The golden apples of Hesperides, the Golden Fleece, King Midas whose touch turned everything, even his beloved daughter, into gold--these are all legends of the Golden Age of Greece which seems itself to have been an age of gold. It must have been an exciting time. There were dragons to be slain, gods and goddesses to be appealed to and appeased. The gods and goddesses, powerful as they were, behaved in a very human fashion. They played favorites, were often bitterly jealous of each other, and took merciless revenge on unfortunate mortals who offended them.
Visiting the sites of ancient cities and seeing temples dedicated to various deities brought the Golden Age to life for us twentieth century tourists and left us with unforgettable mental pictures of the wonders we had seen.
From Kusidasi we drove north to Pergamum, once a great fortress city strategically and dramatically set on a hill that rose more than a thousand feet above the plains below.
It was further protected by small rivers on each side. Alexander the Great's general Lysimachus is said to have buried a fortune in gold talents somewhere in this well guarded city. In Pergamum we saw the Aesculpus, the sanctuary of healing. We saw the Acropolis and the Roman Temple of Trajan.
All that sunny afternoon we wandered around exploring, taking snapshots, and admiring the views. Archeologists were at work while were there. They had discovered the ruins of two palaces.
Thar night we stayed in the seaport town of Canakkale and early next morning went to Troy, a city whose name is magic. Who can think of Troy and not think of Homer, of the Iliad, and of that all-time femme fatale, Helen? Who cannot think of "the face that launched a thousand ships and fired the topless towers of Ilium"? We were aware that there was little to be seen but nevertheless here we were where Achilles and Hector, Priam and Hecuba had once lived. Dr. Schliemann's efforts had unearthed walls and other treasures.
There was an unconvincing wooden horse where the Greeks had placed their treacherous gift.
Perhaps one day Troy will be like Ephesus, a city brought back to life.
After this momentous morning we returned to Cannakkale and took the ferry across the Dardanelles (another magic name) to the Gallipoli peninsula. A bus took us to the cemetery there. I hadn't realized what a shocking sight this would be.
In one of the fiercest battles of WW I, more than 500,00 men died. At Anzac Cove where the Australians and New Zealanders landed, I saw a headstone near the water's edge. On it was the name of an eighteen year old soldier. There were many other teen-agers in the cemetery on the hill above the beach. At Anzac Cove is Kemal Ataturk's eulogy carved in stone.
It is a harsh reminder that there are two sides in a war. He speaks of "the Johnnies and the Mehmets" and the viewer instantly realizes that young Turks lost their lives there too. It was a war for which there was no real reason and was as senseless as W's arrogant invasion of Iraq. Gallipoli cemetery is a beautiful, sad, and profoundly sobering place. Anyone visiting must think of, and never forget, the heart-breaking cost of war.
It was a long, rather silent and subdued trip up the coast to Istanbul in a sudden spring thunderstorm. It had been a marvelous journey--an unforgettable journey. We had our last good dinner at the Golden Age Hotel. Next morning we crossed the Galata Bridge for the last time and passed the Blue Mosque again on our way to the airport and our flight from Byzantium.