Heroine and a real trouper! Slept 4 nights sitting up & found us a shower in Hasankeyf. ©2007 TriciVenola
HASANKEYF AT LAST
Buket’s father is noted Turkish author Osman Sahin. She gave me his book Tales from the Tarsus, a collection of folk stories, from the myth-rich Tarsus Mountain region, that he spent years researching. An ecological activist, he protested the dams and strip-mining to the point of being punished by previous governments. Buket is a fantastic photographer, spent years in the States, and is still a great friend. Meeting her, listening to her across the whole country and in Hasankeyf itself, made all the difference in my perception of Turkey.
Off the train for half an hour here…
When I drew this, there were still people living in this village, a few miles from Hasankeyf.
Many bright faces in Batman! The whole town was there and had been all day, including a band, the drums, and the Mayor, who handed a carnation to each woman to descend from the train.
Not only does everyone in Turkey love Hasankeyf, but Tourism is a major factor here.
I was much moved by these three students, and have often wondered what became of them. Behind them, the Tigris glows at the horizon, while the town sinks into twilight. I drew the boys from life, and the town later, from a photo I took from the castle at twilight.
I love this aspect of the great Castle of Hasankeyf, and learned a great deal drawing it 11 years after I took the photos in 2007. It looked then, and looks to me now, like a great griffin poised on the edge of the Tigris, which barely shows off to the right.
They started the brickwork less than half-way up the natural striations of the rock. There’s a decorative border around each window, and the palace extends all the way along the ridge at back.
Those caves at center are copious and were surely occupied. Just below center, on the right, there are the remains of huge stone gears, used for pulling the bridge across the river.
That slanted plane at lower center is a great terrace, titled by age or earthquake. Off at bottom left we can see the tops of pine trees growing up the edge of a sheer drop.
The color, when I took these photos, was pink-tinged blue, but by day this place is golden. I think about the woman and her child, forever walking up the road at dusk in September 2007. Where was she going? What was she thinking? Where is she now?
What makes Hasankeyf seem miraculous, there on the edge of the great eternal River Tigris, is that it is alive. It’s not a museum ruin, it’s a lively, functioning village and has been all along. Here have lived generations of Assyrians, Byzantine Christians, Hittites, Urartians, Arabs, Ottoman Turks, and all manner of civilizations. These folks now are mostly Kurdish. They’ve been here for centuries. I love these children, smiling down at me as I snapped their picture in the golden light of sunset. I expect they’re all grown now.
Long before Tolkien came up with his round hobbit doors, cave dwellers worldwide were using them! This charming cobbled street runs along under a great shelf of rock eroded out of the sheer cliff, punctuated with caves. All the families there have been in these homes for generations. The government had promised them a small settlement and a cinderblock home across the valley. They didn’t want to move. And at this writing, the water is rising.
CRADLE IN A CAVE
I started this drawing in a cave curio shop, roaming around with Buket back in 2007, and finished it a year ago, from a photo I took back then.
Drawing the cradle in 2007. All the lights are halogen, which gives an eerie cold aspect to the warmth of the tribal accoutrements.
-Everyone is singing -I drew this in the dark, sitting with my feet in the Tigris -TriciVenola ©2007
A happy evening, sitting at tables set up in the very running river. It was very hot, and there are no mosquitos— it’s too high. It’s Paradise. I believe the man at center paid for our dinner. Thank you, anonymous giver!We ate fish caught hours before in the river, and threw the bones back into the river to be consumed by plant life and turned into more fish. We all wore fantastic headdresses: our hair was flat and greasy with sweat, but we should care; we had the river!
The shop goes back a couple of thousand years. I drew the three gents in 2007, from life, and filled in the rocks around them from a photo taken at the time. They all seemed to be of a piece.
After dinner, Buket and I set out to find a ladies’ room. It was next to the huge triangular entrance to this cave. We wandered in and were invited to sleep there. The whole town of Hasankeyf was glad to see us protesters, but their generosity was still startling: the cave owners wouldn’t let us pay them. So we spent the night in what might vey well have been the original Open Sesame Ali Baba’s Cave, tucked up in tribal fabric, with the water trickling down the back wall, and the treasures were the kittens, who romped and snuggled with us all night.
He is on my wall to this day. I think of him often. I wonder where he is now. He took Buket and me to see his mother, invited us to stay there any time. He was absolutely lovely. It was he who told us that he didn’t want to live in a cinderblock house in an ugly place. He wanted desperately to stay in Hasankeyf.