barmatelliandfriends

We cruise to Cannekale and then have an early start for a tour to Gallipoli. A place entrenched in our history and part of our country’s back story. The winds delay the berthing of our vessel so our tour starts a bit later. To make up time we board the bus and instead of catching the local ferry we take the highway and cross the longest mid span bridge in the world.

The whole area is very patriotic with the new university named after a date in the war, the bridge is named after another date in the war. The celebration of victory seems newer. As the university is new and the bridge are new. Turkish flags dominate the skyline.

We drive around the peninsula and it’s beautiful. The sea is very blue, the water calm, the sky cloudless. We drive past where the New Zealand troops landed and then stop at Anzac cove. It’s just so hard to imagine those young men stepping onto this shore walking into this space. It is such a different time in the here and now, but a connection of patriotic grief and gratitude is felt.

We travel up to the Lone pine cemetery where we pay our respects to more kiwi soldiers, many who were never identified but their names are etched on the cenotaph. You can only hope when you read the names that where there are two or sometimes three of the same surname they are not from the same family.

We move further up the hill and once there our guide points to a big sculptural circle and tells us that it is where they put all the bones they found when they made the road up the hill. I take a big breath. He also points out the remnants of all the trenches that are still very visible today. Some of which have been restored at the Chunuk Bair.

Chunuk Bair. New Zealand conquered it and then when they were relieved of their post it got taken back. The Anzacs and Turks trenches were so close they could hear each other and even made ceasefires where they would trade bully beef for cigarettes. There are a lot of stories. There is a ginormous statue of a Turk carrying an Australian soldier to safety in a ceasefire whereby they were allowed to collect the dead (who evidently went on to be governor general of Australia). There are stories of how the British never expected the Anzacs to reach the top so quickly and many were killed in friendly fire from the British warships. There are stories of a New Zealand radio operator who received a VC. There are stories of heroism on all sides. Whatever the stories the reality is on the wall.

The New Zealand cenotaph at Chunuk Bair

Name after name after name, stretching further than my camera lens allows.

It’s hard to imagine the unimaginable and one must surely wonder how these men felt being on this hill having been dragged into this war like a rolling maul. Fighting then defending this piece of land so far from home.

We wind our way down the hill with our guide telling us more stories and this time make our way to the ferry. We are the only kiwis on our bus and as many have said in this part of the world we are told we are well regarded. I guess if you have to fight in a war and its waste then it is nice to know that we did so with such honour. We can only read their names and remember their sacrifice and hope that we never have cause to join the maul again.

At the going down of the sun, we will remember them.

The evenings sunset as we sail away from this coast is fitting “lest we forget”.

We depart the ship for a tour of the spice market, a cruise on the Phosperous Striat and yet another mosque which I apologise to all Mosque goers, I can’t remember the name of.

The spice market is gentler than the grand bazaar and easier to navigate. WH still only lasts 5 minutes and says he is having about as much fun as if he were at the mall. I like the colour and smell and less frenetic pace but we head towards to exit.

We leave the market and head into the mosque, we contemplate waiting outside but figure when in Rome. The Mosque is beautiful and covered in gorgeous blue tiles. It is far bluer than the Blue Mosque we saw the other day. The guide is really interesting and we learn about the Koran and the bible and its all quite fascinating so we are pleased we went inside.

We head across the road which is a mission in itself and board our ferry for a cruise. This time not a moaner in site and its a relaxing way to while away a couple of hours.

I did manage to get a pic of what i was talking about the other day in regards to the groups of men that hang out. Every time I see them I think of that song on two and half men.

As you get further from the centre the landscape changes and some of it remind me of cruising on lake Como with the houses right down to the water edge and the flash ones all locked up and waiting for someone to come and play. Then of course in the tale of two cities there are the ones simply abandoned and waiting for life.

We get back to the port and decide to take a wander before we depart Istanbul. It’s been great. I have learnt a lot in this city of 17 million people. Of wars, religion, east and west. Of both the history and the reality of living in this day. Thank you Istanbul.

Yesterday was boarding ship day and my go with flow was all good. Wait, stop, go, hurry up and wait some more. Go, papers, scan, walk, more paper, scan, walk. All aboard.

Simple really. The Galatea Port is amazing is all new and it’s huge. i think you can get half of you 10000 steps in before you get out. We are on the Viking Sky and it sort of reminds me a bit of the Straitsman in decor. It’s Scandinavian decor and tones. It feels familiar but it might just be being onboard a ship. It feels good.

We ditch our stuff and as our bags are still being in the wait, papers, scan queue and not as yet in our room we will go the Balat. It is touted as a must see area of Istanbul. We decide to brave the tram system as how hard can it be. Turns out quite hard. Especially when it hot, and the trams don’t have maps in them.

We walk, and walk, and walk to get out of the cruise terminal and make our way to the tram stop ticket booth. It sounded easy when we read it on the www but the reality of a machine that doesn’t have a button to change it to English is proving very difficult. A young woman approaches us to offer assistance and we hand her our money and she puts it in and gets us a card and then another, all the time casting nervous glances to the security man standing a few metres away. We thank her for her help and leave her with a tip then get on the tram.

Unfortunately after a while the tram turns the wrong way so we get off and try to work out how to go the other way. Our data is turned off as it’s ultra expensive here and we are doing without. WH asks a man sitting nearby and we spend the next 10 minutes listening to his broken English and excitement at finding that we are from New Zealand. We think someone he knows went to university there and something about teeth and something about swimming and something else……we thank him for his help and move on still clueless. I want UBER. I like Uber. Evidently it used to be here but the government decided they didn’t pay tax so it banned them. Fair enough I say. There are taxis everywhere but I don’t know how to say where i want to go and I see locals bargaining with them and we can’t bargain because we can’t speak so we walk.

We walk, and we walk and I think i mentioned it’s hot. We walk and walk and find another tram going in the direction we want. Did I mention I want Uber. I want to put in an address and push a button, and know how much its going to cost and get there. We find a tram heading in the right direction and enter the turnstile, or at least I do, but WH is stuck on the other side his wont work. The tram comes and the tram goes. Without us.

WH is taken pity on by two burka wearing ladies who help him put more money on the card for him. How did his run out? How can that be? We were on the same trip. He says I didn’t swipe but i did. We get on the tram and travel to Balat and then get off and walk and walk walk. Did I mention its hot? Did I mention I like Uber? My intrepid traveller mode is now well alight and I will succeed in my tram mission to see the brightly coloured houses in the old Jewish area.

We wander the narrow streets, dodging motorbikes, stray cats and the odd tradies van. It once again reminds me of the tale of two cities. Some of the houses are lovely and some are just a facade. The houses are very old and most are built of wood. The one on the left derelict, the middle pic with pot holes and kids playing on the road the last one with all looking ok

And then there’s the #snap, insta, tweet photo. Join the queue.

We keep wandering through and its not that pretty and sort of sad but

We turn the corner and find some stairs to take a shortcut down them to hopefully come out where we need to be. On making our way down we find a shoe shiner walking some tourist up the steps he must be taking them to the coloured houses. They tell him they have no cash only card and can’t pay him. He sighs and starts walking back down. His shoe brush drops out of his pack and Pete calls out to him and hands it back. He now wants to shine Petes shoes> “NO, NO , they are sandshoes , see, sandshoes as Pete reaches down to cover his shoes and tries to step around. The man is insistent but Pete keeps moving and we come to the bottom of the steps.

Paint the steps, set up stalls and snap, # , tweet, insta and they will come. There is a chair further up where you can pose patting a cat. There are people selling water and all sorts of wares. There is the shoe shine man wanting to shine your sand shoes. Some are tired of the snappers snapping and not buying as the pic below. You pay to take your photo.

Ok it’s not authentic tourism as such but you have to admire the entreprenuity. I have no opinion on its purpose, except looking at how some are forced to make a living I think they are clever to paint the steps and make a plan. Judge not lest you be judged. My opinion however was that it has a fascinating history of Jews who were forced from their land and the sultan gave them refuge and they built this area from mostly wood and now its back to the dreaded tram. Did i say I like Ubers. You know how much they cost, you dont have to speak the language, they aren’t hot.

The first tram stop is the same whereby I get on and WH misses because his card doesn’t work. It finally dawns on us that we were scammed. There is probably a change button which she pushed after we had gone and WH had very little money put on his card. Very entrepreneurial and we console ourselves that she would have needed the few Turkish lira far more than us. Of course we miss the stop and have to disembark and get back on the other way to retrace our steps. Then finally get off and walk the lengthy walk back to the ship. Did i mention its hot?

Let’s talk about this. Great expectations. Travelling, like many things we plan and look forward to, can lead us with great expectations that often in reality leave us feeling flat. Therefore I endeavour to have few, expectations that is. I try to establish a go with the flow mentality which is far from my normal mentality. But adopt it I must to ensure I can manage my own expectations.

The very first bus tour through Europe we did early 20 years ago our main fear was that we would be with a whole lot of old people. We weren’t but we were never again to do a bus tour. Not for us we decided. Then cruising was suggested and we thought again, nah old people, but then we realised we were 20 years on ourselves and the thought of unpacking once and waking up in a new place every day was appealing.

What is not appealing though in group travel is the people. Whilst travel is all about meeting new people and all that that entails I am afraid that some people are just not meant to be met. I outlined in a previous blog about the first meet of the group. The first glimpse as the pack gathers to herded in one direction. The summing up. I try to get the whole “judge not lest you be judged” thing going but come on it’s what we do. The judgement that is so far wrong in as much as its so far right.

We are joining the bus and ours is number ten. They are just little buses but still that’s a lot of buses to organise so let’s be calm. With 6 buses all lined up out side and ready to go the “panicker” makes her mark.

“Oh no we are bus number 8. There is no number 8. Oh no. Excuse me. Excuse me. Sir, sir, sir. There is no bus number 8. I am on bus number 8.”

You get the picture. You who are reading this will know the answer she has to be told three times right: Your bus will be along soon Madam, as soon as these ones leave and we can park another bus”

Then there is the loud one. The one whose voice you can hear over all others. “Last year when I was on the Nile trekking i saw the most wonderful…….” “When i was last in the Galapogas islands there was a magnificent eclipse….far better than any super moon you saw last night……” The one who has to be the centre of any world that she or he is in at that moment. Sometimes there is more than one of these and that can be fun to just watch the competition or it can just be really noisey.

Then there’s the pampered child. “Oh no one told me what time we were leaving”. “Oh no I haven’t opened my welcome letter yet as i was rather tired when I got in last night”, “Can i go on another bus because I haven’t been able to have my breakfast yet?”

Then and much, much worse, than either of these there is the moaner. Now I have no idea why the moaner should ever want to leave their house, let alone their country. But they do. Then they moan about EVERYTHING. She sits beside me on the wall, where I am waiting for number 10 bus, in the cool shade, with a view over the park and down to the ocean.

“Not very organised are they! They’re late”. “Oh well” I say “it’s only ten past 9 and i am sure they will be here soon”. “We’ll be late all day now. That’s what will happen. All day. They should be more organised”. Save me WH, save me. Don’t make me give up the wall for the moaner. Saved by the bus. Once onboard I let WH know that there is a moaner onboard and discretely point her out. He knows the plan we have been here before, avoid, avoid, avoid.

We reach our destination – (remember this is not about the destination so nothing to say here) – and keep our distance. I hear her through the whistle noise, still complaining this time about having to remove her shoes. Complaining that no one told her she had to have a head scarf to enter the mosque. I mean do your homework lady or don’t go in. The mosque we are at will actually provide a disposable one for free but she is still not grateful.

We are on a boat for lunch and our group is last. I am heading up the gangway when she gets me from behind. “I told you, late all day, our driver is just too timid that’s the problem”. Beam me up or better yet double back and ditch. WH knows the plan and we stall so I can take a photo (yeah right) then enter the restaurant area where most of the tables are full and with tables of 8 we plonk ourselves next to four others as they went in first they must be seated. Then we see them. Walking towards us. How can it be. NOOOOOOOOOOOO please no there are other spaces for two, many others but its too late.

Lunch was a selection of Turkish dishes all of which were yummy but she screwed her nose up at every one. Was rude to the waiter because heaven forbid his English wasn’t brilliant but it was sure better than her Turkish. They didn’t have Coke only Pepsi. The list went on until sad to say we missed the spiced, fried pumpkin and ice cream for dessert because I could stand it no longer and had to go and take more photos outside. And you guessed it 10 minutes later . NOooooooooooooooooooooo.

The restless sleep of a first night in a different time-zone on the opposite side of the world was had. Light had not quite yet begun to show itself but through the double glazed hotel windows I could hear the noise. I pull back the curtains and crack open the window and it floats in the room. The call to prayer. This is what is wonderful about travel the sound makes the live connection to all those movies, and books and stories through which I have vicariously heard the sound before. This time I am here in this time and moment.

the experience is enhanced by the big super moon hanging low in the sky. The same one that my grandson was messaging in frustration about the day before because he could not see it through the clouds and he was anwaiting the event with his telescope and now it has arrived in the place outside my window the same moon. I endeavour to take a night photo but it cannot be done holding my hand out the window trying to balance a camera for a night shot so I have to wait until light.

The full moon over Istanbul

Over my day and into his next night the moon travels back and my mokopuna is blessed that he can finally see it and through his telescope he takes a picture and sends it to me. The wide world closes up as the same moon bats back and forth between us.

Mokopuna moon

Today is our pre cruise tour day so we head off to meet downstairs, I shan’t dwell here on “tour” stuff as have decided to keep that seperate and maybe if time fits tell ya later.

First stop is the “Blue Mosque”. I didn’t actually find it that Blue. But it’s like all things in all religions built for worship in that it is undeniably beautiful and intricate and mind boggling in how it was created in a time centuries ago.

Then its to the grand bazaar one of the oldest and largest covered markets in the world with its 22 gates. It did not live up to any expectations of hundreds of locals selling their authentic wares. It was busy and hot and nothing looked quite real. Yet it was full of people trying to make a living. Some were pushy and domineering and others simply played on their phones. What was noticeable to me was it was all men. Seldom any woman. Men selling everything to anyone. Men talking and gathering. Later in the day our bus drove around the Golden horn and you could see men sunbathing and swimming. Some in solitude and some in groups but no women. I wondered where they were on this hot afternoon, the women of Istanbul.

We wander back out, careful to ensure we are at the same gate as going in and there are some steps up to the side of yet another mosque next to the Bazaar. We find ourselves at the back of the bazaar looking down and it’s chaotic and haphazard.

We board the bus and next stop is lunch on a boat that takes us up the Bosphorus Strait. The rest is welcome albeit that the heat is still unrelenting. I shall tell you later about our unfortunate table.

It’s back on land to another mosque the Hagia Sophia which was a church and was turned into a mosque. The history is fascinating and I take a picture in the entrance of the millions of gold tiles used. The church was built in just five years with 1000’s of slaves and workers but then the camera battery goes dead so take my word that the largest dome built was quite spectacular.

Next we are off to the Basilica cistern. I had no idea what it was and had read it as a citadel so was sort of hoping it wasn’t another religious based event as i was sort of done with those for the day. But we ventured underground down some dark step into a huge cavernous room held up by hundreds of pillars. It was where they stored water for the city of Constantinople and was built in the 6th century. It was quite amazing that here it sits in this age, just as it was.

The day is done and it’s been a big one. It’s time to head back to the hotel but as a bridge is closed it takes over an hour and half to go the 12 kilometres that it took us 20 minutes to travel this morning. As i watch a child no older than maybe 10 run along the road in the menacing traffic trying to sell water I cannot but help think of this city as the tale of two. The pampered children I had seen earlier in the day with their exuberant demands to this. With Europe on one side and Asia on the other. With men in one place and women in the another. The beautiful and intricate buildings and the haphazard backstory.

It’s been a big day.

We have only been here for two sleeps and I have seen and heard so much that I don’t know where to start.

The beginning is good. We arrived at our hotel and to stave off jet lag and the temptation to go to sleep we went wandering down to the waterfront. The Bosphorus Strait to be exact. It was hot, very hot but the walk downhill was easy. It was bustling to say the least and we wandered aimlessly with not much of a plan. We sat for lunch in a soothing air conditioned restaurant, but no beer for WH as alcohol at this restaurant, as in many, is not served so he settles for a mint lemonade. True. We watch the ferries and decided to jump on one that looks to go across the Strait. Once onboard we joke that maybe it’s not the right one and we will end up somewhere else but it’s a good feeling to be able to jump and see.

The ferry gets us to the other side and we wander and wander. It’s hot very hot so we get back on a ferry and watch the other ferries. We watch the constant stream of loading, and discharge and the simplicity of it all. We look at the infrastructure or sometimes lack of it and it’s interesting. You can take the girl out of the ferry but not the ferry out of the girl. Did I mention it feels good to be here.

I am very much wanting to start the next day of writing so will finish this beginning Istanbul post and you can know that we arrived, its hot, its busy, and its all good.

Did you know that Istanbul has a population of 18 million? Did you know that the city is the only one in two continents, one half being in Europe the other seperate by the Bosphorus Strait in Asia? Did you know the towers around the mosques are called minarets and they are tall so that the call to prayer can be heard across the city?

Making use of the wifi yet again whilst watching the flight path on the screen, passing over towns and cities that don’t sit easily in my geographical repertoire. The only times I hear them are perhaps in geopolitics or ancient bible stories. The Red Sea, Luxor, Amman, Baghdad. It’s exciting to be heading somewhere we have never been before.

It says we have 1 hour 30 mins to go so we are indeed nearly there. Can’t fault Singapore Airlines with their service. All in all a good trip, although if you had of asked me twelve hours ago, whilst trying to stay awake in Singapore, I would not of agreed, in fact I was vowing never to do the straight through travel again.

Walking, walking, walking. Round and round clocking up the steps and trying to convince our minds that is not 3am in the morning. Unfortunately the body knows and it begins to let you know. Sitting down makes the eyes slide shut and the head jolts up as it slips off the shoulders and your chin hits your chest. Walk, walk, walk. We even caught the train to terminal something for something new to do, yiipppeeee.

One travel tip that I now swear by is pressure socks for flying long haul. They may look dodgy in shorts but man do they work and luck behaving it, I don’t wear shorts. I noted whilst waiting to board in Singapore how many of the young, instagrammy, fancy camera carrying, lulu lemon backpackers were putting them on before boarding although I then decided it might be because of the astronomical size of the water bottles they were filling. I have no idea where that much fluid can go. I also wonder if they can or should still be called backpackers. I feel a new name is required but fuzzy jet lag brain isn’t letting me invent one. Anyway good to land without swollen canckles.

Thanks for all the feedback and to answer your question re subscribing someone else just tell them to put their email address in and it will notify them next time.

PS – I am attracted to it for obvious reasons and thought i would rename my travel blog PS as its much easier than barmatelliandfriends. I looked up what it officially means and as with the joys of the internet I can find offical versions that make it fit what I want it to say. My favourite was “an additional remark which provides further information on, or to, a sequel”. There is a lot of information and a constant stream of sequels and that’s the thing I like about PS the most, it’s that it’s a simple little way of saying – wait there’s more. There is something else to see or do or write about. A never ending post script. So PS we are off again on a new sequel but pps , if that’s even a thing, I wont change my blog name just yet because I do not know how so you will have to keep coming back here for now.

It’s been a big project all that planning. All that preparation. All those 2020 credits now turned into places, dates and times. It’s a lot.

It’s nearly 7 weeks actually the longest time WH and I have ever spent away from home. Away from the kids. Away from the grandkids. Away from whanau and friends.

WH was saying that he fears it may be too long as I have a tendency to get homesick after about week three. I say, maybe. Maybe I will and I will get strategies to deal with it so next time I can go for 3 months and entrench myself in a small little French village and tiki tour around. Maybe I will get too homesick and never go away for this long again. But I don’t think so.

I am on the plane now in the first leg of the journey. We are flying Singapore airlines in the privilege of Business Class whereby I best not complain about how long the flight is, or any other factor of long haul flying but i will say often my third movie of our first leg. ARE WE THERE YET?

We have a 5 hour wait on landing and then we fly another 11 hours to Istanbul. I am looking forward to everything about it. To be in a different culture and all that that entails of people, place and purpose. After a couple of days we join a Viking cruise for 8 days through to Greece. We haven’t cruised with Viking before and although my reticence of cruising has long since passed I still have concerns about how it will unfold. Whilst the brochure says we don’t need formal and there are no sprawling food courts nor hi-de-hi camper activities, I approach with nervous caution.

Then it’s Athens to Mykonos because we have never been and sometimes there are just places in the world that you want to go to because you hear about them so much. Then you see the postcards or the piece in the movie or the article online and you connect to that. I’ve been there and it’s real and I’m lucky.

Then to Marseille where I once went for work and I never saw much at all. Everything is different when you aren’t in the mindset of work so it will be interesting to see. Then to Arles, just because I found a very cute little airbnb. I hope it’s worth it. Than to Ruoms, just because. To Charolles because I saw a picture and a restaurant and it looked pretty. Then to Mersault to another airbnb to explore Burghandy.

But wait there’s more as I have said 7 weeks is a long time so it’s to Lyon and watch the All Blacks play Italy. Then to use the rest of the credits we hop on a river cruise up the Rhine or it may be down, I am not sure of the lay of the land nor the geography. From Basel to Amsterdam. Then last but not least its the quarter finals in Paris and then home.

I shall sign off now simply thinking or more like contemplating how travel has changed over the years. Sitting typing on an iPad, a blog, connected to wifi. I think contemplating is what people nearing 60 are good at. At least I am.