Turkish Letters #6 -- Konya (Shiralee)

Göreme was a very hard act to follow. Konya didn't even try. Not that it needs to - one of the 'Anatolian tigers', its economy and population are growing faster than bacteria in a warm Petri dish. Its population growth is further encouraged by its status as one of the most fundamentalist cities in Turkey. Most of the women seem to start podding out a kid a year from when they're about 16. #1 Women's role in Konya is essentially Kinder, Küche, Kircher - Hitler would have deeply approved. Anyway, the place is crawling with kids although I suspect that, given the virulence of the air pollution, the rate of natural wastage is probably pretty damned high. In addition, as in the larger cities and most of the towns, the traffic is unremitting and the driving consistently erratic, thus offering another form of post-partum contraception.

Konya's urban fabric reflects its dual nature. The outskirts go forever and are the usual identical 5+-storied neo-brutalist Soviet post-war-styled concrete monstrosities daubed in colour combinations so 'brave' that they could only have been chosen at random. Probably using a chicken let loose in a Taubman's catalogue circa 1973. The only good thing to be said about these vertical slums is that they positively bristle with solar panels.

The inner city dates back to the dawn of time or thereabouts. It is chock-full of crumbling adobe abodes, collapsing wooden Ottoman buildings, and rapidly disintegrating office/hotel/apartment buildings evidently designed in the 60s but quite possibly built last year. #2 It goes without saying that every second building is a mosque. And, of course, wood or coal fires heat the whole lot. These also provide the means to cook, heat water and just generally add that homely touch to the place. Smokes pours out from everywhere - often from eye-level pipes poked out from semi-open windows. This mixes with the petrochemical refuse spewed by a panoply of vehicles including 2-stroke motorbikes #3, many of which have been converted into tiny trucks, people movers, mobile market stands, etc etc, as well as buses, trucks and cars that have evidently all been modified to add extra fumes. The resulting poisonous cocktail certainly did for JB in short order and he repaired to bed forthwith, only emerging to flee the city.

As an aside, Turkish motorcyclists and their passengers are evidently forbidden to wear helmets and encouraged to smoke, eat and/or drink whilst riding. Extra points are awarded if they can get more than two people on the bike, more if it's a whole family, children sandwiched between dad driving and mum on the luggage rack. This obviously assists with population control.

As I mentioned, parts of Konya date back to the invention of people. It is another one of those Anatolian cities that has seen it all over the millennium. Founded over 3000 years ago, each succeeding civilization has its own legends of how the city got its name. The Hellenes told the story of the hero Perseus, son of Zeus and cosy with Athena who advised him how to kill the monstrous Medusa who was terrifying the neighbourhood by turning the local chaps to stone. The statue of him, erected by the ever so grateful citizens, gave the city the name of "Ikonium" meaning 'city of the statue or idol'. This was then adapted by each succeeding regime. Ottoman Turks, who never let it be said that they owed anyone anything, attributed its nomenclature #4 to colonists from Khorasan. When they arrived at the gardens of the village located in today's Konya one said to the other, "Shall we stay here?" ("konallm ml" in Turkish). His friend replied: "Why not stay!" ("Kon ya!" in Turkish). Konyans probably think that this story is the height of risqué humour - they really are wild party animals.

Whatever. The remnants of these succeeding civilisations are everywhere. Catal Huyak, dating back to 6800 BCE and generally considered to be the world's oldest known settled community, is just 50kms away. Under the Romans it was a thriving provincial centre, visited by saints Paul (yup the one that started as Saul but fell off his ass and converted then pestered people by endlessly writing them hectoring letters), and Barnabas (who I know nothing about). However Konya's finest hours were 1150-1300ish CE when, under the Seljuk Turks, it was the capital of the Sultanate of Rum. The Seljuks obviously got their jollies by filling every spare corner with examples of their formal but highly decorated architecture - perhaps aware that the tourist trade would need something to be going on with in the absence of any physical beauty or non-Sufi-related entertainment.

Indeed, old Konya is entirely oriented around two major tourist poles - more accurately, two roundabouts. The Mevlana Museum makes Konya a prime pilgrimage destination for Turks who slowly ambulate around it in a remarkably orderly anti-clockwise direction. It is only nominally a museum as we would define one. Some glass cases containing personal items that may have belonged to Mevlana ('Our guide' or Rumi as we know him), or his followers. Some old Korans (one tiny one featuring miniscule white and silver script on a black background - demonstrating the historical lack of awareness of usability and typographical legibility issues. And John thought that it was just the under-educated designers of today...). Some rugs hanging on a wall; notably one small silk prayer rug that is reputed to have over 3 million knots (and what maniac, I wonder, took the time to count them?). A room containing some scary mannequins #5 dressed as Sufis and posed doing Sufi things like chowing down on guvech and miming being a spring plant bursting into flower.

But, of course, no one is there for the museum element - well, except to have their photograph taken alongside the case with Rumi's hat in it. Or the one with the string of 999 giant worry beads. Or the mother of pearl inlaid box containing a hair from Mahomet's beard. Or that rug. They are there to see Mevlana and his followers' tombs. And have their photographs taken in front of them. Some take videos. Many many pray aloud. Some are overcome with emotion. It's all a little disquieting.

It becomes even more disturbing when you find out the Rumi story. Born at the height of the Seljuk Sultanates, he was groomed to take over the family business - spiritual leading. He was going fine, had followers and was building his rep, when he met another guru who knocked his sandals off. He vowed to follow him. His own followers felt totally dropped and got really sulky. So sulky, in fact, that they murdered his guru. Rumi was really upset. Understandably. But rather than get really pissed off with his over zealous disciples, he developed an ecstatic but essentially humanistic philosophy that resonates still. He did get his own back on his followers by developing the Sufi way which not only includes 12 steps to Sufihood including begging and doing the veggie shopping for dinner, but also long periods of spinning on the spot wearing a long white frock. #8

The other pole is Alaettin Tepesi (Aladdin Hill), which is, as its name suggests, a hill. Not a very big one by general standards, but on the flatlands of Anatolia even a molehill looks like a mountain. What it lacks in geological grandeur it makes up for in other features. These start with, but are not limited to, a multi-lane traffic expressway with tram and bus lanes to boot, a military hotel that has some more WTF public sculpture, teagardens with WTF kids play equipment and a WTF concrete thing covering a bit of mudbrick wall. In addition, and very considerately, most of the things that the average tourist might want to see are spaced around, on or near the Hill.

Keep in mind that the sculptures above are at at least 200% scale

Konya's tourism shtick is that it is the 'largest open-air museum' of Seljuk architecture in Turkey - and, therefore, the world. Curiously, most of the surviving examples seem to be religious establishments. Although, given the corrosive effects of air pollution, one wonders how much longer even they will last.

Many of them, especially the Medrasses #6, have been converted into specialist museums - e.g a museum of Islamic stone carving, another of tiles and ceramics, another of glassware, etc etc. #7 Those that were open were fabulous. Most, naturally, were closed. I'm convinced that they close them just to taunt me; the ticket sellers see me stumbling down the street towards them and quickly slam their little windows shut, hastily stick up a handwritten note, dig a few holes out the front, scatter a few tools around and then go off and have tea until they're sure I'm gone.

Seljuk tiles from the excellent Tiles and Ceramics Museum -- those guys really knew how to do up a bathroom! #9

When one too many museums did this to me, even I gave up on culture and wandered off into the back streets to take my usual pictures of doorways, tulip details, spontaneous junk collages, disintegrating buildings and clashing colour schemes. I didn't last long. Men hissed at me and followed close at my heels muttering. Small boys called out what seemed to be obscene suggestions. Women sharply called their children inside as I passed. I may have been being paranoid, but I felt definitely unwanted.

Maybe Konya is a city that slowly grows on you, but we failed to uncover any of its charms. Or even anywhere reasonable to eat after 6.30pm when the entire place closes down.

As JB has noted, we were glad to get the hell out.

#1 Konya also seems to be the wedding capital of the country, chockas with bridal shops selling the most hideous frocks confected from tulle, stiff satin and tastelessness in a range of colours including a very lime-spider green. Some resembled sartorial escapees from Dynasty, but many included ultra-high necks (up to the mouth!) and hajib. Traditionally brides wore red to symbolise the virgin blood they would spill on their wedding night and celebrations lasted 5 days full of sexually segregated merriment - strictly teetotal for the ladies of course. Now most Turkish brides - and some grooms - marry in white, sometimes sashed with a red ribbon (the girls that is), and celebrations last 3 days. Not in Konya, where red is still de rigueur - and I'm guessing the segregation is too. Weddings seem to be a very big deal; everywhere we turned we saw cars wrapped in huge red ribbons and bedizened with even huger red tulle rosettes and lace doyleys bearing the lucky couple's initials. And the shops were full of teenagers trying on dresses indistinguishable from the above rosettes. We even saw a couple wearing them in the street - they must have been having their sexually segregated wedding photographs taken...??!!

#2 Our hotel was a case in point - superficial touches such as marble staircases were meant to disguise the fact that nothing worked or fitted together. The bathroom flooded as soon as you turned on the shower, the reading lamp was broken, the toilet leaked, there were no curtains, and someone had been using the drawers as an ashtray. To get out you had to ride the tiniest lift in the history of people-movers to the basement, traverse several random rooms including a passage so low that even I had to bend my head and then go up a level. The hotel had apparently just opened.

#3 Today I read in the newspaper that motorbikes actually discharge 16 times the pollutants that cars do. I suspect that in Konya, however, that they've found ingenious new ways to make the percentage even higher.

#5 Okay, so both these stories ignore the fact that 4000+ years ago the Hittites were calling it Kuwanna, whilst the Phrygians called it Kowania. Places like to hold onto their names in this part of the world - its just people who want to take credit for them.

#5 These mannequins are everywhere! There must be a special factory that churns them out for Turkish house museums. They are typified by their inappropriateness - the female ones often have 70s glamour make-up and 40s style hairdos, whilst the male ones are either all clones or look like variations on Errol Flynn. Shop mannequins are equally strange and disquieting. It's all too easy to imagine them coming alive and visiting unspeakable plastic evil on unsuspecting victims. I'm going to put together a page of pics of them soon and you'll see what I mean. I should have taken some snaps of the Mevlana ones, but I was having a moment of jadedness - plus which there were too many Turks staring adoringly at them for me to get good angles.

These are from the house museum in Safranbolu, but are completely representative of mannequins from every museum in Turkey...

#6 After all even Konya doesn't need 10 Islamic schools within a square kilometre of each other.

#7 Does this mean Konya actually has the largest open air museum of Seljuk-related museums?

#8 I forgot to mention that there is also a nearby graveyard also stuffed full of sufi tombs as well as those of less celebrated people. Also that the shrine may have been extra busy when I was there because it was coming up to the special 17 December ritual where everyone rubs their face against a special silver step in the shrine...

#9 Not only were the Seljuks excellent at highly decorated doorway surrounds and the up-side-down inside-out beehive thing, but they produced the best images of animals -- from the famous, albeit often very silly looking, lions to mythical chimerical beasts to lively and brilliantly observed common farmyard and wild animals. Why oh why hasn't someone produced a book or a website????

I love this deer and leopard poking their tongues out at each other -- and this was the most dignified lion I could find. Why DID the Seljuks have it in for lions? Lion page coming soon...