It was time to leave Istanbul, so I took a tram to a ferry to a train, which was to take me all the way across to the middle of the country to a city called Konya, the home of Rumi and the whirling dervishes. Like so many of the other buildings of stature in Istanbul, the train station was beautiful.
As I travelled across the country, miming conversation with two lovely women who clearly wanted to chat, the landscape changed dramatically. Will, I even started to imagine your Lawrence here and there. It was so beautiful, and so vast. In attempting to mime that I was going to a friend's wedding, I think I mistakenly gave the two lovely women the idea that I myself was getting married, as they seemed to get incredibly excited for me. Ah well. Lost in translation as usual.
For the first time that I can remember (I must have done this before somewhere, or sometime?) I dined in the dining car (with the only other foreigners on the train), eating a pretty awful breakfast (except for the tea and the olives, mmm...), but making friends with the wait staff. It was pretty empty, so they were quite bored and kept me company. If there's one thing I have to say about Turkey, it's that the people are lovely. So many moments of connection across cultures and languages.
And that brings me to Konya. As I said above, Konya is most well-known as being the home of Rumi, the 13th century Persian religious philosopher and poet, and the birthplace of the tradition of the whirling dervishes. Unlike Istanbul, it seems it is actually quite hard to see the whirling dervishes here, because the city mostly remains free of tourism. There's a week-long festival held in December, or it seems Saturday nights you may see them, but not on other days in general. I was there on a Thursday, so for me, they remain something of the imagination. Konya is known as one of the most religiously and socially conservative locations in Turkey, however, with a tradition rooted in the teaching's of Rumi, which pushed for personal development and religious devotion, but love and acceptance of all people no matter their personal beliefs, or failings, the people here were the most lovely I met anywhere on my travels.
The whole purpose for traveling to Konya was not to learn about Rumi, however nice a byproduct that was, but to see Çatalhöyük, the archaeological site of one of the world's first semi-planned cities. Çatalhöyük was operational as a city from 7500 BC to 5700 BC. Craziness. The area would have been a really good site for early agricultural practices, allowing the evolution of a city. Archaeologists first worked on this site in the 60s, and then it was reopened for work in the 1990s under the archaeologist, Ian Hodder. One of the interesting things about Çatalhöyük is that there seemed to be no distinction between men and women and their place within society. The early excavations of the site produced a lot of literature that talked about the site as one of a matriarchy, or at the very least one that venerated a mother goddess/Venus figure. Newer excavations have debated that, but regardless of the outcome, it's very interesting to think of these different societies and the places of men and women within them.
I first learned about Çatalhöyük in my archaeology classes at Otago, and it was somewhat of a whim that brought me here. In order to get out to Çatalhöyük from Konya I had to take a taxi, almost an hour away. My taxi driver, Ebrahim, was lovely. Between us he could say "thank you" and I could say the same in Turkish, "Teşekkür" My excuse is that I can no longer add any more languages into my brain, and have sacrificed these other learning opportunities in order to preserve whatever French I can possibly retain. I only have so many language braincells. On the way out of town, he stopped and bought bread, cheese, olives, and water. When we arrived at the site, he, saying "thank you" in different tones and with gestures, conveyed that I was welcome to have lunch with him. In the middle of the dirt road, he laid out a table cloth (no other cars passed in the whole time we were there), and we took off our shoes and sat, eating our bread and cheese, and those tasty, tasty olives (variously alternating thanking each other in each other's respective language). He also requested that I take this photograph of him.
After lunch, it was finally time to explore the site. Excitement brewing, I paused over each artifact in the small museum, and peered into the research labs, piled high with bones and artifacts.
The reconstructed model habitat was beautiful, simple, and had my imagination working in overtime. One of the interesting things about this city, was that buildings were built on top of each other in a haphazard grid pattern. I haven't ever been to Cairo, but it feels reminiscent to that which I know and have seen in the media about Cairo's slums.
I was the only tourist at the site. There was a small classroom of local children (about 8 of them), doing artworks on outdoor tables in the style of the people from that time. Being the only tourist, I got a personal tour, and realized quickly that this was still very much a working, functioning, archaeological site. The staff was on hand excavating, preserving wall paintings, sifting detritus, injecting some kind of liquid into load-bearing walls, using surveying equipment, and drawing sketches. There were small tags with numbers throughout the site, clearly marking interesting finds too minute or technical for me to distinguish as a layperson. I had a lovely talk with one of the archaeologists, who informed me that amongst their very international staff, there were four illustrators. This news made me start with grand ideas and excitement. Sometime in the future I want to work on one of these sites, whether as general grunt and dirt-sifter, or illustrator . . . that was my decision, there amongst the dust, sweating in 40 degree celsius weather, amongst men with shirts more stained than not, sporting 2-month-long beards. An appealing idea only to a certain kind of person, I think.
On my way out of this lovely city, in an effort to find the tram to the bus station (I was on my way to the capital, Ankara), I had yet another example of human kindness. An elderly woman, fully dressed in covering clothing and a hijab (me in my inappropriate jeans and t-shirt all ready for travel, hefting my hiking pack around) clearly could see I was unsure of where I was going. Between my minimal Turkish knowledge of the word "Otogar" -- or bus station, and repeating "tram", which I believe is the same, or a similar word, in Turkish, she figured out where I was trying to get to. Instead of trying to point me in that direction, she took my hand, and physically walked me to the tram stop, then talked to the driver and told him where I wanted to go and asked him (I think) to tell me when to get off. Not only that, but the tram driver refused payment, and when I looked terribly confused, a local man with some English language skills informed me that the tram was free for tourists. I'll always have a fondness in my heart for Konya, and am interested to read some more Rumi. Fascinating culture.
Gosh, this is a long post. I'd better let you all go and get on with your lives! Till the next time (Mandy and Figo wedding photos to come)!
-Mary
As I travelled across the country, miming conversation with two lovely women who clearly wanted to chat, the landscape changed dramatically. Will, I even started to imagine your Lawrence here and there. It was so beautiful, and so vast. In attempting to mime that I was going to a friend's wedding, I think I mistakenly gave the two lovely women the idea that I myself was getting married, as they seemed to get incredibly excited for me. Ah well. Lost in translation as usual.
For the first time that I can remember (I must have done this before somewhere, or sometime?) I dined in the dining car (with the only other foreigners on the train), eating a pretty awful breakfast (except for the tea and the olives, mmm...), but making friends with the wait staff. It was pretty empty, so they were quite bored and kept me company. If there's one thing I have to say about Turkey, it's that the people are lovely. So many moments of connection across cultures and languages.
And that brings me to Konya. As I said above, Konya is most well-known as being the home of Rumi, the 13th century Persian religious philosopher and poet, and the birthplace of the tradition of the whirling dervishes. Unlike Istanbul, it seems it is actually quite hard to see the whirling dervishes here, because the city mostly remains free of tourism. There's a week-long festival held in December, or it seems Saturday nights you may see them, but not on other days in general. I was there on a Thursday, so for me, they remain something of the imagination. Konya is known as one of the most religiously and socially conservative locations in Turkey, however, with a tradition rooted in the teaching's of Rumi, which pushed for personal development and religious devotion, but love and acceptance of all people no matter their personal beliefs, or failings, the people here were the most lovely I met anywhere on my travels.
The whole purpose for traveling to Konya was not to learn about Rumi, however nice a byproduct that was, but to see Çatalhöyük, the archaeological site of one of the world's first semi-planned cities. Çatalhöyük was operational as a city from 7500 BC to 5700 BC. Craziness. The area would have been a really good site for early agricultural practices, allowing the evolution of a city. Archaeologists first worked on this site in the 60s, and then it was reopened for work in the 1990s under the archaeologist, Ian Hodder. One of the interesting things about Çatalhöyük is that there seemed to be no distinction between men and women and their place within society. The early excavations of the site produced a lot of literature that talked about the site as one of a matriarchy, or at the very least one that venerated a mother goddess/Venus figure. Newer excavations have debated that, but regardless of the outcome, it's very interesting to think of these different societies and the places of men and women within them.
I first learned about Çatalhöyük in my archaeology classes at Otago, and it was somewhat of a whim that brought me here. In order to get out to Çatalhöyük from Konya I had to take a taxi, almost an hour away. My taxi driver, Ebrahim, was lovely. Between us he could say "thank you" and I could say the same in Turkish, "Teşekkür" My excuse is that I can no longer add any more languages into my brain, and have sacrificed these other learning opportunities in order to preserve whatever French I can possibly retain. I only have so many language braincells. On the way out of town, he stopped and bought bread, cheese, olives, and water. When we arrived at the site, he, saying "thank you" in different tones and with gestures, conveyed that I was welcome to have lunch with him. In the middle of the dirt road, he laid out a table cloth (no other cars passed in the whole time we were there), and we took off our shoes and sat, eating our bread and cheese, and those tasty, tasty olives (variously alternating thanking each other in each other's respective language). He also requested that I take this photograph of him.
After lunch, it was finally time to explore the site. Excitement brewing, I paused over each artifact in the small museum, and peered into the research labs, piled high with bones and artifacts.
The reconstructed model habitat was beautiful, simple, and had my imagination working in overtime. One of the interesting things about this city, was that buildings were built on top of each other in a haphazard grid pattern. I haven't ever been to Cairo, but it feels reminiscent to that which I know and have seen in the media about Cairo's slums.
I was the only tourist at the site. There was a small classroom of local children (about 8 of them), doing artworks on outdoor tables in the style of the people from that time. Being the only tourist, I got a personal tour, and realized quickly that this was still very much a working, functioning, archaeological site. The staff was on hand excavating, preserving wall paintings, sifting detritus, injecting some kind of liquid into load-bearing walls, using surveying equipment, and drawing sketches. There were small tags with numbers throughout the site, clearly marking interesting finds too minute or technical for me to distinguish as a layperson. I had a lovely talk with one of the archaeologists, who informed me that amongst their very international staff, there were four illustrators. This news made me start with grand ideas and excitement. Sometime in the future I want to work on one of these sites, whether as general grunt and dirt-sifter, or illustrator . . . that was my decision, there amongst the dust, sweating in 40 degree celsius weather, amongst men with shirts more stained than not, sporting 2-month-long beards. An appealing idea only to a certain kind of person, I think.
On my way out of this lovely city, in an effort to find the tram to the bus station (I was on my way to the capital, Ankara), I had yet another example of human kindness. An elderly woman, fully dressed in covering clothing and a hijab (me in my inappropriate jeans and t-shirt all ready for travel, hefting my hiking pack around) clearly could see I was unsure of where I was going. Between my minimal Turkish knowledge of the word "Otogar" -- or bus station, and repeating "tram", which I believe is the same, or a similar word, in Turkish, she figured out where I was trying to get to. Instead of trying to point me in that direction, she took my hand, and physically walked me to the tram stop, then talked to the driver and told him where I wanted to go and asked him (I think) to tell me when to get off. Not only that, but the tram driver refused payment, and when I looked terribly confused, a local man with some English language skills informed me that the tram was free for tourists. I'll always have a fondness in my heart for Konya, and am interested to read some more Rumi. Fascinating culture.
Gosh, this is a long post. I'd better let you all go and get on with your lives! Till the next time (Mandy and Figo wedding photos to come)!
-Mary
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