36. Fethiye // Olympos // Fethiye // Turkey

Keeping with our end of boat trip traditions (of which we had previously done one,) we organised to meet up with Dean & Ruth and Dan & Fi again that night in Fethiye. Fethiye was our final destination for the cruise and we had booked two nights there to recover. It’s predominantly an English tourist spot so it didn’t take long to see menus advertising English breakfasts everywhere. Even though we stayed in a hotel several kilometres out from the main area, it just so happened Dean & Ruth were also staying just around the corner from us. So we shared a cab, went to our respective accommodation and made plans to meet up again that night.

Dan & Fi were in the middle of the town so it made sense for us all to meet up back there, considering that’s where the noteworthy fish market was. After some afternoon bevvies and a few laps in the pool to escape the heat, we met up with Dean & Ruth and headed towards the water taxi where we joined a boat full of English-speaking English and departed for the port. Thirty minutes later, we were back on land and the six of us were seated with an Efes in front of each of us.

The fish market sits in the middle of a circle of restaurants, each with a waiter hawking out the front for business. You can either eat from their menu or, as we all did, pay them 6 Lira each ($3 AUD) for a salad and for them to cook the fish you had personally selected and purchased fresh from the market. Brilliant! I’m sure it’s probably all owned by the one guy or something and the competition is just to make it appear attractive but it was a cool concept regardless. After selecting the freshest ingredients we could find, we were soon ripping into numerous plates of octopus and prawns and picking away at large morsels of snapper. Incredibly delicious. The night progressed exploring some laneways and shopping districts before we next found ourselves sitting in a large Turkish garden bar, at a table with a Scrabble-like board and countless chips with coloured numbers on them. I can’t remember the name of it but Dean and Dan claimed to confidently know how to play. Despite the waiter looking over our shoulder a few times with a confused expression on his face, Dean and Dan explained we were using a mix of Australian and New Zealand rules and thats why it probably didn’t make sense to Turks. Halfway through we abandoned the game, resigning ourselves to the fact we seriously had no idea how to play and were instead playing something that incorporated elements from uno, dominos, scrabble and cheat.

We thought the next day we would get some more time to hang out with Dean & Ruth since they had booked themselves 4 nights in Fethiye. However, as keen divers, they shared our sentiment that Fethiye was nothing more than a beach holiday for bogan English and decided to head back to Kas where they hoped some diving would come to fruition. We said farewell and spent the rest of our time by the pool in a very relaxed sort of position.

Going back almost a week, Olympos had been so relaxing that we decided prior to leaving that we’d book some more time there and head back after the cruise. We were to catch the bus pretty early that morning but were keen to capitalise the fact English breakfasts were everywhere here. Up until then, we had not seen any bacon at all for the simple fact that Turks don’t eat pork for religious purposes. That morning, we hurriedly sat down to an empty cafe and chowed down some bacon and eggs with gleeful smiles before we rushed back to collect our bags and catch the bus.

We’ve already explained Olympos to you in the previous blogs but to reiterate, if you’re ever in the area, it cannot be missed. Despite having already passed through here, we came back for four more nights with the sole purpose of doing absolutely nothing except eating the incredible food and laying in the hammocks. And then, when that came to an end, we stayed for two more. It was pure bliss and suited me just fine.

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One day, however, we did manage to peel ourselves out from the tight mould of our arses that had formed in the lounges and agreed it was time to leave Turkey to head to Rhodes. We found the easiest way for us to get there was to again head back to Fethiye and catch a catamaran to the Greek island. Of course, there was a small temptation to catch the Blue Cruise there again but sensibility took over and we grabbed a bus. We couldn’t stay in Fethiye without eating at the fish market again so we returned to the chaos and did Fethiye Fish Market x2 minus everyone else. Up until this point, we had also forgotten to have a Turkish Shisha.  Something we couldn’t leave Turkey without doing so we found a beanbag and shared one of those to say adios.  Early the next morning, we waddled off the harbour to find our boat, went through passport control said farewell to Turkey and its incredibly diverse land and people, its insanely delicious food and the memories it had given us. I will say I find it ironic that we had to travel by boat instead of car to a place called Rhodes.

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And this will by far be the worst blog I have ever written.

35. Blue Cruise // Turkey

Desperate to relive our amazing week on Sail Croatia, we booked the Blue Cruise. They say this is a must do if visiting Turkey and involves three nights sleeping up on deck under the stars and sailing by the South West beaches. Sleeping, swimming and sailing are three of our favourite S’s. We started off pretty relaxed, resting on our Turkish lounge at Saban Tree Houses until the pick-up bus (just 20 metres down the road) decided to come and collect us so that we didn’t have to strain ourselves too much. A two hour bus ride later, we arrived in Demre, a small town 5 minutes from the port where we could switch with the group before us and who were on their way to Olympos. What do you know? Alex and Sal whom we had met in Cappadocia were getting off that very bus! They gave us a few quick pointers, such as smuggle water on there if you can and to tally one wine on the board whenever you have two. Clearly they were travelling a little tighter than us but shame on me to say it didn’t take long before I too was employing this tactic.


The Blue Cruise was a lot smaller than our Sail Croatia experience, a lot quieter and a lot more relaxed. The clientele was more level-headed and there to chill and not so much to party. So that worked quite well for us. Apart from the Captain, the chef and his deck hand, we spent the next three nights travelling with our new group of friends. So let’s meet the gang:


Dean and Ruth are from Darwin and are possibly two of the nicest people we have ever met. Dean seemed to have previously done a H&M shop prior to the trip as well and so it was often difficult to tell us apart in our matching singlets. Their travel route was also not too different from ours and if you go through their photos, they’ll probably look almost identical to ours. You’ll also probably be accused of being a creep if you go through their photos because that’s just weird if you don’t know someone.

Dan and Fiona are two top notch Kiwis and are now living in London. So it’s imperative I speak highly of them here to win brownie points. Like me, Dan gets to experience the joys of working for an insurance company. But unlike me, he gets to use his university qualification as he does so, using his expertise on geography to conduct risk analysis. He also has one of the worst playlists I’ve ever heard and savaged us with this one tranquil (formerly) afternoon on the boat. Fiona is a practicing journalist. As someone who has completed their degree but done nothing with it, I always love meeting people who are actually pursuing the vicious world of media and hearing what life could have been.

We had the luxury of experiencing the trip with three lovable Irish girls who had literally travelled everywhere in the world and could not be understood when they got stuck in their million-words-a-minute leprachaun style conversation amongst themselves. They had crazy names like Collette (not so weird), Breed and Eafer. Except they spelt them in even crazier fashions like Collette (still not so weird) Brid and Aoife. Spin out. They reminded us again of the meaning of the phrase “Good Craic.”

We had a few Turks on there too, which was great. Olly and his mum (whom I’ve unfortunately forgetten the name of) were priceless value. Both live in Istanbul. She works in medicine from memory and was fantastic to discuss Turkish lifestyle with. Olly is the most charming 21 year old you’ve ever met. With a long ponytail and a Justin-Bieber like body, we’d often not be able to un-anchor in the morning until he returned from a 2 hour swim. When someone spotted him on the horizon, we’d patiently wait while he swam with fatigue towards us, often getting off course because he failed to look up, until his flailing arms eventually dragged him back to the boat.

Whereas they both spoke English, the other couple of Turks didn’t. There was a guy (who we got to know as Baba) and his son (who we got to know as the kid who was always saying Baba) who seemed to be on there for a father-son fishing trip. This was always amusing as they’d kind of just throw some hooks and line over the side of the boat with no bait and, surprisingly, never caught anything. I felt a bit sorry for them. To speak Turkish in your own country, to catch a Turkish boat in your own country and then to be ostracised as the odd one out because you speak Turkish just seems fundamentally wrong. But he was good value and seemed particularly excited when I had a Raki with him and he shared a plate of melon with me (as was the custom) on the last evening.

Lastly, we were joined by Celia and her daughter Tabitha. Celia was from Brisbane but owned property out near Dalby and was telling us how after 3 years she had finally won a settlement through the Ombudsman for a claim back during the floods. Tabitha was currently living in Istanbul but had previously lived in Paris and we got to hear of her experiences living in both.

The captain was the only member of the crew who spoke English and there was no hiding the fact he was having a fair crack (different sort of craic) at Collette on the last night after quite a few wines. The chef was a remarkable cook and clearly took a lot of pride with his dishes. He was also a vastly superior fisherman to the other two on board, albeit via questionable methods. His tactic seemed to be to drop a line through a school of fish and then aggressively rip it back up through the water to latch a fish that way. Baba’s son seemed to be particularly enthralled by this though – I guess as a result that his Baba hadn’t caught anything at all up until then.

So it was with these people our trip began. Sometimes on these tours, chefs sell out and serve a poor example of western cuisine to keep people happy. However, these guys were Turkish through and through and served some of the best food we had eaten in the country. Albeit, I will say the Turks love to drown everything in oil which contributes to both the amazing flavour and the “Oh I feel so sick” feelings. After an amazing lunch to begin the tour, we commenced the stitches by going for a swim way to early, and followed this up with a cruise past and OVER a sunken city, known as Kekova. This had once stretched across the mile or two width of the channel but now, all that remained was the jagged remnants on the coastline. We also spotted a few turtles swimming by around these parts (think Crush from Finding Nemo size) but, despite Dean and Dan’s eager swimming, they could not get themselves to catch and ride one.

Another chilled afternoon followed, and then another amazing meal before we pulled up and anchored in a still and quiet harbour. Some genius has set up a bar near here to capitalise on all the boats and so we spent that night dancing in this dusty wooden hut to some of the worst tunes I’ve ever heard. The drinks were beautifully marked up to welcome the dollars in our wallets and it was the DJ who looked as though he was having the most fun. The best part was the water taxi which came to collect us from our boat. As we all piled on, we then drifted off into pitch black waters with no light and no sound, slowly going around from boat to boat to pick up other Bar-goers. The bar was dead quiet as we pulled up and it wasn’t until the moment they realised a taxi had pulled up that all these lights and music suddenly turned on. I suspect the moment we all left at once several hours later that the complete opposite happened. My absolute favourite moment was when Olly was at the bar. There was a South African girl serving drinks that night and as she was grabbing Olly’s, I told him that “Footsak” means “Thank You” in Africance (except that it doesn’t – it means “Eff Off” and is quite offensive) and he should say it to her when she returned. So full of confidence and with these big, brown puppy dog eyes, he looks at her with an infectious smile and says “Footsak” when she hands him his drinks. It was no surprise when she looked at him horridly and he was completely speechless as I watched on and pissed myself laughing. From then on, I called him Footsak.

The allocated rooms below deck were insanely hot and too uncomfortable to sleep in. Although Dean and Ruth tried, the rest of us seeked solace above deck and slept beneath the stars that first night. I know. It sounds a little bit like a giant orgy when I say that but it was nothing of the sort. And apart from Baba snoring all through the night, it wasn’t so bad. That was, until the sun came up in the morning and everyone was trying to find shelter from the heat on limited sleep.


Our Sultan’s Curse had not yet left us and I don’t think the big oily meals were helping. Whilst Elisha and I generally played tag team with the bathroom so as not to dirty the waters, the rest of the group spent the morning swimming the hangovers off. Elisha failed to mention in the last blog that I had, for the very first time in my life, managed to learn how to float in Olympos! There is so much salt in the Mediteranean that even a hopeless swimmer like me was able to find child-like success in the water. And for hours on end (but probably more likely minutes – afterall I was still an amateur and was probably still sinking a little) I would float around on my back and whisper to myself “How’s the serenity?” Needless to say that in front of all these people I was eager to show off my new talents. So whilst Dan repeatedly did backflips off the side of the boat, I tried my best to ingratiate myself with everyone by floating around in the sea on my back (and sinking just a little.)

Our cruise took us to the town of Kas later that day where we were free to walk around for several hours and explore the township. We’d already stocked up on Shit Stopper tablets but we needed some Panadol and sea sickness pils for the rest of the trip so we mumbled some English to another guy mumbling some English who was able to point us to a pharmacist. Apart from that, we stopped at several bars and cafes so as to destroy as many toilets as we could in Kas. I believe that town has now also become a sunken city. We had a pretty quiet night that night and played some cards before calling it a night.


I couldn’t help but laugh the next morning when, at breakfast, Elisha came up to me to say “I think I might be getting a little better. Yeah, I’ve only had to go to the bathroom 7 times so far this morning.” Such was the severity of Sultan’s Curse. We were glad we had bought the sea sickness tablets for the next several hours we bounced up and down through rough seas towards Butterfly Valley. You can just imagine how much fun this must have been for Elisha in the cramped confines of a toilet on a violently rocking boat. We were all pretty relieved to finally pull up in the calm waters of Butterfly Valley. Whilst most of us were content to just be sitting on land again, a couple of the group made the treck to the valley. You’ll need to ask them for the photos but, again, that will probably imply you’re a creep for looking at a stranger’s photos. There was still some more rocky waters ahead though and we then set sail for the Blue Lagoon. No. No. This is not the location for the movie of the same name that was released in 1980 with a 14 year old Brooke Shields and of which my parents told me to watch when I asked where babies came from. This was just a lagoon. That was blue. Hence the name – Blue Lagoon. Our boat docked a fair way from the lagoon due to traffic. I was still only just coming to grips with my newly acquired floating skills and so, when the majority of the group left for the mammoth swim and took all the remaining pool noodles, I felt pretty helpless and was abandoned back on deck. Again, you’ll need to do the creep thing and ask them for photos. However, I doubt there’d be too many of them for who would swim with a camera . . . especially when your arms are full with pool noodles.

Our final destination that evening was St Nicholas Island. An old ruined town sat high up on the hill here and we were able to trek up to the top for some amazing views of the area and the sunset. We ran into several Busabout groups up here too which was a nice reminder of just how chilled and relaxed our group was. A bit disgusting to see fellow Australians leave empty beer cans up on a beautiful spot like that. However, when that rowdy lot had moved on (how quickly I change teams) our small group was able to sit peacefully with our beer tins and admire the setting sun that would also act as a timely metaphor for our tour.

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We had one final night on the boat and so Dean and I attempted to teach everyone the card game Arseholes. This was all going well but takes a few hands to get the hang off. After finally getting everyone to understand the rules an hour or two later, we were ready to play properly. And to my utter frustration, that seemed to be when everyone felt it was time to go to bed!!

There was little to be done on the very last day but slowly make our way to Fethiye where we would disembark. However, it would be foolish not to stop one last time for another swim (this time I did snare a pool noodle) and one last helping to the amazing lunches provided by the chef. But with our bellies full and our arms tired from all the glorious swimming in the pristine waters of the Mediterranean Sea, we eventually docked and parted ways with everyone aboard. We hope to keep in touch with those we can – the Irish girls in less than a week and Dan and Fi several weeks after that in the foreseeable future. The one thing for certain is oceans can no longer keep us apart. For I can now float my away around the world . . . provided a pool noodle is nearby.

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34. Antalya // Olympos // Turkey

Jeez…it’s been a while since i’ve written a blog. I’m curently sitting in a train station in Siena, Italy and Turkey seems like ages ago….So I will try my best to recall exactly what we did on the next part of our travels through Turkey.

After our experience of the last night bus, we decided it was no longer an option for us and that we would just take the day bus departing Goreme and arrive in Antalya at night and ready for a sleep. Although the distance is a mere 540 km’s the journey would take in excess of 9 hours because of all the frequent stopping. Anyway, we left the Goreme 40 million degree heat and began our journey to Antalya. The bus pulled up for a 20 minute stop whilst loading new passengers in Konya. Now I had read about Konya in our guide book and I was well aware that this was in fact the most conservative town in Western Turkey. All women were covered up from head to toe, and I had heard from a conversation in Kusadasai that particularly during Ramazan it was impossible to buy a beer here. My dilemma was, that I needed to go to the bathroom as there were no facilities on our bus. This ordinarily wouldn’t be a problem, however as I peeked out my window and then looked back at my singlet and short attire, I realised that I was completely under dressed for such an event. However my bladder was persistant and we still had about 6 hours of our journey left. I looked at Clinton, said “fuck it” and off the bus I went, into the swarming sea of eyes of Konyans. I made a beeline for the WC sign within the train station and got half way down the stairs when an old woman looked me up and down and started yelling at me. I apologised in English which I knew in no way would help the situation and just kept running. Thankfully, there was at least a western toilet! The run back to the bus was much the same, I’ve never felt so many leering eyes on me, however I made it back on the bus unscathed, just in time as the bus pulled away.

We arrived into Antayla late that night, so late that no further mini buses into town were running and we had to catch our first taxi. Our room was in the old centre and luckily I had booked something with a pool, as it was extremely humid. Actually this wasn’t just luck. Since Pamukkale I had decided that a room with a pool and air conditioning was actually essential…call me a flash packer all you want but after 7 months of travel and a month in the middle of summer in Turkey, I think I had earnt a pool!  That night we went for a walk around the old town and was impressed by all the young Turks out. This felt more of an authentic Turkish modern town, with great food around and not the usual tourist traps. Here, the young ones were out late, eating and drinking bottles of raki with their friends, it was a really cool vibe and such a huge contrast to some more touristy areas we had recently been. We sat down to what was one of our favourite meals in all our time in Turkey. Simple Turkish flavours done well, and dirt cheap!!! After a big travel day we called it a night pleasantly surprised by what Antalya had to offer.

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Now….without going into much detail, Clinton had started to feel some stomach pains at some point in our turkish trail. We thought perhaps, him being a ceoliac and all the beer and durum had finally taken it’s toll, as throughout the first night he awoke to excrusiating pain, and vomited…unfortunately, I woke up the same way but not vomiting. It had appeared our excellent meal the night before, had in fact resulted in the dreaded Sultan’s Curse. We had been quite lucky in regards to food, trying anything and everything from on the streets in Malaysia and Vietnam, to eating in dodgy establishments in Turkey and never had a problem. We were generally careful with water, but not overly so, and we’d always been fine. Until now. All I will say is 2 people sharing one toilet whilst both sick is not ideal. We tried a bit more turkish food and it was amazing. Stuffed peppers, beans, eggplants, dips chicken dishes, it was amazing. I loved it. It was the Turkey I was after. Unfortunately though, Sultans Curse struck again and in fact got worse. Our next couple of days were spent in an apartment and eating dry crackers, and it still didn’t improve. We were due to leave Antalya but were scared to spend 5 hours on public transport. So we dosed ourselves up on drugs and made our way to Olympos.

Now I had heard about Olympos from our great friends Jess and Jamie who had been here on their Turkey adventure, and it sounded excellent. Olympos was once an important Lycian city, however in the 70’s it became a “hippie community” whereby travellers would come to hang out in tree houses amongst the ruins of the old city by the beach. It sounded fantastic and an amazing way to spend a few days chilling. We had booked a bungalow in Saban treehouses which were a 5 to 10 minute walk through ruins to a pebble beach. Upon arriving at Olympos, we both immediately wished we had more time here. Set deep withing the bush was an amazing sanctuary of bungalows, and tree houses. In the main eating area were hammocks and turkish lounges, all set up to lounge around throughout the day, escape the heat, sip cool beers, listen to tunes and catch up on blogs. (well that was the intention, but it didnt really seem to happen.) I’d never seen Clinton so happy and relaxed. In fact, it was really hard work to get him off that Turkish lounge. The best part about this place as well, was the food!! Breakfast and Dinner were included in the price of the accomodation and the owner Merryl really cared about what she was feeding her guests. She became a good friend of ours whilst we were there, and would sit on our lounge and chat throughout the day. The subject of food was constantly brought up, and by the end I was able to discuss with her what I wanted on the menu for dinner…It also helped that for once we didnt really have to worry about food, we’d basically just turn up and breakfast and dinner and it would be waiting! What didn’t help is that at this stage, Clinton and I were both still suffering from Sultan’s Curse. So as great as these meals were, we’d both be running to the toilet during and after our meals.

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So anyway, our first day in Olympos we went for a swim at the beach and then laid on a couch all day listening to Tunes. Our second day, we basically did the same thing. Though we met a guy called Kent who was an Australian teacher working in Bangladesh, who sat on the couch with us basically all day exchanging stories. It was mid afternoon when we saw our friend Emma trundle off the bus from Fethiye and had booked herself in at Saban for a relax as well, so she joined us on the couch, and finally a British guy called John who had hitchhiked his way from Georgia also struck up a conversation and spent the rest of the day with us on the couch, and boy did he have some funny stories. We laughed and laughed as he told us about his experience with a Turkish Bath in an Eastern Turkish city. Apparently all had been going well with his salt scrub, despite him being naked and being rubbed down from a big fat guy. This hadn’t worried him at all, until the big fat guy reached and grabbed his penis and proceeded to give it a salt rub as well whilst looking him straight in the eye. Apparently John was outta there as quickly as an Italian man leaves an espresso shop. After dinner, (yes we’d spent the whole day on the couch) and a few drinks, we all decided to head out to one of the various drinking spots along the road. This again had a very chilled out vibe so much so, that Clint and I walked in with our roadie beers. We sat outside sharing a few beers and giving John some advice on how to pull the ladies. We witnessed a couple of Turkish guys playing fooseball who at one point simultaneously took there shirts off as the game got serious. (or perhaps it could have had something to do with the group of ladies that had just walked in.) We stepped inside to watch some spanish dancing, but quickly were overcome with the stench of undeodrised Turkish men and clouds of Cigerette smoke. It was at this time we called it a night and headed back to the air conditioned comfort our a tree bungalow. It had been an excellent and relaxing few days, and tomorrow we were off on another sailing cruise through the Mediterranean Turkish seas!

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33. Pamukkale // Cappadocia // Turkey

To get to Pamukkale, we had to catch a bus from Kusadasi to Denizli and then change to a local Dolmus (mini bus) to take us the remaining 60kms. As we were quickly learning with Turkey, you never needed to plan ahead and we grabbed a bus around 9am from Kusadasi. Five hours later, we were in the Denizli Otogar, roaming its’ basement with our backpacks looking for the correct mini bus to take us to our eventual destination. Some helpful finger pointing later from various bus drivers and we had managed to find the right bus to make our way to Pamukkale, arriving mid-afternoon.

Pumakkale is known for its gleaming white travertines, which are calcite shelves with pools cascading down the plateau edge, and its natural hot springs. In the middle of the hot Denizli region, the travertines stand out like a group of giant polar bears and could easily be confused for snow capped mountains if it weren’t for the 40 degree heat reminding you otherwise.

During the Byzantine era, the ancient city of Heirapolis was built at the top of this attraction and used as a “natural resort” even back then. However, during modern times, hotels were built right on top of these ruins and it wasn’t until the area was deemed a World Heritage Site that this was all demolished and replaced with artificial pools. As such, I’m not sure how legit you can still call it. Regardless, it’s an incredible site to see and makes for some great backdrops for the Big Fat Dirty White Russians who were of course there posing at every angle they could.

As we climbed up from the bottom, I didn’t really know what to expect. To preserve the natural calcification, you are not allowed to wear shoes once you enter. You sort of feel like you might slip over as you step onto the wet rocks but instead your feet seem to grip on with ease, despite an inch of warm water continually cascading across your toes. As I said before, there are heaps of pools set up for the visitors to sit in. They are about two-three feet deep and the floor is covered in calcium-like mud.

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You don’t need much time in Pamukkale and so the next day we arranged for an overnight bus to take us to Cappadocia. Cappadocia is an absolute must if you go to Turkey. The only downside that we and pretty much anyone else we spoke to will say is the bloody 12-14 hour overnight bus you need to catch to get you there. We’ve caught overnight buses before in Vietnam and overnight trains in Poland and everytime we have always said the next morning “Never Again!” But you’ve always got to way up the pros and cons. So foolishly you convince yourself that you are saving a night’s accomodation by making the trip at night and you are bound to get some sleep throughout the night – just take a valium you say. And then, 12 hours later, red and bleary eyed and looking like you’ve just been run over by a stampede of bulls, you emerge from the bus into the next morning’s sunlight and say “Never Again!”

After finding a place that was actually open to grab some much needed breakfast from, we thanked our lucky stars that reception at our accommodation was open and that our room was even ready! Needless to say, our bags had hardly hit the floor before we were both passed out on the bed to catch a couple of hours of shut eye before we began our expedition.

Cappadocia is a very special place. And I don’t know how to describe it. Goreme (a central town in the district where we stayed) stands in the middle of countless surrounding caves where people once lived. As you pull into the town, tiny little fairy chimneys (rock formations in the shape of chimneys) protrude from the ground, but are big enough to live in. They look not too dissimilar to the Smurf Village actually. The landscape feels, at times, a little like the Wild West and across the 200 square kilometres, many former underground cities and churches can be found.

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Although it’s a novelty, the coolest part about Cappadocia is that you can stay in these chimney houses. It really does sound fun to think of yourself as Papa Smurf and enter inside one of these stone huts but, truthfully, once you’re inside, you’re basically just surrounded by stone walls and little ventilation. Which might be ok if you’re visiting in winter (when I think it does surprisingly snow) but not when you’re staying in the middle of summer.

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When we did eventually wake up later that day, we were surprised to see the temperature had only risen about 2 degrees since when we had arrived – so instead of it being 40 billion degrees as it was at 6am, it was now 40 billion and 2 degrees. There’s so much to see and do in the region. You can hire quad bikes and go racing through the dunes, explore underground cities, ride horses like a cowboy, enter ancient tombs and, of course, drink beer. (Don’t worry, we didn’t do too much of the latter.) Still fairly exhausted, we didn’t get up to too much the first day … oh wait, yes we did. We booked tickets for our Hot Air Balloon ride the next morning! But seriously, apart from that we strolled around Goreme a little, pointing out all the phallacentrical chimneys we could and getting a feel for the place. Realising how hot it was going to be in our room, and realising one night just wasn’t going to cut it in this really cool region of the world, we booked another two nights at a place advertising air con and a swimming pool for the next day.

But let’s not mess around. The real excitement for us was the Hot Air Balloon. And, without a doubt, it has been the best thing we have done so far. It was not cheap though and will probably go down as the most expensive hour of my life. Let’s be honest. 240 Euro for a 4.00am alarm clock was essentially what it was. We were told we’d be picked up at 4.15am. At that time of the morning, every minute someone is late is another chance to yell “I could have had one more minutes sleep!” When they did pick us up, we found we were just going around the corner anyway. And that was just to eat breakfast for the next half hour. Who is hungry at 4.30am?? I managed to laugh at that but I think I still would have preferred another half hours sleep and walked myself there when it was in fact time to be driven to the balloons. (It’s also really easy to find reasons to whinge when it’s that early. Trip Advisor has Cappadocia as one of the top 3 places in the world to Hot Air Balloon. And considering it was still cheaper than what you’d pay to do it in Melbourne, where 6 out of 7 times of getting out there it is cancelled due to weather, it was hard to argue the logic that it had to be done. Anyway, a picture tells a thousand words and this was our greatest travelling moment to date:

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For those who have ever been to Dreamworld with me, you’ll know I adamently refuse to go on the Giant Drop due to a fear of heights. And if you ask Elisha, she’ll happily tell you that every one of the 20 passengers and the Pilot were quite aware that I was struggling a bit as we got airborne. There may have been a few mouse-like whimpers from me and yes I was leaning as far as I possibly could away from the edge. I may have also peed myself a little when the bottom of the basket collided with the top of one of the chimneys and the entire cage shuddered as we bounced over it. I’ve never really thought too much about how a Hot Air Balloon lands but it was very different to whatever it was I was thinking. The Pilot really has little control over the balloon. They can take it up and down and that’s it. So to change directions they have to find pockets of air going in the direction they want. When you come down to land, it’s very much like the scene in Twister. There’s a group of four guys in a 4WD with the balloon’s trailer, racing around dirt roads trying to predict where the balloon will come down. The pilot radios them with a rough location. They pull up, jump out and throw some dirt in the air so the pilot can again recalculate his trajectory. He radios again. They race off again and pull up somewhere else. The pilot teaches us all a brace position and then, with our backs to the fast approaching ground, we hit the grass hard, then bounce up, race along for a bit longer, bounce again, slide, bounce, slide, grind. Suddenly, all four of the guys jump on to the sides of the basket to try and catch it, adding much needed weight. We slide for a bit longer, now ripping through the long grass in a vast paddock before, eventually, we come to a stop. Popping some bubbly is customary when landing because, hey, you haven’t died. And, even though it was just sparkling juice (which is probably a good thing at 6am) we all saluted our Pilot for a memorable experience.

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Back at our fairy chimney, the day was still early – so early that our free Turkish breakfast was not even ready yet. We could either go back to bed or wait for an hour and marvel at our medallions (the first I’d received since winning the “Thanks for Participating” award at Junior cricket) until breakfast was served. Always one to admire my accomplishments, we went for the latter.

After breakfast, the day was heating up again to its traditional 40 billion and 2 degrees and so, we checked out and marched our bags across town to Nirvana where air conditioning and one of the comfiest mattresses I’ve laid upon in a long time awaited us. After a quick rest up, we decided to catch some local buses to Derinkuyu’s Underground City. Not the easiest place to get to without a tour bus, but spending easily a third of what we would if we joined a tour, we got ourselves there . . . where literally just one building stood. But that’s right. It was underground. After climbing down a set of stairs, you enter a world that blows your mind. This underground city is the largest excavated in the area but there are heaps around. Even as early as 2009 a guy found another one to the size of 2500 square kilometres below his house. This particular underground city is fascinating as it extends to depths of approximately 60 metres, 5 levels and is large enough to shelter up to 20,000 people (that’s two Dalby’s where I grew up in!) with their livestock and food stores. Believed to be from the 8th Century BC, the city included wine and oil presses, stables, cellars, storage rooms, refectories, chapels and even a cruciform church. It was very difficult to photograph so we largely gave up on that but it was truly a fascinating thing to see.


The next day was another scorcher and so we elected to spend the majority of the morning beside the pool reading and then, about a minute into doing that, decided to spend the rest of the morning in the pool. We soon got chatting to Emma from Albury and Chris from Canada who were also trying to escape the heat. They’d just arrived from Istanbul. However, their expected 12 hour bus had in fact taken a grueling 18 hours and they’d missed all their previously booked morning tours. I really don’t know what holds these buses up. The distances are only about 600kms but they seem to just stop for no reason, repeatedly. After four hours of getting our skin as shrivelled as we could in the pool, we then joined them for dinner where we also met their two other friends, Alex and Sal, who had been sleeping all afternoon after that horrible bus ride. It was crazy to learn that Alex lived only a few blocks away from us back in South Yarra and was also on his way to London so hopefully, I should have one person to down a London Pride with.

We had one more half day in Goreme after that and so we thought we’d walk up to the nearby open museum. This is sort of like another underground city but, its above ground. So I guess you could say like a normal city. This too was from around the 8th Century BC (I think, or maybe it was 13th Century AD – somewhere inbetween those few years) and comprised of heaps of churches. In fact, Cappadocia is mentioned in the bible in Acts 2:5. During the 4th Century, the Cappadocian Fathers were integral to much of early Christian philosophy and this is evident in some of the paintings in the caves. It was all really cool stuff to see. The caves in the paid-entry museum are quite spectacular but truthfully, you can probably climb up into any cave around the area and it probably used to be someone’s house.

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After three nights, we wanted to make our way back across to the West Coast and decided on Antalya where we had been told a Metropolitan city awaited us. We were now pretty experienced with the skies and how to navigate the winds so we pooled our coins together and bought ourselves our very own hot air balloon, got ourselves into the air with some very deliberate turns of the gas control and pointed ourselves West.

Nah, not really. We caught a bus.

32. Canakkale// Izmir// Kusadasi// Turkey

We arrived in Canakkale after a quite pleasant bus ride from Instanbul, the highlight of which, was when the bus boarded the ferry to take us across to this coastal town. Totally weird!! We were using Canakkale as a base to see Gallipoli and only intented to stay 2 nights, however after the tourist mecca that is Istanbul we really enjoyed the tranquility of Canakkale and ended up staying 3. Canakkale is also used as a base to see the ruins of Troy, and although we didnt make the trek to see these (we were a bit “ruin” fatigued) we did appreciate seeing the huge Troy wooden statue that stood on the boardwalk of the town and had been a gift from the movie. Although Canakkale is not entirely rural (it still sees thousands of tourists each year for Gallipoli and Troy) we really started to see a few glimpses of the Turkey that we expected to see in Istanbul. During one evening stroll we came across a restaurant that only seemed to really sell cay. This restaurant or cay bar, was filled to the brim of men of all ages playing backgammon. This is a game that is prelevant all over Turkey and is a favourite past time, however we had never seen full restaurants dedicated to the “sport”. It was interesting to see a culture that can have so much fun without drinking…perhaps Australia could learn a thing or two.

Another major draw card of Canakkale was the food. After poor versions of chicken durum in Istanbul I finally found an authentic place that had the most tender chicken, spice and herb driven durum I’ve had so far through my travels in Turkey. Best part was, the menu was only in Turkish, and I managed to actually order what I wanted and for the bargain price of 3 Lira. The town also had a bit of a uni vibe to it, and we had been told to go to a bar called the Hangover Bar. Being skeptical as this establishment was serving western food, and a little optomistic as we really wanted a decent burger, we were not disappointed. This place was teeming with young turkish listening to the latest tunes (think top 40 3 years ago) and pretty decent food. The best part though was that the unfiltered beer made an appearance yet again, so we went back to this place each night for some pub grub and a few unfiltered Efes. One thing I will make mention without being too descriptive is this is the time in Turkey where Clinton started to develop sever stomach pains. At this point nothing really happened, and we just gave him panadol, but he was sometimes in a lot of pain.

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From Canakkale we left and arrived by bus in Izmir approx 5 hours later. We had been told by our host in Istanbul that there really wasnt much in Izmir, however we decided to go and find out for ourselves, and I’m so glad that we did. Izmir is the thirld largest city in Turkey with a population of just over 4 million. It sits out on the Western Coast so has a beautiful boardwalk that lines the whole of the city. We stayed in the old town, in a hotel that I was quite nervous about as it had only made the “just passable” rating on bookings.com. however, either our standards have dropped immensely while travelling or this hotel had made some pretty decent changes, because we were pleasantly surprised. The one thing I did notice about our location, is there really were no females about. We would walk out onto the street from our hotel and I would be the only female I could see on a very busy road. So maybe it was a bit unsafe…I had my lovely friendly giant to protect me the whole time anyway 🙂


As far as sights go, I guess the host in Istanbul was right, there’s really not much to see. However thats not really why Clint and I are travelling anyway, so it didn’t really bother us. What was amazing to see was the Bazaar. Unlike the bazaar in Istanbul that was full of tourists and bad salesman, the Bazaar in Izmir was full of Turks going about their shopping. Sure there were still the fake watches and handbags, but the general feel of the place was much more local. We spent ages walking the streets of the bazaar, being lost, looking at trinkets and drinking cay without being hassled by anyone. We then spent some time walking along the boardwalk and feasting on a breadroll filled with Tomato, white cheese and chilli. Simple Ingredients, fresh produce, great price!!! It was super hot as well, so we stuck our feet in a fountain with a bunch of local children and watched as they splashed about. That night we feasted on a spicy Adana kebap that was simple, but fresh with lots of spice and grilled peppers. A very different Adana kebap to the one drowned in tomato sauce that we had experienced in Istanbul.

Another highlight in Izmir was walking down a random street one afternoon, trying to find our way back to the Bazaar. Having tried Backlava in Istanbul a number of times, I just was not convinced on this honey drowned dessert. However I came across a bakery on this strange street and seeing the Baklava in the window decided to give it another shot. I walked in and tried to communicate to the Turkish lady that I only wanted 1 piece and not 1kg. (Imagine a lot of hand movements) When she finally understood that I indeed only wanted 1 piece (shock) she proceeded to give this to me without accepting money. When she finally accepted the 1 lira I handed her (50 cents Aus) she then proceeded to try and give me 75 Turkish cents back as change. I could not believe the kindness and honesty of this woman. Back in Istanbul I had also tried the Baklava at the Spice Market and even struggled to be able to buy 1 piece as I was always told that it was a 2 piece minimum, and to purchase 2 pieces was 4 – 5 lira. Anyway, after having one bite of that Baklava in Izmir I wish I had bought a kilo as it was so different to any other Baklava I have had. Not overly sweet and full of nuts, this Baklava was fresh and the perfect balance of savoury and sweet. I still have dreams about it. You may ask yourself why had Clinton not tried this beautiful piece of Baklava. Well his stomach pains had turned into a severe case of “Sultan’s Curse, Bali Belly” whatever you would like to call it. We had not experienced any travel sickness in any of the countries that we had visited, and had been careful with water in Turkey so it came as a bit of a surprise. We still really don’t know what it’s from, we are guessing just the difference in spices and the poor quality oil that is used in cooking here. Needless to say wherever we ate, we had to be in a close point of call to a western toilet and alas at the bakery there was none. At this point in Izmir I had no problems at all and so was parading around with what I thought was a stomach made of steel.

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So Izmir is basically our blog full of amazing food experiences. Clinton found a local gozleme shop that blew our socks off. For those of you who don’t know, Gozleme is basically a pancake that has either savoury or a sweet filling inside. Usually these are made by Turkish women who roll the dough out with a thin rolling pin and then fill the pancake with items such as spinach and cheese or potato or nutella and banana. You can experience these at South Melbourne market for about $10 a pop but over here they are much cheaper. We got chatting to the owner at this Gozleme shop who was apparently quite famous in the area for his Gozleme. He had not stuck to tradition and realised that you could basically put anything in a pancake as long as the produce was fresh. Here we tried a savoury gozleme that was filled with lamb, eggplant, mushooms and cheese and an unbelievably good sweet pancake filled with walnuts, figs, nougat and topped with pisatchio’s. Although a little more expensive than the gozleme on the side of the road, I was so impressed firsly by the quality of produce in these gozleme’s and the business plan of this friendly turkish man. He has converted me to gozleme for life



Our last night in Izmir came quickly and we walked along the boardwalk eating mussels from a side vendor that are cooked and filled with rice, spices and sometimes nuts and currants. They make for a delicious snack, however we have been warned to only eat them in sea side towns, as otherwise the mussels are sometimes collected from the sewers….gross. We watched the sunset over the water and then headed to our local dinner spot and shared an Iskender kebab and Ayran. (Ayran is a salty yoghurt drink that the turks tend to drink with their evening meal, I’m not a fan)


The next morning we said goodbye to Izmir and its gozleme and headed towards Kusadasi. Our friend Sonia had raved about this place from her travels in Turkey and so we decided to use this town as our base for exploring Ephesus and to chill out a bit. This is where I have a bit of a confession to make. It’s the middle of summer in Turkey and it’s bloody hot. So when looking for accomodation in Kusadasi, I filtered my search by those that had air conditioning, and an outdoor pool. I know, not very backpacky of me but after 6 months on the road surely I deserve a little comfort. Anyway, although a little old, our apartment in Kusadasai certainly delivered. It was right in the middle of the old town and despite being a hotel complex, had more of a relaxed hostel kinda vibe. To get out of the hotel you had to pass through the outside bar, and needless to say sometimes we didnt get further than that bar. What made this place so great for us though was the people. The owner spoke excellent English and over a few efes told us about the Kurdish people in Turkey and a bit about the economic climate over the last 100 years. Known as a bit of a hot spot for the Dutch and the Irish, we spent our days talking to a Dutch couple from Utrecht. Mike was a pro water polo player who was living in Izmir and was training for the next olympics. On a break at the moment, Mike and his girlfriend Catja were working the bar in Kusadasi to earn a bit of extra money as Turkish wages are quite low. And of course there was Edward. A 69 year old Irish man who had lost his wife a few years ago. He was nearing the end of his, had cancer and had retired at the apartment complex. He spent his days smoking and drinking red wine and although endearing, towards the end got a bit repetitive with his interruptions of Trivia from Australia back in the day. Quite intellectual he had a vibrant life publishing two books in his time and lived with one regret, not following a girl to Australia. It served as a timely reminder for us, that you will always regret the things that you did not do.

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In Kusadasi, we basically alternated between Gozleme from next door for 3 Lira and Chicken Durum from the other side of the complex that came with an amazing spicy sauce that inevitably started Sultan’s Curse for me as well. Kusadasi as a town is a big port for package holidayers so has a bazaar filled with all the latest gadgets bags and watches. One day, haggling the price of a watch I got cornered by a man who did not know the meaning of personal space. Lucky my big friendly giant was there to protect me and quite loudly and urgently told the man to let me leave. Needless to say my heart was pumping as I exited the store, and I promised myself never to find myself in that situation again. Things can escalate very quickly.

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So our main reason for being in Kusadasi was to see the ruins at Ephesus. We had debated over whether we should do a tour here, however when enquired with one of the travel agents was not sold on the hour to pick everyone up, two hour lunch, see the ruins type thing. Instead with some travel directions from Erican our hotel manager and armed with some water, we decided to explore these on our own, and are so glad that we did. All we did was catch a local bus to the side of the highway and walked a kilometre to the ruins. Paid our entry ticket and then we were free to walk around and look in our own time. Everything was pretty well signed, and if we got the opportunity we kinda just hung back on an english tour and learnt a little extra. I don’t really know how to put Ephesus into words. Its the biggest collection of ruins that Clint and I have seen in our travels. Its enormous. The town was founded in 10th Century BC and was abandoned in the 15th Century AD. I’ve never seen anything that old before. It is believed the Gospel of John may have been written here. It gives you a great interpretation on what the town would have been like, and they are still excavating more. The sheer size of it is probably what blew me away the most. Standing in the amphitheatre imagining what life would have been like sooo many years ago. Simply Stunning. I don’t know whether it was luck or the fact that we went in the middle of the day (poor planning) but there wasn’t the crowds of people there like I expected. It was also extremely hot with the sun bouncing off all those white stones. After a few hours we had depleted our supply of water and decided to head back to our hotel…even though we’d spent more on an apartment with a pool we both rejoiced that day!!!

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This basically ended our 4 nights in Kusadasai, and I loved every moment of it. Turkey was unravelling its layers to us, there was good food here, the people were friendly, and like we had hoped it was easy to meet fellow travellers. It wasn’t in your face like Vietnam you had to delve a little deeper, and as we delved we liked it a little more each day.

31. Gallipoli // Turkey

We’ve all seen the film “Gallipoli,” starring Mel Gibson, which portrays the story of thousands of young Australian men running helplessly into gunfire. We as Australians still remember this day on the 25th of April each year with Anzac Day.
There’s not a whole lot to see at the actual sight of Gallipoli – part of me was hoping for a wall of photos or a rifle museum – but by simply standing on that very ground where thousands of young Australians lost their lives evokes reflection, emotion and discussion that will stay with Elisha and I forever. I’m sure those who have visited there will agree.


With little more than the dramatised movie to go on, I arrived rather ignorantly. So instead of blogging about what we did and saw, I might rather detail what I learnt, the context and the events of the war, and impart a little of our experience so that you’re not as naive as I was.

A few days prior to going, I asked myself “What exactly were the Australians doing there?” Miles from home, in a foreign country, Australians in Turkey seemed so removed from my preconception of a war that I thought occurred in Europe. So I dedicated some time to reading up on this. You’re probably better finding an appropriate source to read from which will describe it correctly but here goes my attempt, a lazy attempt to summarise Wikipedia that is:

The Ottomans (the Turkish empire that inhabited Turkey at the time) weren’t too different to us. They were brought into the war because of their affiliation with major players and, like us, lost a lot of men. Even though they had been an empire since 1299, but the time we entered the 20th century, they were considered the sick man of Europe. Political instability, military defeat and civil strife had weakened them for the past century.

There were two main agendas that led to the development of the Middle East Theatre. Firstly, Britain and France (forming the allies) sought to secure the Dardanelles straight, with the eventual aim to secure Constantinople (present day Istanbul.) By capturing the Dardenelles straight, they would then also create a sea route to the Russian Empire, another allied power.

Whilst this was happening, Germany (axis) formed the second development by bringing the Ottomans into the war. Britain had been building two ships for the Ottomans. However, when the Ottomans formed a secret alliance with Germany against the threat of Russia, the Britains requisitioned the battleships. Germany capitalised on this opportunity and provided two replacement ships to the Ottomans, gaining important influence. So whilst Britain and France were trying to create a link with Russia, the Ottomans opened the Dardenelles to allow the two German ships access to Constantinople. A German commander then ordered the passage closed. These two now Ottoman ships were then used to battle Russia. However, my understanding was Germany were using these ships even though they were carrying Ottoman flags, essentially forcing Russia to declare war on Turkey as a result.

I’m sure to have missed a lot of crucial information but hopefully that gives a general background to Gallipoli.

So back to the Anzacs. In Britain and France’s attempt to capture the Dardenelles, they needed to get battleships in. However, as the Ottomans were prepared to defend, the ships could not get in without a barrage from the Ottoman batteries and strategically placed mines. So the Naval campaign turned to a Land campaign so as to remove this threat and allow the naval battleships entry. Enter the Anzacs being trained in Cairo for France.

Sir Ian Hamilton was handed the task to command a 78,000 strong Mediterranean Expeditionary Force and eliminate the Ottoman mobile artillery. British and French contingents joined the Anzacs in Egypt whilst Hamilton finalised his plans to concentrate the force on the southern part of the Gallipoli peninsula at Cape Helles and Sedd el Bahr. The Allies initially discounted the fighting ability of the Ottoman soldiers. They were viewed as weak, perceptions galvanised by the recent Balkan Wars of 1912 and 1913. In some cases, information about them was gained from Egyptian travel guides.

However, the five weeks it took to establish this plan, in conjunction with bad weather that may have otherwise delayed the deployment, the Ottomans were given sufficient time to strengthen their position. Although the Ottomans were unsure where a landing might occur, they agreed holding the high ground was their best bet. The delay also allowed the Ottomans time to construct roads, assemble small boats for transportation between the narrows, wire beaches, construct improvised mines and to dig trenches. Of great importance, their leader, Mustafa Kemal, observed the beaches from his post in Boghali. This meant his commands would be based on realtime information.

There has been much said about the landing for the Anzacs. They had been trained for and planned to land on a flat beach with easy access to the peninsula where they could advance across and cut off the Ottomans. This was whilst the British and France landed further west at Helles. But either because of strong currents or strategical diversion, they instead landed a kilometre further north where the land was rugged and vertical and would require an arduous climb.

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A common theme amongst the Allies attempts is the lack of communication. One story I found very interesting was above Y beach. Some of the divisions landed unopposed and were able to advance inland to a village defended by only a small number. But lacking direction, they abandoned the position and retreated back to the beach. Once the Ottomans were able to recover numbers to the position, the Allies never again made it to that spot. Hamilton was positioned back on a ship which meant he had to firstly receive information before he could send back instructions as to what to do. Kemal certainly had him covered in this regard.

Although the stakes were high for the British landing, the Anzacs were able to land where the Ottoman defenders were too few to defeat them, despite still sustaining many casualties. However, the Ottomans were out of ammunition not long afterwards and were left with nothing but bayonets and began to retreat. Sadly for the 57th regiment, Kemal ordered them to hold their positions and die so as to delay the Anzacs advancement so other soldiers could accumulate in numbers behind them. Every single member of that regiment died and, as a sign of respect, the Turkish Army no longer holds a 57th Regiment.

The beach landings were worse for some. Of 1,012 Dubliners, only one officer and 11 soldiers survived the campaign unscathed.

Even though the landing at Helles was going ok, the landing at Anzac was not and at one point Lieutenant Birdwood considered reembarkation of the Anzac troops. However, it was the Australian submarine AE2 which instigated his reconsideration. On the night before the landings, AE2, under the command of Stoker, succeeded in getting through the Straights. By 6am, as the landings were taking place, AE2 reached Chanak and torpedoed a Turkish gunboat whilst evading a destroyer. It then ran aground beneath a Turkish fort but the fort’s guns could not reach it and AE2 manoeuvred free. After refloating, it’s periscope was sighted by a Turkish battleship, which was firing over the peninsula at Allied landing sites. Realising the threat from the submarine, the battleship ceased fire and withdrew. AE2 advanced toward the Sea of Marmara and rested on the seabed for the next 13 hours. At 9pm, she resurfaced and sent a wireless report to the fleet. This gave Birdwood hope and the story was told amongst the Anzacs to build morale. Stoker was then ordered to run amok in the Sea of Marmara. However, with no enemies in sight, the AE2 simply cruised around giving the illusion that there were greater Allied numbers. 5 days later, she was fired at and the crew abandoned the ship and were captured. However, its success confirmed the straight could be penetrated and shortly afterwards, E14 entered and inflicted more casualties to the Ottoman Navy.

Lots of fighting ensued. Depleted numbers were replenished by reserves in Egypt for the Allies and from Constantinople for the Turks. I’m going to skip forward about 8 months here. Like most wars, this was a complex arena and its difficult to articulate simply. However, learning the background of the war is the thing I think I took away the most and had not previously understood.

In the end, it was deemed an Ottoman victory, their greatest during the war and a major Allied failure. The most successful operation of the campaign was the evacuation of the troops on 19-20 December under cover of a comprehensive deception operation. The operation cost 26,111 Australian casualties, including 8,141 deaths. Despite this, it has been said that Gallipoli had no influence on the course of the war.

There were some stories that really stood out to me on that day. We should all known John Simpson. But I didn’t. Amidst constant firing and sniper shots, he would walk back and forth with his donkey collecting the wounded and bringing them back until he was sadly killed during the third attack. Hundreds of wounded soldiers were returned to the beach because of him.


We were also told that the casualties were so high that a truce was called one day. Both armies were allowed to arise from their trenches and collect their wounded. This war has been referred to as the last Gentlemens War as both forces were able to meet their opponents. Imagine that. Meeting this foreign man who fired during the day at you, shaking his hand, sharing a smoke with him, carrying a dead body back together and then to say farewell, before returning back to your trench to again collect your rifle and resume the war. We heard a story of a wounded Ally who lay in the middle screaming for help. No one dared to stand up for fear of being shot. However, a Turkish soldier rose from the trenches, walked over to him and picked him up, carried him to the allies and then walked back to rejoin the Ottomans on his side.

It was truly alarming to see just how close some of the trenches were to one another. In some places, only metres. You would think this was a detriment to each. However, it was more strategical than anything. By being so close, it eliminated the threat of grenades. You just wouldn’t throw a grenade for fear it would either land in your own camp or because it allowed the opposition time to throw it back.




I think what I struggled to get my head around were the conditions. Trying to picture fighting in 40 degree weather, with dead bodies rotting all around you, repugnant odours filling your nose, constant flies badgering your face, dehydration, little food, no toilets, no sewage system, unrelenting gunfire, I wouldn’t last an hour. A lot of soldiers cut away at their clothes so that their pants became shorts to find reprieve in the heat. They only thought they’d be there for a few weeks. 6 months later though it was the middle of winter and the war was still going. A tough season when you are dressed in tiny shorts.

I also could not believe how small the area was where the Anzacs were ordered to attack. It was so funnelled that only 150 could run in a straight line. Contrary to the movie, I don’t believe there was a machine gun greeting them. The Ottoman rifles were not automatic and could only fire one bullet at a time. They did not have magazines and were single-shot. However, the Anzacs were easy pickings as they tried to cover this small section wave after wave after wave.


A pine tree stands in Lone Pine and there is a story behind this. An Australian soldier’s brother was shot dead here. As a memento to his mother, the surviving brother sent home a pine cone from a nearby tree. His mother planted this and now a pine tree stands in her yard. From this tree, a pine cone was returned to Lone Pine and now stands a third generation tree from the seed of a tree standing during the conflict.


I sympathise with the Turks as much as I do for the Anzacs. I feel they were caught in a war that was not theirs and lost men they shouldn’t have lost. But there is a beautiful quote that stands on a giant plaque on the peninsula. It reads:

“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 the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side 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.


I’m not sure if I’d say I found the day emotional. There were a few people in our group who had relations lost in the war. One lady even found the plaque of her grandfather and burst into tears. But for me it was about context. Whenever we now hear “Lone Pine” or “Anzac Cove” referred to, we will know exactly what they are talking about. Seeing the terrain with our own eyes is something books and movies can’t portray. Looking through a gully and understanding how easy it would have been to be shot at whilst the soldiers crossed makes the campaign vivid.

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The last surprise of the day was seeing just how small the area is where the Anzac service is held every year. It is tiny! I have no idea how 10,000 people can squeeze onto that tiny patch of grass.

So anyway, that’s it. I now know so much more about the campaign than I did one or two months ago. And I don’t think I would have been able to grasp it without physically being there. Unfortunately, I’ve been completely unable to articulate our experiences in any form of cohesive text here. But for those who have been, I’m sure they’ll nod in approval. For those who haven’t, please don’t read this indecipherable mess but just make sure you get yourself there.

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And from now on, just maybe, I’ll get myself out of bed at 5am on Anzac Day and remember this moment that really helped to cement our nation’s identity.

30. Istanbul // Turkey


Istanbul sucked. There – I said it. So you can throw your stones and crucify me. But we thought it sucked. Perhaps we arrived with expectations the size of the glacier that sunk the Titanic or maybe we thought it would open us to a new exotic culture when instead we got a soulless city ambushed by tourists. Whatever it was, it sucked.

I am of course being a little harsh. At times, it blew us away and the deep history would keep you glued if in book-form for days. However, it seemed lost and sold-out. We thought the food would be incredible but often it was in contrast to what we’d had before. Despite the streets selling spices by the truckload, the food was oily, stale and lacklustre. Everything seemed to be geared towards the millions of tourists who plum-filled the streets. Every Turk you encountered was able to rattle off “Hello, where are you from?” in English, Spanish, German, Russian, French etc until you eventually responded to something. And then, once you’d snapped at their bait, they’d follow it with “Come into my store.” The place was rank with tourism. This has been nothing new. But usually, you can be smart and walk a kilometre or two to a neighbouring suburb to escape it, to eat far cheaper and greater food and to immerse yourself into local culture. However, as Istanbul is home to 14 million people (unofficially 22 million,) you almost needed to travel for a whole hour to get out of the hub. Those we have spoken to since have told us they had done this and raved of the things they found. And this was clearly our mistake. (Thankfully, Turkey has delivered in every city/place we have visited since.) I think as we flew in we dreamed of feelings reminiscent to those arriving in Saigon. A landscape bursting with buildings and activity, a hub where you could strike up conversations with those sitting beside you and a place you wished not to leave. But, and this is just our experience, it lacked the authenticity we craved and numbed us with its tedious interrogation to buy useless crap and tours we had no desire to buy.

Now that that rant is over, I can tell you what we did enjoy in Istanbul and what we did get out of it. Just keep the above paragraph in the back of your mind as to what was usually happening every other second of the day.

Istanbul (which sounds like a social networking application for basketball players to post pictures) is huge, predominately Muslim and incredibly historic. It’s been known by three different names in its history, Byzantium, Constantinople and Istanbul. It is where the continents of Europe and Asia meet, divided only by the Bosphorus. It’s location has been strategic for the majority of wars that have been fought in its vicinity, providing the only water access between the Sea of Marmara and the Black Sea.

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As we flew in on Peragus Airlines, we were mesmerised by the sheer expanse of the city, the congested buildings stretching as far as the eye could see on both the left and right of the plane. Mosques pockmarked the neighbourhoods, their domed rooves protruding from the flat skyline like bubblewrap. I think one of our favourite parts about Turkey was the journey from the airport to the city itself. The airport is about 60kms from the city and, usually, you’d just jump on a direct bus or a train to take you there. In Istanbul however, we had to first catch a bus, then catch a ferry, then catch a tram. The ferry was really cool and was a great way to be welcomed into the city, the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sofia standing proudly as we cruised into the harbour. After docking in Eminonu, we bailed on the tram and decided to walk with our packs the last 2 kilometres, to get an initial feel of the place and to save a penny.


We stayed the six nights at a place on the south side of Sultanahmet, which meant a little bit of walking everytime we wanted to go anywhere. We’d been recommended this side as it was near the Grand Bazaar, the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sofia and a few other things. In hindsight, however, I think we personally would have preferred the Beyoglu side where it seemed more was happening on a cultural level, and left this side as a single-day activity. Anyway, hindsight is useless unless you believe in reincarnation, are then able to reincarnate yourself into yourself and are also able to time travel back in time a month to do it all over again. Not possible. Perhaps if you had two days in Istanbul, Sultanahmet is better. But for a week as we had, we think Beyoglu would have been more appropriate.

Even though we knew beer would be near impossible to find in Turkey especially during Ramazan, we were still eager to down a sneaky Efes after our day of travelling. After all, I was outraged by the authorities in Albania earlier that day having confiscated my bullet shaped keyring Ken & Karen had bought me as a gift when they were in Turkey. Go figure yeah? I was simply returning into a country the bloody keyring had come from and these over-officiating squirts thought it was too dangerous to take it back in. It’s a keyring you clowns. Good luck with your floundering economy.

Our insatiable desire to quench our thirt meant we ended up in an absolute scrub of a restaurant that again existed for tourists who were happy to pay twice the price for a meal no Turk would find acceptable. But tired and thirsty, we could not be arsed to research somewhere better to eat. This was probably our first sign that Istanbul wasn’t going to be as incredible as Saigon had been, where you could stumble into any establishment without the risk of being screwed with the bill and always guaranteed a pho bo.


Upon walking home, we kept our eyes open for a bar playing the Brazil v Germany qualifier. We skipped one place near home eager to get us in and instead went to a flashier bar with a big screen. But after one round of beers, we realised this too seemed to exist to capitalise on Western wallets after charging us 32 Lira for two beers. We abandoned and went back to the other place, Stone House, who were happy to see us return. Apparently, we weren’t the first to do this and we met a family of Welsh who had been charged $20 for a wine at the previous bar. Stone House became bit of a regular for us and was one of the few places to live up to our expectation of finding easy chats in this mammoth city. When we weren’t amazed as the scoreline ticked all its way over to 7-1 to Germany, we were either chatting to the Turkish staff or to the Welsh family. They had backpacked Australia 25 years ago, when things were very different they said, and had to finance themselves by travelling in a convoy with an artist who had basically made photocopies of oil paintings and they had to go doorknocking in places like Mount Isa and Alice Springs to sell them as “genuine paintings.”

Our hotel, as I think all of them do in Turkey, provided breakfast in the morning. The staple Turkish breakfast is tomato, cucumber, olives, feta cheese, sometimes watermelon and about 14 loaves of bread. Once we were stuffed to the brim, we made our way to an Irish bar called the Port Shield who had advertised the previous day they were playing the State of Origin – game three. Prior to the game, the Euro Sports channel was working fine and I grabbed myself a couple of pints of Guinness. However, just as we were nearing kick-off, the channel froze. They switched to an alternate channel which improved things very little and, apart from one or two sets around the 10 minute mark, they just couldn’t get the coverage. Resigned, we instead struck up a conversation with a couple from Newcastle (although he had previously lived in Toowoomba) as a contingent of Australians emptied the bar. Once we had shared stories, they went on their way and we decided to finalise our bill and head to the Grand Bazaar. What the hell? Two Guinness had been 28 smackeroos! Oh great, Istanbul had again proven itself to rip westerners. It would have hurt less had we at least been able to watch the game (of which Queensland was able to regain some pride) but as that had been a non-event, needless to say they received a scathing review from me on Trip Advisor.

After the previous night’s farcical meal, Elisha had done a little research and we stopped by a small doner stand where a doner was only 5 Lira ($2.50) and oh, what’s that amazing flavour on here? Spice you call this? Istanbul redeemed itself slightly and the the line took a small upward turn on our “Is Istanbul as good as Saigon” graph.


We made a quick walk through the Grand Bazaar. Historically, this place is incredible. It has been the central market for Turks since the mid 1700’s and is just whopping huge – with currently between 2000-3000 stores. Oh, if you were like me before getting there and don’t know, it’s basically a big market. Grand Bazaar literally translates to “Big Market.” (Probably not true.) If I could have seen this place 100 years ago (again, that would probably require some more of that reincarnating or time travelling skill I don’t seem to possess) THAT would have been amazing. Back then, only cheap clothes would hang in front of small stalls to attract attention. A potential client would sit and have cay or Turkish coffee in a relaxed atmosphere with the owner and a sale would be discussed. That is where the culture emerged of the Turks ALWAYS drinking cay. The Turkish coffee is another story. I don’t think I see anyone drinking it. For a civilisation that has incorporated coffee since the 16th century, they sure do make a blotched effort of it now. Their interpretation of it is to serve a shot sized cup with the bottom half of it holding sticky, compact black filter coffee and filling the top half with hot water. After the first mouthful, you’re then left with literal sludge. So I understand how amazing the Grand Bazaar must have been in its former glory. However, now it is an endless passage of tourists (up to 250,000 per day!) and salesman constantly badgering you with an unrelenting pitch to enter their store. I’m sure there was some truely amazing stores and family businesses in there still manufacturing jewellery and items by hand but good luck trying to find it amid the cheap and tacky tourist paraphernalia.

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Upon seeing it for what it is now, we hurried out of there and found a small bar not too far away to try our first Turkish coffee and the much acclaimed apple tea. A friendly little chap called Mehmut served us our drinks and told us they also did beer. I quickly learnt the Turkish coffee was dreadful and Elisha found the apple tea to be overly sweet and in essence just hot cordial. (On a side note – if they can make apple tea, where the hell is all the cider?) So we weren’t a fan of either but after trying something cultural, we switched back to the beers. Which strangely led to one of the most culturally-rich afternoons we were to have. Mehmut took a liking to us (probably as we kept the bill ticking over) and, over the course of the afternoon, filled an A4 sheet of paper with helpful Turkish phrases which would prove invaluable for the rest of our stay. Following this, he brought us some Raki to try for free (an aniseed flavoured spirit served with ice) and then got me up to learn some Turkish dancing with him. This was all great and as I got further into my beers, I’d yell out at passing Turks “Tea, coffee? Yes? Please” in Turkish as they passed and, other times “I love you” which returned some interesting looks but mostly smiles.


I was always in the back of my mind a little cautious of his friendliness however, especially when he winked at me as I went to the toilet and he rushed out for some alone time with Elisha and then, later, when he tried to add us to Facebook. He also took 10% off our bill and wanted to show us around Istanbul himself, showing us the mosques, his own house and a few other places. We made plans to come back the next night at 7 to do this. He also invited us to leave the bill for the next night if we wished but we insisted to pay right there and then. He was massively friendly and we got heaps out of the interaction. However, I just couldn’t be sure where the line was between friendliness and hold us at knife point down a side alley. We eventually left with plans to return the next night and went to find some dinner.

We thought we had found a cool food street similar to Jalan Alor in Malaysia and sat down. We quickly learnt this street specialised in seafood and so we grabbed some meze and a shrimp based casserole. The meze was impressive in flavour but we still thought the food overpriced and thought Istanbul had to be hiding something better than this. The other problem was it was Ramazan, where the Muslims eat nothing between sunrise and sunset. And the fact they don’t eat pork anytime. I know – insane. Pig provides my five favourite food groups – honey-glazed ham, crispy bacon, fatty pork knuckle, roast pork and juicy slow-cooked pork belly. They miss out on it all! And that’s even when Ramazan isn’t on. Anyway, it meant most of the time there were very few people out eating until the sun set and then the parks would flood with families with their portable barbeques and turkish pides and hot cay and steaming soups and home cooked meals. Actually, I really admired this part of their culture. For one month each year, the family basically spends each night supping together for hours on end. We would come back to our hotel at 2 in the morning and find the family still sitting outside sharing cay. It’s very different to most western homes that chug down microwave dinners in a non-social atmosphere in front of the tv.

(I’m only getting back to this blog now because bloody Kent and Emma wanted to have a bloody chat with us in the treehouse in Olympos. And then we had to go on another cruise and its only now, almost a week later, that we are back in a treehouse in Olympos where I can write in tranquility. Oh hang on, now the owner wants to come over for a chat and she’s brought us a beer. Oh, and some guy from Kentucky called Dan has now also joined us. Hang on. Hang on.)

Day three saw us venture into the very heart of Istanbul where Hagia Sofia and the Blue Mosque summon tourists like Khal Drogo might his Dothraki tribe. Despite the sweltering heat, we joined the seemingly endless line and entered in. What intrigued me most about Hagia Sofia is that it has been used by both Christians AND Muslims during its enduring 1600 year existence, essentially epitomising Istanbul’s contrasting history. Between 537 and 1453, it served as an Eastern Orthodox cathedral, except between 1204 and 1261 when it was converted to a Roman Catholic cathedral. As we know, Constantinople was conquered by the Ottoman Turks in 1453 and, it was at this time that the building became a mosque. It remained in this use until 1935 when it was opened to the public as a museum. When Asians weren’t rudely pushing in front of us or big fat dirty white Russians weren’t ruining our photos with slutty poses, we were able to stroll through this expansive complex, looking up in wonder at all the celestial paintings and markings on the ceilings (but mostly being pissed off by the tourists.)


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We thought we would follow the Hagia Sofia with a visit to the Blue Mosque, a mosque renowned for it’s (and I’ll let you have one guess . . . that’s right) blue interior. But the hords of people lining up out the front, the tour guides vying for our business and the overwhelming heat posed us with this one question. “Should we grab a beer instead?” We traded an unwanted experience for a cold beer and instead thumbed through some images of the mosque’s interior on the free wifi we found at the bar. Whilst on the wifi, Elisha found Mehmut had tried to contact her via Facebook and so we took that opportunity to say “Thanks for the offer but we’re just not entirely sure that you’re not going to lead us down a side alley and hold us at knife point so no thanks.” I’m still not sure if he was just incredibly friendly and wanted to show us around but you’ve got to keep your discretion. We will never know.

Instead of getting stabbed for our wallets, we found a market that seemed to be open for the Ramazan festival. This place was alive with Turkish families and merchants. We tried a drink I guess you could call it that was yellow in colour and thick like custard, and tasted like a lemon meringue pie. And Elisha ate a horse-shoe shaped pastry-like donut that was drowned in honey.

We ventured across to the Beyoglu side the next day to see what we were missing. After immediately crossing the bridge, you could feel tourism leave you. The street changed to stores selling musical instruments, the people began appearing with tattoos and long hair and food seemed to drop in price as quickly as the stock market did during the GFC. Further along was a long strip of bars and cafes, with sidestreets running off these with even more bars. We spent the afternoon seeking out kebabs, found a graffiti-laden coffee house and exploring the streets.

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Our best find that day was back near our apartment when we were looking for somewhere to eat dinner. Up until now, Istanbul had failed us miserably with its food, with one or two exceptions. It was initially the Malaysians we saw going into Ziya Baba that caught our eye. This tiny little unpretentious family restaurant had a simple menu but showcased food that was packed with flavour. Their menemen (sort of like scrambled eggs with green peppers, chilli and tomatoes) was so good we decided to bail on our free breakfast every morning and come and eat here instead, an easy choice considering it was only $3. Their chicken doner outshone any others we had tried and their kebab plate was so fresh and flavourful. They just did the little things right. The red onion was sprinkled with sumac, the lettuce was crisp and they included herbs. Oh herbs! Satisfied with finally finding a worthwhile place to eat, we agreed we didn’t need to try anywhere else for food.


Afterwards, we again stopped by Stone House for a quick night cap and found ourselves chatting to a Mexican girl, who currently lived in Melbourne, and a couple of guys from Bangkok, until about 1.30 in the morning. Slowly, Istanbul was beginning to meet our insanely high expectations and we were enjoying the opportunity to find easy conversations wherever we went (which is probably the silver lining in a tourist mecca.)

We returned to Ziya Baba the next morning for some more of their insanely tasty menemen, as well as a bowl of their lentil soup (my new love!) Their breakfast menu was just that I think – really simple but just done oh so well. We took a quick walk back into the city and entertained the idea of checking out the basilica but the crowds again deterred us from that – sorry, we’re just not into that stuff enough to tolerate crowds. We thought we might head back across to the Beyoglu side where Elisha had found a few places she wanted to check out. But first, a quick stop at the boats in the harbour selling their fish sandwiches (probably another top tourist thing to do in the world.) These were ok for about $3 but I seemed to see a lot of white people around me and only about 3 Turks. Those Turks were also carrying garbage bags and cleaning tables. The place did also sell lemonade for one lira which we grabbed about 7 of in the heat. Slurp.

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Once across the other side, Elisha guided us to a rooftop bar where we were able to watch the sun set over the two main mosques and enjoy a beer. It was as we were almost to the next bar afterwards that I realised I had left my $7 sunnies behind. We thought we’d come back afterwards to claim them, since I’d only had them for a couple of weeks. We next stopped by a small bar that spilled out onto the street as it filled up. This was really cool because it showed a Brunswick kind of vibe amongst the university aged Turkish people. After initially thinking all of Turkey would be conservative and burqa wearing, we found our ignorance being challenged by a clear group of people who were far more liberal. Two beers down and we went back to claim my sunnies, past the bouncer, up the shonky elevator and up the stairs. “Sorry, we have not seen those. No sunnies. No sunnies.” I hope they enjoy them, and do learn one day that they aren’t a genuine $300 pair and they snap in the middle and the broken plastic splinters their eye socket and they go blind for life.

An upper Turkish restaurant was on the cards for dinner and we found ourselves enjoying a wonderful share-plate of kebab meat, salad and turkish bread. My one irk with these places is they always try and leave a bottle of water on your table which they obviously charge you for later. As good as the meal was, I just can’t stand the constant money-grabbing and wankerdom (a term coined by myself to mean making things wanky so that you pay more money for them even though, in essence, it is still kebab meat, salad and turkish bread – that’s right, the exact same thing you had at lunch but you only paid one third of the price for it.) Minus one pair of sunnies and short an extra few lira for unwanted water, we made our way back across the bridge and made the 4 kilometre walk back home around 2 in the morning. Surprisingly, this was probably the busiest we had actually seen the Beyoglu side of Istanbul.

I have no idea what we did on day six. So instead, I’ll insert this story: One of the nights previous (and I’m not sure which one) we tried to take out around $500 AUD from an ATM that stood amid 4 or 5 others. Before finalising, it advised a 3% fee would be charged which, on $500, worked out to be about $15. We hit cancel on that and moved onto the next one. Several days later, we were alarmed to find the full amount still appeared on our statement, despite the money never being dispensed from the machine. We’ve since lodged this with NAB and now have to wait 45 days for them to correspond with the Turkish bank and query it. Seperate to this, I also had to skype 28 Degrees after realising one of the cards was no longer working. They informed me they’d sent me a letter a month ago and some suspicious transactions had been attempted in America. So despite sounding like we had still managed to remain drunk the entire time, I just wanted to include this to show we had at some point been of clear mind to sort some stuff out (albeit my skype to 28 degrees was quite slurry.) What I do remember from our last night was watching the World Cup grand final between Germany and Argentina. We again chose Stone House as our drinking quarters and watched the game while the Syrian guy continued to serenade us with his flamenco playing. Lionel Messi just couldn’t find a clean strike though and so the few Germans behind us finished the night quite happily after that sly goal in overtime.

We had to make our way to Canakkale the next day so as to do the Gallipoli tour. This allowed us to continue down south once we were done and to get some good rest instead of trying to fit the tour into a 12 hour day as we had heard some other people do. The thing in Turkey is you can’t really do a great deal of planning ahead. You can’t book most things online and you sort of just rock up and hope there’s a seat. This had Elisha pulling her hair out but it works quite well. Transport is in abundance and we were to learn this once we got to the Otogar. This was a mission in itself. We had to catch a tram several stops from the centre of Istanbul, then walk across to a Metro station and catch a train 8 more stops to the Otogar. The Otogar is a large bus terminal usually several kilometres out of the city. From here, a ring of over 100 companies advertised buses to pretty much anywhere in Turkey. You basically picked anyone you liked, walked through the doors, purchased a ticket and within half an hour found yourself on a bus headed for your destination. So stop stressing Elisha.


We left Istanbul still far from in love with it but knowing we’d only scratched the surface. I’m not sure if I’d ever go back but thankfully, the rest of Turkey has since bridged that gap. As I posted of Facebook, you can visit Istanbul or Turkey, but they sure as hell aren’t the same place.