In Xanadu by William Dalrymple Page B

traditional enemies.'
    'No, my grandfather says that you are wrong. In Salonica the Greeks and the Turks were friends. He says the Greeks were kind people and were often helping the Turks. Only the governments did not like each other. He says he was very sad to leave Salonica. The houses were wooden and it was very crowded, but they had everything they wanted. He says that his father had a shop and also a farm outside the city where they grew cotton.'
    The old man paused, trying to picture in his mind the images of seventy years before. From the kitchen came the sound of clattering as Rajep's sisters prepared our supper. After a second he continued; his grandson translated:
    'In 1919 they were given the order to leave. Everyone was very sad. They said goodbye to all their friends and took what they could in a can to Thrace. They stayed in Edirne for one year, but cholera broke out and he and two brothers and one hundred others decided to leave and look for land elsewhere.'
    'And who was living here? What happened to the Armenians?'
    'My grandfather says that when he arrived here the Armenians had already fled. He says that they got an idea to make their own country from the French. Turkey was very weak after the First World War, so it was a good opportunity for them and they started to attack villages and kill people. Many men were still away in the army, so they slaughtered the women and children. But Attaturk defeated them and they lest everything. Many Armenians died, but the reason for the most deaths was hunger and cholera.'
    'So the Armenians fled from Sis, and he did not have to fight for this land?'
    That's right. He says there had been a big battle a year before at the village of Gazi Kuju, and when he came here the land was empty. His eldest brother went on to Maras and there he had to fight with Armenians and the Greeks. But here they just moved into the old houses, and the one hundred settlers were each given twenty hectares. He says his land had never been used and he had to clear it of trees.'
    From the kitchen there was a shout as the sisters brought in piles of food on a tray. There was a chorba soup, some pilau rice with pieces of chicken, couscous and stuffed aubergines. The old man smiled and his face wrinkled up like wood bark. It was only then that I noticed quite how old he was.
Over his soup he continued talking.
    My grandfather says that later some Armenians returned. They had become Muslims, and tried to hide that they were not Turkish. He says that everyone knew that they were Armenians, but they allowed them to settle and have some land. He says that everyone was very sad.'
Why?' asked Laura.
    Because there had been too many killings and too many deaths.'
     
     
    After supper we refused an offer of a bed for the night, and jumped on a tractor going to Mersin. In retrospect this was a big mistake. It was a night of unmitigated horror probably best conveyed through the entries I made at the time in the logbook:
 
    8.00 p.m. No sign of bus.
We drink cay, and I teach Laura tawla. Mersin bus station is nearly as filthy as that at Latakia.
    8.30 p.m. Laura goes off to look for a loo.
On the way someone throws a shoe at her. When she returns I read her an entry from the guidebook: 'Turkish buses are fast, comfortable and always run on time. They are fun and so are the bus stations.' Neither of us laugh. No sign of the bus.
    9.00 p.m. More backgammon.
Still no sign of our bus.
    9.30 p.m. As before.
    10.00 p.m. The bus has turned up!
It's a luxury bus and our fellow passengers are a dowdy bunch of pseudo-European Turks. Laura is sitting on one side with a moustachioed businessman wearing flares. I am next to a woman with a screaming baby. Both of us are over the wheel. The bumpiest place.
10.30 p.m. Set off two hours late, only to stop at the bus station in Tarsus, the home of St Paul. Enough to give anyone wanderlust: loud Turkish music and some sort of mewing Turkish transvestite. He/she/it tells me