TRIP: Ataturk Mausoleum

As Orientation came to an end, I realized that my backpack of security had, too, reached maturity. I am now out in the world on my own, and I have nothing to fend for my life but my own wit and strengths. This is a very scary realization--one that my adolescent mind is in denial of overcoming. But, for now, I would love to share with you the experiences I had while sheltered under the guidance of my Erasmus International Club students.

Ataturk Mausoleum, Front Entrance

First was a visit to the Ataturk Mausoleum which is in the heart of Turkey. When speaking of it as the "heart" of Turkey, I am both literal and figurative, as Ataturk truly beats in the hearts of Turks everywhere, and it seems as though every other building or monument has paid its duty to honor him by statues or molds of his face and signature.

The Mausoleum is an enormous statement of the Turks to their founder. Perhaps the term "founder" is interchangeable; nonetheless, it is required to have a uniformly admirable stance towards him. Thus, as seen in the picture, on the path of bricks leading to his grave, each brick is placed so that there is space in between. A man is forced to watch his feet while treading the path so to prevent from tripping, and thus his head bows down to indicate respect.

The 65 foot path to reach the Ataturk monument

As I walked down the path towards the flag of Turkiye, I looked side to side and began to fathom the immense symmetry of the architecture. There were two structures facing opposite one another, each resonating familiar images of the White House, or--to more cultured eyes-The Temple of Hatshepsut. Only one of these identical structures contained the sarcophagus of the great Mustafa Kemal, the Ataturk, or Father of Turks.

I entered the one with Ataturk's sarcophagus. I later found out that his grave was just a floor beneath, not open to the public for obvious reasons. In a video displaying his gravesite--elaborated with magnificent tiling and beautiful roses--there were many many tin cans in which the scents of different cities in Ankara were captivated and stationed beside him, circumferencing his burial.

Before leaving, I was lucky enough to catch a portion of the Turkish soldiers' rotations, above.

The stairs and reliefs in front of the entrance to his sarcophagus

A stagnant soldier with an expressionless face

Ataturk's Sarcophogus, Center, in front of the window