Mardin is an odd place. Sixty percent of people within the city limits speak Arabic, but once outside, less than a few miles, the only language is Kurdish. There is next to no accommodation at the lower end of the spectrum, with two swanky places charging sky-high rates. We did end up finding a good spot after all, but it was not in the center of town. It's clear that tourists are a new thing here, and in 5 or 10 years, there will be many more hotels and hostels catering to the middle and lower end. Mardin overlooks the desert towards Syria. About 10 kilometers south, the vast empty space begins.
Sadly our main day there was on Sunday, so the market was closed. We came back early Monday morning, before heading off to Mnt. Nemrut (the real one) and took some pictures. We were a bit early and most of the market had yet to open.
Initially, few people were about, but as we wandered further, we came into a busier section of the market.
It's a hard place to photograph. Most of the old town is glued to the side of a mountain.
Leaving Mardin, we headed off to Mnt. Nemrut. After a long ride, we ended up at a ferry dock. Unfortunately, the ferry we needed was not running that day due to technical difficulties. We had to backtrack a few hundred kilometers and arrived in Sanliurfa, where we had passed through earlier that day.
On the way to Sanliurfa, Jan managed to decapitate a bird.