Istanbul

We’ll fight them on the beaches

Pamukkale-Dubai 274Now I’m by no means a student of war history, although thanks to TC our bookshelf would belie that fact. I know very few people who’ve served in a war. None of the relatives that I have ever met have fought in a war. I have never lost anyone in a war. And my Dad who did National service as part of his schooling was pleased that he was “too old for World War II and too young for Vietnam”. Of all the places, I’ve travelled, I’ve never once been minded to visit a monument to war. However, I urge any Australian who visits Turkey to go to Gallipoli – not just so you can experience the ANZAC pilgrimage but rather so you can see the Gallipoli coast and hillside from the Turkish perspective.

We rose early – on our way before 7am and our bus drove onto the ferry for the trip across to the Gallipoli Cove. It was quite a serene trip that early in the morning. We stood outside on the ferry and watched as we headed into shore. Gallipoli has not changed much since that fateful time in 1914, when the Turks won what they call the Gallipoli War. Despite the obvious cash that would come with it, the Gallipoli Peninsula has remained a rough and rugged landscape, peppered only with graves and memorials. Even the gift shops are temporary ramshackle stands. And despite my total lack of interest in the history of war and more particularly the World Wars, even I was moved. Standing on the peninsula looking at the ridiculous task our soldiers had in front of them, the futility and hardship was brought home.

It was early in the morning and our tour group was the only ones there. While this visit was perhaps more poignant for our us, the two other Australian girls and our New Zealand friends, the significance of place wasn’t lost on our wider tour group who haven’t grown up listening top this legend. I have to admit, for the past couple of decades, with the resurgence of ANZAC Day participation at home, I have become disillusioned with the focus of our national identity being tied to this one event. I recognize that Australia Day, referred to as Invasion Day by many fighting for Indigenous rights in our country, is not a shining example of our cultural identity. However, our country’s involvement in a War on the other side of the world, fighting for “Mother England” where the limited number of Indigenous soldiers who fought received no recognition in their lifetime doesn’t really seem like it should be the main focus of our cultural identity either. Having said that, standing on the beach at Gallipoli and wandering through the graves of the fallen, I understood the importance of the camaraderie between the soldiers of these two Commonwealth outposts nestled in the southern hemisphere who watched so many of their friends die here, thousands of miles from home. I was, at that moment, very glad we had chosen to come here in September rather than during the ANZAC day commemorations in April that have now become part of the backpacker trail and lead to the site being littered with rubbish from those who camp here.

As we wandered up the hillside through more graveyards, we came upon the most famous of the Australian graveyards at Lone Pine.  There it stood – the single pine tree that gave the place its name (we Aussies aren’t always that creative in naming places – among the small towns in Australia you will find Paris, Manila, Orange and Come by Chance). A tree was grown near the Australian War Memorial, propagated from seeds from the lone pine. Sadly it had to be cut down a few years ago but fear not – a whole industry has grown up propagating seeds from this one tree and you will probably find them in quite a few Aussie backyards. (Disarm – Smashing Pumpkins – in many ways the Smashing Pumpkins were the soundtrack to my 20s. Not just because I loved their tunes but because of all the bands of the time, they seemed to strike a chord with all of my friends, be a constant presence at parties, moody late night post show record rotations, road trips and just sitting around on a Sunday morning. And they came with less hupe than Nirvana even though in many ways they were cut from the same cloth.)

From Lone Pine we headed to the top of the hill, where a memorial was built to the only allied soldiers to make it to the top during the battle – both Kiwis. Also at the top was the part of Gallipoli that we never hear about – the Turkish memorials and grave sites. Much more structured and looking more like a mausoleum of sorts, there were plenty of whitewashed headstones here too. While the Australian headstones seemed to spring out of grassy fields, this was more like the marble and concrete mausoleums you find in sections of a city cemetery. And surveying it all there is a massive statue of Attaturk.

The top of the hill was much busier than the beach, alive with Turkish tourists visiting the site of one of their most important modern conflicts. This was also the site of the gift shop selling all sorts of unimaginable souvenirs, including a miniature gun that was actually a flick knife and an Attaturk shaped keyring that was also a cigarette lighter. After a brief souvenir stop – despite my love of tack I actually thought this stuff was a bridge too far – we boarded the bus for the final leg of our tour back to Istanbul.

We made a brief stop at a fairly luxe hotel with café while our driver caught up with a friend. It was a good opportunity to stretch our legs and it was a lovely spot but I was a little worried that the Grand Bazaar would be shut by the time we got back to Istanbul and we were flying out the next morning. Having said that Fadhi, our driver had been really good to us for the entire trip and it was only fair that he had half an hour or so to catch up with a friend.

We made one more stop at a Kofte restaurant that he recommended and I have to say it was probably close to the best meal we had in our time here. When in Rome (or some little town on the way to Istanbul)… Of course we had the kofte. It was fabulous and it came with chips! It was quite a while since I had eaten chips and this reminded me quite a lot of my first trip to Finland. There, in Rovaniemi on the Arctic Circle I had, incongruously, enjoyed yet another Turkish delicacy – Doner Kebab meat – on a bed of chips. These chips were on the side but it was fabulous. Our meal also included two of my other favourite things – fresh bread with balsamic vinegar and good quality olive oil, and some of the most delicious rice pudding I had eaten.

After lunch we were all keen to get back to Istanbul as soon as possible. Not because we were sick of each other’s company but because some, like me were keen to hit the Grand Bazaar to do some shopping before flying out the next day. Of course despite the camaraderie of the wonderful tour group and our fabulous guide and driver, it was going to be good to get off the mini bus as well. Once we arrived it was farewell to all and then time to check into the hotel for our last night in Turkey.

TC and I managed to score the honeymoon suite on the top floor. It wasn’t what I’d call fabulous luxury but it was on the top floor. In fact it was kind of a room built on the roof. There was an outdoor sitting area on the roof and what it did provide was a beautiful view out over the Bosphorous.

Once we had checked in and dumped our luggage it was off to the Bazaar to acquire some gifts for those at home and some shoes for me. In years gone by the Grand Bazaar was no doubt the home of some of the most beautiful things on earth. These days it involves rows and rows of tourist tatt, intermingled with a few surprises. I am sure the fabric purveyors across Istanbul and Turkey more broadly, have some fabulous wares at lower prices than the Bazaar but there we were in the Bazaar and I couldn’t help but buy some of the glorious material we found there. I chose some beautiful black and purple brocade. (The Bazaar -The Tea Party – a completely appropriate tune for the setting but more than that. The thing that fascinated me most about the Tea Party on first listen was the incredible symphonyof eastern instruments they built into their soundscapes. And this tune, as much as any embodies the brooding forceful wave of sound that takes you away to places far away and mystical)

Pamukkale-Dubai 334

Our flight gets into Abu Dhabi late in the evening and we are having afternoon tea at the Burj al Arab the following day. The dress rules are quite strict and while I have carted an appropriate dress across Turkey, lugging around a pair of shoes for a month for one high tea seemed like overkill.

There was only one problem. No matter how many stores we went into, I couldn’t find a pair of shoes that would fit. Apparently nobody has feet bigger than a size 38 in Turkey. I did find some boots I like in the Grand Bazaar- hand painted like the ones I had seen in a shop window in Antalya.  The sales guy said they were size 40 but there was no way they were even close. Despite my protestations, he took them away to stretch them, which I think he did by heating the leather. They were still painfully tight and after 15 minutes of the stretching, I decided that they still weren’t going to be very comfortable. Of course the sales guys were a bit annoyed when I said no.

We continued on our journey through the Bazaar, collecting tacky gifts, pashminas and a turquoise shell and a crocheted statement necklace. We wandered through a series of leather shops to check out leather jackets for TC and continued along the streets around the Bazaar but alas no shoes.

We visited the local McDonalds to check out the menu. It’s one of the interesting barometers of cultural difference. The huge homogenous American chain makes small changes to ensure its menu remains palatable to the locals. Here that meant an enormous Big Mac with four beef patties and a taco on the menu.

Of course we didn’t want to spend our last night in Turkey eating McDonalds so we kept wandering along the street until we were hauled into one of the restaurants by a tout. We ordered a range of our favourite Turkish food – cheese rolls, crispy chips and kofte – in the relaxed outdoor area of the restaurant. After dinner we took a stroll along the still buzzing street and bought a few more souvenirs to take home. And some baklava.

 

Istanbul (not Constantinople)

After a surprisingly good night’s sleep on the hardest yet still comfortable bed  I’d ever slept on, we headed downstairs for breakfast – Turkish breakfast with olives, tomato, cucumber, bread, juice, tea and coffee but none really rivaled the spread G had put on for us or the Van breakfast we saw Mehmet enjoying while we were waiting to look at his carpets. After breakfast we gathered in the hotel foyer for our walking tour of Istanbul.

The first part of our walk was through the outdoor part of the Grand Bazaar. We wandered through the chaotic market, with stallholders trying to get us to look at their collections of Turkish tea sets, cheap clothing made in China, and fake perfume. About half way along the street we stopped to look at a white-bearded Turkish man with what is best described as a contraption strapped to his back. It was a metal container with a spout that came over his shoulder from which he poured tasty and very refreshing homemade lemonade.

From the Bazaar, we weaved our way past Istanbul University to the Sileymaniye mosque. It was the first functioning mosque I had ever been in so I was quite conscious of being reverent. When packing I had carefully considered the need to cover up in Mosques, packing a beautiful tie-dyed silk wrap TC’s mum had made for me. Unfortunately, I hadn’t really considered where our walking tour would take us and it was left in the bottom of my bag in the hotel. No problem though – the mosque provided me with a scarf to wear (not nearly as pretty as the one I had) and I was wearing a skirt that covered my knees. The other thingyou have to do to enter a mosque is to remove your shoes. In Istanbul, they also give you a plastic bag so you can carry your shoes when you are in the mosque (and not risk them getting lost). While muslims going to pray perform ablutions, this is not required (or really appropriate if you are visiting the mosque to see the building. The mosque was designed by renowned Ottoman urban planner and architect Mimar Sinan at the request of Sultan Suleyman. One of the largest mosques in Istanbul, it was beautiful inside, and because it was much younger than the Aya Sofya and in continual use, the mosaics and frescos are in excellent condition.

From there we wandered through the labyrinth of streets, past the entrance to the spice bazaar and through the park between the Ayasofya and Sultahahmet mosque. The world over, there are festivals highlighting localk culture and food – in Istanbul’s case, it was my fave Turkish foaod so far – the Simit Festival. And what do you find at a simit festival – well entertainment, simit sellers and a huge glass container full of simit, inviting people to guess how many there were.

Just outside the complex for the Sultanahmet mosque, There are a couple of columns, believed to have been brought to Istanbul in Egyptian times. It was then when the age and tumultuous history of Turkey became real to me – there’s Attaturk, disputes with modern Greece, a muslim history, a Christian history, the Ottoman empire, the Romans and also the Egyptians. It also highlighted why ruins sometimes go undiscovered for years. The bottom of the columns, which were once above the ground were now several meters below the ground line, presumably due to the movement of dust, the shifting sands of time I guess. Entering the other mosque, the concern had been more about my head being covered. This time the attendants thought nothing of me entering without a head scarf but wrapped a scarf around my legs to cover my below-the-knee skirt. It seemed very strange.

Once again, the queuing was worth it. The mosaics were spectacular, and again as this was a functioning mosque, they were well preserved. There is no limit to the time you can spend inside but the mosque management have it all worked out – you walk around the courtyard which would have once been a school, go in one side and then out the other into the park with paths to Topkapi Palace and the Ayasofya.

The first thing to say about Topkapi Palace is that it’s big. And spectacular. When you meander through the outer gardens and then through the gates you expect to be inside the palace . In fact the palace itself consists of a multitude of buildings with rolling lawns and formasl gardens everywhere. You can really imagine the ladies of the court (or the Ottoman version of a court) strolling through the grounds, reading and being ladies of leisure. There were rooms for everything – including a superbly decorated circumcision room and the opulence was overwhelming. The collections of jewels, replete with gold and jewel encrusted thrones were overwhelming. While I understand the need to preserve historical artefacts such as these, it is difficult to look at the poverty that is so glaringly obvious throughout Turkey. It’s one of the things that sets Australia apart from the rest of the world, at least the European world – our ancient history, that of australia’s indigenous population is one  of a nomadic people, rich in cultural tradition rather than opulent artefacts. The buildings themselves were also magnificent, beautifully decorated with  mosaics and hand painted ceramic tiles. We wandered around aimless looking for the harem rooms which everyone had told us were a must see in the Palace, it sounds implausible but the grounds are just so spread out and there are so many buildings, without a map, it’s almost impossible to find particular rooms. Eventually we were tipped off by the queues and ticket booths . The  harem rooms, which you have to pay extra to visit, are well worth it. The frescos on the ceiling are absolutely glorious and the detail on the perfectly preserved tiles is exquisite. In fact from a purely decorative point of view, they are my highlight of Istanbul so far.  One of the most curious things for  me were the rooms where the selected member of the harem would wait for their master. While we can now look on the idea of the harem as degredation of women, it was clear that in Ottoman times, this was an opportunity for women to live in comparative luxury and be educated. When the alternative was poverty and slavery, without  independent rights or education, it’s no surprise that being part of a  harem was a prized existence.

Our next stop was a gothic paradise – the Basillica Cistern was only discovered this century benrath the streets of Istanbul. The Cistern is a water collection covern but as it was constructed  in Roman times so it has a lot of  columns. Of course most above ground monuments have the space for gift shops and cafes and the like. The entrancxe to the basilica cistern  is from a non descript building on the edge of Sultanahmet square that looks like it could’ve been a public toilet block. When you walk downstairs, there are a series of stands across the front of the cistern selling souvenirs and snack, not really what you’d expect to find inside something that’s essentially a water reservoir.  A wooden walkway has been built above the waterline so you can walk around the cistern and look at the fish that call the place home. There’s also two columns at the back that feature inverted heads of the medusa which were one of my highlights of Istanbul (predictably).

Conscious that our time in Istanbul was a bit limited, we were keen to see as much as possible so we decided to go across the river to the modern shopping precinct and walk back across the Galatta Bridge. There are lots of other sides in Istanbul. The Bosphorous divides the east (Asian)  side and the western (European) side but Istanbul  is split into many islands and peninsulas. The Galata Bridge crosses one of these inlets on the European side. Conveniently the tram from Sultanahmet Square runs down the hill, across the bridge to Beyoglu (the Golden Horn). We caught the tram and then after some confusion  on our part we found the fernicular railway  to Taksim Square at the top of the hill. A tip- the fernicular Railway is underground which mean you need to go into what looks like a non signposted sunway entrance.

After that it’s a quick trip up the hill and you are in Taksim square where there is – you guessed it – another statue of Attaturk. Istikal Caddesi, the main shopping street starts here so we wandered  down, drinking in the sights, and sounds of modern Istanbul. Istikel Caddesi is more of a long and winding mall that a street – like the kind you find in the middle of most Australian cities. Although wandering down a  winding paved road seems much more interesting that the flat street malls common at home.

Quite soon we realised that it was quite late in the day and we hadn’t eaten lunch. We found the closest place which was kind of a fast food restaurant Turkish style. They sold kebap rolls and tosts. I had been looking forward to having Avayalik Yoast and decided, once I saw it on the menu that I had to have it. Avayalik  Toast is my kind of toast. Grilled cheese with bits of stuff which included a couple of meats, pickles, potatoes, tomato sauce,  mayonnaise and two types of cheese. It was awesome TC, who avoiuds pickles like they will bring forth the devil’s wrath, chose a more conservative kebab option.

Suitably refueled and revitalized TC, Christina and I headed off down Iskiter Caddesi marveling at all the shops along the way. As we headed further down the hill,  the shops became funkier . Eventually we stumbled on what can only be described as musicians row, aside for the music stores  and craft stores, there were scores of musical instrument stores with all manner of eastern instruments, most notably a huge range of sitars. Further down thehill we found the Galatta Tower. We decided not to walk up the tower – there was a bit of a queue and while I’m  sure the view was wonderful, we were a bit tired and had a couple more things to do before we met our tour group to catch the overnight train back to Ankara. We wandered further down so we could walk across the galatta bridge. In fact we almost cossed beneath the Bridge as there is an an arcade beneath the bridge where you can cross to the other side. The galatta Bridge arcade was also where I had my first encounter with Istanbul’s public toilets. Initially I ventured into a a traditional squat toilet. They are really just a hole in the ground with non slide panels for your feet on either side. They also have a bucket of water and ladle for washing. Pretty much all public toilets in the west also include at least one European style toilet. Although these smell just as much as the squat toilets due to the bin rather than bowl approach to toilet paper disposal.

While the Galatta Bridgee is a famour Istanbul monumentits not that exciting to walk over. Essentially it’s a bridge across ariver where lots of people come to fish. Something you fing on pretty much any Australian jetty or bridge over a major waterway. bNot really the Sydney Harbbouir Bridge or anything – although I am sure history buffs will be aware of some great significance I am  missing.

Once over the bridge, we wandered back up the hill to Sultanahmet so TC and Christina could look in some camera stores. When we got to the top we cam across what to us we would describe as a pharmacy, except it had everything a pharmacy would stock apart from the medicine dispensary. The medicine dispensaries are just that –places to get medicine – granted pretty much anything  you want- but only medicine. The shop at the top of Sultanahmet square, however, had perfume, makeup and my holy grail – tampons. It transpires that as long as you’re looking in tourist areas, this essential item is available in Turkey. Yay!

We’re not in Kansas anymore

view from the train an hour or so east of Ankara
Every town has a mosque
house-building Turkish style
The ‘blue mosque’ from the Ayasofya
The high speed train
Not the Ayasofya
The stunning Ayasofya ceiling
From the top level of the Ayasofya
Ayasofya frescos
Iskedir

We had promised G that we would wake her to say goodbye so on our way out the door at dawn, I tapped on her door and bade her farewell. We wandered around the corner to the taksi rank and for the first time since our arrival we found it devoid of taksis. A press of the call button brought us a ride in no time and as we were waiting, we were joyfully farewelled by our hostess with the most(est) from the balcony. A short ride later and we were at Ankara Gar, the main train station in Ankara. Swiftly through the security screening (as heavy here as it is in Spain  due to the PKK) , we found our platform and got on the fast train that goes halfway between Ankara and Istanbul.

The train was comfortable enough and travelled pretty fast. We changed trains at Iskedir which was really well marked and were on our way in the normal speed train. It was a pretty long journey but was broken up when the train steward came around with a cart full of treats- we grabbed a packet of chips, some biscuits that tasted like Nice biscuits and a cake which turned out to be an inside out lamington. It was a coconut cake with chocolate in the middle. When we stopped at one of the towns along the way, a simit salesman boarded the train with a basket of fresh, warm simit bread. And tea. Turkey pretty much runs on tea. Like most trains around the world, the tea here comes in a paper cup instead of the tulip glasses offered by carpet salesman (and pretty much every café.)

The landscape changed quite dramatically throughout our journey from the barren mountains around Ankara to lush valleys growing nuts and olives. We also saw a lot of building work – not the organized building we have in Australia but the building of dwellings without proper scaffolding or any safety equipment. One of the things you see a lot is what looks like half finished houses with the reinforcing steel jutting out of the bottom storey. This is actually how houses are built here – you build the first story and leave it set up for the second so you can easily add it later when you have money. The other thing you notice is that the sleekest, cleanest and obviously most expensive buildings are the mosques and all have at least one elaborate minaret (with loudspeakers of course, as no one actually climbs them for the call to prayer these days).

It was on the train that we got our first experience of Turkish toilets, in particular the squat toilets. These traditional toilets get even less appealing than western style toilets after a long train journey. Add to this Turkey’s wholly inadequate plumbing system and the requirement not to put toilet paper through the sewers but rather to place it in a bin next to the toilet. A lot of private toilets are heavy on the air freshener to combat this problem and some
of the posher public toilets are cleaned more regularly. Given the fact that you have to pay to use most of them, a certain level of cleanliness should be expected. The toilets on the train were what you’d expect – filthy and with
water on the floor by the end of the journey.

We will get to know the trip between Istanbul and Ankara quite well by the time we leave Turkey. The plane flew over it from Abu Dhabi to Istanbul, and then we flew from Istanbul to Ankara. After today’s trip o Istanbul we will return to Ankara on the overnight train as part of our tour and then fly over it again as we leave Istanbul in a few weeks time. [Solarburn – Alchemist – one of my fave songs from one of Australia’s premier
metal bands and some of the nicest chaps you’ll ever meet. They also do a marvelous War of the Worlds cover]

Our first stop after leaving the platform at Haydarpasa station on the Asian side of the Bosphorus (the sea channel that runs between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea and splits Istanbul in two) was to find a toilet. TC had suggested I hang on if possible and that’s exactly what I did. From there we caught a ferry across the Bosphorus. Like everywhere else in Turkey, there was no recognisable queue to board the ferry. Everyone
just kind of clambered on board. We sat near the front and warded off another round of men selling tea and snacks. The trip across the water gave us a good opportunity to see Istanbul from a different viewpoint but took only about 10 or 15 minutes.

We arrived at the wharf near the infamous Galata Bridge to a busy tourist hotspot – our first but probably not our last experience of Turkey’s growing popularity as a tourist destination for Eastern Europeans as well as Germans and sun loving Brits. The Turks have a close relationship with the Germans after they sided with them in World War I. And there seem to be quite a few who choose Turkey as a holiday destination. There were people everywhere and spruikers announcing the virtues of their Bosphorus cruise over the 57 others offered along the docks. We rushed past them to find a taksi – we gave the driver our hotel’s address and instructions and he assured us he could get us there. Rule no.1 of taksis in Turkey, particularly in Istanbul – when the driver says he can get you there, it doesn’t mean he knows where there is, it just means he is sure he can get you there… eventually. Our driver circumnavigated what seemed like the same series of streets several times, stopping to ask everyone he saw whether they had heard of our hotel – the Newport Hotel. By now I was getting worried the hotel didn’t exist or was so bad, nobody ever stayed there. Eventually after about four or five sets of directions and a lot of laps of what seemed like the same narrow streets, we arrived at our destination. The hotel looked like it was either a cheap hotel trying to look more impressive with the use of gilt and mirrors or a hotel that saw its heyday in the ‘80s. Probably a little of column a and b. We checked in and headed up to our room which while not extravagant was comfortable enough. From there it was off to explore Istanbul.

Our tour includes a full day of exploring Istanbul but notes that the Ayasofya, the church turned mosque turned museum that issaid to be one of Istanbul’s great highlights, would be closed as tomorrow is Monday. Of course we set out to find the Ayasofya. Armed with a map (although not sure where we were on it), we looked for the infamous building. We wandered through the back streets of Sultanahmet until we came across an impressive looking domed church which was being renovated on the outside. It turned out not to be the Ayasofya, which was much grander in scale, beauty and tourist activity. So when we finally arrived we queued, which is not one of TC’s favourite pastimes. It was interesting watching the tour groups of mainly older people weaving past the crowds, with ever observant tour group leaders rounding them up like sheep just like you see in the movies. And yes more of them than I care to remember were wearing white spray jackets and sunvisors. I hoped to myself that our tour would be quite different to this.

Everyone who has been to Istanbul has told me that I simply must visit the Ayasofya. Now I’m not prone to agreeing with popular opinion but in this case I bow and scrape to it. The Ayasofya is a magnificent building that is just simply overwhelming. As you wander through it, in awe of the 1500 year old church and its magnificent frescos, you wonder what life must have been like here during Istanbul’s tumultuous history. And whatever you do, when you walk into the main body of the Ayasofya, tilt your head back and just look up for about 15 minutes. No photos I have seen come close to capturing the magnificence within those walls. You simply have to stand in the middle and look up. And as the Ayasofya was used as a model for many churches and mosques in Istanbul (and indeed throughout Turkey) I imagine one of the most common travel insurance payouts for travelers to Turkey is for neck injuries from looking at so many ornate ceilings.

By now it was mid afternoon and we were hungry. We found the Sultanahmet (blue) mosque and the Basilica Cistern which we resolved to visit in our free time and headed to one of the touristy restaurants near Sultanahmet Square for a late lunch. We ordered a plate of hummus to share and I tried the kofte (local meatballs) which came with a Turkish salad of tomato, feta and cucumber – like a Greek salad without the onion. One thing you notice quite quickly is that bread in served everywhere, is complementary, plentiful and refilled quickly. Water is not, although a bottle of water is between a half and one Turkish Lira (25-50c) and even at it it’s most expensive  2TL ($1). After our late lunch, we wandered back to the hotel for our tour group meeting and introduction. [All she could ask for – The Creatures – Siouxsie Sioux re-imagined as friendly arthouse electro fare. One of my favourite promoters brought The Creatures to Australia some years ago and gave me complimentary tix (even though there was absolutely no prospect of me reviewing the show). Now that’s a true gentleman.

My main concern about a tour was winding up with a group of 18 year olds who saw the tour as a way to check out Turkish nightlife, get drunk every night and travel with hangovers. I secretly held out hope that as Turkey wasn’t the Amalfi coast and excessive drinking was frowned upon in Muslim countries, we might have a slightly older demographic. As it turns out, the age range on our tour was between 24 and 65 with more than half our fellow travelers older than both TC and I. But they definitely weren’t the white shoe brigade tour group we had seen the previous day. And most of them were Canadian. There were Ken and Rae, a retired teacher and nurse from Stratford, Canada, Bill, an architect, and his wife Jane who run their own business in Canada (I think in Toronto), Christina, a nurse from (I think) a community just outside Vancouver, Christine, from Toronto, Canada, who is involved in sustainability programs, a US couple from Cincinnati – Gerry and Sheila, the third of our three nurses and the extremely fit wilderness fanatics on our tour who had hiked in places I would be scared to go, kiwis Rob, an engineer and his wife Pam  who had just spent some weeks on a cruise through Russia, a brand management specialist from London taking a year out to travel (yes, I was very jealous she could do that) and of course two other Australians – Annie and Fiona from Melbourne, who were taking a break between their masters degrees and teaching science, maths and health to teenagers. Our Turkish guide Mutlu was from Antakya in Turkey’s east, better known to westerners as Antioch, close to the border with Syria. It is not common to find Turkish people who speak English fluently and Mutlu’s English was by far the best we had encountered in Turkey – and I am sure much better than my few words of badly pronounced Turkish. The first word I sensibly learnt was teşekkürler (thank you), the second inshallah (an Arabic word that means god willing).

After our quick introduction and the filling out of paperwork (always tedious) we arranged to meet for dinner and TC and I returned to our room for a quick freshen up. When we arrived downstairs, one of our tour members had collapsed and was being taken to hospital by our guide. The rest of us went out to eat – I had doner kebab which came with salad, pickled veges and rice (not bread). There was, however, a plentiful supply of puffed bread which is best described as the Turkish bread we know puffed full of air and then baked to be slightly crispy. It was a favourite in Istanbul restaurants. There was Efes beer flowing aplenty but it’s not really a topple I enjoy so I abstained in favour of a plentiful supply of bottled water. After dinner it was off to bed with a 7.30am wakeup call to prepare us for breakfast and our tour of Istanbul. [Sister Havana – Urge Overkill – these guys remind me of my first Big Day Out in ’94, part of a massive lineup – I went to see The Ramones before they split and came home with a mammoth new playlist. I saw their latest incarnation a few years ago and they had lost nothing.]