Gallipoli - the call to prayer

 

In August 2008, Cathie and I drove to Turkey. Our first stop had to be Gallipoli, of course. Neither of us could claim distant relatives who fought there, but like all Australians, the place had an almost unimaginable pull. The first thing we noticed is that it's so isolated. The Gallipoli Peninsula has no towns of any size. Most Australians stay at either Canakkale (on the other side of the Dardanelles Strait) or Eceabat, from where they are bused to the battlefields.

As we had our own car and planned on staying a few days, we booked the only accommodation available near the historic sites, a superb B&B owned by a Turkish woman and her Belgian husband. The only other guests were Turks. Make no mistake, this is not only sacred ground for Australians and New Zealanders. We quickly learned that Gallipoli is the battle of WW1 for the Turks. In fact, it was one of the defining moments in their modern history, for Gallipoli saw the emergence of a soldier, Mustafa Kemal, who went on to lead the national independence movement and establish the Republic of Turkey. He became known as Ataturk (Father of the Turks) and the first President. His picture hangs in many houses and public buildings. He wrote this moving tribute to the Anzacs killed at Gallipoli.

'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 Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours... you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway 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.' Ataturk 1934.

Cathie and I spent three days walking around the cemeteries and memorials of the fallen. Without exception, they are peaceful, well-maintained sombre places, planted with rosemary and lavender, in a landscape of dry brittle ground and harsh sunlight. In summer, I could have imagined myself back in Australia.

As we walked through the primary school lesson of our childhood - Lone Pine, Anzac Cove, Chunak Bair, The Nek - we were amazed at just how close each of these landmarks were to one another, within shouting distance, or gunshot. While the strategic capture of this peninsula was of great importance, the ground fought over appears to be little more than a few square kilometres.

The two most striking memories for me were just how achingly beautiful Gallipoli is, with the high ground affording boundless views across the Aegean Sea, a gentle blue in colour, with one lone fisherman in a dinghy paddling around the point near Beach Cemetery and onto Anzac Cove, the water clear and deep below him. In high summer, it’s also hellishly hot. Cathie and I swam in the sea, but not here, not at Anzac. We drove to Suvla Bay, where the British landed. We swam with Turkish holidaymakers. It seemed sacrilege to even consider enjoying ourselves at Anzac Cove. Illogical, I know. But so much of visiting Gallipoli is like that - it’s an instinctual, emotionally charged place.

The other aspect of Gallipoli that always remains with me is the inscriptions on the gravestones. Often chosen by mothers and fathers of the fallen, the ones that cut and ache begin with the words “Our only son…” Above this is the age of the soldier. 19, 20, maybe a little older. Sometimes.

                            

There is a single pine tree in the cemetery at Lone Pine, but it is a different species than the tree that originally stood here, marking this battle position. That pine was obliterated in the fighting. Nearby are trenches... and more cemeteries.

In the long evening, Cathie and I would sit on the rooftop of our B&B and look across to the Ataturk Memorial on the hill. The call to prayer would start from our village. We didn’t understand the words, of course, but the plaintive tone of the Muezzin seemed to characterise the mood of the place. From another village, the voice of their Muezzin would echo and I was reminded of how the soldiers from opposing sides were so close they could hear each other’s voices. Once the call to prayer finished, the village would fall silent, the night would close in and we’d look up at the stars.

Cats, cakes and 80's pop... the true meaning of facebook

I know I shouldn't expect too much from Facebook. It is a social networking site and I've never been much good at social occasions and I'm even worse at networking, whatever that word means. It's one reason I don't attend many Writers Festivals, I guess.
But, I tried Facebook. It's easy enough to log-in and see what's happening. And I can confidently report that what is happening is... cats are taking over the internet. A cute kitten is the image of Facebook. People appear to spend more time reporting on the well-being of their animal than on the state of the world. You want a response to your status update? Simple, post a photo of your cat. Or better still, a cat video. I could watch those home movies all day.
I don't have a cat. Or a dog. No pets, unless you count the occasional mouse behind the stove, or cockatoo in the cedar tree.
I'm a Facebook loser.
In fact, looking back over my year of Facebook posts, the two most popular status updates (based on 'likes') were a photo of myself in winter lycra about to go on a sub-zero cycle in the mountains (file under 'embarrassing photos') and a photo of a delicious upside down pear cake my wife baked (file under 'recipes please').
Sure, I posted on the Labor rout in Queensland; the latest climate assessment by George Monbiot; even some shameless self-publicity for my new book... but nothing came close to cakes and stupid photos.
Recently, I asked my fellow authors, via Facebook, for a response on the proportion of e-book sales versus paperback sales they received. Not actual figures, just percentages. I assumed all authors would be interested in real data on just how relevant e-book sales are to us. A few people responded (thank you). My mistake was I should have accompanied the question with a cat photo.
However, all is not lost. I have learnt that many people (not you, dear reader, of course) have appalling taste in music. I know facebook is about 'sharing' but do we need to see another video of that music. Haven't we... moved on? My theory is we all yearn to say something 'meaningful' in public,  but once the spotlight hits, we freeze and turn instead to the generic music video - 'There. That's what I'm feeling... right now. Thank you Van Morrison.'
Yeah, I know what you're thinking. If I'm so disillusioned with Facebook, why not leave? Or get a cat and join in on the fun?
Truth is, sitting in my study writing a book can be a lonely experience. And Facebook does allow me to connect with people I wouldn't/couldn't normally visit. For example, one FB friend is from my childhood football team - a person I haven't seen in thirty-five years, who turns out to be a really good photographer. My memory of him is now 'updated' with his wonderful sense of the world around him through his photo posts. Other posts by people have lead me to discover the joys of certain books and writers. And, it's good to know that at least some people detest Andrew Bolt, Alan Jones and Tony Abbott as much as I do.

So, Facebook, I'll give you one more year. Maybe someone will come up with a cat-filter by then?

what not to read when you're thinking about travel

Volpaia, Italy

    Sometimes I find myself suckered into reading the 'traveller' section in the Sydney Morning Herald on Saturday. They'll have a story on a destination I'm interested in or on a location I'm familiar with. I come away thinking the Herald imagines all its readers are company directors or advertising executives who live in Mosman.
    Want to spend a night in Paris? Easy, according to the SMH review of the St James Chateau Hotel. Just cough up between $460 and $650 to stay for one night and you can reside in luxury. But who wants to spend only one night in Paris? Let's stay a week shall we? That'll be a cool $3000.
    Okay, how about a place to stay in Tuscany for a week of wine and gluttony, sorry, I mean good food? You can't go past this description of Tuscan pleasure surely, 'Within its ancient walls lie an extraordinary winery, an award-winning regional restaurant, a unique spa, charming rustic accommodation and unspeakably beautiful hilltop views of olive groves, vineyards, cyprus trees'  Sounds wonderful, and only costs $3710 for accommodation.
    No wonder many people view these trips as a 'once in a lifetime' experience, if we're gullible enough to believe the glorified advertising features called travel magazines. The SMH 'traveller' enjoys selling aspirational excess, all the better for its advertising bottom line.
    And don't you love the by-line on these travel-porn articles - 'the author was a guest of ... resorts'
    It's easy to recommend a week in Paris, or Tuscany, when you don't have to pay for it. And good luck to the writer. A week at someone else's expense? Where do I sign up.
    But like real porn, this travel-porn corrupts our world view. We are seduced by the unattainable fiction, rather than seeking that which is soul-nourishing, life-affirming and (relatively) easily attainable.
    Who wants a week in Tuscany?
    Then stop reading 'traveller.' It will blind you to what is available in Paris and Tuscany, and the rest of Europe, for a fraction of the price. Here's the proof.
    A Paris self-catering studio apartment with your own garden? That'll be $805 a week. We stayed here in 2010 and walked everywhere.
    A three-bedroom apartment with, to quote our journalist friend above, 'unspeakably beautiful hilltop views of olive groves, vineyards, cypress trees...'? 
    I'd suggest the ancient town of Volpaia, pictured above. Cost of the apartment? $600. I repeat, $600! The price of three nights in bloody rural Victoria, according to the SMH (31/3/2012).
    In Volpaia, there are two restaurants, both offering cheap and authentic Italian food, one cafe, an olive oil and wine producer and... that's it. Apart from a clump of buildings dating from the sixteenth century and before.
    We spent a week there and didn't see another tourist staying in the village. A few travellers arrived at lunch and dinner to the restaurants, but for most of the day, we had the whole village to ourselves. On one memorable evening, we had dinner at the sublime La Bottega restaurant in the courtyard overlooking the Tuscan hills and on our stroll back to the apartment couldn't resist going to the other restaurant, just for dessert.
    Sorry, I'm indulging in travel-porn myself now. But, really, for $600 a week, Volpaia is what 'traveller' should be writing about. A destination within reach of us all.
    My wife and I spend four months every two years in Europe, travelling by Citroen around the continent. Rarely, do we pay more than $100 a night for accommodation. We have stayed in french chateaus; in farmhouses; in huge old rooms above cafes in hilltop villages; in an ancient tower in Italy; in a small village closer to Gallipoli than any other accommodation; on a Portuguese kiwi-fruit farm where we were booked for three nights but ended up staying three weeks (and, unknown to us at the time, the owners refused to accept bookings for the other rooms because they knew I was writing a novel and thought I needed peace and solitude!).

Budget hire car?

    Cathie and I are very lucky to be able to spend so long in Europe. But, why not, when most of the continent (Switzerland aside) offers cheap, character-filled and plentiful accommodation. Just don't look for it in the Sydney Morning Herald.
    And, ironically, I steer you to the internet... away from the pornography of the travel liftout!
    I'm not going to recommend specific web-sites, although the links above certainly help. Search the web for your own specific needs, you'll find what you're after. Just don't buy into the Audi A5, Lancome, Burberry, 'our son goes to Grammar', aspirational lifestyle twaddle of the Herald.
    Find your own way. Bon voyage.

please note: all accommodation, meals and the car mentioned above were paid for by me!!