August 22nd, 2025

On Wednesday at midday, I took the train to Zurich airport to surprise Deniz, who is spending his holidays in Dersim, in Turkish Kurdistan.

 At check-in, I explained that I wear an orthosis and asked if it might be possible to have a seat with more space to stretch out my leg. I had already checked in online, but the more comfortable seats were no longer available. The Turkish Airlines staff member was very understanding and kindly assigned me seats by the emergency exit on both flights (Zurich–Istanbul and Istanbul–Elazig). Absolutely perfect!

Security control and passport checks went smoothly, and I took the metro to terminal E. Feeling a bit hungry, I bought a sandwich and a small bottle of water. And then the shock: 19.20 CHF, over €20! For a completely inedible sandwich – rubbery bread, five slices of dried meat and three floppy lettuce leaves. A rip-off!

The Zurich–Istanbul flight, however, was very pleasant: we were even served a meal far better than that miserable sandwich. Upon arrival in Istanbul, I discovered the gigantic new airport – Erdogan’s showcase project, with more than a touch of megalomania. Architecturally, nothing special at all. To get to the domestic departures, I had to pass through customs and then walk a good 30 minutes. For a brand-new airport, hardly user-friendly. I had wanted to take a buggy, but those had to be booked 48 hours in advance… and in any case, they were all taken.

Once at the domestic terminal, I treated myself to a coffee. My phone buzzed: a message announcing a 30-minute delay to my flight. This soon became 45 minutes… then an hour! As I had already reservation on a bus from Elazig to Dersim, I began to worry whether it would wait. I informed Alev, Deniz’s sister, who had kindly organised the transfer. She reassured me straight away: the driver would wait for all passengers before setting off.

 With more than an hour delay, we finally landed in Elazig. I collected my bag, stepped outside, and found the bus immediately. There were five of us on board, setting off for a two-and-a-half-hour journey through the night. I texted Alev to let her know everything was fine and that she could go to bed. But she replied that she wouldn’t sleep until I was safely at my hotel. A touching gesture!

 On the way, we were stopped at two police checkpoints. The officer insisted on seeing a Turkish ID card! My Swiss passport and ID card didn’t register in his system. His attitude struck me as remarkably narrow-minded, but thankfully, in the end, we were allowed to continue.

 As the driver didn’t speak English, I used the translator on my phone to ask if he could drop me directly at my hotel. He agreed with a smile. At 3:30 in the morning, I finally arrived in my room. The air conditioning made a dreadful noise, but sheer exhaustion got the better of me.

The next morning, I had a traditional Turkish breakfast on the hotel terrace, overlooking the town and surrounding hills. The region is very mountainous, and Dersim lies along the slopes. Many of the buildings are recent and not particularly attractive, but the mountains and the river running through the valley lend a certain charm.

 I sent a message to Deniz: “Fancy a coffee with me in town?” He didn’t understand and immediately phoned me. When I told him I was in Dersim, he didn’t believe me. It was only when his sister overheard and confirmed it that he realised it was true. What a surprise!

Later on, we met at the hotel. We had a coffee, strolled through the town, and grabbed a small snack. Afterwards, we took a local bus to join his family in a small café run by one of his cousins. There, I finally met everyone: Alev welcomed me with a bouquet of flowers, and I was introduced to his mother, his brother, his aunts, cousins, and neighbours. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, despite the language barrier.

One neighbour brought up the two subjects I always try to avoid abroad: religion and politics. He told me the government planned to build a new mosque – a project that is very poorly received here.

In Dersim, most Kurds are Alevis. The only Sunnis are government officials sent from Ankara – police officers, teachers, administrators… The divide is very clear, with each group keeping to itself. As I walked around, I noticed that most women wear Western clothes and carry themselves with the same confidence as women in Europe. Very few wear the hijab.

Here one really sees Erdogan’s policy of trying to erase Kurdish culture: language banned, traditions diminished, identity threatened. Yet it is important to point out that Kurdish culture is not uniform. Of Iranian origin, the Kurds live today in Turkey, Iran, Iraq and Syria, and depending on the region, they may be Sunni Muslims, Alevis, or Yazidis.

By the way, Dersim is the Kurdish name and Tunceli is the Turkish one!