I did not want to go to Harran. It does not matter that Abraham lived there, that Eliezer asked for Rebekah’s hand at that well for his master Isaac, that Jacob served fourteen years there for Rachel, that it has the castle of the moon-worshiping Sabeans and the centuries-old beehive houses, if the measure of arrogance and ripping-off practiced by the locals – and euphemistically formulated by touristic sites like “the locals go to great lengths to take care of the visitors” – is almost unbearable. You have
I present my aversion to the group, but I also report honestly about the sights. Finally, the decision is made to leave after all, once we are just forty kilometers away here in Urfa, and that everyone would vigorously defend themselves against the onslaught. In the evening, I am still browsing the internet and Sinclair’s Eastern Turkey for some more attractions to add to this tour, and there are indeed a few locations that promise to be interesting.
Harran is as I expected. As soon as we stop at the Byzantine castle, a tour guide arrives by car. In such cases, refusing him in English or Turkish is not an option, but neither is not talking to him: he just sticks to you like a fly. The solution, in a strange way, is to only speak to him in Hungarian, slowly, articulately, and persuasively. He loses thread, while the group laughs in a circle, and after a while he wears off on its own.
a garden diary
Poemas del río Wang
ültess egy fát
Poemas del río Wang
Poemas del río Wang
Poemas del río Wang
Poemas del río Wang
Poemas del río Wang
Poemas del río Wang
Poemas del río Wang