Maribibi_travels

Canakkale, where I stayed to visit the Galipolli Peninsula and the ruins of Troy, is a very lively student town – there is drumming and whooping going on outside right now, , midnight (the hotel is sandwiched between the seaside promenade/port and the main drag). Had a chat with a medical student in the fish restaurant (VERY nice food, and good Suvla wine); spent a couple of hours with a young chap learning English; met an Erasmus student from Germany, taking her mum around the sites; and on the ferry to Eceabat, the Galipolli side of the Dardanelles, a flattering chat (they liked my fair looks – this was the third time someone spontaneously commented on it, which takes getting used to) with a bunch of high school girls on a school trip.

The only available trip to the killing fields was to the Anzac area, joining a group of 3 Aussies. The guide (from TJ travel, a sort of Aussie outfit) was excellent, and presented what was an enormous amount of facts, data and detail in a clear and engaging way – having just the four of us to talk to made it a lot easier, and he could answer all questions.

Almost 200.000 men lost their lives here. The poignancy of those small grave stones denoting lost lives, the futility of the war, the arrogance of those sitting in the capitals of Europe carving the Ottoman empire on their maps while sipping port or cognac.

The Allies were much quicker in honouring their dead here than the Turks, putting up memorials and gravestones – that has been reme. But this was where Mehmet Kemal aka Ataturk (‘the father of Turks’) made his name. His photos and sculptures are everywhere – the Turks truly honour and love him – he created the new, secular, democratic Turkey and one of the keystones of his programme was the change in the Turkish script (which had been a confusing mixture) to a simple 26 letter alphabet, which helped grow literacy (I read this) from 2% in the 30’s, to 98% + now. I’m not going to comment on the current political trend.

We had such a beautiful, sunny day; so sad thinking of those young men ordered to get over the parapet and die, for a couple of yards which were lost the next day

Troy is now a site a long way inland, showing 9 layers of various civilisations over some 5000 – 6000 years, from Stone Age to the Romans. Wars, fires, earthquakes, more wars.

One man is still very much a thorn in the side of the Turkish Ministry of Antiquities: Mr Schliemann, a late 19 ct German treasure hunter (definitely not an archeologist) seems to have been given a permission to dig here and he found gold and jewellery – he thought it was “Priam’s Treasure” (it wasn’t) and took it to Germany (they say he stole it); it disappeared after the WW2, only to reappear in the Pushkin Museum in Moscow some time later… and they are not giving it back.

Off to Selcuk and Ephesus next.

Very slowly, getting to grips with Turkish – thank goodness for Google translate! (Hello from Istanbul)

I shan’t go into the BA flight to Istanbul fun (total delay some 3 hours…), though having to change the nose wheel on the plane while all the passengers are on board made me wonder about their maintenance schedule… So we hit the rush hour in a city of 20 million: sure, it is messy everywhere, but I’ve not seen the kind of squeezing into spaces that cars do in Istanbul since Colombia. (And yes, the cars are all scratched :))

Staying in the old part of town on the European side – in Balat, full of colourful houses (both in the way they are painted and in the state of dilapidation), all hills and cobbles, cats and sea views. The guides tell you that Istanbul, like Rome, was built on seven hills. It feels like many more, and steep they are too.

Done the must-do visits: the Aya Sofia, the Blue Mosque, Suleymania Mosque, the Basilica Cistern, Topkapi Palace. The cistern was impressive, eerie and beautiful, timeless, humid (doh!), artfully lit, used also to display modern sculpture. A few duds on the Istanbul Tourist Pass (covers all top sites plus others) was helpful to bypass a couple of queues, and I did things I normally wouldn’t to get my money’s worth, but would not do it again (such as the dinner cruise – the dancers made the most of the small space, jostling with waiters carrying trays; the belly dancer REALLY worked the crowd, until her bra had enough lire notes tucked in to stop).

Went to the Mihrimah Sultan Hamam, recommended by my hosts and clearly not a touristy one – no-one spoke English, it was not busy and I got steamed, saunaed, massaged and coffee grounds covered (yes!), scrubbed and lathered, for c £20. The entrance to the ladies’ part was tucked at the back, next to a petrol station, like a fire exit, and I almost missed it – the men’s entrance is the grand one at the front. It is a 16th century hamam, all marble and wood.

The weekend (I only know what day it is because of the bookings I made) was very much a game of two halves. Thoroughly enjoyed the ferry trip up and down the Golden Horn, starting from Fener, as nearest to the homestay, and going all the way across the Bosphorus to Kadikoy on the Asian side. Had to get off and re-board to go back, but at 23 Turkish lire (c 80p) a pop, it’s a bargain. And the views are great from the water.

The end of the line, at Eyup Sultan (sounds like a Yorkshireman on a horse), was a nice discovery – local people enjoying the sunshine, eating, playing, praying (the mosque is a very popular one), shopping.

The other side of the Golden Horn, Beyoglu (the West End of Istanbul), is a completely different kettle of fish – vibrant, overcrowded, jostling, expensive, exciting, tourist-full, colourful, messy.

There was a bike ride taking place on Saturday and Sunday, ending near the Aya Sofia in Sultanahmet Square, so roads were closed and public transport, such as trams and buses, stopped short – there was chaos and mayhem around, lots of sirens going off, cars at a standstill, pedestrians everywhere, and yet everyone seemed fairly calm and patient.

(The roads are really bumpy, cobblestones and potholes, hills and unevenness everywhere – I wonder how the cyclists faired). This is not a wheelchair/pushchair friendly city. Must try and get a photo of a motorised wheelchair – not a mobility scooter.)

The dervish dance in the evening was a stately, slow ceremony – despite it being condensed into an hour, the 5 participants whirling, the two singers and the four musicians playing made it look serious and real. May have another look in Konya, the Sufi holy place.

And Sunday, I got slightly fleeced: my Istanbulkart (the Oyster equivalent, except that it’s cheaper at 15 lire a ride, even if you have to pay for each section of the journey if transfers/changes are needed) would not accept a top-up, the machines were all in Turkish only (tried several) and I was stumped. A young man came to my aid: put in my 100 lire, pressed various buttons, said, here you are, how about some baksheesh, sorry, don’t have any… when I got to tap the card, it showed the same (insufficient) amount as before : the weasely thieving magician had helped himself to my 100 lire (it’s only about £3.20, I know but I simply did not see how he did it), melted into the crowd and I was still none the wiser. Turned out I had to buy another plastic card to use – though logic escapes me.

The Egyptian Spice market may be a tourist trap, but it is pungent, colourful, inviting and exciting. Wish I could put the scent of it on the page.

Walking back to my room in the dusk, the fishermen strung along the shore like beads, patiently waiting – this is the anchovy season, and they keep the catch in plastic pails). And cats. looking as if they didn’t really care.

As ever: so much to do, so little time. Anxiety levels on the rise (waking up – and getting up! – at night, believing I’d forgotten to do something vital, or take pills (and I’m not on any medication…). Packing done – slowly – much more should have been got rid off, but it has stayed for sentimental reasons, yet again left to be unwrapped at some point and wondered at. The diary was full, and days flew by.

The farewell party was wonderful, despite being blighted by train strikes and Covid. Thank you to those who came, and sorry to those who couldn’t make it: there are virtually no photos as we were all busy chatting and having a good time.

Have also managed a bit of culture in the midst of it all – forgive the bragging: Das Rheingold at the ROH (terrific production, unlike the one at Bayreuth, with no ring, no fire, no horse…), Sarah LUCAS’s exhibition at the Tate B, The Threepenny Opera at the Cockpit theatre (reimagined, interesting :)).

The flat is ready for Charlotte to move in (thank you Ana and Gloria for your help), the backpack packed, the boarding pass to hand, the Uber booked for an ungodly 0430 hour.

Next stop, Istanbul.