Jetlagged ...

Holed up in my room after flaking it a couple of hours ago - this jetlag is really hanging around. The cold and windy day has deteriorated to cold, wet and windy. I bought some supplies from a local Aldi-like supermarket: cheap ayran and some muesli bars, dried apricots, chocolates, baklava and a pudding. Pudding turned out to be excellent - rice pudd/creme caramel-style. So the streets of the town and the decks of the ferries are now washed with rain, and I've packed away my delicious dried apricots so I don't give myself a stomach ache. My plan is to watch Gallipoli tonight at 9 if they're showing it downstairs.

Every country, every nation is different but each one seems to function just fine in its own way. Things are less orderly here than in northern Europe but everyone's on the same page so it works. A ferry has just pulled up full of cars and sure enough, all three lines of cars are charging off at the same time with noone directing them. On a Hebridean ferry, the personnel would ensure that one line after another disembarked. I suspect the Turkish way results in more scrapes and bumps but ultimately, who cares?

I crossed between Europe and Asia twice today and I'll do it again once tomorrow. The weather report from further south seems much better than here - 26-28 and sunny instead of 20 and wet.

Gallipoli continued ...

Have moved to a room with a view over the ferry terminal and across the Dardanelles. Troy visit this morning was actually better than I expected - from reading about the excavations there, I didn't think there'd be anything more than piles of rubble. But the archeologists had managed to excavate some clear walls from various of the 9 manifestations of Troy, plus some roads and lots of chunks of marble etc.

The group I was with - most of them from yesterday - were extremely annoying but on reflection it was only the South American representatives:  Sergio, plus an Argentine couple, who spent all their time whingeing and criticising. Sergio tried to ridicule the old lady at the shop we stopped at before entering Troy because she didn't look like she'd know what a cappucino was. A few minutes later, I noticed him drinking one. At the end of the Troy tour, the Argentine woman said to me "All confuse", I  responded with "do you feel confused?". She seemed greatly annoyed and thought for a minute before replying "no, the tour is confuse". I don't think they or Sergio had read a single word about Turkey before coming here. Sergio also asked Hassan the guide if he'd ever been out of Turkey and when he humbly replied no, Sergio told him he should go to Australia and visit a Turkish restaurant, where the food would be excellent. As for the food he'd had so far in Turkey - it was terrible. Perhaps he's right but I can't imagine a more patronising way to express it. Thankfully, Sergio has gone to Selcuk this afternoon and hopefully I wont bump into him again.

Didn't manage to speak to Nadia earlier due to problems at her end. Have had two kebabs for lunch, plus the ubiquitous Ayran, which Marie-Claire rightly pointed out yesterday was the ideal thing to be drinking when taking antibiotics - stomach flora and all that. And now I'm back in my room, tapping away. Perhaps I'll even get a bit bored this afternoon.

Hassan mentioned a number of New Zealanders yesterday who will warrant further research. Freiberg was the one I knew - later governor-general - who had acted as a one man army to create a diversion down near the salt lake next to Suvla. There was Henderson and his donkey, the Maori contingent who captured a hill near Lone Pine due to their stealth and lack of need for rifles. There was one other, who ended up dying later but who Hassan said would've gone on to be a great leader. He organised sniper teams to allow shrapnel valley to effectively remain under allied control and allow supplies to get through. Commander of Wellington forces. And Percy Black the Australian who rose from private to major within 18 months but then died in France. He was so well respected that some generals once saluted him. On the Turkish side, boys as young as 8 or 9 fought and died.

Another ferry is docking, packed full of cars and holiday-makers on this day of voting for a change in the constitution, which would give the High Court jurisdiction over the army for the first time. Coup leaders from 1980 could be tried for atrocities committed back then, but not forgotten.

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.