A reputation in ruins

Ephesus was a bit of a disappointment. Don’t misunderstand me. It has grand sights that leave an enduring impression. Sadly, Garry and I have been spoilt by previous adventures in Petra, Jerash and even Amman. As a result, the beautifully restored Library of Celsus simply reminded us of the Treasury at Petra. The Temple of Hadrian and the Curetus Street were no match for the colonnaded street and ruins of Jerash. The Theatre was no less overwhelming than Amman's restored amphitheatre.

Garry was particularly disappointed by the crowds and endless stream of large, vista-compromising tour groups. When we visited Jerash in early Winter our group was one of only two on the site (which covered an area larger than Ephesus). In Ephesus we had at least one tour group in front of us and one immediately behind us, and another off to the side at all times if space permitted. Additional tour groups graced any vantage point in the distance. We were told that this wasn’t peak season. The experience must be pure hell in Summer!

I was simply disappointed that it wasn’t more impressive than other Roman sites we’ve seen. For as long as I can recall people have being telling me, "You must visit Ephesus. It's amazing." As a result, my expectations were high. I can only say that for someone new to the marvels of the Roman Empire, Ephesus is certainly worth visiting but, it doesn't have the Empire's best ruins.


It's real claim to fame is simply its history. Some rather well know folk had once walked the very same streets we now walked. A New Testament book is named after Ephesus. The early Christian Church held two of its great Councils here. The Virgin Mary is said to have spent her last days here, along with St John the Evangelist.


I was equally fascinated by the tale of the city's decline. Today's ruins lie more than five kilometres from the sea. A grand harbour was once at the gates of the city. It hard to conceive of an entire harbour silting up, sending a bustling seaport economy into terminal decline. However, the trading economy is clearly back in vogue if stalls crowding the exit are any indication. It's also the only place I've ever seen proudly promoting genuine fake watches.


Ephesus did hold a few personal highlights. Three memories stand out. The first is the view that greets you as you pass through the Gates of Hercules. The ground slopes away as a dramatic marble-paved street runs down the hill towards an imposing backdrop of the Library of Celsus and Augustus Gate. As you approach the library this classic vista simply grows more and more spectacular.

The library itself has a fascinating history. Its interior was destroyed during a Goth invasion in 262 AD, while the facade was toppled by an earthquake in the 10th century. The building we see today was carefully restored by dedicated Austrian Archaeologists. This partial restoration gives you a wonderful sense of how grand this city of 25o,000 people must have been.


The second memory is a little more modest. I loved the partially restored public toilet - its purpose self evident from the moment you enter the facility. The ‘hole in the seat’ design has clearly stood the test of time. Bright red poppies were also in full bloom around the area. They gave the otherwise stark marble facades an unexpected tenderness. Their presence is probably my most enduring memory of Ephesus - along with the home-cooked savoury pancakes we later ate for lunch.

Troy and Pergamun

Forget the movie. What would Troy be without the story of the Trojan horse? Garry and I had an opportunity to find out for ourselves yesterday. Our tour visited the ancient ruins of Troy. Much our surprise we discovered that there are in fact nine ancient cities of Troy, each progressively built on top of the other. The city of King Priam, made famous in the legendary Trojan Wars, was either Troy No.6 or possibly No.7.

As one might expect, the entrance to the archaeological site is dominated by a replica of the wooden horse. However, unlike the original, this one isn't filled with Aechaean soliders. On the day of our visit it was overwhelmed by Japanese tourists hanging from its panoramic windows.

Two stoic stone walls captured my imagination as we toured the ruins. The first, a towering wall marked with sloping, sculptured edges was the entrance to the grandest version of Troy. The second wall, hidden further inside the site was a part of the Troy from 2500 BC. I found it hard to conceive of people living and working at this very spot more than 4500 years ago. Elsewhere, fallen marble columns lie scattered about. These 'modern' ruins were left by the Romans in 300AD, along with a simple terraced theatre. Turkey truly sits at the crossroads of history.

Our second stop yesterday was the ruined city of Pergamum, perched on a hilltop above modern Bergama. Founded by Eumenes II, the city rivaled Alexandria as the ancient world's centre of culture and learning. The Eyptians were so angered by its profile that they subsequently banned Nile papyrus suppliers from trading with the city.

In response, local craftmen set to work, eventually creating a product from animal hides called pergamen. It's more commonly known by its latin name, parchment. At its height the city's library housed more than 200,000 such parchment scrolls. The Eyptians need not have worried. In 41BC many of the library's scolls were eventually shipped to Alexandria as a wedding gift from Mark Anthony to his beloved Cleopatra.

The ruins of Pergamum Library

Today the city is best known for its stunning Altar of Zeus. This oblong plaform featured in the Bible's Book of Revelations. Once in ruins, the alter was shipped to Germany last century and rebuilt inside Berlin's Pergamum Museum. I've seen the alter myself, but never conceived of it having such a dramatic mountain home.

Perhaps the most dramatic ruin still insitu is the white marble Temple of Trajan. Partially restored, one can still sense the grander of this complex completed during Hadrian II reign (AD 117-138). Underneath the temple is an equally dramatic subtearrean arched corridor. Once covered, today it's partially open to the elements, making for a memorable sunlit passageway.

On the hillside below the Temple of Trajan sits a steep, arcing Roman theatre. 80 rows of seats seating more than 10,000 spectators, stand silent watch over the valley below. In the distance an aqueduct snakes across the opposite slope. It once brought fresh water to the city. Incredibly, despite its altitude, flowing water reached the city's highest vantage point. The original water source came from a distant summit that was located well above that of the city. As a result, simple gravity was able to deliver water year round.

Lest we forget

And still the poppies gently blow,

Between the crosses, row on row.

John Mitchell

The corn poppy, or papaver rhoeas, grows wild in the fields and the grassy road verges of Turkey. Every Spring its bright red flowers dot the landscape, creating a delicate carpet of colour every where you turn. The same flower grows in the grain fields of France and Belgium. It naturally bloomed each spring in the battlefields of World War I. Growing up in New Zealand the poppy was known only to me as a simple, abstract symbol of ANZAC day.

This week I noticed my first poppies in Turkey while standing alone on the shore of ANZAC cove. Their presence caught me by surprise. I hadn't expected to see them. Poppies were a foreign plant that grew somewhere else in the world. Had they been grown in New Zealand they would have never flowered in April, the Southern Hemisphere’s first month of winter.

Finding poppies silently keeping vigil was a shock. Poppies weren't symbols. They were real. They actually grew on the battlefields of Europe. Gallipoli wasn't some abstract event of history. It was real. Here was the spot where Allied troops first landed on April 25, 1915. This was the peninsular on which half a million servicemen lost their lives in nine short months. The reality of war hit me hard. I was at ANZAC cove. Men half my age once lay here, dying on the very spot I stood.

How odd that a flower would capture my soul more than the many war graves we saw on Monday. Gallipoli is sad place. Memorials are scattered across the region, along with 31war cemeteries. As part of our tour we visited Lone Pine and Chunuk Bair, as well as the remains of trenches straddling a ridge known simply as Johnston's Jolly.

We also visited Kabatepe Information Centre, a small museum housing artifacts discovered in the area. The most astonishing item on display was a dusty skull with a bullet lodged in its cranium. Death suddenly loses its remote, abstract image when confronted by the very event that cost this man his life.

Standing in the crumbling trenches of Gallipoli was another particularly poignant moment. It was hard to imagine the hell that once unfolded here. From Chunuk Bair, the highest point in the area, it was easy to see why Allied Forces wanted to capture this location. Any person controlling the peninsular also controlled access to the Dardanelles. Without access to the Aegean Sea the economies of Russia and the Ottoman Empire would have suffered.


Chunuk Bair has several memorials. More than 28,000 men lost their lives on this spot on August 6-9 in 1915. New Zealand’s war dead are immortalized by a large pillar at the summit of the hill. Turkey’s dead are also remembered nearby. Serdar Ozkan, a Turkish guide we met later, spoke of the common bond forged between Turks and the ANZAC nations on this spot. I was surprised by his sentiment. I’d expected Australians and New Zealanders to be viewed with benevolence at best.


As he spoke, I came to see my nation’s history from a new vantage point. Mustafa Kemal also known as Ataturk, founder of the modern republic of Turkey) had commanded the Turkish troops at Chunuk Bair. His popularity, established at Gallipoli, later enabled him to lead the battle for independence against the Ottoman Empire. Ataturk is revered by modern Turks as a national hero. His image can been found everywhere.

As Serdar described it, much like the ANZAC nations, the spirit of his nation and its people had been forged by the events of Gallipoli. Like the ANZAC troops, his people were simply pawns in a war being waged by Europe’s dying empires. His national identify was born on this peninsular, much like my own. The ANZACs were kindred spirits in his eyes. Unsurprisingly, the British troops weren’t view as favourably.


I came away from Gallipoli a wiser man. War is real. Death is real. The stories of the ANZACs have come to life. While their bloody battle eventually ended in withdrawal, they did not die in vain. I learnt that through it all three nations discovered their modern soul. Turkey started down a secular and relatively peaceful path of Islam while many of its neighbours progressively descended into turmoil. Two nations from the bottom of the world went on to craft an enduring legacy of harmony and warmth – one that often makes them the envy of the world.

Introducing Istanbul

I fell in love with Istanbul. There’s simply no other way to describe it. It’s old and tatty in places but full of life and surprise wherever you turn. Istanbul marries the best of natural vistas with layer upon layer of history and grand relics. After a while you’re compelled to forgive its grime and simply marvel in its beauty.

My first impressions of Istanbul were less favourable. Like most tour groups our hotel was located in the Old City close to the outer walls of Topkapi Palace. The palace was home to sultans of the Ottoman Empire for more than 400 years. The area outside the walls was once the heart of the city dominated by grand mosques, churches, stadiums and rambling bazaars. However, it’s clear that decay set in once the retail and entertainment district moved elsewhere.


On our first evening in town we wandered around the Hippodrome soaking up an incredible scene. This green park runs from the entrance to Haghia Sophia, the city’s grand Byzantine church to the entrance of Sultan Ahmet Camii, more commonly known as the Blue Mosque. The park was once the centre of a Roman chariot racing track, set in the heart of a 100,000 spectator stadium. It was built by Emperor Septimus Severus in 330AD and later enlarged by Emperor Constantine I.


Through the central spine of the racing track Constantine erected obelisks and columns plundered from ancient Greece and Egypt. Three of these monuments remain including an Egyptian Obelisk from Luxor, a bronze column of intertwined serpents from Delphi and the Column of Constantine Porphyrogenitus, also known as the Brazen Column. It was also here that the four bronze horses adorning St Marco in Venice were once located.


In a single evening of wandering, we’d covered more 3.5 thousand years of human civilization. For the first time we began to sense the truly remarkable heritage of Turkey. Without doubt it sits at the crossroads of human history.


The following morning our group explored the Hippodrome again and then went on to enter the Blue Mosque. Commissioned by Sultan Ahmet I, it was the last and grandest of the Sultanate Mosques built in Istanbul. Its walls are encircled by six towering minarets, ringed by two or three balconies – 16 balconies in total. Built in 1609-16 it interior is crowned by a series of intersecting domes, each tiled in exquisite blue patterned tiles from the nearby city of Iznik. The central dome is a staggering 23.50m in diameter, sitting 43 metres above the main floor. Breathtaking!


Our next sight couldn’t have been more different, yet was equally dramatic. At the end of the Hippodrome sits a modest, squat building. It houses the entrance to the Basilica Cistern, a vast underground Byzantine water reservoir that once provided water for an enormous Roman palace nearby. The underground chamber is supported by more than 336 columns more than 8 metres high.

Walkways have been installed making it possible to wander among the columns as water quietly drips in the distance. In the far corner we were shown two columns resting on carved heads of Medusa. In each case, her head has been put on its side. This ensures that one can’t look into her eyes and thus be turned into stone as legend has it.


After lunch at the Pudding Shop (which mainly sold Turkish meats, salads and bread) we ventured into Haghia Sophia. I’d heard a little about this incredible Byzantine church many years ago. At the time historians were criticizing the Vatican for focusing its restoration efforts on St Peters in Rome while this building fell into decay. Haghia Sophia is staggering, even more so when one stops to consider its age. Built more than 1400 years ago, the interior dome was the largest free-standing enclosed space for more than a thousand years. Its vast dome reaches a height of 56 metres and spanning an astonishing 31.87 meters.


Nothing prepares you for the sight of the interior. From the outside, the building is a clattered by chunky drab buttresses and tombs to the point that its original shape has long been lost. The exterior is simply an assorted jumble of shapes and sizes. Even the original dusty pink colour suggests something frivolous. The interior is nothing short of breath-taking, bathed in a golden glow from hundreds of thousands of tarnished gold mosaic tiles.


A gallery runs around the interior, framed by a series of arches. The four corners of the main nave are festooned with four deep green roundels. These were installed by the Ottomans who converted the building into a mosque after conquest of Istanbul in 1453. Haghia Sophia is incredible. Its proportions are staggering; more so when one remembers that it was built at a time when cathedrals of its proportion did not exist.


Our final stop of the day was Topkapi Palace. It sits on a hilly promontory overlooking the stunning entrance to the Bosphorus Straits. The palace itself consists of a series of pavilions, contained by four separate courtyards. This inner complex is in turn surrounded by high walls and tree-filled grounds. The views of Istanbul from the far corner are spectacular, as is the 86 carat Spoonmakers diamond on display in the Treasury.

Perhaps the most astonishing area of the palace is the Haram. The Saltan’s wives and concubines once lived here, governed by the Saltan’s Mother. At its height up to 1000 concubines lived here. Incredibly, the last woman left the Haram in 1909. The Haram itself is a fascinating labyrinth of rooms and courtyards. Many of the rooms are exquisitely decorated.


On the opposite side of the palace rises a series of chimneys. Each sits over its own vaulted brick dome. These mark the location of the palace kitchens where meals for 12,000 people were prepared every day. Today, the building houses a vast collection of ceramics, glass and silverware.


Our first day in Istanbul had been over-whelming. Layer upon layer of history had been thrown at us in an endless stream of images and stories. I’ve visited many of the world’s great cities, but none has contained so much history from so many different civilizations as does Istanbul. The following morning our group headed off to ANZAC Cove, however, Garry and I would return later in the week for another two days. I’m glad we did. Istanbul had more surprises waiting for us.

No.49 in the bag

Earlier this evening Garry and I returned from nine days in Turkey. In the coming week I'll update the blog with photos and stories of our adventures. You'll hear about the sights, sounds and smells of Istanbul, poignant red poppies at ANZAC cove, the ruins of Ephesus, walking the terraces of Pamakkule and an overnight sleeper train across Anatolia.

We've thoroughly enjoyed the time we've spent in Turkey, the 49th country I've visited since 1983 (50 if you count New Zealand, the land of my birth). We're relaxed, sun-kissed and reluctantly preparing for a return to work tomorrow.

Never a dull moment in Munich

I first heard about Munich’s top surfing spots during a business trip last year. At first I thought I was the victim of a practical joke until a staff member brought photos into the office. Incredibly, Munich has two popular surf locations, both located on the Eisbach, a tributary of the River Isar.

The first is a pro-surfing wave that forms as the river flows out of a tunnel under one of the city’s landmark roads, right next door to Haus der Kunst (a monolith modern art gallery built by the Nazis). The second location is a wave ideal for beginners. It’s located further up the river at Flosslande, close to the local camping ground at Thalkirchen.

Earlier this month I finally got to see the pro-surfers in action next door to Haus der Kunst. I spent several minutes watching a line of hardy surfers take turns riding a swift flowing one-metre wave. The wave is only about five metres wide so only one person can ride it at any time. It’s incredible to see surfers in action, in the heart of the city, standing on a city sidewalk while heavy rush hour traffic flows by.

I spotted the surfers while enroute to Haus de Kunst to see an exhibition of photography by Andreas Gursky. This German artist was born in Leipzig in 1955. He's reknown for his giant photographs of natural and digitally manipulated scenes. Each photo is several metres high, capturing some of the most remarkable images you're ever likely to see. Highlights from his current exhibition include images of the Arirang celebrations in Pyongyang (capital of North Korea) and surging crowds at a Madonna concert.

While Andreas' work was fascinating, the artist that amused me most was Yayoi Kusama. This Japanese artist is know for her work involving dots. Her latest creative output takes up an entire hall. She'd filled the Haus der Kunst atrium with a series of giant pink polka dot balls. Some were suspended from the ceiling while others were hollow, with signs inviting visitor to walk into their interior. The effect was rather entertaining and actually brought a smile to my face. They say good art should stir the soul. Kusama certainly had an impact on me.

Munich isn't quite the dull place it sometimes appears!

Surf's up in Munich

I've just flown in from a business trip to Munich. I'll update this post tomorrow with images of people surfing in Munich, 500 miles from the ocean, along with a tale of giant pink balls. I'll also talk about a wonderful restaurant I dined at in Milan on Monday during my 36 hour business trip.

All round it's been quite a week for travel as Murray and Rhonda arrived back from Paris yesterday with plenty of stories to share. There's more to come as Garry and I are depart for Turkey on Saturday morning. We're looking forward to nine days of adventure in Instanbul and along the Aegean Coast.

Tower of London

Crown Jewels of England were once kept at Westminster Abbey. Following their theft in 1303, they were moved to the Tower of London and have remained there ever since. Incredibly, the items stolen from the Abbey were recovered within days after being discovered in the window of a London jeweller's shop.

However, much of what is on display today differs from the collection stolen 700 years ago. Oliver Cromwell melted down most of the royal regalia during the English Civil War. Charles II replaced most of the destroyed items when the monarchy was restored in May 1660,. This new collection included St Edward’s Crown, which continues to be used in coronation ceremonies.


Last week Garry and I took his parents to see the Crown Jewels, along with other sights at the Tower of London. The Tower is an amazing place. Its oldest structure, the White Tower, was built by William the Conqueror in 1078. Today’s it’s the oldest surviving building in London. History has it that William built the tower to impress the locals as much as to protect his victorious Normans from harm. Upon completion it remained a royal residence until Oliver Crowell’s day.


The crowds were certainly out in force on Saturday. We found ourselves joining a mass throng taking part in one of the Beefeater’s ‘complimentary’ tours. With more than 900 years of history to cover, the stories we heard were many and varied.

My favourite tale was that of Thomas Culpeper, executed after committing adultery with Catherine Howard, the fifth wife of Henry VIII. His fate was apparently sealed by Catherine’s last words before she herself was executed. “I die a Queen, but I would rather have died the wife of Culpepper." So much for slipping away unnoticed by the blood-thirsty crowd.

Traitor's Gate

We saw all of the usual tourist highlights including Traitor’s Gate, the infamous Ravens and carved graffiti from prisoners held in Beauchamp Tower. Some of the graffiti dates back to 1569. One name that caught my eye was Philip Howard, the 20th Earl of Arundel. He was incarcerated in the Tower in 1585 after being accused of treason. His name stood out because Garry and I toured his house last September. His final digs weren't as luxurious.


As expected the crown jewels were fabulous. While not as spectacular as the Tsar’s armory in the Kremlin, they are impressive. The Cullinan Diamond in the royal scepter is every bit a big as its record status implies - a stunning 3,106.75 carats (621.35 g). However, the item that caught my eye was the 500 pound solid gold Grand Punch Bowl. This is no ordinary punch bowl. You could drown a young adult in it, while the weight could hold back a scrum of All Black forwards.


Viewing the jewels is almost an adventure in itself. Visitors are transported past the most precious items using a slow moving conveyor belt. The belt is a great idea, ensuring that everyone gets the same viewing time. I recall that the crowd was impossible 17 years ago during my first visit to the Tower. A definite improvement, with the option of going around again. Rhonda and I did so three times. You can never have too much 'bling' in life.

All in all we had a great afternoon reliving more of London’s colourful history.