In search of the taste of Siirt

Here I stumbled upon a square ringed with restaurants serving büryan kebabı, a form of pit-baked lamb, and perde pilav (veiled rice), a delicious confection of rice mixed with sultanas, almonds and shredded chicken encased in a crispy pastry shell. Enquiries in the local grocery shops, which featured an astonishing selection of cheeses, olives and honeys, soon had me spreading out a map and pinpointing Siirt midway between Diyarbakır and Şırvan.

Siirt is one of those unlucky towns that has had much of its potential blighted by the troubles of the last 20 years. Even today an outside visitor is as rare as snow in summer, and yet for the sort of adventurous traveler who regrets the appearance of a Starbucks on every street corner, it's the sort of town that has much to offer, including an interesting local style of architecture, a lively market and a cuisine all its own.

As the bus from Diyarbakır pulls into Siirt, you pass a stranded monument: a 20th century clock tower that incorporates the clock faces from a 1905 version that eventually fell down. Siirt's other best-known monument is also distinguished by its tower, in this case the minaret of the Ulu Cami (Great Mosque), which dates back to the 12th century when the Selçuks governed the area. The mosque itself, inconspicuously buried in a dip in the uphill Karakol district, is not especially exciting, but the distinctive minaret is decorated with Kufic inscriptions and lovely turquoise tiles that give it a look of Central Asia (it's reminiscent, too, of the riverside tomb at Hasankeyf, which at one time held sway over Siirt). Recent restoration has given new life to the patterns on the minaret, although sadly the end results don't look as if they will be as durable as the originals.

It would be easy, if erroneous, to run away with the idea that that was it as far as Siirt is concerned. However, if you divert into the cobbled backstreets, you will quickly realize that this was a town that was once full of beautiful two- and three-story houses created out of “cas,” a form of plaster made from locally quarried gypsum that was slathered over stone-built shells. The finest of the houses were then given elaborately carved door and window frames, a few of which still survive. Internally, the houses were decorated with built-in niches, alcoves and soaring chimneybreasts. Externally they appear to have flat roofs, although when you go inside, you discover that some rooms actually harbor pretty domed ceilings. Cool in summer and warm in winter like the cave dwellings of Cappadocia, the houses were especially suited to the extreme local climate, although they required regular maintenance to keep them watertight. The inevitable result is that no new cas houses are being built, and those that do survive tend to be in a poor state of repair.

Conscious that the old houses are being swamped by a sea of concrete, the local authorities have restored and opened one particularly fine example with a small garden to the public. With simple mud-brick decoration on the outside and minimal furnishings inside, the house is much less spacious than it initially appears -- but then of course in high summer everyone would have been living in the garden or on the balcony anyway.

Going in search of the cas houses is fun while the children are at school. At other times, however, a foreigner is likely to attract an entourage of youngsters demanding cash as unsolicited “guides,” some of them politely, some of them more aggressively. On the other hand, you never know what else you may discover in the back streets. Turning one corner I bumped into a wandering minstrel, a Pied Piper of a figure with a rapt audience of children. As he passed their houses, the neighborhood women ran out and emptied whole boxes of sugar cubes into his sack as reward for its melodious efforts.

Back in the town center, the bazaar may not be quite as colorful as the famous one in Mardin, although it's well-stocked with plump locally grown pomegranates, tasty local honeys and interesting local cheeses, not to mention lumps of dried yoghurt that resemble pumice stones and simit-like roundels of tandır ekmeği (bread baked in a tandır oven) that must be rehydrated before eating. Here, too, you will still find craftsmen at work, in particular using traditional looms to create Siirt battaniye (Siirt blankets), rugs of undyed mohair that come in shades of black, beige, grey, cream and white. Small, light and inexpensive, they make perfect souvenirs, but the locals also snap them up to serve as gifts or to advertise their businesses. Less readily portable are the copper perde pilav pots that are designed especially for baking the local rice dish and come in all sorts of sizes. If you want to have a go at making the rice yourself, be sure to look for one that has already been tinned, thereby making it safe for cooking.

Which brings us neatly back to the local cuisine, which is what brought me here in the first place! Now, be honest -- how many of you are really up for pit-baked lamb on thick pide bread first thing in the morning? And yet the surprising thing is that many Siirtlis apparently sit down to a hearty breakfast of büryan kebab while others of us are tucking into a bowl of muesli. The pit-ovens used to make the kebab are fired up at six in the morning, at which time entire lamb carcasses are hung up inside them, and the lids are sealed with mud until they're cooked through. Once a customer materializes, a portion of lamb is sliced off, chopped into small pieces and sandwiched inside flaps of pide to be served with an onion and pepper. Most of the büryan kebab restaurants are unassuming little places where the tables are laid only with a sheet of paper. You wash down your meal with foaming ayran served in a bowl with a ladle. Leave it too late, though, and you'll be out of luck -- by 1 p.m. it's all over for the day, and you'll search for a büryan kebab in vain.

As regards the early eating of kebab, forewarned is certainly forearmed. Sadly, however, there's little you can do about the absence of the famed perde pilav from the menus. Unless you befriend a local and cadge an invitation for dinner, you're unlikely to be able to sample this delicacy locally. But never fear because, back in the Kadınlar Pazarı in İstanbul, émigré Siirtlis will be more than happy to introduce you to the wonderful tastes of their childhood. (to be continued)

Siirt has several small and very basic hotels that would be unsuitable for lone women travelers. The one starred hotel can be full, so advance reservation is advisable.

Otel Erdef: 0 484 223 10 81

HOW TO GET THERE

There are regular buses to Siirt from Diyarbakır's İlçe Garajı (Provincial Garage). To get there, take a local bus from Kıbris Caddesi, near the Dağ Kapısı. Returning to Diyarbakır you may find yourself dropped in the modern part of town, whence you will need to take a local bus or taxi back to the old city. There are onward buses from Siirt to Şırnak and Bitlis.

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The interior of a Cas house

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Perde pilavı pots

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A cas house before restoration

A cas house after restoration

The tiles on Ulu Camii