Man hugs, cool bridges & history lessons.

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Day 129 - Selcuk
After 4 fabulous months feasting on the delights of our Asian “neighbours”, it’s quite a wrench to move. We spend the first week in Turkey readjusting to financial reality. Turkey is a little expensive. Contrary to all the advice from previous visitors, it’s come as a shock to be effectively in the Euro zone. I read that Istanbul is the 18th most expensive city in the world. Hell, if it was not for the fact that it remains one of the world’s most effusive and soulful cities we would have skipped it. But it is as avoidable as Paris. Without Istanbul, what would Turkey be?
Population estimates are dangerous, but Wikipedia states that it is the 5th largest “City” in the world with 12.7 million. Other references allow for up to 17 million (and I see 20 million referenced in the newspaper) in the greater area. Clearly the 4.3 million difference allows for the carpet salesmen, who spend all day on the footpaths, smoking, drinking apple tea, inviting tourists in for a lesson on rug manufacturing, smiling like they just found the Spoonmaker’s diamond, asking about my children/wife/second wife/concubine/destination /heat induced stress/plans for dinner/country of origin/ why I should watch some oil wrestling while in Turkey - (OK, this got BP interested), and other slick conversation starters. Bernard’s last visits 26 years ago (OMG is it really that long!!) have well faded into the past, but the art of rug salesmanship has clearly ridden the crest of an economy transformed in that time from backwater to a technically fully developed economy.
The 72 million residents (plus 4.3 million rug sellers) can be proud of what can be done with population, patriotism, and determination. I can’t say the place is unrecognisable, but the physical improvements are patently obvious all around. Some things don’t change though. The men all still carry handbags; a couple of men greeting still involves a lot of kissing and holding of hands; white singlets and moustaches are still a sign of male virility; women are still as keen as ever to peroxide their hair, once every 18 weeks; the polo shirts are still yellow and pink; The Pudding Shop still packs in the tourists; the rural mamas still look 70, when they are about 40, and dressed in the clothes of their parents, the Istanbulites, by comparison urbane and sophisticated.
But the thing that remains unaffected over 26 years, more than anything, is the effusiveness of the friendliness. I wander out alone one evening to pick up some takeaways. Finding a rare street-side kebab stall, I pause to consider the prices. Within a moment, the cook’s “friend” has introduced himself and offered to assist my ordering and offered me a smoke. That out of the way, we launch into a detailed analysis of where I am from, how good our football team is, have I been to Istanbul before, why I should buy some drinking yoghurt to have with the kebab (like a Big Mac and coke) and a myriad of topics. In addition, I am introduced to a local minimart owner and a travel agent from over the road. It’s an extraordinary talent the Turks have, to strike up not just conversation, but to introduce you instantly to their inner circle and to engage you so intently. One needs to accept that the rug salesmen move this friendliness to another level altogether and even the slightest hesitation in rejection of their overtures, opens a defensive crack that they will exploit quicker than a masseur at a Turkish bath. But ignore the rug merchants and you have a nation of men, wanting to engage and converse with visitors with genuine enthusiasm and honesty.
Mind you, the men have little else to do in this part of the world. Work seems a somewhat foreign concept. Given they are encouraged to retire soon after 50, one can only imagine what provides their mental stimulation. The old men sit for hours around a café table - rarely more than six of them and never alone. The table is carefully laid out with cigarettes, newspaper and tulip shaped cups of tea. For hours, little moves other than lips, lighters and loquacious conversation.
In addition, it appears to me the younger generations spend most of the day in training to be old men. The littlies gather around with a few stones, resplendent in replica Premier football team shirts, kicking the wind and, unlike their NZ counterparts, not looking like hoodlums or street mongrels. Those having moved into the “work force” clutch their smokes and tea cups, slap each other on the back, zoom off for a few minutes’ productivity on their scooters and return minutes later, ready to resume with a new cigarette. I am sure the factories and offices work to a better structure, but out on the street it is life, not work, that rules. The need to be on the street, touting, selling and marketing is the result of a sensible level of social security. Here, like all through Asia, intelligent politicians choose not to pay idiots, vagabonds, flotsam and cross bred mongrels money to sit at home smoking P or bashing the wife. Here, you must work. For nearly 5 months I have been reminded every day of the differences between what these governments elect to spend money on. There is a necessity to work everywhere we have been and it results in a better society, I am in no doubt.
Oh, and the women in Turkey? There is a subject in itself, but while I am still trying to figure out their exact status, it will remain a topic for the next blog.
Istanbul is a glorious mixture of some of the world’s grandest and blandest buildings. Some extraordinarily well preserved historic monuments are interspersed with some of the worst examples of mid 20th century civil construction. But the best are fabulous. Aya Sofya. Built as the greatest Christian Church in 537 AD in 8 short years, it was converted to a Muslim Mosque on the fall of the last vestige of the once mighty Byzantium (Eastern Roman) Empire. With over 10,000 men employed on its construction, it remains one of the world’s most extraordinary buildings and in an unbelievably pristine state. The restoration work is remarkable as the teams tediously uncover parts of Christendom beneath the Islamic overlay carefully placed there 900 years after construction. I think the guide said 6 million visitors a year pass through this site. Try and be one before you die.
1100 years later, the Blue Mosque was built next door to Aya Sofia, almost as though the architect was trying to outperform his Christian based counterpart. In my book he failed, but nevertheless to put these monuments to rulers’ excesses next to each other is amazing. I mean, how many Mosques do you really need to pray in when each one could hold 10,000 people?
Topkapi Palace, home to a succession of Sultan rulers, (read profligate, polygamous, licentious, megalomaniacal) built over a massive acreage of prime real estate, now a museum, sucking in millions of visitors a year. All around lie mosques that would grace any postcard, ruins in an extraordinary state of preservation and, of course, the busy Bosphorus channel. A quick consultation of an atlas reminds one of the importance of this stretch of water. Providing the only sea entry and exit for Bulgaria, Romania, Ukraine, Southern Russia, and Georgia, this channel now handles around 70,000 ship movements per year. The procession of gas and oil tankers is amazing. But go back 95 years, and here lies the goal and objective of the allied Gallipoli campaign in WW I.
We find Istanbul tough. A 12 hour flight from KL leaves us tired, the kids struggle in the heat and tempers are easily lost. We find a pleasant guest house, but it lacks a lounge, balcony or suitable rooftop terrace that we have come to rely on and that provides our “space” to function smoothly. Trying to escape the heat and relax, leads to cabin fever. A sore throat plagues BP for the first couple of days, tension reigns as we ponder the impact and wait for the spread to the other travellers. It doesn’t, but it gives way to a dodgy kebab that requires another day in the hotel room. We love Istanbul, but feel it’s a city that needs a better strategy than ours. Wheeling a stroller around in 38 deg, looking at museums and old buildings ain’t no winner with kids, Mum and Dad. This is exasperated as a shopping ban applies to “the shadow” and DVD and clothes stores no longer figure in the pauses in the day’s march.
We pay a fortune to cruise the Bosphorus to the Black Sea. Lauren spends all day sitting inside, colouring and drawing, happy as could be. Molly dons her i-pod and book and disappears into the world of a 12 year old girl and her music, oblivious to her surroundings. The ferry cruise is a tourist trap. It’s been so successful the fare is 5 times what it should be, and the “ferry” stops at 5 locations en-route to the Black Sea. But we are not allowed to get off, without paying another $25 each to get on the next boat in 2 hours. It’s a rort and it annoys us intensely. We arrive at the final destination, disembark alongside 400 other day trippers. The town is just restaurants, catering to the 1,500 people disgorged for 2 hours each day over a 6 hour interval. We begrudgingly eat, shoot the breeze, find a scrappy playground for Lauren, have a good argument (am I allowed to share that??) squabble with a taxi driver who wants $25 to take us 2 km’s and sulk around for a couple of hours. In desperation, Frances decides to walk (and piggy-back the short one up the steep road section) to an old fort that overlooks the Black Sea. Bernard and the shadow sulk behind. It is punishingly hot and the unhappiness all round is palpable. But out of nowhere, travellers’ rule number 16 confronts us. The view is breathtaking, the ruins make a fabulous playground of imagination for kids, and the breeze is a delight. Out of abject failure, the day’s struggle suddenly seems worthwhile. BP manages to capture Molly’s imagination with understanding why these forts exist, and how they were used to defend the City of Constantinople. She loves the posing opportunities. Frances catches her breath and we all quietly thank ourselves for getting out of the town and pushing ourselves up the hill. We descend, in a much better frame of mind, return to Istanbul, marvelling at the bridges, palaces and water front property.
We dine under the Galata bridge and, for the first time in our travels, get soundly ripped off in a restaurant. Water and bread, placed on the table as we take our seats, are charged for, an unheard of event prior to and after this day in Turkey. It’s been a tough day and the thought of exposing the family to an argument is too much to consider. With tiredness, frustration and diplomacy weighing heavily, Bernard avoids any conflict and coughs up. We leave and Molly launches into an attack, critical of my decision, and appalled that I coughed up! She quickly reminds me that this is the second time I “should have done something” and not paid. The reminder of the taxi driver in Hanoi is always on her lips. She is growing up and the value of money has made a significant impression in a matter of months. We laugh it all off, but it’s great to see her understanding. Lauren, of course, parrots her in an extension of the comedy. Bed is a welcome relief!
We leave Istanbul, experiencing firsthand the world’s most excellent long distance bus system, visit Gallipoli, swelter with no air conditioning for 3 nights in Canakkale and move through to Selcuk to view Ephesus and spent 3 nights at one of the cutest accommodation houses yet.
Twenty six years since Bernard visited Gallipoli and the change is extraordinary. As Turkey has emerged from political confusion and overbearing Military rule and influence, they have formed a nation in those 26 years. And at Gallipoli, memorials exist not just for ANZACS, but for Turks to celebrate their victory and the eventual forging of the modern Turkish State. As the Ottoman Empire finally disintegrated during WW I, the Allies dictated a new Turkey, unacceptable to most Turks and the ambitious military hero Mustafa Kemal. Post WW I the Greeks screwed the Allies and moved beyond the agreed boundaries, effectively invading Turkey again. This gave the new Turkish republic the chance to throw off the shackles of war settlements and give the Greeks a whipping. With that, came the current Turkey boundaries albeit with ongoing arguments with a few little off shore Islands. Leading this process, was Mustafa Kamal, (later dubbed Ataturk) the hero of Gallipoli. So a visit today is marginally about ANZACS, and mainly a massive Turkish attraction and really the soul of modern Turkey. The huge increase in memorials and commemoration for the Turks is matched by coachloads of smoking and chai drinking Turks. Despite the change, it’s still an incredibly special place, even while viewing with the 12 year old shadow and the 3 year old “foreign”. The shadow surprises us, and even strikes out on her own to explore and contemplate, in her own way, about what this place means. It is not only special, but a beautiful and serene place. Even the taxi drivers seem able to withstand the temptation and maintain the agreed rate, even when we tour for an hour longer than agreed.
We finish the tour part of the day at 2.00 pm, dropped off 25 km’s from our ferry, at a tiny beach on the southern shore in the middle of nowhere. We have no idea how to get back to the ferry, so strike out for the village square at 4.45pm. We are assured there are no scheduled buses, and taxis are $70. We wait in hope, always looking for a miracle. It arrives at 5.30 pm, a local Turkish sightseeing bus, unsurprisingly full of Turks paying homage. With arm waving and smiles, we are welcomed on board. Two hours later, we get to the ferry, after stopping and visiting a whole new set of memorials and museums. It’s a laugh, and the long way to get home that leads to tired and hungry kids, but it’s insightful to see the reverence that this place holds not just for us, but for the Turks, who suffered more casualties and a higher rate of attrition than the Allies. It’s too easy for us to see one side of history and the thing with Gallipoli that makes our hair stand on end, is the graciousness and forgiveness shown by the people of Turkey.
Ephesus manages to hit us with 40+ deg temperatures, but the Roman ruins still manage to retain us for 3 hours before we succumb to the heat. If Italy and Greece are the “must sees” for archaeological sites, the evidence suggests that Turkey holds its own with history and piles of rubble. As tough as it was, the extraordinary remains are a trip highlight for 2 of the team. Selcuk is the base and, while the ruins and Homeros Pension are absolute highlights, we experience another image searing lowlight. 7 km’s away is a beach, at this point on the North Aegean. Molly stays home and the three others troop off for a pleasant afternoon. We are stopped in our tracks with the filth and litter on a relatively pleasant stretch of sand. We walk one way, turn in disgust at the litter, and head back to find it endlessly disappears in both directions. Plastic water bottles, fag butts and packets, bottle caps and juice containers lie in piles surrounding current and abandoned picnic spots. It is staggering and as bad as we saw in China. They all smoke, men and women, and every butt ends up in the sand. We watch despondently as we see no evidence of “beach care at work”. The plethora of small plastic drinking water bottles are the worst offenders. They sell for almost nothing, are cheap and efficient, but create so much clean up and downstream removal cost for the community. However, we resign ourselves to looking through the eyes of a local, ignore the mess, and pop our bodies into the water for a few hours.
Our first two weeks have been full of changed experiences and, while we miss the prices and food of Asia, Turkey is great to see and experience. It’s vibrant, industrial, seemingly self sufficient and a proud nation. Having been rejected entry to the EU, it appears to be snubbing its nose at the Euro gnomes and forging ahead, returning a focus to the east again, rather than the west, with the confidence that they don’t need the Euro’s and maybe the Euro’s will have to play on Turkey’s terms in future.

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Photos

The Shadow buying an Ice Cream...
The You Tube video is the bit to see on this - if I ever learn about You Tube. Got to be our most expensive Ice Cream, but the performance was magical

Rip off restaurant under the Galata Bridge
But the location is to die for. As for the fish being reeled only inches from one's face, the temptation exists to whip it off the hook and into the frying pan

Aya Sofya
Church of Saint Sofya. The minarets (Muslim towers) are an add on, after Mehmit the Conquerer dealt to the Christians

Inside Aya Sofya
Has been a Museum since Ataturk deemed it such in the early 1930s

Anyone for rugs
Left alone for much of the day, the owner of these rugs is otherwise occupied smoking, drinking tea and talking to his mates. The margin must be pretty good, even after negotiation, based on the number of rug vendors

The Grand Bazaar
Full of tourists, but still as magical as 200 years ago

Lunch at Topkapi Palace, about $16
Almost as dear as a hotdog and Heineken at the Rugby in Cardiff in 2007

The Pudding Shop
Made famous in the late 1970s movie, Midnight Express. The prison is now a hotel, the dealers room still a popular cafe. Unlike 1983, I did not buy the tee shirt.

The Bosphorus Coast
Really outstanding real estate. And what a bridge!!

Topkapi Chimneys
No, not for burning the infidels. The kitchens fed hundreds (,ooos??) of people each day.

The Blue Mosque
One of many outstanding Mosques just in this city.

Inside the Blue Mosque
Named after the massive Blue dome. Interestingly, it does not surpass Aya Sofya either in size or impressions, even though its much newer.

Aya Sofya 1
The Muslims covered all images of Christians, and only 4 months ago, this was revealed to the public, one of 4 massive mosaics that adorn the top of the 4 pillars that support the dome.

The Bosphorus Coast homes
Oh yes, make no mistake, there is plenty of $$$ in Turkey still.

The Blue Mosque looking from Aya Sofya
Another of my fave's

Bosphorus Bridge
The second Bosphorus Bridge (whoops, can't recall its name) is a replica of the first it seems. Just outstandingly simple architecture. Look closely, the deck is not much thicker than a truck or bus.