City of Prophets
Urfa is a long, long way from Ankara, with its tidy, mosaic-covered high-rises, its government buildings and tree plantings and its carefully planned development. Coming in from the airport at dusk it's a chaotic jumble of cinderblock buildings that tower over the narrow streets. As one leaves the center the street lighting becomes scarcer and the careening bus precludes any options for the pedestrian who may stray into its path. I recall Veysel's warning on our first day: "Always remember: pedestrians don't have the right of way in Turkey." Neither does the oncoming vehicle, apparently.
Recently discovered archaeological remains indicate that this area has been inhabited for more than 11,000 years; it was included, at various points in its history, in the ancient Babylonian, Assyrian and Persian empires, to name a few.
By morning light, however, from the rooftop restaurant of our hotel, the city appears more civilized. We load into the bus for another excursion, this time crossing through the old bazaar that has stood on this spot for centuries.
Sheep hides, flayed geese, farm supplies and children's toys hang between satellite dishes and cell-phone kiosks. East meets West, ancient meets modern in Old Turkey as well as the new, and Urfa is no exception, as we will see.
The Prophet Abraham, who Moslems believe was born in a cave here in around 3000 BC, figures large in all three monotheistic faiths, but for Moslems he is especially important. Here in Urfa, according to the Qu'ran, the Pharaoh became furious with Abraham for preaching monotheism. Abraham was warned to stop, but he refused. One day, when all the townspeople left to celebrate a festival, Abraham entered the temple where all the idols were gathered to prepare for the next day's events. Abraham smashed all but the biggest one, which he left standing, holding a wooden club.
The next day, the townsfolk were aghast to find such destruction in their temple. Abraham was summoned immediately. "Why did you do it?" he was asked. "Why ask me " why not ask the big guy?" was his response, as Veysel tells the story. If these were really gods, he challenged, why could they not save themselves?
This was the last straw for the Pharaoh, who ordered a speedy execution on the spot. A catapult was built on the mountainside above this place, and several days' worth of wood was gathered to build an enormous fire. But Abraham was told not to worry. "I will make the fire cool and peaceful for you," God promised him.
Here's where the Koran becomes vague about exactly what happened next. But the local people believe that when Abraham was catapulted into the fire, the flames were turned into this clear pool of water, and the logs all became fish, the descendents of which are swimming around today, to the delight of the tourists who come for miles around to snap photos with their cell-phone cameras.
Other travelers are more serious, coming as pilgrims with bottles to fill with the holy water in Abraham's cave. More of them are women; some are traveling from faraway cities and don't have the money to rent a hotel room, so they roll out their carpets in the courtyard of the neighboring mosque and spend the night. Early morning finds them washing in the ablutions area at the center of the courtyard, or lounging in the shade on their carpets.
Some are festively dressed in the colorful cloth of their provinces or the stylish scarves and matching outfits from the city; one wears a silk Pierre Cardin scarf, while others wear the solid black burkha with only their eyes peering out, or sweltering wool tweed that defies the blistering sun. And some, who are obviously in the tourist rather than pilgrim category, wear their hair in the latest styles with close-fitting t-shirts and jeans.
Suddenly a group of women approaches us as we rest in the shade near the fish pool. They are speaking with us animatedly in Turkish, asking us questions we don't understand. "Chock guzel," says one, and I brighten up, because I know that one. "Chock guzel" "you are very beautiful " I reply to all of them. Finally Kamil comes to our rescue and translates, and they tell us how excited and happy they are that we are here. They want photos " lots of them. And then they want hugs, and a kiss on each cheek. I am overwhelmed. We only share about five words but we are communicating perfectly. We are part of the same human family, and for a brief moment in time, we are all perfectly aware of it.
Later I told Veysel of the incident. "I suppose it's because they liked my headscarf," I told him. But he had another theory. It turns out this group is affiliated with the Gülen movement and had heard about the Turkey tours that it is sponsoring through the IID. They had seen a video of the previous tour group and were very excited about it. "So that's why they were happy to see you. They know why you're here " and they would have done the same without a headscarf."
Nonetheless, I was enjoying wearing it; it protected me from the blistering sun and made me feel rather fashionable and garnered me some appreciative looks. And besides, I didn't have to worry about my bad hair.
But it was still only 10:30, and we still had a lot of ground to cover. Next we visited the cave where the Prophet Job was said to have lived for seven years as he recovered from his afflictions. We had lunch in another of the Gülen schools, and tea in yet another, and extended conversations with the principals of both. We received a little string instrument performance from two of the students before moving on.
Next stop on the tour was ancient Babylon. The Babylonian empire was just one of many that claimed this piece of Turkish soil, officially known as Harran, just 18 km to the north of present-day Syria, and the Babylonians built a vast castle that remains to this day. The Moslem Seljuks, who reconstructed some of the falling structure and made it into a hotel complex for the Silk Road travelers, rebuilt some of it in the 1200s. Curiously, many tourists are drawn to some structures on the site that are much younger. The so-called beehive houses, built by Iraqi refugees in the 1800s, were inhabited until about 20 years ago, and since then have been used for animal dwellings and storage for the families who live nearby.
Evening found us in the homes of more Gülen supporters, and their hospitality exceeded even what I'd been told to expect. Food and fellowship flowed in an exchange that will be remembered by all. But more on that later, as my time and space are running out.
Tracy Barnett is Travel Editor for the San Antonio Express-News.
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