The little honey-hued town of Mardin in Southeast Turkey.
T plus 128 - Mardin, Southeast Turkey
This place gives me goosebumps. That's how picture-perfect it is. After speeding through half a dozen characterless concrete cities, discovering Mardin was like stepping into place forgotten by time. This little enclave of serenity has been largely spared by the heavy hand of development and the destructive demands of progress. Here, structures and streets of stone trickle down the mountainside, forming a labyrinth of saffron-coloured passages bursting with architectural delights.
The best way to explore Mardin is to throw out the map and simply allow yourself to get lost. In my own wanderings I came across centuries-old bazaars where leather-aproned men hunch over age-old crafts. In one corner, vibrant braids of string hang off the walls of workshops repairing donkey saddles. On the other end, glistening animal entrails swing gently on large hooks; I shudder slightly at the sight of a butcher inflating lung after lung by blowing directly into the (attached) trachea. Further down, sparks shower the street in front of a knife-sharpening shop. As I walk past, the whirr of its grindstone gives way to the shriek of buzz saws from a shoplot-factory churning out wooden clogs.
The streets here are too cramped for cars, so logistics are still carried out by delivery boys on donkeys (hence the donkey-saddle-repair-shops). They navigate undulating, meandering cobblestone pathways, shuttling goods between houses of stone stacked neatly on parallel terraces cut into the mountainside. I notice that every house has its own place in the sun, so-to-speak. In this community of very polite people, no one builds above his neighbour behind him; and thus no views are blocked and no one lives in another's shadow. This politeness is extended to visitors too, and one can't help but return the kindly nods of mustachioed men as you walk by them and their backgammon boards.
Mardin is a paradise of sorts for photographers. Its narrow, winding streets are flanked by rock walls of varying heights, merged by the occasional archway. A delicate asymmetry of light and shadow results. In criss-crossing the town, you chance upon little plazas bathed in sunlight and soaring minarets piercing the sky-in-between-buildings. The point is you never know what's around the next corner. Small children dart about, and the alleyways echo with their laughter and the clatter of their feet. And if you look up, you'll usually spot a couple of them looking intently at you from their perch on tiny verandas. If you're quick and skilled enough, you can get that elusive "spontaneous shot", which unfortunately eluded me this time.
History-wise, this place is like an open museum. Mardin was a more-or-less a compulsory stop on the Mesopotamian leg of the Silk Road - you can still see functioning caravanserais on the main thoroughfares. The influences of various empires which fought over Mardin for its strategic location live on through the wealth of architecture they left behind. Some are more obvious than others, but you can still see Assyrian and Byzantine churches, Persian-Zoroastrian fire temples (subsequently built-over for other purposes), Turkic mosques and medressas, Arabic stone facades and even Roman irrigation systems in Mardin and its surroundings. The prevailing architecture today is overwhelmingly Islamic - the Arabs had the last laugh here.
Some photos from my walkabouts:
This place gives me goosebumps. That's how picture-perfect it is. After speeding through half a dozen characterless concrete cities, discovering Mardin was like stepping into place forgotten by time. This little enclave of serenity has been largely spared by the heavy hand of development and the destructive demands of progress. Here, structures and streets of stone trickle down the mountainside, forming a labyrinth of saffron-coloured passages bursting with architectural delights.
The best way to explore Mardin is to throw out the map and simply allow yourself to get lost. In my own wanderings I came across centuries-old bazaars where leather-aproned men hunch over age-old crafts. In one corner, vibrant braids of string hang off the walls of workshops repairing donkey saddles. On the other end, glistening animal entrails swing gently on large hooks; I shudder slightly at the sight of a butcher inflating lung after lung by blowing directly into the (attached) trachea. Further down, sparks shower the street in front of a knife-sharpening shop. As I walk past, the whirr of its grindstone gives way to the shriek of buzz saws from a shoplot-factory churning out wooden clogs.
The streets here are too cramped for cars, so logistics are still carried out by delivery boys on donkeys (hence the donkey-saddle-repair-shops). They navigate undulating, meandering cobblestone pathways, shuttling goods between houses of stone stacked neatly on parallel terraces cut into the mountainside. I notice that every house has its own place in the sun, so-to-speak. In this community of very polite people, no one builds above his neighbour behind him; and thus no views are blocked and no one lives in another's shadow. This politeness is extended to visitors too, and one can't help but return the kindly nods of mustachioed men as you walk by them and their backgammon boards.
Mardin is a paradise of sorts for photographers. Its narrow, winding streets are flanked by rock walls of varying heights, merged by the occasional archway. A delicate asymmetry of light and shadow results. In criss-crossing the town, you chance upon little plazas bathed in sunlight and soaring minarets piercing the sky-in-between-buildings. The point is you never know what's around the next corner. Small children dart about, and the alleyways echo with their laughter and the clatter of their feet. And if you look up, you'll usually spot a couple of them looking intently at you from their perch on tiny verandas. If you're quick and skilled enough, you can get that elusive "spontaneous shot", which unfortunately eluded me this time.
History-wise, this place is like an open museum. Mardin was a more-or-less a compulsory stop on the Mesopotamian leg of the Silk Road - you can still see functioning caravanserais on the main thoroughfares. The influences of various empires which fought over Mardin for its strategic location live on through the wealth of architecture they left behind. Some are more obvious than others, but you can still see Assyrian and Byzantine churches, Persian-Zoroastrian fire temples (subsequently built-over for other purposes), Turkic mosques and medressas, Arabic stone facades and even Roman irrigation systems in Mardin and its surroundings. The prevailing architecture today is overwhelmingly Islamic - the Arabs had the last laugh here.
Some photos from my walkabouts:
If you get up really early i.e. before the town wakes up, you get to see the sun gradually light up the narrow alleys.
A shopkeeper washing the street outside his shop before starting business.
Donkey: the preferred mode of transportation in Mardin.
Ulu Camii (Mosque) from the outside at sunrise.
If you sit right here, under this arch, you can see the sun slide down the centuries-old Islamic text carved on the wall.
If you sit right here, under this arch, you can see the sun slide down the centuries-old Islamic text carved on the wall.
Ulu Cammi from inside. It's the oldest mosque in Mardin, built in the 12th century by the Artukid Turks.
Scenes from Mardin's many rambling passageways. Ok, I did get one photo with kids.
The minaret of Sehidiye Mosque in the late afternoon. The rather splendid view is of the Mesopotamian plains below.
Mardin's ex-Post Office, now turned into a university and cafe. Gotta say this must be the prettiest ex-post office I've seen.
Sultan Isa Medressa, and Mardin's famous castle in the background. The castle, situated on top of a hill, is so well protected that it's said that even Timur the Great had to give up on his siege here.
Former mansion/pavilion converted into a school. What a pity about the graffiti huh. I googled "iBocan" and apparently it's the name of a Turkish singer. Someone must really like him.
Closeup of the stonework which you see all over the place in Mardin. This particular one is from the entrance portal to Mardin's museum (which is very very well done and only costs 2 Lira i.e. USD0.66 to enter).
Side note: I think the white balance on my camera is off on this shot. This looks slightly green to me.
Someone who isn't colour blind please confirm.
Side note: I think the white balance on my camera is off on this shot. This looks slightly green to me.
Someone who isn't colour blind please confirm.
The Turkic Kasimiye Medressa at sunset.
Mardin at Midnight.
Oh, I think I was unbelievably fortunate and caught a shooting star. See right side of the frame, right next to the minaret.
Oh, I think I was unbelievably fortunate and caught a shooting star. See right side of the frame, right next to the minaret.
This photo doesn't really belong anywhere. I snapped it while walking from Mardin town centre to Kasimiye Medressa. It's of grazing sheep against the backdrop of the Mesopotamian valley in the late afternoon sun. It's one of my favourite photos of this trip, actually.
Wondering if I should photoshop out the telecoms tower on the right...
Wondering if I should photoshop out the telecoms tower on the right...
