Four Encounters in Kars

Kars lies on a high plateau on Anatolia's Northeastern edge. The winters are viciously cold: nighttime January temperatures routinely dip past the -40 mark. The city also has no natural defensive barrier. As a result, the city has been looted, raped, pillaged, conquered and reconquered by more than its fair share of Selçuk Turks, Ottomans, Russians and Armenians.

Today's present edition of Kars is Russian built, a fact evidenced by the neat gridlock street system, wide, tree-lined bouvelards intersecting at right angles, and a legacy of sturdily built Russian governmental offices that look somewhat out of place in Turkey. Alas, such attention to order means that the chances of taking interesting fotographs is somewhat limited: It is only really the haphazard and disorderly that really merit the camera's eye.

Kars also has the reputation of having some of the most unfriendly people in Turkey. I don't know if this reputation has widespread currency in Turkey, or was just spread maliciously by the inhabitants of neighbouring Ardahan. Nonetheless, I am happy to report that it is false:

ENCOUNTERS:

Encounter I: At the local police station: Having gone their on other business, I am persuaded to stay by their insistent offers of tea. 'But I've already drunk tens of cups today,' I protest. 'Ah, but we have the best tea in Kars,' the plainclothes cop replies. I could hardly disagree. Over the best cup of tea in Kars, I have an animated discussion with the Erzurumlu police chief about the degeneration of society and the coming of Armeggedon. 'Don't you realize,' he asks, 'that all this degeneration we see around us portends to the end of time?' Inside, I stifle a laugh, because it is the exact conversation one is likely to have with more scripturalist, Evangelical Christians in North America. We discuss more about the end of time, football, love, politics, the weather and whatnot over more delicious cups of tea. It is only when I realize that my hosts are starting to view me a spy that I decide that is time to beg my leave. Nonetheless, the chance to talk cordially with Turkish police officers rather than being tear gassed by them is a promising development.

Encounter II: At the state hospital: Having succumbed to a wickedly sore throat and fever, I make my way out to the hospital, anxiously wondering what the bill will be. Before taking an IV, the on-duty doctor says that we'll work something out after the IV is done. Now, ''working something out'' after the fact in regard to a bill is never a smart course of action in Turkey, but my feverish self has no choice but to comply. After an hour of tossing and turning while the IV empties into my arm, I go to the doctors' room to await the financial damage. The final cost: Zero. 'But you are a guest in Kars!' They all exclaim.

The relief at being off the hook for the bill (if still quite ill) is followed by the requisite 30 minutes of conversation about politics, love, football and socialism. The conversation then turns to drinking. To my amazement, when I ask whether anyone in the room drinks, everyone in the room, from the most senior surgeon to the security guard proclaims a love for rakı. 'But this is Kars!' they exclaim once more. 'A majority of the people like to drink here.' Having found a common love of rakı, we agree to meet for a rakı session at the meyhane. 'But what about my antibiotics?' I enquire. 'Don't worry about that,' the answer comes in unison. 'Alcohol has no effect on antibiotics.'

Encounter III: In the back of clothing shop. I am introduced to a man, who introduces himself as a socialist and a lover of rakı. This isn't so rare in parts of Eastern Turkey, although what is rarer is the fact he was a candidate for the AK Parti in the recent election. The AK Parti, as most Turkey watchers will know, has its roots in political Islam, and its more straight laced founders would have brooked little time for the socialism and drinking habits more common to the country's CHP (Atatürk's party -- the great man himself also a great fan of the lion's milk) party. But the idiocy of the current leadership of the CHP drove the self-proclaimed socialist into the womb of the AK Parti. It is a curious political shift seen elsewhere in Kars and indeed in Turkey: People that normally would never have voted for an Islamic party turned out in droves to elect them in with a crushing mandate. My illness getting the better of me, I beg my leave once more, but not before making promises to stop by once more for discussion on life's travails, both important and insignificant.

Encounter IV: The lobby of my hotel: The server of my tea is at once extremely hospitable and welcoming. In his 30's, he looks much older due to the rigours of a hard life. He sports the standard moustache common to almost every Turkish male over the age of 30, although he also has the permanent 5 days of bearded growth more common to an Iranian than to a Turk. He is missing many teeth, and the ones that do remain are extremely yellowed from a lifetime of sucking his tea through a sugar cube placed between the remaining ones. He walks with a very pronounced and painful limp, while his reebok shoes are falling apart (a result of the curious Turkish habit of generally never slipping one's foot into the shoe, but instead crushing the heel-guard and effecting mobility in such a fashion). He never fails to offer me tea, and checks in at regular intervals to see how my rather sickly health condition if fairing. Most significantly, however, I hardly understand a single word from him. As a result of the Kurdish/Eastern Anatolian dialect, coupled with the lack of teeth, a lisp and soft-spokenness are encounters are generally wordless, for want of an ability to communicate...

My two days in bed/hospital preclude me from writing anything more interesting that this. Instead, it is the Kars encounters that will tell the Kars story, whether they be over enlightened conversation, or merely silently over expertly prepared Kars çayı...