Hakan dropped us off in town with warnings of pickpockets and instructions to go to the tourist office if anything happened to us – odd. But after a quick look round we settled down in a restaurant where we both ate a good kebab lunch after while I caught up on diary entries for Syria, Djalma spent a couple of hours wandering across the ramparts of the old wall enclosing parts of the old city, second in length only to The Great Wall in China.
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| From Diyarbakir, Turkey |
Later on Hakan came to collect us, a lovely softly spoken guy with a wife and son, and took us out to meet other couch-surfers in a small café in town. The only other couch-surfer we met was the guy who owned the café and had long white hair tied back, a thick white moustache and wore small thick glasses. He was quite a character, not only did he host hundreds of surfers, he was also an artist. Hakan bought Djalma and I dinner despite numerous protests and we left after a couple of fizzy pops to go back to his home which his wife allowed us to sleep in. We spent a lovely evening talking although I felt bad that his wife didn't understand anything that we talked about she seemed OK with it and had a ready smile.
We had much needed showers and slept on mattresses in their living room. The next day we were up much later than we planned to be and Hakan took us into town, bought us breakfast (awful Turkish/American fast food) and took us to the bus station were we got on the minibus to Mardin.
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