Category Archives: Uncategorized

The ruined fortresses in the desert.

       With all these train rides, taxis and different cities and hotels obviously I meet people and then bump into them again, so here in Khiva I met up with Austin who had been staying at the Samarkand B and B and then with Oliver and Katya who I saw on the train to Bukhara and who then stayed at the same B and B in that city. Oliver, Katya and I went for (the now famous) lunch on Wednesday and wandering through the Bazaar afterwards met up with Austin. We had all heard of a collection of ruined fortresses north of here in the desert and agreed to go on a group outing the next day. We tried the tourist office first but the negotiation was difficult so we went to see a man who Austin had met and he agreed to take us for a reasonable price.

Up early on Thursday, the car came for me at 7.50 and we went round the corner to pick up the other three. I was nervous that Oliver would be uncomfortable in the back as he is six foot six, but no, he was fine in the back and off we went. Back through Urgench where my train had arrived and then north through cotton fields, rice paddies, salt flats, goat herds, corn fields. We stopped for water at a roadside shack where bathroom breaks were taken, reports of three cows guarding the outhouse. The scenery changed after about an hour from the green of the oasis to the brown of the dusty desert, fewer and fewer other cars on the road, mainly just donkey carts, people walking and and herds of cattle. 

We came across the first ruin soon after entering the desert and pulled off the road onto a track for a couple of hundred yards, parked next to the only other car and all piled out. I paused to take photos but the others were off across the scrub, jumping over a muddy ditch and approached the main gateway. I followed, failed to jump the ditch and squelched into the mud, they pretended not to notice. I could see Katya running up the path into the fortress crying “and we invade the fortress”, this from a thirty something Stanford graduate from Moscow. I think we were all filled with a kind of child like enthusiasm. Austin bounded about, running from wall to wall, taking photos, Oliver beamed eagerly and I wondered how long I could keep this up, it was incredibly hot.

The second fortress was as breathtaking. The ancient capital of the region it was interesting to see the remains of houses, rooms, palaces, stables and storage areas. There were no guides at any of these ruins, no postcard sellers, no souvenir or trinket vendors, not much of anything really, just us, the vistas and the wind. The Wind of the Ages. I tried to take photos of the huge outer wall but it didn’t really work, too big and it was noon time so the light was terrible. But the ruins are still there. Our driver bought a melon, for lunch and we stopped at a roadside cafe after pausing at a lake, in the desert, full of fish apparently. Oliver ate a chicken, looked like a whole one, Katya had soup, Austin had some pastry things and I had a huge plate of stuffed dumplings called Manti. We then witnessed the melon cutting ritual which was quite delightful, it tasted good too, There are forty different varieties of melon available around here.

To the last ruined fortress which turned out to be two, close together. We parked adjacent to a collection (?) of yurts, real yurts, with people living in them and a small herd of camels. Great enthusiasm for camel riding from Austin and Oliver so they went off to negotiate a price and reappeared, on a camel. Katya didn’t seem too keen and I definitely wasn’t, but off they went up a long track to the fortress. A very long track. Katya lead the way and I followed, in my sandals, which kept filling up with sand, very hot sand. Up and up, on and on, we made it to the top. The views of the surrounding desert were stunning, such a huge expanse, and I could just imagine the dust cloud the inhabitants must have seen as the enemy came in from the horizon. I walked almost all the way round the fortress, took some photos of the second fort below and then cut across the interior, I was flagging, big time. Back down the long track, uncomfortable sand in sandals, blisters beginning, really really hot, one foot in front of the other, and I made it, bringing up the rear, again. 

Tea in the yurt was never so welcome.

Here’s a couple of things: I didn’t go into the history of the fortresses too much as its all available a click away on Google. I gave you the names, so if you are interested, click away.

All three of my outing friends have left town, Oliver and Katya to Moscow (a direct flight!) and Austin back to Tashkent. Thanks guys for a memorable day out. So I’m feeling a bit lonesome and will head out tomorrow. Lets see how that goes.

First view of Red Fort

First view of Red Fort

A view of the inside of Kyzyl-Kala.

A view of the inside of Kyzyl-Kala.

Is someone still keeping watch for marauders?

Is someone still keeping watch for marauders?

Toprak-Kala, the ancient capital of the area dating from 1st to 5th century.

Toprak-Kala, the ancient capital of the area dating from 1st to 5th century.

Someone's house two an half thousand years ago.

Someone’s house two an half thousand years ago.

The walls still stand.

The walls still stand.

First view of the Ayaz-Kala, built  at the end of 4th Century BC.

First view of the Ayaz-Kala, built at the end of 4th Century BC.

The front door or gateway into the fortress. It was very well defended against raids by nomads.

The front door or gateway into the fortress. It was very well defended against raids by nomads.

Ayaz-Kala 2, built 6th to 8th Century and lasted until the Mongol invasion in the 13th Century.

Ayaz-Kala 2, built 6th to 8th Century and lasted until the Mongol invasion in the 13th Century. Taken from Ayaz-Kala 1.

Another one of #2, and look at that view.

Another one of #2, and look at that view.

Walls of #1 fortress. Still standing and watching watching.

Walls of #1 fortress. Still standing and watching watching.

Maybe you share my affection for walls. I love walls!

Maybe you share my affection for walls. I love walls!

Last view of fortress from doorway of a yurt.

Last view of fortress from doorway of a yurt.

Pretending!

Pretending!

Then to Khiva.

Today was a big day, huge, a red letter day…… I had lunch. The first since London. I have had this trepidation about eating because I am totally unfamiliar with the food here but today I had some guidance and it was delicious. Sort of dumplings, stuffed pockets of dough with spicy minced meat inside called Manti served with colorful tomato salad. This has been some sort of breakthrough and lets hope it will continue because up to now I have relied on packets of biscuits to get me through the day.

Yesterday, a travel day seemed like a long one. An early morning ride to the train station in Bukhara preceded by a bit of a hike across the old City from my hotel to the taxi rank. The longest trek yet with my bag, I was apprehensive at first but in backpack mode my little bag helped me achieve it with some ease. A three hour journey then back to Samarkand, taxi to my old B and B where I rested up for a couple of hours then out for a last explore of this legendary City. I had saved the experience of entering the Registan for this part of the trip and was quite looking forward to seeing inside. You will remember that the Registan is an ensemble of three Madrasahs (schools). I had imagined restored class rooms, dormitories, dining areas and studies. I bought my ticket and entered the first one, the Ulugh Beg expectantly. There was a pleasant courtyard within, the usual tiled arches, mosaics and tiny doorways. What was in the tiny doorways?…………..SHOPS! You possibly know my reticence when it comes to shopping but here, all around the interior there they were. It was the same in all three Madrasahs so my visit didn’t last long.

Waited out the hours, ate Shashlik (kebab) with onions, read book, didn’t drink beer, chatted with hotel staff and guests, helped girl with nasty burn though I couldn’t figure out how she got it and finally the taxi came. Sitting in the cavernous Soviet style train station I must admit I did feel a pang of loneliness. It passed and soon there was a gabble of Russian on the speaker system and everyone started to move, I followed. It was a very long train and my carriage was furthest away, isn’t that always the way? I shared my compartment with a local doctor from outside Khiva, at least I think that’s what his friend told me, and off we went. Pitch darkness outside of course so it was a routine of make bed with plastic sealed Uzbekistan Rail sheets and pillowcases, drink a beer and fall asleep.

Five hours later I woke, noticed the lightening sky, thought aha, sunrise, crept out of compartment to the space between carriages where there was a gap and watched. Up came the sun with a whoosh and there I was, my heaven. In a vast expanse of desert from horizon to horizon, on a train, watching the sunrise. Hard to improve on that! Slept a little more, ate biscuits, drank water, read book and on through the desert we ran. The Kyzyl Kum or Qyzylqum (Red Sand) desert is the 15th largest desert in the world, extending over 115,000 square miles. We stopped in the middle where there was a collection of huts and a vast cell tower. Everyone got out and I managed to text back home, incongruously. On then for more hours, tea came round, finally. I think I was supposed to help myself from the samovar at the end of the carriage, but, clueless, I couldn’t figure it out. Then suddenly, with no transition whatsoever the desert ended. Just like that. Bada bing, desert, bada boom, green. Crops, apple trees, rivers, canals, kids swimming and jumping of bridges, farm animals grazing, cows and goats. We had arrived in Khorezm Province which appears to be a huge oasis, fed by a major river, the Amu-Darya which flows from the glaciers of the Pamir and the Tien Shen Mountains. (Geography over, for now!).

Thirteen hours after leaving Samarkand we pulled into Urgench and a half hour taxi ride took me to Khiva. My taxi driver was clearly very proud of the City and took me on an impromptu tour round the walls. Did I say walls? After the magnificence of the Ark walls in Bukhara I didn’t think I would see better. I was wrong. Stupendous might be an understatement. You will see pictures. We pulled up outside my B and B where friendly, fluently English speaking staff greeted me, tea,always tea, and my room was ready. A nap and then I thought I would take in the view from the rooftop and made my way up. Through an ancient looking door I paused to put on my shoes on the provided bench. Shoes on I rose, but I was STUCK! The bench was covered in glue. I put my hand down to pull myself up, more glue.  Finally extricated self and humbly asked staff if they could wash my trousers. Just another oh dear moment.

The walls Of Khiva.

The walls Of Khiva.

Spices in the bazaar.

Spices in the bazaar.

I have been asked for photos of people. Less buildings. Here is one.

I have been asked for photos of people. Less buildings. Here is one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No more photos this evening, sorry.

Upload speed is so slow it takes about 15 minutes per photo.

More to come.

 

To Bukhara.

I seem to be waking up early every day, whether its the excitement or just staying in unusual surroundings, I don’t know. Saturday was no exception, up early, breakfast at 7.30 and then wonder, hmm, I am supposed to go to Bukhara on the noon thirty train but I don’t have a ticket. I should have had one. After the misery of trying to buy a ticket myself at Tashkent train station I thought I would try a ticket agency so phoned one, impeccable English and no problem, yes I can do that, just be in the hotel lobby at 7.00 and give my driver the money and I will have your tickets delivered to your hotel in Samarkand. Great, thanks says I and handed over the money at seven in the lobby. But here I was, three hours to go and no delivery. Called the agent, oh dear she says, our driver forgot and has gone to Bukhara but don’t worry, another driver will pick you up and take you to the ticket office and we will pay for a replacement ticket. Fair enough. Off I go with the surliest Russian you can imagine but it all worked out, I had the ticket and then it was just a matter of packing, paying the hotel and getting to the train station in time for the non thirty departure. Just a bit of a rush but I got it done, no VIP Waiting Room this time but that was ok.

Again I was escorted to my seat by a Commissar in a peaked cap who ejected the person sitting in my seat for which I was grateful and off we went. Slower than the previous Express but only one stop on the three hour ride. My companion insisted on looking through all the photos on my phone and we both had a few laughs despite not speaking a word of each other’s language. Then into Bukhara Junction where there was the usual chaos, greeters, hustlers, beggars and insistent taxi drivers. I had a tip though from the British teachers back at Istanbul Airport, put your head down, barge through the crowd ignoring everyone and when you get to the back you will find your best price. I did. It worked. $5.00 for the ten kilometer drive to the hotel whereas I had heard $20 at the arrival gate. Down the expressway into the town and through the maze of tiny alleys to the Minzifah hotel. Spacious room, TV, shower, power sockets, two beds and wifi, couldn’t be better. After a quick tea I was off into the town to see everything.

A totally different experience to Samarkand. There is no “tourist route” clearly marked by huge wide pedestrian walkways, just alleys and more alleys but here is something, Google maps worked, even here. Put in your location, put in your destination and follow the blue dot. Go up this alley, turn right at the next one, walk forwards for a while, then sharp left turn right and you are there. Excellent.There turned out to be the Ark, a huge walled fortress built in the 5th Century although there is archeological evidence that there have been fortresses on the site since 899. I have never seen such walls even at Carcassonne. The adjacent Mosques and Medressahs were dwarfed by their sheer size. I did pay the $12.00 to enter but shouldn’t have bothered, there is little or nothing left  to see of the resident Emirs and rulers. A large part of the fortress was bombed into ruins by the Bolsheviks in 1920 and the last Emir ordered  the harem blown up as he escaped with the Royal Treasury.

There was much more to see around the old city and one of the delights was turing a corner to be confronted by another huge dome, another tiled Medressah, another Minaret, another market or a gaping trench across the alley. I met the nice German guy from Samarkand and his Mother, we went for coffee and had a conversation, my first since London with Sophie! They had had enough of Medressahs and Mosques and were pleased to be leaving for St Petersburg tonight, but it was good to chat. Personally I liked Bukhara, less crowds than Samarkand, less developed for tourists, more locals out and about enjoying their weekend, basically, more mellow.

Tomorrow the train back to Samarkand, a twelve hour layover back at my B and B then the night train to Khiva leaving at midnight and arriving at lunchtime on Tuesday. Hopefully there I will find the echoes of the Old Silk Road I am looking for.

IMG_2401

The Ark Walls.

The Kalon Minaret.

The Kalon Minaret.

The famous pond in the center of town which caused many outbreaks of plague.

The famous pond in the center of town which caused many outbreaks of plague.

A Medressa with me in it, if you look closely.

A Medressa with me in it, if you look closely.

Samarkand.

Now I have three people asking “What on earth are you doing in Uzbekistan?” or more specifically Samarkand. I will endeavor to elucidate. A long time ago, when at school, we were all compelled to read the works of James Elroy Flecker, not only a poet but also an alumni of the school. I won’t go into all the verses but the final two lines of The Golden Journey to Samarkand are: “Why men were born:but surely we are brave, Who make the Golden Journey to Samarkand.” Stirring stuff for the lad Tim, who I might add was frequently chastised for looking out of the window and day dreaming. There was also a roommate at Uni’ whose parents came here, so that was a long time ago also, and they invited me over to see their slides. I was hooked. Briefly then, those are a couple of  the reasons I always knew I would come here and why.

It is of course a staggeringly romantic place, the menfolk with their flowing robes and unique hats, the womenfolk in their national dress, remarkably colorful, the architecture and the history. It was almost sacked by Alexander the Great in 329BC, Genghis Khan took it over in 1340 and Tamerlaine made it his Capital in the 14th Century. There is so much history here that I find I cannot get enough and certainly not retain it all. Tamerlaine’s mausoleum, the Gur-E-Amir, which sits in its own park reached by climbing a set of steep stairs features one of the finest domes I have seen in the city.

The dome.

The dome.

Tamerlaine's mausoleum.

Tamerlaine’s mausoleum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Bibi-Khanym Mosque is quite breathtaking, vast on a similar scale as the Registan.

The Mosque Entrance.

The Mosque Entrance.

The Mosque itself.

The Mosque itself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Perhaps my favorite of the many sites was The Shah-I-Zinda which is a collection of mausoleums created for Tamerlaine’s relations, favorites and Generals. It was quite a walk from my B and B and after walking through a park area I saw that my way was blocked by a four lane highway, I almost gave up. But then I spied a set of steps down to the road and approaching the bottom the traffic stopped, I had a green light, I crossed, mystified, then watching others discovered that the traffic lights were remotely controlled, clever that.

A view of the complex.

A view of the complex.

Another view.

Another view.

I liked this one.

I liked this one.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m sorry but I really can’t do justice to this place, I don’t have the words and certainly not the photographic skills but note that it has been a dream come true, it is beyond words and impossible to convey artistically. I will let others try.

But now, something completely different. The Mongol Rally is in town. I met some of the entrants at the Uzbek Consulate in Istanbul applying for their visas. Quite crazy. For those who don’t know this is a car rally from London to Ulan Bator in Mongolia raising money for charity. Contestants come from all over the world, in fact there are two ladies from Wisconsin, driving a Volkswagon Golf,  Skyping back home on the next table. Hilarious. Interesting to see British car registration plates on the streets of Samarkand.

PS. Thanks to Ms Shubeau, Ms Garban and Sebastian for provoking the initial thoughts and I hope I have answered your questions, a bit.

 

Leaving Tashkent…..

A wake up call at 6.00am, finished packing, payed bill, jumped in taxi and arrived at Tashkent Railway station, a grand edifice if ever I did see one. Stretching at least half a mile I was somewhat confused as to where the entrance might be but spotted what looked like a security check point and offering ticket and passport was ushered through. I was growled at by an official looking Commissar who reluctantly stamped my ticket, showed him that yes, I did have a camera in my camera bag, and there I was, in the VIP Waiting Area! Tea was brought,I was given a box of Uzbekistan Railways tissues, bowls of nuts and dried fruit were laid out on low tables, massive leather sofas, there were newspapers, morning tv, pretty girls and flunkies, and me. I have no idea how this came to be but I wasn’t about to complain and the hour before departure passed rather um, surrealistically. I was then escorted out of the waiting room by one of the aforementioned pretty ones, down the platform, onto the carriage and to my seat in a totally full compartment. Another oh dear moment.

We left on time and raced out of Tashkent on what appears to be a German financed railway line, electrified and very fast, not French TGV fast, but fast enough. Some fruit juice and piece of cellophane wrapped cake were given out then we had to buy water. The scenery was flat, agricultural, irrigated, with the occasional cement works. We moved West and the desert developed, dry and sandy, low hills loomed to our left looking daunting in the heat. Then it was all over. Two hours to travel 300 kms (180 miles). Not bad. And I was in the legendary city of Samarkand.

I always have known I would get here somehow, its always been a goal and here I am. My little B and B is perfectly situated in the old part of town near all the famed sights, The Registan, Bibi-Khanym Mosque, The Shah-I-Zinda and the Gur-E-Amir Mausoleum. All to be investigated and hopefully described as the days pass by. While waiting for my room to be ready I did venture out to see the Registan and it did not disappoint. It encompasses a huge area and is probably the most well known building in the city. If you have ever seen photos of Samarkand it will have undoubtably featured the Registan. Consisting of  three different Medressas (schools basically) it is incredibly tiled in blue, the minarets reach to the sky, the domes are marvelous, the vast courtyard dwarfs the crowds (sparse actually), and I loved it. The photos were a bit washed out as it was noon time, so now, after 6.00pm, I will venture out again and see if I can improve.

IMG_2215

The right side.

 

 

 

 

The left.

The left.

Sun is setting.

Sun is setting.

What an incredible place.

What an incredible place.

Arriving Tashkent….

 Waiting for the shuttle in Istanbul I thought I would check for any useful hints on arriving at Tashkent Airport. Worst airport in the World cried some, had to call the Embassy to have them come and retrieve my passport from immigration, they took all my money because I didn’t fill a form in correctly, bag thieves everywhere, they made me pay $500 to enter the country, the taxi driver pulled a gun and demanded all our money. By the time I was sitting at the departure gate I was really wondering if I was doing the right thing, but then I got some soothing texts from back home (thank you) and met a party of British teachers on their way back after the summer holidays and felt the anxiety level lessen. The boarding process was eye opening as large parties wanted to sit together so actual seat numbers were totally ignored, this caused complete mayhem of course. Is it always like that? You would have thought the airline would have made the process less anarchistic, but what do I know. Eventually the overworked flight crew settled every one down and we left, only an hour late though that meant instead of a 1.40am arrival it would be 2.40am.

Arrive we did and upon deplaning and waiting for the bus I couldn’t help noticing the heavy military presence bearing sub machine guns (Kalashnikovs?) then alighting from the bus we were herded into a glorified shed where it was everyone for themselves for immigration, no queueing, waiting in orderly lines, oh no. I got my stamp with a grunt and then it was baggage claim, sit and wait, sit and wait. Where’s my bag, Moscow? Budapest? Nairobi? This was the second time ever that I have had to check my quite small bag, never again I vowed. Eventually it came and with fear and trepidation I approached Customs with my duplicate forms and you know what, I passed, welcome to Uzbekistan , enjoy your stay. So proud. Exiting I was confronted by a massive crowd of greeters and hustlers. No, no thank you I don’t want to get in your taxi, my hotel is picking me up (well I hoped they were, I sent two emails), attempts were made to grab my bag, I was surrounded, and then, there he was, the man with the Mr Tim, Silk Road Hotel sign. The relief.

Sped through darkened Tashkent with the Super Moon above and then hotel, easy check in, offered a beer at the 24 hour bar, whadya mean, its four thirty in the morning! Slept the sleep of the Gods until 6.00am when someone started pounding on my door, Oh Rude Word. Cat napped until about nine and went for breakfast, then took a nap. Went for a short stagger down the street and came back, another nap.

That was about it for my first day in Tashkent. I changed some money, 50 UK pounds ($75.00) and received 190,000 Uzbek Som in 1,000 Som notes. What ever am I supposed to do with this stack of notes four inches thick? A charming young lady called Anastasiya advised me where to get an Uzbek SIM for my phone, but when I got there the shop closed at three o’clock, try tomorrow. I went to a grocery store dominated by the biggest display of loose biscuits (cookies) I have ever seen, don’t they go stale and soggy? I bought some chips (crisps) for eight cents. Sat by the pool for a while but it seemed dominated by rather large, sunglassed men with their families (or not) and judged it expedient to sit at the back on the grass, if you get my drift.

Drank tea (Erin).

Tomorrow the serious business will be taken care of, booking trains, hotels etc for my adventure around Uzbekistan and  also visiting Embassies to get more visas.

I will let you know how it goes.

Looking for Great Uncle Seph’

Not the greatest start to the day, awoke to massive thunderstorm and torrents of rain. Breakfast was bread, honey, cheese and olives with the ubiquitous tea. Then to the hotel lobby where my guide was waiting. Sensible person first checked my shoes, they were approved. Off into the countryside, low hills, mainly sunflowers in the fields, few cows, some goats, this not the tourist route we did yesterday. The road is washed out in places, rivers of mud flow over the tarmac, we follow farm vehicles.( I am live blogging this rather than trying to do it from memory, it seems to be working out.)

The road narrows, definitely not suitable for tourist buses, traditional Turkish music plays on the radio. Wow, lightening strikes a tree right beside us with a sharp crack, guide whistles! We stop in small village, more tea. The road deteriorates, more mud, flooded verges, more farm vehicles, tractors with trailers full of melons and cucumbers. Huge fork lightening flashes across the hills, the rain is lessening (optimism.) we turn off the road onto a track, driver nervous, passenger worried about pushing car.
We park, well abandon, car in the gateway to a field  and start walking up the track where the first thing that strikes me is the mud. Cloying would be the word, instantly my shoes doubled, tripled in weight and soon they were unrecognizable. Trousers too, splattered up to the knees. Up and up until we came to the Memorial. If it had been sunny I would have said it was shaded but in the middle of a thunderstorm it was just, calm.
I found the Memorial to Great Uncle Seph’. It was very emotional and moving. Here was his name on a huge, towering, marble slab, remembered from ninety nine years after he was killed, literally in the middle of nowhere. Despite the rough track up the hill the grounds were clearly regularly maintained, grass mown, flowers cultivated and healthy looking. Why was he here in the first place? Born in a prosperous market town in Southern England it seems he had some sort of “falling out” with the family and left Newbury for New Zealand. That, surely, was a major undertaking at the beginning of the Twentieth Century, no jumping on a 747 and arrive within hours. How did he get there? Where did he live? Did he work at all? Will we ever know?All I know is that my Mum’ s Granny never recovered from the loss and Great Granny Jo died an unhappy woman.
It was time to leave, we were both getting soaked, and walked back down the track accompanied by the banging and booming thunder. It was quite apocalyptic. Was I getting a message? Maybe, maybe not but I like to think so as I believe I am the first and only family member to make it to the Memorial on Hill 60.
    Ignoring the weather the guide said we should go to the  interpretive center. Ok, says I, not really knowing what it was. Turned out to be a vast building built to enhance the tourist business by showing short movies about the Gallipoli Campaign in ten different rooms, with special effects. During the movie of the Allied Naval  bombardment of the gun emplacements on the Dardanelles shore for instance, the floor vibrated. That kind of thing. A sort of Disney Gallipoli. It got worse. Stirring music and images of the Prime Minister, Erdogan, with President Obama, another with the Queen, claiming Turkey’s new place in the World order. I will say no more.
Then it was time for lunch and a trip to Troy, you know, the Illiad, Helen, Paris, Menelaus, Hector, Achilles and of course, the horse.
But that will have to wait for another day as I am now on my way back to Istanbul.
The track up to the Hill 60 Memorial.

The track up to the Hill 60 Memorial.

Arriving at Memorial.

Arriving at Memorial.

Great Uncle Joseph Hopson. I added my own tiny poppy.

Great Uncle Joseph Hopson. I added my own tiny poppy.

A view of the Hill 60 Memorial.

A view of the Hill 60 Memorial.

Time to leave.

Time to leave.

http://www.nytimes.com/2014/06/27/world/europe/gallipoli-world-war-i-campaign-laid-ground-for-national-identities.html?_r=0

 

More mud on the track.

More mud on the track.

World War 1

There is much press in Europe about the 100th anniversary of the start of World War One. In the American press and media, barely a mention. I wonder why this should be. Names like Ypres, The Somme and Verdun are part of the British psyche. Lines of poetry such as:

“Stands the church clock at ten to three?

And is there honey still for tea?”

Or

“There’s some corner of a foreign field that is forever England”

are well known and much loved and quoted.

In America, not so much.

Two weeks ago I found myself in London with my Niece, Sophie, and we visited the Tower of London where there is being created a vast Memorial to those who died in that War. Over 800,000 ceramic poppies are being arranged in the moat, a huge undertaking by over 5,000 volunteers. We both found the scene quite moving.

Leading up to……..

Here I am in the Dardanelles, previously known as the Hellespont (!), which as every English person knows is the sight of one of WW1’s major engagements, Gallipoli. Previously I had thought that the word Dardanelles referred to an area, of land. But no, it is actually a Strait connecting the Aegean Sea with the Sea of Marmara. (no more geography, I promise).

Getting here was comparatively easy, up at 5.30am, the tour bus picked me up at 6.30 and off I went with a busload of Aussies and Kiwis who both share some splendid epithets for Brits and Americans, so I kept my mouth shut. Five hours later we arrived at Eceabat, on the banks of the Dardanelles. A quick lunch then we were of on a tour of the ANZAC landing grounds of Gallipoli.

Four hours later we returned to the lunch spot severely chastened, heart broken, dazed, tired and emotional. Hundreds of thousands of lives were lost during the campaign and it achieved what again? As far as I could determine, nothing. We visited ANZAC Cove where some of the troops were landed at night, in the wrong place. We saw the Nek, where a naval bombardment was mistimed, allowing enemy forces to regroup and repel the attack. They were all so young, as an Aussie friend back home remarked “They were just babies”. There were fourteen year olds amongst the Allied forces.

Enough from me for now, lets see what tomorrow brings.

Oh, I am off for tea because, yes, there is still honey.

Sophie and the poppies at the Tower of London.

Sophie and the poppies at the Tower of London.

One of the many Memorials.

One of the many Memorials.

Lone Pine War Cemetery.

Lone Pine War Cemetery.

On the highest hill in the area.

On the highest hill in the area.

Anzac Cove Cemetery.

Anzac Cove Cemetery.

  

I broke the hotel phone system and other news.

It seems I crashed the phone system. For the whole hotel! How? No one knows.

The reception staff had noticed periodic outages over the last few days and just put it down to the vagaries of the local phone system. Today however the system went down at around noon (when I went out) and didn’t come back up. They brought in the experts who isolated the problem to my room where I was charging my tiny laptop. They unplugged the charger and lo and behold, their phone system came back. They were very nice about it, almost apologized, as did I. There is now a sign in reception warning against charging laptops in the same power strip as the telephone! Oh dear.

In other news. ……

I have been on two tours, on buses. Corny? yes. Touristy? yes. Informative? Very.

The first one was around the Golden Horn, an enormous inlet that splits the City and is alive with boat traffic. My main interest was the history of said Horn as in days gone by there was a huge chain across the mouth to protect the harbor from invaders. Many is the book I have read about this and ultimately of course it failed and the city fell. The Crusaders succeeded (1204), then the Ottomans (1453). History vividly brought alive. Remains of the ancient walls remain, tantalizingly, and are being restored in places. Just to see those remains and think, “what have those stones seen”?

There was a cable car ride up a cliff to a coffee house high on a cliff. Not only do I not drink coffee but also suffer from vertigo, got to move outside my comfort zone, and they did serve tea. The Egyptian Spice Market was sensational. A visual and olfactory feast. Endless stalls and booths selling I not what, but it sure was stimulating.

Another bus took me up to Northern extremity of the Bosphorus where it meets the Black Sea. Lots of points for me, a geography nerd. Fascinating to see the shipping passing through the narrow straights, huge container ships feeding all those ports around the Black Sea, Burgas (Bulgaria), Constanta (Romania),Odessa (Ukraine), Sevastapol (Crimea), Rostov (Russia), and all the ports on Turkey’s North Coast. All those ships, mere yards away, carrying trade goods from all over the World. I wonder how much Turkey makes from it all in taxes?

One more moment I lost to dreaming. On Saturday night I was finishing dinner when the waitpersons started lowering the sliding roof and putting up the plastic walls around the eating area, ominous thinks I. “Will it rain”? I asked, “Yes, go now”! I did. Back to the hotel and up onto the roof, bad mistake. Sheets of rain blowing in from the Sea of Marmara, I left roof . Found another soulmate on a protected balcony and we shared a wine or two as the lightening flashed all around, thunder peeled and echoed around the City. Intense rain crashed down on our tiny roof, flooding the streets below, yes I did get a bit damp, but then, it all got impossibly better. The Mosques burst into the Call to Prayer. In a lightening Storm. In August. In Istanbul. It was just momentous.

A stall in the Spice market.

A stall in the Spice market.

More Spice Market scenes.

More Spice Market scenes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They have trolley cars here, just like San Francisco.

They have trolley cars here, just like San Francisco.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

The bridge between Europe and Asia over the Bosphorus.

The bridge between Europe and Asia over the Bosphorus.

The old and the new.

The old and the new.

Days in Istanbul

Day three in Istanbul draws to a close and I have to tell you, the good people of this City seem to have a really great time. Between the Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque there is a vast park, open space, or plaza with benches set around, fountains, green bits, children’s play areas, contoured paths, ancient looking piles, presumably part of the old walls of Byzantium and its always packed. There are food booths all around selling barbequed corn, Nutella wraps, ice cream and everyone just mills about very good naturedly. I don’t detect that groundswell of suspicion that lurks in the background of other major cities (London?), the throngs just seem to get on with each other, take selfies, eat, laugh, chat, drink tea and have the greatest time. I have been asked for directions, asked to take photos, offered tea, beamed at, all by local people. Anyone looking less like a resident than me I cannot imagine!

Today I went to the Grand Bazaar, it was hot, very hot, and very, very big, and it has hills. It is all enclosed to keep the weather out when wet, the curved passages are right out of Aladdin’s cave, endless booths, stalls and shops selling everything you can imagine. Not being a great shopper I didn’t buy anything but contemplated shipping a few small items back home, spices etc. I didn’t aquire a guide, just used my little compass and didn’t get too lost. Again there were huge crowds, walk on the right, walk on the right, it was like the London tube at rush hour without the tutting if someone stopped, we just moved around them!

Tomorrow I am determined to work out the public transportation system.

 

IMG_6091

In Aladdin's Cave.

In Aladdin’s Cave.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Update:

I cannot get to Dushanbe in Tajikistan from here which is bad, sad news as I was delighted to get my visa in London. The planes, two per week are full unless I want to go via Kabul or Moscow or other long detours, and pay hugely. So have applied for a visa to Uzbekistan. I went to the Embassy yesterday, long trip, long story, and my application was accepted and “should” be available next Friday. There are many flights from here to Tashkent so all being well I will be on my way in a week.