Gallipoli piqued our interest days after we immigrated to Australia. In the lead up to Anzac Day - 25 April, the media was full of heroic tales and pictures portraying the Dawn Landing on Anzac Cove and the inevitable tragedy that followed. It was a war that dug deep into the Australian psyche. As years passed, our niece Carmen told of her particular visit to Gallipoli for the Anzac Day Remembrance ceremony at dawn and how moving that had proved to be amongst the many Australians that gather there each year to pay their respects. During our time in Canberra last year we were most taken by the Australian War Memorial’s recognition of Ataturk. There and then, we gained a strong desire to go to Gallipoli ourselves, jotted it onto our Bucket List and wondered if it would ever come to pass…
Ataturk Memorial Garden (left) seen from the steps of the Australian War Memorial.
Beautifully positioned to face onto Anzac Parade and overlooking the nation's capital.
In 2007 George decided to part with his specialist collection of B.S.A. Company Mining Postmarks from Rhodesia, diligently researched over the years. It was sold on Stanley Gibbons auction in London. The proceeds paved the way for our 2009 Grandchildren Round. We could, but hope the global financial crisis would work in our favour… and include a trip to Gallipoli. During the early weeks of our arrival in the UK we began scanning the travel Ads – Cruises advertised heavily and the specials for the autumn and winter seemed thick on the ground. Most touring agents were closed for this period and we attempted to plan our own, only to find costs steadily piling up. Plus, we knew from past experience how easily ‘time’ could be wasted when days were few combined with language difficulties. We chanced upon Archers Direct advertising a Grand Tour of Turkey. Not only did it take us to Gallipoli, it covered far more for a very fair price. Unfortunately the first availability in November coincided with Justine & Daniel’s Egypt week. Reported Turkey weather in December surprised us. The cold was definitely off-putting that we took a couple of weeks trying to make up minds before finally concluding that opportunity does not often knock twice! We booked Turkey and watched the calendar for train tickets to Manchester Airport. When it comes to coping with the hefty price of train travel in England one must be an early bird! Train tickets come on line six weeks before the travel date and that is the cheapest time to pick one up… If it is a popular route - the price will literally change within seconds! Lea experienced that with our return tickets.
Our Trip to Turkish Republic (or Turkiye)
6 – 18th December 2009
ROUTE MAP
We left Tetney in pouring rain, Justy dropping us off at Cleethorpes station for our train to Manchester airport – our grand tour of Turkey about to commence. A short delay due to engineering works on the rail line couldn’t dampen our spirits nor did the flight delay although it put us into Istanbul later than expected. Our smooth transfer to Taslik Hotel initially had us crawling through a congested mass of traffic that was being upheld by a mighty long fleet of trucks working on a nearby construction site. Tour Leader, Burcu Gudren introduced herself along with Baki our driver, as our coach pulled into the busy street alongside the hotel and began the journey out of the city along the Golden Horn and skirting the Sea of Marmara towards Gallipoli on the European side of the Dardanelles. Burcu pointed out landmarks and explained the history behind them as we drove along making us all the more aware of just how much we learn, culturally, socially and most importantly, historically on a coach tour. Freed of traffic stress we had the time to observe, digest and enjoy the passing landscapes. The first thing we learnt was that Turkey straddles both continents – Asia Minor lying to the south, and a small bit of Europe to the north. The sun was rising over the city, highlighting the minarets of mosques and the mass of unplanned, densely packed high rise apartments giving a first impression of a very busy place seething with traffic. Our guide explained that many places grew out of squatter camps and that many houses may appear unfinished because no tax is payable until they are roofed!
Approaching the Gallipoli peninsula it was pointed out that there were no fences between the farmlands. Apparently farmers live in villages instead of on their properties and the act of building a fence to delineate their land would infer that they do not trust their neighbours! Being mid winter, the fields lay empty – seasonally it would be the cultivation of sunflowers for oil on a large scale with rice grown on low-lying flats. We stopped for lunch in the delightful little harbour town of Gelibolu but having had a large breakfast we were content to walk around town, sit in the sun awhile and people watch. We were quick to notice how few women were to be seen. Turkish men were definitely in the majority as they sat in groups outside shops or around the harbour simply chatting. We had to laugh when the muezzin’s call to prayer shattered the peace and an unseen dog lying on a balcony above us began howling in reply, or complaint. Other men went about their business, some with wooden trolleys piled with pistachio nuts or souvenirs for sale. These dodged in and around cars with an eye on the many tourist buses steadily pulling into the same lunch stop. An imposing and somewhat elderly shoe shine man eyed George’s shoes and graciously offered to improve the scuffed leather tops on his suede shoes for a few liras. Although George turned him down he created general amusement with his cheerful manner and body language.
Not long after lunch we arrived at the Anzac Cemetery, the first of the many sites of the World War 1 battlefields of Gallipoli.
Anzac CoveThe words “an inevitable tragedy” immediately flashed to mind as we glanced around the landscape of rugged hills, ridges and steep gullies as all the random pieces of a jigsaw began to fit together and give us a clearer understanding of why historians debate whether the Anzac troops landed in the right place to begin their invasion. If so – it was foolhardy. As we gazed around, Australian War correspondent Charles Bean’s words describing the Dawn Landing played over within our heads “Bullets struck fireworks out of the stones along the beach. The men did not wait to be hit but wherever they landed they simply rushed straight up the steep slopes...
We couldn’t help but feel the daunting enormity of what lay ahead of such young men “duty clear before us- Thy will be done” as headstone after headstone gave their ages. In turn, the marble plaque of Mustapha Kemal Ataturk’s address to grieving New Zealand and Australian families in 1930 resonated once again, as they did for us in Canberra. Of the 31 war cemeteries on the Peninsula we visited four – Anzac Cove, Lone Pine and the memorial cemetery to the 57th regiment of the Turkish Army, every single member of which was killed. En route for the last we passed the roadside statue depicting a Turkish soldier carrying a wounded Australian epitomising the “gentleman’s war” that it had been. High up on a hill we admired the prominent statue of Mustafa Kemal, Commander in Chief and hero of the Turkish people (saved from a bullet by the pocket watch his mother had given him), who not only led the Turkish Army at the time but subsequently led the War of Independence, established the Turkish Republic and became its President. His famous epigram “Peace at home, peace in the World” very meaningful.
We couldn’t help but feel the daunting enormity of what lay ahead of such young men “duty clear before us- Thy will be done” as headstone after headstone gave their ages. In turn, the marble plaque of Mustapha Kemal Ataturk’s address to grieving New Zealand and Australian families in 1930 resonated once again, as they did for us in Canberra. Of the 31 war cemeteries on the Peninsula we visited four – Anzac Cove, Lone Pine and the memorial cemetery to the 57th regiment of the Turkish Army, every single member of which was killed. En route for the last we passed the roadside statue depicting a Turkish soldier carrying a wounded Australian epitomising the “gentleman’s war” that it had been. High up on a hill we admired the prominent statue of Mustafa Kemal, Commander in Chief and hero of the Turkish people (saved from a bullet by the pocket watch his mother had given him), who not only led the Turkish Army at the time but subsequently led the War of Independence, established the Turkish Republic and became its President. His famous epigram “Peace at home, peace in the World” very meaningful.
The stark reality of Lone Pine was brought home to us amidst the peaceful surrounds of this cemetery.Our time in Gallipoli passed in a flash and we were soon leaving Europe on a short ferry journey across the Dardanelles into Asia Minor and the pretty little town of Canakkale. On the outskirts, we drew up at Hotel Tuscan perched on the side of a hill overlooking the Aegean Sea with tame rabbits hopping around the grounds. We were just in time to take a sunset walk down to the beach of this holiday resort run by a Turk and his English wife. Although quiet for the winter it simply buzzes during the summer. Instructed to meet up for dinner together as this hotel would be serving a set menu we returned to find everyone enjoying “Happy hour” with our first real chance to begin making acquaintances with our very cosmopolitan group. Over an excellent four course meal of fresh and tasty ready plated Turkish foods, each deliciously served up to our group of thirty, smoothly and promptly, we enjoyed an animated conversation with a young Canadian girl and an Egyptian Civil Engineer who’d lived most of his life in America. Sam was a font of all knowledge having travelled with Archers/ Cosmos on many different occasions and had so enjoyed Turkey the previous year that he was back doing it again. Aside from all that we gleaned from Burcu, we enjoyed this adventurous man always out exploring and finding little markets or typical foods of an area which he shared with us.
Up and away early next morning, our first stop was the ancient Homerian city of Troy, famous for the ‘wooden horse’. Sketchy school history was coming to light and making more sense as an adult! We’d been warned not to expect too much but we found ourselves fascinated by the sheer history of the place. First excavated in 1871 the ensuing years have actually unearthed nine ancient metropolises, dating back to 3000BC and of course a variety of differing opinions.
Up and away early next morning, our first stop was the ancient Homerian city of Troy, famous for the ‘wooden horse’. Sketchy school history was coming to light and making more sense as an adult! We’d been warned not to expect too much but we found ourselves fascinated by the sheer history of the place. First excavated in 1871 the ensuing years have actually unearthed nine ancient metropolises, dating back to 3000BC and of course a variety of differing opinions.
Trojan Horse From there we continued southwards, towards the lovely Bay of Edremit and over Mount Ida with views of the coast and the Greek islands offshore – much of the land covered by olive trees. Houses, characterised by satellite dishes trained skyward and solar heated water tanks on the roofs, while the hotels we passed advertised the use of geo-thermally heated water. Unlike other parts of the world where just as much sunlight is experienced solar heating appears to have taken off in a big way in Turkey. Pine trees, grown to meet the demand for pine nuts took up the odd niche Travelling through wide stretches of farm land – ploughed up for the winter – we also noticed little mounds demarcating a farmer’s land and spotted many dogs running free across the land and a good many dead by the roadside which we found surprising for the small amount of traffic that we encountered. Flocks of sheep and at times goats were always guarded by a shepherd with the help of his indigenous Anatolian sheep dog. Near Bergama, Burca explained the history behind parchment after the Egyptians chose to cut off Turkey’s supplies of papyrus from Mesopotamia and on passing the waste dumps of a Canadian run gold mine the fierce resistance from the locals over the use of cyanide... all little snippets that made the road journey interesting. During the lunch stop we had our first encounter with a Turkish pidé – a pizza like bread and filling that went down extremely well. By now George had noticed when waiting for a robot to change that the Turks have a flashing device above the robot that tells the driver how many seconds they have to wait before it changes - an idea that met with his full approval!
As night began to fall, we arrived in the very popular seaside resort of Kusadasi which takes its name from the pigeons that live on the little island just off the head of the bay. Set high, our hotel, Grand Onder, had a spectacular view out over the sea and as we waited to be assigned bedrooms, cameras clicked away frantically through the massive picture windows of the lounge and lobby as the lights of the town and marina created a picture perfect vista.
Our room, where we’d be spending the next two nights had a fine view of Kusadasi.According to our itinerary day four was ours as a day of leisure or take the optional excursion to Ephesus and the Virgin Mary House. We only discovered how these excursions created budget problems for us AFTER we’d received our tickets with a personal itinerary attached shortly before departure. Obviously laid on to bring in extra revenue, the Company claimed they were simply maximising our free time with several optional highlights, depending on weather conditions, seasonal suitability and group interest. Decisions! Decisions! We had to fore-go the day to Ephesus and the visit to the site of the Temple of Diane, one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Instead, we spent a delightful day in near perfect weather, walking along the coastal road out to the island fort where not a single pigeon did we see! We wandered through the very quiet but quaint town. Most shops boarded up for the winter. The difficulty of finding a post office or post box for our postcards to grandchildren had us climbing ever upwards along wriggly narrow streets that seemed to be owned by long legged chickens. Some, curiously peeking down at us from stone walls that concealed tiny roosting yards. Chancing on a textile market in a side street we happily enjoyed the sights and sounds of Turkish women nosing around for bargains with no sign of any pressure to buy. Dinner that night was ours to find and out on the streets we bumped into two ladies from our tour group looking for a restaurant they had been recommended by a shoe salesman. We ended up joining Lise, a Norwegian and Brea from Melbourne to experience a delightful night out together. Our friendly and most obliging waiter not only dashed into town to find Brea some freshly made Turkish Buklava, he spoilt us with a complimentary platter of fruits and delicious apple tea to end the evening.
From Kusadasi we turned east, heading inland, the weather cold with a strong likelihood of rain; Burcu chatting away about all sorts of things as we entered the most fertile region in Turkey known as the “Greek Meander”. Large quantities of figs are grown in the Aydin area and one of the important social events in winter intrigued George - camel wrestling! Coinciding with the breeding season the testosterone charged male camels are encouraged to fight in a specially built arena and any ‘retired’ camels, too old to be used for this purpose, are turned into sausages. Passing stork nests on the top of pylons and roof tops we were told of the superstition that surrounds them – no-one contemplates interfering with them for fear of the bad luck it brings. The first stop of the day was Aphrodisias – the remains of an ancient city (once with a population of c. 15 000) dating back to the 1st – 6th centuries BC. Excavated by an American archaeologist, Prof. Kenan Erim, who so loved the place that he now lies buried in the grounds, near the tall spirally carved columns of the Temple of Aphrodite. We found the sight of so many beautifully carved pieces of marble and ornate sarcophaguses lying uniformly stacked out in the open puzzling. Unable to credit such treasures being allowed to continue weathering although the cats and kittens galore clambering amongst them provided the cutest photo opportunities. One kitten stole George’s heart when it followed us all the way to the temple. It began drizzling and with snow on the surrounding mountains it was easy to feel chilled. Everyone began wondering if George would manage to part with his little ginger puss purring and pummelling away at his chest in sheer delight when he sheltered it under his jacket.
A besotted George playing with the kitten in the Amphitheatre of Aphrodisias.The excellent on-site museum gave us respite from the bitter cold and wet and we soon forgot about the bounty outside as the museum pieces on display were awesome. Lunch at a nearby restaurant brought welcome succour with its central fire to warm us. A lone minstrel with a parrot perched on his head entertained us with his music creating a lovely atmosphere in this rural eating house that seemed out in the middle of no where although actually was on the edge of a nearby village. Our Turkish hosts produced a visual menu of the food on offer in its raw form, from a large trolley. A wonderful array of dishes to suit degrees of hunger and pocket, while introducing us to the cuisine of the area, all freshly cooked in record time to have our whole group well fed and watered within the allotted time.
Some snoozed as we drove along valley floors through the snow-capped mountains of the Denizli area towards Pamukkale – We had seen tufa falls (also known as travertine dams) in Queensland, Australia but nothing prepared us for the totally unexpected and massive transformation of the landscape. The sight of the “cotton castles”- white terraces of tufa formed by calcite rich water, cascading over miniature waterfalls down the mountainside, left us spellbound. Simply describing them certainly doesn’t do justice to their magnitude.
Some snoozed as we drove along valley floors through the snow-capped mountains of the Denizli area towards Pamukkale – We had seen tufa falls (also known as travertine dams) in Queensland, Australia but nothing prepared us for the totally unexpected and massive transformation of the landscape. The sight of the “cotton castles”- white terraces of tufa formed by calcite rich water, cascading over miniature waterfalls down the mountainside, left us spellbound. Simply describing them certainly doesn’t do justice to their magnitude.
Lea peering down onto a portion of the white encrusted terraces of Pamukkale. Immediately behind the terraces of tufa lay the remains of the city of Heirapolis (3rd century AD) abandoned after an earthquake in the 14th century, an enormous settlement with temples (the Temple of Apollo), amphitheatres and baths centred upon the healing properties of the hot springs. George was intrigued by the geo-hydrology of the site and felt frustrated by the lack of explanation on this subject. These days the terraces are supplied with water distributed artificially from the spring to maintain them. Recent hotels built on the site were pulled down because of the adverse effect they were thought to be having on the hydrological regime. We decided to split up as George was keen to find out more in the museum while Lea was happy, simply enjoying the unbelievable vistas of this area in the fast fading light.
We’d love to have taken a swim amongst the sunken columns of the mineral pools.
Twice she returned to the Museum entrance hoping to find George and encourage him to get to the thermal baths before our time was up. No one had come across him... When time came to gather at the meeting spot George was still no where in sight. Burcu counted everyone and sent them on the walk back to our coach. Still no George! Fighting panic, Lea ran through the gloom checking out all the closing sites – no sign of him. Eventually Jean from Guernsey and Lea began the long walk back to the coach while Burcu checked in with Baki, the Driver. Turned out George had made his way back to the coach at nightfall not realising everyone was waiting at the designated meeting point. Only when Baki came over to ask if he was “George”, did he realise something was wrong... A forty minute delay but the missing man was safe!
Our hotel, Herkales Thermal Hotel, had a basement pool fed by the hot spring (temp. at source 55°C!) and monitored by medical staff. We hadn’t taken swimming costumes so we looked forward to making use of the brass tap in our bathroom which brought water directly from the spring, later that night. So while most dashed off to enjoy the main pool, we couldn’t resist a walk down to the village square of Karahayit where we thoroughly enjoyed the mystical atmosphere created by its spring fed fountain on the main street steaming into the cold night air, the much amplified wails of the local muezzin at the mosque and the many small shops branching off, particularly one we stopped at with an amazing display of spices, the owner keeping us sniffing at this and that until his mobile rang! Hunger drew us back to a wonderful buffet with live music at our hotel and to close the day despite the rather daunting warnings about not staying in for longer than 20 minutes and the likes of us, over 60 needing to seek the advice of a doctor we took a mineral bath. Not as relaxing as we’d hoped because the heat came no where near expectations!
Our scheduled hotel in Konya had been unexpectedly commandeered by a Government Ministry and we were warned to expect a long drive of 660km next day which had us off to a very early start. The morning mists didn’t lift as the surrounding countryside was enveloped in a thick fog that little could be seen for the first couple of hours – passing through farmlands used mainly for the cultivation of cotton and opium poppies, the latter apparently being grown under strict supervision. Apart from poppy farmers being allowed to shoot intruders, the lands are also patrolled by military police. Climbing through bleak mountainous country, the occasional marble quarry was of interest and coloured markers on the verges of the road indicated heavy snow falls are commonly experienced. During a comfort stop we saw a small leopard skin behind glass – an animal, apparently on the brink of extinction, referred to as an Anatolian panther in this part of the world! Although fallow during winter every inch of the broad valley floors we travelled along had been transformed by the hand of man, used almost entirely for the production of wheat and sugar beet and regarded as the bread basket of Turkey. As the plains are treeless the locals are said to use cattle dung for heating and yet, for the past four days, we had seen no sign of cattle grazing in any fields. This leg of the journey seemed a good place for nodding off, safe in the knowledge one would miss nothing. However, it was at this point that Burcu started to tell us about the Whirling Dervishes – a religious group once led by a radical old Islamic fundamentalist called Rumi, whose headquarters lay in the city that we were steadily heading towards - Konya, one of the oldest urban centres in the world and 6th largest town in Turkey. Followers of Rumi, from all over the world were descending on Konya hence no room for us. As a result we were just stopping to visit the Mevlana museum. Here, we had to wear plastic galoshes over our shoes; and although no photos could be taken, it amazed us to see the request openly abused by some visitors. Mobile camera makes it all too easy! The smallest Koran ever written with the aid of a hair amazed us! This minute book caused the illustrator to go blind such was the eye strain. Many pilgrims could be found praying around a box containing a piece of the Prophet Mohammed’s beard!
It was almost dark by the time we left Konya, heading for Avanos and the region of Cappadocia but we just managed to catch sight of the snow capped volcanic ranges that had been responsible for spewing layer upon layer of ash and lava over the region. Crossing the Konya Plains we were made aware that we were following the ancient Silk Road trade route used by the camel caravans over centuries and the likes of Marco Polo. As camel caravans were open to attack by marauding bandits the Ottoman Empire began building fortresses every 40-60km along the road to shelter the caravans, providing guards as well. Some of these forts still stand and we’d visit one on the morrow. By the time we reached Avanos, it was pitched dark and after more than eight hours sitting on the coach we were relieved to be staying put in the Cappadocia region for the next two days. A 9.00am start next day seemed bliss!
By now, our fellow passengers, 30 in all and a real mix of nationalities from the UK, Australia, Pakistan, Philippines, Canada, Japan, Egypt, India and the Channel Islands had become familiar faces to us all. Some of course, were distinctive by their habits like the dear old Pakistani lady who felt quite comfortable belching and burping whenever she felt like it; Riley who’d been a gardener in a monastery for 20 years, kept having panic attacks yet stood out from day one as she marched around in her Turkish military cap bought in Gallipoli. She was accompanied by her larger than life pal Heather, always beautifully dressed that she could easily be mistaken for a film star – probably vaudeville when she spoke! An Indian lady and her son, about to start medicine – both avid photographers would shoot off the bus the moment it came to a stand still and yet kept us patiently waiting beyond departure time taking photos of everything they saw including each plate of food. They seemed permanently asleep on the bus with their seats tilted back making it difficult for those seated behind them. Not to mention two grey nomads of “no fixed abode” whom everyone found a bit odd. Time passes easily people watching!
The first stop next day was Saruhan, one of the old fortresses built to safeguard the Caravans on the Silk Road. Built in 1259 out of blocks of tufa and carefully restored, it was a particularly magnificent looking building, with its clean lines, enclosed courtyard and arched bays where the camels would sleep with their drivers to maintain warmth in winter. A regular venue for the Whirling Dervishes – we were all so intrigued in this religious ceremony that Bercu bought a DVD of the Dervishes whirling at Saruhan, to show on the coach.
Our hotel, Herkales Thermal Hotel, had a basement pool fed by the hot spring (temp. at source 55°C!) and monitored by medical staff. We hadn’t taken swimming costumes so we looked forward to making use of the brass tap in our bathroom which brought water directly from the spring, later that night. So while most dashed off to enjoy the main pool, we couldn’t resist a walk down to the village square of Karahayit where we thoroughly enjoyed the mystical atmosphere created by its spring fed fountain on the main street steaming into the cold night air, the much amplified wails of the local muezzin at the mosque and the many small shops branching off, particularly one we stopped at with an amazing display of spices, the owner keeping us sniffing at this and that until his mobile rang! Hunger drew us back to a wonderful buffet with live music at our hotel and to close the day despite the rather daunting warnings about not staying in for longer than 20 minutes and the likes of us, over 60 needing to seek the advice of a doctor we took a mineral bath. Not as relaxing as we’d hoped because the heat came no where near expectations!
Our scheduled hotel in Konya had been unexpectedly commandeered by a Government Ministry and we were warned to expect a long drive of 660km next day which had us off to a very early start. The morning mists didn’t lift as the surrounding countryside was enveloped in a thick fog that little could be seen for the first couple of hours – passing through farmlands used mainly for the cultivation of cotton and opium poppies, the latter apparently being grown under strict supervision. Apart from poppy farmers being allowed to shoot intruders, the lands are also patrolled by military police. Climbing through bleak mountainous country, the occasional marble quarry was of interest and coloured markers on the verges of the road indicated heavy snow falls are commonly experienced. During a comfort stop we saw a small leopard skin behind glass – an animal, apparently on the brink of extinction, referred to as an Anatolian panther in this part of the world! Although fallow during winter every inch of the broad valley floors we travelled along had been transformed by the hand of man, used almost entirely for the production of wheat and sugar beet and regarded as the bread basket of Turkey. As the plains are treeless the locals are said to use cattle dung for heating and yet, for the past four days, we had seen no sign of cattle grazing in any fields. This leg of the journey seemed a good place for nodding off, safe in the knowledge one would miss nothing. However, it was at this point that Burcu started to tell us about the Whirling Dervishes – a religious group once led by a radical old Islamic fundamentalist called Rumi, whose headquarters lay in the city that we were steadily heading towards - Konya, one of the oldest urban centres in the world and 6th largest town in Turkey. Followers of Rumi, from all over the world were descending on Konya hence no room for us. As a result we were just stopping to visit the Mevlana museum. Here, we had to wear plastic galoshes over our shoes; and although no photos could be taken, it amazed us to see the request openly abused by some visitors. Mobile camera makes it all too easy! The smallest Koran ever written with the aid of a hair amazed us! This minute book caused the illustrator to go blind such was the eye strain. Many pilgrims could be found praying around a box containing a piece of the Prophet Mohammed’s beard!
It was almost dark by the time we left Konya, heading for Avanos and the region of Cappadocia but we just managed to catch sight of the snow capped volcanic ranges that had been responsible for spewing layer upon layer of ash and lava over the region. Crossing the Konya Plains we were made aware that we were following the ancient Silk Road trade route used by the camel caravans over centuries and the likes of Marco Polo. As camel caravans were open to attack by marauding bandits the Ottoman Empire began building fortresses every 40-60km along the road to shelter the caravans, providing guards as well. Some of these forts still stand and we’d visit one on the morrow. By the time we reached Avanos, it was pitched dark and after more than eight hours sitting on the coach we were relieved to be staying put in the Cappadocia region for the next two days. A 9.00am start next day seemed bliss!
By now, our fellow passengers, 30 in all and a real mix of nationalities from the UK, Australia, Pakistan, Philippines, Canada, Japan, Egypt, India and the Channel Islands had become familiar faces to us all. Some of course, were distinctive by their habits like the dear old Pakistani lady who felt quite comfortable belching and burping whenever she felt like it; Riley who’d been a gardener in a monastery for 20 years, kept having panic attacks yet stood out from day one as she marched around in her Turkish military cap bought in Gallipoli. She was accompanied by her larger than life pal Heather, always beautifully dressed that she could easily be mistaken for a film star – probably vaudeville when she spoke! An Indian lady and her son, about to start medicine – both avid photographers would shoot off the bus the moment it came to a stand still and yet kept us patiently waiting beyond departure time taking photos of everything they saw including each plate of food. They seemed permanently asleep on the bus with their seats tilted back making it difficult for those seated behind them. Not to mention two grey nomads of “no fixed abode” whom everyone found a bit odd. Time passes easily people watching!
The first stop next day was Saruhan, one of the old fortresses built to safeguard the Caravans on the Silk Road. Built in 1259 out of blocks of tufa and carefully restored, it was a particularly magnificent looking building, with its clean lines, enclosed courtyard and arched bays where the camels would sleep with their drivers to maintain warmth in winter. A regular venue for the Whirling Dervishes – we were all so intrigued in this religious ceremony that Bercu bought a DVD of the Dervishes whirling at Saruhan, to show on the coach.
The great Agzikarahan ‘Caravanserai’ Saruhan. Thereafter we went to Goreme, a World Heritage Site listed in 1955, to see the incredible array of rock cut shelters and churches that lie within the site’s spectacularly eroded landscape. Settled largely by monks and nuns in the 4th - 8th centuries AD, at one stage there were up to 100 000 Christians living there. The inhabitants had dug sleeping quarters, interconnected by passages, ramps and staircases deep within the wind and water worn pinnacle-shaped rocks that dominated the landscape - a landscape reminiscent in some respects of the Bungle Bungles in WA, while the shelters reminded us of the underground houses we’d seen in Cooper Pedy, Central Australia even the homes cut into the sand stone mountains of New Mexico, not far from Albuquerque. Recesses had been carved into the walls of the rooms to serve as storage spaces. Long tables carved from solid rock and pits dug into the floors to create ovens. Many of the excavations made inside the rocks have been exposed by the inexorable process of erosion. George was not impressed by the efforts to prevent further erosion by spraying slurries of cement over the rocks. It didn’t look good and apparently hadn’t worked anyway. Interestingly, many of the entrances to the rock shelters had been blocked off by the locals and used as pigeon shelters – the pigeon droppings collected and sold as fertiliser. A product said to be much favoured by rose growers.
The Goreme Historical National Park is said to contain 360 small rock cut churches – a few of which we visited to see the frescoes painted on the ceilings.
A visit to Sentez carpet factory followed, allowing us to watch women weaving woollen, cotton and silk carpets following designs so intricate that carpets take up to 8 months to complete. Watching cocoons of silk, farmed in Bursa, being boiled and stripped of silk before being led into a showroom and treated to refreshments before salesmen smoothly showed us through massive showrooms to see the vast variety of carpets now at discount prices for the end of season! The likes of us caravan dwellers were not the sort of clients they expected but it was an impressive display of marketing none the less.
Continuing the exploration of the Cappadocia region from our base in Avanos we went to the Valley of Imagination and gazed out at the pageant of eroded, multi-coloured pinnacles shining in the bright morning light. It was here that Lea politely reprimanded our Indian lady after she had failed to have the courtesy to thank a motorist who had patiently stopped and waited for her to finish taking photographs from the middle of the main road! This little incident swept around the bus and Lea was surprised by the congratulations she received.
The Valley of the Fairy Chimneys (locally known as Pasabagi) was our next stop, and was just as impressive in spite of the strong, cold wind that suddenly materialised out of nowhere, leading to rain. The tiny Pasabagi police station carved out of a cone shaped rock with a row of cells beside definitely tickled our fancy.
Roaming amongst the Fairy Chimneys Behind a storekeeper’s shack, we came up close and personal with a big yellow Anatolian shepherd dog wearing a spiky collar, their protection against wolves or should they get into a dog fight. We were not inclined to get too close to the animal for a photo. The weather had certainly taken a turn for the worse that we were quick to get back into the warmth of our coach especially higher up at the huge Fortress of Uchusar with its multitude of rock cut shelters where the wind was biting. A cosy visit to Turquoise-land, a jewellery factory, was more than welcome to escape the vicious chill. By the time we came out for lunch in a restaurant over the road with a stunning view overlooking a deep ravine, Pigeon Valley, it had begun to snow! Enough snow fell for Burcu and Baki to have a snow ball fight.
The afternoon was spent visiting the underground city of Ozkonak – where once again an enormous settlement resembling a gigantic wombat warren had been excavated underground, carved from solid rock. Quite remarkable and ingenious were the enormous round stones which could be rolled into place and jammed close to seal off passages in the event of attack. Finally, to end a busy day we called in at a pottery factory in Avanos – Vanessa Ceramics where we found that their clay was taken from the banks of the Red river that flowed through Avanos (the largest river in Turkey). The standard of their work incredible! We watched potters at their wheels shaping vases and plates (sadly a dying trade normally passed on from father to son); watched an artist painstakingly drawing a design onto a plate, something that takes up to three months to complete; with others painting the pottery prior to glazing. The prices beyond our purse!
Cappadocia had been another incredible place to visit but it was time to move on to Ankara, the capital city of Turkey. The land on either side of the road was covered in snow and other than passing an enormous salt lake on the other side of Aksaray, the second largest wetland in Turkey (inhabited by flamingos) the journey was unremarkable as land as flat as a pancake contained nothing but empty (harvested) fields. Little to hold our interest, Burcu played the DVD about Whirling Dervishes – the slow swirling actually proved to be monotonous.
Being the seat of government Ankara was characterised by buildings containing various ministries, embassies, universities and such like, as well as the headquarters of the Turkish Army - noting in passing that a period of 15 months military training is mandatory for all men up the age of 40. Once we’d checked into the hotel we rugged up in our warmest clothes and caught a taxi to Ataturk’s Mausoleum to save on precious daylight while keeping a beady eye on the road travelled in order to be able to walk back to the hotel afterwards. In spite of the crowds of visitors and noisy school groups we found the Mausoleum absolutely fascinating. We made sure to return to a little cinema for the English presentation film on Ataturk providing most informative panoramas of the famous battles fought and won, man of his commands “I don’t order you to attack, I order you to die” included. Literally everything one would want to know about Mustafa Kemal from the various reforms he’d brought about, to his personal cars, favourite dog (stuffed) and shaving kit was here! We consider him to be a remarkable man and rank him up there with Ghandi and Mandela.
The afternoon was spent visiting the underground city of Ozkonak – where once again an enormous settlement resembling a gigantic wombat warren had been excavated underground, carved from solid rock. Quite remarkable and ingenious were the enormous round stones which could be rolled into place and jammed close to seal off passages in the event of attack. Finally, to end a busy day we called in at a pottery factory in Avanos – Vanessa Ceramics where we found that their clay was taken from the banks of the Red river that flowed through Avanos (the largest river in Turkey). The standard of their work incredible! We watched potters at their wheels shaping vases and plates (sadly a dying trade normally passed on from father to son); watched an artist painstakingly drawing a design onto a plate, something that takes up to three months to complete; with others painting the pottery prior to glazing. The prices beyond our purse!
Cappadocia had been another incredible place to visit but it was time to move on to Ankara, the capital city of Turkey. The land on either side of the road was covered in snow and other than passing an enormous salt lake on the other side of Aksaray, the second largest wetland in Turkey (inhabited by flamingos) the journey was unremarkable as land as flat as a pancake contained nothing but empty (harvested) fields. Little to hold our interest, Burcu played the DVD about Whirling Dervishes – the slow swirling actually proved to be monotonous.
Being the seat of government Ankara was characterised by buildings containing various ministries, embassies, universities and such like, as well as the headquarters of the Turkish Army - noting in passing that a period of 15 months military training is mandatory for all men up the age of 40. Once we’d checked into the hotel we rugged up in our warmest clothes and caught a taxi to Ataturk’s Mausoleum to save on precious daylight while keeping a beady eye on the road travelled in order to be able to walk back to the hotel afterwards. In spite of the crowds of visitors and noisy school groups we found the Mausoleum absolutely fascinating. We made sure to return to a little cinema for the English presentation film on Ataturk providing most informative panoramas of the famous battles fought and won, man of his commands “I don’t order you to attack, I order you to die” included. Literally everything one would want to know about Mustafa Kemal from the various reforms he’d brought about, to his personal cars, favourite dog (stuffed) and shaving kit was here! We consider him to be a remarkable man and rank him up there with Ghandi and Mandela.
We were lucky to present when the changing of the guard ceremony took place – soldiers from the navy, army and air force all high-stepping across the enormous square in front of building containing his 40 ton marble sarcophagus, before taking up duty in a small, glassed sentry boxes.
Predictably, on our walk back to the hotel we got lost in the streets of Ankara – but with the directions received from several kind people we eventually made it, cold and tired. We had a nice big room in the hotel only to find there was no English channel on the TV; no bedside lights (which meant we could not read) and a measure of panic when the hot tap in the bathroom would not turn off!
Minus 3°C temperatures, frost everywhere and as we left the city of Ankara most cars passing us had their roofs covered in ice. Once in the countryside the only signs of life in the frost covered fields were a few tell tale trail of molehills and a couple of miserable looking house crows and sparrows. We were off to visit places of childhood stories- King Midas, the ruler of Phyrigia (central Anatolia) who’d wished that everything he touched would turn to gold and the Gordion Knot which had been tied so tightly that whoever could undo it was destined to rule the world (the knot was subsequently cut by Alexander the Great after his conquest of the Persian Empire, thereby sealing his fate as the Master of Asia). Our first stop was at Gordion to see the Tomb of Gordios, which like the many other tombs in the area dated back to Phyrigian times (1 200BC). Most of the tombs had long since been plundered by robbers, but in 1957 archaeologists excavated a 53m high earth mound (or tumulus) and we were able to use the tunnel they had built to see the burial chamber. There the heavy beams (tree trunks) used as the roof and walls of the burial chamber were, to George’s mind, yet another perfect example of how the climate had changed since those days.
While on our way to Bursa, the first capital city of the Ottoman Empire, famous for its hot springs and Turkish Baths – we passed through Esikidehir (population 600 000) and couldn’t help admiring how since the War of Independence (1923), Turkey has managed to claw its way back from being the so called "Sick man of Europe" to a nation that now builds F16 jet fighters (irrespective of the assistance it receives from the USA because of Turkey’s strategic location next to Syria and the Middle East), has thriving ceramic, car, textile, electronic and glass industries, with exports worldwide; and every sign of its roads, railways and towns rapidly growing and improving. Bursa, set amongst snow capped mountains was another busy place and as soon as we had booked into our centrally situated Kervansaray Hotel, we were whisked off to see the 20 dome mosque built after the defeat of the Crusaders in 1599 that dominated the cityscape nearby. Being the first mosque George had ever set foot inside – shoeless of course. He was most curious especially when he had to carry his shoes with the soles facing each other not to mention the enormous carpet with lines on dictating the space available for each worshipper. Later, as it grew dark, we walked back to the hotel via Kozahan, the ancient Cocoon Market built in 1491.
A view of the beautiful old Silk Market overlooking the massive inner courtyard and little shops in every archway selling scarves, not once were we hassled by the salesmen.
Markets lined the streets and amongst all the hustle and bustle we couldn’t help but admire the men darting perilously about with trays of hot tea or coffee. Sales are competitive because shops are grouped together accordingly, all the gold shops here, all the towels shops there. Oh my goodness how ornate the linen was - decorative silver and gold threads glittered everywhere.
The last leg, back to Istanbul had us catching a ferry across the Sea of Marmara saving 1,5 hours of road travel. As we approached Istanbul the traffic grew steadily heavier – the congestion on the freeway (as in South Africa) allowed street sellers the opportunity to nip in and out of the traffic selling their wares of cell phone chargers, bottled water etcetera. We drove directly to the Blue Mosque, a huge 6 minaret mosque that had taken seven years to build. We coincided with the call to midday prayers and were treated to the tremulous wailing of two muezzins, competing with one another. We marked time by visiting the Roman Hippodrome, once a stadium for 100 000 people to watch athletics and horse (chariot) racing close by. Once in side the Blue Mosque we were intrigued by the problem they had keeping such an enormous space free of spider webs, more especially the solution of putting crushed ostrich eggs into the plaster!
Taking the optional cruise of the Bosphorus everyone recommended proved disappointing as the weather started to close in – the clouds getting lower and lower, followed by rain. As a result our two hour boat trip up the European shore of the Bosphorus and back along the Asian shore was not seen at its best. At least we gained an idea of the places and obtained fresh views of the last Sultan’s palace and where his harem were housed, the bridges across the Bosphorus and the ship that Ataturk once used for pleasure cruises.
We’d also paid for the optional Istanbul by Night with dinner and Show – This, like the Discover Cappadocia optional tour proved to be money well spent and a marvellous way of ending our tour. We were given an excellent four course meal, with drinks provided, live music, a waiter that made a rabbit from Lea’s napkin and gave her heart failure by snatching her bowl of ice-cream and fruit salad away just as he had handed it to her, and an evening of entertainment that we are unlikely to forget in a hurry.
Folk dancers caught Lea unawares when one of the men took her hand and led her on stage.
We were fascinated by a blindfolded a man using his mouth to peg flaming daggers into a plank of wood balanced on his mate’s stomach; a multi-lingual comedian entertained us by singing and joking in every language according to the nationalities in the restaurant. It was the belly dancing that had us entranced. We’d never seen the like and the drumming accompanying the belly dancers was phenomenal. The synchrony achieved between drum-beat and dancer’s movements, an absolute joy to behold. George decided there and then he’d like to become a belly dance drummer! Definitely a most memorable night out.
For our last day in Turkey we made our own way to the nearest tram stop. While puzzling over how to purchase jetons (coupons) necessary for the tram, a Turkish couple promptly fed coins into the machine and gave us our first set, refusing payment. Throughout our time in Turkey we were taken by the friendly and kindly Turks- this considerate gesture doubly reinforced our high regard for them. Our intention to visit the Palace of Topkapi was knocked on the head at the entrance by the high cost of the entry tickets and walked on to the Grand Bazaar instead. 4000 tiny shops interconnected by a maze of passages and we bump into a Sydney born Turk, hospitably he insisted come to his carpet shop for a rose tea. The Spice Bazaar was another vibrant place seething with throngs of people buying and selling every conceivable type of merchandise, their wares often spilling out onto the pavements. We witnessed a cat fight going on inside an old cemetery and had a good laugh over the body language of cats. On another occasion our eyes caught sight of a cat curled up asleep at the feet of its grain-selling owner, quite oblivious to the mad fluttering of pigeons flocking all around it. After 6 hours of pounding the pavements, we caught a funicular up to Taksim Square, a spot we decided really had nothing to recommend it as an icy wind cut through our clothing and promptly returned the way we had arrived and made a bee-line for the shelter of the hotel. With just enough for a toasted cheese sandwich for supper – our trip to Turkey all but finally over. The weather report for Europe didn’t look good and we wondered if we’d have delays... Baki dropped us all off at the airport where, after checking in, we found ourselves being shunted from one end of the building to the other as the airport authorities kept changing our departure gate. Eventually 1.5 hours over time we were airborne. Any glimpse of land below was blanketed in snow. By the time we’d passed through immigration and collected our luggage, we’d missed our train to Cleethorpes. An hour later, the next train had us travelling through a winter wonderland. Dan arrived to collect us and drove us through an icy white landscape all the way home. This was the start of the BIG FREEZE.
A Christmas atmosphere prevailed and the arrival of Lea’s sister, Leecy, from Australia added to the excitement of the festive season.
Snow that usually melted away as fast as it arrived was building up and we enjoyed the exhilaration of snow fights with the grandchildren.
Westfield Farm lit up with lights, merry noise especially over non-stop games of Bananagrams and wonderful aromas. This more than trebled, when the next sister Holly and her daughter Talya arrived from Cape Town joined by our niece Carmen from London. Life revolved around wonderful family time - too much shopping, eating and drinking was counteracted by walks over the Lincolnshire Wolds. Quite the best experience turned out to be the daily swims in John Ramsden’s heated pool with the mists rising mystically around us and as we exercised to glorious classical music we all believed we were in seventh heaven.
Walking in the WoldsWe saw the old year out in joyous style – we were fortunate to survive all the dire predictions following the World’s financial collapse and we could but hope that the gathering of family here boded well for 2010.
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