from çanakkale i caught the ferry across the dardanelles to a town called ecabet, and from there i went to see the battlefields of gallipoli.
i went with a heavy head. i knew generally how many men that died there, learned the specific number from the plaques at the information centre, a quarter million. i knew the general outline of the IWW and how it started, nations vying for control of what used to be the ottoman empire. i knew that i should feel the souls around me, bodies stacked like cordwood. but i did not. it was foggy and the pines reached up in the fog like fingers clutching, that was pretty and ghostly. i saw many birds, heard them singing to each other in the mist about how life goes in circles. and there was one particular hill that the anzacs tried to rush to gain control of the slopes on the other side. one hundred metres of dirt and scrub that made me think of the general pettiness of our species, maybe just of men. i knew what i _should feel, glory and all that. but i am not sure that i buy it. i am pretty sure we are on the wrong side of a war now. and we watched how they started it. it would be funny if it weren't serious -- we know where the chemical weapons are, they're somewhere to the north, south, east or west of baghdad. right? those men were my age or younger. one was an animal handler. maybe he understood the wise, mournful look in horses' eyes. maybe he didn't believe in fighting.
it stayed foggy all day. the sun came out only for an hour and during that hour i curled up on a picnic table and napped on the quiet battlefield as the water lapped on the pebbley beach. i was the only person there -- i hardly saw one other person. i saw two falcons, though, or eagles, big chesty birds high up in the scragley trees. if i come back i will come explore on a bike. it was definitely wrong to use a big pickup to tour the memorials of a colonial war.
