“Where will you go after this?”
His gloved hands offered us Turkish teas. We were trying to warm up from the wind that had been whipping across the Euphrates River plains to where we stood on Mount Nemrut. It was 7:30am and we had just descended from the summit, having watched the sun rise in all its splendor over the burial grounds of King Antiochus I (70 – c. 38 BCE).
“We”ll get on the highway and head back down to Gaziantep.” I replied.
He shook his head with a wily smile.
“You’ve got to take the back roads.” He said, and began sharing the secret places and hidden sights of his home.
The Wayfaring Wren 