MARDIN MAYHEM

A week before Nabil's 65th birthday, we were surprised with the gift of a company-paid trip to Southeastern Turkey. We traveled with ArtTour, a company that had  arranged the itinerary, in part to participate in the Mardin Biennial, a contemporary arts festival that aimed to bring international recognition to this fascinating city situated in the farthest southeastern corner of Turkey.  Mardin was on our must-see list and so we were thrilled to join this group of art aficionados, though somewhat worried about Mardin's proximity to the Iraq and Syrian borders.

Mardin is as old as dirt. The old city sits atop an arid hilltop overlooking the Mesopotamian plains.  Supposedly, it is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world. Aramaic, the language of Jesus, is still spoken there.  So is Turkish and Arabic (which opened a world of possibilities for Nabil to connect with the locals).  It is one of the most culturally diverse cities in this region, home to Assyrians, Jews, Christians, Arabs, Kurds and Turks. Despite the rumors of political unrest, Mardin's population is remarkably tolerant of each other's differences.

Unfortunately for us, the city was in the throws of major reconstruction.  The streets had all been disemboweled.  Piles of dirt, cobblestones and garbage  were heaped in unceremonious piles.  Dust swirled through the air and painted everything a translucent shade of rosy beige. I suspect it will take years to try to put the city back together. Between the heat (an unbearable 95 in the shade even in late September) and the filth, it was difficult to appreciate the architecture of the old city.  There were glimpses of what could have been enjoyed; stone-walled alleys pocked with ancient wooden doors, shady courtyards sheltering huge extended families, roof-top sleeping terraces to escape the sweltering summer heat, hidden passageways leading from one level of the hill-town to the next, beautiful stonework, old churches and mosques, donkeys laden with cargo and a parade of locals dressed in a stunning array of traditional costumes. (Costumes to us, normal daywear to them!)

The concept of the Biennial was interesting and the goal commendable,  but the implementation was lacking.  The primary goal was to bring world attention to Mardin's unique history and architecture (already recognized as a deserving UNESCO World Heritage site, but a distinction the locals failed to appreciate.  They turned down the offer to work with UNESCO to revitalize the city and now have to fund it themselves.) The second goal was to showcase contemporary artists and have them develop unique art installations inspired by the daily lives of the people of Mardin in situ. This meant trekking through the streets to view art installations in tea houses, vegetable markets, blacksmith and barber shops.  This  might have worked if the streets weren't almost impassable and the art worth seeing. While the promoters were keen on revealing the collective thought process of the contemporary artist,  the artists themselves seemed to have skimped on their investments in time, talent and materials.  Multi-media seemed to dominate and almost nothing resonated.  Still it was fun being part of an international "happening", and we made some great friends on the tour.

As part of the itinerary, we were invited to the opening GALA of the Biennial to be attended by the artists, organizers, local and regional dignitaries, and some of Turkey's wealthiest art patrons.  We were told the event was formal.  Not trusting the definition of formal, we consulted with several people and were told several times that we needed to dress formally.  Doubting the practicality of slopping through construction debris in formal wear, we again consulted the tour organizers who confirmed that it was indeed "formal".  So despite our misgivings, we got tripped out; Nabil in his best black suit and me in a floor length  gown.   I must say we looked great!  We headed to the lobby to meet the group, only to find everyone waiting for our bus, dressed in sandals, summer dresses and jeans. Of course, no one wanted to make us feel uncomfortable and all tried to ignore how ridiculous we looked.  We chalked the mistake up to the language barrier, had a few belly laughs with our new friends,  stripped back into our casual wear, and headed to the "gala"'.  The event was held on the rooftop patio of  a beautiful old madrasah, where we drank local wine under a star filled sky and watched the invitees try to muster enthusiasm for artwork that paled in comparison to the beauty of the setting.