Roger Short Travel Scholarship , September 2011

Rodrigo García-Velasco

Introduction

I would like to start this travel diary by thanking everyone involved in the Roger Short Trust. The efforts of this scheme have been commendable ever since it started. I cannot in any way express my gratitude for the opportunity I was granted this summer.

In February 2011, I decided to apply for the Roger Short Scholarship because as a Univ historian I had been studying the Crusades and I thought that following the route of the Crusaders from Constantinople to Aleppo could be a very fascinating enterprise. However, the Arab Spring and the Spanish Embassy at Damascus encouraged me to change my plans or to genuinely risk my life under my own liability, so I was kindly allowed by Sir Ivor Crewe to modify my itinerary and travel only around the much safer Turkey. This was not a problem for me: not only it was directly related to the Crusades through the history of Byzantium, but also through the history of other peoples around Asia Minor and the Eastern Mediterranean region (such as Turks, Armenians, or Arabs), and which Latins and Greeks had to fend off at different stages.

In April that year came the time to choose my Special Subject, the most important optional subject an undergrad historian at Oxford has to do in his three years of university. I did not hesitate: for the past three months I have been studying tenth‐century Byzantium. My penchant for Medieval History and for this region, and the opportunity granted by the scholarship of visiting the territories of the Eastern Empire were the two main reasons why I chose this particular subject. Thus, the trip became one of the most valuable of my life. For me to be able to physically experience the landscape and architecture the chronicles speak about has been crucial for me familiarity and understanding of some of the pivotal issues of tenth‐century history of Asia Minor.

I left for on the 1st of September 2011, and came back to Madrid (my hometown) on the 25th of September to go up to Oxford three days after, ready to start the 2011‐12 academic course. Because of the tight schedule, I could not finish my Travel Diary before the beginning of Michaelmas term 2011, and for that I must apologise. But had I given it in at the beginning of term, I would not have been able to handle the knowledge which I have been building up over

1 these past months, which has made me understand better the places which I had visited a month ago, and hence helped me put together a better account.

The itinerary was an ambitious one, and took me weeks of planning, reading and consulting my tutors. The first days were spent at Istanbul, which gave me the necessary background knowledge. Eceabat (Gallipoli peninsula) and Troy followed; then staying at Pergamon and Selçuk (from where I travelled to Ephesus, Priene, Milet and Didama). Then I headed inland, to Pamukkale (also seeing Aphrodisias, 50km south west), and then to . From Konya I went to , then shortly going to Ankara, and culminating my travel by taking a 12‐hour overnight bus to Trabzon. After that, I flew into Istanbul and stayed there for three more days enjoying the beauties of probably one of my favourite cities in the world. A friend of mine (Eduardo Jones, at joined me independently for the first 14 days of the trip, and I then carried on my own for the rest of the time. This is why I speak in first person plural verbal tense for the account of the City up to Cappadocia; then I turn to first person singular.

The present diary in itself is a brief recollection of some of my notes from the trip, and thoughts on the subject that I have been having over the past months, accompanied by some of the photos I took. I know there are things missing in this account. This does not mean that I did not enjoy them. It means that visiting places such as Didama or Ankara were less relevant to the direct purpose of my travelling. I still found both places stunning: in the former there was a magnificent Hellenistic Apollo temple, apparently the biggest in Asia Minor. The latter’s Museum of Anatolian Civilisations was amazing, particularly its collection of Hittite remains.

University College, Oxford November 2011

2 Istanbul

Before starting At the airport, having not yet departed, the delays were already making me quite anxious. I hate ‘wasting’ time when travelling, time flies by! So as we flew across Europe, I prepared a list of what to see in Istanbul to make the most of the visit. My aim was to cover as many Byzantine buildings (most of them now mosques, other in ruins) as possible.

This was my list:

Seraglio: Sultanahmet: - Archaeological Museum - of St Sergius and St Bacus - Topkapi Saray - - Church of St Irene - Sultanahmet Camii - Sokollu Mehmet Pasha Camii - Turkish and Islamic Arts Museum - Great Palace Mosaics Museum

Bazaar area: - Yeni Camii - Kalenderhane Camii - Of course, the Bazaar - Rüstem Pasha Camii - Süleymaniye Camii Galata - Shehzade Camii

Areas around the Land Walls of - Fatih Camii Theodosius: - Pantokrator Church North: South: -Edirne Gate - Fortress of the Seven Towers - Palace of the Porphyrogennitus - Church of St John of Studius - Chora Museum Ferry along the Bosporus to see the - Pammakristos Church palaces (Dolmobahçe) and the Fortresses - Orthodox of Constantinople of Europe and Asia

The conclusion that I soon reached is that a visit to Istanbul was in its own an enormous challenge. And soon I was worrying about having enough time to see everything… All that I had studied so far about the Middle Byzantine Period, about the Crusades, and about the later Empire, all came together here in an eclectic way. The Turkish legacy of the past five hundred years also gave me insights into the region’s history until at least Atatürk’s rule. Istanbul was a great place from where to start to understand the history of the region.

I am proud to say that we managed to visit all of these sites, without having to rush through them – we extended our time in the City from four to six days to do so.

3 The same afternoon of our arrival, after settling in our dorm, we let ourselves loose and walked across the City. Through the Great Bazaar we went down to Taksim, then across the bridge and up to Galata. This is when I remembered Eduardo d’Amicis Constantinople, and felt the same way as he did:

‘If the captain had said to you, “To­morrow morning we shall see Stambul,” you would probably have answered, quite calmly, “Indeed! I am very glad to hear it.” But suppose, instead, you had brooded over the idea for ten years; had passed many a winter’s evening mournfully studying the map of the East; had fired your imagination by reading hundreds of books on the subject; had travelled over one­ half of Europe merely to console yourself for not being able to see the other half… ; ­ then you would have some idea of the real meaning of those words…’

Walking through Istanbul that first afternoon, walking up to Galata, I realised that after two years of university in which I had dedicated so many hours studying this city, reading texts which narrated the beauties of New Rome, I was standing where they had all been centuries ago. Studying History generally requires a lot of imagination. Experiencing a similar geography, climate, and the hints of Byzantine contemporary visual culture helped to shape the image of Byzantium I had been building up in my head through the chronicles of Anna Comnena, Geoffrey of Villehardouin, or Nicetas Choniates.

First stop, Hagia Sophia: Of course, it was one of the highlights of the trip. Its mosaics had been put together during the reigns of Basil I, Leo VI and Constantine VII Porphyrogennitus, during the ninth and tenth centuries. Given that this is exactly what I do for my Special Subject, it was pretty special.

My miscellaneous notes from the day say the following:

‐ Great restoration of the dome (completed in 2010, using a complex system of rotational scaffolding) and of the four Serafins. Only one original remaining, the rest painted during nineteenth-century restoration. ‐ Faded Greek crosses mosaic decorations in the ceiling of lateral corridors (ground floor and galleries): they were part of the Justinian decoration of the sixth century. During the rule of Photios as Patriarch, and later on (ninth- and tenth-centuries), these crosses were covered with new iconophile forms and figures. ‐ Earthquake evidence in the southern gallery: marble floor cracked. How was it fixed? Is it still precarious? ‐ Note two mosaics: (1) On top of the Imperial Gate: Leo VI bowing to an enthroned Christ, composition of c.912-930; (2) on the Southern (now exit): Constantine the Great and Justinian offering the Walls and St Sophia to Jesus, commissioned during the reign of Constantine VII.

As I took these notes I imagined the imperial procession into the Church; I imagined the pomp during the coronation by the Patriarch, the robes of the dignitaries, the splendorous decoration throughout, the eunuchs singing. For some historians this is all too good to be true: a few have argued that Hagia Sophia, and Byzantine pageant in general, was as emotionless as the mechanical

4 nightingale in Andersen’s fairy tale. However, once you walk through the doors into the nave you understand the awe that might have struck Greeks (and Turks) throughout the times. Still today, in the twenty first century, the sheer dimensions of the place amaze us – even if we have the reference of bigger, taller, and more elaborate buildings across the globe. One wonders what did Constantinopolitans and foreigners experience when they encountered Hagia Sophia, given that it was the biggest church in the world until the completion of St Peter’s Basilica in the seventeenth century.

The ‘Byzantine mosques’ Even after nearly six hundred years, Byzantium is still present in many of Istanbul’s buildings. Just as the Greeks had re‐used the materials (columns, capitols) from the Romans, the Turks had re‐used their temples, covering and setting up mihrabs and minbars. It is easy to resent the covering up of mosaics, but one has to understand the Turkish position. Also, even if we cannot see the mosaic decorations, there are other elements in these churches which I found interesting: the traditional Middle Byzantine cross‐dome architectural layout; the eclectic use of marbles to decorate walls and floors; and the recycling of Roman materials. Byzantine church‐building had a well‐defined style,

It seems like Constantinople, with all its piousness, relics and religious pomp, did not produce monumental temples apart from the Church of the Holy Wisdom. The churches of St Irene, Saints Sergius & Bacus, Pammakristos, or Chora were all small‐scale buildings. Other churches now destroyed such as the Nea Ekklesia, which we are told about in written sources such as the Homilies of Patriarch Photios (858‐867 and 877‐886) confirm this trend. It is very intriguing: it is contradictory that during the tenth century, at the height of the Empire of the East, no monumental basilicas were being built. Was it because was much more personal and less ostentatious than today’s, and these churches were commissioned by the aristocracy? Was it because people did not go to church, and only the State and its ideology kept religion alive? Was it because of the rising importance of monastic complexes? All these questions are very difficult to answer. Walking through the streets of Istanbul, I was getting more and more confused, especially in contrast with Ottoman monumental constructions such as Süleymaniye, Shehzade, or Sultanahmet.

I found Byzantine religion and visual culture harder to understand when I visited the Church of the Holy Saviour in Chora. It reached its splendour during the reign of Andronikos II (1282‐1328), after it was repaired by Theodoros Metochites, A court politician, author, and patron of the arts. The skill and beauty of the decorations inside clashed against the humble aspect from the outside. I must emphasise how beautiful the place was: it would have been extremely expensive to commission its embellishment. And given its proximity to the Land Walls, it would be the most threatened of all churches if an army approached Constantinople. This could mean that Chora worked effectively as a monastery, in an independent fashion. The mural paintings of the side church (Parekklesion), show saints directly related with the Constantinopolitan Patriarchate: St Theophanes, St Cosmas, St Athanasius, or St . It is a perfect

5 example of the difficult relationship between the aristocracy, the Patriarchy, the Emperor, and religion. The tension between all of these agents is seen in the specific images portrayed in the church walls. The emperor, depicted with Jesus, had a special connexion with God. The murals of the Parekklesion with the six saints emphasise the authority of the Orthodox Church. But at the same time, the depiction of these particular holy men proves that this church had a specific religious orientation following the writings of these saints, and therefore was in practice independent from the Patriarchy. And over this, the aristocracy (in this case Metochites) accepts the symbolic over‐lordship of all three; but the fact that Metochites commissioned the restoration proves that it was the aristocracy that really held real power. The aristocracy played out these different agents of society and benefited from it.

The views of the Golden Horn On our last day at Istanbul, having covered many miles (from the Edirne Gate to the Archaeological Museum, and then up to Galata), there was only one thing left in our to‐do list: seeing the Bosporus from Galata tower. We never got to do it, because Victoria Short invited us over to her apartment, also in Pera, a beautiful nineteenth‐century Italian building overlooking the whole of Istanbul. The balcony on top of the edifice was one of the most spectacular places I have ever been in. Unluckily, it was the only day I did not have my camera with me, so my description cannot be bettered with a picture. Vast numbers of minarets and vaults dominated the seven hills of the Golden Horn. Straight ahead, the Sea of Marmara and the Princes’ Islands. In between the Seraglio and Üsküdar, a constant stream of transatlantic ships going up and down the Bosporus. Meanwhile Victoria gave us tips on travelling around the country by bus, helped us understand today’s Turkish politics, specially in subjects such as the potential islamisation of the country, the struggle between the military and Erdogan, and the escalation of tensions between Ankara and Tel Aviv over the Peace Flotilla (this particular issue was taking place while we were speaking, and it was all over the media when we were in Turkey). I have to thank her also for persuading me not to go ahead with my idea of getting the ferry from Trabzon back to Istanbul.

Meanwhile, the sun was setting, and around 7pm the muezzins of the many mosques started calling out adhan. It was overwhelming, everything that I ever expected from the city when I had been preparing my trip. Victoria very kindly asked us to leave, but I was too deeply engaged with the scenery to appreciate her diplomatic subtlety. But soon it really was getting dark and we had to go to our hostel to prepare our backpacks. We were leaving the City; it was time to travel down the Aegean coast, to Gallipoli, Troy, Pergamon, Ephesus, Priene, Milet, and Didama.

6

The Aegean

This part of our trip was less directly related to my studies in terms of the preserved cultural heritage (as most remains are from Antiquity and Late Roman). However, it had been one of the most important regions of the , and even if less buildings are still in place than in other parts of Anatolia, it was great to be in the same places as so many had been before me.

For this reason, one of my favourite parts was the travelling from place to place. The bus system in Turkey works fantastically well (in fact better than in Western Europe) and a five‐hour journey always seemed shorter than one may imagine at first. As I travelled opposite to the island of Lesbos I realised that Turkey had a very similar landscape to Greece, Italy, and Spain. This idea has intrigued me since then. How do we explain the cultural and commercial permeability of the Mediterranean in the Middle Ages? And how is geography involved in this process? I will, without doubt, try to find an answer to these questions as part of my postgraduate study.

Pergamon After a nice stay at Eceabat (on the European side of the Dardanelles) and a visit to ‘Troy’ (the archaeological settlement discovered by Schliemann), we went down to Pergamon.

Pergamon’s old city, at the foot of the hill of the Acropolis, is a very beautiful place. With a settlement since Late Roman times, its buildings still use traditional Mediterranean materials (such as quicklime to scare off the bugs). Surprisingly enough, travel guides seem to forget about this part of town, and we found no tourists in our path during our stay. Walking around gave me the impression of being in a provincial town with street planning and paving similar to that of the Extremaduran countryside (in Spain). In the middle of Pergamon stands a Late Roman basilica, suggesting that the settlers came down from the Acropolis (400 m above) at some point, probably because the land was peaceful enough not to care about security. The more we went up the hill towards the archaeological centre, through the most humble neighbourhood in the town, the more beautiful the city got. The adobe houses of the unprivileged, the colours of the façades, traditional people… It seemed like the town was yet ‘untouched by modernity.’ It was my first contact with the ‘other’ side of Turkey, which I had not encountered yet but that is very present throughout, especially as you go deeper into Anatolia and further away from cities. Sometimes we forget, but as late as the 1930s rural Spain was in a similar state, before economic restructuring and later European Union admission changed trends. Thus, Pergamon took me back to my Spanish heritage, and reminded me that I should not judge Turkey for the poverty I was

7 experiencing at that precise moment. We should assay the country for the potential it has.

These thoughts preoccupied me as we climbed for an hour up the hill and reached the Acropolis. Of course, the place was fantastic: a lot has been said about its amphitheatre and the Trajaneum. Having visited Berlin, picturing the Altar of Zeus in my head was not hard and the picture fell together quite quickly. The 360º views of the valleys all around were spectacular themselves. Of great importance during the Hellenistic period and Roman times, Pergamon’s power as an urban centre remained during the Early Byzantine Period. Gradually it faded away, but the city remained a strategic position throughout the Middle Ages due to its amazing visibility, as is suggested by the mix of ruins from both the Byzantine twelfth‐century fortress and the Seljuq fortress built after when the Turks conquered the city. Moreover, the German Archaeological Centre team at Pergamon told me that they had recently found Byzantine graves on one of the sides of the hill, maybe suggesting some long‐term out‐of‐the‐walls settlement during the Middle Ages.

Victoria Short was very kind to put me in contact with Dr Felix Pirson, of the Deutsche Archäologisches Institut (DAI), the man in charge of the excavations at Pergamon. It was a great experience; I got to see how archaeologists work. He kindly showed us around the Excavation House, and took us to the current dig. One of his students was trying to find Hellenistic graves, but unluckily for him he had found Roman ones. This archaeologist was really upset about finding first‐ century B.C. skeletons instead of fourth‐century B.C. ones. Luckily I was not, so I found it awesome to witness the uncovering of several 2000‐year old human beings. I say ‘several’ because the Romans had the habit of recycling the tombs every now and then, so that specific tomb we were looking at had two Romans in it, and apparently they had founds tombs with up to seven bodies…! The experience taught me a great deal about the materiality of the past, and due to my intention to continue my studies as a medievalist, it is important for me to engage with other academic disciplines such as archaeology.

After the dig we had a long chat with Dr Pirson, who was very kind to answer our questions down at the second archaeological site, next to the Roman basilica down in the city. This is an extract of my notes:

- Dr Pirson on the symbolic use of Roman structures during the Byzantine period:

He said that maybe in some places it was a conscious re-use of materials, but never a solemn reference towards the past. Byzantine recycling was practical; so even if they were aware of their own past, the needs of the present times were more important. Which does not mean a disregard for their heritage, but an understanding that building a fortress was more important than preserving a deserted pagan temple.

- What is the DAI’s attitude towards the Pergamon Museum in Berlin?

Pergamon Museum is now in itself part of history. Thus the Altar of Zeus is part of European history now is both as the city in Anatolia and the museum of Berlin. It tells us not only about an Ancient civilisation but also about nineteenth- and twentieth- century German attitudes towards Antiquity and towards its contemporary Turkey. If it

8 is clear in legal terms that it was an exportation of the building allowed by the Ottoman state, as in this case, then there is not much that can be done to bring the Altar of Zeus back to its original location. If it is not legally clear then it is a game of give and take, and related to bilateral political/economic relations between Germany and Turkey. In fact, the DAI is part of the German Ministry of Foreign Affairs, not of the Culture Ministry. This give-and-take game is big part of Dr Pirson’s job outside his research work, as the excavation in Pergamon has become very politicised. This politisation of cultural heritage, he told me, is jeopardising academic and cultural work throughout Turkey, and he felt that it is our duty to try to balance this out. There are always new things to discover and new evidence that could change the way we think about history, and we should not let other things get on the way.

The terrace houses of Ephesus On the September 8 we left Pergamon for Selçuk, where we stayed three nights. This was the part of our journey that had less to do with my studies, but we thought that it was a crime not to visit Ephesus.

The Roman city remains constitute today the second biggest Antiquity site in the world, and a lot has been said about the 200,000 people potentially living in it. Even if the sun was making it hard to enjoy anything (at 35ºC), it was very special to walk through the Bouleterion, the Hercules gate along the main street, Hadrian’s Temple, and of course Celso’s Library.

Apart from all of the conventional sightseeing, what interested me most at Ephesus were the archaeological centre and the six peristyle terrace houses, located in the hill opposite the Hadrian Temple. It is said that the excavated archaeological remains only amount for ten per cent of the total. In the 1930s, one of the terrace houses from the first century AD was discovered, and over the next forty years five more were unearthed. It is a proof of the extension and richness of Ephesus, and the continued need for investment in archaeological excavations here. It has only been very recently that the protective structure over the houses has been installed, which allows the tourist to really appreciate the beauty of these aristocratic households. It is worthwhile going into this adjacent part of the archaeological site for several reasons. Firstly, the wall frescoes and floor mosaics are still extremely well preserved in their original location. The different lodgings are in a great condition too (except, of course, the roofs). Thus it is a great insight into the life of a noble Ephesian of the first century AD. Finally, the restoration and the protective structure are, in my opinion, of extremely good quality. The floor is an elevated structure (around a metre from the actual ground), all in transparent materials and aluminium, which allows the visitor to engage with every part of the buildings. At one point the structure elevates seven or eight metres high over some beautiful Neptune mosaics; I started to get high sickness! The real worth of the place was that at its different stages, one could appreciate different aspects of the households: the receptions and monumental structures, the more intimate sections, and a panoramic view of how the households fitted in together. In an ideal world historical remains should all be preserved in the same way.

9

Priene: the city that froze 900 years in time Dr Mark Whittow, a great Byzantinist and one of my teachers this term, personally recommended me to go visit this place. It was absolutely stunning. The city had been left intact because of its difficult access when it was abandoned around 1100 AD after an earthquake, so everything from the city is lying around the mountains (and only around seven per cent has been discovered). It was the first Hellenistic city to be founded on the mountains, and later used by Romans and Byzantines due to its strategic position. Thus, the remains are a very good representation of both a Hellenistic settlement and of a Roman/Byzantine ‘urban recycling’.

Several parts of the acropolis are worth highlighting:

‐ The rectangular bouleterion: could host 640 people, it had everything in place except the roof (wooden). Its marble altar was particularly beautiful. ‐ Athena’s temple: only the base and five reconstructed columns (ionic order) remain in place. The pieces of the rest of the temple are spread on the floor on top and around the temple, making it a spectacular view. ‐ The theatre: much less reconstructed than other temples, it was one of the buildings best preserved, even the ‘backstage’. ‐ The Byzantine churches: Next to the bouleterion, there is a small chapel, probably destroyed by the earthquake. It was constructed next to a temple dedicated to Zeus when the city was converted to Christianity. The fact that the Byzantines built another building, and that the temple to Zeus was not converted, means that both religions must have coexisted for some time. I find it quite an interesting case: it has not yet been explained what was the use of the Zeus temple during the Middle Byzantine period, until the city was abandoned c.1100 AD.

When we were leaving the acropolis, I saw one of the archaeologists working there, so I asked him about what they were researching. It turned out that they were looking at the gymnasium building. It had been a school in Greek times, then a bath with the Romans, and a basilica under Byzantium. Because this building was jumbled up in 1000 years of history, so they were looking at the foundations to determine what was from which epoch. They had to look at the foundations because the stone masonry style was similar for the Greek, Roman and Byzantine parts. This recycling of materials and buildings is a common theme throughout the history of this part of the world, not only done by Byzantines but also by the Turks later on. This makes history more difficult, but also very exciting – a single piece of evidence never has one linear historical explanation.

10

The Anatolian Plateau

Hierapolis, modern Pamukkale On Sunday 11 September we headed inland, towards Denizli, sad of leaving behind the sea but excited about what changes would be brought by the Anatolian plateau (not only geographical, but also social, political, economic). Would it be less European? Would it be more pious? How would the heritage change?

Soon we had reached Pamukkale. We had heard a lot about it, both in good and bad ways. It is indeed a horrible place in the touristic sense. Famous for its calcium ‘travertines’, small pools formed in layer by the thermal waters falling down the mountain, Hierapolis (the Roman/Byzantine name) was rammed with tourists from 10 am until around 7pm. It must not be good for the monuments nor for the natural beauty the amount of buses and masses turning up; apparently it is one of the most visited places in Turkey.

The reason we went there, though, was because of the actual acropolis, which tourists do not generally take into account. Strategically it is very interesting. Its acropolis was built on a plateau on a mountain. Therefore it did not need a defensive wall, because east and north the mountain protected it, and south and west the city dominates over the rest of the landscape, and could monitor the agricultural production of the valleys lower down. Hierapolis holds the mausoleum of St Philip and they are currently restoring its adjacent basilica (we got kicked out when our excessive curiosity led us inside the archaeological site). Apart from this temple, we saw the remains of six or seven others, including a very humble one from the late eleventh century, and a massive cathedral from which we only have the shape and some columns standing. Because of the religious quality and its thermal waters, it was a medicinal centre even in Byzantine times (many Roman baths were turned into churches by the Byzantines). It is no surprise that it also has the largest Roman cemetery in Anatolia. It was really striking; it went on for miles, and the elaborated and monumental masonry meant that it must have been an extremely powerful economic centre. Moreover, its Roman urban technology was quite advanced: the whole city had an aboveground sewage system using the thermal water flowing through channels carved on the rock, at a two feet height. Ironically, after 2000 years, the modern Pamukkale uses a similar system for their sewage.

Of course, we did enjoy of the natural part of Hierapolis, and in fact it was nice for a change not to be thinking about the Byzantines and archaeology in general. So we lay under the running warm spring water for ages, saw the sun set, one of

11 the most beautiful I have seen in my life, and relaxed. For one afternoon only we decided not to walk for miles and I was not feeling anxious at all.

Konya Even if we stayed less than 24h in this city, it was one of the most important stops of the trip: because it is not touristic at all, and because I will probably not go in many years, I really enjoyed the contrast between this city and everything else that I had seen before. It is a very religious and traditional city. We were the only two people wearing shorts, and people looked disapprovingly at us in the streets. We could not go into some of the mosques until we had changed to long trousers and long sleeves. Nearly all women wore Islamic veils, and many wore a hijab. People did not speak a word of English. Although it is one of the main cities in Turkey, Konya did not have the European cosmopolite air that I experienced at Ankara and Istanbul. I was not particularly scared by it; people were more religious, but not necessarily more extremist. But it was the place in Turkey where I felt most alienated, where I understood that their culture was completely different to mine. The other place where I experienced this was in Trabzon (but more on that later).

The city was capital of the realm of the Seljuq Turks from the twelfth to fourteen centuries. After the Battle of Manzikert of 1071, Byzantium starts to lose its grip over parts of Anatolia, and Turks conquered places like this – the Greeks care mostly about the important urban centres and the coastline. Thus, it was a great example of a medieval Turkish settlement contemporary to the Comnenoi period and contemporary to the Crusaders that fought their way through Anatolia several times (mainly in the 1096‐99 and 1045‐9 expeditions).

Three places drew my attention the most when I was recording my experience in my notebook:

‐ Aleddin Mosque:

At the heart of Konya, the seven main streets of the city part from the hill of Aleddin Square. It was built under the sultan 'Ala al-Din during the mid twelfth- and early thirteen-centuries. Along the hill, you can still see the remains of a palace and fortress from the eleventh century. The mosque is beautiful, according to some it represents the culmination of Seljuq artisanship. It is very sober and does not have excessively technical architecture, although it does have very elaborate artisanship and masonry (especially the mihrab and main entrance). It has a very characteristic pyramidal dome. This cupola is quite beautiful, and very sincere, because it says: ‘We, the Seljuqs, accept our limitations as builders, and try to make the most of it anyway.’ The brick minarets, with its blue-tile-rings, are also amazing. The mosque has an awkward foundation: the floor is slanted, and the arches inside seem to be cut off half-way, which means that at some point somebody raised the floor to consolidate the mosque’s structure. The adjacent mausoleum, hosting the tombs of the Seljuq sultans from the eleventh and the twelfth centuries, was thrilling, because I was staring at the commanders against which the Comnenoi Byzantine Emperors and the Crusaders fought.

‐ Mevlana Museum:

12 This is the sacred temple of the mystic Order of the Mevlevis, commonly known as the Whirling Devrishes for their characteristic spinning dance. Mevlana (d.1273) founded the sect, and was very closely watched by the Seljuqs, because for the time it was religiously and socially very liberal: they tried to get closer to God through dance and music, and its members actively debated religion within their open community. Did this mean that the Seljuqs cared less about religion than it has been assumed (the Seljuqs’ cousins were the Sunni caliphs of Baghdad)?

The buildings are different to anything I have seen elsewhere in Turkey. The minaret is especially beautiful; covered in green tiles, it looks like something that you would expect elsewhere (Russia?). Its museum is what had once been the ceremonial hall and where Mevlana’s tomb is. Everything is covered in golden calligraphy and different bright colours, it is a very pompous and shocking place – where did they get all the money to commission the place? The monks must have been rich aristocrats. In the room next door, some of the traditional instruments they used are exhibited; rich woods used, technical carvings. There is also a small nacre box apparently containing the beard of . Also, some books with human illustrations from the fifteenth- and sixteenth-centuries (Tabriz style?): beautiful faces, with Mongol and Chinese features, and use of vivid Persian colours. I was quite excited to see this because I have just finished reading a book about the life of an illustrator in the Ottoman court called My Name Is Red, by Orhan Pamuk, so was aware both of the difficulty of seeing idolatrous figures in a Muslim country and the fineness and complexity of these paintings.

‐ Karatay Müzesi:

Beautiful Seljuq madrasa, interior restoration in 2007, after being abandoned from 1924 (when Islamic schools were abolished by Atatürk) until the 1960s. The mosaics displayed in one of the rooms come from the oldest Seljuq saray (palace) in Anatolia (eleventh century) 100 km south of Konya. Numerous human and animals were depicted, as well as hunting scenes. These scenes are difficult to see anywhere in the Islamic world. The main exhibits room has a collection of findings from the 2007 restoration, having found a complex canalisation system, very similar to the Romano- Byzantine one. The cupola has an amazing geometric decoration. Only for this the trip to Konya was worth it. It combined very nicely with the fountain and the exquisite façade of the main gate.

13

Cappadocia

My friend and I separated at Konya on 14 September, and he went back to Spain; I carried on to Cappadocia, one of the places most directly related with my Byzantium studies, and one of the highlights of my trip.

A region with a very interesting history Cappadocia, meaning ‘the land of beautiful horses’ in ancient Persian, has always been curious land to explain because of its characteristic geography. It is a region full of contrasts: implausible rock formations with very characteristic hoodoos, unexpected gullies and gorges, dry land, isolated fertile valleys… It is very easy to relate this type of landscape to a loose social and political configuration for several reasons. Firstly, the land is not particularly rich to make it a profitable place for agricultural production. Thus, landlords could not just become rich with large estates, but needed to be surrounded by a powerful military force. Moreover, any urban centres were isolated in the fertile pockets of land, thus making it hard to control the smaller communities living throughout, and not encouraging the flourishing of cultured city elites characteristic of cities like Constantinople, Thessaloniki or Trebizond. It is easy to see why this was an exciting territory during the Byzantine period. Cappadocia was at the frontier of the Greek empire. It could be argued that it was a sort of ‘wild wild east’. Since the late sixth‐century, constant Arab raids into these lands took place for hundred of years, and never really stopped, not even when the Seljuq Turks started to take over the region in the eleventh‐ and twelfth‐centuries. To survive in these conditions, most inhabitants lived in rock‐carved caves which were hard to destroy or burn down. This was possible because of the geological history of the region. Numerous eruptions of the volcano of Mount Erciyes covered the land with tuff, a material very easy to cut through and shape. This allowed entire cities to be constructed underground (the two most famous are and Kaymaklı) and fortresses such as the one at Uçhisar, as well as the monasteries and lay households that make the Cappadocian landscape a gruyère cheese.

Because the buildings were precisely carved in the stone so that the raiders could not burn the complexes down, hundreds of structures from the ninth‐ and tenth‐centuries have survived. Cappadocia is one of the few regions of the Byzantine for which we have massive amounts of archaeological evidence. Thus historians do not need to imagine social history only through the evidence of pottery and coins and few remains of churches and fortresses, as happens elsewhere. Even in Constantinople it is difficult to interpret household lifestyle. It

14 is from the Cappadocian evidence that we could start to comprehend provincial life in the Eastern Empire. Of course, we should not generalise and extrapolate the example of this eastern frontier to other parts of the realm. But generally, Cappadocian buildings are a useful starting point from where to try to understand other parts of the Eastern frontier (across Anatolia from Mersin to Trabzon, following the Tarsus, anti‐Tarsus and Pontic mountain ranges). This agrees with tenth‐century sources on military warfare, such as the Taktika of Emperor Leo VI (886‐912) and On Skirmishing written at the court of the ruler Nikephoros II Phokas (963‐969). The Byzantine commanders were in charge of small units, and had orders to let the raiders pillage the villages, and to skirmish the Arabs when they were carrying the booty back to their fortresses. As On Skirmishing states,

“Secret and unexpected attacks upon the enemy whenever possible… With only a small group of men, he will put large numbers of the enemy to flight… Instead of confronting the enemy as they are on their way to invade Romania [Byzantium], it is in many respects more advantageous and convenient to get them as they are returning from our country…”

The sad problem of Cappadocia is that some of the structures are starting to break apart and the mural paints starting to fall due to the exposure to rain, snow, wind, earthquakes and human negligence. Historians are fighting against time to be able to get together as much evidence as possible. My tutor recommended me to go to the church at Cavushin, and some important papers have been written using evidence from this building. But by the time I was there the church was shut down and is currently struggling to stay standing.

Rock buildings and quotidian lifestyle One further historical problem interests me particularly. The large number of small chapels and churches all along the landscape has been traditionally interpreted as evidence of the expansion and popularity of monasticism in a land where formal authority of the State and the Orthodox Church was lacking, and used as evidence of monastic power in Byzantium during the tenth‐ and eleventh‐centuries. Moreover, it had been appointed as a centre for monastic education by Saint Paul during Late Roman times, thus it was a popular place for monks to go anyway. However, recent studies by historians like V. Kallas have tried to show that in fact the planning of many complexes is much more likely to be that of a secular households rather than communities of monks. The question then is if Cappadocia was a land of aristocrats and petty rulers or a land of monasticism. The implications of one or another conclusion are big. If monks dominated then it says a lot about the religiosity of Byzantine society and the power of monks in the provinces. If the remains are in fact aristocratic buildings, then it means that the land must have had less conflict and raids, and life must have been easy enough for the aristocracy and powerful ‘caciques’ to exert their influence.

Lay or not, the fact is that I saw some of the most surreal architectural forms of my life, and this is why it is so hard to decide between both theories. People just chose specific rocks or groups of rocks and carved rooms into it, as seen in the

15 monasteries of the Zelve valley. Once monasteries, with several churches still in place, it was occupied by ‘troglodytes’ until the 1950s, when the government relocated them to proper households with electricity and a sewage system. This fact is very important. It means that humans have adapted to difficult living situations in 950 and in 1950. It made me realise that we should not think of the Byzantine settlers of the tenth‐century as coming from a different world, living in a sort of ‘Middle Earth’ far away in time; the Cappadocian quotidian life in these places must have been very similar throughout. Moreover, in 1930 there was no war in the region and yet troglodytes still lived. Thus, Cappadocian caves were inhabited because of poverty, not only because of security issues.

Gorëme Because of the difficult landforms surrounding it, this monastic complex was only re‐discovered in the late nineteenth‐century, and soon become the subject of academic discussion due to its beautiful monasteries and numerous churches. It is beyond doubt that Gorëme was a monastic centre, and probably was important in the area; it is a great example of Byzantine eremitic lifestyle and albeit the tourist masses flooding the place, it is a true spectacle for the eyes. There are several key buildings I pointed out at the time:

‐ Elmalı Kilise (Church of the Apple):

This was the first church I went into in Cappadocia, and it was shocking. Its eleventh- or twelfth-century origins are difficult to explain. Called the Church of the Apple in relation to the apple tree outside the church, as well as the fresco of an angel holding a sphere (the universe) in one of the vaults. As the rest of the churches, all of the architecture is sculpted into the tuff. I was shocked by the external and internal disposition of the church: to access the temple, you need to go through a 7m tunnel to a natural refractory, and then through another tunnel to the entrance of the church. There is five meters of flat ground in front of the church, then a cliff. The church is very small, but spacious because of its Greek-cross plan. It has a central aisle with a cupola at the centre, and three apses, all with four long, thin columns. The central nave is divided into four parts by the columns. The well-conserved frescoes representing 17 scenes of the life of Christ use a lot of light blue colours (easy to find, cheap) but also some red and yellow ones (richer) and good artisanship in the paintings. There is an interesting balance between rudimentary/rural/monastic elements and more aristocratic/provincial/cultivated ones.

‐ Azize Barbara Kilise (Church of St Barbara):

Interesting church from the eleventh-century. Although tour guides claim that the temple is from the Iconoclast period (730-878 and 814-842), it is in fact from the eleventh-century. They claim this because it is decorated in a white layer with ochre pigment, symmetrical forms, crosses, and basic insects + other animals (note the insect representing the devil). Firstly, the fact that had been officially established in 730 does not mean that people in the middle of Cappadocia cared about Iconoclasm in the first place, and in the same way, the local Christian community after 842 did not care if Iconoclasm was abolished. It is therefore coherent to explain Iconoclast

16 paintings in an eleventh-century church. Moreover, its humble decorations show that it was not built under the patronage of a rich aristocrat, but maybe by poorer landlords or even peasants. Interesting that St Barbara was chosen for this church: she became a martyr by challenging her father’s prohibition to come into contact with Christianity (Egypt, third-century AD). Relates nicely to the establishment of Cappadocia as a centre of monastic education. It all fits together: church built for purposes of showing monks’ humble life, also catering for the liturgical needs of peasant communities, and shows the connexion between the local world and the monks. The monks must have been in contact with society to explain the contrast in the artistic production between the Church of the Apple and the Church of St Barbara.

Also note the super-imposed image of St Theodosius and St George killing the dragon on the wall opposite the lateral entrance of the church. An explanation may be that when the military saw the decoration of the church, the commander ordered to paint Iconophilic images over the older decoration. The image of St Theodosius and St George was used dramatically by the Iconophilic Emperors after 842, giving the image the meaning that the Byzantine martyrs of God had killed the ‘Iconoclast beast’.

‐ Karanlık Kilise (Dark Church):

Best church in Cappadocia. Extremely well preserved, it was not vandalised because it was hidden, hence you can still see the faces of the human depictions, something unusual in many of the churches in Turkey. It was built during the twelfth- and thirteenth-centuries, and owes its name to the lack of light in the temple. It has a Greek-cross plan, with a cupola at the centre, vaulted ceilings, a central apse and two lateral ones, and four columns. As in the Church of the Apple, it has numerous passages of the life of Christ, but this time the colours used are much richer, and the technique of the paintings is of much better quality in my opinion. Note the beauty of the Deesis scene in the apse; the Transfiguration scene; and specially the Pantokrator decorating the cupola, surrounded by saints and the Emperors (Constantine I the Great and his mother Helena, perhaps) dressed with Byzantine ceremonial robes. One of the most famous scenes is that of the Last Supper, in the small diakonkion (small apse) on the right side of the presbiterium. One of the thoughts that came up to my mind is the way in which most laymen in these oeuvres were depicted wearing Roman clothes. Some of these laymen were contemporaries, and precisely would have been involved with the commission of the church. How to explain the sense of Roman identity? Did they really wear the silks and robes (skaramagnia) which the sources praise so much?

‐ Tokalı Kilise (Church of the Buckle):

Maybe in terms of quality this is not the best in Gorëme. However, academics point out that it is one of the best examples of provincial church-building in Byzantium of the tenth- and eleventh-centuries.

Constructed on top of an older church, it is divided in two parts. The first (‘Primitive Church’) was built during the first half of the tenth century, consisting just of one nave and a vaulted ceiling. Its decorations consist of passages of the life of Christ from his birth until his death. It uses greenish and ochre colours (cheap) and the quality is not very good, so it must have been done by local artisans. The second (‘New Church’) was

17 done later during the century, around the 960s or 970s. We know this because of the military men painted in one of the frescoes has been distinguished as Nikephoros II Phokas, from the powerful Phokades Cappadocian family and Emperor 963-69. The Phokades were important commanders since the time of Basil I (867-886): Nikephoros the Elder (d.896); Leo the Elder, sacked from the position as Domestic of the Schools (one of the key positions of the Byzantine army) in 919; Bardas the Elder (d.953), also Domestic; Nikephoros the Younger, later Emperor, appointed Domestic in 953. If this important family commissioned the second part of the chapel, it explains the elaborate cross plan with a central apse and two lateral ones, and the construction of a lateral nave. All the decorations are of high quality, as is seen in the fresco of the Virgin Mary holding Christ decorating the fountain at the left side of the central apse. Artisans from the cities or even from the City must have been involved. There are many beautiful scenes that could be mentioned (hopefully will be in better conditions with the current Italian restoration programme that finishes in 2012). But over anything else it is worth pointing out the importance of the source of patronage, and the military motifs, making this church one for soldiers and members of the Phokades family. The church then emphasises the composite process of church-building, and the underlying imperial, provincial and local paradigms.

Ilhara and Soğanlı Much else was seen during the four days I stayed at Cappadocia, but there is little space and too much to say about all of it. It is worth pointing out two hidden places, both the product of the erosion of rivers through an otherwise difficult and dry territory.

Ilhara Valley, an unexpected kilometric canyon in the middle of a vast empty space, was a spectacular place. The walk through from church to church was priceless in itself; visiting its beautiful but humble (and looted) churches was also very interesting, and it shows that religiosity was everywhere, even in remote places out of the reach even of monasteries. Thus, Orthodox religion was not only the Patriarchy of Constantinople’s and the Emperor’s. It was something to which the population turned when everything else failed to protect them. An example of this private, personal, and popular religiosity is seen in the Daniel Pantanassa Church (called Aaçalti Kilise) and its endearing fresco of the Three Magic Kings, done with poor technique and a very limited ochre, blue and cream palette.

Visiting the monasteries and hidden places of the remote valley of Soğanlı was also a great experience, and its churches were full of unexpected moments. For example, one of them had a fresco depicting an elder Jesus: this was possibly to emphasise the special connexion between Christ and monks. This was the only elder Jesus in more than 200 churches in the Cappadocia. The Church of the Cupola (Kubbeli Kilise) had a beautiful dome, and which struck me as having Armenian influences in its decoration and architecture, showing the numerous peoples that came in contact in Cappadocia during the Byzantine period. The incredible thing about Soğanlı was that it had been fully inhabited until the 1950s, and some of the townsfolk were allowed to stay in the least precarious

18 troglodyte households. Seeing these houses was like going back in time, and really exciting. At the same time, however, it was sad to see: people nowadays are not troglodytes for fun, but because they are that poor.

Trabzon

On the 20th of September I was at a crossroads at the Ankara bus station: I could take the plane back to Istanbul and stay there for another five days. Alternatively, I could take a twelve hour overnight bus across the Anatolian plateau up to the Black Sea shores of Samsun and then across for 200 miles to Trabzon. Being on my own, the decision was very easy: Trebizond had been an important city in the past and was closely related to my studies (specifically the relations between Byzantium and the Transcaucasus and Pontos regions in the tenth century) and it was a completely different place to anything I had seen so far in Turkey. Moreover, it was an unlikely destination. Having visited so many ‘important’ and touristic places, I wanted to experience something new, a place where not even my tutors of Byzantine history had been.

So I got the 8pm bus, and prepared to suffer probably the worst twelve hours of travelling of my life. The bus are not allowed to put on the air conditioning at night, and every three hours the bus would stop and switch on the lights. Then, at 6am, I woke up to the sight of the Pontic shores and slept no more. What first struck me is that the Black Sea really is dark. The proximity of the Pontic Mountains to the sea also was impressive, because it allowed no room for flat land – thus, the cities were all on the side of mountains. For this reason, the only proper road in the region was next to the shore, which in itself made the seaside a horrible place, with the constant noise of traffic.

The city of unexpected decadence Trabzon extended over three or four mountain sides, and can be very steep sometimes. It is a strange place: nobody has made any urban planning, and the city chaotically spreads out wide for miles along the coast.

I was not very sure of what to expect, but I had read a lot of its history. Trabzon (Trebizond) what at the easternmost part of the Byzantine Empire, a commercial centre for the Pontic and Transcaucasian trade. It was a port of strategic importance, and because of its geography, quite an easy place to defend. It flourished under the Greeks during the tenth century, and after the Latin invasion of Constantinople (1204) the Comnenoi dynasty independently established itself there. The city from then and until the Ottomans conquered it (1461) had a reputation for being a beautiful and sophisticated cultural centre. It

19 was an important port until the 1920s. There was an important and rich Greek community (mainly caviar traders) that brought wealth to the area, and the renowned Orthodox monastery of Sumela some 50km away from the city.

The Greco‐Turkish War forced many of the Greeks to exile to modern Greece, and the city’s character changed. New, unfinished and old buildings mixed together. It is dirty and disorganised, and most worrying of all, it feels like an impoverished city. Only the citadel is well preserved, and a few of the nineteenth century buildings of the rich locals remain (and of course the Church of St Sophia). Because of the lack of money, the rest of the cultural heritage of the city is completely abandoned to its fate: the imperial palace of the Comnenoi is now the home of several precarious houses and an improvised subsistence farmland; the impressive walls suffer the same part along several parts; the Armenian church of St Anne (from the eleventh century) is squeezed in a back alley next to the quarter’s wheelie bin. While I explored the city, I was looking for a place where to stay. But I soon realised that staying in a hostel was not a viable option, because the ones downtown were controlled by the Russian prostitution mafia. Finally I checked in a proper three‐star hotel meters away from St Sophia church.

In a way experiencing this was a nice realisation that Turkey as a whole has only just started to be in a position to appreciate and preserve its heritage. Trabzon’s lacking economic strength seemed to make the city feel less proud about its past. It is remarkable that Trabzonites only seem to worry about the local football team, Trabzonspor, this year playing the Champion’s League and at the moment second in the league. When I was in the city, they had just beaten Inter Milan in Italy, and it seemed like this was all they spoke about, and I have never seen so many people (both men and women) wearing football t‐shirts on an everyday basis, without a match going on. People did not find curious the fact that I was a foreigner in a town with little tourism; they only were actively interested when I told them about my hometown club, Real Madrid, and of course, they teased me with questions about our archrivals Barcelona F.C. and Lionel Messi. I had the luck of experiencing one of the football highlights of the season, the Pontic derby between Trabzonspor and Samsunspor. A joke about the latter’s lack of aim (full time score of 1‐1) was met by an ice‐cold silence from a Trabzonite with whom I had been chatting for the past half an hour, thus inviting me to leave the bar and go home. In my most cynical moment, I started to ask myself: did the Turks only preserve monuments where it mattered, that is, where it attracted tourism?

Hagia Sophia, the hidden treasure of Pontos Walking through Trabzon castle, and going into the Church of Hagia Sophia, I regained my faith in the importance of cultural heritage. The church, built during the reign of Manuel I Comnenos (c.1218‐1263), is the culmination of Late Byzantine church‐building, characterised by a high central dome and four large column arches supporting the weight of the dome and ceiling. Its frescoes and mosaics are very well preserved, and some of the best in Turkey. I noted the following things in my notebook:

20 ‐ Southern entrance façade: very curious, one of the few Byzantine stone carvings I have seen. Representing scenes of the Old Testament, another unusual motif in Greek art. Why did the Ottomans allow it to be preserved (mosaics and murals could have been covered, but not the entrance to the church)? Considerable Orthodox population until 1922, so making religious concessions? ‐ Marble floor: remnants of the Byzantine circular patterns, using different marbles and mosaic tesseras too. These floor patterns haven’t been preserved in many places. Must have been where the rulers of Trebizond stood during mass. ‐ Dome frescoes: representation of the Ascension, with the angels spiralling around the circle of the cupola in a very dynamic way, and the Apostles in between the window openings. Unluckily the fresco of the top of the cupola is missing (possibly a Pantokrator?). ‐ Narthex frescoes: the ceiling of the narthex is brilliant, with four Serafins and the four evangelists: a lion (Mark), a man (Matthew), a winged bull (Luke) and an eagle (John). This fresco uses the arches’ relief of the structure to create a trompe l’oeil with a stripped multicoloured pattern. Very lively and rich colours. On one of the lateral walls, a fresco of the Canaan Wedding: complete, not deteriorated at all. A lot of red and yellow tones, not as technical as the ones in Chora (Istanbul).

Sumela Monastery The monastery rises on the cliffs of mount Mela, 50km southeast of Trabzon. The drastic geography is surprising: from being at sea level, you suddenly confront an enormous mountain range (its highest peak is Kaçkar Dağı at 3,931 m). It helps understand the Byzantine strategy in this region: they tried to control certain urban and strategic centres, only attack enemies by skirmishing and small raids, and let the rest of the land to the autochthonous population.

This was one of my last stops in this trip, and one of the most exciting: I had been waiting for ages to be able to go to an Orthodox monastery. Monastic complexes were very important in Byzantium and later on were allowed by the Ottomans to cater for the spiritual needs of the local population. Sumela was in fact restored several times during the eighteenth‐ and nineteenth‐centuries. Its characteristic cliff‐hanging buildings are from that time.

The myth says that two monks, Barnaby and Sofronious, founded the monastery in the fourth‐century AD, guided to this place by the of a black Virgin, whose painting was attributed to St Luke. After the death of the monks, the place became a pilgrimage centre. Gaining popularity during the Middle Ages, the monastery was very influential in the Pontic region until its pillaging during the 1919‐22 war between Greeks and Turks (damaging most of its frescoes), and abandoned soon afterwards. In the past years it has been completely restored, and now it is one of the most visited places in the region.

One of the most beautiful parts is the walk in the wilderness up to the monastery, within a sea of pine trees, the water of arroyos flowing down. After such a culturally exhausting trip, being able to relax and enjoy nature was as refreshing as walking under the shade of those trees. Soon one reaches the aqueduct that borders the mountain range and into the monastery, and climbing up some

21 stairs, you go in. The older part of the monastery is under the shelter of the cliff, and the monks’ lodgings in the nineteenth‐century building. Everything looks very austere, except the main church (Katholikon) of the complex, which is fully decorated with mosaics within and without. The Katholikon is very impressive. It uses the cliff as part of its structure, so that only the façade wall was built to close the structure. The cliff’s relief is used in all kinds of ways, as for example the Pantokrator inside, which boosts Jesus image. Although the frescoes have been restored and redone during the years, some of its Byzantine character remains. It is indeed a nice example of regional religiosity outside Constantinople and the Orthodox Patriarchy’s direct influence.

Back to Constantinople: final thoughts

On September 22 I flew back from Trabzon to the City, and instead of travelling to Bursa and Edirne I decided to stay in Istanbul and enjoy it after twenty days of travelling. Opening and closing my trip here was a great idea. Because of all the experiences over these twenty days, my view of monuments which I had already seen on the first week of September (Chora Museum, Hagia Sophia) had completely changed. I also had the opportunity to relax after so much hectic and planned travelling. I wandered through the Golden Horn without a destination; saw the Muslim prayer at Rüstem Pasha Camii, my favourite mosque… I was able, at last, to fully appreciate what I had accomplished. Getting to know Asia Minor has made me reconsider my academic future, and more than ever I feel I should focus in the history of the Eastern Mediterranean.

There is not much else to say, except that it was an absolute privilege.

Rodrigo García‐Velasco

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