Day 4 - Part 1 - Troy
Photos here
After arguing long and vociferously the night before about which of the package tours we were going to take, we eventually settled on the one that would pick us up from our hostel. This was because a) it would pick us up from the hostel, b) all the tours offered by the various agents cost the same amount, and c) we strongly suspected that all of the agents were actually selling the same tour. Oh, and d) we were knackered, and couldn't be bothered walking any more, let alone trying to hold another conversation with someone in Turkish.
Bright was the day, and high were our hearts, as we broke our fast on the day of our Troy tour. Events unfolded as I shall now describe - they include a Turkish submarine commander, graveyards and heroic battles.
Actually, to tell you the truth, I don't really think that I can continue the whole piece in epic style, but I'm sure that you get the point - this was an epic day in all sorts of ways.
To start the day off, someone came to collect us from our hostel, as promised. Unfortunately they were on foot, and we had to walk a way before reaching our motorised transport - a rather rickity old van. In the van, we met the main character of today's epic story - a tiny old man by the name of Captain Ali, who was (amoung other things) a retired Captain of the Turkish navy, a scholar specialising in historical troy, an impish story-teller with a knack for mischeivous humour, and (one suspects) something of a hard bastard underneath it all. He betrayed in flashes a disciplinarian streak and some very pro-secular-military political leanings. All in all, I liked him - I thought he was great. If you're ever in Turkey doing a Troy or Gallipoli tour with Fez Tours, ask for Captain Ali Efe. He was great.
Anywho, on with the story. Being driven somewhere by a Turkish driver in a rickity van is not for the faint of heart. Over parched landscapes, along dodgy roads, with no seat belts, we raced towards the site of western culture's most famous epic. The van's tires maintained a strained, tentative, but ultimately successful relationship with the road's surface, and it's suspension maintained a similar relationship with the wheels, and there were a couple of dodgy moments involving corners and speed and cars and narrow road and speed and potholes and speed, but we managed to make it to the destination in one piece. Piling with relief out of the van, into the already sweltering day, we looked through the gates at the Troy national park. Quite frankly, it was unimpressive. I'm not sure what I was really expecting - Achilles and Hector greeting me at the gates with a flash of bronze and a warlike cry? All that I could see were a bunch of low bushes and a tacky wooden horse which had been put up for the benefit of those who hadn't read up before arriving. Actually, those bushes were kind of elucidating - I'd always imagined the scenes from the Illiad being perpetrated amongst New Zealand-like greenery. The scrubby bushes and general yellowness of the surrounds were slowly bringing home to me what was meant by all those flowery descriptions - the flash of bronze from distant troops, the choking dust above the battlefield - this is the kind of country that I was looking at RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT. And that's when I really realised that I was standing in the same place that I'd read about a million times - looking back across 3000 years to a time when the way you recorded history was to write a song about it.
Before I left New Zealand, Genny said to me that the bit that she envied me for most was that moment, when you first stand there, realising the dream of a lifetime, and feel the overwhelming connection with history. Right now, I'd just like to say, Gen, you were 100% right. I can't wait for the Forum Romanum.
Enough soppiness. Ali led us to a little building which had a few information boards up describing the layers of historical Troy, and the dig which the treasure hunter, sorry, archeologist Schliemann conducted. And then, with little further ado, he led us to the ruins. Walking along the outside of the walls, slanted inwards as described in the Illiad, it struck me how solidly put together these walls were. Interlaced stonework for strength, the walls had survived the destruction of the city, innumerable earthquakes, and 3000 years. Actually, most of that is not true - those walls had only survived numerable earthquakes, and then only parts had survived. And the parts that had survived were helped by the fact that they were underground for most of that time. Still, it was impressive. It was cool seeing the tunnel and sharp turn before the gates, a measure to counteract the effectiveness of a battering ram which must have caused headaches for any merchant trying to move goods into or out of the city. Clambering up the hill to an unexcavated part of the site, we sat on rocks resting. Well, actually, I stood on a rock and looked out across the Trojan plain towards the water. Looking out, it was easy to imagine the armies of the Greeks and the Trojans charging back and forth across that flat land, as the ebb and flow of the battle raged. Somewhere below us was the river Scamander, but to tell the truth, I couldn't see it. The smallness of the site did nothing to diminish the wonder that I felt in standing in such a place - in fact, if anything, it made it seem more real.
Everyone was sitting there, waiting for Capt Ali to reanimate. Eventually, he began talking, telling of the evidence which convinced Schliemann that this was the site of Homer's Troy - the constant breeze (windy Illium), the picture-perfect plain, the proximity to the Dardenelles, the river in the right place...
Led around the city, we encountered the archeological uncoverings of different layers of the city. It was fascinating on the one level to find out about the evolution of technologies from one city to the next - how Troy II had unfired mud brick buildings, whereas by the time Troy III was built, fired brick was the material of choice. It was also interesting to learn of the various methods of destruction of each successive city - generally, earthquakes or people did for the city. It's a wonder that the people didn't give up and go somewhere else - they must have felt that they were constantly at war with both men and gods.
Needless to say, the largest and best preserved part of the ruins were those of Troy IX - the Graeco-Roman city founded in the reign of Augustus that died a slow death of asphixiation in the shadow of a burgeoning Byzantium. The fates of Troy IX and Troy VII (historical Homeric Troy) illustrate the truth of that immortal quote from the great poet Kurt Cobain - it's better to burn out than to fade away. Well, if you want people to remember you, anyway. Actually, if you want people to remember you, the Trojan cities probably indicate that you should hire a really good publicist, but anyway... We got a few pictures of ourselves sitting in various mock-imperial poses in the remains of the amphitheatre. I'm sure that in the future, looking back, I'm going to regret all the fun that I had posing for silly photos, but at the time it was all to the good. We also got a quick lesson in how to erect marble columns without having to carve the whole thing from one block, courtesy of our knowledgeable tour guide, complete with illustrative examples ("Here's one I prepared earlier!") Apparently you carve a little hollow in each section that you want to join together, and then pour molten lead into it, where it sets and holds the thing together. Those clever Romans!
Next came the best bit of the tour - we were led to site of the Scaean Gate, in front of which Hector fought bravely and died at the hands of Achilles, and Achilles in turn was shot by Paris. Needless to say, I was rather overcome by the imaginings in my brain, reciting bits and pieces of the story of the Trojan war in my head and fitting them to the landscape around me.
This pretty much concluded our tour of Troy, and we headed back towards the van. Gareth, Richard and I were headed back with Capt Ali to tour throught the Gallipoli battlefields that afternoon, which would provoke greatly different feelings - I guess it's easier to think of glory in conjunction with battle when it's coming at you across 3000 years accompanied by the polished phrases of a professional bard.
We entered the van, slamming the sliding door with a clash like arms on armour, and looked out across windy Illium. The van leapt away like swift-footed Achilles, a last vision of the site's structures glinting in the morning light like bronze touched by rosy-fingered dawn, and in the distance the broad plain stretching out towards the wine-dark sea.
Footnote: I am well-aware that the likelihood of the story of Troy being based more than extremely loosely on fact is not high. I am well aware that there is considerable debate still about whether or not the site I visited corresponds to Homeric Troy in any way. I believe that it does correspond, and that there is a good chance that the story of Troy has some grounding in fact. I believe this not from the point of view of a qualified archeologist, historian or anyone else whose opinion might carry weight - I believe it from the point of view of a romantic who'd like to believe. If you would like to make an acerbic comment regarding this, please leave it on someone else's blog.
After arguing long and vociferously the night before about which of the package tours we were going to take, we eventually settled on the one that would pick us up from our hostel. This was because a) it would pick us up from the hostel, b) all the tours offered by the various agents cost the same amount, and c) we strongly suspected that all of the agents were actually selling the same tour. Oh, and d) we were knackered, and couldn't be bothered walking any more, let alone trying to hold another conversation with someone in Turkish.
Bright was the day, and high were our hearts, as we broke our fast on the day of our Troy tour. Events unfolded as I shall now describe - they include a Turkish submarine commander, graveyards and heroic battles.
Actually, to tell you the truth, I don't really think that I can continue the whole piece in epic style, but I'm sure that you get the point - this was an epic day in all sorts of ways.
To start the day off, someone came to collect us from our hostel, as promised. Unfortunately they were on foot, and we had to walk a way before reaching our motorised transport - a rather rickity old van. In the van, we met the main character of today's epic story - a tiny old man by the name of Captain Ali, who was (amoung other things) a retired Captain of the Turkish navy, a scholar specialising in historical troy, an impish story-teller with a knack for mischeivous humour, and (one suspects) something of a hard bastard underneath it all. He betrayed in flashes a disciplinarian streak and some very pro-secular-military political leanings. All in all, I liked him - I thought he was great. If you're ever in Turkey doing a Troy or Gallipoli tour with Fez Tours, ask for Captain Ali Efe. He was great.
Anywho, on with the story. Being driven somewhere by a Turkish driver in a rickity van is not for the faint of heart. Over parched landscapes, along dodgy roads, with no seat belts, we raced towards the site of western culture's most famous epic. The van's tires maintained a strained, tentative, but ultimately successful relationship with the road's surface, and it's suspension maintained a similar relationship with the wheels, and there were a couple of dodgy moments involving corners and speed and cars and narrow road and speed and potholes and speed, but we managed to make it to the destination in one piece. Piling with relief out of the van, into the already sweltering day, we looked through the gates at the Troy national park. Quite frankly, it was unimpressive. I'm not sure what I was really expecting - Achilles and Hector greeting me at the gates with a flash of bronze and a warlike cry? All that I could see were a bunch of low bushes and a tacky wooden horse which had been put up for the benefit of those who hadn't read up before arriving. Actually, those bushes were kind of elucidating - I'd always imagined the scenes from the Illiad being perpetrated amongst New Zealand-like greenery. The scrubby bushes and general yellowness of the surrounds were slowly bringing home to me what was meant by all those flowery descriptions - the flash of bronze from distant troops, the choking dust above the battlefield - this is the kind of country that I was looking at RIGHT AT THAT MOMENT. And that's when I really realised that I was standing in the same place that I'd read about a million times - looking back across 3000 years to a time when the way you recorded history was to write a song about it.
Before I left New Zealand, Genny said to me that the bit that she envied me for most was that moment, when you first stand there, realising the dream of a lifetime, and feel the overwhelming connection with history. Right now, I'd just like to say, Gen, you were 100% right. I can't wait for the Forum Romanum.
Enough soppiness. Ali led us to a little building which had a few information boards up describing the layers of historical Troy, and the dig which the treasure hunter, sorry, archeologist Schliemann conducted. And then, with little further ado, he led us to the ruins. Walking along the outside of the walls, slanted inwards as described in the Illiad, it struck me how solidly put together these walls were. Interlaced stonework for strength, the walls had survived the destruction of the city, innumerable earthquakes, and 3000 years. Actually, most of that is not true - those walls had only survived numerable earthquakes, and then only parts had survived. And the parts that had survived were helped by the fact that they were underground for most of that time. Still, it was impressive. It was cool seeing the tunnel and sharp turn before the gates, a measure to counteract the effectiveness of a battering ram which must have caused headaches for any merchant trying to move goods into or out of the city. Clambering up the hill to an unexcavated part of the site, we sat on rocks resting. Well, actually, I stood on a rock and looked out across the Trojan plain towards the water. Looking out, it was easy to imagine the armies of the Greeks and the Trojans charging back and forth across that flat land, as the ebb and flow of the battle raged. Somewhere below us was the river Scamander, but to tell the truth, I couldn't see it. The smallness of the site did nothing to diminish the wonder that I felt in standing in such a place - in fact, if anything, it made it seem more real.
Everyone was sitting there, waiting for Capt Ali to reanimate. Eventually, he began talking, telling of the evidence which convinced Schliemann that this was the site of Homer's Troy - the constant breeze (windy Illium), the picture-perfect plain, the proximity to the Dardenelles, the river in the right place...
Led around the city, we encountered the archeological uncoverings of different layers of the city. It was fascinating on the one level to find out about the evolution of technologies from one city to the next - how Troy II had unfired mud brick buildings, whereas by the time Troy III was built, fired brick was the material of choice. It was also interesting to learn of the various methods of destruction of each successive city - generally, earthquakes or people did for the city. It's a wonder that the people didn't give up and go somewhere else - they must have felt that they were constantly at war with both men and gods.
Needless to say, the largest and best preserved part of the ruins were those of Troy IX - the Graeco-Roman city founded in the reign of Augustus that died a slow death of asphixiation in the shadow of a burgeoning Byzantium. The fates of Troy IX and Troy VII (historical Homeric Troy) illustrate the truth of that immortal quote from the great poet Kurt Cobain - it's better to burn out than to fade away. Well, if you want people to remember you, anyway. Actually, if you want people to remember you, the Trojan cities probably indicate that you should hire a really good publicist, but anyway... We got a few pictures of ourselves sitting in various mock-imperial poses in the remains of the amphitheatre. I'm sure that in the future, looking back, I'm going to regret all the fun that I had posing for silly photos, but at the time it was all to the good. We also got a quick lesson in how to erect marble columns without having to carve the whole thing from one block, courtesy of our knowledgeable tour guide, complete with illustrative examples ("Here's one I prepared earlier!") Apparently you carve a little hollow in each section that you want to join together, and then pour molten lead into it, where it sets and holds the thing together. Those clever Romans!
Next came the best bit of the tour - we were led to site of the Scaean Gate, in front of which Hector fought bravely and died at the hands of Achilles, and Achilles in turn was shot by Paris. Needless to say, I was rather overcome by the imaginings in my brain, reciting bits and pieces of the story of the Trojan war in my head and fitting them to the landscape around me.
This pretty much concluded our tour of Troy, and we headed back towards the van. Gareth, Richard and I were headed back with Capt Ali to tour throught the Gallipoli battlefields that afternoon, which would provoke greatly different feelings - I guess it's easier to think of glory in conjunction with battle when it's coming at you across 3000 years accompanied by the polished phrases of a professional bard.
We entered the van, slamming the sliding door with a clash like arms on armour, and looked out across windy Illium. The van leapt away like swift-footed Achilles, a last vision of the site's structures glinting in the morning light like bronze touched by rosy-fingered dawn, and in the distance the broad plain stretching out towards the wine-dark sea.
Footnote: I am well-aware that the likelihood of the story of Troy being based more than extremely loosely on fact is not high. I am well aware that there is considerable debate still about whether or not the site I visited corresponds to Homeric Troy in any way. I believe that it does correspond, and that there is a good chance that the story of Troy has some grounding in fact. I believe this not from the point of view of a qualified archeologist, historian or anyone else whose opinion might carry weight - I believe it from the point of view of a romantic who'd like to believe. If you would like to make an acerbic comment regarding this, please leave it on someone else's blog.
posted by Not My Former at 2:41 PM
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