Climbing Ararat

Dominic Whiting journeys to Mount Ararat, Turkey's heighest peak.

As the plane banked, my window was filled with the breathtaking colour of lapis lazuli. This was Van Golu, Turkey's largest lake, nestling like a jewel amongst the mountains of eastern Anatolia. Well into our final approach, the plane was dropping at an alarming speed. Every second brought us closer to the waves. I was just about to tear at the life-jacket, when a runway appeared and we bumped to the ground.
"Welcome to Van," announced a nasal voice. "Thank you for flying with Turkish Airlines".

Van doesn't see many tourists these days. Fifteen years of insecurity and terrorism left this part of the country as a no-go area. Happily things are peaceful now and tourists are beginning to trickle east to explore the rugged mountain scenery and fascinating sights of Turkey's far east.

The return to peaceful conditions also means the country's highest summit is open to foreign trekkers and climber again. At 5137 metres, the mountain's Turkish name, Agri Dagi, may mean little to you. On the other hand, it's English name, Mount Ararat, probably will. Held by many to be the final resting place of Noah's Ark, the peak is a magnet for trekkers and Ark-hunters alike.

It's a 3-hour journey across the mountains from Van to Dogubeyazit, a rough-and-ready frontier town in the shadow of Mt Ararat. A dusty transit point on the highway into Iran, Dogubeyazit's rutted main street is lined with grocery shops, crowded restaurants and hotels. The town has a wild, rugged appeal. Bearded men in cloth caps spill out of the cafes, sipping tea on the pavement. Battered cars, handcarts and the odd herd of sheep jostle for road space. In the bazaar, the tiny shops are piled high with sacks of pistachios, stacks of flip flops and Iranian tea. In days gone by the town was a way-station on the "hippy trail" east. But now there isn't a kaftan in sight, and the hotels are busy with cross-border traders.

A local travel agent had secured our climbing permit and arranged for an official guide. While the paperwork was being completed, the team - Gary, an experienced British climber, Adnan, a guide from the Kackar mountains, and myself- set-off to explore the sights.

First on our list was Durupinar, claimed by some to be the resting place of Noah's Ark. At the end of a bumpy mountain track we arrived at the visitor's centre and were greeted by Hasan, the guardian. He pointed across the valley, tracing a boat-like shape on the mountainside. Even from this distance it looked like a rock formation rather than Noah's long lost ship. I voiced my doubts:

"The Ark was made of wood, surely it would have rotted by now."

"No, no. Of course it's the ship," said Hasan. "American researchers have tested it."