Lucky seat number 13 wasnt so lucky for me, I was the only one with another dude sat next to me. I managed to escape the cramp an hour earlier than expected at 4.30am and found myself in a teahouse next to the ferry port where Çannakale's young and finest preferred tea, cards and cheap cigarretes to sleep. It was windy here on the Dardanelles and I felt cold again. I was desperate to get out east as quickly as possible but feared the chill that awaited me, it had already snowed in parts allegedly. I looked out my woolly hat for the first time most unexpectedly and walked the streets waitıng for the rest of the town to wake up. A digital temperature readout said 14 degrees but it must have been less, or Fahrenheit more like!
Breakfast was a strange affair in Çannakale, no omelette or even coffee to be had, you had a choice between Baklava (sickly sweet cakes) or soup. Perhaps now is the time to note that such is the Turkish language I was still struggling to master even the most basic phrases. Thankyou was still a mouthfull (Teşekkur ederim) and "without milk" was the worlds shortest tonguetwister (Süt sus), but oddly enough I did have Mercimek Çorba (Lentil soup) down pat. I bulked it out with bread and pretended it was a perfectly normal start to a day. Bus in on the redeye to a smoky poker den then freeze your baws aff till soup time. Then go visit a wooden horse. Natch!
Yup, the ancient city of Troy was just down the road and I was going to try and get a tour there. As it turned out the first place I tried had a tour leaving within the hour, pricier than a do it yourself job but emminently easier and with the added benefit of a guide. I wasnt a fan of tours, basically because tours were for tourists, but sometimes they just made sense and indeed were the only realistic option.