Snowy Berchtesgaden

A tiny mountain village nestles into a valley just over the German border. It is just below the luxury mountain retreat built for Hitler,called the Eagles Nest. All around the villages were occupied by staff officers. Today Berchtesgaden is colourful, lively and full of delicious food. A local speciality is white sausage, washed down with white beer.

Salzburg and real snow

Just ouside Salzburg is a gorgeous mountain area, with picturesque houses, fir trees laden with snow, and neat piles of firewood ready for the open fire.

Christmas day castles and cathedrals in Vienna

On Christmas day there was snow and ice on the ground as we crunched over the stones at Schonbrunn, the imperial summer palace of the Hapsburg dynasty. We only managed to visit nine of the 1441 rooms,but that was enough to learn of the grandeur and wealth of a family which ruled the Austro-Hungarian empire for 500 years.

We heard the strains of a choral mass from the private chapel, as we drifted down a wide staricase, but that was the nearest we got to church this Christmas. We focussed on Maria Theresa, rather than the Virgin Mary, and on her son Franz Joseph, rather than Jesus.

Maria Theresa was known as 'the mother in law' of Europe, because she carefully married most of her 16 children off into European ruling families. Franz Joseph gave his name to a glacier in NZ, so there is a little connection there.

In Schonbrunn Palace, we saw portraits of all the family on the walls,including a series of delicate oil portraits by one of the daughters. The family were all very talented in art and music, and seeing so many pictures of them all, and where they enjoyed thier summers, it was quite appropriate to compete the life cycle by later visiting their last resting places, the crypts and vaults , under a Capuchin monastery.

There lie Maria Theresa and her beloved husband, holding hands in death, plus all the children, grandchildren and great grand children, up to the present day. The last Hapsburg is Otto, now 90 and living in exile, who is often seen at the crypt, where his place stands waiting.

It was lovely to walk around a fairly quiet Vienna on Christmas afternoon, to admire the Winter Palace, the Cathedral,the Opera house, and all the grand buildings of this most appealing city, then to go back to the Hilton for a perfectly designed light Christmas supper. Having spoken with most of our dear far flung family, we were content.

Vienna for Christmas Eve

What a romantic idea- snow on the ground, Christmas lights sparkling against the whiteness, old Bavarian hotel with a steep pitched roof, dripping icicles, sleigh bells in the distance.

None of that happened , as the snow had not arrived, but it was still wonderful!
Our room at the Vienna Danube Hilton Hotel looked over the Danube River gliding past on its way from the Black Forest, east to the Black Sea- so impressive. No wonder the most popular tune in Austria is the 'Blue Danube Waltz'.
The Christmas Eve treat was a concert by the Salonorchester Alt Vien, at the Kursalon Vien, followed by dinner at the restaurant Johann.

I could imagine the The Kursalon when it was built in 1865 in Italian renaissance style, where people came to drink the curative waters, then stay on for dances and promenades concerts. It was here that Johann Strauss became a musical sensation with his innovative waltzes.

In the richly decorated salon today, the Salon orchestra has developed a highly enjoyable program of Viennese music. We heard Voices of Spring waltz, Roses from the South, Rondo alla turca, Overture to the Marriage of Figaro and , of course, the Blue Danube waltz. Properly called, On the beautiful Blue Danube', it was originally composed for male choir and military band - that must be quite a different sound from the violins and piano versionthat we heard.
It was beautifully presented by an orchestra who seemed to be enjoying themselves immensely. Two ballet dancers leapt and pirouetted, two opera singers charmed us with arias, and the audience even got to clap along during the Colonel Radetsky march. Great fun.

Organised by Sound of Vienna, these excellent concerts are for local Viennese who want to show their visitors a slice of Vienna, for companies wishing to offer clients an exclusive musical evening, and for tour operators to offer excellent music, dance and opera. www.soundofvienna.at

During the interval we sipped dry Prosecco, and after the concert there was an elegant meal in the downstairs restaurant.

In Central Europe, it is the custom to celebrate Christmas on 24 December, with the family gathering ,and the special meal. Everyone is at home with families that day- we saw this for ourselves on the motorway into Vienna- it was virtually deserted. Interestingly, there are no presents. They are given much earlier, on 6 December, St Nicholas day, so there is no space for Santa around Christmas at all. Infact, I saw only two Santas the whole time. Instead there are lots of nativity scenes, of all shapes and sizes. Many of the shops put on beautiful animated nativity scenes,and there are throngs of children and families standing and gazing at these illuminated spectacles.

.

Budapest-two cities on the Danube

Budapest by night was another perfect introduction to a city with a complex past. The wide Danube reflected the carefully illuminated buldings, as we heard the stories of the devastation of the war years, followed by the neglect which occurred during the Communist years. The twin cities of Buda and Pest are joined by several graceful bridges.

The seat of government is found in the Parliament Buildings, so huge that they only use half of the rooms. The Parliament was built when Hungary was a vast Empire of 60million people. Now , because of the Treaty of Trianon, it has only one third of its former territory.I was intrigued that there are 96 steps up to the buildings commemorating the beginning of the Arped Dynasty in 1096. For more history see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hungary

Attila the Hun was famous proto Hungarian, a long time ago- in the 5th century. He is still remembered for his fierceness and refusal to submit.

Early morning we visited Heroes Square , a grand open space with statues of heroes of the last 1000 years of Hungarian history. It is situated at in front of the City Park, at the end of the Andrássy Avenue, one of the most important streets of Budapest, a World Heritage site. The millenial monument was built in 1896 to commemorate the 1000th anniversary of the arrival of Hungarians in the Carpathian Basin.

Heroes Square is where the Russian tanks rolled in 1956.

It is on the edge of a gracious and leafy park,surrounded by elegant houses now occupied by embassies. They used to be wealthy family homes, until the commuists nationalised everything, and required up to 12 families to inhabit each home.

We saw the Great Synagogue built in a Moorish style, and heard a little of the Jewish people being resettled and put in ghettoes, transported, and killed. See
.http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/vjw/Budapest.html

A very sombre visit was to the House of Terror, a museum of the Nazi and Soviet days in Hungary. A tank pointing directly at the visitor is a scary start. On the walls are thousands and housands of photos of people who died or disappeared duriing those dark days. All around are old black telephones reminding us of the surveillance and informer networks which so terrorised the population. I saw copies of signed 'confessions', photos of the terrible conditions experienced by those sent to brutal work camps in Siberia, and displays of books, jewellery and belongings of those forced to leave home in a hurry. The Museum is on elegant Andrassy Avenue, in the former headquarters of the Hungarian Nazi Party. It is compulsory viewing to see what evil people are capable of, given the 'right'conditions.http://www.terrorhaza.hu/index3.html

Bratislava- after the Iron Curtain and the Velvet Revolution

Bratislava is the capital of Slovakia, a pretty city on the banks of Danube, only 60km from Vienna in Austria. It was behind the Iron Curtain, then it became one of the main centres of the ani-communist velvet revolution in tha late 1980's. It has emerged as a very prosperous and active commercial, academic and cultural centre. We loved the street sculpture, like this man emerging from the underground system.

Bratislava is the home of the famous fine Herend porcelain, which filled the windows of many of the enticing shops, in the quaint and colourful old town area. Swarovski crystal is also found here, although it originates in Bohemia. We could not resist some small crystal earrings here.

There has been much restoration and rebuilding of damaged buildings,but it is a bit sporadic, as this photo shows.

Throughout central Europe we saw groups of people begging. Often they are gypsies from Romania , or Albania. Some are genuinely poor and displaced but our guide spoke of organised Mafia style gangs . The people are being driven to 'work' the streets and picked up afterwards. This little family group were singing under an archway with great enthusiasm and people were happily giving them money. Another time, we saw a gang with a mother, two teenage daughters and a baby, going up and holding the baby out , and asking for money in a pleading manner . Later we saw them again sitting, eating and laughing. Once on a train, a gipsy left a scrap of paper on the table in front of each passenger. It asked us not to be prejudiced against gypsies, who are simply trying to make a new life in a new land. It is hard to know who to believe.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bratislava

Prague by night

A blue Christmas angel protects the square in Prague.

Prague castle seen from the river

Prague- castles, cars, clocks and beer

Prague is a fary tale city, with slender spires, castles on the sky line, a romantic river and cobbled streets.
To see it from the river at night when all the buildings are flood lit is to catch some of the beauty and splendour. Prague was fortunate not have had much war damage, so the atmosphere is one of a well preserved historical centre, with a lively contemporary life.

Prague castle is well guarded by stern young men, who vounteer for the job, but ony have to spend one hour at a time- partly because of the icy cold, and partly I suspect because of the foolish tourists, lke this one, who insist on posing for photos.

The huge castle complex has stood on top of a hill for over 1000 years doing a great job of protecting the city. It is immaculately clean and maintained, with a large and beautiful church, St Vitus cathedral, and views across the Vltava river.

In the old town square is the famous astronomical clock, which demonstates a very advanced scientific understanding that the earth moves around the sun. We were shocked to learn that , when the clock was finished, the brilliant creator was blinded, so he could never make another.

We made a brief visit to the pilgrimage church of Our Lady Victorious, home of the infant Jesus - this is an antique doll which is who is dressed up in different clothes according to the season, , displayed in a gold surrounded baroque fantasia, and venerated by millions.

.

A tour with no photos but a beauty I will never forget was a guided tour through the Municipal House, the state buildings, proudly paid for entirely with CZ money, designed and built by Czechs,, in 1905-1912, all in Art Nouveau. We saw 9 rooms, which open one to the next. Do have a look at it here. http://www.pragueexperience.com/places.asp?PlaceID=649
I loved the art nouveau details. Bevelled edge mirrors, hand embroidered hangings, huge nationalistic frescoes, theme rooms, such as the Oriental room, and the Ladies room .
My souvenirs were postcards and two ‘antique buttons’ turned into brooches- a great idea.
Prague is the location for many movies- our excellent guide Kaspar showed us where some movies were filmed , including Amadeus, Mission Impossible, The Illusionist, Fatherland.

Near Prague is Pilsen, home of beer, on a very large complex of five breweries. we tested the Pilsen and pronounced it good.

Also nearby is the Skoda factory.During the war, Skoda was the SS car of choice, and therefore very unpopular with the local Czechs. After the war it was known as a cheap but poorly made vehicle. Now it has been bought by Chrysler and is apparently very much better. The Octavia is their best seller.

Prague is one of the places I hope to return to- its present day beauty, its noble history, its range of cultural activities, the photographc opportunities.See the next blog!

Mulled wine and hot sausages- Christmas markets in Munich and Regensburg

Marionplatz in the middle of Munich was heaving with heavily wrapped people, carrying beutifully wrapped presents, and leaning aginst temporary outdoor tables, drinking heavily aromatic and enticing mulled wine, or gluhwein. In spite of the warmth of the crowd, we were experiencing our first night of European winter- it was cold enough to freeze my nose. We paid for E2.50 for a steaming cupful of the spicy hot wine, and joined the cheerful crowds.

Every Christmas market we visited had stalls selling this essential winter drink, and we did sample many versions, in the interests of research of course, but the first sip on that cold night, with the beautiful Christmas lights all around us was memorable.

In Regensberg we enjoyed the market set among the coloured and undamaged facades of the town square. The market here was small but had high quality jewellery, lovely felt hats, and charming ornaments, as well as the gluhwein, hot sausages and huge rolls of fresh cinnamon bread sticks. These people with a single rose were off to a wedding.

Up to the Black sea

If you go down to Galata bridge, in the middle of Istanbul, you can stand with one foot in Europe and one in Asia. The bridge spans the Bosphorus and links the two parts of this 17 million strong city.
Beside the Galata bridge are the ferries which ply across the water day and night. The wharves are seething waves of black clad locals coming to and fro.
We took a regular ferry up the Bosphorus as far as the Black Sea. It took 90 minutes, calling in to seaside suburbs on both sides of the water. Restaurants, parks, mosques, expensive houses with launches tied up outside, palaces, castles, universities, all line the shore and stretch up into the hills as far as you can see.17 million is a lot of people to house!
The narrow stretch of sea goes from the Dardanelles all the way to the Black Sea. The last stretch is all military zone and seriously off limits. At Anadolu Kavagi, on the Asian side, we walked up to a crumbling castle overlooking the heads and looked down onto a modern naval base, A warship lay at anchor in the bay, and gunfire echoed in the hills.
In Turkey all young men must do 18 months military service - in fact it is seen as a rite of passage. For young men living in remote country areas it is an essential part of becoming a modern Turk. For city boys the experience can draw them closer to their roots. And of course it strengthens the already strong sense of nationhood and history.
It was fascinating to see the Black Sea to the north, having been to the Aegean to the west, the Mediterranean (called the White Sea by the Turks) to the south, and knowing that Iran/Armenia/Georgia were very close to the east. Way ahead is the Crimea, with Russia, Moldavia, Romania, Bulgaria bordering the Black Sea. No wonder all Turkish boats, even fishing and hobby boats, fly the Turkish flag as they sail up and down the sea, - nation of origin is very important in these parts.
Back down at the wharf, there are many fish restaurants selling the most delicious fresh fish, with salad and a beer. We watched military vehicles come and go, women selling jewellery pashminas, and traditional bags, men trying to capture tourists into their particular restaurants, and little children coming home from school. In late December it was warm and completely absorbing, a marvellous way to see yet another aspect of this intriguing country.

Fairy chimneys, underground cities- Cappadocia has it all.

Fairy Chimneys, intestinal tunnels, caves in the sky-we saw it all in one day.
The underground city of Derinkuyu was built to house people in times of war. In the soft tufa or volcanic rock, is a warren of rooms, kitchens, chapels, wine and food storage areas, water containers and air shafts. We crouched to shuffle along low tunnels which connect each area, going further and further into the earth. The tourist paths are well lit and signposted, but we could see a myriad of passage ways in many directions. Fantastic place to hideout, if you can control the claustrophobia!
There are at least 36 underground cities in Cappadocia, in central Anatolya. dating from at least 7th century BC. People could live as troglodytes for up to six months, and there is evidence that tens of thousands did so. There are round stones to cover up entrance ways, booby traps for unwary enemy, and holes in the roof to pour in boiling oil if enemy did breech the doors.
Rising above ground, we stood on a stomach lurching plateau looking at a perfect triangular volcano (dormant), Mt Erciyes, a carbon copy of Mount Taranaki. Below it the valley floor was full of conical rocky outcrops. On closer examination they revealed little holes for doorways and windows,. There were even ladders and steps cut out of the soft rock. This was the unearthly monastery of Goreme, the land of the so-called fairy chimneys.
Once a double monastery, with separate dormitory blocks and individual cells cut into the rock, Goreme is the most fascinating of all the world heritage sites we visited. There are several little chapels dedicated to different saints, some still with beautiful bright wall paintings and patterns. They date back to the 9th century, and are Byzantine frescoes depicting the lives of Christ and the saints. One is St Gregory of Nyssa, the old name for the place we stayed, Nevsehir. Gregory was the brother of the more famous St Basil, the local Archbishop. There are rock kitchens with black cooking smoke on the walls, refectories with seating platforms, and complex pigeon houses, where the dropping were collected. This fertilised the productive valley floor where even today there are excellent crops of apricots, grapes, cherries, sugar beets and chick peas. . The surrounding hills are a national park. The light snow fall made it all seem ethereal and other-worldly- a place I wish we had more time to explore to just absorb the atmosphere.
My heightened awareness was rudely broken when I stopped to take a photo of a camel sitting by the car park. The owner leapt out of his chair and shouted in a very unsmiling fashion. I think he wanted me to pay for the photo, but his manner was so aggressive I decided to move quickly to our waiting bus and not discuss the matter.

White terraces of travertine- Pamukkale and Hierapolis

I saw the snow first, a great gleaming hillside of it. No, said Erol the guide, it is travertine. Travertine is marble, shiny and white as the first snowfall of winter, stretching across half the mountain. The area is Pamukkale, meaning ‘cotton castle’.
We walked across the top of the glistening white terraces, which cascaded down the mountain side. Some terraces formed pools filled with blue water, enticing enough for us to paddle in. The bottom was slightly slimy and soft. Around the bend were more of the magical terraces, this time tinged with pink and green minerals. The terraces have been formed by calcium carbonate leaching out of the water.
The sight reminds me of the 19th century tourist attraction which brought people from all over the world in New Zealand - the pink and white terraces. They were destroyed by the eruption of Mount Tarawera. Here in Turkey, the legendary terraces of Pammukale, were in danger of being destroyed by their own popularity. Until a few years ago you could book into a hotel right on the terraces and play all day in the natural infinity pools. Now that UNESCO has declared them a world natural heritage Site, and recent buildings have been removed.
But they left the remains of several thousand years of civilisation, at the spa city of Hieropolis, built by the Romans in 190 BC, on the hillside and plateaus above the terraces. There are marble paved roads, golden limestone arches, old stone latrines, a thermal swimming pool, temple pillars, and a huge necropolis- a city of the dead. Hierapolis was famous as a healing centre and for its mix of pagan, Roman, Jewish and early Christian populations. St Philip was said to be martyred here.
The whole site, stretching over many hectares, is being excavated and reconstructed with funding by the Italian car company, Fiat. Not sure of the connection there, but other sites are funded by Mercedes, and Chrysler. Hierapolis was a wealthy city in its time, and it is taking the wealth of the 21st century to bring back some of its glory.
Some of the Turkish wealthy and their families are enjoying the 4 day ‘Sacrifice’ holiday at the same hotel as we are. Pam Thermal Hotel http://www.pamhotel.com/ is just below the Terraces, and boasts several thermal pools from 28-56 degrees. It could well be the nicest hotel I have ever stayed in ! It was glorious to sit in the sludgy brown water, watching the steam rise, and the children playing, while we relaxed muscles tired after bus travel, and time travel, in this most impressive and beautiful landscape.

Ephesus elegance

Ephesus is my favourite place’ said Miriam, ’ you will love it.
And so we did.
After the ruins of Troy and Pergamum, which require a huge imagination to reconstruct city after city, generation after generation, it was such an easy street to wander down the marble paved avenues of Ephesus. Tall columns, with Corinthian, Doric, or Ionic tops, line the way. Terraced town houses, revealing luxurious Roman living, stack up on one side, just like apartments in Auckland’s hills and gullies. The spacious gymnasium overlooks the public baths and latrines, great places to gossip and plot. The boys on our tour could not resist sitting on the latrines, and our guide told us about an Aussie lad last week who pulled down his trousers, and pulled out a newspaper to read! Great photo opportunity there.
The Library of Celsus waits at the bottom of the avenue, its two storeys of stone pillars and carved capitals looking graceful and noble. It was reconstructed by the Romans between 41 and 117 AD. The courtyard out front leads to the open marketplace, or agora (as in agoraphobia) and you can still see the area for each individual stall or shop. A little further on, the amphitheatre sited perfectly for the sun to warm the 30000 stone seats lies ready for the next performance. It is still used today. So much of Ephesus has been reconstructed that it is possible to imagine St Paul coming to preach there, and people going about their daily life.
The ubiquitous cats and stray dogs which lie around add a level of reality to the whole city, tucked so neatly into the folds of the hills.
We were reminded of Androcles in 600BC, who chose the site, when the sea came up to the city; Alexander the Great who arrived in 334BC, the Romans who saw the city grow to 250,000,and then the Christians who settled there. St John and the Virgin Mary, known as Mother Mary to the Muslims, supposedly lived there, and St Paul also lived there for three years, writing his most profound of his epistles, to the Ephesians.
Most unusually, there was no Moslem/Turkish occupation of Ephesus. Why? Malaria struck the town in 6th century AD. It was finally abandoned and the stones used by the emperor Justinian to build a new city on the other side of the mountain.
The sun was setting over the Aegean Sea as we arrived at Kusadasi. A bonus of off season travel is staying in hotels which would be out of our price range in summer. Marble stairways, pool, gym, live music, superb food, luxury cruise ship moored nearby, a glass of Efes (Ephesus)beer at sunset- this is the life.

A Trojan horse and Pergamum parchment

The first thing you see when you arrive at Troy, is a rather square but very huge horse. Immediately the story of the deviousness of the Greeks and the gullibility of the Trojans comes to mind. The Trojan Wars were considered legendary rather than factual, until Heinrich Schliemann began digging in the late 19th century. Now, behind the horse lie the remnants of the imposing city of Troy. Actually there re the remnants of nine cities, dating back to 3000BC, and up to 500AD. There are earthen ramparts and remains of various city walls, storage jars, pottery drainage pipes, piles of carved and shaped rocks, and a circular path with interpretative boards. The rest is up to the imagination.
At Pergamum there are more intact portions of the city to help the modern visitor. You can see impressive temples, a library which housed 200,000volumes, and the magnificent Acropolis . Pergamum was a renowned cultural and political centre from the days of Alexander the Great till Roman times. It was one of the Middle East‘s richest and most powerful small kingdoms. Parchment was invented there.
It was cleverly built on steep hillside above a fertile valley. You can still see Roman bridges across the rivers, irrigating farms and fields of herbs and plants used for medicine. There was a temple of Telesphorus, famous for healing. I loved hearing that the two daughters of Telesphorus were called Hygeia and Panacea - handing their names down into modern medicine.

Pick up lines in Istanbul

At Istanbul airport, we were escorted to a dark car park and driven for miles.
‘I knew we would end up in the white slave trade one day’, I whispered to Danielle.
‘No. we are past our use-by date. Anyway he had our names on the board, and he is wearing a Fez Travel jacket.’
Soon the minarets of Istanbul appeared, and I was reassured once more. Our young driver turned out to be legitimate, and very charming indeed. But then so did so many of the men. It took a few days to learn the technique of not being propositioned, but before that we had some entertaining encounters.
No sooner had we booked into the hotel, and gone for an explore of the inner city neighbourhood, than Danielle received a marriage proposal. A handsome uniformed hotelier called out as we were passing, and not only offered her marriage, but 27 children, a big house and a garden. Like Sarah, she laughed.
Danielle looked very smug as her success was outclassing mine. I had only scored two hand kisses, by the same man, along with his offer to ‘show me secret things in Istanbul that no-one else knows about'. He owns the restaurant next to the hotel so it was hard to avoid his longing looks. We took to returning from another direction, and looking not to the left or the right. Later our tour guide described him as ‘very low profile, and just to ignore him’!
My most colourful offer was from a dark and handsome carpet seller who declared that I ‘held his heart in my hand‘, and would I like to step inside his shop. I did not like at all, but we parted with a laugh.
You have to laugh at the ridiculously eloquent pick up lines, directed at two ladies a little past their prime, and the excessive enthusiasm for their shop or restaurant. But it is tiring, when all you want is a coffee, after a hard day sight seeing.
The most awkward situation was with our tour driver, who gazed at me from his rear view mirror. One morning at breakfast he stood behind me and rubbed my back, chanting, ‘Good morning! Good morning. How are YOU this morning?’, and smiling very warmly through his huge black moustache.
I asked our guide to tell him it was not acceptable, and later he apologised ‘most deeply, madam. I am very very sorry.’
‘That’s fine', I replied.' We can still talk to each other, but no touching. OK?’
It is hard to know what messages we western women give out, but we have learnt that eye contact is the key. When men greet each other they shake hands and often kiss on both cheeks, but they do not hold eye contact. Women certainly do not meet the eyes of men. This was a helpful piece of local knowledge for us. From then on, we walked past shops, avoiding the eyes of the men owners, standing at the doorways. We also resisted our natural inclination to answer when men call out, ‘Hello, where you from?.’
So silently, steadfastly looking ahead, even wearing sun glasses, we forge our way through bazaars, lines of taxis, mosques and metros- life is so much easier.

P.S.Only once did our resolve fail. That is another, and expensive story, called
‘Captured by a crafty carpet seller and his wily daughter.’

At dawn we go to Gallipolli

Nothing could have prepared me for the for the sight of gravestone after gravestone, after gravestone. they belong to boys aged 16,17,18 and for men aged 29, 35, 40, who landed here from 25 April 1915,onwards and mostly died here over the next few months. The marked stones lie tilted to the sun above the cool blue Aegean sea. Nothing can stop the pricking of tears to read this inscription
1113 Private H J Burton, died 30 November 1915, aged 18
Only a boy but died as a man for liberty and freedom
His Mum and Dad
Standing on the stony beach near Anzac cove, looking up at the steep cliffs called Sphinx and Nek, nothing can stop the sense of grief, of sorrow at the futility of the plan to capture the Dardanelles, the terrible terrible loss of ‘the flowers of that generation.’
Without its blood red history, Gallipolli would be a beautiful peninsula of beaches, sandy and rocky coves, low hills and steep eroded cliffs. It is now covered again with the scrub and pine trees which were stripped off in the battle, and which even now still conceal unnamed and unclaimed bodies. A road runs along the beach and up to the highest point, Chunuk Bair, which the Anzacs held for three triumphant days, before succumbing to the defending Turks. Now a huge statue of Ataturk stands astride the land, the crescent and star of the Turkish flag streaming above him.
He was ferocious in battle, but magnanimous in triumph.
Hs message to the mothers of the boys and men who died is carved in stone
Those heroes who shed their blood
And lost their lives
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 now rest side by side
In this country of ours.
You the mothers
Who sent your sons from far away countries
Wipe away your tears
Your sons are now lying in our bosom
And are in peace.
After having lost their lives in this land,
they have become our sons as well.
It was really a battle in vain. The losses of life on both sides were too great, the tactical gains too small, for the five month campaign to continue. So it all ended as it began- the dead were buried and identified, or not, the wounded left or died, the Dardanelles stayed in Turkish hands.
We had left Istanbul at dawn, to drive the five hours to get to the Gallipolli Peninsula. Our guide promised us ‘one of the most emotionally touching places in Turkey’. And indeed it was
Each year 20,000 people turn up for the commemorations on 25 April. The sloping ground forms a natural amphitheatre overlooking the bays and sea. There are tour buses by the hundred, space is at a premium.
From the commonwealth ,and all over, people also come throughout the year and make a quieter pilgrimage, away from the crowds. I was with a group of young Australians and Kiwis and English, walking along slowly, hardly talking, stooping to read the names on the graves, and on the Battalion lists. Alongside were young and old Turkish people. From everywhere people come and stand , as we did, on the beaches, grassy slopes, rocky outcrops, or n the shallow trenches, and try to recall the bravery, confusion, terror, and determination shown by the soldiers who came ’from the uttermost ends of the earth.’ They were doing as they were commanded by men far away from the impossible battle field.
Our group stood at the New Zealand memorial as the sun dropped towards the sea . The peacefulness of the scene belied its history of explosions, gunfire, bayonet charges, trench fever, frost bite, sunburn, dysentery, heroism, camaraderie, and all the elements of war.
At the going down of the sun, we shall remember them.

PS. Our guide was a Turk, Erol, with Fez Travel . He gave us an excellent historical background as well as an overview of the events around Gallipolli. Fez Travel operate Anzac Day tours, for several days each side of Anzac Day http://www.feztravel.com/

Silk, Perfume, Music and Food- another side of Florence

Florence is visual overload! I needed an antidote, and found it on the streets of Oltrano, on the ‘other side’ of the Arno river.
The huge brick workrooms of the Antico Setificio Fiorentino, the ancient Florentine silk factory are just along from the best lunch we ate. Trattoria Sabatini , via Pisana 2/r ,is a family run restaurant where the Buccioni family served us with pollo arrosto, patates arrosto, cavolo crude roast chicken, potatoes and coleslaw) and creamy stracchino cheese , and the usual glass of red wine, very cheaply . For once we were the only tourists in amongst local business people and artisans.
Back to the silk. Behind a wrought iron 18th century gate is a fabric lover‘s paradise- walls and walls of silk , damasks, brocades, linens and taffetas, in every shade, with braids, tassles and trims for every possible design scheme. Only an hour before, in the perfect Cappella Brancaccio we had seen two Florentine gentlemen in a 15th century painting wearing flowing garments of heavy velvet and silk, woven in this very factory.
Ten master weavers produce exquisite fabrics on six wooden looms from 18th and 19th century , and on six 19th century mechanical looms, for private houses, theatres, palaces, and state buildings in Italy and around the world. We saw photos of the Grand Palais of the Kremlin completely refurbished in Florentine silk. There is a Catholic connection here ,even with silk ,as it was Catholic missionaries who brought silk , and silk worms, back from China in the 12th century. However silk weaving has been in private hands ever since. I love the story of a new colour being invented for the birth of each baby in these families, and that colour being available only to that child’s family till its death. How is that for ‘exclusive’? Even now all fabrics are hand dyed, with no chemicals at all,
The saleswoman explained that Florentine silk is very different from Thai silk, and in her opinion much superior. I touched the soft filaments of silk , and
I lusted after a ’travellers pack’, consisting of a pillow and silk to match, but at E90 it was a bit much for a souvenir.
Antico Setificio Fiorentino, via L. Bartolini 2/4, Florence. Showroom has free entrance, and guided tours of the workshop are offered, by appointment only. Tel 055 213 861.
http://www.anticosetificiofiorentino.com/
To the sensuous touch of silk, we added the smell of roses. Near the railway station is an imposing doorway leading past frescoes and antiques, into a 16th century version of the Body Shop- Officina Profumo Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella. Nowadays a temple for the wealthy to pamper their bodies, the Pharmacy is one of the oldest n the world. Founded in 1221 by Dominican brothers selling their herbs and medicinal remedies, it is in a former chapel, and retains an air of quiet reverence. There are glass fronted wooden display cupboards housing such delights as eaux de colognes, essential oils, baby products, nourishing oils, powders, soaps and gels.The perfumes sounds like a florist shop- lavender, iris, gardenia, jasmine, violet, verbena, and the most popular, rose.
The inside of the body can be nourished with teas, tisane,s, honey products, herbs and infusions. There is even chocolate, licorice and extra virgin olive oil. All in exquisite packaging, at exquisite prices.
It is a beautiful, aromatic peaceful place to visit, and to marvel that the shop has been in that exact place since 1612
Officina Profumo Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella. Via della Scala, 16, admission free.
Music in Florence comes in many forms. Plainsong at S.Miniato al Monte, chant each midday at Badia, sung by the Brothers and Sisters of Jerusalem
A chamber concert in an Anglican church, across the Ponte Vecchio, in Oltarno. Franz Moser, an Austrian, studied the piano for years, then completed his law degree. He now lives in Sienna and organises concerts in Florence. In a beautiful Romanesque church, softly lit, with icons, frescoes and renaissance art on the walls, Franz played a fine grand piano to accompany Eva Mabellini, a well known Italian opera singer, in a recital of classical arias by the likes of Mozart, Rossini and Bizet. Franz played Chopin, Schubert, and Debussy, and we wished there had been more.
All profits from this Associazone Musicale support a charity project , AMALA,in south India. www.concertoclassico.info
All of these places we found in a wonderful book .
To Florence con Amore : 77 ways to love the city. by Jane Fortune
The Florentine Press 2007

Chinked coastline- the Cinque Terre

Sunshine in the morning let us explore the fabled colours and cleverness of the Cinque Terre. From Manarola we took a walk along Lover’s Lane, or Via dell’Amore- a paved, gentle walk for twenty minutes to the next village, Riomaggiore. Far below the sea promised excellent kayaking and snorkelling on its emerald water, fringing the rocks with clean white foam. The walkway had seats to admire the view, a couple of cafes in the summer and some picnic spots. Apparently it is so crowded in the season that the ticket numbers are limited.
Tickets? Yes we had to buy a day ticket to walk the walkways, and use the trains and buses between each town. As part of the revenue goes to preserve the unique and fragile landscape, we were very happy to contribute to keep this World Heritage area alive.
Riomaggiore and Manarola are two of the five villages, making up the Cinque Terre, tucked into rocky bays, making Wellington look like the Canterbury plains.
For lunch, we took one of the hourly Regional trains to Corniglia, very picturesquely perched on a rock, with 365 steps zigzagging up the hill. Fortunately a little electric bus meets the train, and we were delivered to the only café open for lunch. Later, full of pasta and red wine, we ventured to the furthest village, Monterosso. On foot it would take three hours on the narrow path , but on the train it took less than 10 minutes, mostly in tunnels!
Monterosso had a couple of pebbly beaches which attract the summer crowds, and a well organised boat, bus and train service, taking people out to sea, along the coast, and up the mountains to the Sanctuaries- sacred places for each village. Little was operating in late November, but we could still admire the faithful work over a thousand years which has built over 7000km of dry stone walls, to terrace the hillsides, and provide fertile patches of earth for olives, grapes and vegetables to grow.
On the hillside opposite our B&B, locals had places huge silhouettes of characters in the Christmas stories. Shepherds, sheep, cows, farmers, children, wise men, all look as if they are going up to the very top of the hill to the stable, outlined on the highest rock. The lights will go on , on 8 December.

The weather kept to its promise overnight- the wind screeched from the snowy mountains, the rain created streams along the perilous footpaths and stairways, and the sea changed from turquoise to evil grey. I recalled the gravestones in the hillside cemetery telling the stories of young fishermen, children and unwary tourists drowning and disappearing into the sea -summer warmth and seaside idylls seemed far away.
We covered our suitcases with our parkas, wore our thick coats and hats, and staunchly trundled down the silent village to wait for the train to Florence. The train whipped in and out of the many tunnels along the coast- a fantastic human achievement, in an impossibly beautiful area, rightly designated a world heritage site.