We set off along the D955 and through the pale cream dust on our windscreen we can see the endless landscape.  Relatively mellow yellow with wheat and barley fields around Akcakaya which  revert rapidly to arid dusty plains. Despite the lack of cover, there always seems to be something out there. A solitary tree, a trotting lone white horse, even a skeletally thin dog.  And always the wind, sweeping across, sifting the dust and smoothing the rocks.

We turn off the D955 on to a minor road surrounded by fields of ancient stone wall settlements. The farmland is desolate apart from the odd walnut tree.  In the distance, we spot an unusual looking feature in Turkey, a church. We drive over and park outside a remote village of Antili (previously Huh) in the middle of nowhere. We walk to the gates and greeted by an attendant who turns out to be most informative and helpful. The Church of the Virgin Mary dates back to the fifth century and belongs to Orthodox Syriac faith.

The church is surrounded by a wall that encloses a courtyard known as a beth slutho (house of prayer).  Services are held here in high summer to avoid the sweltering heat of the relatively small and windowless interior. The elaborate carvings on the arches supporting the dome are a reminder of the church’s past importance. The church itself, is like a two storey wedding cake like turret, with blind arches topped by a pyramidal roof.

We step inside, its originality and beauty is breathtaking (click to enlarge photo’s). 

The church guard tells us of the local legend. It offers as an alternative to the story of the Three Kings told in the Bible. The village believe, the Twelve Kings set off to follow the star that was said to indicate the birthplace of a Jesus. They arrived first at Hah then only three of them continued to Jerusalem. There they were given one of Jesus’ swaddling bands in return for their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. Back in Hah, this was burnt so that the ashes could be divided between the twelve kings. Instead, the fire converted the swaddling band into 12 gold medallions whereupon the kings laid the foundations for the church in memory of this miracle .

Just as we were leaving two young men enter. One is studying at Syriac religion at Oxford and he adds more information about the church and surrounding area. Local Süriyanis, as does he, regard it as the jewel in the Tür Abdin crown.

Hah itself was once the centre of a community of several thousand, with over 44 churches in the vicinity. At the heart of the village, atop a small rise, is a group of fortified houses where five thousand Christians held out for months against a vastly superior Ottoman force. There are other ruins scattered around the village. Beneath the soaring brick and stone ruins sits a graveyard. At one end a large niche and in the middle a cluster of olive trees.  This played an important part in local ritual especially during a festival called the Zeytin Pazarı. Olives were tossed at the priest as members of the congregation circled the courtyard.

Back down the country lane and we spot another hilltop church. We turn off on to a single track road to the town of Zaz. As we approach it is clear the village is long since abandoned. Stone houses with elegant archways sit unloved and uninhabited. Seems such a shame. We climb to the top of the road to find the church surrounded in barbed wire. It is no longer an option to visit. A rather large sheep dog circles the perimeter, a signal to move on. As we drive away, I look in the wing mirror and see a lady dressed in black peering over the wall. We have a sneaky suspicion the church is now occupied by Syrian refugees.  

By early evening we are in the middle of Midyat. Vin is rather comfortable amid the old quarters of Eski, the Christian portion of half abandoned medieval stone mansions. Craig is busy filling us with fresh water and I am happily trying to cool down. I am soaking my feet and bathing my skin. Its rather a hot day and after a couple of weeks in the cool mountain air, it feels a ‘hot’ shock to the system. A young lady from the house opposite brings us tea and melon, as a welcome to her town. Two plain clothed police pull up and ask if everything is OK. We nod and ask if it is alright to park the night. “Of course, you can stay as long as you like. But, don’t trust the kids”.  They depart with the famous last words. 

Everything was fine until the kids arrived. One by one the crowd of cheeky and rude kids and teenagers grew until it felt rather uncomfortable. First taunting the dogs then trying to get in the motorhome all combined with a constant push for money.  They were pushing their luck and they knew it. In the end we had to get firm with them, which in turn made us feel even more uncomfortable. At 8pm, it was pitch black outside and we felt very uneasy. Waiting for the first brick to fly through the window or the slash of a tyre.  

It maybe dark but we need to move. As we set off the young lady in the house opposite us waves goodbye, we can sense she knows how we feel. We scour the area but nothing feels right until we reach the end of the city. A well lit but quiet petrol station. We pull over and ask if it is OK to stay the night. The attendant does not hesitate and tells us it is safe.  He points to the police station to our right, the military barracks to our left and reminds us Syria and Iraq are 15 miles down the road.  I am not sure by pointing out those facts made me feel better or worse?

Our Bumble free parking spot at Midyat GPS position N037.412677, E041.342512