diary of a broke artist in diyarbakır: or how my walls sweat more than i do

okay, real talk. the heat here in diyarbakır isn't weather, it's a physical entity. it's a fat, lazy cat that sprawls across the whole southeast, pressing its fur against every brick of this ancient city. my studio in the sur district? it's an oven. the kind of heat that makes your acrylics dry too fast and your thoughts melt into a puddle of 'should i even bother today.' forget 'vibrant' or 'nestled,' this place is a geological sigh, a basalt heartbeat under your feet.

and that oven runs on electricity. which is where the 'real cost' part kicks you right in the wallet. i came here from izmir thinking the rent would be a steal-and it kinda is, if you like cracks in the walls that look like fault lines. but the bills? they're a different creature. my last elec bill for a 45m2 place was 320 tl for july. july! that's with one pathetic split-type a/c that i run for like, three hours after midnight when the grid isn't shrieking. the water is 'managed' by the general directorate, whatever that means-my tap water tastes like old coins and my landlord says the 120 tl/month is 'fixed.' fixed like a stare from the old guys playing backgammon by the kükürtlu mosque, unblinking.

*rent reality check: a decent one-room in a walkable area like Danişment or Bağlar? 700-1200 tl if you're lucky. the job market? ha. it's tourism when it's not tanking, some civil service gigs, and the rest is hustle. i do portraits by the uzun souq for turkish lira that vanishes before the week's out. a friend who runs a tiny print shop in the flea market area told me, 'we survive on tea and hope, and the hope is decaf.' overheard that in a smoky tea house near the van museum.

here's the dirty secret no one tells you: diyarbakır's magic is in its layers-the roman wall, the hevsel gardens, the street art that screams over the old stone. but keeping that magic running is a constant negotiation. this city is a fortress, and it feels like it sometimes. you feel the history in the wall, you feel the pressure in your bills. the government office for utilities is a five-hour ordeal of numbered tickets and silent frustration. someone whispered to me in line, 'just pay the guard 20 tl and he'll get your papers stamped in ten minutes.' wasn't sure if that was a rumor or a service.

pro-tip from a desperate local: get a prepaid elektrik card (kredi kartı) from the market, not the monthly billing. you see the drain instantly and you won't get a heart attack when the bill comes. also, that a/c? set it to 26°c and buy a fan. your power bill will still look like a ransom note.

weather gossip: right now it's that dry, dusty heat that cakes your throat. last winter was brutally cold, like the tigris itself decided to freeze over. neighbors? kurds, turks, arabs, a mishmash that somehow works. the short drive to mardin feels like time travel-all stone and wine. a quick flight to Şanlıurfa and you're in the land of prophets and pomegranate juice.

reviews, drunk-style: 'the street food is cheap and will kill you with joy,' slurred a backpacker from the hostel by the deliller caravanserai. 'watch out for the 'extra' charges on your water bill,' warned an old tailor in the bazaar, pointing a pin at me. 'the best çay is at the place where the cats outnumber the customers,' is a reddit diyarbakır truism from r/kultur.

data, because i'm trying to be 'data-driven' (lol):

so you come here for the history, for the wall that's older than most countries. you stay because something about the struggle feels... honest. but the cost? it's not just tl. it's the sweat you trade for shade, the hours spent inUtility queues, the constant math of 'can i afford this hummus?' it's a city that asks for resilience, and pays you back in stories that don't fit on a postcard.

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resources that saved my skin:
TripAdvisor's Diyarbakır forum for the weirdest questions.
r/kultur on reddit for the local dirt, no filter.
Yelp for Diyarbakır (surprisingly useful for çay spots).
* local electricity cost calculator if you want to actually cry with numbers.

anyway, my a/c just kicked on. i think i heard my wallet scream.

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