Anzac Cove on the shores of Gallipoli, Turkey. Photo / Getty Images
Anzac Cove on the shores of Gallipoli, Turkey. Photo / Getty Images
Ewan McDonald on how to plan your pilgrimage to Gallipoli
Some long-dead Greek who could not have foreseen its place in history called it Kallipolis, "beautiful city". Turks know it as Gelibolu; the rest of the world, particularly Australians and New Zealanders, as Gallipoli.
From the rocks, shingle and crags of the narrow spit separating the southern tip of Europe from the northern edge of Asia, three modern nations trace – if not their birth - certainly their labour pains. They are Türkiye, Australia and Aotearoa New Zealand.
Lest we forget. During World War I, Allied forces wanted to secure a naval route from the Mediterranean to Istanbul through the Dardanelles Straits, past Gallipoli Peninsula, and take the Ottoman Empire out of the war. The Ottoman navy sorted out the British and French fleet off Canakkale on March 23, 1915.
That led to ill-fated landings on the peninsula by British, French and other troops, primarily the transtasman mates now known as the Anzacs, a month later on April 25, 1915. In eight months, around 44,000 Allied and 86,000 Ottoman soldiers died.
For New Zealanders and Australians, fighting overseas for the first time under their own flags, Gallipoli and Anzac Day are the totems from which we trace our emergence as independent nations. Commemorations at the now-Turkish battle sites have become near-religious pilgrimages for many.
Covid-19 halted those. This month, for the first time since 2019, Aotearoa and Australian delegations return to Gallipoli, with Veterans' Minister Meka Whaitiri attending the Dawn Service and visiting the Māori Contingent Pā site at Number 1 Outpost, Shrapnel Valley, Beach Cemetery and Twelve Tree Copse Cemetery, where some of the fiercest fighting took place.
It will be the first time New Zealand "civilians" can return, with several registered for this year's Dawn service on the peninsula. Those who have visited Gallipoli may note some subtle – and not-so-subtle – changes in atmosphere. First-timers should do their homework before rocking up with up to 10,000 others who will descend on the towns of Canakkale, Eceabat and Gelibolu that week.
Gelibolu, also known as Gallipoli, Turkey. Photo / Getty Images
Frankly – and we're not shilling for travel agents here – you should plan well ahead and consider an organised tour, particularly if you're in an older age group.
There will be many already planning next year's piligrimage already.
Tour companies reserve most hotel rooms and local transport long before April. It'll also be more comfortable at the Dawn Service – see BJ Clark's comments. Alternatively, you can take an overnight excursion from Istanbul.
Several NZ-based tour companies are already advertising 2023 packages that take in accommodation, transport and guided visits to other important sites. You could DIY and hire locals but… how good is your Turkish, and how good are you at their national sport of haggling?
The country has a remarkable health service but has not coped well with Covid-19; a year is a long time in pandemics but it's another factor to take into account.
And if you think the cost of living is a crisis here, you aint seen nothin' yet. Inflation in Turkiye jumped 54 per cent last month; bread and other staples triple in price monthly. A mate has a well-paid professional job in Izmir; well, he would if they paid him, which they don't always get around to.
Turks are especially welcoming to Kiwis and Aussies, particularly around Anzac Day, but visitors should appreciate local sensitivities. Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the visionary field-marshal who created the republic, made his name by repelling the Allies at Gallipoli and the country is marking its centenary next year.
Sensing patriotic fervour and political opportunity, the autocratic and divisive president Recep Tayipp Erdogan has called an election for June. Election campaigns in Turkiye tend to raise the locals' blood pressure rather more than ours do.
Last month Erdogan inaugurated the world's longest suspension bridge - the 1915 Canakkale Bridge – at Gelibolu. Apart from the name, the bridge is awash with symbolism: it crosses the Dardanelles; its 2023m central span recognises the centenary; its 318m towers nod to March 18, when Türkiye honours soldiers killed at Gallipoli.
This is a good time to point out we're writing "Turkiye" because the notoriously thin-skinned president changed its English spelling in December (it's always been the Turkish rendering). Some say it's because a Google search for Turkey brings up the bird, a definition of "something that fails badly" or "a stupid or silly person".
And during Erdogan's reign, NZ military historian Ian McGibbon has noted a change in that renowned Turkish respect for the Anzacs. "Twenty years ago, there was no, 'We beat you,' or 'You beat us.' It was commemorating the event," the Herald reported last week.
"Every Anzac Day now, four or five thousand Turkish youths come and march to Chunuk Bair, because they're following in the footsteps of Ataturk's division to where they stopped Australians and New Zealanders. There's an element of, 'This is where the Muslims threw back the Crusaders'."
Clark and McGibbon emphasise most everyday people in western Turkiye welcome Kiwis and admire the Anzacs. Ataturk frequently referenced his enemies' bravery: "Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives ... You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country... You, the mothers who sent their sons from faraway countries, wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace."
There's doubt he ever said or wrote the words. But that's another story, and not one we need think about on Anzac Day. Today, we will remember them.
The Lone Pine Memorial and War grave in Gallipoli, near Canakkale Turkey. Photo / Getty Images
'The waste, and the folly'
For RSA national president BJ Clark, an Anzac Day pilgrimage raises memories of the past and hopes for the future.
Returning to Gallipoli is particularly significant and important because it has become the focal point of New Zealand as a nation - it was the first time our service personnel went overseas to fight under their own flag and it is where Anzac was born.
I had the honour to represent the RSA at Gallipoli for the centenary in 2015. We were accompanied by 24 young New Zealanders from the age of 16 to 18, the NZ Youth Ambassadors.
To look through their eyes as we went around the battlefields was very poignant. I was standing next to an 18-year-old who was gazing down on the grave of an 18-year-old and that was one of the things that brought it home to those young people how tragic Gallipoli was.
When we went to the Anzac Day service, a lot of people had arrived the day before, they'd slept overnight and heard the speeches, movies on Gallipoli, the chatting, the sleeping. It was very, very cold so you've got to be pretty keen to stay out overnight.
You sit there, and as the service is about to start, there's quiet all around. There's such a hush that you can actually hear the lapping of the water on the shore. It was quite eerie and very emotional. You can't help but look out to where people came ashore and faced an enemy that was in a much better position and firing down upon them.
They were exposed and you've got to say, for those people to jump off those boats and move ashore, there was a lot of bravery in that. They must have realised the likelihood that they were not going to last very long.
It wasn't a war that we won. We got our butts kicked. But one of the amazing things about Gallipoli is that the Turks hold an enemy in such high regard. I think it is because of their bravery.
When you realise how close the two foes were, the saying "you could have thrown a rock at each other" was actually true. They did call out to each other and have conversations, and you hear stories of where a battle stopped so the wounded could be taken off the battlefield.
Again, one of the things that struck me was the friendliness of the Turkish people today to people from an invading nation. We inflicted considerable cost on their military people and yet they still honour us by welcoming us into their country, by allowing us to hold remembrance occasions at Lone Pine and other sites.
I came out of my hotel one day and two Māori boys were sitting in a little square, playing their guitars and singing. The locals were standing there and enjoying their music. They couldn't talk with the people around them but the communication was in the music.
Another day we were walking down the street in Canakkale and a group of Turkish youths were playing basketball. Again, without being able to speak one another's language, two minutes later two groups of people were connecting through sport.
You read how these people left New Zealand thinking they were going on an exciting overseas trip and they'd be gone for about six months and they'd be home. As you go through the Dardanelles and into the bay that opens up into where Gallipoli is, it's beautiful. You can imagine those people on the ship going, 'Wow, look at this, this is wonderful'.
In a very short time the wrath of heaven opens up and they're under attack from large guns and rifle fire and machine guns. It must have been like walking into hell.
We say about our youth today, "What would they know about war?" I've heard of so many of our young people who've gone on their big OE and at the top of their list was to be in Gallipoli on Anzac Day.
Our young people want to go there and understand and breathe and be part of that. I have no doubt that when they leave there, they will leave a different person. If you look at the terrain where our people fought, if you look at the graves, you understand the waste, and the folly, and that will stick with those young people for the rest of their lives.
