POLAT LEANS HIS BICYCLE against a poplar tree. I've followed him in my Otosan, rumbling along the dirt road in first gear. Not a massive drive from town, but it's a quiet spot. Perfect place for a picnic or kicking a football with the cousins. I'm surprised Polat hasn't set up permanent tables – the tourists would flock here. I take a couple of photographs with my Kodak DC3200.
The mayor has dispensed with a jacket and tie, and his pressed shirt has come untucked. I smile as he leads me to the riverbank. The western side slopes gently into the dark waters, making the Iluh appear deceptively shallow. I know better.
“See there?”
Polat points, and hands me a set of pocket binoculars.
I look through. A black mound, bare of grass or shrub, rises from the river two kilometers upstream. It's
