Turkey - Gettin my History on in Troy!

To kill a bit more time until my passport is returned to Istanbul, I started travelling further south from Galipoli towards the ancient ruins of Troy, an amazing spot which existed over 4,000 years ago and was thought up until the 19th century to be just a fairy tale, and did not actually exist. The amazing thing here is that it is layers of cities which have over thousands of years been destroyed and then re-built on top of each other, so Troy I to V was built roughly during the Bronze Age (Troy 1 existed from 3000 to 2600bc, Troy II 2600 to 2250bc, Troy III 2250 to 2100bc, Troy IV 2100 to 1950bc and Troy V from 20th to 19th century BC, Troy VI from 17th to 15th bc, Troy VII 1300 bc to 900bc, Troy VIII from 700 bc and finally Troy IX from 1st centurty bc). One of the shots I have here with all the little white signs on them, shows the layers of some of the ruins and from which era they belonged, it really was beautiuful and again hard to get my head around such history and time ... makes me realise how young white Australia is .. and that our richness of culture comes only in with our Indigenous History, which 'we' dont embrace anyway ... shame shame shame. Anyway! ... some pics above of Troy and one of me inside the Trojan horse replica! The shots of the ruins dont do it justice. Oh and note the red poppies littered throughout the pics ... you see them now and then scattered in the country side, makes sense why we have the red poppy for Anzac Day. They are sooo vibrant and beautiful.

Turkey - Anzac Day at Galipoli

Anzac Day - after deciding to go, I ended up scoring a cheap deal down to Galipoli on a local bus. I headed out from the hostel at about 8pm the night before Dawn Service started, arrived down at Galipoli at about 9.30pm and already all the tour groups that I wasnt in love with were there, taking up all the lying down spots. So found a pozzie in the stands and knew Id be in for a long night sitting on a hard plastic chair all night. They expect anywhere between 5 and 20 thousand people each year, and expected this year to be small (there ended up being about 3.500 people) because so many flights were cancelled due to the volcano. During the night they showed a few short docos about the first world war, I watched as the time ticked by veeerrry slowly until 5am when the service started - it was about 5 degrees overnight so needless to say I didnt get much sleep whilst sitting on a chair with just about every item from my backpack on (I only really had clothes for 45 degree weather in India with me). The pre-service started with a traditional Maori welcome which sent shivers down my spine, then our Navy Band which did NOT send shivers down my spine .. they only did a few numbers thank god. Then a group of 4 older Maori women formally opened the Dawn Service at the time when the Anzacs first landed on Anzac Cove, at 4.30am .. I'm sure theres a word for this song, but they basically wailed for about 5 minutes, this spine chilling most mournful sound Ive ever heard, there were just a few words sung but it was in looong wailing tones, that brought tears to my eyes. Of course, the standard minutes silence and bugal were played and it was all quite emotional, to be sitting on the cliffs at Anzac Cove in Galipoli, where thousands of Aussies, Kiwis and Turks were killed nearly a hundred years ago. I felt so humbled that the Turkish had given up such a HUGE peice of land as an Anzac memorial sight, it is really beautifully maintained with gorgeous grass and flowers everywhere, and the amount of land that they have dedicated to us is really amazing. Its really humbling to think that they faught against each other, but every year hosts our memorials in such a respectful and united way. An example of this was so beautifully highlighted in Ataturk's message to the Mothers of the Anzacs who had died at Galipoli (Ive attached a picture of it, I hope you can read it). Ataturk was the leader of the Turkish Army and went on to become the first President of Turkey and founder of the Republic of Turkey .. he is absolutely still seen as a hero in Turkey, his picture is everywhere and his name is seen on banners and posters still today. He amazingly said in 1935 "I am convinced that the excerise of social and political rights by women is necessary for mankind's happiness and pride. You can rest assured that Turkish women as well as the World's women will work towards world peace and security" .. he was very progressive for men in that era. His letter to the Mother's of Australia and New Zealand was really touching.

I felt also realy honoured to be there on behalf of Grandad and Gramps, and have a new found respect for their time they spent in the War. I just simply cant imagine it.

After the Dawn Service, I headed up to Lone Pine, where the offical Australian Memorial is held. The first time Indigenous Australians were mentioned was here but a Grade 9 girl who won a prize for her research project on "people forgotten in the War". She did her story on Aboriginal people who were not allowed to enlist in the war (I dare say because at this point they were not counted as 'citizens of Australia' or counted in a census .. actually I do beleive that they were still classed under the Flora and Fauna Act), so many of them got false documents and forged their way to enlist and fight for THEIR COUNTRY. She found one man called Maynard who managed to enlist, and for her project she brought some Red Ochre from the cliffs near her house and brought them to Galipoli to rub on his name (theres a picture Ive attached of it) because she thought it might make him feel closer to his home country. I was moved to tears. The first time Indigenous people were mentioned (and there was A LOT about Maori contribution to the war) and it was by a 9th grade girl for her school project, who understood that for an Aboriginal person to not be buried on their land causes a restless wandering spirit ... good on you girl.

After the Austalian Memorial and the Attorney General gave her speach (picture attached of her receiving some stupid beanie from the Fanatics group), I signed the book for Grandad and Gramps (picture attached) and headed back to Eceabat.

The following day I felt like I didnt really get to see much of Galipoli or the sights that were central in the Anzac campaign, so I headed back down on a day tour with the hostel. I took some shots of the graves, there were many moving enscriptions on the stones, mostly ones from Mothers. Ive just taken some shots of the more freqently seen ones.

One of the things that really did impress and shock me was the proximity in which the Turkish and the Anzacs were fighting .. in some places there was a one way road in between them and they were throwing each other bits of supplies (cigarettes, beef jerky, bread etc) to try each other stocks .. I cant imagine how making that human connection felt in the context of killing each other. I was overwhelmed with the mental images of the war while I was walking around (there is still a lot of gun pellets and remanents of actual fighting littered around the place), seeing the trenches, hundres of K's of trenched dug by bare hands (a pic attached of one of the trenches and an underground bunker thing) .. was really hard to wrap my head around actually. To think that I was standing where more than 8000 Aussies, 22 000 British and about 3000 Kiwis died and where 86,000 Turks died ... yes ... EIGHTY SIX THOUSAND. The history is amazing and I didnt realise how much I didnt know about the first world war .. what happened at the Nec, at Lone Pine and that the whole fucking thing may have been avoided if the British had have kept their promise to the Ottoman Empire (now Turkey) and gave them their 2 battle ships that they had purchased from the British .. this simple deception made the Turks who were until that point neutral in the war, decide which side they would take .. the British or the Germans ... so they supported the Germans because the British had ripped them off.

They called this the last Gentleman's War .. a war where the two sides help feed each other, called 'time out' so that the other side could bury their dead .. it really is hard/impossible to imagine so much death in 40 degree heat, wearing wool uniforms and boots, covered in lice and bugs, starving, dehydrated and scared out of your mind .. not to mention that around you, thousands of bodies lie dead and decaying for days and weeks .. your friends, and sometimes your family. That hundreds and hundreds of people died of exposure and dysentry is really just horrible to imagine. Its just overwhelming and makes me sooo fucking angry that wars even happen. They are absolutely pathetic .. selfish ... abusive .. avoidable ... violent and unthinkable.

It was an honour to be there for you Grandad and Gramps .. and for Grandma and Nan who also faught in a different way in the War xxxx

Turkey - Istanbul

So .. I arrived at Istanbul airport and was initially pretty underwhelmed with my lack of welcome party - not a tout, a taxi or auto rickshaw driver in sight and no one yelling out "MADAM, MADAM, YOU WANT TAXI ... AUTO MADAM??" ... very impolite indeed Turkey! I realised as I was standing in line at the visa que in Istanbul customs, that my visa for Syria, which can only be issued in your place of residency was incorrect (rookie mistake, should have noticed when I first got it months ago), and that it expired 3 months earlier than it should have. Basically I had to decide to either risk sending my passport off to Canberra, have the Syrian embassy fix it and post it back, or I had to head to Syria immediately and then back track back into Turkey. I decided to post it via DHL courier, cost me a lazy $200 .. VERY unimpressed. Im still awaiting its return from Canberra, but I am assured it will return!

Anyway, first impressions of Istanbul - it is a very stereotypical European, cobbled stone pathways, a mix of designer and of local shops, women covered head to toe in Burqa and others in Lee jeans, healed boots and stylish jackets wearing makeup. I instantly missed India. I like the 'big bang' of a country, the stuff that makes you go "fuck thats amazing/ sad/ overwhelming/ interesting/ new/ full on etc" ... I was sitting on a local tram which could have been Yarra, no graffiti and not a peice of litter in sight. The quiet is welcomed, but missed.

I head to a backpacker strip in a place called Sultanahmet, check into a dorm room at the Sultan hostel for 30Lira a night (about $10 a night) ... I realised the belt's gonna have to be tightened since my budget for an entire day including all meals, accomodation, taxi's and entrance into sights was about $8 a day for India! I can only book in for a couple days because several groups were going to be rolling in any day from Australia for Anzac Day and head down to Galipoli. I toss up whether to head to Galipoli myself, its the 21st April and seems wrong not to. But I fucking HATE war and cant understand nor support it in any shape or form. I rang Grandad in the end to see if he would like me to go on his behalf. He instantly says yes, he would love it .. so without hesitation I organise a local bus to Eceabat, the nearest town to Galipoli and then book myself into a one day tour of Galipoli for the Dawn Service (its the only way youre allowed in the region on Anzac Day, with a tour group).

The 2 nights before Anzac Day in Istanbul were fucking disgraceful and worthy of a story of their own ... as tour groups aimed at 18-25 year olds (well outside my age bracket now!!!) roll into town, groups such as The Fanatics (those sports tour groups) and Contiki etc start filling the streets with board shorts, thongs, stubby holders and beer, boys singing sports theme songs and many an aussie flag .. this bizarre and mostly embarrassing form of patriotism was only just tolerable until the sun went down... then the boystrous fun turned into revolting inappropriate intolerable behaviour. 20 year old boys punching on in the streets, boys lying on the cobbled stone paths spewing up, copying and mimiking the call to prayer coming out of the local Mosque, girls vomiting everywhere outside the bars and general embarrassing behaviour .. I'm told they were celebrating Anzac Day .. Im sure the diggers would be reeeal proud. Fucking idiots.

Anyway after a few days of sight seeing, I head down towards Galipoli to pay my respects for Grandad and Gramps at the Dawn Service... and then will head down to see the ruins of Troy or Epheses whilst I eagerly await the return of my passport to the Istanbul hostel in about 2 weeks time.

Pictures - The first 2 shots are of the Spice Bazaar Market place, selling spices and tasty Baclava! Also spotted a really cool blue and green eyed cat! The next 4 shots are taken from inside the 17th Century Blue Mosque, really beautiful, the next one is a shot of the outside of the Blue Mosque and a black and white shot of me from inside too. The next one is of some traditional laterns from the Grand Bizarre Markets. The next one is of the Basilica Cistern, an amazing underground well measuring 140x70 metres, built in 527. Kindda spooky and really cold down there as you'd imagine! The last 2 are of Tulips which were part of the Tulip Festival in Istanbul .. they were EVERYWHERE and just amazing to see ... I'd like to thank Zyrtec and Claratyne for enabling me to be with 10k of them!

India-isms.

So, leaving India was a mixed bag of emotions. I really didnt want to leave this time, and claimed that I didnt want to go to Turkey anymore and wanted to stay. If I think about what I love so much here, what draws me here, I find it really hard to articulate. I think its partly the tragic Social Worker in me, partly how challenged I am by it (the poverty, the generosity, the differene, the shit that does ya head in), but mostly because I think India has all the things that our country (and ones like it) have lost. Their sense of community, family, culture, respect for elderly and their pride in their country are things that we just dont have in the same degree. I feel inspired here, I feel at home... In fact I 'feel' more here in general.

However .. it can be fucking frustrating ...

Some of the things that make people love or hate or love and hate India equally is the irony, the Indian 'way' and the frustration at the way some things are done ....

Setting - Bikaner, a small western style cafe cause Im chasing something homely!

Waiter: Can I take your order please madam?

Brook: You can call me Brook if you like .. (thanks to the British, most people refer to all white people as Madam and Sir .. I hate it).

Waiter: No problems Frook ... what would you like Frook?

Frook: Can I please have the Veg Pizza but with NO CHEESE, NO PANEER, NO EGGS, could you make it like for a Jain? (A sect of Hinduism that is purely vegan and takes no life).

Waiter: Pizza with no cheese madam?

Frook: Yes please, just as it comes but please dont put the cheese on top.

Waiter: But Madam, this is not a pizza.

Frook: Thats ok mate, I dont mind if its not a pizza, is it possible anyway?

Waiter: No not possible as this is not the real pizza experience.

Frook: ummm, Im happy not to have the pizza experience ...

Waiter: No .. not possible to make like this.

Example 2 - Restaurant in Delhi - Sam's Cafe.

Brook: Could you please tell me what is on the Veg Burger?

Waiter: Veg cutlet and salad washed in filtered water on bread.

Brook: Does it have egg or cheese in it?

Waiter: No.

Brook: Are you sure? I am Pure Veg (their version of vegan).

Waiter: well it has a little cheese in the sauce we put on the burger.

Brook: Perfect, Ill have the veg burger without the sauce please.

Waiter: not possible.

Brook: why not?

Waiter: because it will not taste so nice without the sauce, you must have it with the sauce or not at all.

Brook: I dont mind if it takes bad, Ill have it anyway.

Waiter: please order something else madam.

India - the only place in the world where there are seperate ticket lines at train and bus stations for men and women, but all the women are lining up in the men's line and all the men are lining up in the women's line .. and I stand at the back of the line where all the women are, and a man points to the sign "Women's Line Only" and directs me to the back of all the men ... Sorry? I should stand behind the sign for the women's line, where all the men are lining up, and not behind the one where all the women are actualy lining up?? .. I .. dont .. know !.

India - the only place where cows are given right of way.

India - the only place where a traffic conductor was fired to introduce more modern stop signs, traffic lights and give way signs - and then reinstated a week later because everyone complained that they missed him (probably didnt help that all the signs and lights were completely ignored and treated as optional anyway). But they actually missed seeing him every day.

India - where no means yes and yes means no ... and both mean maybe.

India - the place where someone who has made a cave dwelling out of a pile of rubbish will come running up to you and ask "madam, how do you like my India" and when you reply "I love your india", they run off beaming with pride and smiles.

Indida - where subkuch milayga - everything actually is possible, even some Rajisthani shoes at a Juice bar ... everything ofcourse, except pizza without cheese. (Pictures - some shots of Delhi from a roof top restaurant, the night before I left for Turkey, a couple shots of an adorable baby, and a shot of a Jalebi stall in Delhi - took that one for you Nat!, and finally a shot of a very typical sign in India).

Udaipur - The mystical city of Lakes.

So from Mt Abu it was on a bus to Udaipur, the mystical city of Lakes in south western Rajisthan. Mystical and fucking hot. I first checked out a hotel that I went to 6 years ago, which was nostalgic but also far more expensive now. Ended up staying in a smaller cheaper hotel with no lake views (Udaipur is built around an amazing lake, with a couple of Palaces sitting in the middle of it, like islands - see attached photo), but suited my frugal travellers budget. Was there for 2 nights before the frugal traveller in me lost to the 'I CANT STAND THIS FUCKING HEAT AND NEED SOME A/C" in me. So I went around to another hotel which boasted a swimming pool which you could use for the day for 100 rupees ... however when I got there, the hotel desk worker said only guests could use the pool - I begged, bribed and pleeded with him to let me in, but no ... this lack of flexibility even with a baksheesh bribe is very rare so I knew there was no moving this very straight down the line fella ... so I checked in to the hotel! Was a really beautiful mid-range hotel (mid-range here is about $20 a night - totally plush!!), Ive attached a picture of the pool, hard to resist huh?!

The lake here is amazing - last time I was here it was a couple months after the monsoon season (around Nov/Dec) and the 4km by 3km lake was completely full, lapping up the sides of the building and temples built along it. This time, I've come about 2 months before the monsoons are due here, and it is sooo dry, the locals say that in about a months time it will be empty and you can walk across it. One fella told me that some years ago, everyone went to sleep at 10pm and the lake was dry and you could walk across, they woke up in the morning at 7am and the lake was full and flooding into peoples homes. That's monsoon rains for ya.

Definitly got my shop on here! Did all my present shopping and spent a mammoth day in the post office sending them all off. Indian Post is somethin else. Just to give you an idea on what getting and posting gifts is like here, I'll give a brief run down. Shopping - buying things is not as easy as you'd think. Yes its fun, but its also extremely exhausting. After walking down a shopping strip constantly saying "no, no thankyou, no, no thanks, no not shopping today, no sorry, no no no" to everyone wanting to sell you their goods, you then have to decide which of 6 IDENTICAL shops in a row you'll chose to go in to, all with their shop workers standing out the front trying to coax you in .. you're also expected to have a chai with the shop owner whilst you peruse the goods, even if youve had 48 chais that day. You will be shown things that you dont actually want to look at and before you know it youre literally standing in a metre high pile of clothes, bags, shoes, scarves, aladin pants, salwas and saris, all the while saying/begging "Please dont show me any more stuff, pleeeaaase", he or she (normally a he) will reply "just looking madam, looking is free" ... you cant argue with that really ... so the entourage of 10 year old boys this owner has working for him continues to 'just showing' you things. Once you've selected what you want to buy, you then have to negotiate a price. It starts with him saying a REDICULOUS price, normally about 6 times what they would actually be prepared to sell it for. I laugh and pretend to walk out the shop, he says "ok madam, how much" .. I say, 'I've been to India many times, and I know that this cotton scarf is NOT 4000 rs, but its about 250 rs', then he laughs and says "not possible madam" .. I say "ok well I'm prepared to pay 250 for it" .. says "ok, good price, 2000". I collect my things and act outraged, he laughs and he knooows that I knw .... after going back and forward we decide on a price that doesnt break my purse or his "not for you and not for me". So ... off to the post office .. well not quite. First, its off to find a tailor who also does parcel packing. In India, you need to post ur items inside cloth fabric and then have the sides stitched and seeled with wax. Once youve found a tailor who will make parcels, you need to negotiate a price for the packing with him ... you wait sometimes 20 mins, sometimes he'll ask you to return the next day for your parcel. You come back to get ur parcel and hope that your item is still inside this stitched up parcel, and its not now filled with newspaper while his wife is now wearing the scarf you thought was inside headed to your mum! You take ur parcel, negotiate to pay him and head off to find a newsagent that sells Lac - a wax stick that you use to seal the sides of your parcels, you find some and then go about the task of lighting a candle on the side of the road to melt your wax stick and make your seels on the parcel. From there, you find a waterproof black texta to write on your parcels and head to the post office. This 'government office' will generaly open when it suits the staff, and the weather. The day I went in Udaipur, the post officer manager was out to lunch ... for 2 hours. So I waited and I waited, in an office with no a/c on a 45 degree day.... she returns. Your items are weighed, and you think youre just about ready to pay when 3 identical forms are put in front of you to fill in. There is no photo copier, so you have to fill in the exact same form three times with the same information ... no one can explain why you have to fill in 3 fucking exact same forms, they just wiggle their heads and say 'this is the process madam' .. so I do it ... as sweat runs down my face. I finish the forms, 3 forms per parcel and I was sending 6 of them (so 18 bloody forms!), and pay them the postage fee. I think its nearlly over when I see my 3 smallest parcels being put inside A3 yellow envelopes, I ask why did I need to get them all tailor packaged then? The postal worker states "it is a small parcel" .. 'yes' I reply, 'but why did you say I needed it to be material parcel packed and how you are putting it inside a paper envelope??" ... she replies "because it is a small parcel" ... oh my god ... I stop asking questions and resolve myself that this is just the way it is .. suck it up Brook! So .. I leave the post office looking at my parcels sitting on a dusty concrete floor among manual weighing aparatis, other tourists parcels, local mail, a heap of blank forms and the postal worker's lunch .. the 18 papers I had just finished now in a pile about 12 inches high on a desk which looked rarely cleared .. and I wonder, a) will my parcels ever actually get home, and b) did I just fill in those forms because it is 'procedure' but will they sit in that pile and never be looked at again? I strongly think so. This whole process from shopping, buying, packaging, waxing and posting takes daaaays .. literally days.

So ... I really hope my stuff and gifts Ive sent arrive safely! Please let me know if you receive them! As my time in Udaipur extends longer than I'd expected, I start getting ready to leave India. I need to head back to Delhi from here on a bus, and get my flight on the 20th April to Istanbul, Turkey. I give away a heap of clothes I dont want anymore to people who need them, send home my India Lonely Planet and start reading my Turkish one. I love India so much, I am starting to feel sad to leave already.

Could I live here? Would bringing a baby here work? Would I get lonely? Hmmmm!?? The pull is so strong for me here, its hard to ignore.

PICTURES - The first 14 pics are from a cultural show I saw one night near the Lake. It was really beautiful demonstration of different cultural art forms in Rajisthan. Puppetry, traditional dance and this spooky ceremony where this fella gets into this crazed trance like state and puts burning coals in his mouth and drops them onto a copper plate (thats the pic of the man with a white ball coming out his mouth, its a coal that just came from the fire). The first shots are of this woman who I just loved, she started this dance with a single pot on her head, and as the dance continued she had someone stack more and more pots on her head until she ended up with 9 on her head .. all the while she was dancing (bollywood style belly dancing), she was in her early 50's too I might add! She also stood and danced on glass with all the pots still on her head, and was also able to bend down and get onto her knees then onto her stomach then back up again! Was really amazing.

Another part of the show is the pic with the woman in blue sitting down - there was a group of 6 of these women who did a traditional sympbol bell performance - basically if you can imagine those brass symbols that they bang together in like marching bands (like the one you have in a drum kit), and imagine them about 1.5 inches small. They have one half in each of their hands tied onto a string that they have gathered up in their hands. Then they have about 30 little ones the same (so making up the other half of the symbol to what they have already in their hands) sewn onto their clothes, up the shins, their shoulders and their arms, on the soles of their feet and on their backs ... really quickly, the use the half in their hands to tap at the halves all over their body ... so they are flicking the ones in the hand all up their shins, behind them to the backs, on the soles of their feet etc. It is soo amazing to watch and is really beautiful to listen to aswell. Its hard to explain in words, hope this and the picture together gives some indication of what I'm talking about!

Theres a pic of the Monsoon Palace in the middle of the Lake, a pic of the pool in my hotel, and lastly, one of the sunset which you can see the massive fort on the top of the hill to the right, and a wedge-tail eagle flyin around too .. there were heaps of these eagles fying about, was really amazing to watch. Grandma and Gramps would have looooved it!