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Turn Right at Istanbul: A Walk on the Gallipoli Peninsula
This travel memoir reveals the thoughts and experiences of one of thousands of young Australians and New Zealanders who make the trek to the Gallipoli Peninsula in Turkey every year. Within the scope of his personal journey, the author also offers a brief history of the area and the famous World War I battle that has made this a significant place for Australian and New Zealand national pride, smattered with practical tips for those who wish to make the journey themselves.
250 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 2003
3 people are currently reading
19 people want to read
About the author
Tony Wright
3 booksTony Wright is a national affairs editor of the Bulletin. Before that he was a chief political correspondent of the Melbourne Age.
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Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews
May 13, 2017
Part travel book, part study of the motivations, behaviour and effects on the legions of (mainly) young Australians who visit the Gallipoli peninsula each year, in part searching for a sense of their own identity in the actions of their forebears in a long-ago war.
The Gallipoli campaign was not by any means the main event of World War 1, but in the forging of national spirit, in the search for national identity it was critical in Australian history. In fact, many more Australians died on the Western Front in France than at Gallipoli. Nevertheless, the Gallipoli-hardened veterans assumed a special status within the defence forces and at home as early as 1915, and the term 'ANZAC' was born at the cove and in the gullies of the rugged Turkish peninsula known now as 'Gallipoli'.
My grandfather was at Gallipoli, and Flanders and the Somme in France. Like the vast majority of his comrades who were fortunate enough to return, he hated talking about the war with his family other than in the vaguest way. He roundly denounced all war as a result of the horrors he witnessed.
Most of the young travellers Wright encounters are the great-grandchildren of the WW1 soldiers. Their search for connection and inter-generational meanings is nowadays backed up with academic and family based reseacrh efforts and a superb, and accessible national archive. At the date of writing this review, there are now only 5 survivors of WW1 left alive in Australia.
Wright has managed to capture the spirit and motivations of the modern pilgrims, as well as depict the tourist industry which has grown up to service their needs. Often they arrive as ignorant as their great-grandfathers did on this Aegean shore . Hopefully they leave better informed, and with a thirst to know more.
Wright examines the criticisms of the partying and over-indulgence in alcohol accompanying the Anzac Day (April 25th - the day of the landing at Gallipoli) commemorations each year, and concludes that the young people share much of the exuberance and joie de vivre of their equally free-spirited forbears. He also portrays the sober, good-natured manner of the actual commemorative services, and the positive interactions with their modern Turkish counterparts.
This is a very good book in the 'travel writing' genre, well-written by an experienced journalist. It is easy to read, and imbued with informed opinion. It is also much more, and I thoroughly recommend it to anyone with any interest at all in understanding this particularly Australian 'pilgrimage' phenomenon.
The Gallipoli campaign was not by any means the main event of World War 1, but in the forging of national spirit, in the search for national identity it was critical in Australian history. In fact, many more Australians died on the Western Front in France than at Gallipoli. Nevertheless, the Gallipoli-hardened veterans assumed a special status within the defence forces and at home as early as 1915, and the term 'ANZAC' was born at the cove and in the gullies of the rugged Turkish peninsula known now as 'Gallipoli'.
My grandfather was at Gallipoli, and Flanders and the Somme in France. Like the vast majority of his comrades who were fortunate enough to return, he hated talking about the war with his family other than in the vaguest way. He roundly denounced all war as a result of the horrors he witnessed.
Most of the young travellers Wright encounters are the great-grandchildren of the WW1 soldiers. Their search for connection and inter-generational meanings is nowadays backed up with academic and family based reseacrh efforts and a superb, and accessible national archive. At the date of writing this review, there are now only 5 survivors of WW1 left alive in Australia.
Wright has managed to capture the spirit and motivations of the modern pilgrims, as well as depict the tourist industry which has grown up to service their needs. Often they arrive as ignorant as their great-grandfathers did on this Aegean shore . Hopefully they leave better informed, and with a thirst to know more.
Wright examines the criticisms of the partying and over-indulgence in alcohol accompanying the Anzac Day (April 25th - the day of the landing at Gallipoli) commemorations each year, and concludes that the young people share much of the exuberance and joie de vivre of their equally free-spirited forbears. He also portrays the sober, good-natured manner of the actual commemorative services, and the positive interactions with their modern Turkish counterparts.
This is a very good book in the 'travel writing' genre, well-written by an experienced journalist. It is easy to read, and imbued with informed opinion. It is also much more, and I thoroughly recommend it to anyone with any interest at all in understanding this particularly Australian 'pilgrimage' phenomenon.
July 13, 2019
After having travelled to Turkey and the Gallipoli Peninsula two years ago I decided to revisit this book this Anzac Day. I loved seeing in my mind the places and sights Tony described, it made me very aware of how different his experience was to mine, due to increased security, however, I really appreciated my experience more after reading this.
December 20, 2025
I enjoy travel books, but war histories aren't really my thing. An interesting enough account of the author's roaming around from Turkey to Anzac cove and the - mostly young - other travellers he meets. A little of the insight into the 21st century 'creation of anzac pilgrimage' that I found interesting
March 4, 2012
In March 1979 Cathie and I travelled by bus from Athens to Istanbul. Why we wanted to go to Istanbul I can't remember. Maybe it was a way to delay our inevitable return to Australia and the end of our carefree travelling days. We had come to Athens from a two week sojourn to Egypt, which we did not enjoy at all at the time because of fleas and other things.
All I remember of the bus trip to Istanbul was waiting at the border post. Two of the passengers, a father and son, were returning to Turkey after a long time living in Australia. When they got to the border the father was removed from the passenger list and never seen again - at least not by us. The rumour was that he was deemed overdue for his military service and promptly arrested so he couldn't dodge it again. When Cathie and I lined up to have our bags checked by Customs, the border guard said "Have you got any drugs?" But I thought he said "Have you got any drax?" Drax was the colloquial shorthand for the Greek currency (drachma). So I replied, cheerfully, "Yes, I've got some here", as I reached into my pocket. Cathie looked on, aghast. When I pulled out the coins the border guard must have decided that he had a real idiot here, because he waved me on with an air of disgust.
From the border into Turkey I recall seeing tanks lined up on hilltops, their barrels pointing towards Greece, apparently at the ready. The two countries had been at war over Cyprus only a few years before. You can't take too many chances, you know.
In Istanbul we checked into the Kent Hotel, which turned out not to be a hotel for westerners, as we were the only non-easterners there. It was cheap enough and clean enough, though. One morning we woke up to the sound of machine-gun fire across the street. Apparently bank-robbing was a favourite past-time of anti-government terrorist groups, which was why we saw armed guards at every bank.
In Istanbul we went to most of the tourist sites that Tony Wright talks about in his book - the Topkapi Palace, Haghia Sophia, the Blue Mosque. We walked down to the Galata Bridge and watched the fishermen load and unload their boats. We used to buy delicious bread across the street outside the University when it was still fresh first thing in the morning. And we went to the covered bazaar, bought Turkish Delight (which didn't look anything like the Cadbury's sort at home), and gazed across the Bosphorus towards Asia.
I got an invitation to teach English at the University of Istanbul, which sounded dodgy to me, but probably wasn't (everyone was learning English). And we met a carpet salesman who talked us into going in his car (a Fiat - everybody had a Fiat) from the centre of town way out over the massive suspension bridge that officially joins Europe and Asia, to his family's carpet factory. We bought a small prayer rug, which to this day has lain on the floor of our bedroom at every house we have lived in since.
I mention all this because Tony Wright's book is a travelogue of Istanbul as much as it is "a walk on the Gallipoli peninsula". He covered more ground, in a shorter time, than we did, but essentially the journeys were similar.
Why we didn't turn right at Istanbul I don't know. At the end of the 70s Anzac Day was commemorated, but not as universally as it is now. In my family the memories of World War Two were still very raw. Mum had lost her only brother in New Guinea and no-one ever went to any Anzac dawn services that I can recall. Politically Mum was left of centre and took a dim view of anyone who tried to glorify war. She was strongly against the Vietnam War as well, and generally took an anti-British, anti-American, and anti-Menzies view of most things. She still watched "I Love Lucy" every night though.
Even amongst the young, independent, el-cheapo travellers of the late 70s (amongst whom we included ourselves) going to Gallipoli was not considered a "sacred duty" as Wright infers it was for the el-cheapo Aussies and Kiwis who feature in his story twenty years later. How and why this change in attitude took place is an interesting sub-plot to Wright's book.
Nevertheless, the focus of Wright's book is the events surrounding the commemoration of Anzac Day at Anzac Cove in Turkey, and the attitudes of the (mostly) young Australians and New Zealanders who had journeyed there from distant places for the occasion.
There was lots of drinking as well as contemplating, as you would expect with any group of young Aussies. The locals had their own events to commemorate as well as a ready source of tourist dollars to extract from eager wallets.
The events themselves, at Anzac Cove, Lone Pine and (for the Kiwis) Chunuk Bair are described with a sense of comraderie and respect. It is clear that the Turkish and Australian Governments have invested considerable resources in ensuring that the site reflects its history, and caters adequately to the thousands of visitors who descend on it annually. Wright also does a good job in emphasising how unwanted was the hero status that was heaped upon the troops.
A good read, as well as a good practical guide to taking the trip yourself.
All I remember of the bus trip to Istanbul was waiting at the border post. Two of the passengers, a father and son, were returning to Turkey after a long time living in Australia. When they got to the border the father was removed from the passenger list and never seen again - at least not by us. The rumour was that he was deemed overdue for his military service and promptly arrested so he couldn't dodge it again. When Cathie and I lined up to have our bags checked by Customs, the border guard said "Have you got any drugs?" But I thought he said "Have you got any drax?" Drax was the colloquial shorthand for the Greek currency (drachma). So I replied, cheerfully, "Yes, I've got some here", as I reached into my pocket. Cathie looked on, aghast. When I pulled out the coins the border guard must have decided that he had a real idiot here, because he waved me on with an air of disgust.
From the border into Turkey I recall seeing tanks lined up on hilltops, their barrels pointing towards Greece, apparently at the ready. The two countries had been at war over Cyprus only a few years before. You can't take too many chances, you know.
In Istanbul we checked into the Kent Hotel, which turned out not to be a hotel for westerners, as we were the only non-easterners there. It was cheap enough and clean enough, though. One morning we woke up to the sound of machine-gun fire across the street. Apparently bank-robbing was a favourite past-time of anti-government terrorist groups, which was why we saw armed guards at every bank.
In Istanbul we went to most of the tourist sites that Tony Wright talks about in his book - the Topkapi Palace, Haghia Sophia, the Blue Mosque. We walked down to the Galata Bridge and watched the fishermen load and unload their boats. We used to buy delicious bread across the street outside the University when it was still fresh first thing in the morning. And we went to the covered bazaar, bought Turkish Delight (which didn't look anything like the Cadbury's sort at home), and gazed across the Bosphorus towards Asia.
I got an invitation to teach English at the University of Istanbul, which sounded dodgy to me, but probably wasn't (everyone was learning English). And we met a carpet salesman who talked us into going in his car (a Fiat - everybody had a Fiat) from the centre of town way out over the massive suspension bridge that officially joins Europe and Asia, to his family's carpet factory. We bought a small prayer rug, which to this day has lain on the floor of our bedroom at every house we have lived in since.
I mention all this because Tony Wright's book is a travelogue of Istanbul as much as it is "a walk on the Gallipoli peninsula". He covered more ground, in a shorter time, than we did, but essentially the journeys were similar.
Why we didn't turn right at Istanbul I don't know. At the end of the 70s Anzac Day was commemorated, but not as universally as it is now. In my family the memories of World War Two were still very raw. Mum had lost her only brother in New Guinea and no-one ever went to any Anzac dawn services that I can recall. Politically Mum was left of centre and took a dim view of anyone who tried to glorify war. She was strongly against the Vietnam War as well, and generally took an anti-British, anti-American, and anti-Menzies view of most things. She still watched "I Love Lucy" every night though.
Even amongst the young, independent, el-cheapo travellers of the late 70s (amongst whom we included ourselves) going to Gallipoli was not considered a "sacred duty" as Wright infers it was for the el-cheapo Aussies and Kiwis who feature in his story twenty years later. How and why this change in attitude took place is an interesting sub-plot to Wright's book.
Nevertheless, the focus of Wright's book is the events surrounding the commemoration of Anzac Day at Anzac Cove in Turkey, and the attitudes of the (mostly) young Australians and New Zealanders who had journeyed there from distant places for the occasion.
There was lots of drinking as well as contemplating, as you would expect with any group of young Aussies. The locals had their own events to commemorate as well as a ready source of tourist dollars to extract from eager wallets.
The events themselves, at Anzac Cove, Lone Pine and (for the Kiwis) Chunuk Bair are described with a sense of comraderie and respect. It is clear that the Turkish and Australian Governments have invested considerable resources in ensuring that the site reflects its history, and caters adequately to the thousands of visitors who descend on it annually. Wright also does a good job in emphasising how unwanted was the hero status that was heaped upon the troops.
A good read, as well as a good practical guide to taking the trip yourself.
May 30, 2025
I did my basic training with Matt who becomes part of Tony's clique on his Gallipoli journey. He was the first person I knew who featured in a book. Cracking fella. We crossed paths again in Afghanistan at Forward Operating Base Qudus in the Chora valley. Matt, the surfer from the Northern Beaches was a sniper by then, but by far the loosest (in a cool sense) dude I knew holding down that job title. That's my anecdote.
About the book. Enjoyable walk through a proud historic era for Australians and New Zealanders without being jingoistic or nationalistically self-serving. All the stories from the past were just about ordinary soldiers rising to extraordinary heroics. All the stories from the authors trip were about the young pilgrims and their own experiences. It was refreshing and for once, unlike the usual cloistered intelligentsia telling us what a bunch of racist, drunken bogans we are, the author is more of an indulging uncle who's not judgmental, nor condescending, yet knowing of young people.
And I agree with my old comrade Matt... It is a museum, leave the relics and old ordnance there.
About the book. Enjoyable walk through a proud historic era for Australians and New Zealanders without being jingoistic or nationalistically self-serving. All the stories from the past were just about ordinary soldiers rising to extraordinary heroics. All the stories from the authors trip were about the young pilgrims and their own experiences. It was refreshing and for once, unlike the usual cloistered intelligentsia telling us what a bunch of racist, drunken bogans we are, the author is more of an indulging uncle who's not judgmental, nor condescending, yet knowing of young people.
And I agree with my old comrade Matt... It is a museum, leave the relics and old ordnance there.
October 20, 2007
I am from New Zealand so Gallipoli has been burnt into my national identity. Though none of my family fought in either of the World Wars, I still have this yearning to visit this place that encapsulates so much of New Zealand's identity.
Tony Wright is an Australian so much of the book is centered around Australians experiences and Australian National Identity. And Austrailians are definialty not the same as New Zealanders! So some of his references I really didnt get. What is 'Two up'?
He describes his adventures around Gallipoli in a really engaging way. He is there long enough to explore the battlefields in detail and relates much of his story to his great-uncle's diary; this adds a really human and historic touch to the book.
This was great for developing my plans for traveling to Gallipoli next year, where to stay, who to use, what to take and what to expect. The list of websites at the end is very useful too.
Tony Wright is an Australian so much of the book is centered around Australians experiences and Australian National Identity. And Austrailians are definialty not the same as New Zealanders! So some of his references I really didnt get. What is 'Two up'?
He describes his adventures around Gallipoli in a really engaging way. He is there long enough to explore the battlefields in detail and relates much of his story to his great-uncle's diary; this adds a really human and historic touch to the book.
This was great for developing my plans for traveling to Gallipoli next year, where to stay, who to use, what to take and what to expect. The list of websites at the end is very useful too.
March 18, 2011
Enjoyed this audiobook. Tony Wright's voice is very familiar to regular listeners of the local ABC radio, so hearing him read his own book was an added pleasure. It tells the tale of his journey through Turkey, and is very easy to listen to, especially in the car, as I did. I'm finding in a new area of enjoyment in GOOD audiobooks, and this one has certainly helped seal my desire to find more. Recommended for anyone with an interest in travel, history, or just an enjoyable tale.
July 29, 2011
I hadn't realised the significance of Gallipoli (and the extent of my ignorance about it) until reading this. It's written in a matey aussie style that mixes social observation and recounting of events as he tours under the shadow of the diaries of a long gone relative who fought at Gallipoli. Not a bad travelogue, and worth a read if you've got any interest in Turkey's finely balanced position in the world.
May 27, 2011
Loved this one. Even though I have no desire to got to Gallipoli for Anzac day, I still want to visit Gallipoli, and Tony Wright just increased that desire. I think it goes a good way to explain the young Australian's "obsession" with Anzac day and the Anzac legends and why no mater where you are in the world, you will always find an Australian or New Zelander.
June 4, 2016
Well written account of visit to Gallipoli. Some sad bits.
Displaying 1 - 10 of 10 reviews