Travelpalooza Part IX

Last day of the trip! Blase, Maeghan and I left the hotel early to go to the harbor and take better pictures of Brad Pitt's Horse. Aside from getting from decidedly wacky looks from the locals, I think one could call the excursion a success.

And here I present Maeghan and Blase, performing a ninja-meets-pterodactyl fusion. Yeah, I don't know, either.


And myself.


So we found these massive chains laying out by the harbor, and Blase got to clowning around, and...


And then we hopped on a ferry...


...and went to Gallipolli.


In 1915, the British and French launched the Dardanelles Campaign in hopes of capturing Istanbul (then Constantinople), gaining access to Russia, and generally probe the "soft underbelly" of Europe. They started the attack at Gallipoli, planning to take the Dardanelles before launching an attack on Istanbul. It...didn't work. After approximately eight months of fighting, 21,000 British, 10,000 French, 8,700 Australians, 2,700 New Zealanders and 1,370 Indians were dead. So were 86,700 Turks. The Allies never took Gallipoli. The date of withdrawal of the Allied troops - ANZAC Day - remains an important day in the national consciousness of Turks, Australians, and New Zealanders - all nations that entered WWI as part of an empire and ended the war as independent nations. Today, the beaches and banks around Gallipoli's North Cove are an incorporated park and monument.

This is monument features part of a speech by Ataturk:


"Those heroes that shed their blood
And lost their lives...
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.
Therefore rest in peace.
There is no difference between the Johnnies
And the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side
Here in this country of ours...
You, the mothers...
Who sent their sons from far-away countries
Wipe away your tears,
Your sons are now lying in our bosom
And are in peace,
After having lost their lives on this land they have
Become our sons as well."
- Ataturk, 1934


This is the grave of Private H.J. Buron, of the 23rd BN. Australian Infantry. Date of death is November 30, 1915 (age 18) and the inscription reads: "Only a boy but died as a man for liberty and freedom / His mum & dad".


The statue in this picture is of Ataturk, founder of the Turkish republic. He made his name at Gallipoli.


The trenches have been more or less preserved.




We found the New Zealand section. Note the Maori regiment.


This is the youngest New Zealander we could find: Private M. A. Persson out of the Wellington regiment. Date of death August 8, 1915. He was 17. Most of the graves were for 18-24 year-olds, although a number were much older.


The Brits imported a few thousand Gurkhas out of Indian, and they alos have their own division in the cemetary. This is the grave of Punahang Limbu, date of death August 10, 1915. No age is given.


I believe I've mentioned this before, but if anyone has even a passing interest in Gallipoli, the founding of Turkey, or simply a truly excellent story with accompanying excellent storytelling, give Louis de Bernières Birds Without Wings a read.

Back in transit to Istanbul. This is how you sleep on a bus when you're sick of half-falling off the seats when the bus goes around corners.


We left those who lived on the European side at Taksim Square before leaving for the Asian dropoff point.


And that's the end.

Travelpalooza - Part VIII

01st February: Izmir - Çanakkale
Pergamon Tour, visiting Acropol, Asclepion, Theatre, The Agora and Ancient City of Pergamon. Followed by tour of Troy if time allows [where the long-suffering guide will repeatedly confuse Iliad and Aeneid, much to Carly's everlasting consternation].

So, to keep it simple, we went to Pergamon, city of really chilly wind on a really high hilltop. I would have abandoned it, too. That place was cold.










Shrubbery escaped from the set of Farscape:


Remember the rags-on-trees thing I mentioned in the last post? Same idea here:


Another theater:


Following Pergamon, we departed for Asklepion, alleged home of Asclepius, the master healer that Zeus eventually dispatched because Asclepius could bring back the dead and Hades throwing a fit becausehis kingdom was being depleted. Then Zeus stuck Asclepius in the sky as the constellation constellation Ophiuchus. Suitable recompense? You decide.

The Asklepion was a very short and somewhat uneasy tour: a military installation surrounds it on three sides, with sentries posted to make sure that no one takes pictures of the installation (one wonders about the decision process that placed a major base next to a major tourist attraction). So not only can you not take pictures for quite a lot of it, you can also hear gunfire from the base's range.

Yeah, mildly disconcerting.

Also, we were whirlwinding through it in an effort to make it to Troy (dude! Troy!) before dark, so really we had the nickel tour and got back on the bus.



A column with an inferiority complex:


Looks a little like the ruins of Skara Brae:


Hannah, rockin' the Unabomber look again:


Mattie. Bubbles. I sense wacky hijinks in the near future:


Can the Rotex Chaperone, having his Leonardo DeCaprio moment:


Following Asklepion: TROY. Where the guide repeatedly confused Iliad and Aeneid, to my loud, everlasting, and profound irritation...but it was still pretty cool. And the sun finally came out after two days of overcast, so that was good!

The horse. I hate this horse. The Aeneid describes a horse "woven" of either oak or pine or possibly both. Nowhere in that text is a massive outhouse with legs and a tail referenced:


Garet described this as his 300 moment. I didn't say anything. I was really proud of myself:


The view from the wildly inaccurate horse:


And, of course, the flags had to come out. Except Canada, who couldn't be bothered. Go figure.


Finally, we got away from the outhouse described as a horse, and to the legitimately historical part of the tour:













These diagrams and markers indicate the four stages and forty-six levels of Troy. Clearly, this site was designed to keep children from ever wanting to be archeologists.



This next section is for you noisy lot who were complaining that there were never any pictures of me on this blog. Here, Maeghan got hold of my camera, and refused to give it back.




I mean, really refused. Even when I was walking at her to wrest it from her viselike Candian grip.





Having eventually recovered my camera, Maeghan and I rejoined the group, with whom we wandered further before the rangers chased us out. Apparently it was closing time. We migrated to the hotel in nearbye Çanakkale. Now, some of you rather well-versed on pop culture will know that some moons ago, there was a movie with the rather self-explanatory title of Troy, starring the Farrell that isn't Will, Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie, and a rather large wooden horse. After filming wrapped, the producers donated the horse to the town of Çanakkale, where it resides with the local moniker of "Brad Pitt's Horse." Maeghan and went on a late-night photography expedition to find it. It was pretty cool (and vastly more historically accurate. I hate it when the movies trump the museums for accuracy).


And tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel...things take a turn for the sobering at Gallipoli.