Category Archives: Turkey

Traveling from Turkey to Iran: Iranian visa information

Laura at the base of the tombs near Persepolis. Iran is a fas­cin­at­ing place, and well worth the effort of arran­ging visas on the road. In our case, we got our visas in Turkey.

Since getting back to Canada, our site has been getting a lot of search traffic on the topic of our journey from Turkey over­land into Iran. I’ve also had people on other web­sites I fre­quent ask me ques­tions about this par­tic­u­lar border cross­ing. This post is just meant for those folks looking for more inform­a­tion on this topic. When we were in Turkey, we went through our own period of uncer­tainty once we decided to cross into Iran. There is not a lot of info out there about how to do it.

Here’s what we did to arrange Iranian visas in Turkey, in mid-2010:

1. Arranged for Iranian Visas through a third-party Iranian visa agency (Touran Zamin)

There’s a few other agen­cies offer­ing this service but after reading online reviews, Touran Zamin seemed to be the most highly regarded overall. In our exper­i­ence, they were very prompt and friendly. We had some ques­tions about the intric­a­cies of the visas (more on that below), and they did their best to explain things. What these guys do is to contact the Iranian gov­ern­ment min­istry respons­ible for issuing visas, and submit an applic­a­tion on your behalf to have your visa pre-approved by the min­istry. They will then issue an approval number to you and to the Iranian embassy or con­su­late of your choice. You simply bring that number to the con­su­late after a certain date, and they will issue your visa, no real ques­tions asked. Touran Zamin prom­ises some­thing like a 10-day turn­around, after which (if approved) you can go to the embassy and get your visa. In our case, they delivered it in about a week, and we were approved on our first try.

If you are not approved, I have read that you can apply again and your pre­vi­ous failed applic­a­tion shouldn’t count against you. The situ­ation with tourist visa approvals has changed several times over the past ten years during moments of dip­lo­matic squabbles between Iran and western coun­tries. The min­istry has been known to reject applic­a­tions from foreign nation­als of spe­cific coun­tries during these times. To be fair, the West given Iran a pretty tough go of things in a lot of ways. Diplomacy is always a two-way street.

Special note: Americans cannot cur­rently visit Iran as inde­pend­ent trav­el­lers due to obvious dip­lo­matic issues between the two coun­tries. However, Americans are allowed to visit as part of an Iranian-organized guided tour group. Unfortunately, I can’t say any­thing about these tours, except that my mother-in-law went on a trip like that several years ago and has never said any­thing bad about it. Also: an Israeli stamp in your pass­port will nix your travel plans to Iran, and vice versa, as far as I know.

You can always skip the middle man (Touran Zamin), and just apply to the embassy dir­ectly, but then they submit that applic­a­tion to the min­istry, and the process is sup­posedly much longer (weeks to months). You can also apply for a visa from the Iranian Embassy in your home country, but this is appar­ently another drawn out process, taking months some­times. As far as I can tell, going through one of the visa agen­cies is the quick­est pos­sible way.

All of this was done by email and through the Touran Zamin website, except that inter­na­tional sanc­tions have cut Iran off from the inter­na­tional mon­et­ary sytem, so Touran Zamin, as an Iranian company, cannot accept credit cards. Instead they ask you to submit their fee to a German bank account. Once you provide a track­ing number to them for the payment, they release your approval code by email. Sound like a bad spy movie? It gets more com­plic­ated from here...

2. Paid the Visa Agency fee through a bank

We tried several Turkish banks, in the hopes that we could give them the German account number and the fee, and they could do the trans­fer for us for an addi­tional bank fee. This involved a few hours of hoofing it around Antalya. If you’ve ever been to Antalya, you’ll know that there are many, many things more fun to see and do in Antalya than visit its banks. So I hope this post can save you from wasting your time as we did. Basically, they all said no.

We needed to have an account with them to do it, and although we had the option of opening one (which sur­prised me), we didn’t think that made much sense. In the end we went through our own bank back in Canada. I believe if you have a European bank account, you won’t have these issues.

For us, because we are Canadian, the German bank number Touran Zamin gave us did not play nice with our own North American banking system (for one thing, the number of digits in a bank account is dif­fer­ent). We had hoped to put the payment through online, but we actu­ally had to get in touch with our bank back home by phone and email, includ­ing some faxes and signed papers, in order to trans­fer the fee. We weren’t really in a rush, so all of this occurred over about three weeks. If you are in a hurry, you should be able to do it in less than two.

Total Cost For Visa Agency Deal:

  • 35 Euros (for each visa) to Touran Zamin for visa approval service*
  • $15 charge from our bank for the transfer
  • $20-ish incid­ental costs for things like Internet, inter­na­tional phone cards and faxes
  • A wasted after­noon in beau­ti­ful Antalya

*Note: this fee is just the agency fee, and is on top of the actual visa fee you pay later at the embassy.

3. Arranged to pick up our Iranian Visas at the Iranian Embassy in Ankara, Turkey

The other nice thing about going through an agency is that you can arrange to pick up your visa at any Iranian embassy in the world (I think). For us, we told Touran Zamin that we would be able to get them in Ankara, Turkey’s capital city. I’ve heard that the Ankara Embassy (Iran’s main embassy in Turkey) is one of the best places to go. People have been known to get them in smaller cities closer to the border, but I’ve also heard mixed things about the success in those embassies. We chose to play it safe. I can’t give you much advice for coun­tries other than Turkey, but I believe the process would be similar.

Total Cost For Arranging Visas in Ankara:

  • 20 Euros (for each visa) to Touran Zamin for them to arrange to get the visa at a spe­cific embassy

We saw a few sites in Ankara, includ­ing Ataturk’s Mausoleum. This is the prom­en­ade on the way in/out. It’s also, appar­ently, one of the only shots I took in three days in Ankara. That’s too bad in hind­sight, but dealing with visas has a way of sucking your cre­ativ­ity and will power for pho­to­graphy. Apparently.

4. Spent three days in Ankara seeing the sites and jumping through bur­eau­cratic hoops

It took three days, and five visits to the Embassy to finally get the visas.

You need a few things to actu­ally get the visa. Make sure you have them before going to the embassy:

  • pass­ports
  • pass­port photos (bring a couple copies minimum)
  • pass­port pho­to­cop­ies (bring a couple copies minimum)
  • visa fee

We woke our first morning in Ankara intent on finding a copy place and pass­port pho­to­graphy studio and then heading to the embassy to pick up our visas. We figured we could be done wrangling our visas by dinner time. Imagine how proud of ourselves we were after asking dir­ec­tions led to us to what we needed in less than an hour. Unfortunately, our luck didn’t hold much after that.

The copy shop we found ( a small inter­net cafe with a photocopier/scanner) offered a couple of chal­lenges. Apparently, Canadian pass­ports have secur­ity fea­tures which makes them come out unread­able on pho­to­cop­ies. Luckily, we had pho­to­graphed our pass­ports before leaving Canada, and emailed these pic­tures to ourselves as backups. So instead, we logged into our email and printed these photos.

The photo place was just around the corner, and we got some usable, but very unflat­ter­ing head­shots of ourselves in Iranian visa size (I can’t remem­ber what this is, but the photo studio knew). Special Note: Iran is an Islamic theo­cracy. Women are expec­ted to keep Hijab (wearing a head­scarf and cov­er­ing their arms and legs), includ­ing in their visa photos. The family at the photo studio got quite a kick out of seeing Laura figure out how to put hers on for the first time.

It was about a 30 min. walk to the Embassy, and as we approached I reached into my bag to get all of our papers out and ready. We stopped for a moment so Laura could put on her scarf. This is when I real­ized that I left my pass­port at the copy place in the guy’s scanner. I jogged the 3 km back to the copy place, cursing my blatant stu­pid­ity every step of the way. Luckily, our friend at the copy shop was neither dis­hon­est, nor par­tic­u­larly aware that he had my pass­port in his scanner. I sheep­ishly asked for the pass­port, and then jogged back to the embassy, while Laura waited patiently in a park. It was only now, after ringing the bell fruit­lessly at the embassy gate, that we learned from a passing Turk that the embassy was closed that day for a holiday. So we trudged back toward the hotel, along the same three kilo­metre route I had just run. It seemed a fitting con­clu­sion to a bungling day.

The next day we did it all again, only this time we had what we needed and knew where to go.

Total Cost For Visa Paperwork:

  • Probably $20 for pass­port copies, Internet access, and photos (I don’t recall how many Turkish Lira, but it wasn’t any more than this)

5. Finally got into the Embassy

The embassy was a bit  of an exper­i­ence. We were buzzed in through a big gate, and then buzzed in through a second secur­ity area where we signed in with a bored looking secur­ity guard, before being ushered into a waiting room. There were several Iranians sitting in creeky old chairs, exist­ing in what appeared to be various stages of bur­eau­cratic limbo. Nobody was speak­ing. A TV in the corner blared Iranian national TV, cutting out to loud and blurry static more often than showing clear pic­tures. Nobody turned it down or off.

Paintings of Iran’s revolu­tion­ary leader, Ayatollah Khomeini and his suc­cessor, Ayatollah Khamenie, stared down at us. One wall was a giant one-way window.

There was no number system, and no appar­ent order for who was to be called next. Our only glimpse into offi­cial­dom was two rein­forced glass windows with surly looking mous­tached offi­cials behind them. We didn’t want to be rude, so we weren’t sure if we should go to the windows or wait to be called. One of the women in the waiting room made a helpful gesture to beckon us to go ahead and approach one of the windows, so we did.

The man turned out to be friend­lier than he looked, espe­cially after we told him that we planned to go to Tabriz, one of several Iranian cities we had mem­or­ized based on maps in our guide­book. Since we weren’t plan­ning on being Iran for several more weeks, we really didn’t know much about Tabriz or most of the other cities we recited. Our trip was too off-the-cuff to plan that far ahead. We had just read some­where that the Embassy would want to know your loose itin­er­ary, so we had mem­or­ized one.

Tabriz! That is my city!” he said with obvious pleas­ure. “It is very beau­ti­ful. Most beau­ti­ful place in Iran.”

Once the man from Tabriz learned that we had a pre-approval number from the min­istry, he dis­patched someone to fetch our file. After a bit of waiting he called us up again and told us that we would have to pay a fee, leave our pass­ports, and come back in ten days to collect our visas. Laura and I looked at each other. Disappointment clear on both of our faces. Ten days! We had sched­uled some flights out of Turkey within the week (it’s a long story) and the pro­spect of spend­ing ten more days waiting around Ankara wasn’t really in the plan. I very politely explained this, and asked if there was any­thing the man from Tabriz could do. He went away again, ostens­ibly to speak to a super­ior, and came back to tell us that if we paid the fee and left our pass­ports today, we could pick up our visas tomor­row. He gave us dir­ec­tions to a bank down the street where we could pay our fee. We thanked him pro­fusely and stressed just how much we were looking forward to seeing the unri­valled beauty of Tabriz.

The unri­valled beauty of Tabriz (we always seemed to go to markets on Fridays, when they are closed for prayers).

6. Paid the visa fee at a local bank; got our Iranian Visas

Again, Iran is cut off from the inter­na­tional mon­et­ary system, so don’t expect to be able to whip out your credit card and get things done. In fact, they don’t accept cash either, at least not at the embassy dir­ectly. Instead you have to go down to a local bank to make a deposit into their account. The embassy will give you a slip of paper that you can give the teller. This didn’t take very long, but I believe we had to pay some more fees to the bank on top of our visa fees. We did all of this in Turkish cur­rency (I think... it may have been Euros). You have to bring the deposit receipt back to the embassy, as well as drop off your passport.

Content that we were finally getting things done, we dropped off our pass­ports with a plan to return the next day. After our first four visits, by now we had our route to the embassy all figured out, and had no prob­lems arriv­ing early in the day to collect our visas. True to his word, the man from Tabriz had everything ready for us, and we left him with our grat­it­ude and one last comment about the fabled beauty of his home city.

Total Cost For Actual Visa Fee:

  • It’s funny; I can’t remem­ber for sure. I think it was around $170 each. If I can dig this info up some­where, I will update this. It doesn’t matter much anyway, this fee is dif­fer­ent for dif­fer­ent nation­al­it­ies. I think we also paid a small fee to the bank for the transaction.

7. Travelled to Van, in Eastern Turkey to arrange a bus ride across the border

Although our trip took us out of Turkey and then back again before we headed east, most trav­el­lers will likely want to use their visas sooner. The visas are good for three months from date of issue. Train and bus travel in Turkey is excel­lent, although the dis­tances are often longer than they seem. We even­tu­ally made it to Van by train, where we bought some bus tickets to cross the border into Iran. I don’t remem­ber what the bus cost to go from Van to Orumiyeh, Iran, but it wasn’t par­tic­u­larly expens­ive. Maybe equi­val­ent to 20 or 40 dollars each. It was about an eight hour drive, and we were the only west­ern­ers on the bus. We chatted politely with some of the mostly Iranian pas­sen­gers. We learned the man from Tabriz is not the only Iranian who believes his home is the most beau­ti­ful part of the country. We also got our first taste of very pleas­ant Iranian hos­pit­al­ity, with offers of shared food and polite conversation.

8. Had one of the easiest border cross­ings ever, and really enjoyed our time in Iran

The border cross­ing itself was, frankly, a breeze, although we were a little con­cerned about our visas. Because we had waited close to the three month period of valid­ity before cross­ing the border (the visas can be used for up to three months after getting them), we were con­cerned that if that period ran out while we were in the country, that our visas would be offi­cially expired. I know that’s a little con­fus­ing, and it’s because we are talking about two things: our visas were 30-day visas, meaning we could stay in Iran for up to 30 days. But they also had a valid­ity period of three months. This is the window of time that begins when you get the visa in your pass­port, and ends when you cross the border into Iran. If you don’t cross the border within that 3 months, you will have to apply for a new visa.

I was con­cerned that since we would be cross­ing the border only a couple of days before the end of this window that we would have prob­lems. We didn’t. And you prob­ably won’t either. This was one area where I could find very little info online, and I was admit­tedly con­cerned leading up to our border cross­ing. I scoured the Lonely Planet forums to little avail and even asked Touran Zamin by email what they thought. They replied that they were “pretty sure” it would be fine, but a worst case scen­ario would involve extend­ing our visas in Iran before they expire.

I asked the border guards, but the only thing they cared about is that our visas were valid when they stamped it. They said not to worry about any­thing and to enjoy our 30 days in Iran. Although we got called into a special line for for­eign­ers, and spoke briefly with a couple of border offi­cials in a small office space, they were all very friendly, and pro­cessed us in less than twenty minutes. We met a pair of German motor­cyc­lists who were also cross­ing into Iran, and from what I could tell, they were pro­cessed very fast as well. Our entire bus pulled out of there in under 30 minutes, and we were in!

A couple more notes on travel in Iran:

1. Yes, you need to bring cash into Iran. There are no bank machines in the country that can access the inter­na­tional mon­et­ary system. I’ve heard it’s pos­sible to get credit card advances in some of the biggest hotels in Tehran, but it’s not easy or advis­able to rely on this. Traveller’s cheques aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. We brought a com­bin­a­tion of American dollars and Euros, split up and tucked away in various places on us and in our bags. I believe it was less than $3000, and we left the country with money left after thirty days.

2. Iran is really friendly, so bring some small gifts or pic­tures from home to show people. The lan­guage barrier, when it exists, is usually not enough to stop people from trying to welcome you to their country. Pictures etc. make great con­ver­sa­tion helpers and break the awk­ward­ness of not being able to say much.

3. Expect to be sur­prised: whatever your expect­a­tions of Iran, just know that you prob­ably have it all wrong. Not very many coun­tries have had so much baloney said about them in the western media, espe­cially where so much of that is pro­pa­ganda and lies and fool­ish­ness. Years of sanc­tions and hard-nosed foreign policy have pun­ished the people of Iran unfairly, crip­pling the kind of eco­nomic devel­op­ment and cul­tural exchange that could benefit Iranians and break down these ste­reo­types. These policies have been utter fail­ures, imple­men­ted in order to weaken a dis­taste­ful regime, but often strength­en­ing it instead. Try not to act sur­prised the first time someone says “Ahmadinejad is Terrorist!” to you on the street. Sentiment among Iran’s 70-million people is as diverse as you’d expect.

It is a fas­cin­at­ing country, with mil­len­nia of his­tor­ical and cul­tural her­it­age. It is also easily the most friendly country we’ve visited. I hope this helps some of you get there. If you have spe­cific ques­tions, post them in the com­ments below.

Cheers,
Chris Beauchamp

p.s. — Enjoy a few more pic­tures, just because. You can see a bunch more in our Iran posts from during our trip. Search the archives at the top of the page, or click here.

Downtown Tehran: looking much like any other sizable city.


One of our cab drivers. He looks mean, but he’s actu­ally smiling. We had several really nice cab drivers (and one abso­lutely ter­rible one).


Some kids in Yazd, who agreed to let me snap a picture.


Night market in Tehran.


Scenery outside Hamedan.


Us and our good friend Abed from Esfahan. Unfortunately, all of the good pic­tures I took in Esfahan (includ­ing some nice por­traits of Abed on the rooftops) were lost.


The skyline of Yazd.

Traditional house archi­tec­ture in Yazd. Those are wind towers, meant to channel the breeze into houses to cool them.

Tehran’s main bazaar.

The volcano at Takht-e-Suleyman. We hiked up it in about ten minutes to look into the dormant caldera. It was kind of surreal.

Typical Iranian res­taur­ant fare.

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A Few More Photos from Mount Nemrut (Nemrut Dağı)

Who says every post has to be a long-winded rant? Here’s a few pic­tures I took on top of a moun­tain when we were in Turkey!

The slightly mad King who had this place con­struc­ted had statues made rep­res­ent­ing the major gods, his brethren, and then placed his own statue among them, of course. This one is one of the gods.

It really is a strange place. The head on the left is the King

Tourists throng this place at sunset and sunrise, even though it’s three hours from civil­iz­a­tion, and that means doing crazy things like getting up at 2 am. We were lucky because we stayed on the moun­tain; we got to sleep in till 4 am!

Laura Beauchamp, International Adventure Photographer (for hire).

The little build­ing was the hotel we stayed in on top of the moun­tain. The pyr­am­idal shape on the horizon is the manmade pile of rubble that crowns the peak.

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Crossing the border from Turkey into Iran

February 2011 Update: If you are looking for info on the visas and border cross­ing itself, Chris has posted about that here.

We were both still sick, but non­ethe­less on Wednesday, June 16th we bought bus tickets from Van, Turkey to Orumiyeh, Iran. I must admit that deep inside me I was a little uncertain.

Chris and I say goodbye to Turkey and our Lonely Planet Turkey guide which Chris carried around for about 4 months.

The bus left Van at 9:45 am. Tired, a bit hungry (because I’m always a little hungry) and still sick, I struggled to keep my eyes open. I don’t know what it is about buses but they’re always rocking me to sleep. When I managed to keep my eyes open I saw a won­der­ful land­scape unfold­ing before me. Fields turned into shrubbery-covered moun­tains that, for some reason, reminded me of the Hindu Kush in Afghanistan. Perhaps it is from photos I have seen.

While driving from Van, Turkey to Iran we spot this mag­ni­fi­cent stone fort out the window.

We got to the border at 2:00 p.m. Immediately when the bus stopped I folded the head­scarf I held in my hands, wrapped in around my head and safety-pinned it under my chin. The man and his family who were sitting by us and had con­versed with through­out the bus ride, giggled and smiled. “She says you look like you’re seven or eight years old,” he told me.

Wonderful,” I thought. “I was hoping to lose a few years in appear­ance but not that many.”

Chris and I stepped off the bus with our belong­ings. At the top of a moun­tain, to the left of the build­ings in front of us, were huge bill­boards with the faces of the past and current Ayatollahs, the reli­gious leaders of Iran. Uncertain of where to go, we hes­it­antly entered a door way. We were sur­roun­ded by tem­por­ary walls covered in mirror-like mater­ial. A man ushered us to line-up with the rest of our bus to “check-out” of Turkey.

We walked through a hall, or what I like to think of as “limbo” between coun­tries. Obvious west­ern­ers, we were ushered through a sep­ar­ate doorway and told to take a seat. Two older Swiss men entered at the same time.  They started up a con­ver­sa­tion. “That looks good. It’s real natural like, what with Allah written on it and all...” one of the men com­men­ted on my head­scarf. “Did you wear that in Turkey?” asked the other man. “No,” I replied. “I put it on 5-minutes ago. I have to wear it in Iran. It’s the law.”

Five to seven minutes later the Iranian border guard came back and addressed me as “Miss Laura” as he gave my pass­port back. That was that. We walked through another door and we were in Iran. Customs didn’t even look at any of our luggage. No scan­ners, nothing. And everything was done with such a calm, friendly demeanour.

Before I could blink a man was up in my face asking, “Change? Change?”. Confused, I went and stood by Chris for pro­tec­tion. It is impossible to get Iranian cur­rency outside of the country so they were trying their best to grab vis­it­ors seconds after enter­ing. What a bunch of sharks! We declined and decided to wait until we got to the city in the hopes of a better rate.

One of the first things I noticed in Iran besides a dif­fer­ence in house archi­tec­ture, were the painted advert­ise­ments on the sides of build­ings like this one.

Two hours later we arrived at Orumiyeh, Iran.  As soon as we stepped off the bus we were har­assed by taxi drivers.  I was trip­ping over luggage, includ­ing my own. The space between our bus and the next was so small, that with all the taxi drivers, luggage and pas­sen­gers, it was frus­trat­ingly claustrophobic.

One driver managed to snag us, saying he could take us to exchange money. He took us to a shop outside the bus ter­minal. A very sturdy, serious looking man sat behind a desk.  All around him were stacks and stacks of boxed goods from juice boxes to yard dec­or­a­tions. The man spoke some English, some­thing we would later learn is very rare. He was the man with the power and the money. After learn­ing we are Canadian he quickly said, “Canada is much better than Iran”. Being only 2.5 hours into the country I didn’t feel I was in a pos­i­tion to agree or disagree.

One of our cozy hotel rooms in Iran. It’s prac­tic­ally impossible to get a room with a double bed, so Chris and I usual find ourselves in a room with two singles or some­times even four singles. For $25 US dollars a night, the beds are slightly on the shady side but not the worst we’ve slept on by far.

In the last six days it has become very appar­ent to me that people are not saying “hello” to me, they are not talking to me, or ask me where I am from, they are talking and asking Chris. This state of bystander exist­ence I receive as a foreign woman is quite hard to get used to.  Yet on the flip side, men (but primar­ily women) stare at me without shame.  It’s also very hard to get used to that. I try my best to ignore the stares, or to simply smile back.

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Diyarbakır (Amed), home of the Kurds

These boys fol­lowed us for a while, delighted to try chat­ting and have their photos taken.

We had one of our best single days in Diyarbakır, thanks to the gen­er­os­ity and eager­ness of one man to share his city and culture with two total strangers. We met Muzaffer while walking down the street, in what seemed at first like just another friendly “where are you from?”

It’s a common enough thing for strangers to stop us on the street and ask. It’s also a part of most of our com­mer­cial trans­ac­tions, as normal as making change or leaving a Lira or two as a tip. “Where are you from?”

Canada,” we’ll say, and usually it ends there. Sometimes someone might go out on a limb, testing their know­ledge of geo­graphy. “Toronto?” they might ask, hes­it­antly. “Vancouver?” Almost no one has ever heard of Calgary.

So when Muzaffer stopped us, we assumed the exchange would be along those lines. Instead we found ourselves deep in con­ver­sa­tion, talking reli­gion, polit­ics, learn­ing some Kurdish words, and with an invit­a­tion to join Muzaffer on a visit to the local com­munity centre.

Muzaffer took us to another cul­tural centre: a court­yard full of mostly old men, having lyrical show­downs not unlike a rap-off.

As the unof­fi­cial capital of Kurdistan, Diyarbakır is a con­flic­ted place in many ways. The pop­u­la­tion is almost entirely Kurdish, and there are strong feel­ings of dis­con­tent with the way Turkey has treated this region and its people. Kurdish nation­al­ist sen­ti­ment is extremely strong and wide­spread, in a way that only sup­pressed nation­al­ist move­ments tend to be. Traveling in Western Turkey, we saw news­casts in vir­tu­ally every city depict­ing Diyarbakır and other cities in the east as places con­stantly on the brink of riots, with dra­matic stock footage of clashes between police and pro­test­ers backed up with a musical score that would make Hollywood proud. These news­casts super­im­pose these images with flash­ing banner text that decries the “Terrorism” of the Kurds and often cut to shots of sol­diers’ funer­als. Based on talking to people in the western part of the country, these sen­sa­tion­al­ist news reports are very good at doing what they’re designed to do: gen­er­ate fear. Fear of ter­ror­ism, fear of the Kurds, fear of the breakup of Turkey. Over 30 Turkish sol­diers have been killed in the fight­ing in recent months.

I won’t claim to be an expert on this situ­ation, or all of the his­tor­ical causes, or who’s right and who’s wrong on any given issue, but I do know that the Kurds have as legit­im­ate a claim to autonomy as any other ethnic group, and that Turkey’s efforts at assim­il­a­tion and sup­pres­sion of Kurdish nation­al­ism and Kurdish culture have often been brutal. The Twentieth Century saw a long­stand­ing guer­illa war between Kurdish sep­ar­at­ists and the Turkish mil­it­ary. Executions and atro­cit­ies were carried out on both sides, and a guer­illa war is still being waged in south­east­ern Turkey. Collective pun­ish­ments have been com­mon­place, includ­ing with­hold­ing much needed funding for eco­nomic and com­munity devel­op­ment. For years the Turkish gov­ern­ment banned Kurdish lan­guage and even forbade naming chil­dren with Kurdish names. Even the name of the city is con­tested: offi­cially it is Diyarbakır, but to every Kurd within it, is known by its Kurdish name, Amed.

So perhaps Muzaffer’s hos­pit­al­ity is one way for him to defend the her­it­age he and all Kurds hold so dear. Aside from just being a good guy (which he cer­tainly is), showing for­eign­ers around his city is a way to show off its Kurdish roots. It is an expli­cit acknow­ledg­ment that Kurdish culture is unique and dis­tinct; Kurdish hos­pit­al­ity sincere and genuine. For us it was both fas­cin­at­ing and enjoy­able, to see Amed through local eyes. We saw live music in both newer and older tra­di­tions, toured some of the city’s 6km of old walls, and enjoyed dinner, tea and plenty of con­ver­sa­tion before capping the night with a few riddles. Thanks again Muzaffer!

Muzaffer, all around nice guy.

Children in Diyarbakir. It was a delight walking down the street here and having every child bravely shout out the one English word they know in hope of a response from the strange for­eign­ers: “Hello!”

The for­ti­fied walls over­look­ing the Tigris river valley. Apparently women tie these little bits of plastic bag to the fence in order to make wishes.

Young people in the Kurdish Cultural Centre learn and share Kurdish folk music.

Everyone was extremely friendly. They also encour­aged me to take a hand in the singing and guitar playing. I don’t think “A Boy Named Sue” was what they had in mind, but it was worth a laugh or two.

Our host, Muzaffer, teases one of the younger guys.

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Muzaffer took us to another cul­tural centre: a court­yard full of mostly old men, having lyrical show­downs not unlike a rap-off.

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This shoe-shiner badly wanted his photo taken as well.

School time?

Diyarbakir.

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Feeling homesick after 5.5 months of travel

For the first time in my life I have had people ask me where I’m from and when I say Canada they shrug their shoulders and say, “Where’s that?”  After 5.5 months I am offi­cially homesick.

Although some of my home­sick­ness might be brought on by the fact that my entire body is aching, my eye­balls hurt and my head is pound­ing. To say the least, I’m glad I brought Imodium.  To make the situ­ation even worse, Chris is also feeling like this.  I hope we get on our feet soon because we should jump on a bus and head into Iran. Right now we’re in a city called Van which is very close to the border.  To get here we took a 7-hour bus ride from Diyarbakir where we spent two nights and had a won­der­ful adventure.

Chris and I enjoy­ing a break in Istanbul on some ridicu­lous cushions.

The cres­cent moon and the star are the symbols of Turkey. This is looking out the train window during our 30-hour train ride from Istanbul to Malatya.

Chris and I with Muzaffer, a man who showed us all the sites of Diyarbakir out of the kind­ness of his heart. He spent 6 hours with us. He was that eager and willing to teach people the Kurdish way and culture.

Muzaffer wanted this photo to look “natural” so this is the pose he chose. Hee,hee. Silly guy.

We’ve had people ask us through­out our trip if we are home­sick, but hon­estly until recently I wasn’t.  Lately, all of my dreams have been about home.  I didn’t think I would feel home­sick for Canada, espe­cially in Muslim coun­tries because I spent 10-years of my life in Saudi Arabia. For 10-years I heard prayer call, and felt the swel­ter­ing heat that makes you sweat just from stand­ing in it. I loved it. It was home from age 8–18.

When my dad retired from the company in Saudi we of course moved back to Canada.  I didn’t feel Canadian. I felt like a visitor. I didn’t own a winter coat, or even more than a couple pairs of socks. Everything was strange, quiet and cold. I use to walk down 17th Ave looking at all the people having a good time inside the warm bars. One of them even had a palm tree painted on the window. (Everyone is always wishing or think­ing they’d be happier some­where else.) I was home­sick for Saudi and lonely. Of course I even­tu­ally made friends in Canada. I found a family of them in University and even a husband! I learnt the ways of being Canadian. I got use to putting on a sweater, a hoody and then my winter jacket before going outside.  Although it took me about six years to finally admit I shouldn’t be wearing a skirt in January.

So here I am, in weather where I don’t need a winter coat or even a sweater and for some damn reason I’m home­sick for Canada’s seasons and many of its other attrib­utes.  I’m home­sick for how green and lush trees look in the summer time.  I’m home­sick for the fresh­ness and crisp­ness of our air. And for bathtubs, and toilet paper in public restrooms. I’m home­sick for a big, thick Alberta beef steaks. I’m home­sick for Taber corn and pero­gies. I’m home­sick for pork roast. I’m home­sick for dif­fer­ent vari­et­ies of food like Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese, Italian, etc. I’m home­sick for a washer and dryer. I’m home­sick for a kitchen. I’m home­sick for having more than 5 shirts and 2 bottoms as a ward­robe. I’m home­sick because I don’t have a home.

One example of what our hotel rooms usually look like, and how we’ve been doing laundry for the better part of 5.5 months (except for our won­der­ful month in Italy).

This is Ayran. It’s a drink made out of yogurt, water and salt. Here in eastern Turkey they serve it in large cups or bowls, instead of the man­u­fac­tured plastic cans like in the west. Just one small dif­fer­ence between western and eastern Turkey.

Me watch­ing the sunset on top of Nemrut Dagi.

I’m guilty of wanting to be some­where else on –30 degree days in Canada, but now that I have been away for 5.5 months I know that it takes seeing and exper­i­en­cing other places to remind me that my home is Canada. That it is a fant­astic place to live. I guess it turns out I’m more Canadian and feel more Canadian than I ever thought I was.  I look forward to coming home.  In fact, I might just kiss the ground when we get back and take three week vaca­tions to hot destinations.

(I apo­lo­gize for the quality of the photos. They were all taken with our small point-shoot.)

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