Brief Encounter

Friendliness and openness are Turkish trademarks. An invite for a cup of tea, a handshake or eagerness to pose for the camera. There's no fakery or pretence - they're real people and proud of their homeland. Strolling along the banks of the Dardanelles we saw couples and small groups of all ages; fishing, chatting, cycling and picnicking. A lone fisherman was hauling his nets a stone's throw offshore.
Then we came across a half dozen Turkish men enjoying shots of Raki with bread, dips and chocolate! They called us over and invited us to share. Within a minute or two one of them was laying into a violin virtuoso like he was at the Royal Albert Hall while the others broke into spontaneous dancing and clapping. A brief encounter; a memory gem.

The Dardanelles

The Dardanelles was formerly known as the Hellespont or 'Sea of Helle'; a narrow strait in north-western Turkey. From my window at the Kolin Hotel I watched the tankers glide along and the birds wheel overhead in the westerly. Later, when the wind dropped, I walked a kilometre or two along the banks.

Turkey on a diet

We found a great restaurant on our second night in Istanbul and got chatting to Huseyin, the waiter who, like any Turk we have met so far, was extremely friendly. His English was superb. Towards the end of the Lucullan meal. Abbe said, 'We're on a 17 day tour of Turkey and I don't want to get fat'. Quick as a flash, Huseyin came back, 'well you've come to the wrong country'.

Graves beneath the shelter of an oak

For Jack. Written at Gallipoli, 21 September 2011

For Jack (Captain John McIntyre)

You landed here.

You, your friends from Kal, the training camps,

and from the ship transporting men and horses,

to your first taste of war.

You landed here.

And today’s blue waters still look stained

with the blood of men shot down

as they set foot on Turkish soil.

And today’s cloudy skies

echo still with cries of surprise, and fear and pain.

You landed here.

But family history says little of the days, the nights.

Did you, once landed on the beach,

scramble on through undergrowth, take shelter

among trees, in trenches swiftly dug

wherever clay earth would yield?

I know no tales of you or the men, who

followed you, their captain,

of how you survived where others died, on shaly hills,

among the cypress and the guns.

You landed here.

And did you see that camaraderie

grow between two countries’ foes,

that shines within the Anzac legend,

where Turkish soldiers bore the Aussie privates

to safety and to solace?

You landed here.

But left your friends and comrades,

some roughly buried,

others in their trenches, melting into the Turkish countryside,

to remain forever part of this most challenged shore.

Today we remember them in neatly ordered rows

beneath the peaceful shade of oaks

in scenes that quite belie the chaos

of those two hundred and forty days.

You landed here – and left.

And there are no stories of your going.

Were you stretcher-borne,

from field hospital, to waiting ship,

thence to a safe recovery?

Or did you press further inland,

before obeying the army’s call

to leave the Dardanelles and move on to another

field of war, in France?

You landed in France, where you remain.

In Sommieres, at end of day, a ricocheting bullet

did the work the Turks had failed to do, when,

having left the trenches, near the tents,

you fell into your best friend’s arms,

and now lie beneath a wooden cross.

The only relic that reached home,

the New Testament from your left breast pocket

that still bears the bullet’s furrow.

Anzac Cove, Gallipoli. Wednesday 21 September 2011

The Girl from the Blue Mosque

Trisha, Helen and I met Alexandra from Australia in the Blue Mosque. The light was almost perfect 'Butterfly' lighting and her dark shawl framed her face so well. Alexandra mentioned in an email she had only arrived in Istanbul that day and was feeling a bit down in the dumps. But we managed to add a bit of magic to her day. 'I must admıt ıt was a strange experıence, but ı was very flattered and ıt absolutely made my day.'

Wind and Waves

Our bus drove abord the ferry alongside cars and trucks. Then a laden donkey cart appeared with half a dozen older ladies. In Turkey the old and the new sit comfortably side by side. The fisherman with in their wooden boats and the stand of wind turbines on the horizon. While Turkey is progressive and forward thinking it prides itself on tradition.