For my last two days in Mardin (18-20 November), the weather was on the turn. It became a lot colder, and when the wind and rain hit, it was biblical. Mardin being on a steep hill, there were rivers and streams running downhill everywhere. Really felt sorry for the brides being done up in the salon for their big day. Their multicoloured Barbie frocks, the sparkly tiaras, the special make up and high-heels could not possibly survive the weather.

Went to have a look at Hasankeyf, the ancient village on the Tigris that was drowned when they built a hydroelectric dam there; the archeologists managed to get a few key buildings transferred up, but the village that has outlasted invasions and been a post on the Silk Road is now deep under water. The place looks lifeless and desolate, with the old cave dwellings appearing blind on one side of the dam (3 families refused to move and still live in the caves) and the museum and the new houses soulless on the other. There is still a lot of ill feeling towards the government for having destroyed the old life in the village – the guide was very passionate, and I could sense his sadness and anger without understanding Turkish.

It took 3 dolmuses and one kind driver of a private car to get there. Felt like I was a parcel in a “pass the parcel” game – bus drivers and controllers shifting me along… I did strike it lucky on the pleasure boat taking us on an hour’s trip on the water. Two families from Istanbul, everyone spoke English (children go to a private school and are taught French and German too) gave me a lift back, with a side trip to an abandoned Yezidi (Kurdish) village (another sad place as the villagers had to leave as they were being terrorised by the local Turkish population) and a 4th ct monastery, and we had a nice meal together.

I flew into Ankara from Mardin – an hour and a half flight, rather than some 16 hours on the bus. Magda, who I met in Konya, invited me to stay with her. She has been a wonderful host and I felt very much at home. It has been lovely to be in a home rather than a hotel, and we got on like a house on fire. While she was at work (at the Polish Embassy), I went sightseeing.

The two days have flown by and I am off on the next leg – taking the much praised Dogu Express train overnight to Kars, near the Armenian border.

Ankara is a sprawling town, with congested traffic and whizzing buses. There are three tube lines (quite old now). I managed to see the main bits – the Museum of Anatolian Civilisations, the Ataturk Mausoleum, the Roman baths… Their official blurb usually states that the “old, historic Ankara is buried under the modern Ankara”.

There has been a lot of construction going on everywhere I went, but not much looks finished. Comparing the modern box-like buildings to the graceful houses of old with their intricate stonework and decorative designs is not profitable. The current preferred colours for the outside of houses are all shades of yellow and pink.

There is dumping and rubbish everywhere, especially plastic water bottles and wrappers. There seems to be little civic pride. When I asked about it, I got two explanations: one was that people understand freedom and democracy as there right to do as they please (having missed the bit about responsibility); the other was that eduction and general teaching of culture has been in a steady decline for the last 20-30 years, with religious teachings taking precedence.

The street lighting seems to be mainly in the middle of the road, so the light barely reaches the pavements, which are often broken, potholed and uneven – Turkey is not a place for wheelchair or pushchair users. (Capadoccia area was the exception, the villages of Goreme and Uchisar twinkling like fairy towns.)