Turkey. I would finally go to the birthplace of Donna Kebab, see the planation fields of the Turkish Delight and, of course, eat the best turkey in the world.  Perhaps not, for in the end Turkey would change me forever.

Kim, my brother, and I flew into Istanbul – twice. There was an animal or some such obstruction on the runway as we were just metres from the tarmac (I could see the runway from my aisle window!) and full thrust was applied by the Captain…the landing was aborted.  Kim slept through the whole thing; at least he can now attest that his noise cancellation headphones are so effective they block out screams – my own.

After being ripped off by two taxi drivers and a local sim card reseller (I would have weird calls from an Iraq number for weeks asking if the coast was clear…I kept saying I knew nothing about the weather) we decided to meet up with friends and experience the Turkish nightlife.  From Galata Tower to Taksim Square we went and found a chic roof top bar…so “of the moment” in fact they added a bottle of imported vodka to our bill. Instanbul-sh&t…I was onto you now and no more plucking notes so easily from my wallet.

Our tour started just as Ramadan was ending so everything was closed…did they know about my closed wallet policy I thought? No, it seemed this was actually a big deal…much bigger than me…who knew?! (Thankfully we would see the Hagia Sofia, the Blue Mosque and visit the Spice Market on our return a few weeks later and they were all fantastic.)

To Ankara we went next, good food but no beer…the use of holy as a prefix by me I don’t think aligned with their religious use so thankfully the next morning we headed to Goreme.  By now my chills from Portugal had turned into man-flu on an international scale, so the entire bus trip I slept at the back and the driver had to stop to see what the noise was…my snoring…I was making friends by the minute.

Cappadocia in Goreme is breathtaking as it is a town carved into a rock valley and straight of out the first Star Wars (in fact some scenes were filmed there). On the way we stopped at a salt lake that was like walking on razor blades but resulted heart stopping shots.

I left the gang early that night to try to kick the man-flu that was building so much I think the CDC was hearing about it.  The next morning was hot air ballooning that quite simply is a must in your life…peaceful, clever in simplicity and endless photo opportunities.

Kim and the gang went off hiking and I went back to man-flu (international scale mind you!) sleep, but by the afternoon a trip on an ATV was too hard to resist.  That night we declined the chance to see whirling dervishes…this turned out to be the right decision as those that went fell asleep in their curries…seeing that would have been kinda great actually.

After drinks on bean bags surrounded by cats I woke the next morning to find one eye completed closed, my face swollen like the Elephant Man and my skin covered in a rash. Off to hospital I went where the service was first rate.  An interpreter took me to see the various specialists and an hour later I had so many prescriptions that would have sent the Australian medicine subsidiary scheme broke.  I missed effectively two days including the Turkish baths with Boris the Beast, Kim described this as more an assault on the senses than a relaxation of the same…so I wasn’t that upset.

Onto Konya via the fifty metre underground city and more snoring by yours truly.  The Mosque of Rumi was lacking, the river walking docile and the city was dry…where were those prescription drugs?

Antalya was a refreshing break with a pool at the hotel after a forty-degree stop-off to see an intact century old outdoor theatre, which was built to win the heart of the ruler’s daughter.  That night I was invited by our guide to come and meet his auntieeee…was this some kind of Turkish Tinder where there would be a cow offered to me with a hand in marriage…I declined and locked my door with every deadbolt possible.

Kas was next with a stop at the Roman ruins of Phaselis. The only thing to do at these was to swim and then only if you are Russian, trashy or what we found…both.  So onto Kas and dinner where I ate with a cat between my legs on a fabric shelf under the table…leaving that one alone.  This did allow us to hop on a boat the next day and that was amazing until two of the older members of the group who were swimming with floatation devices said ‘I’m riding a horsey’ and ‘I’ve got a big pink one’…I felt sea sick.

Xanthos was next where we found the suicide spot of the Lyceans who took their lives rather than be ruled by anyone.  Fethiye was our overnight location and we celebrated one of the girl’s thirtieths.  This included sheesha, shots and secrecy but no Donna Kebab at the end…the next morning I was so sick I asked could we go back to that spot at Xanthos…thankfully they didn’t understand my hung-over gibberish.

Onto Cotton Castle at Pamukkale, made up of limestone rock formations and hot springs, which brought the comment from one on the tour ‘it looks like snow’ even though it was forty degrees outside…so how about that request to return to the suicide spot at Xanthos? Never mind…the experience was unique and brought wonderful photos.

Ephesus was next and we finally had a great doner kebab…but no one knew who Donna was…we were still determined to find her. At Troy the next day we found a Trojan Horse but the ruins were largely covered due to layers of dust over time, Kim enjoyed this day immensely which was great.

The highlight of the trip for me was Gallipoli and after reading Peter Fitzsimon’s book I couldn’t wait…it would turn out to be the most challenging part of An Endless Summer thus far.

The ferry across the Dardanelles, the stop at Anzac Cove, then the planned landing site, Lone Pine and Chunuk Bair brought out such emotion that I was confused between feeling privileged to be here and outrage at the entire campaign.   It was a day that will stay with me forever and cemented my views on many international issues; I was left speechless and overwhelmed.

It made me realise that travelling with my brother Kim, a decade since our last overseas month together, and Sam, a few years since ours, had me bursting with pride of two gents that I call great mates…and as I was family they couldn’t go anywhere.

Turkey was a challenge with being sick for most of it whilst still covering three thousand and five hundred kilometers in twelve days.  That day, however, at Gallipoli put this in perspective and after reflecting on what had been so pointlessly lost had ignited something within and I was different, for the better.

Considering this was the longest, and for me the most impactful, holiday I have written about I find it hard to end with the gravitas it deserves…so in the words of Laurence Binyon:

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.