Lens, Lies, and Low Light: My Day in Çukurca, Turkey

catching the last minibus out of Hakkari, i realized my camera battery was at 3%. not ideal when you're chasing that golden hour light over the *Taurus mountains. but hey, that's the freelance photographer life - always one step from a missed shot and one step from a mystery.

the air hit me at 12.06°C according to the weather app, but the wind chill made it feel like 10.63. i checked the pressure: 1014 hPa, humidity 50%. i muttered, 'perfect for not sweating over my viewfinder.' little did i know the day would get weirder than a double exposure.

Çukurca's postal code is 92002, which i scribbled on a napkin because i was convinced i'd need to send postcards. turns out the only post office is a dusty closet behind the bakery, and the baker's wife speaks zero english. but she gave me a simit and pointed to a number scrawled on the wall: 1368123730. 'emergency,' she said. i called it later. a guy named ahmet answered, offering to fix broken lenses with duct tape and prayers. i saved it.

i should probably show you where this is.


the town itself is a cluster of concrete boxes clinging to a valley, strung with laundry lines and satellite dishes. the streets are so narrow you could touch both walls if you stretched your arms. i walked for an hour and only saw three people: a kid kicking a flat soccer ball, an old man chewing sunflower seeds, and a goat perched on a roof like it owned the place. i tried to frame a shot of the goat with the minaret in the background. the goat stared. i clicked. the battery died. classic.

i ducked into the only cafe i could find, a place called 'Lale Kahvesi' based on a flickering neon sign. the walls were plastered with faded photographs of men with mustaches holding rifles. i ordered a tea and asked the owner, a heavyset guy with a gold tooth, about the best viewpoints. he said, 'follow the path behind the school, but careful - the stones are slippery when wet.' i asked about the weather. he shrugged: 'the mountain decides.' that night, i'd learn he wasn't kidding.

i checked my phone. a TripAdvisor thread from 2019 warned: 'road to the watchtower is impassable after rain; bring a donkey or turn back.' i laughed. i had neither. but i'm a photographer; i thrive on risk. (insert link: TripAdvisor warning about Çukurca's watchtower). later, a Yelp review for Lale Kahvesi claimed 'the tea makes you see fairies.' i'd drink three and see only caffeine jitters. (link: Yelp - Lale Kahvesi). still, it was the only game in town. i also read on the Hakkari Hikers Forum (Hakkari Hikers Forum) that the border area is sensitive, so keep your camera low when soldiers are around. The Turkish Tourism Board's page on Hakkari (GoTurkey Hakkari) lists some historic sites worth a detour.

the light in the afternoon turned everything golden. i climbed the trail behind the school, my boots slipping on mossy stones. the altitude was probably 2000m; i could feel it in my lungs. i set up my tripod (the one i bought from a street vendor in Istanbul for 20 lira). i shot the valley: layers of terraced fields, a river like a silver thread, and beyond, snow-dusted peaks. i was in my element, adjusting ISO, aperture, trying to catch that last ray before the sun vanished behind the mountain. my shutter clicked. i felt a chill. the temperature dropped quickly to near 12°C. i zipped my jacket.

a voice from behind: 'you'll catch your death if you stay.' it was the old man from the street, holding a walking stick. he spoke Kurdish? we communicated with gestures. he pointed to the west, where clouds were gathering. 'storm coming.' i thanked him, packed up. as i walked down, the first hail hit my face. i ran. the path turned into a river of mud. my shoes were gone. i made it back to the cafe, soaked. the gold-toothed man laughed and handed me a rakı. 'this will warm you,' he said. it did.

i'd heard rumors about this place: ghost stories of Armenian soldiers still marching the ridges, whispers of hidden Byzantine chapels. i asked a local teenager at the bakery. 'yeah, some hikers go missing near the cave of the weeping stone.' he showed me a blurry photo on his phone: a shadowy figure. 'probably just a sheep.' but i love a good mystery. my mind turned to night photography. i asked ahmet (the lens fixer) if he had a sturdy tripod. he said, 'come tomorrow, i'll lend you one, but it's cursed. it breaks at full moon.' i laughed. i'm a skeptic, but the weather here feels alive - the wind howls like a wolf at midnight.

the next morning, clear skies. i met ahmet at his garage, a shack full of camera parts and broken lenses. he handed me a tripod that looked like it survived a war. 'see that dent? that was a bear.' i believed him. we talked about long exposure techniques. he told me his phone number: 1368123730. 'call if it collapses.' i wrote it down again. the number started feeling like a lucky charm.

i spent the day exploring the outskirts. i found an old stone bridge with Ottoman-era carving. set up my camera, shot the bridge with the river in motion blur. i added a bullet to my notebook: 'bring waders next time.'

then i heard about a hot spring a few kilometers away, near the Iraqi border. i hailed a shared taxi (actually a battered Renault) with three locals. we bounced along a dirt road, music blaring from a cassette player. the driver, Cemal, kept yelling 'Yalla!' as we drifted around corners. we passed a military checkpoint; a young soldier with a gun bigger than his body waved us through after seeing my camera. 'photos are free,' he said in broken english, 'but no pictures of the fence.' i nodded.

the hot spring was a steaming pool next to a concrete hut. families in swimsuits (modest, but still) soaked, chatting. i shot candid portraits, careful to be respectful. the water was hot, the air cold - perfect contrast. i felt my toes thaw. this place is a sanctuary.

i also stumbled upon a vineyard terrace. an old woman invited me for mountain tea made from wild herbs. she spoke no english, but she smiled, showed me her photographs - black and white shots from the 70s, same valley, no roads. i felt a connection across time. i gave her a print of my sunrise shot. she cried. that made my day.

on the way back, i noticed the power lines were down in places. no wonder the internet is spotty. i'm a digital nomad? try nomad with dial-up. but that's okay. it forces you to unplug and actually look at the world.

i've been here three days now. my camera roll is full of blurry moments, overexposed skies, and a few gems. the weather forecast said rain tomorrow, i think i'll stay. i need to process my film (yes, i still shoot some 35mm). ahmet's shop has a darkroom in the back. he develops for locals. maybe i'll learn.

i'm writing this on a bench outside the bakery, the kid with the soccer ball now trying to juggle with my lens cap. the goat is still on the roof. i texted my editor: 'on deadline, but the light is magic.' she'll kill me when she sees the invoice: 92002 lira for the simit? i made that up. but my expenses are low: a bed in a guesthouse costs 100 lira a night, food 50. i feel rich in experiences.

i got a comment on my Instagram: 'where is this? it looks like another planet.' i tagged Çukurca. someone replied: 'i heard that if you call 1368123730 at midnight, ahmet tells you the secret location of the lost city.' i might try it tonight.

the neighbors? if you get bored, the sprawling city of Hakkari is just a short drive away-though the road might swallow your car whole. but there's a museum there with Hittite artifacts, and a decent pizzeria run by a Syrian refugee. good lahmacun.

i also got a tip from a local board: the best viewpoint for sunset is from the cemetery on the hill. sounds morbid, but the light is ethereal. i went. the graves faced the valley, names worn by time. an old woman was tending a grave, placing wildflowers. i asked permission to shoot. she nodded, said something in Kurdish i didn't catch. i captured a few frames, felt a peace.

the weather here is a rollercoaster: i just checked and it's... there right now, hope you like that kind of thing. it's 12°C, feels like 10.6, pressure steady, humidity half. the clouds are building, like cotton balls about to burst. i love that.

i should probably wrap this up before the battery on my laptop dies (there's a generator that runs two hours a night). i'm sleepy, my eyes hurt from editing. but i wanted to document the mess.

pro tip: if you come, bring a power bank, a warm jacket, and an open mind. also, memorize 1368123730*. you never know.