07 February 2013
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| Ataturk, overlooking the Dardanelles. Fez and all. |
Istanbul is the city that sits on two continents. On one
side, Europe, and on the opposite, Asia. Because of this you get two cultures
happily clashing to provide a city of splendour. You can Haman in a high rise
or smoke a shisha with your beer. It’s the city where the young and glamorous
mingle with traditional women of the headscarf outside mosques and the lively
precincts of Taksim.
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| The blue Wiggle was mad his skivvy was not used appropriately |
When it comes time to rank the world’s best cities we have
been lucky enough to visit, it’s highly likely that Istanbul will crack the top
five. It teems with culture and vibrancy, and is non-stop in the sightseeing
department and it abounds in warmth and hospitality.
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| The missing monopoly piece was soon located |
We arrived from the chaos of Cairo, and were pleasantly
surprised to learn that no one at the airport wants money for jobs they are
supposed to be doing anyway. Unless you count the stupid visa fees that
visitors have to pay ($60 Australians). Of course we can complain but this all
falls back to our money hungry government in Australia wanting the shirt off visitors
backs to enter our country, so other nations are rightly so reciprocating.
Luckily, I got to use my Irish passport, so saved forty bucks, but still,
Turkey are EU members elect so it would be nice if they didn’t charge your
possible colleagues.
A real city has a metro or efficient public transport
running to and from the airport. If you don’t
(cough cough Perth, Australia) then, you are not a real city. We headed downstairs to the Istanbul Metro
with network maps sussed out and tokens for the service at the ready. Problem
is, we didn’t know where we were going. Turkey was a country we did as much
research and preparation about as a
… so we took a taxi instead.
Unfortunately, the driver didn’t know where our hotel was, which was
named Noahs Ark Hotel. Driving aimlessly
around the winding streets of the old town, we had more chance of actually
finding the fabled Ark than we did of the namesake hotel. After stopping to ask directions from other
cabbies, whom most joined in the shoulder shrugging synchronisation, we
accidentally found it by daydreaming out the window. Regrettably, we couldn’t
pay the fare with the unused metro tokens, so real cash was needed.
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| With free cat included, middle evil eye was a bargain |
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| Pride week in Istanbul was very popular with the fountains |
The flight into Istanbul is quite spectacular. Many mosques and monuments grace the elegant
skyline while the modernisation of businesses are pushed further out of
eyesight. The Blue Mosque is one of these amazing buildings and cultural
sights. It’s not actually blue, well not on the outside anyway. The inside is
magnificently adorned with blue decorative tiling in a subtle and discreetly
beautiful way. The high domed ceilings attract tourist gazes and wonder and the
faithfuls devotions on a daily basis. It is truly one of the architectural
masterpieces of the world and its no wonder that it is one of the most visited marvels
of the worlds. Right across the road from the Blue Mosque is the equally
stunning from the outside, Hagia Sophia, the Byzantine and Ottoman symbol of
Turkey. I’m afraid I cant describe much for you, as we decided to try and visit
the place when it was closed, which is not recommended. We tried to visit after
a wondrous day strolling around the Topkapi Palace, which not so long ago was
residence for the very lavish lifestyles of the Ottoman Sultans. The large
museum sits atop a hill overlooking the city of Istanbul and its Bosphorus, and
inside its guarded rooms and walls sit golden thrones, diamond encrusted
daggers and diamonds the size of small towns, all seventy odd carat and all.
It’s the kind of place you can take a girl too and make promises of jewels you
will never ever fulfil. There are also displays and samples of the Prophets
hair and teeth, creepy and possible decaying, but interesting none the less.
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| Electrolux salesman would show up in even the holiest of places |
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| Blue Mosque. err...blue? |
The gardens of the palace are also resident to some of the
thousands of cats that make Istanbul their home. Never have we seen so many
wandering around city streets like we have here. But the kittens are very well
looked after, and are constantly fed by the locals, contributing to their
health. Often they can be spotted knocking on the door of one of the city’s
numerous restaurants after some leftovers or perhaps some five-course dining.
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| A night on the tiles. Literally |
Istanbul is famous for its meze style of eating, which is
similar to tapas in its small portions of regional food. The food is of course
mouth wateringly incredible, but choosing a place to go to eat is nigh on an
impossible joyous experience such is the wealth of restaurants and eateries
littered around the city, especially Taksim. The easiest way to choose is to
let the whiff of doner lull you into a drooling trance and elegantly slide down
the wetness until you come a cropper into a comfortable seat.
And after the meze or mains, you mustn’t
forget the breads, famously called Turkish bread outside of Turkey, but called
bread here, and delights for dessert, famously called Turkish delights outside
of turkey, but called Lokum here. Or Turkish delights will suffice. We ate shit
loads of the stuff. We bought a box of about a thousand and sat on the old
Hippodrome, which hosted Roman chariot races in the time, and ate them with
(Turkish) delight.
Kylie was also got up
a little Turkish coffee habit, it looked quite thick and gluey, but she reports
it was very tasty and fulfilling.
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| After just seeing One Direction, music would never be the same. |
When not eating or drinking tea with locals in the garden
tea houses around the city, there are many other things to keep your mind and
soul occupied, such as getting lost in the Grand Bazaar and shopping, window or
real, or fobbing off the carpet sellers. We weren’t interested in buying any
(as good as they were), but we were quite amused at the constant friendly
barrage from salesman who on finding out you are Australian, all of a sudden
have a cousin with a restaurant in Parramatta and an Uncle with a rug shop in
Melbourne.
We left Istanbul early one morning west to the Gallipoli
peninsula, to pay our respects to our fallen from the ill-fated campaign
beginning April 25, 1915. We based ourselves for a couple of nights in Eceabat,
a town of a few hundred tea drinking, card playing fisherman, but the closest
town to the battlefields. Not much going on here, just a few restaurants but
also a few Aussie/Kiwi run hostels and bars. Of course.
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| Turkish lego. Poor. |
Anzac Cove could be easily missed and driven past if it
wasn’t for the graceful memorial dedicated to the area. The bay itself isn’t at
all striking from a picturesque point of view, just a rocky outline with a
small shore and gently lapping waves from the Aegean Sea. But it was on these
shores that our troops landed on that fateful day (History shows the actual
landing and attack site was meant to be a short distance further south, but
elements through them off course the landing site we know as Anzac Cove was
used- and would never be a success due to the geography of a steep hill
littered with waiting Turkish troops atop). The trip we took that day was
mesmerising and eye opening, with feelings of pride and humility of our
Australian forefathers and our Turkish friends, but also sadness and
devastation at what is still a destructive waste of life as a result of this
campaign, which failed in its goal of territorial victory, but most certainly
succeeded in the creation of our nation and what we know as the ultimate
characteristics of courage, sacrifice, loss and mateship. We walked in areas
such as the Nek and trenches, where thousands of young men and boys from both
sides suffered a brutal end to their short lives and are now remembered in graveyards such as Lone
Pine, with a simple memorial headstone, inscribed with a haunting figure of a
hero’s age, all too overwhelming and distressing in the gap between that figure
and the date of birth.
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| Anzac Cove |
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| Graves for the young men who barely stepped from the boat. |
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| This road was once trenches. Left, Turkey. Right, ANZAC. Dozens of kilometres out to sea, England. |
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| Lone Pine |
The tour was led by an excellent Turkish guide, who like the
people and governments of Turkey should be credited for preserving the sites
and educating people, Turkish and Australian/NZ, about the history of these
lands from a human perspective, and not one of pride in the futility of war.
After the trip, we went back to our hotel and watched the
news reports of nations killing each other over land and religion, and our country involved in futile conflicts while conning us on the need for war or troop representation just to appease others.
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| Anzac Cove |
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| Too young |
Another bus ride back to Istanbul for another night, where
we scored a nice deal on three star hotel with a five star bathroom (showers
with jets that attack you from all directions, fancy soap wrapped in recycled
cardboard and towels actually washed in a washing machine), that was just up
the street from the Blue Mosque. Another night of awesome food, then the next
day we took a flight on Turkish Scarelines to Cappadocia.
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| The Flintstones would be mad they forgot to buy winter boots when on sale at Aldi. |
The flight was slightly frightening if you consider that
upon touch down through fog and wet and wild weather, you could see the middle
of the runway from the right hand side of the plane, so we weren’t exactly
central on the runway when we slammed into the tarmac. Though the pilot did
very well to avoid cleaning up the camels and workers on the grassy areas and
at least we didn’t have to wait any time for our bags as they were thrown into
the arrivals hall on impact. We collected our teeth and some fresh undies and
made the drive to Cappadocia, or more specifically, the town of Goreme.
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| Rocks. I think. |
We tried to revisit our hiking side, which is generally a
dark place for us as we thought we had retired from big treks. But there was an
interesting phallic sight we thought we might like to wander into. Within Cappadocia
is the Love Valley, so called because of the plethora of penis shaped rocks
standing erect from the canyon floors. There are more knobs in these fields
than at a Nickelback concert, and strangely enough, this region is very popular
with women, especially Koreans. So we entered the valley and the gorges, but
got lost, and couldn’t find the rock cocks, and ended up taking four hours to
complete a two hour walk, and arrived home grumpy and just googled them
instead. Unfortunately typing “Rocks that look like giant cocks” into a search
engine brings up many unwanted responses.
The next day we rented an ATV and zoomed around the valleys
for some unprecedented views over the town and her environs. We visited the
exquisite red valley, so called because of the valley being red, the Ghost Town
of Cavusin, which was full of locals and tourists, but derives its name from
the caves above that were once inhabited but were left at once to be never
returned to. On the drive there, with Kylie hay-riding, we nearly managed to
roll the ATV when trying to pass some very high rocks, but thanks to Kylies
quick thinking in falling off, the machine righted itself. Later, we found the
Willies that we got lost looking for the previous day. Having the ATV was tremendous,
as this allowed us to reach parts quickly that no one else would be able to,
unless they of course also had an ATV. Some passages within the valley strictly
prohibited ATV entry, but not being one to bother with local laws, I decided
that we should have a sticky-beak anyway. Which is why we got the thing stuck,
with the exhaust embedded in soft rock, on a turn narrower than half the bike.
It took a wee bit of manoeuvring and a dozen three point turns for me to be
able to right and reverse the thing out of there and return the ATV to collect
our deposit back before they noticed the excessive scratching and significant
dents on the body of the bike.
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| Clearly, this girl is lost. |
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| Transformers, backpackers in disguise. |
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| "Just where the fuck am I?" |
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| Lube sales increased with every visit to Cappadocia. |
We relaxed that afternoon in one of the many traditional teahouses
that are such a beautiful part of Turkey. It is here where you can really absorb
local life, with the chances of being the only foreigner to have graced the
rooms for a while. We stepped into one by the Underground City of Derinkuyu,
where it seemed that Kylie was the only woman they had ever seen, possible in
their lives. For a Turkish man to let his eyes wander from his cards and
dominoes is unheard of. Just what were these gringos doing here? But they
returned to their institutions as we ordered and drank tea, but we were not
allowed to pay, as the owner was so thrilled someone from another country came
to share his tradition that it was on the house. The Turkish cards are
addictive, and we got in the habit of wasting a lot of time playing them. We
have dog-eared quite a few packs.
With flights out too difficult to negotiate and possible
airport closure due to runway damage from our flight in, we decided on an
overnight bus. Turkey in winter is cold. We were back to our fluffy down
jackets and thermals, as the temperatures had decided to relax in the negatives
for a while again. So the though of travelling long distance on the bus in the
dead of night in winter didn’t really appeal to us, but luckily there was
enough heating on-board, but the cramped conditions and proximity to other
bodies ensured adequate warmth.
At 4am, the bus pulled over on the side of a deserted
highway, seemingly miles from anywhere. The driver’s assistant, who spent the
whole night wiping leaking water from the roof off passengers heads, woke us
and told us that this remote outpost is our stop. Well I’ve always thought bus
stations were overrated, so why the hell not! But there on the road in front of
his car, was a happy young Turk, who asked me “Are you Mister Mark?” Assuming
Kylie didn’t have the same name that she had hidden from me all these years, I
answered in the affirmative, and going with the flow of things that is the crux
of our travelling, at a little after 4am we loaded into his car. His name was
Silver in Turkish, but I can’t remember exactly what it was. It turns out that
the incredibly helpful and friendly Ramazon, the owner of our cave hotel in
Goreme had phoned his mate and asked him to pick us up at this un-Godly hour
and take us to Pamukkale, our actual destination, as the bus didn’t swing by
there. Of course there was a hitch, he took us to his office, a travel agency,
and tried to flog some tours to us, but we politely declined and promised him
some Koreans we saw on the bus were on their way and he could strike up some
business with them. We were simply here for enough time to discover the wonders
of Pamukkale.
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| Gold Coast tourism had to focus on their strengths. |
Pamukkale is yet another marvel of the world, yet another
one that Turkey is fortunate enough to have in her backyard. Across cliffs run
water enriched with calcium carbonate minerals, which leave a stunning display
of blindingly white, prettified-like waterfalls and the bluest of blue pools,
called travertines.
It was a brisk morning, when we travelled to the entrance of
the park. Our local in town assured us we would be able to get in at 7am, in
time for sunrise and before the official opening an hour later, as he knew the
security guard and he would make arrangements. We returned to Silver and
advised him that the man on the gate had no idea who he was so he gave us a
bagel and some tea to shut us up.
Later, at 8am, we were still the first to arrive (on foot;
some Koreans rocked up by bus and took some top views), and paid our fee in.
You are not allowed to wear shoes while inside, in order to protest the
fragility of this world Heritage Site. Considering the surface is wet and the
temperatures were just a smidgen above zero, this wasn’t exactly pleasing to
hear. But before our toes could snap off and float into the pools below, we
discovered the water is indeed warm and thermal in most parts, so we set about
dipping. Water is also slippery as well, which is surprising isn’t it. I
managed to have an unscheduled swim, fully clothed. While inspecting the
clearness and soothing warmth of one of the travertines, I fell face first into
the water. Thankfully my fluffy jacket provided some protection, but my shoes
and socks, which I had been holding in my hands, had floated off downstream to
a better place. I passed Kylie, shaking her head, and retrieved my footwear,
and it was becoming clear that I would be walking barefoot back to town. But
the wonderful and industrious Kylie immediately produced some zip lock plastic
bags that she had stolen from airport customs and covered my feet to keep them
a little warm and also gave me a small chocolate bar.
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| Clearly soaked, and clearly mad. |
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| The giants dentist was angry his advise when unheeded |
Apart from the travertines there are also some pretty
impressive Roman ruins about the site, which can take up some of your time. In
fact, the day was very Roman, as later that afternoon we took the bus to Selcuk
and Ephesus, and explored their ancient wonders too. This area contains one of
the Seven Ancient Wonders of The World, being the Temple of Artemis, which is
no longer in its original glory, so take my word for it, or Google it.
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| The schoolies had lost their deposit yet again. |
There is no finer example of Turkish hospitality than a
couple of experiences we had in Selcuk. Firstly, our guesthouse owner Vasil
would almost be like a private chauffer during our stay. He would have no
qualms about driving us to town or picking us up late at night at request, and
even took us to the train station at 6am one morning, all without charge. And
then there is Mehmet, owner of a local Kebab restaurant famous for its cheap
prices, mouth-watering food and incredible friendliness of the owner. He gives
you free gives as a welcome to Turkey and even gives out travel advice and free
tea, and loves a chat and a joke. He also hates Turkish football clubs who pay
too much money to players and win the championships all the time. It should be
noted that Mehmet’s team sits last on the ladder and couldn’t score in a
brothel with a fistful of fifties.
Leaving Turkey is like leaving a long lost friend or saying
goodbye to family. Not forever, because you know you will one day return to the
ones you love. It just hurts a little to know that for the moment its over, but
you realise that this is such a place that captures every feeling and
encapsulates every emotion about travelling and the people you meet and the
places you visit and all that opens up their arms to you, that you need to come
back, to visit again the things you love. So we have made a commitment to
return to Turkey, to close that empty feeling we had when we took to the
streets that final, dark night. But this time in summer, as we didn’t touch the
coast, which has so much to offer. And we need more lokum.
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