And as if that weren't enough, before all those hiding Christians, the pre-Hittites passed through here with their house-hold gods and iron-age technology; short stocky bodies and in case of invasion or foreign campaign they took the whole kit and caboodle underground with them.

Huge, immensely complex cities large enough to house 15,000 souls all dug like intricate termite holes. Eight levels of conference halls, kitchens, infirmaries, prisons, wells, air-ducts, wastedisposal systems, hammams, food storage, wine presses and wineries.
Months would go by. The men would be gone, off fighting a war somewhere. Even underground they had cemeteries for the inevitable dead who would pile up, be embalmed, and await the light of day for decent burial.
Tunnels, passages, air-ducts, endless wells to tap the underground rivers. Up above foreign armies would poke through the rubble while the pre-Hittites would sit, snug as a bug in a rug, waiting for it all to happen.

The Hittites of my youth were the entry just after Hitler in the Encyclopaedia. I would look him up at least twice a week and look at his photo, read the text and try to pierce the mystery of the evil man who gassed my family like vermin. My eye would glance then at the grey sculptures and photos of ancient cities with tiny square clay houses. Swords with iron tips. Hitler and the Hittites.Now here I am, walking in this doomed nation's living rooms and marvelling at their techniques for waterproofing their wine vat chambers. Marko tells me the Hittites still exist, a tiny community of little people just tall enough to navigate without pain in the narrow tunnels of their ancient cities. Still Hittites. Still worshipping their native gods. They, too, have survived the thousands of years since the Iron Age. It seems we have more in common with them than just Hitler.