I have just been woken up by the 6 AM call for prayer. I am currently camped on he rocky fringes of the coastal settlement of Karikoy, on the Turkish island of Gokceada, I still hae the sore throat that came on suddenly last night, which combined with a recent sneezing fit & a slight headiness indicates I’ve got a cold, pick’d up, I dare say, in the Istanbul metro system a few days ago. So back to Istanbul we go, where, within half an hour of uploading the last blog, I was question’d on suspicion of being a terrorist.
I was wandeirng thro’ Istanbul, happy as larry, marvelling at the massive tombs of the Ottoman sultans, & suddenly noticed a nice European builidng with an Iranian flag – the consulate I was guessing -, an interesting dichotomy. so I too a photo on my phone, & out of nowhere this guy grabs me by the arm & orders me to delete the photo. His pal arrriv’d moments later, & I was now in the hands of an ant-terrorism unit. Jeesh!
I was interrogated via google translate – what are you taking photos / what you doing here – stuff like that. I explain’d I was a poet on pilgrimage to the ruins of Troy, & I was interested in the dichotomy of an Asiatic flag on a European building, after which, their boss somewhere at the end of the phone confirm’d I was not known for terroist activity & to just check the rest of my photos. They show’d I was just a bit snap happy, but definitiely not a threat to Iranian national security, & I was let go! Talk about front-line sonnet-hunting. I was literally 8 lines into a sonnet when I was accosted, a natural, living-the moment ‘turn’ if there ever was one in a sonnet.
I took a walk about the Golden Horn
Like everybody eles in awe, amazed
This place where Christianity was born
By mMslem corpses totally outphased
Way down Sikircis slopes I meet the sea
Fleets of phantoms passing in the harbour
The Genoans of 1453
& those young knights off to Balaklava
I took a photo at the consulate
Is that Iran? alas, conspicious
For half-an-hour I would never forget
With anti-terrorists all over us
Don’t need no Turkish prison in my path
Best place for me’s the nearest Turkish bath
I was a bit rattl’d by the occasion, but then three events, or signs, happen’d in rapid succession. First I saw flash up, in big, red neon letters, the word TROY by a travel shop. Troy, of course, that’s why I’m in this mad fucking city in the first place. A few doorways up was a gift shop, & I this guy dropped a fancy key ring, which pick’d up & was just handing it to him when he said, keep it, it’s a gift. Its blue, there’s a metal hand on it, & there’s little eyes on strings, & it feels like it could be some kind of lucky charm, given to me by the gods.
Also given to me a few meteres later was a 100 lira note (£2), which I saw fall out of this guy’s pocket. Normally I would have given him teh money back, but this seem’d the last part of a weird ‘universal sign’ trilogy, so I pick’d it up & pocketed it.
It was then a wee walk to a train station to assess the next day’s morning journey to Dudullu Coach station, wher Id book’d a bus for Canakkale. Dudullu is way out east in this huge city, & it turns out I’d be catcing first a train under the Bosphorus, then a metro for about 10 stations just to begin my journey out of Istanbul.
After that I wanderd back thro a lovely park, then the deliciously beautiful & intociating Golden Horn coast – an amazing panoramic panoply of land, sea & curvature. Then it was vack in to the to-ings & fro-ings of Fatih, whose streets had been taken up by a massive ‘covere’d’ market, with the canvas rooves stretching wall-to-wall, across the streets.
I then hit my room with a load of supermarket food & just fired into a load of work on the Shakespeare authorship question, & my own Silver Rose epic sequence of poems, which these new sonnets will be a part of.
After a marathon session of academia, I think I’d adrenalis’d my brain into a state of ‘unable-to-sleep’, & so set off about 7.30 AM a bit sluggish. I went back to the cafe where I’d uploaded the last blog – they were nice people -, order’d some tea & began my claim with Air B&B – in the end I got 15 back, a third of what I paid fir teh extreme filthiness.
It was then time to retrace my steps, in fine spirits & sunshine, along the coast & back to the train station I’d scouted yesterday. I asked a smart-looking guy with a bright red ferrari jacket for help, who proceeded to gladly guide me onto the two trains I’d need to get to Dudullu. Anotehr example of how nice the Turks are & how much they like to help the erstwhile traveller.
So I gets to Dudullu, but have no idea where the bus station is when I surface. My internet doesnt work here, but it allows me to see my location as a blue dot on google maps. But I cant type in the place I want to find, so I have to take screenshots of maps of where I want to go when I have internet, & try & match them up with my blue dot. But I swear down, it does get a bit confusing, it takes complete leaps of faith, & Dudullu was no different.
Luckily, afer a maddening 20 minute meander, I ask’d Ozman & Vulcan for help, & they dropp’d me right off at the coach station. Besiktas fans, we chatted a bit about the footy & how Mourinho had just been sack’d by Fernebace. I’m a massive fan of Mourinho – if he’s the ‘Special One’ of the footy, I’m the Special One of poetry.
I bought some supplies for the Flixbus west, but I didn’t realy have to as there was an ‘assistant’ on teh coach who brought round drinks & snacks for bakshish. He also used his phone number to help me acces the bus internet, so I gave him the 100 rupees that guy had dropp’d yesterday. In subsequence he gave me whole bottles of pop & loads of bags of savoury & sweet snacks.
At the first stop, a policeman boarded the bus & ask’d for everyone’s identity papers. My neighbour said quick, put your seat belt on. It was tense, & very police-statey. The guy then takes a photo of my passport – the second time in 2 days!
So the bus continued, thro’ tunnels & tolls & a Turkish landscape of sunblasted browns, beiges, mountains & occasional belts of forestry. This journey, of course, was by the Sea of Marmara, so there was plenty of blue too – a fine jouney indeed.
Also on the bus was a DJ, whose name, Ozman, meets poetry. There was a funny moment; we were having a smoke & I ask’d him for a light, & he pulls out his memory stock. Instead of lighting a smoke, the stick instead spark’d a conversation about what he play’d as a DJ. When he said disco I’m like, mate, I’ve got a massive folder of disoc with me – about 75 tunes, after which we began a tune swapping session, via his memory stick, onto each other’s laptops. It was well cool, we’re both sat by each other, nodding heads in unison to tunes we’d never heard before – a true & blessed moment of international cameraderie.
“This is a real treasure”, he gush’d at me, listening to this Chic remix I’ve got, & it’s great to share the music. Years ago, my mate Hamish had given me loads of cool tunes via memory stick, which I wa slistening to as I travers’d India on a bus one journey, & this moment felt just the same. In fact, some of the tunes Hamish gave me then, I’d just given to this Ozman – I mean that’s just cool karma.
After about 5 hours, the bus was rapidly approaching the western end of the Sea of Marmara, & the famous Hellespont, swam by Byron in 1810. The bus terminatd at a coach station on the very edge of town, & it was where Ozman caught a taxi in a different direction, leaving me to find my new air bb on my todd.
What a relief, you made it chief!
In deepest Asian Istanbul
The bubbling hub of Kamilkoc
Serving Turkey since 1926
I met Ozman on the coach
His name means poetry in turkish
We sat there swapping dj sets
Heads nodding to the groove and the road
I’m on the borders of being brilliant
I mean, Mount Ida;s over there somewhere
& acrss the byron-swam Hellespont
Anzacs died for England
So, this is where the next adventure starts
The one that makes the blood pound in mens’ hearts
I began by crossed a busy motorway, & simply walked into the center of Canakkale writing a sonnet on my laptop. Apart from that, I didn’t feel too conspicious, & the turks are sound, everyone’s been right friendly & helpful, I’m not worried to be seen in the streets with a backpack on.
Getting to my digs was interesting – I met Ali outsdie in the street, who took me into his office, then led me to my room. It was the best of the bunch of a few together behind one main door, with a shared kitchen & bathroom, & men only. The air BB room, mine, overlooking the (noisy) street, with a balcony. It was clean enough, the sheets might only have been chang’d a day or two ago as opps’d to the however long of the last one.
Unfortunately, the fire-alarm thingy was running out of battery, & went off with a bleep every few seonds, so I got Ali to come have a look – there was no way me & my fumble fingers were gonna touch it. He eventually prised off the alarm, & took the battery out, leaving me happy in the expectance of a beepless night’s sleep.
Then I went out into a balmy evening. Canakkale is really cool – a univesity town, teeming with cool bars, restaurants & joi de vivre. There’s loads of narrow alleway & Sitges-style party streets, & I loved exploring it, indulging in my first natice doner experience – well tasty. I even stumbl’d on some buskers, one with an accordian, who spoke great english, & i was digging the turkish folk vibes. I then gave them Stand By Me, in return, an international classic, before returning to my rooms in a great state of mind. I was out if Istanbul, & I was well & truly on my travels.
The Turks they are a gallant race
Gallipoli defiant
The age of empires met their pace
Then treat them like a client
Now, laugh, they, off those global games
Aontented, them, to be
Alive & thriving round the lanes
Of down-town Canakkale
I took my camera to the streets
Composed so many photos
To show to Hadyn & to Keats
I am the Silver Rose
& while wild lust for art repeats
Let’s follow! “Where?” “Who knows?
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