Eastern Anatolian Tour - Day 2 (June 7)

For more photos, see: http://www.anatolianphotos.shutterfly.com/

Breakfast this morning at our five star hotel did not stand out in my mind, meaning that it was probably the typical Turkish hotel breakfast: bread, cheese, yucky looking processed meat slices, tomatoes, hard boiled eggs (not typical for Turks, but a concession to tourists),cereals (another concession to tourists), cukes, olives, various spreads for the bread (jam, butter, honey, etc.) tea, instant coffee, overly sweetened cherry juice and Tang-like orange juice. Given the terrific dinner the night before, it is possible that there were better choices, but I cannot remember, so probably not.

What I do remember about that breakfast though is that once again I heard English being spoken nearby—Jane and David! We were obviously wrong about staying in different hotels. We also met Caroline and her husband, as well as a Japanese couple, also residing in Australia and traveling with the group. How nice to make these connections while traveling.

While yesterday was a day of touring historical buildings, today was one of appreciating the vastness and beauty of the surrounding countryside high in the hills of the farthest Eastern Anatolia.

Cobandede Bridge

Some sites claim this bridge, built in 1297-98, was built by the Mongolians; others say it was constructed by Seljuk Turks. A third site claims it is an Ottoman bridge. Like so many structures in Turkey, there is a succession of building, rebuilding, renovating, and so on, by successive civilizations. So I will call this a Mongolian bridge, knowing full well that the Seljuks, the Ottomans, and probably contemporary Turks all had a hand in the construction or re-construction of this massive structure. It spans the Aras River, which farther north forms the boundary between Turkey and Armenia.

On the road to Kars

Travelling to Kars, we follow the Aras River along a road that served for centuries as the main thoroughfare between Anatolia and Iran, and formed a piece of the famous Silk Road. The surrounding countryside is mountainous, stark, lacking in arable land, but sparsely populated by cow herders tending their herds over hundreds of miles of pasture. This is a beautiful, green country—at least now in late Spring. In winter, which is harsh at this high altitude, the country is generally snow covered; most other times it is brown. We are seeing this part of Turkey at its best—lush greenery, reminding us of Ireland, wild flowers, herds of cows and some flocks of sheep, an occasional nomad tent or tiny villages of sod covered huts —all surrounded by obsidian hills or snow-covered peaks. What an extraordinary place!

Sad place, too. During the first World War, in a battle plan between Ottoman forces and the Russian/Armenian army, General Enver (Pasha Enver) employed what had previously been a successful Napoleonic tactic of surprising a superior force with a focused army with a specific objective, in this case the Sarikamis Pass of the Allahuekber mountains. His plan was to surprise the Russians by traveling with 60,000 troops over the mountains in winter, when the Russian would least expect them. History says he would have been considered a genius if the plan succeeded. But it didn’t. As a consequence, he is considered more of a lunatic. His troops never reached the Russian enclave; instead 20,000 of the poorly equipped soldiers died of exposure, disease and starvation. A monument to these poor souls tells the sad story of these “sehitler,” or martyrs.

Continuing on the road to Kars, we begin to see more evidence of former Russian/Armenian control of this region. One very large stone house looms over the countryside—a summer home for Katarina, of the Romanov royalty, built around 1905. The surrounding countryside is also the sad location of what is often referred to as the “Armenian genocide.”

Cilder and Aktas lakes

As the clouds thicken and the road continues to climb toward the Caucusus mountains, we approach the second largest lake in Turkey, Cilder Lake. This portion of the farthest borders of Turkey approaches nearly 7,000 feet above sea level on average. The harsh winters and isolation, as well as the difficult soil make this a sparsely populated region. Although there are some agricultural products – only about 10% of the land is arable – most of what we see are cow herders. The few houses are made of mud brick, with sod roofs. Outside are small mounds of dried cow patties that will help the families get through the long winters.

The lake itself is huge and pristine. The cloud cover makes everything uniformly gray and somewhat forbidding. Most of the lake has no sign of people except for the occasional nomad tent. This lake, I believe, is a protected preserve.

Since by now it is raining and fairly cold, we spend only a short time at the lake and continue north to a smaller lake, Aktas Lake, which borders Turkey and Georgia. Our stop here is from a high vantage point, with a long view of the mountains, the two lakes, and Turkey’s northeast neighbor.

Seytan Kalesi (Devil’s Tower)

As the rain increases and we hear distant thunder approaching, our bus continues to climb, then stops along the road for no apparent reason. Our guide and attendant disembark and start running across the road; we follow, umbrellas over our heads.

Soon we reach the edge of a precipice, which opens up to the most spectacular view I have ever seen – anywhere. Our guide book says that even those who are “panorama-ed” out should not miss this unbelievable view. Devil’s Canyon cuts deeply into the Caucusus mountains; our view of the huge green canyon sweeps to both left and right. In the middle of the canyon, about 1,000 feet below us is a rocky promontory with a stone tower on the edge of one of its cliffs. Beyond the promontory, the canyon continues to drop another few thousand feet.

I am afraid of thunderstorms; I do not like lightning. Nonetheless, I stood there transfixed with the spectacular sight before me, feeling wet and cold and a little scared of the approaching storm. (We were very high and there were no trees in sight). But the book was right—this was not to be missed.

Onur, our archaeologist guide, admitted that nobody knows who exactly built this tower and when. Apparently there are no written documents available about the tower. He and others speculate that it is either a 3,000 year old Urartian edifice, or a 1,000 year old Armenian one. Because of the “boat-like” shape of the building, he is guessing Urartian.

This whole area, as well as Georgia, figures prominently in the history of the Urartian civilization, one I had never heard of before this year. Larry and I decided then and there that we need to learn more about these people and their history.

Once again, the weather shortened our stay, but that image will stay with me forever.

On to Kars, where our stay at a nondescript hotel left few memories . . . except a long talk with Jane and David and some other of our Australian friends.