Sanliurfa - Turkish for "Glorious Urfa"

Aziz walks me out to the main road and points me to
the general direction of Urfa's main sights.  I say
goodbye to Aziz, and walk over to Urfa's park.  From
my point of view, Urfa is a pretty hectic city, and
the wide and serene park is literally an oasis, like
Central Park in New York City.  It's really nice, so
nice that I can say it's possibly the best park I've
encountered so far in Turkey.  

The first thing I notice in the park are the sacred
pools of water.  It's fully stocked with carp, which
may be an understatement.  I watch someone drop some
food into the water and watch in amazement as hundreds
of carp flock around, piling on each other out of the
water to get a piece of the action.  The portly carp
are considered sacred, so catching any of them is bad
luck.  Thus, people are content enough to feed them
continuously, thanks to numerous carp food vendors
sitting by the poolside.  Needless to say, I join the
melee and try to get the highest "carp pile" going.  

When that's all done and finished, I wander through
the park in amazement.  It's really green, clean, and
quiet.  Palm trees line the white, wide pathways;
arched bridges hover over streams, and locals find
their peace here.  In fact, there are actual
"behaviour police" in the park that occasionally
disrupt the peace by blowing the whistle whenever they
catch someone cross the boundaries of order (e.g.
children reaching into the carp pool).  

An old fortress and citadel hover high above on a
nearby cliff, while a stunning mosque rests in the
park just below.  I head over in that direction, hike
up the cliff, and photograph Urfa.  I avoid entering
the castle all together as it's battered and rather
uninteresting.  Returning to the park, I enter the
mosque, where I come upon one of Islam's most holiest
site: The Cave of Abraham.  This is the cave where
Abraham was supposedly born in, and many Muslims
usually stop here during the haj, or pilgramage to
Mecca.  Being the only tourist amongst many devout
Muslims here, I feel a little awkward entering the
cave, but I remove my shoes and show nothing but pure
respect for the site.  

Funny enough, It's actually better to be a woman here,
as they are permitted to enter the cave, while the men
enter a separate entrance that only has a partial view
of the cave obstructed by a gate.  Consquently,
there's not much to see, though the other men are
content enough with saying their prayers at this holy
site.  To the surprise of some, I perform the "partial
prayer" I learned in Kayseri the day before.

On my way again, I prepare myself to enter Urfa's
bazaar, a bazaar with no rival in Turkey.  It's here
that I discover that Urfa, unlike the other places
I've travelled to, is distinctly the Middle East.  The
bazaar is large, built in a confusing, winding maze of
alleys, and the items for sale here are quite
different.   There's no point in following a map
around here, if one exists - I just have to wander.  I
enter through the housewares section, and it seems
like every kid I pass follows me - I'm like the Pide
Piper or something.  The bazaar is absolutely wild,
and seems to change with every turn I make.  I pass
through courtyards filled with textile stores and kids
skillfully sewing clothes.  Another area opens up into
a small park surrounded by tool stores and blacksmiths
hammering out tools hot out of coal ovens.  Continuing
on, I wind through the coppersmith's alley, ornately
decorated with their skilled crafts.  From there, I
enter the covered carpet bazaar, full of kilims and
tacky carpets designed to be sold to locals.  In fact,
unlike all the other bazaars, I don't come upon even
one souvenir store.  

Eventually, I pass by a baker rolling fresh bread, and
I request to take his picture.  He invites me in, and
before I know it, I'm learning how to make my own
bread.  It's a fun experience, and the bread is an
absolute treat coming piping hot out of the coal oven.
 As a sign of respect for Ramazan, I secretly snack
the bread away in the backroom, to the amusement of
the people that had gathered around to watch me, the
foreigner, in action.

I say my thanks and goodbyes, whiz by the pungent
spice stalls, and come upon the fruit market.  I take
a few photos of the vendors, and before I know it, a
mute kid working in the market waves at me to get my
attention.  He signals to me to take his photograph
and before I know it, he's taking me around to all the
stalls to photograph the other vendors.  All the
people here are eager to have their pictures taken,
and I have a lot of fun here posing the vendors with
their produce.  After spending much time here, I have
to force myself to leave, to the dismay of the mute
kid who's become quite attached to me.  I leave him
with some trinkets and energy bars from my bag, while
I leave the market with a hefty bag of fruit given to
me by the vendors.  

From here, I pass by the food quarter, but
unfortunately, they're all closed due to Ramazan. 
This bothers me a little as Urfa is known for some of
the best (although not the cleanest) food in Turkey. 
I suck it up and trudge on, passing the sheepskin and
pigeon markets, something I definitely haven't seen
before.  

Having enough of the bazaar for the moment, I make my
way to Urfa's main streets, mainly looking for a bite
to eat and a tour to the nearby beehive-house village
of Harran.  It is utter chaos out here on Urfa's main
street.  The road is a disaster area.  Literally.  It
looks like it has been through an earthquake as wide
swaths of the road along the curb are completely
gutted out.   One might think there's a renovation
going on, but there are no workers, safety barriers,
etc. - i.e, no indication of construction work of any
kind.  The sidewalks are overcrowded, and pedestrians
have to jump in and out of the road pits, in addition
to braving the roads at crossings where motor vehicles
have free reign.  

And of course, there's the road traffic - some of the
worse I've seen yet.  Cars and trucks slowly weave
around the road hazards.  I'm surprised the traffic
even flows, as slowly as it does.  Needless to say,
the air and noise pollution is unbearable.  Drivers
honk here more than anywhere else I've been to, and
the air is covered in a smokey haze.  I don't enjoy
this part of Urfa one bit.  After a bit of exhausting
wandering, I find the local tour operator's  office
hidden in an alley, but his neighbours tell me he's
out.  I wait around for a while, but eventually leave,
understanding how the tour operator might think there
would be no tourists showing up for the day, or even
month for that matter.  Even if I did sign up for a
tour, it wouldn't happen unless another handful of
tourists signed up to make the minimum.

So instead, I brave the streets in a futile search for
food.  None of the diners are serving; a bakery tells
me to come back around 5, when the Ramazan fasting
ends.  I decide to visit the most popular restaurant
in Urfa, hoping they might cater to foreigners.  It's
a tough find, located in the muddy back streets, and
even three high school students trying to help me in
my search have to ask others for directions. 

However, the restaurant does emerge like an oasis. 
It's popular not because of its food, but because of
its lavish interior.  It boasts a large, bright
courtyard, complete with a fountain, and is surrounded
by multiple well-furnished dining levels.  I see the
several waiters inside laying out hundreds of
repeating salad dishes, and I can determine it's for
the fasters.  So, it's no surprise to me that they're
not serving right now.  In fact, they actually tell me
to return much later, after all the fasters have come
and gone.

Hungry and tired of the pandemonium on the streets, I
duck into a mediocre Internet cafe to distract my
stomach and to wait for the call to prayer along with
all the faithful fasters.  A quarter of a millennia
later (OK, one hour), the call to prayer sounds.  I'd
also like to note that the call to prayer is often
preceded with a gunshot, or here in Urfa, a
nerve-shattering explosion.  I'm guessing it's to
signal the end of the fasting day to people who live
in outer reaches or in sound-muffled alleys ...  Can
anyone verify this?

Urfa is a very religious city, and emerging from the
Internet cafe, I see the most surprising contrast of
events I've ever witnessed.  The noisy, overcrowded
street is deserted.  There are NO cars, not even one
last-minute vehicle rushing home for dinner.  All the
stores have closed, the lights turned off, and the
street is pretty dark.  And the silence - you can hear
a pin drop.  I'm stunned in awe for quite a moment,
before my stomach wakes me up.  

I walk over to a nearby bakery where the owners are
finishing their dinner.  They invite me to eat with
them, but I politely decline, as I know I have a good
Kurdish dinner waiting for me.  Instead, I order their
house specialty, kadayif peynarli, a hot fresh cheese
pastry drizzled with syrup and eaten with a fork and
plate.  It's absolutely amazing and I can't see why
the oversweet baklava is more popular.  I'm also glad
I gave kadayif another chance, after consuming a
terrible version of it from a lousy bakery in Selcuk. 
 I don't know what kind of cheese it is, but it really
suits the kadayif well .  There's actually a huge
mound of the shredded stuff on the counter,
demonstrating how much kadayif this bakery churns out.
 The bakery rightfully receives a lot of business too,
shipping kadayif out like pizzas through delivery
boys.   I order another one to go and head back to my
pension, hot package in hand.

Back at home, Ferida puts together dinner for me,
which the family just ate earlier.  I feel a little
bad because they waited a bit for me to return so I
could join them for dinner.  A tablecloth is laid out
on the floor; I recline on the surrounding floor
pillows and prepare myself for the quintessential
Kurdish dining experience.  Ferida lays out a tray of
chicken lentil soup, a spicy aubergine and pepper
stew, and some kofte (meatballs).  On the side, she
lays out another tray of  Turkish tea and a basket of
freshly made pide (pita bread).  Ferida actually has a
pide oven on the roof with which she uses on a
near-daily basis.   

As expected, dinner is filling and sublime.  The
kofte, unlike the Turkish kofte I've had so far, is
wrapped in some sort of baked dough, and stuffed with
vegetables in addition to the meat.  It's undeniably
good - something I definitely will long for in the
years to come.  Aziz tells me that excellent cooking
is something that runs in his family, with the skills
and recipes being passed from his mom to Ferida.  I
eat myself to blissful capacity, and throughout
dinner, I am unable to hide my smile of satisfaction
at the unique meal I'm experiencing.  

After dinner, I return to my room where I notice a
classical guitar lying on the wall.  Feeling a little
homesick (I really miss my electric guitar), I pull
out my pocket tools, fix the strings, re-tune the
guitar, and strum Nirvana, Metallica, and Sum 41 into
the night...