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Being the last plane into Istanbul has its major disadvantages. Having landed 15 minutes early was irrelevant when one spends over an hour and a half trying to get into the country and people constantly tried to jump the queue and 'sneak' past people. Then the representative who is meant to meet you and make your life easier was nowhere to be seen. A very lovely man behind a desk gave me his phone to call the hostel and eventually, we found each other.
I'm told I'm on my own with this one but my immediate thought upon leaving the airport confines and speeding along the freeway was Vegas. With their obvious love of neon lights, the oversized Wow Hotel and general layout, it briefly reminded me of the freeway running parallel to The Strip in Las Vegas. Anyway.
Once more, the white dotted lines on the road are there for decoration as our white van weaved in and out of the sparse traffic, occasionally high-beaming someone who was taking up two lanes. Then promptly followed suit after overtaking them.
Talbot (from my last trip) and Scott (who did a trip with Suse after we finished) found me
in reception which was perfect timing. We're staying at the Orient Hostel which is a stone's throw from the Blue mosque and Aga Sophia (which sit opposite each other. I didn't know that) and he thought of the 30 bed dorm is worse than the actual room. But arriving so late meant sleeping in my clothes with my arm looped through my messenger bag rather than disturbing everyone else with lockers and such. What am I saying. It's almost 3 and here I am writing, not sleeping.
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April 10
I adore Istanbul. Within hours of waking up and stepping outside I felt good about the place. Yesterday, Talbot, Scott and another Aussie, Matt set off exploring. Apart from Talbot and I, the others have spent considerable amounts of time here but were happy to go along with things for now. We had planned to walk from Europe to Asia across the Bosphorus Bridge but it's no longer allowed; it seems it became popular as a suicide point 😞
Passing through the park between the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sophia, we were heading for the Grand Bazaar. Following the tram tracks for the most part and
keeping an eye out for the signs in English, it's easy to find. With Morocco's souks in mind, I was expecting a similar style but it's quite modern and didn't have the atmosphere I was looking for. However, there was no hassle unlike much of Morocco which made for a pleasant stroll. Exiting a different way, we wandered aimlessly and found ourselves outside the Sûleymaniya Cami, a beautiful mosque with four minarets. Scott informed me that the more minarets a mosque has, the more importance it has. So this one is up there. Sitting on the cool marble stone along the wall of the inner courtyard, I stared up at the painted ceiling domes before moving further inside. To enter the interior of the mosque, shoes are removed and either carried or placed on shelves and apart from being appropriately dressed, women must have their heads covered. Thankfully, I had a hoodie and after catching the attendant's eye and getting the okay, we entered. I do like mosques. Much like churches, I find them to be serene, calm places although I have no interest in attending the actual service. In here, I was more keen on watching the group of
young children on a school trip. All the girls already had scarves on and the teacher was working through the line of boys putting white kufi (skull caps) on their heads as some cheekily ducked away. They were taken inside the roped off area where prayers take place and did what any child anywhere would do. They bolted. Children ran in every direction, giggling and squealing and having a grand old time while their adults tried to hush them and round them up. Back out of the prayer area, in two straight lines with the girls behind the boys, one boy lead them in prayers. When it came to kneeling, the youngest looking boy would not follow suit and when encouraged to by the teacher, threw off his kufi and crossed his arms in defiance. The women hid their smiles behind hands.
Back into the sun and out onto the street, Scott and I spied a rooftop terrace we felt might be worth checking out. What. A. Find. A view that took in what seemed like most of Istanbul. The call to prayer was impressive, ringing out around us from the various mosques. Squinting in the sunlight (I need
to find sunglasses ASAP), I tried to explain to the waiter that I couldn't eat wheat which he seemed to understand and told me the koftë was fine. The accompanying potatoes turned out to be fries which I grudgingly pushed to the side, concentrating on the salad and rice. With such a view, it was an amazing lunch. From there we stumbled across the Spice Market which while not as impressive as Morocco, was much more what I'd envisioned the Grand Bazaar to be like. Sellers calling, the crowds and the smells and sights left me grinning. We made for the Topkapi Palace and bought the 25TL tickets with 45 minutes until closing time. Straight to the Harem (15TL tickets are bought once inside the palace grounds), I wandered from room to room, running my hands over the painted tiles and admiring the huge fireplaces. Once a majestic complex belonging to a sultan, it was a worthwhile tour of a long ago lifestyle. When done, we followed the crowds into the Treasury and although it was interesting to see bejewelled swords and 45 kg candlesticks encrusted with diamonds, I was soon blinged out and only gave the items a cursory
glance. The next room was more interesting with books and prints full of beautiful calligraphy and Arabic I sadly cannot read. It was here that a bowl of wheat sat in a cabinet (for what reason I cannot say) and I asked the security guards if 'hücre' was the word for wheat. Turns out it's 'būgday'. They then asked me if 'wheat' was 'white', pointing to the background of their ID cards. Writing on my hand, I showed them the difference between the two words and after a few words between them they nodded, smiled their thanks and moved on. I now knew how to say wheat in Turkish.
After a brief stint in the sun on the hostel roof, it was time to eat again. The man in reception kindly wrote me a note in Turkish explaining my allergy and on my friend's recommendation to eat at one of the many restaurants under the Galata Bridge, we walked through the incredibly well kept Topkapi Palace Gardens to get there. Once under the bridge, we eventually chose a place further away from the shore; our decision having nothing to do with the offer of a free drink each! I
explained I could have 'no bōgday' which he understood and I ordered delicious lamb chops and a glass of red wine. Everyone was pleased with their meal (and pleasantly surprised at how nice our free glass of wine tasted!) but the highlight was dessert. Being a fan of halva anyway, I decided on the warm Turkish version, being assured that one was enough for the four of us. He underestimated our sweet tooths. Mixed with what tasted like sweetened milk, the halva (which is sesame based) was to die for. And definitely could've been eaten by one or a maximum of two people with no trouble at all! Our last stop of the day was the rooftop at Seven Hills, back in Sultanahmet a few streets away from our hostel. Armed with my tripod that I'd carried to dinner, I treated the guys to hot chocolates as thanks for their patience as I took shots of the Aya Sophia and Blue Mosque. It was another rooftop well checking out for both the view and the hot chocolate!
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Today was a late breakfast again (on offer is muesli, corn flakes, cottage cheese, boiled eggs, baguettes and an instant coffee
machine. I ate the last of my gluten free bread from London). I slept amazingly well having moved to a six bed dorm and with only Talbot and one other, it was peaceful and quiet. But I barely stirred until 10 and breakfast technically finishes at 10:30. They're so lovely though, they don't seem to mind that we sit there discussing travel and world issues for another hour...
Having showered and changed clothes, we're heading for the Asian side today. By ferry. Let's see if I can hold it together so soon after breakfast. The ferry departs every 20 minutes to Üsküdar, the first boat just south of the Galata Bridge. This morning we met Quinn and Stephanie who are on our trip and they joined us for our jaunt across the Bosphorus. It was relatively smooth but I felt mildly nauseous as I sat staring ahead. I saw dolphins as we crossed and miniature jellyfish when we slowed to dock; I hadn't really expected the water to be as clear as it is. We walked along the waterfront and found tiered concrete where people sat on cushions or at tables drinking tea and playing backgammon. We joined them,
settling down on the sun-warmed cushions. Lunch was hamburgers for them and kofte for me, Talbot kindly eating the bread roll that came with mine. It was tasty but by no means filling.
Stephanie and I mused that we would never take a 20 minute ferry at home to eat such food and return, but that's exactly what we did. Leaving Istanbul tomorrow morning at 8am meant we all had last minute things to do (for me, getting my phone to work!) and we split up, planning to meet at the hostel and go for dinner. On a gluten free website while researching places to go for dinner, I came across an ingenious page that had the meaning of a gluten free diet written in 57 languages. Awesome. I now have a screen shot on my iPod for every country except Armenia (though I read that 70% of Armenians can speak Russian) and armed with her recommendation of a restaurant not far from us, the five of us set out.
The restaurant looked lovely but pricier than we had hoped so we double backed and had shish kebabs from a small cafe. I showed the older man my
The Blue Mosque
It was impossible to replicate the photos I'd seen on postcards, etc. as the water fountain in front was on, not to mention all the people.note which he read, nodding slowly, and I showed him my gluten free pita bread. The chicken was tasty, the pomegranate juice made me wonder why I hadn't tried it earlier and we watched from the second floor as umbrellas went up and rain came down.
Making for the hostel, we stopped near the Aya Sophia to watch a protest gathering strength. People had Egyptian flags, Palestinian flags, posters with Morsi's face and many wore white robes over their clothes. The rain didn't deter them and we watched as the men lined up shoulder to shoulder for evening prayers. Something about it gives me goosebumps; I find it very moving.
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April 11
So much for an early night. I stepped outside to make a call and found Suse and Nat. I'm tired today...
At 8am we were all assembled outside the Orient Hostel. We're a group of 11: six Aussies, two Kiwis, two Brits and an Italian. Talbot and I have claimed our same seats (we're on Rosie again!!) which gives me a surreal feeling of having never left the trip and yet I'm with a different group in a different country.
We're leaving Istanbul
for Eceabat, our gateway to Gallipoli, which is approximately 350km away on decent roads. I'm nauseous soon into the drive so although I haven't forgotten what it's like, obviously some part of me has and will take a bit of time to get used to the movement again.
We all talked in small groups depending on where we were sitting but eventually drifted off. I slept a little and then stared out the new tarp windows at men tending sheep, colourful apartment blocks and wind turbines high on the hills.
Arriving into Eceabat at 16:30, we found TJ's hostel without any trouble and Suse reversed the truck into the vacant block next door. TJ is married to an Aussie woman and will be our guide for Gallipoli tomorrow. Split into three rooms, I'm sharing the ridiculously nice room with Nat and Suse. There's a huge bathroom (the dorm beds with four single beds has two bathrooms!), more power plugs that you'd ever need, individual reading lights and even slippers and a hair dryer!
After a short introduction meeting in the lobby, it's decided that we'll take the ferry across to Çannekale, a much larger town on the
Asian side of Turkey for dinner. 2TL and 20 minutes later, we're strolling along the waterfront towards the Old Troy pub. The guy from TJ's who is accompanying us has kindly explained my dietary issues and I have a delicious chicken stir fry with rice and potato wedges. Live music begins not long after we start eating and it's enough that we can enjoy the music and chat at the same time.
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12 April
It's a chilled morning until midday when we head for lunch on a small bus with a few others before picking up TJ and heading towards Gallipoli.
I knew the basics but I didn't know that Turkey tried to stay neutral and bought two battleships from Britain to help protect themselves but they were never sent them nor refunded the money. That's when Germany stepped in and all of a sudden Turkey found itself on a side.
We stopped at the war memorial museum which was completed in 2012 at a cost of €22 million. It shows. We strolled amongst the glass cabinets displaying uniforms, weapons, personal items and even a boot with human bones still in it. Then it was on
with an audio guide and through eleven different rooms where they gave us a timeline of events. Some rooms had platforms that moved as if on a boat or being fired at. I may be the only person to feel nauseous on a pretend boat... There was even rooms that required 3D glasses. It was very well done and somewhat unexpected but it kept you alert which was ideal.
Back onto the bus and out to:
-Brighton Beach which is where where the ANZACs were meant to land.
-Beach Cemetery where among others, John Simpson (known for carrying wounded soldiers on his donkey) is buried
-Anzac Cove
- Lone Pine cemetery
- the site of the Anzac Day memorial service. Behind the tiered seating is a rock structure which was known as the Sphinx as it reminded troops of Egypt where they had trained.
- original trenches and tunnels dug by the ANZACs and the Turks.
- the Turkish cemetery and memorial
There is so many different sites that you could easily spend a couple days there and I think some of us would've liked to have. But we saw the major sites and although I have
always wanted to go to the dawn service on Anzac Day (April 25), it seems to have lost its original purpose which is to pay our respects to those who fought and lost their lives or were wounded. Our guide said it had changed in the last ten years and was becoming more of a party atmosphere, as if one was at a sporting match. I'm not here to preach but really??
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