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.