A little boy whips cattle before a sun that sinks into the city below Murat camping site which lies at the foot of a palace reached by a rocky hill. All evening members of our group have been stumbling up the rocky hill to try and reach the palace.  Some have made it, some faltered mid-way, some not tried at all.  I stump my toe mid-way as I walk up with Natasha and tell her to go on without me as I settle on the hill, finding it offers a glorious view of the red-bruise sun and if I crane my neck behind, the great palace.  The whole of Dogubayazit, nick-named ‘Doggy Biscuit’, the border town between Turkey and Iran, seems to fall away below into the growing darkness. I shelter from the fierce dust and watch the son who has been tending the cattle reunite with his father as the night begins to darken and the town in the distance lights up. It is a shock to notice the town all of a sudden, as I flick my eyes to the urban landscape far below it, the sun draining away. Now, to the naked eye, half the world is in shadow; spin round, the other half is still light.

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