#anzac2017

23 - 25 April 2017

23 April dawned much too early for us, after our much later than planned night out in Istanbul. James, in an unnecessary attempt to convince Hannah that we should stay out till after the trams stopped running, had volunteered to pack her bag in the morning. Being a gentleman, and probably still drunk, he crammed both bags full, made Hannah a cup of tea, and got her through a shower. Hannah, in a semi-conscious state, vacillated between bemoaning her current state and lying in a foetal position on the bed. Needless to say, after a very quick breakfast (Hannah only consumed a mouthful of bread, which was a clear sign she was suffering) and hurrying to checkout, we turned up in a wonderful state for our 5 hour mini-bus to the Gallipoli Peninsula. Mercifully, the meeting point was 10 minutes walk away, so we didn’t have to grace public transport with our presence.

For those of you who have been following our blog, you will know we loathe mini-buses. Whether it’s been the cramped nature of the seats, the drunk rally car driving (one driver was actually clasping a beer), the outrageous lies in published travel times, or the generally fetid atmosphere of unwashed backpackers (present company excluded), they have been a consistently negative feature of our travels. Hannah in particular was immensely relieved when this minibus was spacious, we weren’t manhandled into the back seats, and the driver stayed within speed limits on well-sealed motorways. Coupled with a lunch break at the world’s greatest petrol station cafeteria, and some well-deserved napping, we arrived at Gallipoli Peninsula recovered enough to enjoy our battlefield tour.

There are a variety of tour operators in Turkey for ANZAC Day commemorations, but we will unashamedly plug G Adventures (and our great guide Ibrahim Erden) if you are considering going - and no, we weren’t paid or in any other way compensated for this. We don’t think our readership of 7 people would justify it. The first day was a transit from Istanbul to Canakkale, with a three hour battlefield tour in the middle, touching on the key sites for the ANZACs. We started at Brighton Beach (the intended landing site), where Ibo (Ibrahim’s nickname) gave us a brief overview of the campaign, before hopping back in our mini bus to head towards Anzac Cove. Anzac Cove was closed in preparation for 25 April, but we paid our respects at two Commonwealth cemeteries, before heading up the hill. Along what became known as Second Ridge, we visited Lone Pine, the Nek, Chunuk Bair and a memorial to the Ottoman 57th Regiment, which were each accompanied by briefings on the importance of each site. The day was a fantastic opportunity to see the ground where the campaign was won and lost, to appreciate the struggles of all the participants, and place some history lessons in a physical context, before the crowds and emotion of ANZAC Day descended upon us.

24 April was spent in Canakkale, buying a few snacks and some water for the commemorations, but focused on visiting the ruins of Troy. Yes, that Troy, from the movie starring Brad Pitt (as one of our group seemed fixated on), but also with 5000 years of history. It’s hard to describe how interesting it was being guided through the ruins, but we’ll try. The ruins cover nine periods, from the original Bronze Age settlement, through to Roman times, including the ruins of Ancient Troy described in Homer’s ‘The Iliad’. The ruins are remarkably well preserved, and the route through them demonstrates how the city was built, destroyed, built and expanded over three millenia. At places you can look down excavation trenches, and see the ruins from all the periods, growing outwards and becoming more refined. It was thrilling to look up at the ramparts leading up to the South Gate and imagining the awe they would have inspired in 3000BC, or see the remains of the Royal Palace from which King Priam would have watched Achilles defeat Hector in mortal combat. It was humbling to stand amongst the ruins of ancient civilisations.

ANZAC Day was equally humbling, but in a much more immediate context. As dawn broke on a freezing morning, a surprisingly small crowd (less than a 1000 including all the VIPs and associates) commemorated the men who struggled ashore 102 years ago. Looking around the crowd, most wrapped in all their clothing layers and sleeping bags, it was uplifting that so many people had travelled from the utmost ends of the earth, in spite of cost, distance and terror warnings to remember those who served when their fledgling countries called. To remember those who came home physically intact but damaged nonetheless, those who came home injured or sick, or those who never came home at all.

Of no greater importance than the services at Anzac Cove or Lone Pine, which were more focused on all the participants and the Australian forces respectively, it was the memorial at Chunuk Bair which was the most poignant for us. As the sun reached its midday height, and started to beat down on the tiring crowds with a vengeance, we gathered atop the highest point of the peninsula to remember the New Zealand, and Allied, forces who fought desperately for three days, in vain, to capture and hold the high ground. For a country of 1 million, the deaths of hundreds of young men over three short days, on a barren hilltop in Turkey must have seemed a heavy price to pay for the benefits of the Empire, as their loss was felt through towns across the nations. But, the crowd of men and women, who had walked up the roads past the cemeteries and memorials to the fallen and missing, reflected in tribute to their sacrifices.

There were a few light-hearted moments as well. James had a selfie stick (given as a joke present by Hannah and promptly stuffed in the bottom in his rucksack until this moment) confiscated by some extremely unamused Turkish police officers at the second checkpoint (Hannah was extremely distressed to lose both her travel sized mouthwash and deodorant too). Hannah had to bite her tongue when a young couple behind us at Chunuk Bair discussed whether Amy Adams was the President of NZ, and how their cocaine habits were progressing in London (not NZ’s finest minute). The Australian tour group of 50 who all had matching BRIGHT yellow hoodies and beanies. Certain members of the tour group spending considerably more time in the wooden horse at Troy and the dress up outfits, than in the ruins. Hannah’s visit to struggle town in the minibus on 23 April.