Land of Batman

All through the years in Turkey I have never travelled out to see Europe. Despite Athens being just a few hours train ride away, Sofya capital of Bulgaria is just about 4 hours away by bus, Paris, Rome or London never caught my interest. Even when I won a free return air ticket to Zurich in a lucky draw, I passed it to a friend after keeping it for a week just in case the interest would come. I love travelling but to unknown places often without any detailed plan because even if I made advance planning, I would at a stage just let myself got carried astray in the middle of the journey to some more interesting places meeting people of strange cultures.
One such incident brought me to a place somewhere in Batman. Pronounced as spelt, Batman is an oil producing little province. The capital city is also named Batman so is the river. Quite rich but was very under developed mostly due to the Kurdish unrest in that region especially during that time. I drifted there following a Kurdish friend whom I had the pleasure meeting in Menzil, Adiyaman the centre of the Nakshibendi Tarikati in Turkey. We were talking about the different cultures in Turkey and Malaysia and I described to him about the Taipusam celebration in Malaysia and how the Hindus carry the Kawadis with metals spikes pinned to their bodies etc. He said he wants to show me something quite extraordinary unlike what I`ve seen or known but I have to follow him to his village and be his guest for a few days. I agreed without a second thought because I know that region have many interesting ancient ruins and culture besides I had ample time. I could spare a few days with him and then only go to Nemrut mountain to watch it`s magnificent sunset. So there I was again on the road with my not even close to glamourous second hand 1970`s aluminium ladder frame backpack.
It was on the second day of my stay as misafir of God at his house and he still hadn`t shown me anything apart from his village. His father was a muhtar or village head, very influentual and he have a large family of I don`t know how many uncles, brothers, aunties, in laws and most living in the village or the neighbouring villages. Big families are considered powerful families in the rural areas of Turkey just like in Italy. The villagers were very friendly and very respectful but the children were quite annoying. They would go into this Bruce Lee mode whenever they saw me probably thinking whoever have eyes like Bruce Lee would definitely be Kung Fu masters. So they were jumping here and there, chopping the air, kicking dust and dirt following me all the way to the toilet every morning and to wherever I went throughout the day and if anyone was looking for me, they could just look for this group of kung fu enthusiasts.
In Turkish culture, misafirs are honoured and protected by the host and the whole village. I was given the best bed, best food, my clothes washed and I was never left alone but still no news of what he had wanted to show me. So that evening after dinner, I called him aside and asked him when it`s going to happen. He said anytime after tomorrow because his father would scold him if he took me away before the 3 days misafir period is over. So fine, at least I know it was still on and on the 4th day we took off with his uncle`s old truck leaving the dusty village road into the dry rocky desert. It wasn`t a safe journey as there were still bandits in the hills, Kurdish rebels and Turkish soldiers but with Husin it should be quite safe. He`s Kurdish and his family is big so that should tame the Kurdish rebels and frighten the bandits but the Turkish soldiers might not be very happy to see a Malaysian in the middle of a Kurdish desert with a Kurdish local.
After about 5 hours and a few stops to rest our butts from the bumpy ride, we arrived at a small isolated village located in a dry valley. It looked like any other Kurdish villages and the people too didn`t look very different. In fact I felt I was the one very different to them and they were all staring at me. Husin told me not to give salams to anyone and so I just kept quiet and let Husin handle all the talking. I was introduced to the village head 'I can`t remember his name' who speaks only Kurdish so Husin had to translate everything back and forth.
Yes, this is truly an uncommon Kurdish village. It`s like entering the M. Night Syamalan village. The village folks wear the normal village shalwar clothes but all actually have rosary beads hanging at their waists and they all have tattoos. They aren`t Muslims. Not christians nor Jews. According to the village head, as their ancestors were, they worship Satan. Hearing that, I felt the creep but the way he said it gave some relief. He said it as a matter of fact just like a muslim said I'm a muslim. So it wasn`t that scary but I do worry if the place is keras and something should follow me back to Istanbul. Then I thought if I were to be disturbed, it doesn`t have to follow me all the way through the bumpy ride, it can just wait in Istanbul with the interdimensional travel technology they have. The village head was quite a talker and appeared quite proud of his cultural heritage. The religion was passed through the generation just like any other religion. Their ancestors originally were from somewhere near the Syrian border but many hundred years ago moved to the valley to escape oppression I guess. Being of a very different culture group from the other villages, the marriages is restructed to within the village community. The village have no schools and they buy things from other villages or visiting traders in exchange of I don`t know what but I saw some sheeps and women woving wools so maybe wool socks or carpets. Like many other small Turkish village, heating during winter is by burning dried dung tablets. They gather dung throughout summer and burn them in winter. Dung is also used to strengthen their houses and improve insulation just like cement. It's yacky but it`s effective and can also strengthten our body immune system. It only smells bad for a few minutes.
I wanted to see the rituals whether it`s like in the films with the goat head dress, black robes, black candles, daggers and so on but no luck. The village head was unwilling to share it. He just said they don`t have any rituals, pray or ceremony of any kind. I wanted to spend the night there but Husin was reluctant saying we need to pray later and we can`t pray here with these people worshiping Satan. Not wanting to argue further, we left the village and I remember it was already dark when we arrived at Husin`s house and his parents were very not very happy about us travelling at night. Under cover of the night Kurdish rebels would execute raids on vehicles and military garisons and Batman was actually one of the provinces declared as in the state of emergency and night travelling was forbidden. I knew that but during those years I wasn`t thinking. Not like now. Being married and having children I started thinking a lot. Thinking far and out seeing and worrying about things that might and might not happen. I started driving slowly, eyes darting here and there whenever the children opens the car door. Yes, I finally started thinking, and that`s the day I became a coward.

Istanbulu Dinliyorum Gozlerim Kapali

Ortakoy was just an old fishing village by the Bosphorus some 50 years ago but with the fast expanding Istanbul, all the fishermen have left and now only the exotic old buldings and clobber stone narrow streets remain a favorite for artists and photographers like Paul Moss. There`s a beautiful old 18th century Ottoman mosque in rokoko style architenture standing witness to the changes and also the many pigeons in the area. Through the years Ortakoy have transformed into a sort of cultural centre frequented by artists, students, lovers, pigeons and photographers. You can see many interesting characters here, intellectual faces, poet face, musician and usually they are truly what they look like. Among them was me because for them I was the interesting one. On Saturdays there would be a flea market open selling various things from antiques, beads, braids, small small cute things girls love, Indian incense stick, old photos, drawings, sea shells and foodstuffs. On Sundays it`s rather quiet with some cafes open and old men fishing at the abandoned dock area. It was on such a beautiful Sunday I got to know Recep Amca a dear old friend who showed me Ortakoy from the ears of it`s resident.
I just had breakfast at one of the cafes with my best friend Yuksel an army captain I knew when he was still a cadet officer. We were sitting by the dock like children with our legs hanging and throwing small pieces of bread into the Bosphorus. Suddenly an old man sitting about 15 feet snorted angrily to us. " If you are going to feed the fishes with bread, then i`m an idiot expecting them to eat my plastic bait".
I was faster than Yuksel in coming up with an answer and immediately replied " Sorry but we are actually feeding the sea gulls".
" Seagulls have sharp vision but not sharp enough to see those breads from a mile away. You might as well say you are feeding the small fishes to lure the big fish here."
So that`s how we got to know Recep Amca a retired teacher who lives in Besiktas not far from Ortakoy. He would be there every Saturday and Sunday morning with his small fishing set and a book and in the afternoon he would be selling books at a small corner lot. He write poems and love telling about how much more beautiful Ortakoy was but what he love most was telling about his experience in the army serving as a airborne commando during the Cyprus war and the daily life in Turkey during the military rule. We became very close friends and through him I came to know some of the interesting characters of Ortakoy.
There was Hakan a spikey haired rocker who runs a rock bar club who talks about music with Yuksel, Kemal Abi sells doner kebab and talks about his village in Adana, Ayse and her friends were theatre students at the prestigious Mimar Sinan fine art University and sells those small small things but talks about ideologies, poet Cemal and his wife Ebru who refused to believe that Malay DNA do not have a poetry band and so tried hard to make me at least acknowledge the existance of difference in understanding clearly and understanding beautifully, Sinan a naive village boy working as a waiter at the cafe we frequent who often got a scolding from Recep Amca for staring at girls and many more.
Ortakoy is a small fishing village almost under the Bosphorus bridge and visible to those who have taken the Bosphorus cruise. From the ferry you`ll see the pigeons, the fishing rods, the small boats docked, the huge Acacia tree in the middle of the square and some cafes. From here, I hear the fishes and pigeons I used to feed, the narrow streets, the public toilet, the street vendors up to the main road behind the old buildings. I can smell the salty air, a slight sourish scent of yougurt and once a while a distant smell of fish grill. I can hear the sea gulls, the leaves from the Acacia tree, the ferry and ships sailing the Bosphorus the clatter from the Backgammon board and the small tulip shaped tea glasses.

"Istanbulu dinliyorum gozlerim kapali. "
That`s what Orhan Veli said in his poem.

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
First a light breeze blows
Leaves on the trees
Quiver gently
Far away, far away
The incessant bells of the water sellers
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
As the birds fly by:
In flocks, crying aloud from above
The nets are being hauled in
A woman's feet touch the water:
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
The bazaar is cool:
Mahmutpasa is bustling:
Courtyards full of pigeons
The sound of hammering from docks.
Smells of sweat on the sweet summer breeze:
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
Still intoxicated with past revelry
A house on the sea with shadowy boathouses
In the murmuring of a relenting southwesternly
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed
A pretty girl walks along the pavement:
Curses, songs, ribaldries
Something falls from her hand:
It must be a rose:
I am listening to Istanbul with eyes closed

Turkey, Pangkor or Cats

DOTH have repeatedly asked me to write of my experience in Turkey and also about our legendary cat Kitty. There`s so much to tell I don`t know how to start. Although I`m known as "kuat auta" second only to P5, I`m not much of a story teller unlike DOTH. So now we know that great autas may not be good story tellers but good story tellers are definitely autas. Autas can also be easily be provoked. Later we can find out which of the statements will prove itself when we read the readers comments.
Last weekend for the first time ever I brought my family for a cuti cuti Malaysia vacation. Never before in the history of my almost 6 year marriage I take my family anywhere for a holiday. It have always been balik kampung to Kuantan or to Johor. So the kids were pretty excited about it knowing they`ll be staying overnight in a hotel. We didn`t do any preparation or planning. For someone who works in the travel industry who plans for other peoples travelling and vacation, I didn`t plan for my own. I never did never does. Not for my own travelling. I like it this way. It`s more exciting to not knowing what`s ahead not expecting anything and just go through it blindly. My wife asked me where are we going as we packed for the trip. I said let`s try Lumut or Pangkor Island. She asked me whether I`ve booked any hotels or chalet. I said no.
Then as any sane people she asked what if all the hotels and chalets are full? I said, then we`ll drive up to Taiping and see the night safari and Maxwell Hill. We are on vacation baybeh...so why worry about where to stay or where to go. We start with nothing, so every good things along the way is bonus and that will make us happy. So we asked our way up to Lumut because the signboard for Lumut or Pangkor only starts in Teluk Intan. In Lumut we parked our car for RM10/day and while my wife took the kids to the toilet, I scouted around for lodging. I couldn`t get any rooms at any Pangkor beach Teluk Dalam, Teluk Nipah or even Pasir Bogak but I managed to get a 2 room apartment about 250m from Pasir Bogak for the first night and 2 chalet rooms at Teluk Nipah for the second night. So we have a couple of check in and check out to do. So now when people ask me where did I stay in Pangkor, I can say I`ve tried both Pasir Bogak and Teluk Nipah and I recommend staying in Teluk Nipah.
Moving around in Pangkor is easy. If you get run down by a vehicle in Pangkor it`ll probably be one of those pink van taxis. They are everywhere and the fares are cheap. From the Jetty to Pasir Bogak is RM 4 per van and to Teluk Nipah is RM 10. You want to rent for a full Island tour is only RM 40 but actually there`s nothing much to see also. One thing you must do in Pangkor is the speed boat ride. It cost only RM 100 per boat and can carry 10 people. We bargained for the snorkels to be free inclusive with the ride and the kids just love it. It was a wonderful vacation. Is Pangkor beautiful? Yes it`s as beautiful as the scenery from DOTH house in Beserah. Is it happening? Yes in Teluk Nipah but maybe Cherating is more happening. Was I happy? Yes I was but I could be happier if I don`t see the rubbish left by our people at Gem Island which is the spot for snorkeling. Why aren`t our people educated on preserving beauty?
Was it relaxing? Supposed to be but with the children, not so. Conclusion? It was tiring but fun. Maybe we should go to Redang next year and if there`s no room in Redang, we hop to Lang Tengah or Palawan Island. If there`s no room also, we teach the kids some survival lessons Madagaskar style Alatemotemobit.
Sorry no pics.