I left Sarikamis, heading to Istanbul. In the rain we drove across the green grassland of the plateau. Some days ago I took this picture in Sarikamis. I wondered about how much this kid knows about Istanbul riots, and actually just about the capital life. Likewise, I wondered about how much those people struggling for a piece of green in the capital know about these kids in Sarikamis, living totally surrounded by green, friends of dogs and sheep, inhabiting iron sheet houses with satellite dishes for TV and playing in a mixture of dust and shit.
Sarikamis reminded me of rural areas of Tanzania. Differences are just a glance of a far past, when Armenian where living here in stone houses, or when Russian built the hunting castle for the czarina, Caterina. When, I guess, there used to be some kind of culture, traditions and roots. Nowadays it doesn’t seem like that. Besides the main roads, where there are even some shops for skier, the time clock is stopped to many years ago, and people are poor.
They are not poor only because they don’t have cars, they leave in houses made from iron sheet pieces connected together (real masterpieces), they lack roads and sewers. They are because they are having picnic next to the dump area, and they use to dump livestock carcasses down road along the streams… But I learned very very little about these people, and probably I cannot understand very well.
Transition to the new world takes place in the airport of Kars. Most of the women are wearing scarves and long coats. Most travellers are families including at least one old person. Many people are carrying boxes besides normal luggages. The smell in the hall i also very typical of farmers. Nonetheless, these people are flying to Istanbul!