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The Slow Road to Tehran

E-BookEPUBePub WasserzeichenE-Book
416 Seiten
Englisch
September Publishingerschienen am24.03.2022
SHORTLISTED FOR THE 2023 EDWARD STANFORD TRAVEL WRITING AWARDS TRAVEL BOOK OF THE YEAR One woman, one bike and one richly entertaining, perception-altering journey of discovery. In 2015, as the Syrian War raged and the refugee crisis reached its peak, Rebecca Lowe set off on her bicycle across the Middle East. Driven by a desire to learn more about this troubled region and its relationship with the West, Lowe's 11,000-kilometre journey took her through Europe to Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, Sudan, the Gulf and finally to Iran. It was an odyssey through landscapes and history that captured her heart, but also a deeply challenging cycle across mountains, deserts and repressive police states that nearly defeated her. Plagued by punctures and battling temperatures ranging from -6 to 48C, Lowe was rescued frequently by farmers and refugees, villagers and urbanites alike, and relied almost entirely on the kindness and hospitality of locals to complete this living portrait of the modern Middle East. This is her evocative, deeply researched and often very funny account of her travels - and the people, politics and culture she encountered. 'Terrifically compelling ... bursting with humour, adventure and insight into the rich landscapes and history of the Middle East. Lowe recounts the beauty, kindnesses and complexities of the lands she travels through with an illuminating insight. A wonderful new travel writer.' Sir Ranulph Fiennes

Rebecca Lowe is a freelance journalist from London who specialises in human rights and the Middle East. During her career, Rebecca has written for publications including the BBC, Guardian, Independent, Huffington Post, Economist, Sunday Times Magazine, Daily Mail, Evening Standard and the Spectator. Rebecca has a BA in English Literature from Cambridge University and an MA in Journalism from Stanford University, where she was awarded a scholarship.mehr
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KlappentextSHORTLISTED FOR THE 2023 EDWARD STANFORD TRAVEL WRITING AWARDS TRAVEL BOOK OF THE YEAR One woman, one bike and one richly entertaining, perception-altering journey of discovery. In 2015, as the Syrian War raged and the refugee crisis reached its peak, Rebecca Lowe set off on her bicycle across the Middle East. Driven by a desire to learn more about this troubled region and its relationship with the West, Lowe's 11,000-kilometre journey took her through Europe to Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, Sudan, the Gulf and finally to Iran. It was an odyssey through landscapes and history that captured her heart, but also a deeply challenging cycle across mountains, deserts and repressive police states that nearly defeated her. Plagued by punctures and battling temperatures ranging from -6 to 48C, Lowe was rescued frequently by farmers and refugees, villagers and urbanites alike, and relied almost entirely on the kindness and hospitality of locals to complete this living portrait of the modern Middle East. This is her evocative, deeply researched and often very funny account of her travels - and the people, politics and culture she encountered. 'Terrifically compelling ... bursting with humour, adventure and insight into the rich landscapes and history of the Middle East. Lowe recounts the beauty, kindnesses and complexities of the lands she travels through with an illuminating insight. A wonderful new travel writer.' Sir Ranulph Fiennes

Rebecca Lowe is a freelance journalist from London who specialises in human rights and the Middle East. During her career, Rebecca has written for publications including the BBC, Guardian, Independent, Huffington Post, Economist, Sunday Times Magazine, Daily Mail, Evening Standard and the Spectator. Rebecca has a BA in English Literature from Cambridge University and an MA in Journalism from Stanford University, where she was awarded a scholarship.
Details
Weitere ISBN/GTIN9781914613036
ProduktartE-Book
EinbandartE-Book
FormatEPUB
Format HinweisePub Wasserzeichen
FormatE101
Erscheinungsjahr2022
Erscheinungsdatum24.03.2022
Seiten416 Seiten
SpracheEnglisch
Dateigrösse21003 Kbytes
Artikel-Nr.11939744
Rubriken
Genre9201

Inhalt/Kritik

Leseprobe


Upon arrival, Gaziantep appears entirely innocuous. Comprised of seemingly endless rows of half-built tower blocks bathed in buttermilk sunlight, the town emits a curious, bland sterility. It takes some time before I become aware of a latent, throbbing pulse below the surface: the muffled creak of faultlines under pressure. This ancient city, once known primarily for its food and copperware, has been hijacked by a distant revolution. Now its identity lies fractured and disjointed as Syrians and Kurds, diplomats and activists, terrorists and traffickers, all mingle together in cagey coexistence.

From here, the Syrian border - controlled by Islamic State - lies just thirty kilometres to the south. At first, I am cautious of venturing so close to this jihadist stronghold; ISIS are said to operate sleeper cells in Gaziantep, and the Syrian journalist Naji Jerf is shot dead in broad daylight soon after I arrive. However, around 500,000 Syrians currently live in the city and a Canadian NGO worker called Ellie has agreed to make some introductions. She assures me the streets are safe.

Just don t mention the PKK, she murmurs when we meet in a café. It s sensitive around here.

Okay, I say, glancing with suspicion at the only other people in the vicinity: an elderly couple wearing matching taupe cardigans. Noted. And ISIS?

She groans. That s okay. But please let s not talk about them. It s all anyone s ever interested in.

We order drinks - her an Americano, me a Turkish coffee, Yemeni by origin, which involves leaving the powder unfiltered to create a rich, crude brew - and she shows me some statistics. Of the civilian casualties in 2015, 14,653 were killed by the Syrian regime, according to the pro-opposition Syrian Network for Human Rights, while just 991 died at the hands of Islamic State.27

It s obviously bad the war has become so sectarian, Ellie says. But people forget how the whole thing began. Assad has spent his life stirring up religious tensions, promoting his Alawite28 cronies and repressing everyone else. But lots of Alawites hate him too. If we see this as a religious war, we just play into his hands.

I ask about the Free Syrian Army (FSA). Should the West have done more to support them? Yes, at first, she replies. But it s too late now. They ve become fragmented and corrupt. 29 This contributes to the appeal of Daesh, she says. Many of its members are former Ba athist generals who lost their livelihoods after the Iraq War, so they know how to run things. They know how to fight.

Ellie works at an NGO that focuses on developing civil society networks both inside and outside Syria. At the organisation s headquarters, she introduces me to its founder, Rania, who projects a maternal steeliness and clearly commands the love and respect of her staff. I ask about her background and learn from Ellie that she lost fifteen family members in Idlib. However, she declines to talk about herself. Speak to the others, she tells me. Their stories are far more interesting than mine.

One such person is a woman named Nazife. Thirty-seven, with a pale, guileless face framed by a satin al-Amira headscarf, she comes from a town called al-Zabadani and says she used to be an artist and farmer . After the revolution began, however, she stopped working and began calling for demonstrations. I helped to form a peace circle of women, she recounts, as Rania translates. We encouraged civil resistance, so it wasn t long before we drew the attention of the regime.

One day, al-Zabadani came under fire from the Syrian Army and Hezbollah.30 Many residents fled, but the peace circle stayed behind to act as intermediaries between the regime and rebel militias. The men tried to broker a ceasefire and failed, Nazife says. But we managed to secure one in forty days. They also negotiated the release of five female detainees and got women removed from checkpoint blacklists, she continues. It was partly good timing, but we brought something different to the table too. We understood the community s needs. The officers listened as they wanted our support.

Over time, however, the siege worsened. Nazife s house was bombed, so she and her family moved. They were bombed again and moved again. Eventually, there was nowhere else to go. My son s shoulder was burnt. My daughter had shrapnel in her leg and my husband in his head. In August 2013, we knew we had to leave.

Before they could escape, however, tragedy struck. Nazife s husband went to collect passports for the children and never returned. I looked everywhere, she says, a gentle quiver entering her voice. But I never found him. Recently, I heard he may have been tortured and killed, but I ll probably never know.

After eventually securing passports for her children, Nazife put them on a flight to Lebanon. She stayed behind to search for her husband, but violence continued to escalate. Snipers were everywhere, and my neighbours were shot and killed. Then my sister was arrested, who has Crohn s disease. When I delivered her pills, the police threatened me. They said: We know where you live and can get you any time. That s when I decided to leave.

The checkpoints were now closed, so Nazife had little choice but to escape over the mountains to Lebanon, where the terrain was hazardous and patrolled by Hezbollah. If caught, she feared being detained - or even shot. The men had weapons to defend themselves, but I didn t, she says. At one point, I had to hide for seven hours until the coast was clear. It was terrifying.

Eventually, she made it to Lebanon and from there travelled to Turkey. Yet many of her friends remain trapped. In the neighbouring town of Madaya, the regime has implemented a full blockade. A kilo of rice costs $110. Milk costs $250. Twenty-two thousand people are starving to death, she says. Babies are surviving on cornflour and adults are eating grass. It s desperate.

Nazife rings her friend in the village. When she answers, she sounds delighted that Nazife has called, but she cannot disguise her fear. Our hunger is bad, she admits. We can t continue like this much longer. Just last week, six members of her family were killed by mines, while another five people had to have their legs amputated after getting injured collecting grain. We have a surgeon but little medication or equipment. He just does the best he can.

I find it hard to process her words. The suffering is too great, too unfathomable. Her voice seems to come from another world. Yet it is calm and full of laughter, despite everything. It isn t all bad, she chuckles. She s become a creative cook. I know all about apricot leaves. The tastiest part is by the stem, which you can steam or boil in soup!

I ask where she finds her strength and she falls silent for a moment. I don t know, she replies finally. We re devastated but we know we cannot give up. We must protect and educate our children, and try to leave them a better future.

Women in particular have suffered, she continues. But they ve also thrived. We ve found a new power we never had before. Through our struggles, we ve found a voice.

There is something innately reassuring about the sight of two old men on a park bench drinking tea. I watch the pair for a while, one with a moustache and flat cap, the other with white hair and walking stick, drinking and murmuring and waiting like Estragon and Vladimir, overlooked by the brindled walls of the Byzantine citadel. It is an image without past or future, peaceful and purposeless: a freeze-frame of soothing apathy.

If only time could always be stilled so easily. However, all around are hints of its busy onward march. Dig deep into the bedrock here and you ll discover layers of ancient history like a palimpsest of the past: the fortress foundations, constructed three millennia ago; the buried cities below, three millennia older still; the Neolithic pottery, Chalcolithic seals and Bronze Age tools; the Ottoman bedestans and Mamluk minarets; the pre-Christian rock-lodgings and medieval caravanserais. Located on one of the world s busiest thoroughfares, Gaziantep has attracted both settlers and invaders for as long as the history books can remember - the result of which, here in the old town , is a cultural potpourri of Mediterranean, Arabian and Anatolian influences that counters the insipid homogeny of the modern high-rises nearby.

Not far from the castle, past coppersmiths, cobblers and spice merchants plying ancient trades, I encounter a neoclassical building known as Liberation Mosque . Its stripy, mismatched minarets at first strike me as a creative quirk of design, but I soon discover they actually comprise a poorly conceived disguise. This was once a church, a Russian tourist informs me. The base of that minaret was a church tower. The Armenians worshipped here before they were expelled.

Now, suddenly, I see not a mosque but a mausoleum. During World War I, the Ottomans viewed the Orthodox Armenians as potential Russian collaborators and crushed them mercilessly. Over a million Armenians were murdered or sent on death marches into the desert. Thirty-two thousand came from Gaziantep.

Why Liberation Mosque ? I ask.

The woman consults her guidebook. To commemorate defeating the French in October...
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Autor

Rebecca Lowe is a freelance journalist from London who specialises in human rights and the Middle East. During her career, Rebecca has written for publications including the BBC, Guardian, Independent, Huffington Post, Economist, Sunday Times Magazine, Daily Mail, Evening Standard and the Spectator. Rebecca has a BA in English Literature from Cambridge University and an MA in Journalism from Stanford University, where she was awarded a scholarship.