Gallipoli

Another early start today, this time for Troy. Unfortunately, the very annoying Sergio the Brazilian from Mulgrave (Melbourne) is still here and I think will even be travelling to Ephesus with me. He flipped his lid yesterday at Ramazan because he'd boarded the bus in Istanbul not knowing it was 5 1/2 hours to Eceabat. We had one pitstop at a roadside service station, at which a young couple caught my eye. She was wearing a strapless dress which went to her ankles, problem was, it was decidedly see-through. Whether she or her well-dressed, slick-looking partner were aware this, I'm not sure, but it proved to be a distraction throughout the day not only for myself but for everyone else, judging from the sidelong glances  that I noticed many of the local men sending her way. The couple were Australian.

When we arrived in Eceabat, we had an uninspiring, watermelon-dominated lunch at a nearby restaurant, then gathered in the town square, where Hassan, our guide, introduced himself before we all piled back into the bus and set out for the Gallipoli sites. It was a excellent afternoon - Hassan was extremely well-informed and passionate about the subject. His stories and explanations greatly enhanced the experience. The whole area is beautiful - lovely pebble beaches, green hills, commanding views.

I think I was mostly moved by the Turkish side of the story - these boys defending their homeland against an unknown enemy from the uttermost parts of the earth, especially the 57th battalion, which was asked by Ataturk to lay down their lives, which they did. The Turkish cemetery was the most profound example of this, including the little prayer area, which some Turkish men were making use of, when they weren't being distracted by see-through-dress girl. The New Zealand presence I also found touching - probably because there is no chance of that little nation turning this hideous tragedy into a jingoistic John Howard-style swagger. Hassan related many New Zealand stories - probably half of all those he told but after years of ANZAC Day in Australia effectively being AAC Day, it felt like an NZ bias! I found the occasional headstone of a lad from Otago (see my tribute to my Great-Uncle George) - surely the uttermost of the uttermost - and mention of them at the New Zealand memorial at Chunuk Bair.

So, now I've seen these places for myself that I've known the names of since I was a boy - Anzac Cove, Suvla Bay, Lone Pine, Shrapnel Valley, Chunuk Bair, the Dardanelles.

A New Zealander approached me in the foyer of the hotel before we embarked on the tour and asked where I was from - he must've noticed my Maori hook. I said Gisborne but smiled and added that I'd left there over 30 years ago. He was from Wellington (but his family were originally from Poverty Bay), as were a number of others in the bus. I ended up having a beer with Phil (McCarthy) when we got back and had dinner with him and Marie-Claire his Irish-born wife. Phil had been in charge of NZ Corrections for 10 years before retiring and now works as a consultant. We had a great chat ranging across all sorts of topics including (Richard) Dawkins, (Francis) Collins and Celtic spirituality. They spoke glowingly of Patmos. Phil said they were Catholics who'd been involved in the charismatic renewal movement in the 70s and were currently worshipping in an Anglican church in the place they were living, as the Catholic church there was as dead as a doornail.

I headed off to bed after a shower and a few minutes enjoying the 1000 channels of rubbish on the satellite TV.