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ANKARA: The ghost town between two rivers Ani

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  • ANKARA: The ghost town between two rivers Ani

    Haber 27, Turkey

    The ghost town between two rivers Anı

    Were there to be a prize for the most romantic ruin in Turkey, Ani,
    the old Armenian ghost town squeezed in between two rivers on the
    border between Turkey and modern Armenia, would have to be up there in
    the running. At the very least one might expect to

    12 Ekim 2008 Pazar 17:00

    Such, though, is the bleak power of history to overshadow even the
    most innocent relics of the distant past that in reality Ani
    languishes in relative obscurity, admired by foreign groups on their
    whirlwind tours of eastern Turkey and by the occasional adventurous
    individual traveler, but never overrun with visitors in the way that,
    say, Ephesus, with its safer Greco-Roman heritage, is.

    To be fair, Ani is pretty much out on a limb in terms of geography,
    lying as it does 45 kilometers east of Kars, itself already a long way
    from anywhere. The good news is that visiting it has become a whole
    lot easier. Not so long ago anyone who wanted to see somewhere
    overlooking such a contentious border had first to visit the security
    police to get permission, then go to the tourist office to have the
    permit endorsed, then go to Kars Museum to buy a ticket and only then
    set off for the site itself, leaving their camera behind in their
    hotel room since all photography was forbidden. Fortunately all that
    rigmarole is now past history, its only relic the absence of public
    transport to enable solo travelers to visit Ani without having to take
    out a mortgage to pay a private taxi fare.

    No matter. It's all worth it anyway as soon as you see the lovely
    golden-brown walls of the old city soaring up on the plain just past
    the village of Ocaklı. Those walls are vaguely reminiscent of
    the ones ringing the medieval castles of Wales, except that once you
    step through them you find yourself confronting a vast expanse of
    nothingness with just the occasional earthquake-damaged ruin jutting
    up on the horizon. Hard, then, to imagine that Ani was once a city
    which was home to some 100,000 people in its heyday.

    The early history of Ani is closely entwined with that of nearby
    Kars. Back in the 10th century when this corner of Turkey was part of
    the Bagratid Kingdom of Armenia, King Ashot III (r.952-77) decided
    that Ani would make a better capital than Kars and moved his court
    here in 961. For almost 100 years Ani flourished under the Bagratids,
    but then in 1045 it was seized by the Byzantines, only to fall to the
    Seljuks in 1064. Under their control it enjoyed a second spring with
    plenty of fresh new buildings going up inside the walls. But then the
    Seljuks were driven out by the Georgians, the Georgians by the Kurds
    and the Kurds by the Mongols. Finally, in 1319 a huge earthquake
    felled many of the remaining buildings, and the city fell into
    terminal decline.

    Newly cleared paths through the undergrowth make it easy to explore
    the site in a clockwise direction, which brings you quickly to the
    half-tumbled ruins of the 11th-century Church of the Redeemer, built
    to house a portion of the True Cross. Interestingly, it was not the
    earthquake that did for this building so much as a far more recent
    bolt of lightning that struck it in 1957.

    The second church you'll come to is perhaps the most exquisite
    building at Ani, which makes it all the more worrying to see the
    restorers moving in. Dating from the 13th century, the Church of
    St. Gregory the Illuminator is externally very similar to the churches
    of the Georgian valleys that stretch between Tortum and
    Yusufeli. Inside, however, it's festooned with wonderful frescoes that
    cover almost every surface, hence its Turkish name -- the Resimli
    Kilise, or Church with Pictures.

    A short walk further round brings you to the scant remains of a Seljuk
    bathhouse, after which you need to look carefully for a path down
    towards the Arpa �ayı (Barley River) that separates
    Turkey from Armenia. Perched precariously on a bluff above the river
    is the diminutive but utterly perfect, clover-shaped Convent of the
    Virgins, a prize-winning church inside a prize-winning site. From here
    you will be able to see the brooding hulk of the early 11th-century
    cathedral of Ani, its dome long since collapsed although reuse as a
    mosque in Seljuk times ensured the survival of its soaring arched
    interior.

    Between the cathedral and the 11th-century Seljuk
    Menüçer Camii with its striking, if damaged, octagonal
    minaret, lie the relatively inconspicuous but nonetheless evocative
    remains of a street of shops. For many people it's strolling along
    this street that will make it easiest to envisage how this was once a
    bustling city, most of whose remains still lie unexcavated beneath the
    uneven ground. Immediately opposite stand the remains of a sizeable
    and well-appointed house looking towards the castle, the one part of
    Ani that remains off-limits to visitors.

    Walking back towards the exit you'll pass the remains of a truly
    enormous 10th century building, another Church of St. Gregory, this
    time completely circular. Much also survives of the 11th century
    Church of the Holy Apostles, reused as a caravanserai in Seljuk
    times. Scant remains of two more churches also linger on, one of them
    propped up by unsightly metal girders. Then finally there's the Seljuk
    Palace, so horribly "restored" that it was described in a newly
    published book about Turkey as resembling a large public toilet block.

    But you come to Ani as much for the exquisite beauty of its location,
    with the rivers running along ravines on either side. The silence here
    is glorious, and the site breathtaking regardless of whether you visit
    in the spring, when the interior is a rash of emerald-green grass, or
    in the winter, when the snow lies deep on the ground.

    For most people, that's it as far as a trip to Ani goes, although
    several other ruined Armenian churches lurk unvisited in nearby
    villages. Midway between Kars and Ani lies the village of Subatan,
    where a turn to the left leads eventually to OÄ?uzlu and the
    ruins of a 10th century church, standing forlorn in a farmyard. Even
    more impressive is the church of Karmır Vank, also in a
    farmyard, in the nearby village of YaÄ?kesen; not only does this
    church still retain its dome, but it was built out of wonderful red
    and black checkerwork, hence its Turkish name, the Kızıl
    Kilise (Red Church).

    A turning on the right-hand side of the road from Kars to Ani leads
    eventually to the village of Kozluca, which has the remains of a
    further two churches on either side of a valley. One is a by now
    fairly familiar small domed structure, the other a huge 11th century
    building in a shocking state of collapse, but interesting nevertheless
    for its Seljuk-style maqarna (stalactite) carvings and copious
    Armenian inscriptions. You'd need a lot of energy to take in all these
    sites on the same day as a visit to Ani, and forget a trip to nearby
    MaÄ?azbert Castle altogether since the gendarme will not let you
    past their checkpoint.
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