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Click on this picture for a gallery from the great Kaçkar Dağı expedition.

One of those Karadeniz bridges over fast-running streams.

A winter yayla below the treeline.

A mansion near Ҫamlıhemşin.

Fuel for a Laz village.

A summer yayla above the treeline.

Midsummer on the slopes of Kaçkar Dağı.

Shorts and snow.

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I drove through Iğdır in the early 1990s during the height of non-violent Kurdish resistance. Among other things, road signs were turned around to disorient the Turkish armed forces. It also disoriented me. Leaving Doğubeyazıt, I followed the signs to Iğdır and Kars. These took me in the direction of the Iranian border. The car hit a massive bump in the road. The battery of my decrepit Fiat leapt into the air, broke free of its moorings and punctured itself on the pieces of metal that were supposed to hold it in place. The radiator also gained its freedom, broke its hoses and drained its water onto the road. I did running repairs and went back to the oto sanayı. The passive resistance did not extend to work on cars. This seemed to be a common thing to happen, so a few men set to work cheerfully and bodged the car back into life. They also told me about the road signs.

Setting out on the right road, I realised my elementary mistake. This time I kept the enormous bulk of Ağrı Dağı on my right rather than the left. The mountain dominated everything. This seemed like the wildest part of Turkey. Neat nomad camps of conical, white tents could be seen on the slopes of Ağrı Dağı. Whenever I slowed down to take a closer look, enormous, slavering dogs would launch themselves at the car. They shoved their snarling faces against the car windows. Knowing the mechanical condition of the car, I didn’t stop.

Ağrı Dağı in 2015

This is Iğdır from the other side. Ağrı Dağı from Khor Virap, Armenia.

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