The eastern Black Sea region has for centuries been marked by repeated invasions, shattering civilisations and populations, leaving behind ruins. Romans, Byzantines, Persians, Turks, Mongols and Russians vied for control, while the indigenous peoples clung precariously to their patches of land. Yet Georgians and Armenians, as well as the Black Sea Pontic Greeks, all had their periods of ascendency in the middle ages, before their kingdoms were swept away by the next wave of invaders. Those kingdoms and empires left scattered remains that attest to their past glory.
Medieval Georgian church at Barhal
Leaving the Hemshin valleys, I went back to the coast, and then skirted around to the southern side of the mountains, to the little village of Barhal, along a windy, crumbling road from Yusufeli. Barhal is developing as a base for rafting trips along the rapid rivers of these parts, which is the main pull for visitors to the area. The whole region is dotted with medieval Georgian churches, in a greater or lesser state of decay, dating from an era when what is now eastern Turkey was at the centre of Georgian political and cultural life. Many of the churches are in remote places, difficult to access without transport. In Barhal, the 10th century Georgian church is close to the village, and it has survived intact thanks to its longstanding use as a mosque. There is a modern mosque in the village now, so that the old church is used only for Friday prayers. Although still intact, with its roof in place, it is in a sorry state. The conversion for use as a mosque was half-hearted (a cross is still visible on the outside), and it has not been maintained. Along the side aisles, corrugated iron has been placed, presumably to catch falling masonry. Yet it still impresses. The dimensions show that it was once a significant place of worship. Standing at one end of the nave, I find my imagination taking flight, thinking of the civilisation that once thrived here, which has now gone, leaving this magnificent thousand-year old building as its lasting memorial.
From Barhal, I journeyed east to Kars, through a landscape that changed along the way, from lush green mountains and steep valleys, to rolling hills and broader, more open spaces. From Kars, itself an Armenian city as recently as 1920, I visited the medieval Armenian capital of Ani. At its height one of the world’s great cities, with a population of over 100,000, it is now a desolate plain, surrounded by ruined, and partly (crudely) renovated walls, and dotted with ruined churches that have survived the centuries of neglect. It is an eerie place, a ghost city. Some streets have been preserved, with the lower walls of what are thought to have been shops. As at Barhal, walking the streets, or standing inside the churches, I found myself dreaming of the people who were once here, trying to imagine them, listening for their echoes.
Church of the Redeemer, Ani
Apart from Armenians, Ani was at different times in the middle ages taken by Byzantines, Seljuk Turks, Kurds, Georgians, Mongols and Tamarlane, before finally falling to the Ottomans. Falling into decay, it was rediscovered and excavated when the region was incorporated into imperial Russia in the 1870s. In the 20th century, Ani, situated right up against the river that separates Turkey from modern-day Armenia, has become part of the enduring controversy between the two countries. In 1921, the Turkish authorities ordered the military commander to erase all trace of its monuments, an order that was thankfully not carried out.
Armenia accuses Turkey of chauvinistically neglecting Ani. In fact, it is opening up to tourists now. Some effort is being made to preserve the monuments, and some renovation, notably of the walls and of a Seljuk palace, is taking place, unfortunately in such a way that looks too much like new-build. One of the striking things about visiting Ani is the absence of any reference, in the explanatory notices in Turkish and English, to the Armenian origins of the place. As one enters the site, a potted history refers to Ani as the capital of the Bagratid dynasty, but with no mention of the fact that the Bagratids were Armenian. Walking around the site there is a persistent, exaggerated and distorting emphasis on the, relatively minor, Seljuk Turk heritage of the site (the Seljuks sacked Ani, and slaughtered its population in 1064). A mosque, claimed as the earliest Seljuk mosque in Anatolia, is thought by some originally to have been a palace. The only reference to Armenians that I saw related to a ruined mosque, which, it was noted, had been dynamited by an Armenian priest. So that is the sum of Armenians’ contribution to Ani? Such vulgar nationalist abuse of an important archaeological site demeans Turkey.
By contrast, there appears to be no problem with acknowledging medieval Georgian monuments. Indeed, a ruined Georgian church (in fact just part of one wall) at Ani is acknowledged as such. But Turkey has a peculiar blind spot when it comes to anything Armenian. The earliest monument on the site is the remains of a 2,000 year-old Zoroastrian temple, a group of four columns. Its presence, among the later churches and mosques, further emphasises the layers of civilisations, one replacing another, in this most fought over of regions.
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