Southeast Turkey, Kurds, and Sanliurfa

Southeast Turkey is not a popular destination for
tourists.  In fact, of all the travellers I've met
thus for on my trip, no one is planning on heading
here.  The British government warns its citizens not
to travel to southeast Turkey; the Canadian government
advises its citizens to exercise extreme caution.  The
Australian government is the worst though -
ridiculously posting a warning to its citizens not to
travel to Turkey at all.  

So what's all the fuss about?  

It has to do with the Kurdish uprising here.  The
Kurds make up the majority of the population in this
region.  The Turkish government shares some fault
here, having a history of silencing the Kurds up to
the present day.  In Turkey, Kurdish people can't
publicly express their culture - they're supposed to
assimilate and be Turkish.  They cannot teach Kurdish
in schools, the language cannot be broadcast, 
children can't have Kurdish names, etc.  Harsher
incidents in the past include the questionable
destruction of villages in an effort to uproot Kurdish
terrorists.  It's a serious problem, and this is a
major issue barring Turkey from EU membership. 
However, on the same token, it's hard to critize the
Turks as the country has modernized so quickly that I
can understand how any deviance from Ataturk's vision
may undesirably pull the country backwards.

The Kurds are the largest ethnic group in the world
without their own country, something which we take for
granted.  Their shimmering dream is to have a nation
to call their own - Kurdistan.  Southeast Turkey is
the region they wish to form Kurdistan, with the city
of Diyarkbakir being the capital (which is only 3
hours from Urfa).  They were promised a nation after
fighting with Saddam Hussein several years ago, only
to be back-stabbed and have chemical weapons tested on
them.  However, it is highly hoped that out of the
ashes of the current destruction in Iraq that a
Kurdish nation may arise.

Out of the vented frustration formed the terrorist PKK
group (Kurdistan Worker's Party), whose actions
definitely do not represent the majority of the
Kurdish population.  In the 1990's, the PKK was
responsible for a number of high-profile kidnappings
of tourists and other terrorist activities.  The PKK
has had a ceasefire since 1999 when their leader was
captured, and the state of emergency flag has been
lifted off much of southeast Turkey.  Recently, over
the past summer, the PKK called off the ceasefire, and
there have been a few incidents of violence, but not
much has happened in the area I'm visiting.  However,
not to far east from Sanliurfa, the security situation
does increase, and one can expect several roadblocks. 
Even further east, the Hakkari province is a definite
no-travel zone as fighting is still going on between
the Turkish army and rebel Kurds.  The high influx of
refugees from Iraq only add to the matter.

I'm not a traveller who would recklessly endanger my
life, so I've monitored the situation carefully and
talked to Turks and Kurds that have come from the
region, and as expected, there's nothing to worry
about so long as I exercise the proper precautions. 
Things are definitely blown way out of proportion by
Western media.  I still can't get over the Australian
government's warning to not travel to Turkey.  I've
had the safest experience thus far travelling through
Turkey.  I walk dark streets comfortably at night and
have the freedom to tote my camera around visibily
with no worries.  Of course, I would exercise more
restraint in large cities like Istanbul, but
everywhere else seems fine.  I don't believe theft is
a concern in a predominantly Muslim country.

Back to my journey.

Boarding the bus, I can already feel I'm heading
somewhere different.  The majority of the people on
the bus are obviously Kurdish, but the tacky bus
interior is the real charm. It boasts ugly seat
covers, miscellaneous religious items, coloured
fluorescent lighting, and what I think is a shrine of
some sort at the back of the bus.  I nickname the bus
the "Turkish P****wagon" (from Kill Bill).

I thought the bus ride would be an unpopular one, but
I was wrong.  The bus is packed to full capacity, and
over the course of the night, I must have had three
different strangers sit beside me as people got on and
off at different legs of the trip.  Still, the bus is
the same nice, large Mercedes as the other companies. 
The trip is mostly comfortable, except for one
incident where a passenger just had to unleash some
heavy business in the washroom, polluting the entire
cabin's air in the process and forcing the bus
ventilation system to be activated in red alert mode.

After an early morning stop, I stay awake for the
remainder of the ride to Sanliurfa.  The land is much
more barren, indicating a hot climate.  The highway
also becomes very rough, mostly due to construction
and poor maintenance.  Finally, Sanliurfa (or Urfa, as
it is more commonly called) comes into view.  It's
kind of odd after seeing nothing for so long that such
a large, dusty city comes into view.  

Urfa is old, very old.  There are no tall buildings
here, just numerous plain, decrepit block houses,
somewhat resembling shanty-houses, that smother Urfa's
tall hills.  Disembarking the bus, I have to deal with
a few touts, but they disappear when they discover
that I'm actually staying in Urfa.  One older fellow
remains, flashing a binder of information to me and
advertising a pension.  

Normally, I avoid these type of people, as their
services usually result in a higher accommodation
price when I can find the place on my own.  In
Istanbul, it's best to avoid these type of people, as
one traveller I met told me the room he was brought to
turned out to be in a brothel!  

Sanliurfa doesn't have many choices in terms of good
accommodations, so I'm open to listen.  It turns out
the pension is really just his home.  His binder is
full of feedback letters in all languages from
travellers of all nationalities.  Good.  Food is
included, and it's a home-cooked meal.  Even better. 
I ask him if he's Kurdish; he says "yes".  I'm sold. 
I mean, what better way is there to learn about the
Kurdish people and have a meal you can't really (or
legally?) find on the streets?

My new friend introduces himself as Aziz.  We take a
short ride over to a nearby neigbourhood, park the
car, and walk into an alley to reach the pension.  The
alley and surrounding side streets are pretty
deteriorated, an area which I normally would not walk
into, and I expect the pension to be pretty humble.  

Aziz opens the door, and his wife Ferida welcomes us
in.  She is quite a sight to behold, adorned in
traditional Kurdish clothing and sporting cultural
tattoos on her face and arms.  As for their home, all
in all, it's pretty good.  It consists of a bright,
spacious courtyard, surrounded by the rooms.  I
suppose they once belonged to their 5 children, 4 of
which have grown up and left.  A set of stairs leads
to the rooftop, where I get a nice view of Urfa.

I settle in for a bit, and congregate with Aziz,
Ferida, and his mom in the courtyard for some tea and
conversation.  My first order of business is to learn
some basic Kurdish.  I pull out my notebook and Aziz
and his family happily assist me with some essential
phrases.  I'm sure many people here can understand
Turkish, but speaking Kurdish would definitely be
appreciated.  I can already tell by the warm reaction
here as I learn.

I also learn a bit about the family.  Kurdish people
are traditionally nomadic, and Aziz's family is no
different.  He himself is not nomadic, but his parents
are, and the markings on Ferida's face has something
to do with that culture.

Recuperated from several cups of cay, and armed with
basic Kurdish, I'm ready to dive into Urfa...