Cold Türkiye
Since leaving Greece, we have realised how spoilt we were with delicious Greek food and we are still coming to terms with the change of cuisine in this new part of the world, many suffering from the serious condition of Baclava Withdrawal Syndrome. Our breakfast this morning was very yoghurt-y and a little ordinary. Tobes sampled a sausage-tomato combo only to find it was stone cold. He was convinced it was left-overs from last night’s dinner. I opted for some bread claiming to be made on the hotel land from ancestral grains. There wasn’t a toaster but I created some DIY flatbread by clamping it in the Breville sandwich maker. On the plus side, the tea did come in very cool cups.
Onboard our steel steed, ‘Shannon Noll’ pulled out a big stick to use as his map pointer, giggling and telling us to ‘be good!’ We motored along the Western Coast, confident in the capable hands of our driver, Tamer - pronounced’Tam-ear’ - whose name actually means ‘competent person’.
Fruit trees, cotton fields and olive groves out the windows, we made our way to Troy, home to the famed Trojan Horse. Legend has it the Greeks fought a grueling ten-year war for the hotly contested territory, after Trojan prince Paris kidnapped Helen, the Queen of Sparta. Unable to penetrate the high city walls, the Greek hero Odysseus, in a lightbulb moment, devised a brilliant plan to build a giant, hollow wooden horse, stash his men inside it and sneak it in under the pretense it was a gift to the Trojans. Troy was certainly defeated but the historical jury is out as to whether the horse ever actually existed. I’d like to think it did.
As we navigated the rickety wooden walkway, being battered by icy winds, Shenon wowed us with tales of Troy’s eventful history. Under the control of the Greeks, Persians, Romans and even Alexander the Great during its history, the town was rebuilt from scratch at least 8 times. The best story was this… Just before WWI a 50 year-old German businessman, Heinrich Schliemann, studied Homer and became obsessed with finding Troy and uncovering the royal jewels. He was no seasoned excavator though, and instead of the usual teaspoons and toothbrushes required for careful archaeology, the German had his peasants take to the site with sledge hammers, making a dog’s breakfast of it all. Once he cottoned on to where the jewels were hidden, he gave his men an early mark, dug all night and headed for the hills with his 16 year-old bride and a truckload of loot. The old adage is true, you can’t take it with you, and while old Heinrich is long gone, the jewels live on, now displayed in the museum in St Petersburg, where Sam actually got to see them a few years ago.
The highlight of our Troy visit for me was the 4000 year-old wall of sun-dried mudbricks. Bob (the Builder) checked its integrity, only to find the ‘mortar’ was still sticky and wet after all these years!
Our next sop was the blustery beach at Çanakkale, in the Troas region, where Paul sailed from on his way to Samothrace on his 2nd missionary journey and where the wind was so intense, we nearly achieved lift-off. You wouldn’t want to have been wearing a toupe! Jill’s wide-brimmed sunhat nearly had her flying like Sister Bertrille from the Flying Nun. The ocean was as wild as the wind and on our way back to the bus we got whipped with sand! Not exactly bikini weather.
Still in the region of Troas, at the risk of suffering from ruins fatigue, we popped into another archaelogical site to see some incredibly preserved temple friezes, featuring cute little cherubs in their birthday suits. We got to walk on a Roman road that Paul would certainly have trodden on his way to the sea, which was very cool.
Just up the road a bit, was the steep hilltop village of Assos. The apostle Paul walked a gruelling 30-40km here along a bumpy Roman road, in his sandals, on his 3rd missionary journey around 57 or 58AD. Wow! We got to climb the original said Roman road today and it definitely wasn’t condusive to sandals. As soon as we descended the bus steps, I was accosted by a trio of colourfully dressed old ladies, with one set of teeth between them, as they honed in on me like seagulls zeroing in on a hot chip. Thrusting their wares in front of me and chattering loudly at me in Turkish, I knew I wasn’t going to get away without parting with some cash. I chose a couple of scarves, one from each of 2 of the bunch and reached into my wallet for the few Turkish Lira I’d been given by my friend Kate before I’d come away. There were 2 x $20 notes and 1 x $200 note and I had absolutely no idea of how much any of it was worth. I offered them a $20 each (which I now know is only 60 Australian cents!!) and they practically scoffed at me (no wonder) pointing their accusatory fingers, shaking their heads and saying “NO, NO, NO!’ I pulled out the $200 and suggested through the international art of sign language that perhaps they could share the money. In one fell swoop, my money was snatched and one scarf was reefed from my hand, leaving me with one scarf I paid 200 Lira for. The most stressful shopping trip I’ve ever had.
The road to Assos’ summit was lined with stalls selling everything from teatowels and fridge magnets to Turkish rugs and puffer fish. The wind hadn’t died down and was battering the stalls, who were battening down, the air filled with a cacophony of wind chimes as we climbed. The views across the ocean were breathtaking, with the island of Lesbos spanning out before us across the white-capped water. We sat atop the hill among the impressive columns of the Athenian Temple and read about when Paul visited this place.
Given the choice of where we would like to dine for lunch, our family joined a few others at a little pide restaurant at the foot of the hill. The language barrier became very real when I had to whip out my Google translate app to attempt to order for the whole family. Not really sure whether I had ordered correctly, I asked if I could pay upfront because we were short on time. Conceding this was not the usual practice, he tapped my card and gave me a receipt. The next half hour was a fiasco to say the least. They continued to parade a bunch of dishes before us, none of which we had ordered, only to take them back and then bring out more incorrect meals. No one got what they had ordered (or at least what I thought I’d ordered) and some were fed while others weren’t. With 5 mins until our presence was required on the bus, I had to stage a mime show Marcel Marceau would’ve been proud of, to indicate we would like takeaway now please. Minutes later, we were handed a plastic bag full of food, I thanked them profusely and Maisy and I ran for the bus. After we had left, there was a kerfuffle and they demanded Toby pay for the food, suggesting I had run off without paying. He somehow managed to convey the fact that I had already paid and we were in the clear. Phew!
The long ride to Soma was a sleepy one and we were happy for a ‘pee-pee’ stop and a stretch of the legs. As usual, there was a solid line up for the amenities but this servo had an accessible toilet in between the mens and the ladies, its glass sliding door, lining up with the door into the shop. In order to speed things up, Sue thought she’d take a quick pee in there. Someone inadvertently waved a hand across the automatic door opener so that the large glass door slid wide open, revealing our little sitting duck, in view of the entire line-up and in fact, everyone within view of the door. A loud scream went up - a mix of shock and hilarity at the situation - garnering even more attention before the door could be returned to its closed position and locked in place. Sue was such a good sport and even managed to laugh along with us! Some day you’re gonna get caught…
Our hotel organised a set-menu dinner tonight, three big courses that left us all feeling a bit full to squeeze in dessert. Everyone had the same idea and figured if anyone had dessert-space left, it would be my 2 boys. I’m the end they had a veritable cake-fest between them.
