Gallipoli
Trip Start
Apr 12, 2006
1
64
115
Trip End
Ongoing
Gallipoli,
Turkey
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Arising early for a 6.30am bus from Istanbul to Cannukale (Gallipoli), the sun eventually arrived and shone across the bustling Istanbul sprawl, just as Midnight Oil's 'Forgotten Years' ominously hit my Ipod playlist
memorial
. Like pretty much every Australian that visits Turkey, Gallipoli is the must see location, a kind of pilgrimage that we all seem to make, or feel obliged to make considering our nationality. I would later question why exactly i felt so compelled to go and check this place out. I, like every other Australian, knew the story well, ingrained in my memory as a 'big deal' event - the disastrous mistake, the wrong beach, the perilous trek over horrendous cliff-face terrain, and the senseless bloodshed that ultimately won nothing in the end. My History teacher Mr O'Brien went to great lengths to describe Gallipoli, the scene, the terrain, the greater implications. Today i would be able to match what i mentally envisaged all those years back, with the real thing.We arrived in Cannukale around 12 and thre down a pretty plush lunch at a restaurant out of town. Got talking to a wild haired Engineer from Brisbane and a friendly Aussie lass living in Dublin called Michelle. Obviously, our bus was pretty much full of Aussies, though i was suprised to see a couple of yanks and Canucks as well, though the yanks looked completely bored shitless as the day's tour elapsed. Compared to their multitude of war memorials, this was probably nothing to them. Our tour guide was a friendly, chummy faced Turkish bloke whose name i cant recall, and we started off at the deep blue watered beach just south of Anzac Cove, the 3km stretch of sand where the Anzacs were scheduled to land but failed to do so
more gravesites
. We drove up along the tourist track and checked out the first of many gravesite memorials, individual headstones with various old school Australian names, men of years as low as 17, 18, killed in action and buried with their mates. The headstones talked of how their lives were not lost in vain, that good had been done in their name, that they fought the good fight, for the Crown, "He dared to fight in heaven's sight, who wages battle for the right". We drove onwards, along the recently widened Anzac Cove tourist road, which triggered outrage back home when the Turks dumped the excavated sand on the Cove, halving the actual width of the beach itself. The cove looked so much smaller in real life than in the history books. I listened to the calmness of the Cove, the sounds of birds chirping sweetly and water pulsing softly up on the sand, and struggled to picture the bustling wartime scenario and bloody warfare that would have been right in front of me 90 years ago. The brutal terrain afoot Anzac Cove is no exaggeration - the place was absolutely perilous for our troops, nothing but sheer cliff face, rugged shrubbery and sloping thick hills. It was poignant to see in real life.
We came across a number of other memorials, including the gravestone of the digger John Simpson, of 'Simpson and his donkey' fame, a legend of Gallipoli on his own terms
pensive
. We covered all the major spots of significance in the Gallipoli campaign - the Sphinx, the memorials, Lone Pine and the trenches. Lone Pine, perched atop the ridge of the peninsula, gave a good indication of the remarkable hardship the Anzacs faced in getting to safe ground, with the Turkish vantage point clearly demarcated some few hundred metres up the hill. To think that they lugged their ridiculously heavy packs through raning gun fire across these plains, it was amazing to see in real life. But the true futility of the Gallipoli battle was exemplified by the sight of the trenches, whereby just 8 metres seperated the Australians and the Turks. Our guide spoke of the stories, of how the two sides would sing to each other at night, trade goods and send notes, in between throwing grenades back and forth and killing each other systematically. He spoke of the Turkish soldier who carried an injured 'Tommy' back to his side of the trenches, and the bond of mutual admiration that this campaign forged between the two sides. It all just made you shake your head with disbelief. Gallipoli is just as important for the Turks as well. The bloke who led the charge for the Turks was the ultra courageous Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, a soldier relatively unknown before Gallipoli, who rose to heroic status after the battle, fighting off the Anzacs, and surviving instant death when his pocketwatch deflected a rifle bullet
the cove
. Kemal's fame rose dramatically after this, as he gained considerable support in politics, leading the nation some years later as head of state, and reforming the bejeezus out of Turkish society, banning the previous dominance of Islam and fostering a non-religious 'Kemalism' governance. Eventually given the title Ataturk (Father of the Turks), Kemal is still everwhere today - you cant miss the presence and impact of the big guy, with his face splayed over every monetary note, pictures and framed photos him pinned up everwhere, and huge statues of him parked in all corners of Turkey. For the Turks, he was and is 'the man', and he certainly had some great ideas, singlehandedly responsible for the creation of 'Modern Turkey'.One cant help but wonder how our different our histories might be if the Anzacs landed at the right beach. Gallipoli may then just have been a routine formality in the course of the Allies' war victory, a non-integral, forgettable event. Mustafa Kemal may not have been given a chance to rise to the level that he did, and Turkey today might be a very different place to visit. Who knows? That one little mistake caused so much to eventuate, the historical domino effect here is highly significant.
I also pondered the significance of Gallipoli on me as an individual
trenches
. Why was i so compelled to see the place? Sure, it was a significant event in Australian history, but it happened so long ago, well before my time. I questioned why i should feel connectedness with this place, what it meant for me to be there. I felt spine tingles at some parts of the journey, but other times i felt nothing, only pity for the way so many good men were mowed down and blown away, and buried forever. Back at school when we watched David Williamson's 'Gallipoli', we debated whether or not Williamson's represenation of the affair was accurate, or was it biased to highlight anti-British sentiment. I always thought the question should be why the hell did we accept and continue to accept the systematic bloodshed of innocent people, the defiance of common humanity, and warfare for no real gain. I am always cautious of states that seek to ensnare and rouse their populace into a web of nationhood, where our individual interests are realistically not always going to be aligned with the mass. Does 'remembering' an event like Gallipoli ensure that such an event will not happen again, or does it perpetuate the tendencies of Nationalism that were greatly responsible for the instigation of warfare from the outset. The line between 'rememberance' and 'glorification' is a fine one.The tour was an eye opening, sobering, amazing thing to finally see and i am extremely glad that i had the opportunity to witness it in real life. History books can only offer so much for the imagination. I rode back to Istanbul in a minivan with another Aussie bloke, Syrian born Mirrab, a 28 year old accountant who hated his profession and wanted out big time. We talked non stop for 5 hours, about life, travelling, adventures and where to go next. It was a fantastic exchange, yet another random connection with a like minded traveller who enlightens your life just that little bit more. Got back to the 'Bul around 11, chilled out at the Bahaus, reflected on my exhaustive day, and hit the hay.
