Eastern Anatolia 1991
At the end of the world
(Excerpt from the diary)
The rugged landscape is impressive, even wildly romantic. It puts everything I have seen in Turkey in the shade. So this is the remote eastern Anatolia with its Kurdish inhabitants who are causing the authorities in Ankara so many headaches. Now, at the end of November, it is already bitterly cold. Large snowfields partially cover the plains and in some places merge with the flanks of the mountains, which are up to 5000 meters high. Eternal stone deserts, glowing red rocks and endless valleys, where people live poorly in simple mud huts and defy the forces of nature, characterize the image of this region.
On the exhausting bus ride – seemingly to the end of the world – the many soldiers armed to the teeth scared me. “Don’t take pictures!” they shouted threateningly when I tried to take a photo of a group of men drinking tea. The discord between the local population and the Turks is present and palpable in every nook and cranny.
Wispy walls
Curious, I climb through the imposing complex of ruins of the Ishak Palace, which was built by a Kurdish ruler in the 17th century. I wander through the old building and the mosque, fascinated. As the cold wind catches in the venerable corners of the wall, it sounds like the whispering of invisible voices from forgotten times. Because there are no tourists here in winter, I’m all alone. I feel a little creepy, but I don’t let my feelings get in the way and enjoy the solitude in this impressive place not far from the Iranian border.
I sit down on a stone on a patch of ground above the palace and gaze out into the distance. The houses in the border town of Dogubayazit lie flat on the brown earth. The famous Mount Ararat stretches its 5,165 meter high peak into the deep blue sky and invites you to climb it. Unfortunately, it is too late for that, the authorities stopped the tours six weeks ago due to a lack of water.
As the sun is already very low and the walls, roofs and domes of the palace glow in red light, I set off on the six-kilometer walk back to the city.
Almost mauled by dogs
I’ve only been walking for a few minutes when I see three large dogs running in my direction from a distance. A little puzzled, I keep an eye on them and follow the narrow road as it winds down into the valley. “They’re after me,” I say to myself. Confused, I search the area for possible dog owners, but I can’t find anyone who could call back the now increasingly loud barking lures. I hastily reach into my trouser pocket and nervously pull out the small spray can with the irritant gas. From experience, I have never traveled without this irritant gas for years. The contents of this bottle have already saved my life in South America. As soon as I hold the tear gas in my hands, I am surrounded by the three highly aggressive dogs. Although my heart is almost in my mouth, I stand still and look the snarling attackers in the eye. The dogs seem to be weighing up from which side they can best attack me. As if they had colluded, they walk around me at a safe distance of about 10 meters. I have to keep turning on my own axis so that I don’t lose sight of any of them. Suddenly, as if they had received a command, they all jump off at once. When the gas shooting out of the vial hits one of the large shepherd dogs, it howls and abruptly breaks off its attack. As if stung by a tarantula, I fling my body around 180° and catch the second lure in flight at the last second. He falls to the ground like a felled tree just before my feet and also retreats, whimpering. The third of them then breaks off his attack and trots after his comrades.
I’m amazed, the animals don’t seem to give up. Like wolves, they circle me again, apparently waiting for a suitable opportunity to attack me once more. Because of the strong wind, they don’t seem to have gotten much of the tear gas, otherwise they would certainly have given chase.
With growing panic, I notice that the bottle of tear gas is almost empty. I will hardly be able to fend off a second attack. My thoughts are racing, tumbling over each other. There must be someone somewhere who has set the animals on me. Without a doubt, they are well-trained shepherd dogs that know how to hunt their prey in order to beat it. I know from stories and experience that this is a tried and tested way of robbing tourists. Who will be held accountable? Who is the culprit when the dogs disappear after mauling their victim? Its owner is probably waiting behind a nearby rock until it’s done and then takes everything I can use. Carrying my money, traveler’s checks, passport and everything else I couldn’t leave in the unsafe, cheap hotel room, the criminal dog owner is going to make quite a fortune.
Desperately, I turn in circles with the dogs. Is this the end for me? It goes through my head. Before I can think another thought, the fierce four-legged friends attack again. With the presence of mind, I bend down, pick up a fist-sized stone and hurl it at the first attacker with the force of desperation. The stone hits him on the hip with full force. As if he had been hit by a bullet, he pulls his backside a little to the side, whereupon he runs up and away, howling terribly. His conspecifics are obviously intimidated and race after their leader. I hurl a few more stones after them with a cry of liberation when a man suddenly appears behind me. He greets me in a friendly manner. Still full of tension, I also raise my hand in greeting. Is he the dog’s owner? I quickly collect more stones from the gravel road and put them in my pockets. The lean, tall man turns back to me and disappears behind a nearby rocky outcrop just as he came…
Eastern Anatolia 1991/1992
The rugged landscape is impressive, even wildly romantic. Large snowfields partially cover the plains and in some places merge with the flanks of the mountains, which are up to 5000 meters high. Eternal stone deserts, glowing red rocks and endless valleys form the gateway to Persia for Tanja and Denis Katzer.
