Having spent two days in Hasankeyf, I decided that I’d exhausted most of the options for entertainment in the town. Quite how the South Korean tourist I’d met (who uniquely, spoke fluent Turkish but not a word of English) was spending eight days there, I don’t know. Let’s be honest, it is a one horse town and if there was more than the ruins to it, I think there’d probably be more than one hotel. Then again, I don’t think many entrepreneurs would view imminent flooding as sound investment criteria.
The bus journey to Tatvan reminded me of something I’d noticed on the way in to Hasankeyf – that the surrounding area is dotted with nodding donkeys. I hadn’t realised that this was oil producing country. The journey was also the first point in my trip that I became aware that I was entering a more militarised zone.
The route was absolutely riddled with Army bases, sandbagged bunkers and checkpoints. Half an hour into the journey, we were stopped by one such checkpoint, consisting of a Land Rover, amphibious Armoured Personnel Carrier and about 8 soldiers brandishing assault rifles. At this point all the occupants of the bus had to produce identification, while the contents of the hold were checked over. Four men were subsequently taken off the bus for questioning, but before long they were back on board and we were on our way again – ‘Problem?’, ‘Problem Yok!’.
In hindsight it seems obvious that the partially built highway we were travelling along was less to do with improved transport links for locals, and more to do with expediting the movement of military hardware to the ‘front’.
Arriving in Tatvan, I had the option of either staying on the bus for the comparatively short journey around the shore of Lake Van to Van, or on taking a ferry across the river. Not knowing either what time the ferry left or where from, I nevertheless got off and walked down to the shore. Upon seeing across the bay that train carriages were being loaded on to one of the docked ferries, logic dictated that one of the boats had yet to depart. It wasn’t much of a passenger terminal, primarily serving as a transport point for the train across Van linking Turkey to Iran. The only sign indicating that foot passengers could be taken was on a platform that left a good one metre gap between the dock and the boat, reading ‘Passenger Attempt’. I asked one of the workers what time the boat left, to which he responded by shrugging and pointing at the other carriages lined up. Eventually beckoned on board, I took a space on the deck upstairs and lay out reading before the boat set sail some hour later.
Since I’d expected the terminal to have some form of shop, I had yet again failed to buy any food for the journey. While there was a shop, it was under some form of renovation. With no prospect of food for the next four hours my generally optimistic disposition was beginning to wane. As the sun slowly set over the lake, I went to look for the deckhand who had introduced himself when I’d first arrived at the dock. Thankfully, I went straight to the top (the bridge in this case) and found the captain, who promptly ordered that another space be set at his table. Not quite believing my luck, I joined four of the crew in the officer’s mess for ayran corba, tawa, rice, pide and salad – followed by melon and numerous cups of Cay. The captain and I then spent the next hour watching the Turkish version of Deal or No Deal, during which time he informed me that payment for the journey was not necessary.
Disposition restored and back on dry land, I made my way to the nearest junction some ten minutes away, via a causeway that seemed to be the local secluded hangout for young people. Spying a cay shop and little else, I decided to go and ask for the general direction into town. Somewhat predictably I was promptly coerced into taking a stool and making time for a cup of cay. Surrounded by locals, a number of which sported the long beard favoured by the more devout Muslims, it would be lie to say I wasn’t by that point wishing I’d just picked a road and followed it. Remembering my poor judgement the previous day, I thought better of it. When a local began pointing at the bearded individuals and shouting ‘Taleban, Taleban!’ I didn’t know whether to be concerned or relieved (during a previous visit in 2004, we’d mentioned we were off the local Yimpas, a supermarket run by Muslim fundamentalists – to which the locals would respond ‘Bin Laden, Bin Laden!’).
By now I was making a more concerted effort to find out which of the roads to take. Two of the youths then got up and pointed at a car, gesturing that they’d take me into town where I could find an Otel. With little other choice (I hadn’t seen a taksi since I’d arrived), I found myself sat in the passenger seat of the car, speeding along the darkened roads of Van, with one of the youths in the back and the other driving whilst negotiating two mobile phones.
It’s at this point that I should probably mention one sure fire way of ingratiating yourself with locals in Turkey (as I’d imagine in many parts of the world): football. I may not be the biggest football fan, but having a general knowledge of Manchester United and their players goes a long way in Turkey. In fact I’ve spent countless evenings where the conversation has veered off little from this international language, feigning interest in ‘Sir Alex Ferguson! Wayne Rooooney! Ronaldo!’.
As the lights along the road got brighter and the cars more commonplace, I began to feel confident that I was at least heading in the right direction, even if it hadn’t been possible to negotiate a fee beforehand. Dropping me off near the local mosque as I’d requested (no, I wasn’t going to praise Allah, it was just a central landmark), I was yet again surprised by the generosity of the people in this region. Unlike in Syria, where a vast proportion of seemingly good deeds are followed by requests for baksheesh, the two youths wouldn’t accept any form of payment.
Having haggled the price down at a local hotel for what was comparatively luxurious accommodation (en-suite, TV…stain-free sheets), I made the most of the first Efes Pilsen available since Ankara.
