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Published: October 24th 2004
Seddulbahir (Wall of the Sea)
An appropriate name. The fort was decommissioned during (quite literally) the first day of action as the British shelled it by way of declaring war. The picture was taken from Europe; on the far side you can see Asia and the likely location of Kumkale (Sand Castle), which was similarly decommissioned.So finally, after 5+ weeks of traveling, I made it to Canakkale, no more than 500km away from Istanbul where I started off. A record-setting pace. Yeay.
After Bozcaada I head over to the ruins of Troy. I daresay it was a bit much for my untrained eye. There are the ruins of 9 levels of city (Troy I-IX), from different periods, all on display simultaneously and more or less undistinguishable (and unremarkable). The informational signs (as usual) obviously didn't have the casual traveler in mind and didn't help me visualize what things must have been like. Definitely needs more work. The scene is complete with a lame "Trojan Horse" presumably meant to capture the imagination of the camera-toting tourist (I took a picture just to document the abomination). Oguz Atay (a Turkish author) has a short story in which the hero tries in vain to prevent the locals from building a concrete Trojan horse (he manages to convince them to at least cover it in wood to save appearances), and ends with him climbing down from the horse during its opening ceremony, dressed in a toga and toting a rifle which he points at those responsible for it. Very
Quite peaceful without the dead and wounded
Anzac cove. The place must have been teeming with corpses and mutilated bodies. Wave after wave of soldiers charged fortified positions and more often than not died by the thousands without gaining their objective. You'd never know by looking at the picture. appropriate.
From there I hitched a ride to Canakkale, the stated goal of my travels so far. I spent the rest of the day taking care of mundane details such as finding a (cheap) hotel and feeding myself. The hotel seemed OK at a first glance, but turned out to be the most uncomfortable place I've slept at to date (including ditches in olive groves). One of the springs was broken and kept sticking in my back... things got a little better when I put two blankets between the sheet and the matress. Canakkale is home to the Dardanelles, the
other strait dividing Europe from Asia. Walking down the waterfront after dark the city lights on the other side seemed too close to be real. Oceanliners and cruise ships travel up and down between the Black sea and the Aegean. The town itself is fairly unremarkable, and most tourists (mainly aussies and kiwis) come to see Gallipoli on the other side, home to the bloody (and unsuccsessful) British Gallipoli campaign in 1915 during which many a forefather died for King and country.
I too toured the battlefields, but not as part of an official tour; this made transportation
The sphynx: some wounds take time to heal
The mountainside was tortured into its current shape as a result of shelters and communication trenches dug into the side of the hill. The protrusion to the right was termed "the sphynx". Judging by pictures taken during the campaign, the hill is returning to normal, albeit very slowly. In time there will be nothing to remind the casual visitor of the desolation the place witnessed. a bit tricky. I started off with a minibus from "Kilitbahir" (lit. "lock of the sea"), a fort across from Canakkale at the narrowest point of the strait. There are forts on both sides capable of firing on and sinking any unwelcome vessel. The minibus driver claimed he would tour the "monuments" on the southern tip of the peninsula where the English did most of the fighting, and scene to many a heroic deed (I read a couple of books on the subject). In reality he took us to three places: a small "museum" featuring battleground paraphenelia such as exploded shells, and bullets which hit each other mid-air (there are a surprising amount of them); a "memorial" which featured a statue and basically no information (although this was at or very near the point where the famous River Clyde was beached and the British landing turned into a bloodbath as a small Ottoman force massacred the landing troops); and from there a 30minute break at a concrete nightmare (the "Abide" or memorial to those fallen) that would make any Soviet architect blush. That was the extent of the "tour". The memorial features murals, large (and presumably expensive) structures and statues
He who controls the past....
The concrete structure ostensibly erected to commemorate the fallen. The picture doesn't do the size justice... the thing is immense. Anyone who's been to the former Soviet Union should be familiar with the routine. So there's a really huge building; great. How does that help me understand what went on here? It doesn't. of Mustafa Kemal giving his famous order to die, not fight. Nevermind the fact that no battle took place at this location or that the order was given 30+ km north of there at the Anzac battlefield. Not a shred of informational text could be found anywhere; we're back at the Dark Ages, seeking to impress but not inform. There was a small museum which was (of course) closed for repairs. What a way to commemorate the fallen. By ignoring their heroism in order to further the cult of Mustafa Kemal. Don't get me wrong, I think he was a military genius; but that doesn't mean he was the *only* person fighting, nor is his the only story worth telling.
I asked to be let off and headed down to Seddulbahir (lit "the wall of the sea"), a fort at the entrance to the dardanelles at the tip of the peninsula, shelled by the British as a way of declaring war. Thanks, guys. The fort on the other side has the unfortunate name of "Kumkale" (lit "sand castle")... not the kind of name you want to give a castle. The ruins of the castle are still impressive, and I
Trojan horse, anyone?
*The* trojan horse, as seen in Brad Pitt's blockbuster. The horse was donated to the city of Canakkale, and (for some unknown reason) graces the boardwalk rather than the ruins of Troy, at least 10km to the south. got to leisurely clamber among the ruins. From there I hitched up to a town halfway to Kilitbahir, and caught an (infrequent) minibus all the way back from there. Apparently there was an open air hospital nearby during the war where wounded Ottoman (and captured enemy) troops were treated; the British determined its location and shelled it, killing many. Nice work.
There's no public transportation that goes anywhere near the battlefields to the north, another sign of how much we value our fallen. Fortunately the locals are very friendly and ready to pick up hitchikers. I spent the rest of the afternoon touring a museum featuring such things as the last letter an Australian soldier sent back home before he died. I was amused to see that the english description of a photo differed from the turkish: in the picture are a group of soldiers in a trench; the english says "a group of australian soldiers in a trench captured from the turks" the turkish says "a group of australian soldiers". I guess we can't admit to having lost any trenches. Go revisionists. It was getting late by the time I was done there so I head back, intending
How to get to Canakkale from Istanbul
This map details my trip from Istanbul to Canakkale. It (apparently) took a full 40 days... and I should have used a larger font, but oh well... to tour the battlefields the next day.
I stopped by a leftist coffee shop where university students were sitting around playing
saz (a traditioal guitar-like instrument with which folk songs are commonly sung) and singing folk songs. I got to talking to some of the kids there, and then got invited to hang out with them. This was possibly the first time I would be hanging out with Turkish young people (esp girls) with similar tastes since I hit the road; most of my interactions are with old men at tea shops or shopkeepers. The experience was awesome... we sat and talked for hours. I told my usual lie: I was until quite recently a student at Istanbul Technical University; it's easier to express than the truth. At one point they had me pretend to be a foreigner (Jeff from Canada), while they translated for me and said things like "I bet he has a ton of money, lets have him buy us dinner" to fool a couple of girls who joined the group a bit late. It was funny: here I am, pretending to have lived in Turkey all my life; pretending to be someone who lives in America. It reminds me of a scene in
Interview with a Vampire where the vampires are pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires.
The next day I toured the battlefields to the north. You'd think the aussies won the battle judging by the state of the monuments: the foreigners' graves have informational maps and descriptions of the importance of the location, along with the names of those buried there. No such thing for the turks. There's an occasional sign along some nondescript item such as a sign announcing the "Mesudiye" cannon, and then the cannon itself. No clue is given as to what the cannon was used for, its history, what happened to those who used it... nothing. I wonder if its a conscious misinformation campaign: keep the locals ignorant and in awe. The one exception was the monument to the Ottoman 57th regiment, commanded by Mustafa Kemal and killed to a man during their heroic charges to regain the highground in the first days of the conflict. Yet again, too little, too late. There were many commanders in the field and many a heroic deed done. I felt like the heroism of others was purposely downplayed (or ignored). The foreign graves have maps and descriptions of where the attacks took place, where the ships came from, etc. In all those museums and "memorials" I couldn't come across a single description of where the Ottoman troops were stationed nor the locations of Ottoman batteries. It's a pity. Equally pitiful were some of the epitaths on the aussie graves: "their glory lives on forever", "they died that others might live", etc. There was personal heroism, yes. But the war was quite clearly about imperialistic rivalries, and there was nothing noble about it. I guess you can't put that on a gravestone.
Touring the sites took most of the day, and I spent the afternoon hanging out with my newefound mates. We went to a bar, listened to a band, and watched the people at the next table get up and dance like crazy. I (again) regret not going to university in Turkey. I feel like I missed out on a great experience.
And that concludes my sojourns in Canakkale. I dragged myself out of bed at noon (I went to bed at 5am), put on my damp clothes (washed the night before), and hitchiked to Edirne, finally in Europe. But that's another story.
I again apologize for the lack of pictures. They will be forthcoming.
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lorelei
buralardan rüzgar gibi geçtin...mailine çok _a_a1rmad1m,böyle bi hayat gezgincinin kan1nda var!!umar1m sana söyledi im yerlerede gidersin:)