Destined For Travel 4: On The Road To Troy. A Travel Journal.

La Tierra Del Viento

I found myself on a car ride from İstanbul to Çanakkale with two Argentinians. We took the western path through Gallipoli, famous with its sunflower fields. The asphalt rushed under our feet while some Argentinian Rock played on the background. The countryside scenes, fresh air and occasional rain showers were our companions as we watched from the car windows. The smell of wet soil awoke minds memory reminding me of the roadtrips from my childhood. The innocent days of wonder and joy unspoiled by the worldly troubles. It was December, calm. The road took us across the Dardanelles, a bridge, then at the city center of Çanakkale we were finally at the destination. Then our story began…

The cold did not bother me much, as it meant that the places we’d be visiting would be without crowds and noise. Downing my jacket, fingerless gloves, and beanie, I was ready to explore. The first day in the city center of Çanakkale, we enjoyed some live music at a small local bar. It was such a great time being in a new city making friends immediately. The next day it felt heavy, as we visited the famous Gallipoli peninsula to explore the World War I memorials, battlegrounds and museums. It was my first time visiting here. The graveyards of the martyrs in the middle of forests and the fields were an eye-opening experience to anyone who is about to be put in their shoes. What it meant to defend your own country was truly striking. I felt overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts of all those who have sacrificed their lives for the sake of freedom and the motherland. One hundred years ago, and also thirteen hundred years ago.  Thousands of lives for our freedom. Soon I’d become a soldier myself.

On The Road To Troy

We woke up early and left the house, buying some baked goods at the Fırın. With yummy smells of freshly baked good we hopped on our car, and set on our journey. It took an hour from Çanakkale city center to our destination. I remember the moment I saw the turn sign on the road. This was truly it. We were here… Troia. Lightning in a bottle. The dark folds of history shrouded the realities of daily life for the Trojans. Still, we have clues buried under birth rubble, dirt, and centuries. Also, there is a lot to be learned from literature about the past. The road that leads to the Windy City is long and dark, but through literature we can open a window into the past.

Entering the historic site brought a tsunami of emotions , and a mysterious ancient connection as if I was returning home after a long time. I already knew that this day would be unforgettable. After turning into the town of Hisarlık I could see the Museum. This building was a brutalist architects wet dream. Opening in October 2018 the museum stood half way buried so it did not stand too tall on the landscape but also representing the history buried beneath these lands. You need to walk a long causeway down 2 floors to enter and climb up each floor as you explore. Hands down one of the best museums I have been to with all the artifacts that it had and the way they all were being displayed.

You can get a single ticket to visit the museum and also enter the site of the ancient city.

All these amazing artifacts show a culture of proud warriors, devout believers, and kings. But in my heart, I wonder mostly about the simple life of a shepherd which would change the history of all human kind. Paris.

Homer’s Illiad: Through My Eyes

First lets get a short glimpse of the history of these epic story through my eyes:

I saw Paris, son of King Priam, was abandoned when he was a baby because it was prophesied that he would bring the downfall of Troy. The King gave the order to remove the child and kill him, but instead of killing the young prince, Agelaus, the chief herdsman of the king, not being able to kill the infant himself, left Paris on Mount Ida to die of exposure. Yet, a she-bear found Paris and fed him her milk. After 9 days, Agelaus found him alive. He was so impressed by the resilient infant that he would not execute his king’s commands, and takes Paris to his home. Agelaus to hide this act gave King Priam a dog’s tongue as evidence of Paris’s death.

Years pass and Paris comes back as a strong young warrior and his father King Priam excepts him back to his court as a Prince of Troy. What an event to be witnessed. A ticking time bomb.

“Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.”

― Homer, The Iliad

Fall Of Troy

Now imagine, the ancient city of Troy, strong and proud, a jewel amidst the vast landscape of Anatolia. The tale of this city and the war waged upon it has echoed through the ages, whispered like a ghostly breeze among the ruins and captured by the words of a poet long gone. Picture the vibrant streets, the laughter that once rang through the markets, and the looming shadows of heroes destined for glory and tragedy.

As Helen is taken, the winds of war begin to stir. Now picture the warriors led by King Menelaus and his brother Agamemnon, driven by vengeance for the abduction of a woman. The great fleet sails forth, laying siege to the mighty walls of Troy for ten relentless years, as echoes of battle ring and the cries of the brave can be heard on the bloody fields.

The tension rises during the tenth year, as King Agamemnon disrespects Achilles, by taking Briseis, a woman bestowed upon him as a prize. The fury in Achilles is palpable, a flame that ignites the hearts of his soldiers. Picture Achilles’ mother, Thetis, imploring Zeus to shift the tide of war, the fate of the Greeks hung by a thread.

As I witness the struggles, I see how Achilles’ beloved friend, Patroclus, equips Achilles’ armor, a bold disguise that sends him into the fray. Yet, tragedy awaits as Hector, the valiant Trojan prince, claims Patroclus’ life, igniting a firestorm within Achilles’ heart. The fierce Achilles returns to battle, looking like a vengeful god, armor gleaming, and fury embodied.

But even as Hector falls, swiftly struck down by Achilles’ wrath, visualise the heartache and sorrow that ensues in King Priam. Achilles, blinded by grief, dishonors Hector’s body, dragging it behind his chariot, while the city of Troy watches in despair. But amidst this chaos, the gods intervene, showing compassion as they preserve Hector’s form from decay, a bittersweet moment restoring a fragment of humanity amidst the bloodshed. King Priam sneaks into the tent of Achilles and kisses his hand begging him to return the body of Hector. He obliges.

Greek forces rally, yet Achilles knows his own prophecy: that he is destined to die young. His fate intertwined with that of Paris, the very prince who sparked this conflict. Picture the moment when Paris, armed with a bow, releases an arrow guided by another’s hand, striking Achilles in his vulnerable heel, sealing his tragic fate.

The Greeks, using cunning and wit, construct a colossal wooden horse, with Odysseus‘ advice, a deceptive gift left at the gates of Troy. Imagine the moment the Trojans, emboldened by a false sense of victory, drag the horse within their walls. The nightfall creeps in; as hidden warriors emerge, and chaos unfurls within Troy and the windy city is finally taken after ten long years, the cries of its people echoing in the dark. Total destruction. As it was prophecised.

Even in victory, there is mourning. As the gods rage against these sacrilegious acts, the surviving heroes find not rest, but struggle against the wrath of fate. This ancient story, rich with love, honor, and sorrow, weaves its way through the ages, reminding us all, whether Greek or Trojan, of the fragility of glory and the permanence of memory.

Ode To The Fallen City

On The Way Out

The city walls were behind us as we drove away towards the unknown. Like Odysseus we immediately got lost trying to find a beach to try watching the sunset even though the clouds covered almost every inch of the sky. Yet, we still went. The roads took us to a military base that was an old castle so we had to backtrack a lot, and then dirt roads that our tiny rental car was not ready for. Still, we pushed through. Even though we came across a skull on a stick put there to scare away any soft hearted people. Nothing could stop us to reach the beaches of Troy.

Now, after a full day of breathing as a Trojan defender, and thinking like a Greek attacker, as reckless as Paris, and as vengeful as Achilles, as furious as Apollo and as hopeful as Helen, I felt myself again. This amazing place that captured the imagination of many many souls laid half buried, ruined and forgotten. I touched the sands and felt the cold water welcoming me back to my own reality. I felt home. Within myself no matter where I would be. Maybe just like Helen, I felt right at home.

As I lived thousands of lives, and thousands of years my soul felt at ease.