Dara in Mesopotamia - on our pilgrimage to Eastern Turkey

entrance to "the Dungeon"

Dara was hot! Exposed as it is on the plain of Mesopotamia it affords little shelter from the sun. Earlier in the year at the height of summer I suspect the heat was gruesome. But I would not have missed this for the world.
Not least of our experiences were our visits to two cafes near the ruins, very different from each other but both offering traditional and authentic Turkish hospitality, at which these friendly people are so good. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Down in "the Dungeon"

We had come to learn more about the culture and history of this fascinating region so the ruins had to come first. The dearth of information available on the internet about Dara does little justice to the importance of this East Roman strong fortress city in northern Mesopotamia on the border with the Sassanid Empire. True it is quite close to the Syrian border and the present conflict will surely put off potential visitors to this area. But we experienced nothing but friendliness as we strolled through the village and around the ruins themselves.
This is the site of a significant Roman fortress used in the conflicts with the Persians in the 6th century. There has been a large amount of archaeological excavation work at the site since 1986, which now seems to be shelved perhaps just for the time being.

another water cistern

ruins of Dara - bridge can be seen in background

The first place we went was “the dungeon”, deep below ground level, entered through a small and insignificant looking doorway. This was an incredible feat of the engineers of Justinian: they diverted the river Cordes and constructed this underground water cistern of huge proportions. The brave among us climbed down the very steep and uneven stone steps to the very bottom of this cavernous place, only to be suddenly plunged into utter and total darkness as the lights failed! Fortunately someone had a torch but the lights soon came on again. This was one of three water systems which we saw, the one nearest to the necropolis probably constructed to supply the city with its water. It has also been suggested that this area was first a stone quarry in the Roman era.

our tour guides at Dara!

There are detailed information boards at the entrance to the necropolis site (from the Ancient Greek meaning “city of the dead”), which give quite a bit of background detail, although the translation to English from the Turkish sometimes requires a little guesswork in its interpretation. But broadly here is pretty much what they tell us: Dara was founded during the reign of the Byzantine Emperor Anastasius 491-518 (deduced it seems by the existence of an inscription in the “building with the mosaic floor”, sadly missed by our group, that proclaims Anastasiapolis to be the original name of the city, thus establishing its founder - others say the city was built by the Persian King Darius - it seems that even historians cannot agree on this.). One of the largest citadels on the borders with Persia, the board tells us it was founded by the Byzantine empire although later altered during the Justinian reign. Excavations have unearthed ruins of the Roman period, which show that Dara was the scene of many wars in the late Roman- early Byzantine period. There is much excavating still to do. The city wall, the information board continues, is 4 km long, and 3 m thick, supported by bastions, and much of this wall is still standing and clearly visible. Further away from the city, we are told there are some deep ditches, thought to be dug as defence against more sophisticated wheeled vehicle attack.

We are able to see the ruins of the great city entrance, with the now dried up bed of the Dara stream, and the main street with the agora or meeting place (this would have been the center of the athletic, artistic, spiritual and political life of the city).

A Cross at the Necropolis 

an authentic Turkish Hubble Bubble cafe at Dara

The necropolis is to the west of the city and dates back to 600 AD. It is astonishing. Carved out of the bedrock, it has engraved galleries and tombs, some multi-storeyed, along with sarcophogai, with and without lids. These are said to have been used at different times by different cultures, including the Syriacs and the Sassanids.


Part of this complex is thought to be the site where the dry bones came to life in the story from Ezekial ch. 37 vv 1-14 (also mentioned in one of the Qu’ran Surahs). There is evidence of the ruins of churches within the necropolis, perhaps carved from the larger tombs when Christianity came to Dara. (These I believe were pointed out to us by the children, but we could understand little from their minimal grasp of English, although they were very keen to show us everything they could about the site).

anyone for Ayran?

Refreshing Ayron with mint

some opted for coffee!

As we strolled around the extensive ruins of the city, up the main street, onto the dried up river bed where the remains of a bridge was clearly visible, and along parts of the old wall, we were accompanied by the most beguiling children, eager to make friends with us and to act as our guides. In particular the necropolis seemed to capture their imagination and they tried hard to communicate to us the most important features that we clearly should not miss.

Sadly I had no small change to reward them for their efforts, not even any sweets. They had honestly earned some reward. I only hope that they fared better from the coach load of tourists who were arriving as we left. At least we helped the local economy by buying many drinks for our thirsty group in the two cafes that we found close to the sites. Perhaps the proprietors were in some way related to our child guides. I suspect so, even if only indirectly. I like to think so.

Farewell to the Saffron Monastery

in the courtyard of the monastery

I feel very sad to be going to our last early morning liturgy at the Saffron Monastery. I shall miss these Orthodox services. This time the female members of the party make sure we sit on the left side of the church as we enter, our heads suitably covered. Actually wearing a shawl around the head and shoulders so early in the morning is a comfort. Even though the day is likely to be hot, at 6 or 7 in the morning it is still chilly before the full force of the sun is felt.
I am now letting the liturgy get under my skin.
We are getting used to the format of the service, knowing to always stand when the thurifer is engaged with his thurible of incense around the church, or when the prayers are marked by the prostrations of the monks and boys. Otherwise we sit whilst psalms are intoned antiphonally from side to side by the two groups of boys and monks gathered around their respective lecterns. When one no longer has to worry about standing or sitting at the wrong times

the Saffron Monastery entrance

it is possible to allow the mysteries of the sounds and smells of the service surround you in a far more deep and spiritual way. And I feel sure that any one is capable of feeling this spiritual connection, whatever their religious convictions.

the Saffron Monastery

So for the last time, we climb the steps to kiss the bible on the lectionary in front of the sanctuary, take our last blessing from the hand of the monk as we come down the steps the other side, make our last reverential bow towards the sanctuary, light our last candle at the back of the church and emerge blinking into the bright sunshine; and so to our last breakfast in the monastery.

the Saffron Monastery

There is an optional visit this morning to the ancient Mesopotamian city of Dara, near the village of Oguz, about 30 kms east from Mardin. This was originally on the itinerary for yesterday but time overtook us so it was rescheduled.

on the road to Dara

There are some in the group who prefer to take time out, staying behind in the Saffron Monastery this morning to assimilate the events of the last few days, to simply “be”, to reflect and contemplate, perhaps to meditate, on all that we have experienced this trip, and who can blame them? It being Saturday, and an important Muslim festival as well, large numbers of visitors are expected to the monastery, as it is clearly on the tourist trail. Indeed as our coach heading for Dara turns onto the main road we see two coaches heading up the hill to the monastery. Those of the group staying behind had hoped to gain access to the quiet and private gardens set aside at the Saffron Monastery known as “Paradise”. But it wasn’t to be. I hope they found peace and quiet anyway.

In my next post I shall describe the wonders of the Necropolis and other ruins of the ancient city of Dara...

on the road to Dara - notice the bed on the roof to the left - in
the summer when it is very hot people sleep on their roofs

The Monastery of Mor Awgen, Tur Abdin

We have covered so many miles and so many sights, it seems hard to realize that this is only the sixth full day of our pilgrimage to the Armenian and Syriac Orthodox churches of Eastern Turkey.
The day begins as usual with the very early morning service followed by the customary breakfast of cucumber and tomato slices, black olives, a hard boiled egg and plenty of white flat bread and cay. Sadly we have to pack today and leave the monastery to journey onwards. I have really enjoyed my stay here – the atmosphere has been amazing, the hospitality wonderful. But we have an exciting two days ahead of us before we head for home again, and journey on we must. Mor Timotheus Samuel is there by the coach. We all thank him for his hospitality and he waves us goodbye.

We leave Mor Gabriel eastwards towards Cizre, then cut through to the main Cizre to Nusaybin road via Oyali and Ozbec and so westwards towards Nusaybin. All around us from the coach we see signs that Christian villagers returning from Switzerland and Germany are putting their money into grand new housing; but new priests are also bringing western ideas of worship into the region. Is this a good thing? I wonder.

We drive along the main road across the Great Mesopotamian Plain. We can see it is very fertile and also very flat, with not so many stones. We hear that there is enough grain harvested in two months of the year to fund holidays away for the rest of the year. Don’t the farms need any care during the long absences? I suspect they need at least some caretaking. I wonder? The road is running parallel and not far away from the Syrian border to our left, and the sentry lookout posts all along the route are clearly visible. We see tank activity and vehicles stopped but we carry on without interruption. Before reaching Nusaybin the coach turns right off the main road to Girmeli.

There are plenty of helpful villagers who look askance at this big luxurious coach heading into their village, all anxious to tell us that we cannot make it to the monastery in such a big vehicle. We know. Under the watchful and curious gaze of villagers, children and a flock of geese, we offload in the centre of Girmeli into two pre arranged minibuses for the drive up the narrower lane towards the monastery. 

We are making our way to Mor Awgen or Mor Augin (Eugene) monastery. This is an important place of worship, nestled up in the steep cliffs of Mount Islo with its wonderful views across the Plain of Nusaybin. It was newly inhabited in 2011 by three monks after being abandoned for almost 40 years. Until about ten years ago this monastery was a dangerous place to visit. It is so encouraging to see the sheer tenacity and perseverance of the monks in this part of the world as they labor tirelessly to restore the traditions of the monasteries again; traditions of hospitality, education and worship.


But worship is the wrong word to use here. Eastern religions are not touched by the western renaissance and followers live to be in touch with God – they don’t have to understand, they just “do.” Our western faith is far more intellectual.
Legend has it that this monastery was founded in 340 by Saint Eugenius or Eugene (Augen), an Egyptian pearl diver from the Red Sea. One of the oldest monasteries in the region, Mor Augen is known locally as ‘Deyr-Marog’. It stands 500 meters above the plain on the slopes of Tur Abdin, and consists of both caves and buildings. It was originally a Nestorian monastery, but sometime before 1838 ownership was transferred to the Chaldean (East Syriac) Christians, and by 1842 it was in Syriac Orthodox ownership.

view across the plain towards Syria

When Gertrude Bell visited here in 1909 she reported that there were ten monks, mostly living in the caves. It was very dangerous to visit here until about ten years ago but now it is perfectly safe. It is clear from photos found on the internet of the monastery in ruins that the latest renovations are an incredible feat, due in no small part to the hard work and vision of Father Yoachim.
Father Yoachim likes the visitors to his monastery to walk up the long, steep and dusty path as pilgrims. He sees this as an important part of our act of worship, akin to the hardships of fasting and ascetism. Of course some of us are physically unable to make such a journey on foot and the minibus can carry us to the entrance. Others of us are dropped off early and make the last kilometer or so on foot. It is hot and dusty and the climb steep. But

as the path ahead zigzags upwards, we hear the clear sweet song of a nightingale accompanying us. I start singing “we are pilgrims on a journey…” but no one else seems inclined to join in so I hum it quietly to myself as we continue our walk. 

After greetings and a warm welcome from Father Yoachim, who has been waiting for us as we complete our climb, we begin our visit by going into a large bare space or grotto, approached through the lowest of doors. We gather silently and have some group prayers and singing. There is a 1466 chapel above the church reached by a narrow and steep set of steps. An inscription around the roof offers prayer for those who built it and says that it is offered to the Glory of God. Every week the monks pray for the saints and the builders of the monastery.

Outside again on a terrace and looking above us we can see a cell high up in the cliff face, seemingly impossible to get to. There a hermit monk lived, in silence, until he died, eating only once a day on a limited diet sent up to him in a basket pulled up by rope. The last monk died here in the early 1970s, since when the monastery was deserted for 40 years before reopening in 2011. Now there are 2 monks again with Father Joachim, with 3 students, from Istanbul, Italy and Germany. Prayers are said four times a day, at 6, 11, 5 and 9, and some attend from the village below, with more on Sundays.

After this tour around the monastery and when we have received the customary hospitality of water, cay and biscuits, we clamber up the steep rocky path above the courtyard. There is a very sure footed horse grazing high above us, and we pass small entrances into caves that were used in the past as hermit cells by monks. From high above the monastery we can see far away into the distance towards Syria, cloaked in the heat haze of the late morning sun. The animals on the plain below are healthy, the grazing good. But the monastery’s own garden is sparse and looking very sorry for itself. The winds buffeting the plot have burnt the crops. Higher up the slopes we can see early attempts at restoring the terracing for further cultivation, but it is obviously a labor of love: the terraces are hard to reach, the cultivation there is challenging, so it is hardly surprising that little progress has been made. Back in the courtyard we see the remains of monk cells exposed when the rubble was cleared away after a massive landslide. We can clearly see niches where the monks would have kept their bibles and lamps.

A trip to the toilet blocks is quite a surprise. They are luxurious, with the latest modern fittings. The money comes plentifully from the diaspora we are told.

Our visit ends beautifully with prayers in the church of St Mary where we are joined by some people from the village below and by a few tourists who have made it up the steep path. As we leave and look back, the buildings gradually melt into the surrounding cliffs, the camouflage complete.

Father Yoachim had a deer here that gave birth to twin fawns so he gave one to Mar Gabriel. There it has been adopted by one of the nuns who cares for it and we saw it ourselves during our stay there. It had not been too well but was clearly getting better, as it trotted faithfully after the nun across the courtyard. It has developed a curious crab-like sideways manner way of going up and down the monastery steps.

We have to hurry back to our minibuses – they are needed to pick up school children. So we arrive back in the village, and once back in our own coach we make our way to the bustling town of Nusaybin (the ancient Nisibis), right on the border with Syria, to visit the exciting Mar Jacob excavations there...

caves where the monks once lived