OF WALLS AND WATERMELONS: THE CITY OF DIYARBAKýR
Today’s Zaman, Turkey
13.09.2007
The south-eastern city of Diyarbakýr is renowned throughout Turkey
for two things. First — the humble watermelon.
Thirstily sucking up the waters of the mighty Dicle (Tigris), which
flows past the city in long, lazy loops, and fertilized with the
droppings of countless pigeons, Diyarbakýr’s watermelons achieve a
prodigious size. Indeed in Ottoman times they were reputed to have
reached such girth that a sword was required to slice them. The
Reverend Percy Badger, en route to proselytize amongst the Nestorian
Christians of Hakkari in the mid-19th century, commented "fruit is
abundant, especially melons, which attain so large a size that two
sometimes form a mule-load." Secondly, its monumental medieval walls,
claimed in some quarters to be (along with China’s Great Wall) one
of only two man-made structures visible from space.
You may be skeptical about the veracity of the above, but Diyarbakýr
definitely has a vibrant "Middle Eastern" atmosphere — rivaled
(in Turkey) only by Urfa. Situated astride a branch of the ancient
silk route, at the highest navigable point of the Tigris, it has a
strategic and commercial importance stretching back millennia. The
Hurrians, Assyrians, Urartians, Persians and Alexander the Great’s
Macedonians were all here, though the origins of today’s city date
back to the Roman era. Legionary troops, campaigning on the eastern
frontier of their vast empire, built a fort as protection against their
arch rivals, the (Persian) Parthians. The classic layout of this fort,
with its outer walls punctured by gates to the north, south, east and
west and internal grid-plan streets, has been retained to this day —
making exploration of the warren of cobbled lanes "within the walls"
surprisingly easy.
The best place to begin your wanderings is the section of city
wall just to the west of the southern entrance to Diyarbakýr, the
Mardin Gate. From the parapet you can see the brown and sluggish
river Tigris below and to the south, wending its way along a green,
fertile valley. To the north an entirely different vista unfurls —
the dense mass of buildings — houses, markets, shops, mosques and
churches that make up old Diyarbakýr.
There’s no need to walk the entire five-and-a-half kilometer
circumference of the city walls (theoretically possible bar for three
short sections), but it is well worth heading west to the western
(Urfa) gate. En route you’ll pass the imposing Yedi Kardeþ Burcu
(Tower of the Seven Brothers) and the Melikþah Burcu, with their
flowing Arabic inscriptions, and carved reliefs of eagles and lions.
The black basalt walls were originally built in the early Byzantine
period, but have been rebuilt many times over the centuries. Most
of what remains today dates back to the city’s conquest by the Arabs
(Diyarbakýr actually means "Place of the tribe of Bakir") and, later,
the Artukid Turcomans and Seljuk Turks.
Diyarbakýr was once a very cosmopolitan city, with Muslim Turks and
Kurds living harmoniously within the security of its somber black
walls with Christian Armenians, Syrian Orthodox, Greeks and Nestorians.
>From the Urfa Gate, a short stroll east leads to the Meryemana Kilisesi
(Church of the Virgin Mary).
According to the priest, this Syrian Orthodox church is built on the
site of a sun-worshippers’ temple.
Dressed in somber black robes, he will show you around the recently
restored church, with its beautiful brick dome and gilt altars. The
church is one of the earliest in Turkey, dating back to the third
century, but underwent a major rebuild in the 18th century.
Visit on a Sunday morning and join in a service alongside the city’s
remaining Syrian Orthodox community. The ritual dates back to the
fifth century and the language of the liturgy, Syriac, is a successor
to Aramaic, the language spoken by Jesus.
A 10 minute walk east brings you to Gazi Caddesi (the kilometer long,
straight street bisecting the old town from north to south. Here a new
white on brown sign (clear evidence of Diyarbakýr’s renewed confidence
in its multi-cultural heritage) points to your next destination, the
Chaldean Church of St. Peter, down a narrow cobbled alley. A Catholic
offshoot of the ancient Nestorian (or, more properly, Assyrian Church
of the East), the Chaldean faith clings on in Diyarbakýr. The friendly
caretaker will proudly show you around the cavernous interior of the
church (dating back to the 17th century), with its white-washed walls,
exposed-beam ceiling and sturdy arches.
A little further along the same alley is the Armenian church of
St. Gregory. Currently locked up, the authorities are pondering what
to do with this now abandoned, roofless 19th century church. With its
unusual transverse nave and soaring black basalt arches (relieved by
some fine white limestone inlay work) it is worthy of restoration. The
friendly family whose house backs onto the church is happy to show
sightseers around.
Diyarbakýr’s Islamic heritage is even more impressive than its
Christian. En route back to the main street, pause to admire the
Dort Ayaklý Minare (Four legged Minaret), raised above street level
on four man-high columns (the "feet"). The 16th century mosque with
which it is associated (the Kasým Paþa Camii) is a classic "dome over
rectangle" Ottoman mosque. Local lore has it that if you walk seven
times around the minaret your wishes will be granted — but be warned.
You’ll have to endure the incredulous stares of the industrious,
grease-stained metalworkers shaping security grills in the workshops
opposite!
Back on Gazi Paþa Caddesi, turn right for the Ulu Camii, Diyarbakýr’s
largest mosque, which holds a special place in Turkish history. Built
in 1091-2, it is the earliest Seljuk mosque in Anatolia. Its design,
though, owes more to the Arabs, and is based on the great Umayyad
mosque in Damascus. Many of the columns and delicately carved capitals
and friezes used in the construction of the courtyard walls were taken
from earlier, late-Roman buildings. The massive interior, with row
after row of white-painted stone arches, is perfectly proportioned
and austerely beautiful.
Further up the same street, the Nebi Camii (Mosque of the Prophet)
was built in the 16th century, when Diyarbakýr was controlled by
the Turcoman Akkoyunlu dynasty. Its attractiveness derives from the
contrasting bands of white limestone and black basalt used in its
construction.
More than any individual site, Diyarbakýr’s real attraction lies in
its general atmosphere. The narrow cobbled alleys, doors open onto
the courtyards of inward looking, "Arab" type stone-built houses.
Peppers and eggplants, drying "village-style" on lengths of string
draped across south-facing walls.
Vendors on street corners with buckets of live fish recently hauled
out of the Tigris, the swathes of plaited ogru and slices of dil
(tongue) cheeses laid-out in the bustling cheese bazaar. The pigeons
are tumbling and swifts wheeling above the imposing silhouette of the
city walls against the pink sunset sky. The tranquility is to be found
in the venerable courtyards of the city’s mosques and churches. These
are the things which will entice you, time after time, to wander
through Diyarbakýr’s labyrinthine alleys.
Diyarbakýr has not earned its sobriquet "the black" for nothing. Its
frontier position has meant it has changed hands, often bloodily,
many times in its history. The black basalt from which the old
buildings and walls are constructed can be forbidding — especially on
a miserable winter’s day. In more recent times, the city has acquired
notoriety as the fulcrum of Turkey’s "southeastern problem." But all
this is changing — fast. The slum areas around the city walls have
been cleared and replaced with parkland, once dilapidated historical
buildings are being restored to their former glory and its political
problems being openly discussed. There is a buzz, a vibrancy, a
new-found optimism to Diyarbakýr which you can only appreciate by
coming and walking down its ancient streets.
You don’t have to "rough it" to visit Diyarbakýr.
There are five star hotels, a "boutique" hotel in a beautifully
converted han and several friendly and comfortable two and
three-star options around the Harput Gate. Even better, the city
has one of the country’s most unusual (and best) restaurants. Selim
Amca’s (Uncle Selim’s) is a Diyarbakýr institution, with a 50-year
pedigree. There’s little choice on the menu, but the local specialty
of kaburga (succulent lamb ribs stuffed with delicately spiced rice)
is so delicious you don’t need a menu. Equally mouth-watering are
the icli kofte (meatballs in bulgur wheat). Usually fried, here they
are boiled to tender perfection. The dessert, ýrmýk tatlýsý, often
a bland mound of semolina, is a buttery, melt in your mouth delight.
September and October are (along with mid-April to mid-June) the best
months to head out east to this bustling city on the Tigris. Nearby
Mardin, now a well-established tourist destination, is being gentrified
to the point of primness — so visit Diyarbakýr soon — before it
loses the rawness and vitality which make it the place it is right now.
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