Vladmir Putin, the Russian President and arguably one of the most powerful man in the world was on TV, delivering a speech. This was his first visit to Ankara after his reelection. Rumours were that Turkey and Russia are working together to “solve” the Syrian crisis, drawing mixed reactions from world media. A few minutes in, the channel graphic appeared and a news anchor with nice hair came on screen and started analyzing the speech with her panel of experts in the news studio. The visit can, quite possibly, change the dynamics of western interventions in Syria.
But all seemed normal here at the Bira Park. It is a small establishment run by an ever smiling middle aged lady and her husband. They don’t speak much English but thankfully understood when I placed my order and asked for the WiFi password. There were a few empty seats. Others were taken by patrons who looked like regulars. They seemed blissfully unaware of the unfolding events on the broadcast or may be they had just stopped caring. Mugs of half empty Efes beer and cigarette packets sat on their tables. Their conversations were punctuated with loud laughs and excited hand movements.
It was getting late and cold outside. Dark clouds were moving in. It could start raining any minute. Four beers in, I realised that I did not know the way back to my hostel. I just happened upon this bar while on an aimless, long evening walk. I had seen the revered Kocatepe mosque, then walked through rows and rows of busy markets and few blocks of concrete office buildings. I had seen people wearing corporate suits and young adults wearing jeans that are torn from the thigh all the way down; a few strands of thread in between holding the whole thing together. I passed by mosques and nightclubs. Bars and Cafes. Liking the local feel, I had stepped into Bira Park for a quick drink, but an hour later, here I still was.
Ankara, the capital of Turkey, is like any other cosmopolitan, modern city that you can imagine. Little short on tourist attractions, most visitors use this city has a transportation hub to catch buses and flights to other parts of the country. But due to my affinity towards country capitals, I had decided to spend a couple of days here before moving on. While planning my trip, I was tempted to skip Ankara and go straight to Konya from Istanbul but sitting there in my corner seat that evening, happily drunk and enjoying the ambience of the bar, I would not have chosen to be anywhere else in the world.
While walking back to my hostel that night, I happened upon this really nice street joint selling kokorec, kofte and doner kebabs. It seemed like one of those underground food stalls that only locals know about and keep a secret. Meat grilling over charcoal. Coffee brewing by the sidewalk. Trance music. The friendliest staff who offer you a cigarette while you wait for your order. All this, while the night traffic whizz pass just a few yards away. The perfect setting for dinner.
Ankara was starting to grow on me.
A short hike from the Ulus station is the Citadel. Ankara is an old city and its Citadel has stood witness to the rise and fall of many empires throughout its history. Its ramparts are visible from afar and the fluttering Turkish flag on one of its walls acted as the guiding light as I hiked up the hill towards it the next morning. Though not a difficult hike, it turned out to be immensely rewarding as I saw the city of Ankara laid out in front of me from one of the tower gates.
The thing that I did not know however was that many families still live within the Citadel. I found that out first hand when I accidentally wandered into the courtyard of one of the houses and got unceremoniously chased away by their two dogs.
15 minutes walk downhill, through the park outside the Citadel walls, brought me to the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, which houses artifacts from the civilizations that once flourished in Anatolia. Remains of their tools, pottery, currency and figurines of their deities can take you back to the days when Ankara and its neighborhood did not have concrete skyscrapers and flashy restaurants. A little further downhill, surrounded by cheap doner establishments and cafes is the revered Haci Bayram Mosque and the temple ruins of Augustus and Rome.
I found a small cafe outside the mosque to have a cup of tea and rest my legs a bit before moving on. It was around noon and the sun was out. It was a pleasant break from the depressing, overcast grey sky. It was a busy little joint with most tables occupied by people reading newspapers, fiddling on their phones or just sitting about. A busy waitress shuttled between the tables, delivering cups of tea. A tall, lean, middle aged man ran the operations in the back, brewing coffee and making tea, while manning the cash register. The Turkish national Flag was hung overhead.
A visitor to Turkey will not take long to understand that the Turkish are a very nationalistic bunch. A short walk through any neighbourhood, and you will see the national flag proudly waving in the wind from rooftops or hung from balconies and windows. Around busy squares, you will find statues that commemorate the martyrs and honour freedom fighters. The Turkish are proud of their country and its history, and they are not afraid to show it.
When you look into the modern history of Turkey, one name pops up more than any other. Mustafa Kemal Ataturk. He was a revolutionary. A war hero. The first President of independent Turkey. He is fondly remembered as the The Father of the Turks (Ataturk). Located up on a hill, overlooking the city, sits his mammoth mausoleum. Anit Kabir is what they call it in Turkish.
Security was rather tight. Soldiers in camouflaged uniforms stood guard with advanced weapons. I was thoroughly checked and my bag had to be stored away in a locker at the main gate. The mausoleum was a bit of a walk from the main gate but a pleasant one as the road passed through well tended gardens and lines of trees on both sides. Groups of excited school kids followed the same path, in neat queues, led by their teachers. Considering how important Ataturk is to the history of the country, it was understandable why educational institutions would want their pupils to experience Anit Kabir first hand. Not just school kids, people of all ages were visiting that day. For some, it is a place of pilgrimage.
At the entrance of the mausoleum complex stood giant statues of men and women, as a tribute to the sacrifices and contributions made by all sections of the society, irrespective of gender and social status, during the freedom struggle. A little further ahead, guards paraded through the complex, much to the amusement and adulation of the crowd. Their commanding yells echoed as they marched through. In the distance, the Turkish flag swayed with the wind.
Inside the mausoleum was the marbled tomb of Ataturk. Heavily guarded and monitored. The hall was engulfed in a thick air of reverence and respect. Eerily quiet. As I stood near the tomb, admiring the grey structure, a large group of kids in blue uniform marched in. The security personnel ushered all the visitors to the side to make way for the group. And before I could understand what all the sudden activity was about, the group started singing the Turkish national anthem. We all stood in silence.
This was nationalism on steroids.
Right outside the mausoleum is a museum that showcases Ataturk’s life and contributions in the freedom struggle. It had elaborate paintings and illustrations highlighting his genius as a military strategist and a benevolent leader. It was also quite clear that apart from being a great leader, he was a man of style. His cars and wardrobe are on display, along with a Madame Tussaud’s style life size wax statue of him, looking no less suave than Agent 007 himself.
It is obvious to wonder at this point how much of this is just propaganda towards building a personality cult. While no one can deny the important role he played in the freedom struggle, establishing democracy, promoting industry and secularising Turkey, there are questions regarding his role in forced westernisation, treatment of Armenians etc. Whatever the case, one cannot underplay his importance in the Turkish society.
And as a visitor, you cannot help but admire the grandness of Anit Kabir.
I returned to the Bira Park that evening. Tired because of all the walking throughout the day. It was a lot less crowded that evening. The TV was off. I took my corner seat next to a guy having a beer and a plate of french fries. He seemed normal at that moment but after finishing his beer, he would order a cup of coffee. He had issues.
“Efes?” The smiling bartender asked from behind the counter, probably recognising me from the previous evening.
As the pleasant evening gave way to a chilly night, I reminisced about how wonderful my short stay in Ankara had been. The Kocatepe mosque, the Citadel, the Anatolian museum, the cafes, the delicious street side kofte and kokorec, the tea breaks and the mausoleum in many ways helped me understand Turkey and its wonderful people better.
But if I ever go back to Ankara it will be because of the thing I miss the most. Sitting in my corner seat at Bira Park, after a tiring day, watching the evening traffic outside while enjoying a cold glass of Efes. The friendly atmosphere at this bar made me want to stay a bit longer in Ankara.
The train ticket in the inner pocket of my jacket however told me that I needed to pack my bags and travel to Konya the next day.
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