Gallivanting Grandma

I slept well in the large comfortable modern room of the hotel.  The next morning, we all gathered in the restaurant where we had dinner last night for a hearty Turkish breakfast.

We collected our luggage, filled up Selcuk’s van and went to look for the little village of Bahceli (pronounced Bachely) or Khohn in Armenian.  Bahcelikoy means the village of the garden, or garden town, in Turkish.  This had been an ancient Armenian village and we were going there to find the ruins of an Armenian church.

Selcuk and Armen asked several men for directions and we slowly drove through the delightful village.  There was a stream of water quickly flowing next to the road. In this arid land water was important to the survival of the people. When we stopped the van in Bahceli, the local boys gathered to greet us and posed for photographs.

We stopped a local man who informed us that the church ruins were long gone because a road had been built on that site.  The only things left were the walls which had surrounded the church and a lovely garden with fruit trees and flowers.  He directed us to the road that had replaced the church ruins.

Then we drove Guillaume Perrier, the journalist who had been travelling with us, to the Erzincan airport.  It was wonderful having Guillaume on the trip with us because he spoke multiple languages and frequently translated information for us and answered all our questions.  He had an encyclopedic memory for details and was knowledgeable about Turkish history and culture. Guillaume was also an expert on current events in Turkey and the Middle East.  He broadened our knowledge and added a deeper dimension to our journey.  Thank you Guillaume!  It was wonderful travelling with you!

We sadly said our farewells to Guillaume and continued on to the village of Bayirbag. The Armenian name had been Piterich.  It had been an ancient Armenian village and we were there to find the ruins of an old Armenian monastery.

Armen asked a local man for directions and we were told to turn left at a broken fountain and continue on that road.  We found the broken fountain which had an Armenian symbol carved into the stone and turned left.  We travelled on the rocky dirt road for quite a while and climbed up a steep hill.

Finally we saw a farmer on a tractor ahead of us and asked him about the monastery.  He said to continue further up the hill and assured us it was there. The van drove higher and higher up the steep hill on a bumpy single-lane dirt road.

The man led the way up and he finally stopped in front of two connected stone buildings and got off his tractor.  He spoke rapidly in Turkish and pointed at the buildings.  We surmised that this was what remained of the monastery.

It looked as if the two buildings were being used for housing or storage.  The wall between the buildings was torn down but the farmer pointed out several crosses and Armenian writing carved into the stone.

Then he led the way up the steep hill and we followed him on foot.  In about 100 feet we saw the ruins of a small chapel.  Crosses had been carved into several stones and we could see the place where the alter had been.

Then the farmer wanted to show us something else and gestured to us to follow him.  We climbed further up the steep hill until we came to the site of a Christian cemetery.  The crude stones were lying flat on the ground and several of the plots had been dug up by people looking for treasures.

We were joined by a young man who we guessed was the farmer’s son.  They pointed and gestured actively and chattered on, talking to us as if we understood Turkish.

Satisfied that we saw everything, we followed the two men down the hill and back toward the stone buildings.  Standing silently near one of the buildings was an elderly man wearing a knitted skull cap.  In his hand was a string of brown prayer beads that the people of Anatolia use to pray.

We greeted him and the farmer introduced all of us in Turkish.  The man smiled and welcomed us to his home and land. It turned out that the young man was his grandson and the farmer was a cousin.

We heard the word “chai” and someone in our group said “yes”, so the farmer gathered dried twigs and began to make a fire in a cement grill. A large blue tarp was brought out and set on the ground for us to sit on.  Two blackened teapots were produced, one was filled with water.  Finally, after much effort, the farmer put the pots on a rack in the grill.  We all watched as the water boiled and the steam whistled out of the spout.

After a while, the farmer said he had no tea! I suppose he had invited us for tea to be hospitable, but Roseanne came to the rescue.  She had teabags in her luggage! She went to the van to get her teabags.  The farmer poured the water into the glasses, Roseanne circulated her teabags, and we sat down on the tarp to drink tea in the shade of a large walnut tree.  The three men could not have tea because it was Ramadan, but they sat with us and were gracious.

The elderly man had been squatting near a tree and watched the farmer make chai.  Quietly he rose and his grandson helped him wash his hands and feet.  The grandson produced a small carpet. Then the man kneeled on the carpet and began to pray quietly in one corner of the tarp.

Can it get any better than this?  We were sitting on a blue plastic tarp under the trees, in the country on a high hill having tea with three generations of Turkish farmers.  A soft breeze was blowing and the sun shone brightly.  This was a WOW moment!

Yesterday we drove through the hills of north central Turkey and stopped for the night in Amasya.  I had read about the city before our journey and the information on the Internet said that it was a beautiful city which was built in a narrow gorge of the Yesilimak (green) River.

Armen, our guide called Amasya “the Saltzburg of Turkey” because the cliffs rise high above the city. Yes, it is beautiful with very interesting architecture in a gorgeous natural setting.  Lovely white stucco houses with brown wood trim were built along the river.  Armen said that the houses are examples of Armenian architecture.

Amasya has a colorful 3000 year old history and was mentioned in documents during the time of Alexander the Great.  In the 3rd century BC, Amasya became the capital of the Pontic kingdom until they were defeated by Julius Caesar in 47 BC at the battle of Zela (now called Zile, more later).  From 1240 through 1390 the region was under Mongol rule and after this time, the entire region was ruled by the Ottoman Empire.

We stayed at the Amasya Buyuk Otel with our rooms overlooking the river.  The tall cliffs of the gorge towered above us.  Pontic kings were buried high above in caves carved into the sides of the rocks.  The tombs are open to tourists and the entrances are visible from the street along the river.

Amasya is a beautiful city but the hotel left much to be desired. It was located on the river front and had a wonderful view, but the air conditioning was marginal and the room was shabby. The entire hotel looks like it’s getting ready for renovation, or should be.  When I stepped off the elevator on the 2^nd floor, the first thing I saw were pictures on the floor, leaning against the wall instead of on the wall. The halls were dark and spooky.  The breakfast was also disappointing.

Anyway, after breakfast we boarded the van and Selcuk (pronounced “Seljuk) drove us to Merzifon. A university had been built there by American missionaries in the 1930s for poor Armenians to be educated.  Over the years, a number of prominent Armenians obtained their educations at that university. Recently, the university had been closed but is now under reconstruction and will be a school. Down the street from the university there are several homes in the Armenian architectural style.

After looking at the university, we went to an Armenian church in Merzifon which had been in disrepair. It is currently being renovated and is being transformed into a theater.  I suppose it is good that it isn’t being torn down.  There are very few Armenians left in Merzifon to support a church.

Then we drove to Gumushacikoy.  Don’t ask me to pronounce it!  We drove to a small bakery which was co-owned by an Armenian man.  His partner is Turkish.  We introduced ourselves to the man and Armen spoke to him about his life and his experiences.  While they were chatting, the baker produced several loaves of round  bread from the oven and showed them to us.  “Ekmek” is the Turkish word for bread.  He happily posed for photos. Then he wrapped three large loaves and gave them to us!  We offered to pay him, but he refused our Turkish Lires.

The baker also mentioned another Armenian man who lived in Gumushacikoy. Someone ran up the hill to get the man and we watched the baker pull more loaves of bread from the huge oven.  By the way, the bread was delicious!

Finally, Gabriel Balian appeared and Armen and Guillaume Perrier, the journalist from Le Monde, had a long chat with him.  Gabriel said that there were only five Armenian families left in this town.  He said it had been difficult living with the Turks but recently things have improved.

Gabriel in front of the hamam that his grandfather built

Gabriel wanted to show us a church which had been converted into a mosque, so we all boarded the van and drove out of town to a small hamlet named, Gumus (pronounced Gou-moosh).  The streets were very narrow and the van had trouble navigating through them, but we finally arrived at the top of a hill.  The church was typical Byzantine architecture, with a recent minaret.

We looked around and took photos.  The Turks had not remove the paintings of Christ and four disciples from the ceiling.  They had installed a horizontal shade which they pulled to cover the paintings during prayer times. It was uncovered now.

Armen, Gabriel, and Guillaume talked to the Imam. The Imam explained about the Muslim service to us and told us his role in the mosque, entirely in Turkish!

Afterwards, Gabriel led us to another Armenian man who owned a fabric shop in Gumushacikoy.  We all entered the shop and and looked around while Armen and Guillaume spoke to Shahan, the owner of the shop, in Turkish.

The man offered us glasses of cold Coka Cola.  Shahan also related his experiences as an Armenian living in Turkey.

Finally we drove to Zile.  This the town where Nicole’s and Francoise’s father’s father was born.  Zile is located in Tokat Province and there is evidence of human habitation in the Zile region since Neolithic times (9500 BC).  Zile was known as Zila during Roman times.  Along the road to Amasya, Julius Caesar won the Battle of Zela in 48 BC prompting him to say, “Veni, Vidi, Vinci” – “I came, I saw, I conquered”. This battle was against Pharnaces II who was the son of the great king Mithridates VI, rulers of the Pontic Empire.

Today Zile is a busy town with shops and outdoor venders selling dried fruits and chickpeas, and walnuts.  Armen told us that there were no more Armenians living there any more. Selcuk parked the van off the main street and we walked down a street looking at houses which Armen said were in Armenian architecture.

Zile has a population of about 36,000 people, so it is a good sized city.  As in every town and city in Turkey, men congregate everywhere, sitting together outside shops talking and watching the world go by.  When they see us, they stop talking and watch everything we do.

One shop had a couple of bright yellow taxis parked out front and a group of men sat talking together on the side walk. Above them written in large letters on the wall was the name of the taxi company, “Tecca Taxi”.  An appropriate name I thought.  Then across the street we saw another taxi company, with similar yellow cars and a group of men and its name was “Calla Taxi”. Another good name for a taxi company!

Armen and Selcuk asked some local men about the houses and were given directions to a fortress.  On the way, we stopped to look at the wares of a street vender.  What attracted us was an assortment of wrist watches lying in a pan of water. This was supposed to demonstrate that they were waterproof.  The man also sold prayer beads and large pocket knives.

Half of our group followed Armen and Francoise to the fortress, but four of us were left behind shopping for wristwatches and beads. After we made our purchases, we turned to look for the others, but they were gone.  We walked in the direction that we thought they went.  For a wild few minutes, we thought we were lost and abandoned in Zile.

Then we remembered that Selcuk had parked the van around the corner from the street vender.  If one has to get lost in Turkey, it’s best to get lost with Selcuk the Turkish driver with a big white air conditioned Mercedes van!

We walked back to where he had originally parked but the van was not there. After a few seconds of panic, we looked around and two men, who were sitting on the steps across the street, called out in incomprehensible Turkish and pointed down the street toward the left.  We looked and there was the van!

Of course, the villagers had been watching us and knew all our movements.  No secrets in a Turkish town!  We waved thank you to the men and hurried to the safety of the Mercedes van and Selcuk.  Selcuk called Armen on his cell phone and we connected with the rest of the group, but it had been a scary few minutes!

It was a long three hour drive back to Sivas and we watched the sun set over the distant hills. Selcuk is Muslim so he does not eat or drink all day.  After the sun set he reached for a bottle of water and Armen gave him a loaf of bread from the bakery this morning.

As we approached Sivas and it was 8:00 PM, Armen asked if we wanted to eat “before we got to Sivas or after we checked into the hotel.” Apparently, he knew of a restaurant on the outskirts of town that had good shish-k-bab.  It was a huge fascinating place with outdoor seating.

We guessed it was part of a chain because it had the same name as the restaurant in which we had eaten in Sivas the night before last. The food was good and plentiful and made a good ending to a very long day.

After we left the restaurant and we arrived in downtown Sivas, we were surprised to find the streets full of people. It was about 11:00 PM and the entire city was out walking!  There were family groups, children, young people & old people, many eating ice cream.  It was very festive and noisy.  The day’s fasting was finished and everyone was enjoying the cool evening air.

Today was quite a day! We stayed at the Sivas Buyuk Hotel last night. Sivas is the largest city in Anatolia with a population of 301,000 people.  The city was named “Sebasteia” in the 1st Century BC to honor the Roman Emperor, Augustus.  It was the capital of “Armenia Minor” under the emperor Diocletion at the end of the 3rd century AD.

View from My Window at Back of the Sivas Buyuk Hotel

Under the Byzantine emperors, Sebasteia was a large and wealthy Anatolian city.  It was located at the junction of the Persia and Bagdad caravan routes and was a busy commercial center from the earliest ages.  The Sekjuk Turks arrived in the late 11th century, renamed the city, Sivas, and ruled until the 1400s.  The Sivas region was then plundered by the Central Asian ruler, Timur (Tamerlane).

Street-side View from the Sivas Buyuk Hotel

In the 19th century there were almost 200,000 Armenian people living in Sivas Province.  The city had a population of about 45,000, with more than one third Armenian inhabitants.  During June and July 1915, most of the Armenians of Sebasteia were either killed or deported.  By the late 1990’s the Armenian population had dwindled to less than 50 people in the province of Sivas.  There is still a scattering of Armenians, mostly elderly, in villages around Sivas.  Many villages also have a few inhabitants who will say that they have Armenian mothers or grandmothers.

Countryside between Sivas and Duzyayla

We drove out of Sivas toward the village of Khorkhon, which is called Duzyayla in Turkish today. Khorkhon is the village in which Roseanne’s and my grandfather, Parnoug Shegerian was born.  He was born and lived in Khorkhon for the first almost 30 years of his life.  His brother, Arakel, went to the United States first, in about 1905, to work.  Parnoug followed his brother and arrived at Ellis Island in 1910, leaving behind a wife and three daughters.  We called my grandfather “Bigbob” because “bob” means ‘grandfather’ in Armenian and he was tall.

Fertile Fields Near Khorokhon (Duzyayla)

Our driver, Selcuk, drove the van out of Sivas onto the main East-West highway heading East toward the town of Hafik.  The main roads are very good, frequently two-lanes in each direction and well paved.  We reached Hafik in about 30 minutes and turned North onto a smaller dirt road.  Selcuk asked for directions to Khorkhon and the man nodded his head and said “Duzyayla” and pointed in the direction we were going.  We drove on a continually narrowing road which soon turned into one lane for both directions.  The road was bumpy and rocky and not paved.  After about 15 minutes, we spotted a sign which read “Duzyayal 4 km”.  My cousins and I jumped out of the car for a photo opportunity.

The Shegerian Descendants of Khorkhon

The land around Khorkhon is all farmlands and grazing land.  There were large wheat fields on both sides of the road and occasional flocks of sheep.  As we approached Khorkhon, it became hilly and greener because of the poplar trees and obvious irigation.  The houses looked colorful and well maintained.  We all got out of the van to walk up the hill and into the village.  I thought about my grandfather and that he had walked up that hill, probably many times, a hundred years ago.

The Road into Khorkhon

As we passed a house, a young attractive woman with a white head-covering approached her fence and asked us in English where we were going.  We said that we were looking for the Armenian church and the homes of our grandparents.

Beyhan and her uncle Ishmael

After a brief conversation, she and her uncle invited us into their home for chai.  We passed through her fence, walked into a beautiful garden of flowers, took off our shoes, and entered their house.

Entrance to Ishmael’s House

The large room was like a reception room, probably a living room, with cushion covered divans running the lengths of three walls. There were decorations on the shelves and a few photos on one wall of the uncle in his youth.

Beyhan in Her Uncle’s Living Room

We sat down and the woman’s uncle, whose name we learned was Ishmael, left the room to prepare the chai.  The woman, whose name was Beyhan, sat opposite us and began to speak with us.  We told her that our grandparents were Armenian and had lived in Khorkhon one hundred years ago and we came to see the village of their birth. We enjoyed a hot cup of Turkish chai and cookies.

Ishmael Showing a Uniform From His Youth

My cousins, Francoise and Nicole discovered that their aunt’s step-son was still alive and lived in Germany.  During the genocide, their aunt was saved from death by a Turkish neighbor who told the Turkish police that she was his wife.  She married the man and stayed in Khorkhon for the rest of her life.

Ishmael’s Wife Joined Us Outside

After our tea, Beyhan and Ishmael said they would show us the ruins of the Armenian church in the village.  When we emerged from the house, an elderly woman was walking down the road.  She greeted us happily and we learned that she was Ishmael’s wife.  She apologised for being late and said she was reading the Koran and praying.

Walking Through the Village of Khorkhon

We then walked through Khorkhon like a group of locals on a Sunday stroll.  The village is very hilly with a wide variety of houses, barns, and farm buildings closely arranged on fenced pieces of land. We passed a small mosque in the middle of the village and a small building across the narrow road for men to wash their feet before entering the mosque.

Then we saw what looked like a large grass-covered stone hillock on the side of the road. We followed Ishmael around and down to the other side and looked at a small stone structure.  There were openings in the building at different levels and the large stones were covered with grass and dried moss.

Outside of the Ruins of the Armenian Church

Chris found an opening and crawled in.  Soon everyone crawled into the ruins of the Armenian church of Khorkhon.  The inside walls were completely stripped of any adornments. Armen, our guide, later said that he thought the church could have been built 700 or 800 years ago, judging by the large stones in the walls.  He said that newer churches were built with smaller stones.

Looking Into the Ancient Church

A huge hole had been dug in the ground where the altar would have been.  Beyhan told us that people had dug up the floor of the church looking for buried treasures. They had heard that before the Armenians left, they buried their valuables in the ground of the church. When I was young, my grandmother told me that her father, who was a parish priest, had buried the chalices, gold crosses, and other altarpieces and valuables of their church in the yard behind their house in Ishan.

Interior of the Armenian Church

Armenian crosses had been carved in the stone of the supporting columns and there were a few inscriptions carved on the walls.  We photographed everything we could and one-by-one crawled back out through the opening.  This was the church in which my grandfather, Parnoug, was baptised, attended services on Sundays and holidays, married his first wife, and baptised his children.  Wow!

Stones with Religious Markings at Exterior of the Armenian Church

Parnoug, (Bigbob) is my and Roseanne’s grandfather.  Parnoug is Chris’s great grandfather.  His brother, Arakel, had one son, Nishan.  Nishan’s granddaughters are Nicole and Francoise.  Nishan was also born in this village in about 1900.  Nicole’s and Francoise’s grandmother, Marta, was also born in Khorkhon.  She married Nishan when she was 16 years old.  They left the village together on foot to escape death at the hands of the Turkish army in 1915 and eventually migrated to Marseille, France.

Walking in Khorkhon

We continued walking around the village looking at the buildings, taking photographs, and I tried to imagine what Big Bob’s life here was like.  It really was a lovely farm village with chickens and cows and sheep.

Another View of the Village

As we walked around more village people joined us.  They were curious about us and tried to talk to us. The longer we stayed, more people came out to see us and more stories and information were revealed.  Finally, one of the men said that there was one Armenian man still living in the village.  He was very old and not well and lived on subsistence and hand-outs from the Turkish villagers.

A Row of Houses in Khorkhon

A small contingent of men went to his house to talk to him.  He did not want to talk to them and didn’t want photographs.

Villagers Talking to Armen

Then he asked the men if there were any women among the group.  When he learned that there were women visitors, he came out to meet us.  Our first glimpse of Ovak Karagoz was of a bent-over aged man slowly walking up the hill with a cane.

Our First Sighting of Ovak

When he first approached the group he was surly and upset.  He put his hand up and repeated several times, “No Photos!” in Turkish.  When he saw us, he sat down slowly on a stone step and began to speak to us in Armenian. Ovak kept asking us if we understood Armenian and did we speak Turkish.  He wanted to speak only to the female cousins.

Ovakim Karagosian

We learned that Ovak was 73 years old, although he looked much older.  His parents and siblings were long gone.  He had lived in the village his entire life and, he said he “had nothing”.  As we spoke to him he consented to photos and wanted photos taken with all the female cousins. This is a real Armenian man who likes women!  We all laughed, including Ovak.

He was mistrustful of the Turkish villagers and said he could talk to us if we could go up to the mountains and sit alone without anyone else around us.  Of course, by now, the entire village was hovering closely around us.  When we asked questions about his life, Ovak repeatedly said we had to go to a private place to talk.  “The villagers could not be trusted.”

All the Cousins With Ovak

We had stayed in Khorkhon for many hours and we had to leave.  We said tearful goodbyes to Ovak and the townspeople gave me his address to send our photos.  We thanked Beyhan and Ishmael for their hospitality and generosity and the opportunity to meet the last Armenian in Khorkhon.

We tearfully boarded the van and drove out of my grandfather’s village…..

The buffet breakfast at the Prissia Hotel was amazing!  It had everything you could ever imagine for a hearty breakfast and then some.  CeeGee took a morning dip in the lovely pool before breakfast.  We ate breakfast together and then packed up and boarded the van to go to Evereg and Fenesse, now called Develi, Turkey.

On the way, we drove past the unusual rock formations of the Cappadocia region, which is known to have one of the most interesting and spectacular landscapes in the world.  The van stopped several times to allow us to take photographs.  The strange shapes are formed by the effect of erosion on different kinds of rocks.

When Christianity came to the region, chapels, churches and monasteries were constructed into the rocks.  There are also a number of historic churches from the Byzantine period.  There are also dwellings carved into the rocks and into the sides of the mountains.  Many of them have been abandoned or condemned by the government and are not inhabited today.

The Goreme National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site, was established to preserve some of the cave dwellings, capped pinnacles called: fairy chimneys, rock caves, and other unusual rock formations.

Afterwards, we drove to the city of Develi.  It was once composed of four adjoining parts: the Greek quarter of Agiostan, the two Armenian neighborhoods of Evereg and Fenesse, and the Turkish town center of Develi.  Today there are very few Armenians left in the Turkish town known as Develi.

My cousin, Roseanne’s maternal grandparents Anoush Donikian and Aghazar Abajian were born in Evereg and Fenesse and survived the genocide of 1915.  Aghazar had been a cobbler in Fenesse as a youth.  Anoush was baptized in the 200 year old Armenian church of St. Toros.  Her father was the parish priest of the church and taught in the adjoining school which Anoush attended.

St. Toros had been converted to a mosque in recent times.  However, in 2000, during routine maintenance of the church, the images of the Virgin Mary and a cross appeared on a wall.

We found the Church of St. Toros on a major street in Evereg and Seljuk parked the van.  We all got out and went into the mosque to look around.  The architecture was that of a traditional Armenian church with the high center dome, but it had a white-washed interior and one minaret had been built outside.

Some children were playing outside and there were two groups of children inside having religious lessons.  Our entrance interrupted the Koran classes and the children laughed and waved at us. They followed us around and talked to us in Turkish.  They wanted to show us many things and pointed to some Armenian writing on the stones on the exterior of the church.

The children also led the way around the block to their school.  This was the school that Roseanne’s grandmother attended and where her great-grandfather taught classes.  The Turkish children were adorable.  They invited us to their homes and they posed for photos.  Then they asked us to post their photos on “Facebook”!  :-)

The architecture of Armenian houses is distinctive.  They generally have enclosed balconies which are above the sidewalk and are constructed of evenly-cut large stones.

After we said goodbye to the children at the church/mosque, we drove to a house somewhere in the neighborhood which had been owned by an Armenian family whose last name was Bedrosian.

Armen, our guide, knocked on the door of one of the neighbors and asked about the house.  The elderly woman who answered the door, said that she had the key and asked if we wanted to go inside. She produced a huge 8 inch key and unlocked the door.

We were overwhelmed by the grandeur of the house.  There was a two-story center hall with stone stairs to the second floor.  The bedrooms had frescoes painted on the walls and elaborate custom built cabinetry.  Although the house had been abandoned and covered with a layer of dirt, it was magnificent.

Roseanne has many good memories of the church and school in her grandparents’ home town. She now knows the original church and school of her grandparents and the kind of life they lived.  We also drove into the adjoining part of the city of Develi, known as Fenesse to look for buildings of Armenian architectural style. There were many interesting mosques and black & white patterned buildings, but it was clear that the former Armenian neighborhood had been eliminated.

Downtown Kayseri with yellow taxi cabs

We left Evereg/Fenesse and drove to the city of Kayseri. The city has great historical significance as an “Armenian Christian Cultural Center”.  Kayseri was known as Caesarea in Roman times and was named for Julius Cesar.  Mount Erciyes towers in the horizon to the south of the city.

Interior of the Armenian Church in Kayseri

Kayseri was the seat of the Armenian diocese.  Saint Gregory the Illuminator, patron saint and first official head of the Armenian Apostolic Church lived and studied in Kayseri.  He was the religious leader who is credited with converting Armenia from paganism to Christianity in 301.  Armenia became the first country to adopt Christianity as its official religion.

Armenian Church in Kayseri Surrounded by Stone Wall

An Armenian church from the 19th century still operates in the city, although there are only about 15 Armenian families left in Kayseri.  We were able to visit this beautiful church and to see how well maintained it is.  It is located in the out-skirts of the city in an area of long-abandoned houses and destroyed buildings.  The church is in the center of a high stone wall with one thick wood and iron gate for entry.

Inner Courtyard and Entrance to the Armenian Church

A full-time Turkish caretaker and his family live inside the stone compound.  We knocked on the heavy door and he let us into the beautiful shady courtyard.  Birds were singing and it was a cool and peaceful place.  We took walked around, took photos, and talked to a couple of tourists from Great Britain and their German/Turkish guide.

Kayseri is the city which is well known for its production of basturma, a dried beef roll, and sujuk, a spicy sausage.  We stopped at a grocery market and purchased both with some bread to nibble on the road to Sivas.

On the way, we stopped at a group of buildings at the side of the road.  It was the home of a breeder of the “Kongal” dogs.  Cousin Francoise had known about them and asked to see them if possible.  We made a quick stop to see these magnificent herding dogs and cute puppies.

Shopping With Local Women in a Bakery in Kaiseri

Then we had a three and a half hour drive to Sivas.  The cousins, FRUSAs, laughed and talked and sang and talked and told stories and laughed and talked all the way to the large city of our ancestors.  We also enjoyed the Armenian music which was on the CD player in the van.

We are staying at the Sivas Buyuk Hotel, another large modern business hotel.  It is clean, modern, and has free WiFi in my room. I just wish it had air conditioning! Sivas is a very large city with lots of traffic and congestion.  There are many modern apartment and commercial buildings.  Sivas is the capital city of this region of Anatolia.

The journalist, Guilluame Perrier joined us this evening and interviewed our FRUSA Cousins group for his article in Le Monde.  That should be fun!

We arrived in Sivas in the late afternoon and we briefly saw the large mosque about a block from the hotel which dates from the 16th century with beautiful blue-tiled minarets.

It is an excellent example of Seljuk architecture at the height of the Ottoman Empire.  After we checked into the hotel and received our room assignments, a few of us met downstairs and walked out to see a bit of the city of Sivas and the historic mosque.  The sun was setting, but the temperature was still warm.

We met Armen and Guillaume and the other cousins in the lobby of the hotel to talk for a short while before going out to the Lezzetci Gamlik Restaurant for dinner.  We ate a delicious dinner of shish-k-bab with rice and green beans. It was a wonderful day!

It’s 7:40AM Thursday August 12 and I’m writing this from Urgup, Turkey.  Urgup is a city of about 15,000 people located in the south-central part of the country in the region known as Cappadocia.  The city is about 18 kilometers east of Nevsehir.  The terrain is mostly flat with some hills and looks dry, with few trees.  The countryside is in shades of honey-brown and tan interspersed with a bit of green.

The guide book says the area around Urgup has “a spectacular natural setting and is in a wonderful location at the very heart of central Cappadocia.”

This is an international tourist destination and is rapidly becoming a holiday destination for many  Turkish people.  Tourists arrive to see the unusual rock formations known as “fairy chimneys” and the ancient  Byzantine caves which were churches and houses carved out of the sides of the hills.

On Wednesday, August 11th we flew from Ataturk Airport in Istanbul to Nevsehir in about an hour and a half.  When we landed at the Nevsehir airport, we were the only plane on the tarmac.  Nevsehir is the provincial capital city of the Cappadocia region with a population of about 81,000 people.  According to local legends, if you set eyes on the beautiful view from Nevsehir’s hilltop castle, you will be compelled to stay there for seven years.  It must be an ancient story, because Nevsehir is an ugly modern town that offers travellers little incentive to linger.

As our guide, Armen, casually commented, “it looks like a lunar landscape.”  We collected our luggage and followed Armen out to the waiting van and our driver, Seljuk.  We loaded up the van and were on our way to explore Cappadocia!

Thank goodness, the van is a big tall white 12-seater Mercedes equipped with air-conditioner and small refrigerator stocked with bottles of water.  Yesterday when we left Istanbul, the temperature was 30 degrees Celsius at 8:00 in the morning.  When we stepped out of the airplane in Nevsihir at 12:00 noon, it felt like we had stepped into an oven.

We boarded our van and Seljuk drove us to the Perissia Hotel in Urgup. The hotel is huge and I cannot imagine it filled to capacity.

Imagine a dry, dusty, rocky, brown desert and in the middle of it there is a large luxurious business-type hotel with air conditioning, spa, pool, concierge, buffet meals, lounge, bar (yes, bar for the non-Muslim tourists) and gift shop.

That’s the Perissia Hotel in Urgup.  Today we’re sharing the hotel with a large jabbering tour group from Italy.  Someone said that August weather is too hot and it is the “off-season” to visit the Cappadocia region. Spring and fall were the right times to come here and that the hotels were fully booked.   Perissia, we were told, means “fairy” in Turkish.

After a short stop at the Perissia Hotel to freshen up, we all boarded the van and Seljuk drove us to see the natural sights of the region around Nevsehir and Urgup.

The Cappadoccia region of Turkey and it is famous for its unusual rock formations, called “fairy chimneys”.  The Turkish name for these natural formations is peribacalari, which means capped earth pillars or erosion columns.  They were created by erosion which removed the lava covering ancient volcanic ash, leaving behind isolated pinnacles.   The tallest ones reach a height of 40 meters.  Local villagers call them simply “kalelar” which means castles.

Here we are: the 7 FRUSA Cousins

We drove through Goreme National Park and stopped to take photographs.  We did not enter the caves or hike up into the hills because it really was too hot.  Goreme is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Goreme was first settled during the Roman period in history when Christianity was the prevailing religion.  This is evident from the many churches that were carved into the rocks.  The area is rich with Byzantine art, rock dwellings, and underground towns.

We stopped and parked in the village of Goreme.  The cave dwellings could be seen behind modern shops.  We entered a “grocery” store which was selling small watermelons, dried fruits and nuts, and postcards.

We drove up and down the hills of Cappadocia to see the unique rock formations from many viewpoints.  They were truly amazing!  I would like to return to this region some time in the future, during cooler weather, to explore the caves and spend some time here.

Afterwards, we drove to a pottery manufacturer which created hand-mad ceramics using ancient techniques and designs.  We saw a demonstration of how to make a pitcher on a potter’s wheel and watched the painting and firing processes.  Finally, we were led into the storage rooms and encouraged to purchase their beautiful hand-made ceramics.

It was getting late and we returned to the Perissia Hotel to relax before dinner.  A few of the cousins went for a dip in the beautiful outdoor pool before we gathered in the buffet dining room.

Lobby of the Perissia Hotel

Right now I have to join my cousins for breakfast in the dining room.

We’re on our way to Evereg-Fenesse to find the location where my cousin Roseanne’s grandparents were born.  This is the Abajian and Donikian families.

To be continued…..