Carpets and Insomnia in a Kurdish Heartland.
In Diyarbakir I had my third proper chat with a carpet salesman. The first two were in Konya and Goreme. Love them or not they cannot easily be evaded. If a well spoken Turk, or in Diyarbakir, Kurd, comes up to you in a street and is friendly beyond cursory greetings, the chances are carpets are in his eyes. Naturally this can provide ample fodder for cynicism. But if you get past that, these meetings can provide good opportunity to get to know someone over a tea, learn about carpets and, if you ask questions, any other matter of the local culture you like.
On each occasion I made a point of stating clearly at the beginning that I wasn't going to buy a carpet. Since my lack of ambiguity didn't discourage them I went with the flow, feeling they'd been properly warned. Clearly, they had time on their hands, or perhaps foolishly thought I was deceiving myself. Perhaps they also wanted to practice their English.
That was cetainly the case with my Kurdish salesman who had studied in Cyprus and before taking me to his emporium showed me the main 900 year old mosque, which used to be a Byzantyine church. He was very jolly. Before long, sipping tea with he and his brother, while carpets were laid out before me, I directed the conversation to politics. 90% of the people in this town are Kurdish and this city used to be a refuge from the fighting between the military and the PKK. They told me they hoped there would one day be an independent Kurdistan, but didn't seem to understand when I said I didn't think the Turks and the other countries with Kurdish minorities would allow that, that it might only be confined to Iraq. He agreed that the present Government had been nicer to the Kurds than previous regimes, and said things were much better than they were.
The carpets were excellent, no doubt, but what would I do with a carpet? As I said when a salesman in Istanbul asked me why I didnt want a carpet, I replied 'because I haven't got a floor.' I also worry I'd just damage a carpet in my bag.
To my surprise I managed to get my DVD player fixed in only one hour. Still it's not fully restored, as the main speakers don't work and I can only hear through one headpiece of my headphones. Nevertheless, that's enough to keep it. I still haven't seen all of the animated 'Hercules' I bought in Greece.
Before being absorbed for an evening's entertainment in the arms of the internet I walked around a section of the high city walls. Fully circling the city and 6km, they are said to be the next longest to the Great Wall of China. Having both seen, and cycled around the top of, the walls in Xian, China, I can't easily accept this. Certainly the walls in Xian are thicker and generally more impressive. Nevertheless, Diyarbakir's are pretty impressive anyway, as are the views they give of the city and surrounding countryside if you climb to the top.
Walking along a 1km stretch, 10 metres above ground, numerous groups of children called up crying 'Hello, hello' in that innocent, almost meaningless persistence only children can perfect. Sometimes they added 'money, money', which clearly had more purpose. Trying to reach them on their level I took to answering back saying 'mony, money' in reply, which drove them wild.
In the evening, an insomniac, I watched 'Singing in The Rain'. I loved the flirtatiousness between Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds but apart from that the only great moment was the famous dancing scene with the umbrella. As is often the case with me and films, the actual stories can mean the least.
On each occasion I made a point of stating clearly at the beginning that I wasn't going to buy a carpet. Since my lack of ambiguity didn't discourage them I went with the flow, feeling they'd been properly warned. Clearly, they had time on their hands, or perhaps foolishly thought I was deceiving myself. Perhaps they also wanted to practice their English.
That was cetainly the case with my Kurdish salesman who had studied in Cyprus and before taking me to his emporium showed me the main 900 year old mosque, which used to be a Byzantyine church. He was very jolly. Before long, sipping tea with he and his brother, while carpets were laid out before me, I directed the conversation to politics. 90% of the people in this town are Kurdish and this city used to be a refuge from the fighting between the military and the PKK. They told me they hoped there would one day be an independent Kurdistan, but didn't seem to understand when I said I didn't think the Turks and the other countries with Kurdish minorities would allow that, that it might only be confined to Iraq. He agreed that the present Government had been nicer to the Kurds than previous regimes, and said things were much better than they were.
The carpets were excellent, no doubt, but what would I do with a carpet? As I said when a salesman in Istanbul asked me why I didnt want a carpet, I replied 'because I haven't got a floor.' I also worry I'd just damage a carpet in my bag.
To my surprise I managed to get my DVD player fixed in only one hour. Still it's not fully restored, as the main speakers don't work and I can only hear through one headpiece of my headphones. Nevertheless, that's enough to keep it. I still haven't seen all of the animated 'Hercules' I bought in Greece.
Before being absorbed for an evening's entertainment in the arms of the internet I walked around a section of the high city walls. Fully circling the city and 6km, they are said to be the next longest to the Great Wall of China. Having both seen, and cycled around the top of, the walls in Xian, China, I can't easily accept this. Certainly the walls in Xian are thicker and generally more impressive. Nevertheless, Diyarbakir's are pretty impressive anyway, as are the views they give of the city and surrounding countryside if you climb to the top.
Walking along a 1km stretch, 10 metres above ground, numerous groups of children called up crying 'Hello, hello' in that innocent, almost meaningless persistence only children can perfect. Sometimes they added 'money, money', which clearly had more purpose. Trying to reach them on their level I took to answering back saying 'mony, money' in reply, which drove them wild.
In the evening, an insomniac, I watched 'Singing in The Rain'. I loved the flirtatiousness between Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds but apart from that the only great moment was the famous dancing scene with the umbrella. As is often the case with me and films, the actual stories can mean the least.
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