Hatay (Antioch) to Patara: A Journey in Photos

I'm working on a blog post in conjunction with what Brendan wrote about our Tea Garden Altercation, but it's taking me awhile to say what I want to say so it will come later.

For now, enjoy some photos of a few of our stops in Turkey!

The top three photos here are from the ruins at Patara - birthplace of St. Nicholas (better known as Santa Claus). My camera batteries were crapping out, but I got a few shots of the theater, which is still in fairly good condition (a little clean-up and they could probably hold performances there).

Below, a few photos from Anamur, our stop before Patara - there is a fine pebble beach here (no sand means no need for a beach blanket) with clear aqua blue water. There are also the ruins of an extensive city - once Anamurium - destroyed sometime around the 5th or 6th century AD. The ruins run right to the beach, so to swim you often have to climb over remains of walls and building blocks of marble that were probably some guy's house 1,500 years ago.

Here you can see the remains of a Roman mosaic, in situ, within the ruins. Below, a popular swimming hole in the late afternoon in Anamurium, as seen from a vantage point on the citadel of the Old City wall.

To get from Anamur to Patara, you have to transfer in Antalya. From there you take a minibus which can either go on the winding road along the coast (nausea-inducing) or take the route we took, over the mountains and through the backcountry. Beautiful, but if you get a driver who drops people off not just at their village but at their own house it can add an hour or two to your trip.

Below, a few photos from Kalkan, known as an upmarket Mediterranean tourist hotspot with great food (and the food really was great). It wasn't my cup of tea but fine for a day.

And now, some photos from Hatay, near Musa Dagh. We stayed in Hatay as it was the most convenient base from which to make the trip to Musa Dagh, and has a lot to recommend it on its own. Not quite enough to fill up three days, but the world's first known church (the Cave Church of St. Peter), a fine bazaar, an orthodox church, a lovely shopping and nightlife strip and a fine mosaic museum are all there to enjoy.

Home Mountain: Musa Dagh

The outskirts of Vakifli, the last remaning ethnic Armenian village in Turkey.

Yesterday we made a quiet but meaningful trip to Musa Dagh, the site of the village of some of my ancestors (it would be disingenuous not to note that I could surely make similar trips to Poland, Switzerland and the UK, but I wouldn't know quite where to go). We have been staying in Antakya (also known as Hatay and best known as the great city of Antioch), which is the closest small city with good accommodation options, amenities and points of interest.

It also happens to be the "town" that my ancestors would go to just as my folks might drive to Poughkeepsie for the day or Brendan's might drive over to Bangor. My great great grandfather was involved in the silk business there. I'll probably post more about Hatay later.

From Hatay, public transportation to Musa Dagh is a bit dodgy, although it does exist. You have to take a dolmus - a small van-like minibus - to the town of Samandag near the Mediterranean coast and then transfer to a rickety bus, van or dolmus (or back of a truck or whatever you can finagle) up the mountain. There is an official dolmus service but it is so infrequent that most people grab rides informally. The view on the way up grows more stunning as you climb, past farms and orange orchards with rocky bluffs and cultivated fields in the difference, all under a crystal blue sky.

This was the first time that I've felt comfortable in Turkey openly stating my reasons for being here, and for being candid about my origins: Vakifli is a small village but there are enough Armenians around that I felt I could openly, well, be who I am.

Bitias (my home village) is long gone, the residents having relocated to Anjar in Lebanon when Hatay returned to Turkey. The land out beyond that golden lump and farmed rows is where one resident of Vakifli told me Bitias was once located.

I didn't really know what I expected to find - I went up more for personal reasons than to see anything in particular or make any specific discoveries. I've wanted to make this trip for years and, being the big traveler in the family (although I have other relatives who have traveled extensively I'm the one who seems to have turned it into a lifestyle) it seemed inevitable that it would eventually happen. As we climbed Musa Dagh, I can say that a calming feeling did come over me - although I think this is less an ancient attachment to the land than a feeling of peace at having finally made the trip to be there (as in, it came from my ego, not my id).

It is a difficult thing to think, but it's true: that side of my family was quite prosperous in Bitias. If the genocide had never occurred, if there had been no Forty Days of Musa Dagh, they would not have left for America. My grandfather would have never met my grandmother while he was at RPI. My mother would have never been born, let alone met my father. 

So I can say that "if things had happened differently I would have grown up around here" but it's not true: I would not exist at all.

Despite the grittiness of the photo above, Vakifli is a prosperous village - they are making a name for themselves in organic farming and earning big bucks for it, and being the last remaining Armenian village in Turkey, they have close ties to some very deep pockets in the Armenian community in Istanbul as well as the diaspora. It is a popular vacation spot for members of the diaspora coming home as well as a summer destination for Istanbul Armenians. I was surprised by how neat, tidy and prosperous it was: new stone buildings, neatly paved roads (mostly), a well-tended cemetery, fecund orange orchards and farms, people dressed neatly and driving nice, new-looking cars. 

The swingset was just about the only broken-down thing in the place. Not really what you expect from a mountain village in Turkey or any country that is not quite First World (although I'd argue that Turkey is not too far from Taiwan in terms of development, mostly), but hey. That's Armenians for you.

The church in Vakifli

For those who don't know - you should. When the mass murders and deportations were occurring across Turkey around 1915, the residents of the eight Armenian villages of Musa Dagh managed to resist and hold off the Turkish forces for forty days, hiding in the mountains and fighting back. My great grandfather was among them along with other distant relatives. They held out and were nearly out of supplies when they were rescued by French ships (note the Mediterranean below, it's not that far away and quite visible from Musa Dagh) and taken to Port Said, Egypt. The episode is known as the Forty Days of Musa Dagh, which is also a novel based on true events. It's the reason why the residents of those villages were not deported or massacred (although many died), and why they were all still there until the 1930s, when Hatay united with Turkey: that's why they were there at all and decided to leave, not wanting to return to the rule of a country whose government had tried to murder them.

My family ended up in the USA, of course, as did other distant relatives.

Plaques in the church wall commemorate this. According to my mother there is also a monument up there to memorialize the resistance - we hiked the roads above Vakifli for awhile and down a few side roads but did not find it.

Musa Dagh with a view of the Mediterranean

 I am extremely proud of the courage and tough survivalism of my ancestors, which is a part of why this visit was so meaningful for me. I grew up with this story - I heard it many times and from many lips, sometimes from people who had lived through it (such as my Nana, although I couldn't understand her entirely - she did learn English but was never fully fluent in it and forgot much of it in her old age). It's not just the food, not just the kilims, not just the other assorted memories of my childhood and cultural upbringing that make me who I am and make my family who they are: this story is also there, hanging behind it all like a dark cloud, a story that is purposely told so as not to be forgotten even as generation upon generation becomes more American in both culture and looks (most of my cousins would never be guessed for Armenians. Very few of them were born with the features one normally associates with people from the Caucasus. I personally look more Polish than anything).

I also reflected on who I am today and what it meant to come here with Brendan - as much as thoughts, feelings, ideas and other bits and bobs of soul should ideally be shared with a good mate, this piece of my history is something I am ecstatic to have shared with him.  I can say confidently that there is no one else I would have rather shared this journey with than my husband, and that yes, an ideal husband (or wife) is the sort of person you both can and wish to share such things with. We spent quite a bit of time sitting on a warm rock just off the road looking out at this splendid view of the mountains and sea, and though we didn't say much, just sitting there with him was more of a sharing experience than talking could have been (we also ate some Cheezy Stix).

Another mountan view out towards where Bitias once stood

The residents of Vakifli are quite used to members of the diaspora venturing back to discover their roots - I thought I might be met with surprise but no, not at all. I'm just one in a string of foreign-born Armenians who makes the trip up here, not necessarily to see anything but just to be there and to see it with their own eyes. The town has a surprisingly hopping tea garden, and here is where you can see some cultural influence from the Turks: like others across Turkey, sitting outside, drinking tea and playing backgammon seems to be a career path in Vakifli. They may be Armenian but in this way they're just like their Turkish neighbors. A key difference - unlike most small-time tea gardens, women were welcome here and children were running around. I felt no sense of "this is the preserve of men" as I did from many tea gardens in Gaziantep and Sanliurfa, and the owner was a woman to boot. Go Armenians!

It was quite clear that we were not from around these parts, so we had the chance to chat with a few locals (although most were so used to people just like us, albeit usually older and more connected to the Armenian community, that they paid us no mind). One older man was disappointed that I don't speak Armenian but was happy to point out where Bitias once stood. At one point I got locked in the tea garden bathroom (the lock broke) and half the town came to rescue me.

All in all it was a quiet trip, a ruminative one, not one given to fresh new discoveries or heaps of things to see. Just walking on Musa Dagh, watching the Queen Anne's Lace and other dry-climate flowers shake in the Mediterranean beaches, smelling the dry earth and orange trees, waving hello to locals on tractors, visiting the church, getting horrific sunburn while peering out at sun-drenched vistas and drinking tea among fellow Armenians was what I came for, and that's what I got. 

I do think that everyone with the means and interest in their origins should make a similar trip - I can't point specifically to how the visit moved me, but it did, I know it did. Wherever you are from, whatever your history, it is worthwhile to go see the place of your origin - even if it's just to lay eyes on the place.

Photos from Gaziantep and Sanliurfa

Tacky rugs with Turkish politicians and Che Guevara in Gaziantep.

Doorway in Gaziantep bazaar

Spices and tobacco for sale

Copper goods for sale

Gaziantep's bazaar

CREEPY TORSOS

Guys hanging out in the cool archway of an old caravanserai

A tea garden filled with men near a domed mosque

The interior of the lovely Tahmis Kahvesi in Gaziantep

Sanliurfa, thought to be the birthplace of Abraham

These carp symbolize the saving of Abraham from King Nimrod - when he tried to burn Abraham alive, the flames turned to water, the coal to fish, and Abraham was cast into a bed of roses. There is a rose garden nearby.

More sacred carp

Sacred carp are quite photogenic you see

Back lanes of Sanliurfa

A doorway in Sanliurfa

Child labor is pretty common here - you get ten year olds as shop attendants, fare collectors and errand boys, including kids who seriously run entire shops while the boss is out.

You see a lot of signs like this, or justcalligraphy, over doorways in Sanliurfa and beyond. Sanliurfa is a very religious Muslim city.

Kids playing in Sanliurfa's bazaar

The "New" Mosque (it's not that new - in Turkey "less than a thousand years old" is basically "new")

We ate dinner at a pretty good restaurant cut into the steps of a cliff behind this mosque, and this was the view from our table.

Gobekli-Tepe - not much to look at, but this is the first known temple to have been built. ANYWHERE. It is 11,000 years old, meaning it is Neolithic...yes, you read that right, Neolithic. Until it was excavated nobody had thought that pre-farming people were capable of creating something like this and to this day nobody is quite sure how they did it.

It's a toy, but still an interesting thing to see out on the street. Even little girls have toy pistols here.

The New Old Country

I'm not the first person to travel back to my 老家, or ancestral homeland - from any land to any other. "Roots" tourism is a well-established industry (in fact, it's practically its own business model in China). Ever since people have been immigrating, moving or simply forced to leave their homelands, they or their descendants been trying to find ways to return, even if just to poke around the place a bit. That's basically what I'm doing right now.

We arrived in Antioch (Hatay) yesterday after a long and improperly air-conditioned bus ride from Sanliurfa - I am hoping to blog about my experiences earlier in our trip after this one. As I have mentioned numerous times, on my mother's side I am Armenian from Turkey - Musa Dagh in Hatay to be precise. Before 1915, they were living in Bitias, a village on the slopes of Musa Dagh - one of the eight ethnic Armenian villages that once graced its slopes among farms and orange trees.

My great grandparents fled Turkey in the wake of the Armenian genocide, but not until after my great grandfather spent time as a freedom fighter for the resistance, escaping death by hiding in an olive barrel, and my great grandmother's family fled only to end up in Izmir (Smyrna) where Turkish forces and the Great Fire of 1922 - almost certainly set on orders of Kemal Ataturk - claimed many fatalities. They fled to Greece, where their three children, including my grandfather, were born. As World War II rolled in they fled once again for the USA and settled near Troy, New York. My grandfather married and had five children, the oldest of which is my mother.

So here I am, not quite 100 years later, back in Antioch - not only a historic city in its own right but also the nearest decent-sized town with accommodation options to Musa Dagh. One hundred years and I made it back to the Old Country. I may not be the first person to return to an ancestral homeland, and I won't be the last, but I'm the first in my generation to go - I don't believe anyone in my mother's generation has returned either, but I could be wrong. It's a pretty big generation, including many distant cousins I've never met.

I have to say this: when one returns to The Old Country, one expects to see, well...an old country. Don't get me wrong - Turkey's quite old, possibly the oldest settled, civilized place there is and boasts approximately one butt-ton of ancient stuff. I mean that one expects this ideal vision of what an "ancestral homeland" should be: whitewashed buildings, donkey carts, women in headscarves, an exotic bazaar.

One certainly does not expect to start rolling into town over a mountain range, as one does to enter Hatay, and see a shiny modern wind farm spread out across the peaks and ridges.

One does not expect, regardless of what the guidebook noted, a cosmopolitan downtown full of smart cafes with HDTV and Turkish techno-pop, WiFi everywhere, upscale restaurants with pleasant outdoor seating, bars that welcome women (a rarity in much of Turkey besides the party towns of the Mediterranean and larger cities), women in skinny jeans and halter tops yakking on cell phones and people generally more smartly dressed than you - you scuzzy traveler, living in rumpled t-shirts from a backpack for weeks on end.

I know I'm not the only one to feel this way: I've had at least one acquaintance in Taiwan tell me that somewhere in the back of his head was lurking this idea that his ancestral home in China was still this stone-house, chickens-in-the-courtyard, ancient-temple and peak-roofed paradise in rural farming country. When he got there and found a mid-sized town of dingy tile and concrete buildings, snarled traffic and paved-over boxiness, he admitted a touch of disappointment.

I've had Indian friends note the same thing: their parents left when their towns were, well, quaint, with goatherders in white lungis and women in saris and vendors that crisscrossed the neighborhood with carts of goods, and toilets that required hand-flushing. A lot of that is still there - the goats certainly haven't gone anywhere - but children return and are shocked to see women in pants (still a rarity in non-urban India but becoming more common), flat-screen TVs, Western toilets and everyone with an iPhone.

As we walked through pleasant evening breezes down the bustling nightlife of downtown Hatay - a thoroughly pleasant city with the exception of the stinky Orontes river - music flowing from cafes, locals on laptops, lights playing off pedestrian walkways, I thought to myself Nana would not recognize this.

Of course, I should have known that the Hatay of 1915 would look nothing like the Hatay of 2011. It was, on an intellectual level, abundantly clear. It's just that the reality - which is exactly what one should have expected (other than, perhaps, the fact that such a small city is so cosmopolitan - usually mid-size towns in countries like Turkey are a bit tatty at the edges. Not Antioch) - was not what my mind associated with "The Old Country".

We still haven't tackled Musa Dagh - we were far too tired today, Brendan has a very angry digestive tract and public transportation out there is unreliable at best. We're planning to go tomorrow and visit Vakifli, the last remaining ethnic Armenian village on Musa Dagh. We don't imagine that there is anything left of Bitias to see, but I personally am hoping to at least do a little rural walking or hiking on the mountain.

Today, we went to the bazaar and the museum (and a few of those smart cafes). I have to say that - hometown pride notwithstanding - Antioch's bazaar is my favorite. Goreme didn't have one (instead it had streets packed up and down with souvenir shops). Gaziantep had a great one full of coppersmiths and huge plastic tubs of fresh paprika and cayenne powder, but an entire chunk of it was given over to a tourist bazaar in one of the restored caravanserais and I never did feel entirely good about buying anything there (for the record I do think the "tourist bazaar" was just as much for the domestic tourists looking for high-end gifts). I will say that Tahmis Kahvesi, a coffeeshop in the heart of Gaziantep's bazaar, was one of my favorite kick-back spots in Turkey. Sanliurfa's is exotic and huge, but I feel in some ways it banks on its reputation as such and is given over to kitschy tourist shopping - although, again, much of that is for domestic tourists. We did buy four silk scarves - two for me, two for gifts.

Antioch's bazaar is distinctly non-touristy. We wandered it for hours, got a little lost, and found alley upon alley of things that actual locals who live their lives and need stuff would want: household goods, decorative items, clothing, spices, jewelry, food. I saw exactly one shop selling souvenir-type goods which seemed popular with Turkish schoolgirls. It was very much an Everyman's Bazaar and I love it for that.

I bought some amazing smelling olive oil soap and a set for Turkish coffee (which the Turks do drink, just not to the great extent that they drink tea) - the kind a local might buy if they had a desire for coffee.

What I love generally about the bazaars in Turkey, and especially about Antioch, is that the snaking alleys and backways of shops are set around ornate - or sometimes half-hidden - entrances to mosques you would never guess were there, ancient bathhouses and crumbling caravanserais. You get the sense that these shopping streets have had the same function for millenia, or at least as long as it takes to build a caravanserai, have it be used and have it crumble. As you walk through, much of it is shaded, which is the only way you can possibly shop during the heat of the day. You round a turn and - here's what I really love - you see an old caravanserai entrance, so you poke your head in and more often than not you come upon a courtyard of locals relaxing or even a tea garden. We found one today shaded by trees rustling nicely in the breeze, set among a water station where people were washing their feet and hands, and a cage full of exotic birds. Needing a break from the packed bazaar alleys - it's "Ramazan Bayrami shopping season" (people seem to do a lot of shopping as Ramadan ends, not too unlike Christmas shopping in terms of the sheer crowds and sales volume) - we breathed a collective sigh of relief as we found this little paradise tucked away right in the middle of the bazaar, and downed several glasses of tea while I wrote postcards and Brendan worked his way through a book. Sure beats a food court at the mall.

I Still Think Women Have It Good in Taiwan

So about a week ago (or so – hard to keep track of time on vacation) I wrote a post describing how good women have it in Taiwan – whether they’re expats or locals (although I think expat women have it a little better than Taiwanese women). Kaminoge pointed out an article stating that Taiwan’s birthrate is so low because of the issues women in Taiwan face due to the traditional society. There are other posts out there of late, as well.

And that’s an interesting point to delve into a little bit.

I still think women have it really great in Taiwan compared to most other countries, especially non-Western countries. I’d go so far as to say they have it better than women in just about any other non-Western country. I would much rather be a Taiwanese woman than, say, a Korean, Japanese, Chinese, Indian, Bangladeshi, African (of any country including North African countries) or Middle Eastern woman. Hispanic women also face some particularly tough challenges due to the machismo present in many Latin cultures.

Taiwanese women do have far more freedom, earn far more respect, have many more options and are treated far more equally than women in any of those cultures.

So if I’m right and the article is also right – and I do believe they are – the issue is that unlike the cultural areas listed above  (which I realize is just about all of them except for the West), Taiwan is in an advanced state of flux. A culture shift is taking place in Taiwan that is only just beginning in urban India and China and still doesn’t seem to have reached other developed, or developing, Asian countries.  So the women have more choices and more freedom, and yet there are still some vestiges of traditional society that heap expectations on their shoulders. It’s a tough middle spot to be in, especially for Taiwanese women of marriage and childbearing age.

Women in those other countries, by and large, don’t face those issues in the same way. Or rather, some do, but the vast majority don’t…because they still function in traditional ways in their traditional society. They still marry and have the kids that they are expected to have. They don’t fight back. They don’t have as many options or as much freedom to do anything other than comply. Taiwanese women now have the option not to comply, and the direct result is that they’re fighting back by not having children, not marrying and by establishing themselves as independent women. They may not consciously realize that they’re doing this, but they are.

I realize the past two paragraphs are chock full o’ vast generalizations, so I do want to point out that I am aware they are generalizations, that they do not apply on an individual level to everyone, and for every generalization I make there are countless exceptions.  There are Taiwanese women who still follow “the system” and Indian women who fight back. I know this.

I’d still say that Taiwanese women have it good. Let me give some examples of places I’ve visited:

India, where my friend Kannagarengam went through with an arranged marriage to a man she had never been alone with for more than a half hour at a time, and only a few times at that. This suited her fine within her cultural paradigm, but I wouldn’t want that and neither, I’d bet, would most Taiwanese women.

Nepal, with a similar marriage culture.

Central America and the Philippines, where it is accepted that a husband is likely to have a querida (but of course a woman isn’t allowed any extramarital activity). I realize that not all men in those countries are this way, but it is a cultural norm.

Turkey, where men gather in tea houses but very few are welcoming to women. Women sit in doorways or stoops to their homes to socialize while men have games (backgammon is popular), tea and trees or umbrellas for shade. Where inexpensive hotels are downright hostile to women traveling alone.

Bangladesh, where gender is so deeply segregated that for the men I met – and I did talk to a lot of men in Bangladesh because the women generally leave home far less frequently so you just don’t meet them – talking to me, an actual woman who was not a family member or wife, was an extreme aberration. Where you can look down entire streetscapes and see only men, to the point where a woman alone might feel uncomfortable.

I have not been to Morocco, but a friend of mine who lived there complained that she never got to try the delicious coffee or smoke nargileh, and rarely got to drink tea, because the places where one could do that catered solely to men. Women were not expressly barred but also not welcome.

Several countries where people have addressed my husband and completely ignored me, as though I don’t exist, and refused to accept that I’m really the person to talk to when it comes to travel arrangements.

India again, where as a woman alone I suffered sexual harassment several times – at one point a man actually got thrown off a train (a MOVING TRAIN, but it wasn’t moving that fast) for harassing me.

China, where my students, including the female ones, got very upset at the idea that a woman could and even should be as smart as her husband or boyfriend – they’d endlessly defend the idea that a woman shouldn’t be too clever or too successful or it would make her partner lose face. Where someone I knew was threatened by her boyfriend – he said he’d kill her if she wouldn’t marry him – and her father told her to marry him (she did, he was abusive – surprise surprise – and they got divorced. The town gossip mill blamed her).

Japan, where I’ve never lived but have visited. A friend has told me about how men not only won’t give a pregnant woman a seat on a bus, but might even expect the women to stand so that they can sit, as “they’ve been working hard all day”. (I find this hard to swallow but my friend stands by it being an actual thing that happens). Also, it's still extremely difficult for Japanese women to move up into management or executive roles at work - there is still a gender bias in Taiwan but it is far less prevalent, especially in finance.

Korea, where it is still commonplace for newspaper ads to advertise jobs specifically for women or men. The salary for the same job, right there in the ad, is lower for women than it is for men (Taiwan also faces this problem of lower salaries for women, but it’s not so blatant).

Would you want to be a woman from any of those countries who had little choice but to play by the cultural rules? I suppose it’s not an issue for women who are happy to do so and even want to do so (I would prefer a world of women’s rights and equality for all, but it’s hard to forcefully argue for that around women who themselves embrace the old ways. I don’t agree, but at some point it’s not my decision). But for any woman with feminist leanings (especially bolstered by a good education, if she’s lucky enough to get one), how does that sound like anything less than pure torture?

Contrast that to my student who is trying for a baby now. She married recently at the age of 35 and wants one child. She prayed to Zhusheng Niangniang for a boy, because “my mother in law wants a son. I don’t care, but she does. If I have a girl she’ll expect us to have another and I don’t want to listen to her nagging, so I hope I have a boy. But when my child marries, I won’t care if my grandchild is a son or daughter.” I see hope in that statement – a change for the next generation, as well as a difficult transition period for the current generation of women. That’s where the problem lies, if you ask me.

So sure, Taiwanese women are still facing the pressures of traditional society, and we’re seeing the pushback for that in the low birthrate, but it’s still a lot better than what they could be facing, and I do think the worst of it will be gone in a few generations.  The birthrate is not low because things are so bad – it’s low because things have gotten better.