Sixty One Degrees

Gallipoli

Gallipoli Peninsula, Turkey

"I am not ordering you to attack, I am ordering you to die. In the time it takes us to die, other troops and commanders will arrive to take our place."

These were the words of divisional commander Mustafa Kemal to the Turkish 57th Infantry Regiment as the Australian and New Zealand troops landed on the 25th of April, 1915, in an ill-fated attempt to take the Gallipoli Peninsula. The 57th Regiment was indeed wiped out, but they checked the ANZAC advance and reinforcements were able to arrive.

Over the next few months fierce trench warfare raged as the Allied troops tried to take the high ground of Chunuk Bair. The opposing trenches are still visible, often only eight or ten metres apart.

I walk from the beach where the ANZACs landed past numerous cemetaries. They have surprisingly few gravestones as most of the dead were never identified when they were recovered from the battlefield. Poignant epitaphs are inscribed: "Could I clasp your hand once more, just to say well done".

From the landing point to Chunuk Bair is no more than three or four kilometres yet the fighting raged for four months. The final battle lasting from the 6th to the 9th of August, when more than 28000 men died.

In the end the Turks held the ridge and the allies withdrew from the peninsula. Attempts to control the strategic Dardenelles were abandoned.

Following Turkey's ultimate defeat in World War I, Mustafa Kemal led the challenge to the rule of the Ottoman Sultan, culminating in the foundation of the Turkish Republic with Mustafa Kemal, now Kemal Atatürk (Father Turk) as it's President.

In 1934 Atatürk returned to Gallipoli with these words for the ANZACs:

"Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace.

There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side here in this country of ours...

You, the mothers, who sent their sons from far away countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land they have become our sons as well."

The demon barber of Eceabat

Eceabat, Turkey

I decided to get a haircut today. I figured a half-balding guy in a one horse town should be a great barber. It was only once I was trapped in the chair and he had a cut-throat razor in his hand that I realised I was right next to the battlefields of Gallipoli and maybe my grandfather killed his grandfather (except my grandfather was never in Gallipoli but he doesn't know that).

I survived the razor only to be confronted by a lit cigarette lighter, which he proceeded to stick in my ears! First one then the other.

Try getting that sort of service at Toni & Guy.

Alone with the Hittites

Hattuşa, Turkey

It's the end of the day and I find myself in Ankara. How did that happen? I was determined not to set foot in this town again (least favourite capital cities: Ankara and Tehran. Most favourite capital cities: Beijing and Yerevan). Instead I find myself walking the dirty, depressing streets of Ulus once more. At least I'm staying in a different flea-pit this time. But back to the beginning...

Arising from Prince Charles' hotel I stroll across the snow-covered town to find the dolmuş to Boğankale. "Wait in here", says a guy working in a tea house. I'm soon hunkered down with the locals and being supplied with countless glasses of tea. An hour passes. No dolmuş. I ask the guy serving the drinks. He runs outside for a few minutes and returns with a young taxi driver. No dolmuş they say. The roads are too treacherous. The taxi will go for about the same price.

We run around the town and pick up some more people then head off for the 30kms to Boğankale. On arrival the driver assures me that he'll need to accompany me for the day as I'll never be able to walk around by myself in the treacherous ankle-deep snow. For a very reasonable price, he says. I shake him off and head up to Hattuşa. Ancient city of the Hittite civilization, dating to about the 14th century BC.

The ruins are low and sparse but the setting was magnificent. The weather was perfect, with blue skies and not a breath of wind. Several inches of fresh snow removed all traces of footprints. I was the only person in sight.

The snow squeaked beneath my boots. "Champagne powder" they call it in Utah. So light you could run your fingers through it and not feel a thing. Sunlight sparkled across the surface as if it was strewn with diamonds. The bright points of light dancing across the snow with every footstep.

I spent a couple of hours walking around. By the end the bottom of my trousers were frozen solid. I catch a lift with a grossly overloaded truck to the next site, a couple of miles away.

By the end of the day I'm heading back to Sungurlu with the same taxi driver. He tries to sell me some old postcards and wooden carvings on the way. "I carve them myself", he says, "at night". Riiigghht.

We land right in front of a bus company in Sungurlu. I go in to check out the times of buses tomorrow and before I know it I'm bundled on to an old minibus and bound for Ankara, where I can change for my real destination of Safranbolu. I'm thinking that this is the courtesy bus to take us to the real bus. No! This is the bus for the whole three hour trip. Our departure is delayed for quite some time while they heatedly debate who exactly should go from the excess of potential passengers. In the end it's solved. They all go! Jammed in to every available space.

I'm still slightly dazed by it all when we reach Ankara. It's too late now to continue. Nothing for it but to take a room for the night. Back to the wasteland of Ulus.

Now, where are those chains?

Central Anatolia, Turkey

It's 3pm and I'm on a three hour bus ride from Amasya to Sungurlu - a couple of small towns in Central Anatolia. I sleep for much of the first hour and wake in Merzifon to find it snowing. A lot. A couple of inches of fresh snow lie on the road to Çorum. Lots of cars are stopped. Some putting on chains, some just stopped. The bus slips a little a couple of times but generally the driver's faith in its superior weight and traction was rewarded. Until...

We went to pass another, stopped, bus. The rear wheels start to slide to the left, slowly at first then faster and faster. The driver gamely pushes on as we slip right in to the ditch on the side of the road, hitting a snowy bank with a thump. Everyone gets off the bus. They bring a tractor to pull us out. A half-inch iron bar is produced and jammed somewhere under the front of the bus then connected to a thick cable and the tractor. The tractor begins to pull. The bus makes no sign of moving. The tractor pulls harder. The iron bar comes flying out bringing half of the front of the bus with it. Undaunted they try the same technique again. I step back a few more paces. More of the bus is ripped off. The tractor gives up and goes looking for a smaller objective. They call for the big tow truck.

It's now dark and still snowing. The guy standing next to me is shivering. I give him my wooly hat. The tow truck arrives and they attach a chain to a more solid part of the bus. The truck begins to pull. The bus moves a fraction, but no more. The truck moves for a better angle and tries again. The bus is moving now. The right back wheel starts to climb the embankment. The right front wheel is shooting straight up in to the air. The whole bus is tipping dangerously over. Passengers start to call out for the truck to stop pulling as we imagine the whole thing going over but he continues. One; two more feet, and then suddenly the front wheel comes down with a thump. The back wheel is over the crest and the bus is mobile again. Minus a few bits from the front which I'm sure weren't important.

It was pretty slow-going the rest of the way. The driver seemed strangely cautious. We passed some traffic police toting AK-47's. Must be expecting some serious traffic violations.

I finally get to Sungurlu at 8pm. Only two hours late. Not too bad really. After all that I decide to treat myself and check in to the hotel that Prince Charles stayed at in 1992. Just $12 a night. Even a prince can afford that.