To Palu and Eski Palu.

Before breakfast, I walked to the ferry terminal to put the previous night’s empty beer bottles into litter bins, then went to eat in the garden of the hotel overlooking the reservoir. The sun was shining. As I waited for the food and tea to arrive, I looked at the roses in the flower beds. A man arrived in the garden and sat a few tables away. Three friends soon joined him for breakfast. Borek replaced the chips of the morning before and there was an excellent jam made with what looked like blackberries. But the jam contained karadut, of black mulberries. Once again, honey was in the comb.

I packed the last few things into my bags, paid the bill, thanked the staff for what had proved a delightful stay and walked to the ferry terminal knowing I could find a seat in one of the five or six minibuses for Elazig that had arrived for the next crossing. However, as we waited for a ferry to arrive (two ferries made the crossing all day long timing their departure so they set off at almost exactly the same moment, but from opposites sides of the reservoir), I chatted with a man driving an almost new Volvo. An Alevi with the usual misgivings about Erdogan, the AKP and Sunni Muslims, he kindly offered me a lift to Elazig where he was undertaking a day’s business. Because Elazig was from where minibuses would get me to Palu, my destination for the night, I agreed without hesitation to join him.

The ferry terminal, Pertek.

The ferry, Pertek.

Once all the motor vehicles had been driven aboard, the ferry set off. Passengers could walk around the deck, which meant that the views of the castle and the reservoir were very good. I was not allowed to pay either my fare or for the car. The crossing took about only 15 minutes and it did not take long to disembark. The drive thereafter was pretty rather than spectacular, but, as the car began to descend into Elazig, we passed a very large but incomplete hotel commanding extensive views over the city and the wide valley beyond.

The ferry and Pertek Kale.

Pertek Kale.

The man who had given me the lift left his Volvo in a car park next to where minibuses departed for the garaj serving towns and villages to the east. Because Palu lay to the east of Elazig, this was the garaj required for the next leg of my journey, so I got into the right minibus just before it set off. Ten minutes later, I asked from where I could find a service to Palu. In the way characteristic of the trip so far, a minibus for Palu was leaving in about five minutes. Perfection.

Most of the journey was of moderate interest scenically, especially as we drove beside another reservoir with rounded hills to either side, but as we made our way into Palu my spirits lifted because the town lay beside the Murat Nehri with high mountains nearby. A steep, meandering descent from a plain confirmed that I would enjoy what remained of the day. Some unattractive urban areas lay between Elazig and my destination, most obviously in Kovancilar where we turned off the main road to Bingol and Mus, but, although Palu was overwhelmingly modern, its situation was stunning and it was small enough not to be much of a blot on the landscape. Moreover, because it lay beside the railway from Elazig to Mus and Tatvan, the small town was worth a detour even without the dramatic scenery and Eski Palu, the latter being the main reason why I was staying overnight.

A search on the internet before leaving home suggested that Palu did not have a hotel, and this was confirmed by men at the garaj in Elazig from where the minibuses departed for the town. However, even small towns in Turkey had accommodation of some sort for visitors whether expected or otherwise, and the men at the garaj had assured me that staff at the ogretmen evi would put me up. Palu’s town centre was so small that the minibus terminated almost opposite the ogretmen evi, so I walked across the road to enquire about a room. One was available because most teachers had departed for home. The term was almost over and exams dominated the working day, but only a few teachers were needed to supervise them. The manager of the ogretmen evi was summoned from the nearby large and very new Hukumet Konagi. He showed me around the facilities (the facilities included rooms where games such as pool were played and a kitchen where breakfast was prepared), then offered me a room with three beds near a smaller room with a sink and toilet (showers and more sinks and toilets were upstairs and easy to access). I said how grateful I was for the room, which had lots of storage space, especially for one person, but was even more amazed when I was told that the room cost only 15TL a night. I said that the cost was very low and was happy to pay more, but more could not be accepted. I was in the middle of the town with the pazar, shops, businesses and lokantas nearby; the railway station was a few blocks to the south-west; and a road leading toward Eski Palu began near the Hukumet Konagi less than 300 metres away. I could not believe my luck. We drank tea, my passport was photocopied and a few personal details were committed to a ledger.

I paid for the room in advance, then the manager led me to a small courtyard where the teachers could sit in the evenings drinking tea or soft drinks as they chatted with friends. From a tree, the manager picked a green fruit not unlike a very small apple, but it had a stone rather than pips inside. I bit into the sour but refreshing flesh, itself firm like an immature apple, and the manager gave me about 20 to take for my walk to, around and from Eski Palu.

The best way from Palu to Eski Palu on foot (there was a way by car, but it was much greater in length and required crossing the river twice) was to follow the railway as closely as possible as it went east. When some of the ruins were in sight to the left, it was necessary to ascend a rounded hill while aiming for one of the surviving minarets. The centre of Eski Palu, which had long been abandoned and replaced by the town in which I was staying overnight, lay among the ruins just mentioned, but the ruins of a citadel were on the massive eruption of rock behind them. Eski Palu deserved to be far better known because its ruins were more extensive and rewarding than the ones at similar but more famous places.

View east between Palu and Eski Palu.

Between Palu and Eski Palu.

There were footpaths for most of the way to Eski Palu. Some of them were directly above the river with the railway to my left, and some were a little to the north with the railway to my right. However, all the paths eventually disappeared among new grass and late spring’s wild flowers. I had to ascend a hillside using one of the minarets to keep me roughly on course. When I arrived on the more level ground that must have once been the centre of Eski Palu, there were the ruins of two mosques, a hamam and a cesme in close proximity and, some way to the east, a ruined church. High above me to the north were the ruins of the citadel. The ruins of the hamam were the most impressive and they were the ones most obviously benefitting from a lengthy restoration programme.

View west to Palu.

I had been looking around the ruins for about 15 minutes when I met six workmen who had been resting nearby before resuming their task of restoring the hamam. One of the workmen kindly encouraged me to enter parts of the ruins not previously examined, then he invited me to join two of his colleagues for glasses of tea in a large portacabin that was where they slept at night. The portacabin was also their daytime retreat when the heat became oppressive or they wanted to eat a meal. They said it was quite a long walk to the citadel, but it could be reached along a gently inclined road that turned into a path with stone steps. However, the effort would be worthwhile because I would enjoy the views, some Urartian remains and a tunnel of unknown origin. I took their advice, but did not realise at the time that the walk would also lead to other ruins associated with Eski Palu.

Kucuk Camii, Eski Palu.

Kucuk Camii, Eski Palu.

Kucuk Camii, Eski Palu.

To Sagman and the Termal Hotel.

Because the road to Sagman began beside the reservoir and Sagman was high in the hills and mountains, the ascent was quite demanding for someone aged over 60, and it was made a little more challenging because the village was 10 kilometres away. Moreover, at only one point could I get fresh water, at an improvised cesme dependent on a hose to bring liquid refreshment to people on the road. But the views over the reservoir and the surrounding hills and mountains were never less than excellent and two men kindly gave me a lift for the last 3 kilometres. Sagman was a predominantly modern village that clustered quite tightly around a recently built mosque, but, because it lay on a gently inclined slope dominated by pasture with stunning views in all directions, I found it most attractive, the pitched roofs covered with corrugated iron included. By now there was some bright sunshine and I felt elated.

View south from the road to Sagman.

View south from the road to Sagman.

I was dropped in what passed as the centre of the village, a small open space enclosed by a few buildings, two shops included. There were also some parked motor vehicles, three of which were minibuses that carried people to school, Tunceli or Elazig. After admiring the extensive views over the pasture toward hills, mountains and the reservoir, I set off along a dirt road that led after about 2 kilometres to the mosque and the castle that were Sagman’s main claims to fame (the old town of Sagman, which had now almost completely disappeared, was located close to the castle and around the mosque. The present village cannot be more than 50 or 60 years old). The road for most of the way was level or gently inclined in my favour, which made the walk an easy one. Mules and horses in a quantity not witnessed previously during the trip ate the pasture and looked in good health. At the easternmost extremity of the village, a jandarma post was still occupied by men in uniforms.

View south-east from Sagman.

I turned a corner and ahead was the mosque in front of the castle. Both had been built at more or less the same height above sea level, but a distance of about 250 metres lay between them. The castle was on an eruption of rock a little higher than all the ones near it and the mosque was above a slope descending to a river far below to the south. Both structures were surrounded by stunning upland scenery of mountains and deep valleys. I was thrilled by the prospect of looking around for about an hour or so.

The mosque and castle, Sagman.

The mosque was benefitting from a substantial restoration programme, but the day of my visit, no workmen were present. This meant I could walk where I wanted. Sinclair notes that:

The domed prayer hall, executed in black basalt, and the portico in front were built probably about 1555… The wings either side, including the turbe reached from the s. side of the w. wing, must have been added about 1570. To all appearances these wings are a tekke, a lodge for dervishes of a particular (Sufi) order. The use of the mosque as part of a tekke would not have prevented members of the town’s population from worshipping in the prayer hall…

Prayer hall. The n. wall is distanced from the dome so as to contrive an arched entrance space almost covering the length of the prayer hall’s n. side… The comparatively simple mihrab has a frame of muqarnas as well as a muqarnas vault. The small stone member has five niches with pointed arches at the base on each side. These are pabucluks (cubby-holes for shoes). In the tower-like part beneath the pulpit are further cubby-holes…

The prayer hall is entered through a portal in whose muqarnas vault genuine stalactites are formed. Apart from this and the decoration of the engaged pillars on the corners between the bay and the outside face, the portal is plain: however, it is executed in a remarkable conglomerate stone white and pink in colour…

The mosque, Sagman.

E. and w. wings. To e. and w. of the portico, there is a row of rooms consisting of a vaulted rectangular chamber, a second, narrow, vaulted room and a third, domed one at the end…

To the w. the octagonal turbe is bonded with the complex of rooms: its north face is formed by part of the back wall. Its low sides are executed in an alternation of black and white courses.

The mosque, Sagman.

The mosque, Sagman.

The mosque, Sagman.

When the restoration project is complete, the mosque will probably look very much as it did when originally constructed. Without question, this proved to be the day’s most remarkable survival from the past, although the nearby castle also had its rewards. As Sinclair reveals:

What survives is the walls fortifying the westerly arm of the castle rock, i.e. that pointing towards the mosque… The corner of the n. and sw. faces is of cut stone, and so is the polygonal, but slight, tower in the middle of the sw. face. Otherwise the masonry is of uncut or roughly hacked blocks. It is reminiscent of that of the castle of Pertek. The two walls are built above vertical cliffs. The extent and configuration of the rest of the castle has not been investigated. ? 16th century, but certainly the reconstruction of a previous castle.

The castle, Sagman.

Just north of the mosque was a cesme with two vaulted bays. The cesme was built in 1555 by a local Kurdish ruler called Bey Keykusrav, who may have also built the mosque. Bey Keykusrav was the father of Salih, the prince who was buried in the turbe.

The cesme, Sagman.

It was on land between the castle and the mosque, but a little to the north of the former, that a cluster of houses marked where at least part of the old town of Sagman stood until the 1980s. Today, however, only traces of the foundations of the houses remained among trees and undergrowth of recent pedigree.

Half way through my look around, I met two elderly couples who had driven to this quiet but beautiful spot to eat a picnic and walk along paths disappearing as the grass and flowers took over. Both couples appeared to be Sunni Muslims, but I could not fault their friendliness. I was asked to eat some food, but declined the invitation because it was now about 4.00pm and I was not sure how long it would take to get back to Pertek.

Sagman.

I continued to chat with the two men as I drank water from the cesme. I had seen on arrival an old dirt road leading from beside the mosque into the valley to the south and asked the men where it went. They said that it was the old road from Pertek which, for the last 5 or 6 kilometres, was no longer used by motor vehicles destined for Sagman because it had not been maintained for many years. Nonetheless, it could be walked along and, from where the road was still accessible to motor vehicles, from a very small but largely deserted village one of the men identified as a mahalle, I might find a car going to Pertek. When it was suggested that Pertek lay about 12 to 14 kilometres from the mosque, I thought the walk would be worth the gamble. To return the way I had come might involve a walk just as long, but still leave me about 8 to 10 kilometres from the hotel. I was told to take a left just before the mahalle, or the first village after leaving the mosque, and warned that I would have to first descend to the river before ascending the other valley wall and taking a right to Pertek. By now, a little rested and with a bottle full of water from the cesme, I was keen to press on. If nothing else, I would see more of the uplands of Dersim that had so captivated my imagination. I shook hands with the two men who said I should arrive in about two hours at an inhabited village about 3 kilometres from Pertek.

The castle, Sagman.

By now, the cloud had built up again and I set off at a brisk pace knowing the cooler conditions would militate against getting overheated. I kept turning back because the views of the castle were particularly good, but there were also moments when the mosque was silhouetted against the grey sky. The valley into which I rapidly descended could not be faulted either and, the lower I got, the more I encountered trees and undergrowth. When I looked up, mountains enclosed me. I felt elated all over again.

Between Sagman and Pertek.

The mosque and castle, Sagman.

I arrived at a left turn but, to confirm it was the correct one, walked a little further to ensure the village was nearby. It was nearby and, at the point where the road came to an end, someone had parked a very old car. This implied that at least one house in the village might still be lived in, but when I looked around, most of the narrow paths leading from one house to another were overgrown or breaking up. The houses had been built on the steep south-facing slope in such a way that no house obscured the view of another. The houses utilised a light brown stone and had flat roofs, but none appeared to be inhabited. Some roofs had been covered with large blue tarpaulin sheets weighed down with stones. The tarpaulin sheets were intended to keep the rain from penetrating inside, which made me think the owners of the houses had plans to restore them, perhaps so they could use them during the summer months. I looked around and could not think of many more pretty places to have a house. Moreover, it was from the village that the road could be driven along, albeit with care.

The almost deserted village between Sagman and Pertek.

The almost deserted village between Sagman and Pertek.

The almost deserted village between Sagman and Pertek.

By now the wind was building up and, about half a kilometre from the village, rain began to fall from a sky full of grey cloud, thunder and lightning. I had my anorak with me, so I put it on and zipped it up. The rain persisted for about half an hour, but I pushed on because there was no shelter beside the road. During that half hour, I passed two very large flocks of sheep being brought down from the pasture on the mountain slopes and chatted with two young shepherds smoking cigarettes under an umbrella. The young shepherds alarmed me when they said that Pertek was still 10 kilometres away (luckily, they were wrong). I then arrived at the point where a bridge crossed the river. A steep ascent out of the valley lay ahead, which I knew would test my increasingly tired legs, but I was now about half the way to my destination. As the rain eased and then stopped altogether, I saw that semi-nomadic families had set up a camp not far from the bridge on a patch of level ground wider than anywhere else nearby. The shepherds I had spoken with earlier would no doubt spend the night in one of the tents. Their sheep would be put into pens made with wooden fencing. An open-topped lorry had been parked nearby. The lorry had been used to bring the tents and other equipment a few days or weeks before.

Between Sagman and Pertek.

The clouds began to break up and the sun shone in a sky that grew steadily more blue with every minute that passed. Although I had to walk all the way to the inhabited village the old men had mentioned, the scenery was so enchanting that I could not help smiling, my tiredness notwithstanding. I was now very high on the north-facing valley wall and could see for considerable distances in every direction except south where the reservoir was. However, in the other directions were hills, mountains, deep valleys, a meandering river, large flocks of sheep and goats, trees on the steep slopes and lots of beehives on a relatively flat shelf high above the river. The beehives suggested that the inhabited village was nearby. Moreover, ahead was a break in the ridge immediately to the south that would allow a road to turn right for Pertek. I had just about done it.

As I approached the gap in the ridge, I saw a woman aged about 35 sitting on a rock as she smoked a cigarette. She was not wearing a headscarf. She looked north toward the highest mountains of Dersim. With the ascent over I needed a break, so I said hello. When the woman replied in a friendly manner and patted the rock on which she sat, I knew she would not object if I rested beside her. We shook hands and I declined a cigarette, but I drank lots of the water in my bottle. The water had remained almost as cool as when I had taken it from the cesme at old Sagman.

It turned out that one of the old men at Sagman had rung someone in the village to look out for my arrival and the young woman with whom I was chatting had assumed the role of a welcoming committee. She was a jandarma enjoying a few day’s leave and had returned to her home village to spend time with family and friends. A female jandarma? This was most unusual in itself, but when she said she was an Alevi and unmarried (very few women in Turkey remained unmarried by the time they were 30), my surprise was compounded. However, she had a great sense of humour and was determined that I would meet her mother and a few other people in the village.

I was led to her mother’s house, an old place spread over a single storey, and encouraged to sit in the small garden in shade created by vegetation trained overhead. After the mother had been introduced to me and before she sat down to join in the conversation, she brought me some stuffed vine leaves, a stuffed pepper and two large glasses of fruit juice, all of which I gratefully consumed because I had had nothing since breakfast except water. The mother and daughter confessed to finding Sunni Muslims “a problem”, and the daughter confessed to enjoying alcohol when she was off-duty. I explained about the organic wine I had been given at Onar and the daughter laughed heartily, just as she had laughed earlier, when, after I had peeled off my anorak to reveal a damp shirt unfit for human wear, I tried to make myself look more presentable by combing my hair! Her laugh said it all: my effort was a total waste of time.

The village between Sagman and Pertek where I was fed.

My meal over, I explained that I had to get to Pertek before nightfall, something I was told would be no problem because it was only 3 kilometres away. The daughter took me for a short walk through the village where I met a few more people, then we kissed on the cheeks and I left for Pertek. The road soon provided excellent views over the town and the reservoir. Because I was descending all the time, less effort was required. Once on the edge of Pertek, I took a short cut across some derelict land on which had been built the occasional house or small apartment block. I emerged on the main road leading to Cemisgezek and Hozat, but the roundabout with the peace sign still lay about 2.5 kilometres away. So near yet so far from my destination. It was now that the fatigue really kicked in because there was nothing new to enjoy (although, walking toward the hotel a little later, there was another dramatic sunset).

Pertek.

Sunset, Keban Reservoir, Pertek.

I stopped at the same bufe as the night before to buy two beers and a packet of crisps, which was all my body craved because of the excellent food so recently consumed, then I took a few photos of the sunset. I lingered a while to chat with the hotel staff on reception because they looked bored, but was in my room by 7.45pm, just as the last light was draining from the sky. I stripped off, showered, put on the heavy towel dressing gown provided to guests for the duration of their stay and washed a few items of clothing. Next, I sat at the table in front of the window, opened the first of the two beers and began jotting down a summary of what had happened since waking that morning. Not all the day’s monuments had lived up to expectation, and many houses I had hoped to see no longer existed, but the scenery had been memorable from start to finish. I had walked 25 to 30 kilometres through some of Turkey’s most enchanting upland scenery and been driven through even more of it, and, as a consequence, felt confident I would return quite soon to delve a little deeper into what Dersim had to offer.

Sunset, Keban Reservoir, Pertek.

Sunset, Keban Reservoir, Pertek.

To Ulu Kale.

I had an excellent night’s sleep because of the comfortable bed and the quiet room, so was rested enough by 6.30am to walk to the ferry terminal to take more photos of the ferries and the castle. Because breakfast at the hotel was not served until 8.00am, I walked toward the roundabout with the peace sign, but, before getting that far, took a right turn along a dirt road that led toward the centre of Pertek past small apartment blocks, houses in large gardens and farms where families kept sheep and a few cattle. As the road ascended, the views of the reservoir and the castle steadily improved. Every so often, children waited to be picked up in a minibus and taken to school.

Before the reservoir had filled with water, two mosques were dismantled from the slopes on which old Pertek lay and reassembled in the modern town (in other words, the mosques lay on the slopes below the castle. The slopes were now below the level of the water, as were ruins including a church and a hamam). I caught glimpses of both the mosques. They had their origins in the 16th century. Baysungur Camii was a domed cube with a three-domed portico and a minaret. The portico’s walls and the minaret’s shaft were constructed with bands of chocolate-coloured and cream-coloured stone, but the walls of the prayer hall comprised of rubble stone. Celebi Ali Camii had some similarities with Baysungur Camii, but an iwan and a cesme helped to make it distinctive in appearance.

For breakfast, I was directed to the café and lokanta built in the large garden overlooking the reservoir the other side of the road from the hotel. I sat at a table facing the reservoir, the castle and the hills to the south-west and, about 15 minutes later, was given tea and a tray of food. For a hotel expensive by Turkish standards the food was not very imaginative, but, with a generous portion of bread to go with the tomatoes, cucumber, olives, three types of cheese, chips, boiled egg, honey in the comb, cherry jam, tea and water, I had no reason to complain. However, cloud was building up and turning the sun a little hazy. I expected the day to involve a lot of walking, so perhaps the cloud would prove a blessing in disguise.

My destinations for the day were Ulu Kale, about 10 to 15 kilometres from Cemisgezek, and Sagman, about 15 kilometres from Pertek. Both destinations lay off the main road to Cemisgezek, but the previous day’s travels had given me the opportunity to identify precisely where both roads to my destinations diverged. I had resolved to visit Ulu Kale first because it was further from Pertek.

Just before 9.00am, I left the hotel for the roundabout with the peace sign and, ten minutes after arriving there, a quietly spoken man driving an old Tofas offered me a lift to the junction for Dere. When I got out of the car, I was almost as far as the small supermarket where I had bought the ice cream the day before. I walked a short distance, then a car stopped with four men inside. The men were going to Cemisgezek to undertake a day’s work and they each had a small briefcase to confirm they were civil servants or professionals of some importance. Because the junction for Ulu Kale was only 3 or 4 kilometres from Akcapinar near where I had been the day before, I was taken most of the way to Cemisgezek. The journey confirmed that the road from Pertek to Cemisgezek was one of exceptional beauty and interest.

Between Pertek and Cemisgezek.

Because the car in which we travelled was very new and the driver wanted to show off his skills at the wheel, it was about 10.20am when I arrived at the junction for Ulu Kale. The sign at the bottom of the road suggested that the village was only 4 kilometres away, but by the time I arrived in its centre, it felt as if I had walked 5 or 5.5 kilometres. For most of the way, the ascent was merely steady and a lot of time was spent at or near the highest point along a ridge. I therefore secured excellent views of Payamduzu on the way to Akcapinar and Cemisgezek, and north toward snow-smudged mountains in the milli parki. The cloud cover remained quite thick, which imbued many a view with a grey tinge, but at least it was cool and the views extensive, not least over the reservoir. I encountered a few large flocks of sheep and goats. Once, I was worried that large dogs protecting a flock might make their way in my direction  because they had seen me and were barking in a threatening way. However, they decided to stay close to their shepherd instead.

Ulu Kale.

Ulu Kale.

I rounded a corner and was at the westernmost edge of Ulu Kale. In recent decades, the village had shifted from its original position immediately below basalt cliffs crowned by the scant remains of a castle to a more accessible and gently sloping shelf looking south. However, the remains of the original village and the much larger new one lay in a bowl with cliffs and steep slopes rising to the west, the north and the east. Once the houses and other facilities of the village somewhat abruptly concluded, fields, orchards and pasture led toward a river to the south. At the entrance to the village on the west side was a most unusual sight in a Turkish village, identical modern houses arranged in regular fashion along new roads that strictly belonged in a new suburb in one of the large conurbations far to the west. The pitched roofs, brightly painted render walls, satellite dishes and small gardens behind wire fences would have looked perfectly at home in parts of Bursa or Eskisehir. Or, with minor tweaking, in Birmingham in the UK.

View south from Ulu Kale.

Ulu Kale.

Despite Ulu Kale being enclosed by cliffs and slopes immediately to the north, open views existed south-east and south-west, and the hills to the south were far enough away to create a welcome sense of spaciousness. Although the most interesting houses were the ones in the original village (they had been built with stone and were large), only a few remained and they looked as if they had been abandoned. The houses in the new village were of interest because a mixture of stone, mudbrick, concrete, render, wood, corrugated iron and flat sheets of metal have been used to good visual effect. Most houses had a patch of garden surrounding them where trees, flowers and a few vegetables could be grown.

Part of the old village, Ulu Kale.

Part of the old village below the castle, Ulu Kale.

Between the original village and the new one was a turbe with an octagonal ground plan. According to Sinclair, it was built in 1550 for someone called Ferruhsad Bey:

Three courses of a rich red stone run round the trunk. Two large windows in arched recesses to e. and w. Beside the mihrab, which is partly lost, there are niches in the se. and sw. walls of the interior. The brick interior dome is revealed by the loss of the exterior pyramidal cap. There is a small crypt.

The turbe, Ulu Kale.

Not far from the turbe was a ruin described to me as a church. I could find nothing to confirm what the ruin had been, but Sinclair describes a church more or less where the ruin was. He writes that it was:

Single nave, one rib. Semi-circular apse, ruined. Entrance wall mostly fallen. Large blocks used. Probably 17th or 18th century.

The ruined church (?), Ulu Kale.

The ruined church (?), Ulu Kale.

Photos of Ulu Kale on the internet taken a few years ago confirm that many old houses, even then in a very neglected state, had disappeared altogether, and it was obvious from Sinclair’s monumental study of eastern Turkey that very little of the castle survived. However, I was glad I had made the effort to visit the village, not least for its dramatic natural surroundings. I noticed that a road meandered along the river in an easterly direction leading after a few kilometres to Bozagac and, if nothing else, the scenery must be very rewarding. From Bozagac, a road led to the one between Pertek and Cemisgezek. Could this be a round walk for a future visit? Perhaps.

View east from Ulu Kale.

Local wildlife, Ulu Kale.

So little traffic went from Ulu Kale to the Pertek to Cemisgezek road during the day that I had to walk all the way to the junction, but at least I was going downhill most of the time and could enjoy extensive views of the reservoir. Once at the junction, I had to wait only a short time for a lift all the way to the junction for Sagman. I was travelling with a man of local importance (he toured the region to confirm that road works were completed to a satisfactory standard) because he was in a new and very comfortable car with a chauffeur. The chauffeur said that he played professional football for a club in a league two levels below the top-flight clubs and that his job as a chauffeur terminated once the football season began. Both men were Alevis. They combined friendliness with a reflective frame of mind, but warned me that most people in Sagman were Sunni Muslims.

Between Ulu Kale and the Pertek to Cemisgezek road.

To Cemisgezek and the Termal Hotel.

Because of being dropped off where hills, a river, trees, pasture, wild flowers and lots of beehives presented an image of rural bliss, I decided to wait until a lift arrived and, after only 20 minutes, a small open-topped lorry drew to a halt. The driver already had two men in the cab and on the back of the lorry were two cows. I was lucky. The men and their cows were going to Cemisgezek. The two passengers shuffled along to make room for me and, just over an hour later, we arrived at our destination. While the driver said almost nothing the whole journey other than to reassure me that my presence was not a problem, the two passengers chattered incessantly in Zazaki, a language that I understood even less well than Kurmanji. I got the feeling they were gossiping about people they knew and about whether such people could be trusted when transacting business, because every so often sums of money were mentioned.

Between Hozat and Cemisgezek.

The journeys to and from Hozat and to and from the Armenian church had been remarkable, not least because the roads along which I travelled were usually high up so the views were extensive, but even more enjoyable was the journey to and from the junction where the lorry picked me up. When meandering along the valley floor, not once were we confined by a narrow gorge. The trees and small fields beside the rivers provided intimate counterpoint to the grandeur of the upland surroundings. However, a lot of time was spent high among rounded hills. The views were uninterrupted and took in distant mountains and the Keban Reservoir. There was pasture along the road and in the middle distance, and it sometimes covered the summits of the hills and mountains, but it was not quite as good as further north and east. Consequently, sheep and goats were more numerous than cattle and some of the flocks were enormous.

After about 40 kilometres of stunning upland scenery, we arrived in the centre of Cemisgezek, which lay above a river in a deep gorge with cliffs and mountains around it. By now it was 3.00pm and, when I explained that I had to return to Pertek that evening, the driver and his two companions expressed some alarm because minibuses did not travel the whole distance, only to the ferry a few kilometres to the south-east to take a short cut to Elazig. I felt confident I could hitch to my destination, but, to increase the chances of getting to Pertek before nightfall, I looked around the town for just over an hour.

Suleymaniye Camii, Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek was large enough to have a vibrant commercial heart and a small pazar, the latter largely confined to a narrow street devoid of motorised traffic. Although modern structures of limited architectural merit outnumbered the old buildings, most of which were houses, enough of the latter survived to make the town a detour well worth undertaking (day trips from Elazig could be considered, given that minibuses ran most of the day. Cemisgezek did not seem to have a hotel worth staying in). Although some tooth-like rocks and a few traces of masonry revealed where the castle used to be high above the river in its gorge, other monuments from the past were of greater interest. Yelmaniye Camii dated from 1400. It had a portal with interesting carved ornamentation and a bright and attractive interior with a mihrab with a deep niche. Suleymaniye Camii had an impressive minaret dating from the Selcuk period. The town centre had two hamams. A turbe and a bridge, then latter with a single pointed arch, were in the nearby countryside.

The pazar, Cemisgezek.

Yelmaniye Camii, Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

Overlooking the town from the west were some caves in a cliff. One of the caves had some Armenian graffiti which Sinclair dates to the late 19th century. Sinclair also says that the caves were lived in until 1938 by Alevi Kurds who took part in “the Dersim revolt”. After a general pardon for prisoners, the Alevi Kurds who remained alive were given yaylas behind Yilan Dani “further up the valley of the Cemisgezek Su” and “enough money to buy flocks, even to build houses”.

Cemisgezek.

While all the monuments just listed made a detour to Cemisgezek worthwhile, the old houses were the town’s most remarkable feature (however, the town seemed to be dominated by Alevis and everyone was very friendly, so this was another reason to visit a settlement a little off the beaten track). Many of the old houses survived as two-storey terraces along cobbled streets. The houses were timber-framed and the mudbrick walls were covered with render. People liked to paint the walls a rich variety of colours, some of which had attractive shades reminiscent of pastel crayons and ice cream. The narrower streets were overhung by the balconies of the upper storeys and the ground floors were sometimes a little below the level of the road.

Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

I asked someone where the cemevi was located and was directed through the commercial heart of the town to a road leading to the north. The road ascended into an area that quickly became overwhelmingly residential. A few old stone houses survived, some of which spread over only one storey. I asked a woman for further directions and was urged to look down into a depression more or less constituting the northern extremity of Cemisgezek. I looked over a wall and saw a modern cemevi among some of the town’s newest houses. I was told it was called Kirklar Cemevi, or 40 Cemevi. For Alevis and Bektashis, the number 40 had special meaning. For some Alevis and Bektashis it referred to the 40 “saints” Muhammad is said to have encountered during his nocturnal ascent to heaven/paradise, and for others it referred to the 40 levels that applied to the four gates, or life stages, that made up the Alevi and Bektashi spiritual path (the path was usually identified by the Turkish word “yol”, a word commonly translated to mean “road”).

The cemevi, Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

Because Cemisgezek had so much to enjoy, I stayed considerably longer than an hour. Just as I set off to walk out of the town to find somewhere from where to hitch a lift, I was stopped by three young women, all second year university students. We chatted a while and, although two of the women wore headscarves, photos had to be taken before I could resume my walk. Here were yet more friendly people, in this case female, and two were conventionally pious Sunni women willing to risk criticism for chatting with an unknown male. But Sunni women could get away with such unconventional behaviour in Dersim because gender equality and the empowerment of women were the norm. Such behaviour would be much less likely to manifest itself in Elazig or Erzincan.

Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

Cemisgezek.

I had walked about a half kilometre out of the town when a tractor stopped and the driver let me climb aboard for a lift of about 3 kilometres, which not only took me far beyond the last buildings of Cemisgezek, but also well into the delightful countryside to the south. I stood beside the road and five minutes later a man drove me to the northern edge of Akcapinar, the first village from Cemisgezek. By now, the sun was beginning its descent to the horizon. As a result, visibility was improving all the time. At the point I was dropped off, I looked down toward Akcapinar across gently undulating fields and pasture, and beyond the fields and pasture was the Keban Reservoir with water a deeper blue than at any point during the day. Hills and mountains dominated the distance.

View south from Cemisgezek.

About ten minutes later, a lorry drew to a halt and who should be in the cab but exactly the same three men who had driven me to Cemisgezek earlier in the day! I was surprised to see both cows were still on the back of the lorry, but it turned out that the men had been to Cemisgezek to undertake business that did not involve the livestock. Both cows were destined for one of the men’s small farms near Hozat.

Because the sun was behind us and the visibility very good, the journey to the junction for Hozat was even more enchanting than it had been when we drove to Cemisgezek. I identified about a dozen places where I wanted to stop, sometimes to take photos of the scenery alone and sometimes to take photos of shepherds and their large flocks of sheep and goats in their natural surroundings. A  few unusual farm buildings were beside or not far from the road. When we finally arrived at the junction for Hozat, I wanted to give the driver some money for helping me fulfil most of the second part of the day’s programme, but he would not accept the notes in my hand. We were now friends even though we would probably never see each other again.

I walked a short way along the road toward Pertek, then saw to my right a small but ill-stocked supermarket occupying the ground floor of what was a large house or small apartment block. The building stood alone, but I could tell that the supermarket sold ice cream and beer. I called in for an ice cream and a chat with an elderly Alevi man who was the owner of the supermarket. The man was a retired guestworker who had made his money in Germany. He said that he owned the whole building and not just the supermarket.

I walked a little further along the road, then a lorry stopped and the driver and his companion offered me a lift all the way to the ferry that departed from near the Termal Hotel. Once again the scenery through which we passed looked delightful, especially as it was now about 6.00pm and the shadows were lengthening.

The two men in the cab were Kurdish Bektashis. It did not take long before discussion about the forthcoming election shifted to criticism of the Sunni majority in Turkey that had always oppressed Alevis and Bektashis. One of the men grew unusually animated as he described past injustices. His anger subsided only when we passed the turning for Dorutay where I was told that some turbes were pilgrimage sites for Alevis and Bektashis.

The Kurdish Bektashis who gave me a lift to the ferry terminal, Pertek.

I stayed with the men until we arrived at the terminal because I wanted to take some photos of the castle and the ferry in the excellent early evening light, then I went to the hotel, showered and changed my clothes. I walked toward the roundabout with the large peace sign in the middle knowing that I would arrive at a small roadside bufe selling beer and snacks before I got there. I bought a beer and a packet of crisps. Along with a boiled egg saved from a breakfast in Tunceli two days earlier and a packet of salt left over from a THY meal at the start of the trip, this was all I could consume, given the excellent lunch and ice cream earlier in the day. On the way back from the bufe, the setting sun filled the sky with vibrant colours. I lined up some trees so they stood in silhouette in front of the reservoir and the multi-coloured sky before taking two photos. A little later, I walked beside the large jandarma post near the hotel so I could take photos of the castle from beside a small jetty. One of the men on guard duty in a tower overlooking the reservoir reminded me not to point the camera toward the jandarma post.

Pertek Kale and the ferry.

Sunset, Keban Reservoir, Pertek.

Sunset, Keban Reservoir, Pertek.

The ferry, Pertek.

I examined the photographic results of a brilliant day’s adventures as I consumed my evening meal in my very comfortable bedroom. One thing I noticed was that there were not as many wild flowers as in the parts of Dersim visited the two previous days, but there were enough to make it worthwhile to arrange beehives on the hillsides and along the valley floors. At one point I had seen what proved to be the trip’s largest single collection of beehives in one place, a number far exceeding 100, and the beehives belonged to only three men.

Termal Hotel, Pertek.

To Hozat and Ergen Armenian Church.

Due to the early start in Tunceli, I was in my room by 9.45am. However, I was out again by 10.15am with my bottle full of water taken from a tap in the spacious bathroom (I filled the bottle on many occasions during the day and was impressed that many places had the facilities for me to do so). What were my destinations for the day, provided everything went to plan? Hozat, from where I wanted to visit the ruined Armenian church in or near the village of Gecimli (in some sources, the church was misleadingly said to be in In, but In was about 3 kilometres from the church. Ergen was another name used to identify where the church was. Ergen was probably the old name for Gecimli), and Cemisgezek, a town with a a few important monuments of considerable age. Cemisgezek was also rumoured to have interesting old houses, but how many had survived to the present day I could not establish from afar.

Because getting to the ruined Armenian church from Hozat would probably involve a time-consuming walk along a road devoid of traffic, I hoped to access Hozat first, but I would allow the destination of the first lift to determine the day’s precise programme. I walked north from the hotel for about 1.5 kilometres to a roundabout where a right turn went to modern Pertek and a left turn went to Hozat and Cemisgezek. At the centre of the roundabout was the widely known sign of peace inside a circle first popularised by the anti-nuclear weapons’ movement, and on the sign was the word “peace” in many languages.

The roundabout, Pertek.

I had been at the roundabout for only five minutes when a minibus came down the gently inclined hill from modern Pertek. I flagged down the minibus and was told it was going to Hozat. Perfection.

At first, the road clung to the shore of the reservoir, but, once we had passed the turning for Sagman, a village I would visit the next day, it almost immediately began to ascend into the rounded hills from where there were extensive views over the reservoir and toward distant mountains. Almost every moment of the rest of the day was spent in glorious upland scenery, sometimes surrounded by mountains and sometimes with the vast reservoir in view. From the scenic point of view, this was to prove perhaps the most rewarding day of the trip. It is true that the scenery in Munzur Vadisi Milli Parki was more spectacular and enchanting, but what I encountered today was more extensive. Moreover, there were times when the scenery assumed an austere, even forbidding, character because trees were sometimes absent from view and rainfall in the region less frequent than further north and east. Suffice it to say that I was in remarkably beautiful upland scenery different in character from that in the milli parki. There were fields, orchards, pasture, wild flowers, large herds of cattle, very large flocks of sheep and goats, many small settlements worthy of examination (some small settlements lay along the roads, but most were some distance from and above them) and lots of very friendly and helpful people. Moreover, later in the day, as the sun began its descent toward the horizon in the west, the visibility assumed a clarity of exceptional quality. What more could anyone ask for?

The road to Hozat split from the one to Cemisgezek at a hamlet between Dorutay and Akdemir, and very soon entered a valley narrower than many in the area. The ascent to Hozat was gradual but consistent, and the mountains of the milli parki lay to the north. The closer we got to our destination, the more the scenery recalled that of the milli parki and the Ovacik area.

We arrived in Hozat, a small town on a gently inclined shelf above the valley along which the road had ascended. With mountains around it no one could fault its attractive surroundings, but Hozat was overwhelmingly modern and almost indistinguishable from a thousand Turkish towns of similar size.

Hozat.

By now I had been befriended by an Alevi couple with a remarkably liberal disposition who had travelled on the minibus since it left Pertek. The couple not only explained that Hozat was overwhelmingly Alevi, but helped me get to the ruined Armenian church. They had to visit some people in a village near the church. We retired to a tea house for glasses of tea and a cup of coffee each, and a three phone calls were made. A few people came for a short chat, then, about half an hour later, we climbed into a minibus driven by a man aged about 25. The Alevi couple stopped the minibus not long after it had set off to buy fruit, vegetables, cheese and bread, supplies for the people they wanted to see in what must have been a village devoid of shops.

Hozat.

We drove about 2 kilometres along the road toward Pertek, then took a left turn. The road crossed the river and meandered along the east wall of the valley. Most unusually, a sign beside the road junction indicated that Ergen Kilisesi lay 9 kilometres away. In 99 out of every 100 cases, minor Armenian ruins in Turkey were not signed for walkers or passing motorists. The only explanation I could give for this exception to the rule was that I was in Dersim where all minority communities had been brought together in a spirit of comradeship by decades of secular and Sunni Turkish oppression.

To Ergen Armenian Church.

The road occasionally ascended to a considerable height and the views were outstanding. After driving about 7 kilometres, we took a left and ascended into a very small settlement on an exposed hillside. The minibus drew to a halt outside an old stone house with a flat roof with rooms arranged on only one storey. We had arrived at the house of the friends the Alevi couple wanted to see. Their male friend, a tall and hyperactive individual aged about 40, lived with his partner aged about 32. The couple were unmarried, which was most unusual in Turkey, even in urban centres such as Istanbul, Ankara, Izmir and Bursa which thought of themselves as being very liberal and progressive.

Between Hozat and Ergen Armenian Church.

Although the couple in the house had recently installed some kitchen units and a new fridge and cooker, they lived a very simple life in the hills. But for a TV and a few electrical gadgets, they had little more than a family might have had that depended on agriculture to make a living (although there was an impressive collection of bottles with alcoholic drinks on a cupboard in the hall). Their main source of income seemed to be sheep and goats, many of which were temporarily confined to a rectangular enclosure of dry stone walls covered with a large blue sheet made of artificial material no doubt designed to protect the flock from the sun. But what confirmed I was in the company of a couple living an unconventional lifestyle by Turkish standards was a poster of Ibrahim Kaypakkaya hanging on the dark-coloured plaster wall of one of their rooms. I was in the company of communist sympathisers who had chosen to live their lives far from the madding crowd. This meant that they were far from the prying eyes of the police and other uniformed representatives of the Turkish state. Little things during the hour or so that followed suggested to me that both had strong sympathies for the PKK and that the male half of the couple may have fought on its behalf (the woman may have done so as well, for all I know). After she had prepared a wonderful lunch of mild white cheese, olives in a herb and oil dressing, tomatoes, cucumber, helva, bread, butter and tea (the tomatoes, cucumber and bread had just arrived from Hozat, but the cheese and butter were locally sourced. Both the latter were outstanding), the young woman pecked at her food, rolled her own cigarettes with tobacco grown in the Adiyaman area and discussed things as an equal with everyone else. However, not once did she smile. For the whole time she looked as if the problems of a blatantly unjust world, a world in which the oppression of the people least equipped to care for themselves was almost universal, were always at the forefront of her mind. Wearing shalwar, a grubby top and no headscarf or make-up, her slim frame and diminutive height were apparent to everyone present. Handsome rather than pretty, I nonetheless found it difficult to take my eyes off her. If her hands were not engaged in movement, she would prop first one foot and then the other onto the seat of her chair and exhale smoke by lifting her face to the ceiling, thereby allowing some of her long hair to fall from her shoulders down her back.

Lunch near Ergen Armenian Church.

Suddenly it was time to go. I managed to take a few photos of the couple, although it was obvious that neither he nor she were at ease with me doing so (this confirmed that they were keen to be as inconspicuous as possible. They were radically opposed to religion in any shape or form, so the Sunni Muslim idea that it was wrong to photograph a female did not explain their concern about my desire to immortalise one half of the couple), but the farewells were warm and heartfelt (they had detected that my sympathies lay with the left, but I did not sympathise with communism, which so often replaced one tyrannical regime with another). The young man got ready to drive off in the minibus, so I and the Alevi couple who had befriended me on the journey from Pertek climbed aboard. We drove to the road leading to the Armenian church and, after about 3 kilometres, arrived in the village of Gecimli. The minibus was driven into the large garden attached to a house in the centre of the village and the man who had done the driving explained that the house belonged to his family. I met the man’s mother and father and was told that the church lay only 200 metres further along the road. After I had looked at the ruin, I was to return to the house from where I would be driven back to Hozat. As I walked toward the church through yet another village worthy of further examination, I had to fight back a few tears. Hospitality among the people of Dersim was of a quality I had never encountered before, not even elsewhere in Turkey, where, in my experience, hospitality exceeded that in any other nation state I had visited.

Ergen Armenian Church.

The ruined Armenian church at Gecimli was in very poor condition, but it must have been a remarkable building when complete. The carved stone decoration of the exterior conveyed something of its once-stunning appearance. Sinclair notes that the church had been part of a monastery. Today, only parts of the church remained.

Sinclair reveals that:

The church, which was dedicated to the Holy Virgin, and probably the whole monastery (that of Surp Karapet, or John the Baptist), was founded in 975/6. This was about 40 years after the Byzantine conquest of the Dersim and the Lower Euphrates valley. The monastery came into prominence in the early 15th century, when the Armenian and monastic church revival in Amid (Diyarbakir) and its district seems to have affected this area. It was probably in the 1420s that the church was overhauled: it was certainly refaced on the exterior, and the roof and vaults were probably rebuilt. The monastery was active during the whole of the 16th century. It is not clear when it was abandoned, but it was certainly empty by 1865 and the final abandonment may have taken place in the 18th century. Local tradition suggests some serious robbing of the stone in 1944, possibly in order to build a school – but this point needs clearing up by looking at the school.

Ergen Armenian Church.

The church was basilican in layout. Although almost the whole of the s. wall and most of the w. wall have been lost, and although nothing can now be seen of the piers which supported the arcades, the high, elaborately articulated w. façade and the longer n. façade retain their nobility and impact…

Ergen Armenian Church.

There is an apsed chamber, n. of the apse, at the e. end of the northerly aisle. The chamber’s entrance is rather darkened and partly hidden, as if at the end of a corridor, by a short wall extending westward from the end of the apse wall. The wall consists of a short blind arch and the pier from which the first arch is sprung.

Ergen Armenian Church.

The fine decorated portal in the n. wall is placed in the centre of the wall as a whole but e. of the middle point of the wall as seen from inside. The portal is brought forward on two buttresses either side of the doorway; to either side again are two buttresses. Otherwise the n. wall is plain. High in the faces of the two inner buttresses, above the level of the lintel, are panels consisting of a rectangle covered with interlace adjoining a rectangle of contiguous arches joined to one another by knots. Above the door is a heavily decorated lintel, now broken, and a semi-circular relieving arch. Plain engaged pillars run up either side of the doorway and flare outwards in the long, heavily overhanging leaves of the capitals beneath the lintel. Along the outer border of the relieving arch, across the top edge of the lintel’s face and down the lintel’s two ends runs an undulating branch with leaves of an odd, simplified, less supple form than are found in standard Selcuk decoration… At either end (of the lintel) we can see a panel decorated with a plant whose stem divides, is reunited and curves to fill the whole rectangle with its tendrils. At the l.-h. end of the lintel much of the next panel can be seen; the remainder is damaged…

Ergen Armenian Church.

Ergen Armenian Church.

E. façade. Here the triangle of masonry between the apse and the two side-chambers is partly carved out in two wide V-shaped niches. The apse was lighted by a double window whose sills were at head height: however, the windows’ frames have been lost, apart from the outer vertical member of the r.-h. window. Here we can see a line of rosettes and other designs inside circles joined by knots… The composition centring on the window in the apse of the northerly chamber is reasonably complete. The window is flanked by tall panels. Engaged pillars rise between the panels and the window, and provide the support for the arches covering each of the three. Each pillar rises out of a sculptured element resembling a stepped base, which is probably modelled on a stele base. These bases bear very shallow decoration. One of the bases for the two engaged pillars which rose between the apse’s windows is left. Here five arches are deeply carved in the face of the base.

Ergen Armenian Church.

I have quoted extensively from Sinclair because, although not everything he saw in the 1980s has survived, the church is still such a notable monument that people should know what has already been lost, and what could be lost in the future if the ruin is neglected for much longer.

Ergen Armenian Church.

Ergen Armenian Church.

I returned to the house where the minibus had been parked and, after brief chats with everyone present, said goodbye with particular regret to the couple who had befriended me on the minibus from Pertek to Hozat. The young man ushered me into the front of the minibus, picked up a friend who wanted a lift to Hozat, and, after exchanging the V-sign with a few males gathered around an electricity pylon, we left for the main Hozat to Pertek road. The scenery along the dirt and gravel road all the way to the junction looked even more enchanting (especially because we were looking north toward the mountains around Ovacik), not least because I had attained the day’s first goal and it was only just after 1.00pm. I decided to risk a visit to Cemisgezek, although I would probably have to rely on hitched lifts both ways.

Gecimli.

We arrived at the main road and I thanked the driver for everything he had done on my behalf. I offered to pay for at least some of the petrol he had used, but the money was waved away with an expression of mock anger. Not for the first time during the trip, a tear or two began to form.

I began walking south and was soon ascending to a rounded summit with pasture and wild flowers from where I could see many kilometres in all directions. With the views changing very slowly, I could appreciate the landscape even more than in a car or a minibus, not least because nothing created an obstruction between me and my surroundings. I was in a stunningly beautiful part of eastern Turkey and thought longingly about how magical the road between Hozat and Ovacik must be. Another year, with luck.

Between Hozat and the Pertek to Cemisgezek road.

After walking about 3 kilometres, two off-duty jandarma kindly gave me a lift to where the road from Hozat joined the one from Pertek to Cemisgezek. Before arriving at the junction, we stopped at a roadside cesme to fill our bottles with chilled water from a pure source in the nearby hills.

Near Gecimli.

To Pertek and the Termal Hotel.

There was more song before sunrise and it sounded devotional. However, it was at 6.30am instead of 4.00am and the chanting had a different quality to it. I was going to miss Tunceli, of this there was no doubt.

I consumed my breakfast, packed the last few things into my bags, settled the hotel bill and walked the 30 or so metres to where the minibuses left for Pertek. I caught the 8.00am service with five minutes to spare. There were only four passengers aboard when we left from the Cagdas bus company office, but by the time we were among Tunceli’s most distant southerly suburbs, only five seats were free.

The hotel’s breakfast room, Tunceli.

As we made our way toward the entrance to the university campus, I reflected for the last time about Tunceli’s population. Taken collectively, the town had the most secular-minded population I had encountered so far, and would encounter for the remaining few days of the trip. People with a faith commitment seemed to express it in a pragmatic, tolerant and live-and-let-live manner, so much so that in 48 hours, I did not see a woman dressed from head to foot in black, or a woman who covered her face except for the eyes and the top of her nose, or a woman who walked two or three paces behind a male family member, who elsewhere on the trip was usually her husband. Women wearing headscarves constituted 15% of the female population at the most. Women drove cars, engaged directly in the local economy and earned a living in many town centre offices and businesses in the more affluent suburbs. Tunceli did not have any buildings of architectural importance, but its situation beside the Munzur Cayi, the surrounding hills and mountains, the liberal outlook of its citizens and the many interesting destinations in the region made it for me one of Turkey’s most appealing provincial capitals. Moreover, with Erzincan and Elazig not far away, people deprived of walks on the Sunni side of the street had only a short distance to travel.

The cloud of the evening and night before had completely disappeared. Bright sunshine, a few puffs of white cloud and a gentle breeze made everything look enchanting once we were beyond the entrance to the university campus. A road to the right had a sign beside it indicating that Rabat Kale lay 20 kilometres away. Someone the day before had said that Rabat Kale was an interesting destination and that the full extent of its interest had yet to be established (Rabat Kale was said to have Urartian and Hellenistic connections, among others). Was this further confirmation that a return to the area was required? Most definitely.

The minibus left the main road to Elazig because, although destined for this large city in which I had stayed a few days earlier, it was going via the town of Pertek to connect with the ferry that crossed the Keban Reservoir, thereby usually saving some time because of the much shorter distance.

Pertek was 36 kilometres from the road junction and, with a few twists and turns as we made an ascent, we were soon among hills, stunted trees, wild flowers, beehives and pasture feeding cattle, sheep and goats. As we enjoyed a last view of the Munzur Cayi, now part of the Keban Reservoir which was so large it was encountered along many roads, we arrived in the dispersed village of Yolkonak where the houses, most of which were modern, had extensive views south and east. Each house seemed to have a large garden with many trees. Beydami, the next settlement along the road, stood in undulating countryside surrounded by rounded hills. Beydami marked the point where the road began to cross an upland plain with fields and orchards. We began to descend after passing a quarry, but hills and mountains still dominated the distant views. We were about 13 kilometres from Pertek and, ahead, the Keban Reservoir came into view again, this time to the south-west instead of the east. I detected in the grass and fields a hint of paleness that suggested conditions were a little drier and hotter than in and immediately around Tunceli, despite the town being so close. In what was probably Mercimek, a village about 3 kilometres from the centre of Pertek, there were some large timber-framed and mudbrick houses with flat roofs that would be worth examining more closely, but I sensed that other delights lay ahead without undertaking what might be a time-consuming detour.

Termal Hotel, Pertek.

Termal Hotel, Pertek.

Termal Hotel, Pertek.

I unwisely got off the minibus in Pertek, which looked overwhelmingly modern on first inspection. The only hotel locally was the Termal about 5 or 6 kilometres outside the town not far from where the ferry arrived and departed. Very kindly, an off-duty police officer directed me to his car and drove me to the hotel, a large modern one with a swimming pool and sauna utilising a local source of naturally hot water. The hot water provided guests or visitors for the day with an opportunity to engage in recreation or access unproven cures for ill-health. I did not usually stay in a Turkish hotel with such facilities charging guests a lot by local standards, but the immediate area lacked accommodation alternatives; its situation beside the reservoir was a delight; the surrounding area promised many pleasant surprises to add to the ones already acquired in Dersim (everywhere I visited for the next two days was in Dersim); the ferry terminal was nearby so I could access to my next destination with ease; and I was asked to pay only 100TL (about £27) for a night in a double room similar in size to a hotel room in the USA. The room came with en suite facilities and breakfast. I immediately agreed to stay two nights and enjoyed every moment of the self-indulgence.

Because the Keban Reservoir had drowned old Pertek, all that remained of the town where it originally stood was the castle, which crowned what was now an island in the reservoir. The hotel and its extensive grounds provided excellent views of the island and castle. Moreover, I witnessed attractive sunsets both evenings at the hotel. Was everyone a winner at the Termel Hotel near the modern town of Pertek? You bet, provided you could afford to stay there.

Termal Hotel, Pertek.

Pertek Kale.

Pertek Kale.