similar personalities.

Maria was very kind, if wonderfully detached from reality, as was her son Levan, who is studying film direction. A lot of people made their way through their house and it was cool to chat with them. Tamula, a 20yo student, spoke excellent English, and could tell me about Svaneti, having travelled there. David, a writer, took me round the Tbilisi museum. I also got drunk with some of Levan's musician friends. I met one foreigner - Junko from Japan, on the marshrutka to Gori. On the same marshrutka we met, Jakub, a law student who kindly took us around the town.

Finally, I have to say that I'd love to come back here one day, preferably in summer when going to the Greater Caucasus is possible. Despite the poverty and resultant the difficulties in travel, the atmosphere here is great, and there is a lot to do and see.

Getting to Vardzia

Got to Georgia via a scam: Turkish bus driver telling me that there was a bus to Akhaltsikhe, telling me to get in his bus (I thought he'd give me a lift to the stop), then charging me $15 for the ride to only the border. The customs officers were rather surprised to see me (it wouldn't surprise me if I was one of the first crossing that day). They were very nice on both sides. One of the Georgians even spoke English.

Two things struck me immediately: beauty and decrepitude. The mountains of the lower Caucasus are stunning. Unemployment is probably around 80% with people living off what they grow. Caught another taxi on to Akhaltsikhe. Why? The driver wasn't an arsehole. He also gave me a good price.

In Akhaltsikhe, the driver entrusted me to the care of his friend, who shouted me some pieroszki, and shoved me on to the marshrutka to Vardzia.

A Georgian Dictionary

Road (n) Relatively flat continous dirt surface, frequently interrupted by pot holes, and infrequently interrupted by patches of asphalt.

Road Sign (n) Piece of relatively flat, rusted metal, encripted with Russian and Georgian symbols (many unintellegible), indicating age of at least 15 years.

Road Rule (n) Pattern of vehicular movement, across and along roads, primarily goverened by the need to get somewhere fast, and to avoid potholes.

Public Transport (n) Minivan with modified roof (to allow standing), with apparently unlimited capacity.

Building (n) Concrete, metal or wooden construction, with occasional supply of electricity or water, glass inside windows.

Hotel (n) As above, with one room with a door, occasional electricity, seasonal water supply (in winter the pipes freeze), bed, panes of glass in windows.

Bath (n) Building with large body of water fuelled by a single pipe spouting hot mineral water and sulphuric gas.

Kars / Ani

I expected a standard eastern Turkish city - crumbling low rise houses, tea houses full of old men, stacks of vegetable stalls. Yet this city has a very distinctly cosmopolitan atmosphere and energy : streets lined with Russian-era houses, Kurds, Georgians, Russians, Turks all walking through them. For a city of this size there's an unusual variety and amount of shops. You can find almost anything - even a disco. Yet there are also clear signs of a former age. Walking past the butcher's in the morning, I almost trip over the carcasses of two sheep, simply lying in a puddle of blood on the sidewalk. I am also shocked by the prices... soup is $3, internet $2. Maybe people are trying to rip me off. But then I go to a bakery, eat some baklava, drink tea and the guy refuses to let me pay for it.

Getting back to the hotel in the afternoon, I stumble across the man from tourist info. He's found another passanger to go to Ani - the ancient Armenian capital. He says the guy knows me. Well, he does - it's Ryouta-san, from the Iranian embassy in Ankara. Ani is beyond words. Sitting on mountain ledge between two streams, flanked by snow-capped mountains on both sides, the place is like no other. Tall grasses blow in the winds, the ruins of ancient churches stand as they've stood for a long time.

Cappadocia - Kars

Decided to take the night bus to Ankara. Ended up a minibus then a bus which wouldn't depart for no apparent reason. When it came to departure, a hobo came to storm the bus and ended up wrestling with the weedy conductor, until the beefy bus driver got up, pushed the conductor aside and disposed of the hobo with a solid chest level kick. Lovely vibe.

I decided that I still hated Ankara within 10 minutes of arrival. The bus station was unheated and the benches were metal. Two guys kept pacing around, one screaming, 'Çay! Çay!', the other 'Taxi! Taxi!' This continued for maybe 30 minutes, until a policeman came and told me and all the other hobos camped at the station to get up.

At 7 am I took the metro to the main train station. Bought a ticket for the 13:30 Erzurum Express and proceeded to look for a luggage room. No longer in operation. Tried to get tourist info to help, but no help there. The police also refused to take my bag. Went to the metro station, where the policeman told me to go back to the bus station. This would have cost me $5. So I ended up at the embassy of the Islamic Republic of Iran with a bag that could have technically contained enough C4 to send shrads of glass far enough to brake the windows in the embassy of great Satan 500 metres away.

I wasn't the only one. A Korean guy was there, and a Japanese from Okinawa, who also had his luggage. Another one of the 'someone find him a wife' species, he wore a sports bag as a back pack, a back pack as a sports bag, had a huge sleeping bag strapped on and obviously hadn't washed, shaved or possibly eaten in several days. It was a dero backpacker conference as together with the Korean guy we advised the Japanese guy where to go next (he had no idea). 1 hour, 75 Euro and I had the visa - a disappointingly unflashy stamp in the passport.

Ride to Kars was pretty boring. Woke up this morning to find the adjacent passangers gone, and a seat covered in faeces in their place. This part of Turkey is gorgeous though, with tall snow-capped mountains and many rushing streams.

Cappadocia

Took the night bus to Kayseri. Pretty uneventful, aside for having to plough through 30 cm of snow at 20km/ph in the mountains. The bus for Göreme was waiting upon arrival. Inside were two backpackers. Thought I'd met the girl in Budapest but with a different boyfriend, yet that was only deja vu.

We all ended up at the same hostel together, then ended up shopping and cooking together for the next two days. Vanesa and Reiner had both come up through Egypt and were heading to Germany. Great people. I really enjoyed their stories of South America and the Middle East. Oh, and I didn't think I'd be listening to a casette radio with Tom Waits whilst cooking Belarussian food in Turkey.

As the weather was good (cold but sunny), I took my cura and went to find a cliff overlooking Göreme to sit and play songs. The landscape is pretty surreal. Volcanic eruptions and erosion have left valleys of bizarre stone cones in their wake. Thought I'd stroll down a valley, but I came to a 3 metre cliff. Jumped down that cliff, then another, then came to a 5 metre cliff. No jumping. But shit, I was stuck in the valley. Had to climb back up the two cliffs, which I managed after falling off one and tearing my hand in the process.

The following day I took a tour, since the region is a pain for those using public transport. The underground city was pretty impressive, with seven levels of rooms. There are around 200 such cities in Cappadocia. Most were built by the Christians there to hide from various marauders. Ihlara Canyon was also beautiful, with some churches there containing well-preserved frescoes.

The third day was spent hiking around Göreme. Whilst the town itself is a strange mix of tourist dive and Turkish village, the surrounding landscape is unspoilt. Joined up with Jun, a Japanese maths student, and Lynne, a Canadian and went off to explore the various valleys and caves. Ironically, the 'find' of the day was something that a small group of senior Canadians (the only tourists we'd met) told us about:

You go through a small door into what seems like an ordinary cave house and find another door and a stairwell. Above is a (pre-)Byzantine cathedral with a 20 metre ceiling. All in the middle of nowhere.

Thanks to Jun and Lynne, I had some people to share cooking dinner with. Jun was hilarious - 'Why do you cook so well?' - one of those people who will die unless he finds a wife to attend to his bodily needs. There were some other cool Japanese people there, including a guy who'd come from India, and a weird medicine student who spent 30 minutes brushing his teeth.

Harran

Where I expected sand and rock, I see fertile fields and dozens of concrete irrigation channels. Aziz is driving like a maniac, Bob Marley blaring from the stereo. Since myself, Laura and a Swiss couple going by bicycle to Iran all wanted to go to Harran, Aziz offered to drive us.

10 km from the Syrian border, the town is famous for strange hive-houses made of mud, the ruins of a Arab Islamic University and an incredible 3 storey castle, from the top of which you can see Syria. The Arabs living in harran are funny. A 19 y.o. boy comes up to Laura, asks her age, her country, then proposes marriage, offering a $15,000 dowery. Too low. His sister's asking price is $17,000.

Urfa

Took the first bus out of Diyarbakir. Nothing but rocky plains and the occasional herd of goats for 200 km. And rain. Very heavy rain, where there shouldn't be any. After some deliberation and attempts to communicate with the Arab bus staff, I bought a night bus ticket to Kayseri for the following night.

On the way into town, a Kurdish man in traditional head dress approached me. Asked me what I was doing in Urfa and was extremely happy when I told him that I was a terrorist. Shook my hand and said 'Me too! Very good Kurdish terrorist!'. He was actually the owner of a small Pansion. It cost a little more than I budgeted, but since I liked Aziz and his wife (she had facial tatts), I decided to stay with them.

By lunch time, the weather had cleared up and so I decided to have a stroll around town. Awesome place. There's an incredibly ancient castle looming over the old city from which Abraham was said to have been thrown. At the foot of the hill is the cave where Abraham is said to have been born and a huge complex of mosques, parks and a carp pond. The atmosphere is wonderful, as pilgrims wander leisurely through the compound, stopping occasionally to feed the doves or the carp.

At the bazar, I was approached by a young guy with the usual 'how are you?' chat. Hearing that I was from Poland, he came out with this:

'Moja zona to Polka. Ale kurwa ona byla!'

'Wife was Polish. Complete whore!'

Spent the next few hours wandering up the castle and around town, listening to Serdal's tales of marital woe and life in Poland. Things were going well until the economic situation of his inability to find employment caused the relationship to fray. While he liked Poland, he couldn't cope with one thing culturally - married couples where partners cheated on each other. This apparently rarely happens in Turkey.

At one of the mosques (converted Byzantine church), we stumbled into Laura - an American English professor travelling alone. She had wanted to find Aziz, but was unable to do so, and thus was happy to find out that I was living at his place.

Diyarbakir

I wake up late. The hotel room's windowless, tucked away at the end of a corridor, next to the main heating system. It feels like every drop of moisture has evaporated from my body during the past 10 hours that I've slept. Needless to say, I'm in a rather random frame of mind.

Outside, the sky is blue. The main street in town almost has a European flavour, with all the glossy bank fronts and hotels. I walk towards the old castle (now an army base), and the atmosphere starts to change: old men sitting in front to tea houses, dressed in the same clothes that their ancestors had worn for generations, a soldier standing in the guard tower of the 'palace gate', as others had stood for generations. The battlements are massive - circumbulating for 6 km around the city, they form the 2nd longest wall in the world.

Past that gate, it feels like a timewarp. Several old people sit on the sunny steps of the 12thC mosque, doing nothing. I walk past an old woman with a tatooed face. If it wasn't for the discarded plastic bags blowing through the streets and ramshackle powerlines, I could be mistaken for thinking that I'd stepped back 500 years. There are no cars in the narrow streets, no signs advertising anything - only rows of improptu shacks painted in bright blues, yellows, pinks, aquamarines, and hordes of dirty children playing everywhere with their mothers looking on. It feels wrong to photograph this world - an offensive voyeurism, taking something from those who have little without giving anything back. A few of the kids shout, 'Yes! Yes! Photo!' as I walk past. I decide not to take any photos.

I sit on the battlements outside, looking out over the Tygrys. A man walks up to me and asks if I'm a tourist. I tell him that I'm a terrorist. Turns out that he's an undercover cop. Oops. He tells me that I should move on, since the area is dangerous. So I go and get become further lost in the maze of narrow streets. The absence of the supermarket is welcome, as scores of small shops sell all that you'd need in this closed world - from food to cheap plastic balls for kids to play with. Occassionally, men push carts full of vegetables through the streets, shouting out the price. I come to a 15thC mosque with a huge courtyard. 3 young boys surround me. Incredibly cute, they are too young to realise that I don't speak their language, too young to shout 'Hallo! Money! Money!' However, the smallest of them is already waving a pellet gun around.

Back in the town centre, I end up meeting Mohammed, an economics student. We go and have tea at his uncle's carpet shop, in a shady courtyard. I end up asking to see some kilims and sumak. Hasan has many beautiful things - earthy camel wool kilims from Hakkari (Iraq border), pink Armenian kilims, flashy Diyarbakir kilims. He isn't pushy, but has the same problem as all other carpet dealers I've met - can talk but doesn't know how to listen. I end up sorting through piles of kilims myself. Yet my problem with kilims is the same as my problem with women: I keep looking for something that would sweep me off my feet, and if I find it, it is inevitably beyond reach. In the case of Hasan's carpet shop, I pull out a gorgeous green and orange kilim. Turns out that it's approximately 100 years old and costs 1000 Euro.

Afterwards, I worry about my ticket to Urfa. The police station has a tourism info office, but the policeman on duty doesn't speak English. A guy from the municipality police comes, but also can't speak English. He indicates that I ought to follow him. We walk down the main road at a brisk pace and end up at... a cake shop. He shouts me a plate of local baklava (in Diyarbakir, it is made of thin rice noodles and filled with sunflower seeds as well as nuts). Soon, the English-speaking manager of the local electronics store comes and I explain what I want. The policeman ends up taking me to the right ticket office and everything is sorted for tomorrow.

Midyat - Mardin

Murat knows everyone. We wander through the bazar, he says 'merhaba' to a guy at the stall, takes an apple, keeps walking... The atmosphere in Midyat is... well, medieval. Ancient mud-brick houses line the narrow winding streets and hordes of dirty children play in the dirt. Kurdish women watch over them, gossiping by their house fronts. Men play soccer at intersections, unafraid of the hard stone surface of their 'ovals'. It's late afternoon and all the town's goats are coming home - sometimes literally, as I see one open a door handle and pop inside a house. From the top of the town's most expensive hotel, the view is incredible. There's an army base in the distance with a nationalistic slogan painted on the hill. On another hill, a Syrian orthodox monastery which we visit with the help of a kid living there.

At the hotel, new guests arrive. Mustafa is an Arab businessman selling cloth all around the country. He is very proud of his 2 mobile phones and their video functions. He shows me a video. It features 10 seconds of an American soldier having his head cut off with a knife. He seems keen on asking me what I think of it and George Bush. The hotel is full and I end up having to share my room with the guy.

I still have a head in the morning and take the first dolmush to Mardin. The city sits in a cloud at 1300m, it's rainy, the hotels are overpriced. Time to head to Diyarbakir.

Morgabriel

There are rocks everywhere - rough rocks full of holes and rounded crevices, covered with dried moss and mildew or broken by dry thorn bushes. They are sitting in creamy brown soil, the kind that wraps itself around your boots and won't let go. In between the rocks are small trees, leafy enough for a goat to chew on, but not to give anything you could really call shade. That's all there is for miles - hills of it, until they turn to the snowcapped mountains in the north.

Morgabriel Monastyr stands in the midst of all this, just as it has stood for the past 1600 years. A 6 metre wall surrounds the compound. Inside, a tree-lined alley leads to the heart of the monastery. Small birds flutter through the pines, chirping brightly. A crisp north wind carries the faint fragrance of the trees.

At the entrance I am met by Zakariah and his little brother Gabriel. He takes me into the compound, hardly saying a word. In the 5thC church, the alter is a cluttered enclave: books, eucharist, a cross. Before the altar stands a dias with the biggest bible I'd ever seen. The cover is sculpted entirely from silver. I am next taken to the old basilica, a chorus of jackhammers and drills accompanying my entrance. A single crate at the top of the round dome is the only source of natural light. The catacombs are all unmarked. Before the entrance, one of the bishop's graves. St. Simon's tomb sicks out of the thin plaster floor that sounds strangely hollow. The new curch is covered with murals, probably painted some time in the 1960s.

On the way out, we pass one of the priests - great silver beard, black robes. He nods lightly.

In the desert I meet three things. First, a herd of hairy goats, eating their way through everything. Second, a Turkish man with a backpack trekking to the monastery. Lastly, a Kurdish woman leading a donkey - red head scarf, a purple and green double layered dress.

I sit by the side of the road, counting the oil cisterns speeding in from Iraq. Finally, a bus comes.

Hasankeyf - Midyat

I lean my bags against a pillar and pace, waiting for the bus that is meant to come before 6pm. Not a single vehicle passes in the 15 minutes I spend waiting there. A policeman walks out of the nearby tea house: 'My name is Yusuf, fine thanks and you. Where you go?' Hearing my reply he says, 'problem', and invites me in for a cup of tea (no. 6 that day).

After an improptu lesson on 'would you like to', Yusuf takes me to speak to Sohran from the tourism police. Sohran drives me to the police station. 'You think I look like a policeman?' I tell him that he looks like an artist. He laughs.

At the station, cup of tea no. 7 comes. Yusuf whips out his English textbook and the conversation assumes this form:

Sohran: 'Are you married? Why not?'

Yusuf (from textbook): 'Who is your an-jul?' (uncle : 'c' is pronounced as 'j' in Turkish)

General laughter.

When we get to the 'religion' question, Yusuf starts babbling in Arabic, indicating that I should repeat. His attempt to convert me to Islam fails, as I realise that to become a muslim all one has to do is make a profession of faith... Surely they'd get more converts if they subtituted tea with straight vodka.

Once cup of tea no.8 is drunk, we go and sit in the police van, waiting for a vehicle to flag downç An hour later there's still nothing.

'Maybe I'll have to sleep on the floor'

Sohran: 'I do have a jail you know.'

'Aha. So I just have to beat you up.'

Finally a bus comes, full of Kurdish guys going somewhere near the Iraqi border. In Midyat, the driver refuses to take my money. I insist. So does he. He wins.

At Metro Hotel, the manager is a stark contrast to his surroundings. Dressed in a nice black suit and striped black shirt, he leads me to my room and turns on the electric blanket. The ceiling is covered in mould, the carpet is stained. There's still ash in the ash tray. In the midst of tea no. 10 the power goes. Time to sleep.

Tatvan - Hasankeyf

Got up in Tatvan to a glorious day, Van Golü the most intense blue I'd ever seen water take. This was about to change. I took the bus to Ahlat and stumbled around the 12thC Seljuk cemetary, constantly harrassed by Kurdish kids screaming 'Halo! Money!' Museum was closed. So I went back to Tatvan and walked pointlessly around town, having random conversations.

Getting back to the hotel I found a very pleasant surprise - a package from Sevda's mother containing freshly-baked bread. So I went to the backlava shop, got some backlava and went for a visit. Lovely, lovely people.

This morning's bus ride to Hasankeyf was rather intense. The road winds through the steep canyons, a swift stream flowing by. Army checkpoints everywhere with M60 machine guns at every control booth. The look I got from the soldier looking at my passport was, 'what the hell are you doing here.' The driver usually had the steering wheel in one hand and a cigarette in the other, overtaking whenever and whatever (donkeys, trucks with a 10m load, busses). The result: projectile vomiting from the 3 of the passangers.

Right now I'm in Hasankeyf. LP barely has a paragraph on the place. It deserves a chapter. On the hill overlooking the Tygrys is a huge, abandoned 13thC city - mosques, houses and a castle. Unfortunately, there is nowhere to stay in town and so I have to leave. A Kurdish guy offered for me to stay with him in Batman. I'm kicking myself for refusing - it's 5 pm (dark), raining, and maybe there are no more busses.

Tatvan - Day 2

Got up to see that the rain had stalked me from Ankara. The plan was to go to Ahlat (40km north) and see the Seljuk graveyard there. But as I'd have to wait half an hour for a dolmuş and the rain showed no signs of abating, I decided to do some grocery shopping and internetting instead. This took longer that expected, as I ended up having tea with some old dudes at the baklava shop.

Next stop: tourist info... But on the way there I stumbled into Sevda, and she invited me over to her house. Very welcoming, homely place, with a horde of siblings and cousins constantly popping through. Interesting family, as 4 of Sevda's siblings are at university or have degrees. Her sister would have gone to university, but decided against it based on her strong muslim beliefs and their clash with the Turkish government's ban on hejab at universities.

Being served lunch was a very pleasant surprise. Given the amount of the food, I dread to think what would have happened if my visit had been expected. Got to drink real milk again (pasturisation is a terrible crime against the sanctity of dairy).

Went to tourist information afterwards and suprised the distinguished man in charge, who told me that I was the first foreigner to come to Tatvan in 2005. Bad news though - chances of getting to the Armenian island churches were minimal, and Nemrut was out of the question, with a 2 metre snowcap. Some Kurdish girls turned up and I ended up asking them to teach me some Kurdish, possibly offending the man at tourist info in the process.

In the evening I went to a dodgy music shop, and spent about an hour listening to music with the guys there, telling them what I wanted burnt onto CD. Back at the hotel, ended up drinking more tea and talking more politics with the Kurdish owner. Sevda's cousin Irfan came to visit me at the hotel and we ended up back at Sevda's place (drinking more tea). Her brother was in, and I found out many interesting things from him.

I hadn't realised that before 1999, the Kurdish language was banned in Turkey and one could go to prison for buying/selling Kurdish music or literature. The paranoia was so intense that they changed green traffic lights in Batman to blue, because the colours of the Kurdish flag are Green, Yellow and Red. To this day, kids are punished at school for using Kurdish, and watching Kurdish satellite t.v. channels (precisely what we were doing at the time) is illegal.

Tatvan

The busride to Tatvan took 15 hours. Even after 3 days of no shower, I still smelled better than most of the guys on that bus. Turkish Kurdistan is wild. It's just a mountainous mass of rocky wastes, currently covered by snow. The government is trying to develop the area by building roads and 'modern' housing, but the poverty is staggering. If I had to use one word for it, it would be feudal, with Turkish army outposts standing like castles on top of the occasional mountain. Yes, the atmosphere is very tense, with armoured cars and heavily armed patrols everywhere. While the Kurds here are settled, you can still see traditional dress, even among the men, who wear colourful shawls around their heads.

Upon arriving in Tatvan I missed the minibus to town and decided to walk. Walking past the school a bunch of students came out to say 'hello,' inviting me to the school. I first declined, but soon it became apparent that I couldn't. So, 15 minutes later I was 'teaching' the English class. 15 minutes later, the girls in the class were telling me that I was better looking than Brad Pitt and asking me to come and stay at their houses and whether I'd considered converting to Islam (hint, hint). I diplomatically had to refuse. Afterwards, some of the students walked me to a cheap hotel.

That night, Düş Sokağı Sakinleri, were playing in town - excellent Turkish folk-rock... a mix of Nick Drake, 'One More Cup of Coffee' Bob Dylan and Sigur Ros. Ended up hanging out with one of the students, Sevda (love), and her cousin Irfan (knowledge) a local journalist. Top people.

Ankara

It's a hole. Rows of similar medium high rise houses - half of them crumbling. The metro is lovely, but too small and overpriced ($1.25 per ride). The roads are wide but congested, mostly by empty taxis cruising around looking for customers (and yes, every second car is a taxi).

I got in at 9 pm to find be completely desorientated at the massive 3 storey bus station. Quickest way to get to where I wanted in town: flagging down a dolmuş in pouring rain on the other side of the highway in the middle of nowhere. Slowest dolmuş ride ever, as the guy kept slowing down and beeping at passersby (potential customers).

First dodgy hotel was full. The second was half-full with dirty (literally) old men. Reason was simple, as a room with a shower costs $5 extra. Hot water only at night (provided by a gas cylinder chained to a pole in the toilet. Not surprising that the LP doesn't recommend the place for single women.

By morning, the rain had turned to snow. 2 degree snow - the kind where the moisture and cold seep in gradually and don't want to leave. The one tourist thing I did was a visit to the Atatürk mausoleum. What can I say? They really love the guy; the personality cult beats that of any I've seen to date. Every place I've stayed at has had a portrait of the man hanging inside. The mausolem itself is monumental (in the Soviet sense of the word).

Spent most of the day sorting bureaucracy. Naturally, it turned out that every single embassy had moved since the last edition of the LP. The woman at tourist info was lovely though and gave me a map, directions and phone numbers.

The Iranian Embassy was not evil enough. No leaflets about the 'Truth of Christianity'... just travel literature and free tea/coffee and a clean toilet. Had to show my passport 3 times, but in the end submitted the application. 2 week wait as it gets sent to Tehran.

The others:

Turkmenistan - the woman didn't know anything about issuing visas to a Polish national and had to call Ashabad. I need a letter from my embassy detailing what I am doing, and then the whole thing will need to be sent to Ashabad.

China - I need a letter from my embassy verifying my identity. Then we can talk (for $30).

Uzbekistan - I need to rock up with my invitation, $80 and it will be done in 15 minutes. So, inshallah, that's what I'm doing tomorrow, then hopping on the overnight bus to Tatvan and backtracking during the next two weeks through Kurdistan.