Istanbul in the summer can be very hot.  It can also be crowded, noisy and dirty.  A couple of years ago I stayed in Istanbul for the summer while studying Turkish.  The classes were tough and I wanted to take a road trip and break from my studies.  In July we had a mid-term exam followed by a mid-term break.  I hoped to flee the city for a few days to a cooler, quieter destination.  My classmate Nancy proposed a trip to Turkey's Southeast.  Hardly a cool, quiet destination (I was thinking more along the lines of the mountains in the Northeast), but it had some appeal for me.  For one thing I had always wanted to visit Mt. Nemrut, which was not that far from the area Nancy proposed to visit.  Her goal was the odd "bee-hive" village of Harran:  a remote biblical era town near the border with Syria.  Although I had no particular interest in visiting Harran, the more I read about it, the more intrigued I became.  Finally we decided to fly to the city of Sanliurfa and combine both Mt. Nemrut and Harran into our itinerary, with a peek at the nearby Ataturk Dam.

Southeast Turkey is a beautiful and exotic destination that has a distinctly Middle Eastern feel.  The region is populated by Kurdish and Arab people, and seems more like a part of Syria or Iraq than Turkey.  It is a hot and dry place in the summer.  The day we arrived in Sanliurfa everyone we met complained about the intense heat.  "Altmish" ("Sixty") was the word I heard in every conversation on the subject.  I understood this to mean 60 degrees (Celsius) but didn't immediately understand the equivalent in Farenheit.  Finally, while gasping for breath in the heat, I did a mental conversion to Farenheit:  140 degrees!  When I told my traveling companions that we were experiencing 140 degree heat, they looked at me in disbelief.  By the end of the day, however, they realized it was probably true.  Apparently the local heat wave we had stumbled into made television headlines all over the country that weekend.  I can assure you I have never experienced heat as intense as I experienced while in Sanliurfa.  Yet, despite the heat, I was captivated by this exotic corner of the world.

We were a little dazed upon arriving at our slightly run-down, un-airconditioned hotel.  I think only part of it could be explained by the heat.  The better part of our confusion was due to culture shock.  Our first stop was Harran Tours, a small tour operator located across the street from our hotel.  Before leaving Istanbul we had called Ercan, the owner, to find out if he could take us out to Harran and the desert towns near the Syrian border.  Ercan's "office" is a small room off a hot, dusty, crowded thoroughfare.  We sat on Turkish carpets while he served us strong sweet tea in small glasses and showed us a map of the area.  He told us a little about the desert towns in the region.  Each one had some biblical significance and historical importance.  I had the impression we could have spent the entire afternoon sipping tea and chatting, but wanted to have lunch and go sightseeing in the town.  We eventually negotiated a price for a tour (which we mistakenly thought was a tour for just the three of us) for a day-long trip to leave the following morning at 6 a.m.

Walking into the center of town was an unforgettable experience.  The main avenue was noisy, dusty and crowded.  The 140 degree heat was unbearable.  We eventually located the restaurant Ercan had recommended for lunch - to our delight it was air-conditioned!  All heads in the restaurant turned when we entered.  The customers were all men, and they couldn't stop staring at my traveling companions Anna and Nancy.  We sat down and tried to feel at ease, despite the fact that we were still reeling from the oven-like heat and everyone continued to stare at us.  Later we realized why:  we saw few women on the streets during our stay, and virtually none in the stores or restaurants.  But we made the best of the situation, and since we were starving, ordered some of the famously hot and spicy local cuisine.  I couldn't believe that I enjoyed eating the hot and peppery food as much as I did, considering that outside the windows of the restaurant I could see the bright sunlight baking down on the dusty street.

We continued down a broad avenue toward the center of town.  I had noticed on the map and tourist brochures that there was a complex of mosques in the center of town linked by "sacred fish pools."  Apparently these were a major sight in this city and I became determined to see them.  Besides, the idea of a large cool body of water sounded very appealing.  But first we passed through a surreal street scene.  While gasping in the heat and choking on the dust kicked up by the traffic, I noticed that every store we passed by was a jewelry store.  Not just a few, either.  Both sides of the avenue, as far as the eye could see, were lined with small, one room jewelry stores, their windows filled with gold chains.  My mind tried to process what I was seeing.  I saw no one wearing jewelry - who was buying it, then?  Finally I realized that the jewelry was probably not for wearing out on the town, but for investing.  For some reason, in this culture, gold jewelry was a stable, portable and easily transferable form of wealth and savings.  Still, after walking for a long time and passing hundreds of virtually identical jewelry stores, the scene remained slightly surreal to me.

We ventured into the courtyard of the Ulu Mosque.  A group of small children surrounded us and followed us everywhere as we gazed up at the minaret.  The mosque was apparently built in the 1100's and closely resembles another mosque of the same period in Aleppo.  Historical records indicate that it was built on the site of a church that was formerly a synagogue.  It had the feel of an ancient place.  We were to discover layer upon layer of history in this strange town, most of it so dense that even without the mind-numbing heat we could only wonder at its meaning.

Knowing next to nothing about Sanliurfa before my arrival there, I decided to pay more attention to the travel literature we had brought with us.  When I started reading about the city, I began to think it had an identity crisis.  The problem starts with its name.  For a long time the name of the city was "Urfa".  To this day, all over Turkey one can order an Urfa kebab - a spicy ground lamb dish named after the city of its origin.  The city was renamed Sanliurfa in the thirties - the name means "Heroic Urfa" - as a tribute to the people who fought bravely on behalf of the Turkish Republic.  Long before the Turks renamed the city, however, in the second millenium B.C., the Hittites called it "Ursu".  The Assyrians called it "Ruhua" or "Ru'ua".  Then along came Persians, Romans, Arabs and others, who called the city "Urhai" "El-Ruha" "Al-Reha" and "Edessa". Today, almost everyone continues to use the name Urfa.  Needless to say, it's hard to get a fixed reading on this place.  The problem only gets more complicated after encountering the name confusion.

Sanliurfa is also known as "The Prophets' City."  The beautiful mosque complex in the center of town harbors the cave in which the prophet Abraham was allegedly born.  The imposing castle ruins on the hill above the mosque complex mark the spot where Abraham was allegedly thrown to a fiery death, and the twin lakes (Lake Aynzeliha and Lake Halil-urrahman) are believed to be the spots where divine intervention rescued him after he was cast into the fire.  The cave where the prophet Job stayed is in Sanliurfa and the city even has a connection with Jesus (which involves a letter and a handkerchief allegedly sent to the city's ruler) and the prophet Elijah.

To get to the mosque complex and historical center of the city, including my goal, the fish pools, we decided to pass through the bazaar. We had a growing crowd of fans as we walked past the jewelry stores down the main avenue toward the bazaar.  Lots of children followed and stared at us, as well as a few adults.  When we plunged into the covered bazaar, we entered an alternate universe.  There were people everywhere, selling everything.  We saw:  mountains of spices and herbs, fruits and vegetables, baked and prepared foods, household goods, furniture, clothing, leather goods, copper pots and tools, appliances, more jewelry, animals, carpets, carpets and more carpets.  And we would have seen more if everyone hadn't been shouting at us and distracting us along the way.  When they saw us they recognized a sales opportunity, although I was only interested in passing through on my way to the mosque complex.  We were invited to sit down and have tea and shop by untold numbers of merchants.  Most of the time we just stared in wonder at the sheer quantity of things piled high and displayed in every nook and cranny of every wall.  I'm sure the Mall of America has less merchandise (and certainly less variety!) than Sanliurfa's bazaar!

Somehow we managed to stumble on one of the old arched courtyards that serve as small oases in the middle of the madness.  It was relatively peaceful and we were tempted to have tea and linger there, but Anna and Nancy were not comfortable with all the men in the courtyard staring at them, so we pushed on.  The walk through the bazaar was dizzying.  I suggested we come back when we were in more of a shopping mood and in the mean time push on to the famous fish pools.  Leaving the bazaar was like stepping off a merry-go-round.  Luckily, I have a fairly good sense of direction, so we threaded our way through the maze of passageways and emerged very close to the mosques.

Someone was waiting for us.  A friendly fellow who introduced himself to us walked with us toward the mosques, along with our retinue of small children and a few other adults, who were all staring open-mouthed at us.  It didn't take too long before he made his carpet sales pitch.  We told him we were more interested in sightseeing so he gave us his card and urged us to shop for carpets later, offering to escort us throughout the city and basically be our constant companion.  When we politely tried to get rid of him, he persisted.  Finally, we told him in no uncertain terms to get lost, and he did - for a while.  He would turn up again and again, and he wasn't the only one.  There were many more like him.

I couldn't count the mosques we visited, there seemed to be so many.  They were all arranged in a beautiful park-like complex.  Closest to the bazaar is the Narinci mosque, followed by the Hasan Pasha mosque, and the enormous Mevlid-i-Halil mosque.  This entire area is known as the Dergah.  The wide open courtyards and architectural splendor of the Ottoman-style mosques are a welcome change from the claustrophobic passageways of the bazaar.  Many areas of the complex were off-limits to us but even in our overheated and dazed state (not improved by the walk through the bazaar), I think it's safe to say we fell in love with the place.  We walked west toward the fish pools.  They were surrounded by a park with grass and trees, a welcome sight after the hot dusty treeless streets.

Two beautiful mosques, the Rizvaniye Mosque and Halil-ur Rahman Mosque, sit at opposite ends of a large rectangular pool filled with fat carp.  Arcades line the lake and small boys sell fish food by the lakeshore.  We bought some and enjoyed watching the enormous fish jump out of the water.  It's a magical spot, sacred to many, I'm sure, but to me simply a place of great man-made harmony and beauty.  I could have spent hours there, but the heat was starting to get to us, so we headed toward the park next to the Halil-ur Rahman Mosque.  There were so many trees in the park that it was actually dark and cool.  As one finds in so many places in Turkey, tables and chairs were set up everywhere:  the park was parceled off into tea gardens and outdoor restaurants.  The tea gardens were the perfect place for us to take a break.  We were pretty lethargic from the heat and the culture shock of suddenly finding ourselves in the middle of a large Middle-eastern city the same day that we left Istanbul.  And for once we found ourselves companion-less.  Our retinue of small children and curious adults had left us when we entered the mosque complex, so for once we were able to relax.  We were so happy sitting in the park and sipping tea that I was the only one who wanted to continue our sightseeing.  I had one more goal for the day: the castle on the hill.

The dramatic backdrop to the mosque and lake complex is a large hill with a ruined castle towering over the entire city.  All that remains of the castle are its thick walls and a pair of soaring columns.    The castle was built in the 9th century but the columns are significantly older, perhaps from the 3rd century.  It is an easy walk up the hill to the castle entrance, where our next adventure began.  Somehow we picked up some more companions on the walk up the hill.  The ticket seller at the castle entrance shooed them away and started chatting with us.  He invited us to have tea with him and his friends, and we sat underneath a tent canopy sipping more hot tea and looking out on a panorama of the city.  As happened to us so many times on our trip, we ended up spending more time than we anticipated sipping tea and chatting with the locals.  I started to enjoy the slower, friendlier pace of life and relaxed.  We watched the light start to fade and I realized we were going to be treated to a beautiful sunset from the castle overlooking this magical, mysterious city.  The heat was letting up, so our energy started to return and our spirits lifted.  I was happy to be there.

Our trip to Harran was an adventure I'm sure none of us will soon forget.  We met at Ercan's office at 6:00 am and had our first tea of the day.  To our surprise, we were not alone in our tour.  Ercan had booked half a dozen other tourists for the tour.  Our tour was led by Yusuf, our driver/guide and, as it turned out, quite a character.  He was a non-stop talker and story-teller who took an instant liking to Nancy, but displayed it by affectionately teasing her about everything.  He decided to constantly test our rudimentary Turkish.  It was going to be a long day.

As the sun heated up, we drove south into a lunar landscape.  I had a hard time comprehending how people could live in such a place.  All of a sudden, we stumbled on an irrigated field where cucumbers grew.  Yusuf jumped out of the van and made us all gather fresh cucumbers off the vine, which he urged us to eat.  They were crisp and refreshing.  Yusuf had a Falstaffian presence:  he was a large man with a ready laugh, an easy smile and twinkling eyes.  He obviously loved to eat, talk, entertain, and live life to the fullest.  He was also mischevious and would constantly tease us, especially Nancy, and anyone else we encountered in our day's travels.  While driving south, he would launch into a story or explanation which was admittedly hard for us to understand because of his heavy accent.  At some point he would notice our interest flagging and start to pepper us with questions.  When we really started to flag, he would launch into a song and insist that we join in.

We passed through mud hut villages with no greenery evident anywhere.  We would occasionally spot a robed figure leading some sheep up or down a hillside, at times some children playing near a well. We stopped in small villages where the village mukhtar or chief would emerge and chat with Yusuf, who seemed to know everyone.  By the time we were ready to take a lunch break we were all suffering from the heat.  One of our tour members, a quiet Turkish businessmen from another city, even passed out from the heat.  The scene was actually a little comical.  We had climbed up a hill in one of the villages and stood in the blistering sun looking out over a moonscape.  Yusuf launched into a seemingly endless description about some piles of rock that were ruins from ancient times.  I'm sure most of us were barely listening, since Yusuf's accent was hard to understand and the history seemed pretty obscure.  I don't think I was alone in wishing that Yusuf would stop and we could find some relief from the heat as well as something to drink.  It was at that point that our tour had its first casualty.  Fortunately, he was out for only a few minutes and my wish was granted:  Yusuf announced that we would get back in the van and make a beeline for a place where we could cool off, get something to drink, and have lunch.

Our lunch hosts were a couple who lived in a typical mud house.  We crouched to enter a low room with no furniture.  It was surprisingly cool due to the thick walls.  We sat cross-legged on the floor while our hosts spread a large plastic drop cloth in the center of the room.  They served us ayran - a salty yogurt and water drink.  Our meal was delicious.  Most of us had little appetite due to the intense heat, but I found myself enjoying the fresh flat bread, chicken and rice mixed with nuts and raw onions.  The meal was simply prepared and unceremoniously poured onto the plastic-covered floor, where we scooped it up with our bread and fingers.  It had a deliciously earthy and hearty flavor to it.  We finished it all off with glass after glass of hot tea.  I don't think anyone was eager to go back out into the heat.

The day seemed endless.  One high point of the afternoon followed our tour of an ancient biblical site. After crawling around in dusty rock piles and caves for a while, we spotted an irrigation pump that was gushing water into a field.  We ran over and started drinking from the spout until Yusuf splashed water all over first Anna, then Nancy.  Before I knew what happened we all ended up splashing around in the cool water and getting thoroughly soaked.  In the hot air our clothes dried before we had even walked back to the van.  Another high point was our stop at an ancient caravanseray.  It was partially in ruins, but I could appreciate the necessity for ancient camel caravans to travel at night and wait out the intense daytime heat behind the thick walls of the caravanseray.  Some people must have lived there, because they emerged from the shadows and offered us bowls of ayran, which tasted delicious in the cool shade of the ruins.

Our final destination was Harran. A large ruined castle sits in the middle of the ancient town of beehive mud huts.  We explored it for a while and saw an equally impressive site:  the ruins of the Grand Mosque, which in its day must have rivaled any other mosque or cathedral in the world.  On the way back to Sanliurfa Yusuf stopped the van next to a large irrigation ditch, stripped down to his underwear, and jumped into the cool water.  We all waited while he cooled off and swam for a while, then headed back to town.

We arranged with Ercan to provide us with transportation to Ataturk Dam and on to Mt. Nemrut.  We planned to spend the night in Adiyaman, catch a bus to Malatya, and return to Istanbul.  Things worked out pretty much as planned, but the heat continued to plague us.  The Ataturk Dam is one of the world's largest dams.  The dam is the centerpiece of an enormous project called the South-East Anatolia Project, a project that is transforming a large portion of Southeast Turkey.  It consists of a number of dams and hydroelectric plants that will irrigate formerly parched lands and provide large amounts of electricity for industrial development.  I thought the irrigation canals created a stark contrast to the otherwise dry and dusty landscape:  checkerboards of lush green fields amid a beige backdrop.  The huge lake created by the Ataturk Dam sits amid dry beige hills:  the water seems to belong to another place.  The dam is an impressive site, but equally impressive for me were the crystal clear waters of the Euphrates River.  I wanted to take the day off from sightseeing and swim in the clear waters all afternoon, but we had to push on.