Chronicles of the Berkshire Pig: Eurocrank 3

Next morning and it was a walk across to the ferry terminal...

...which actually looked more like a theme park.

But sure enough, we had a boat.

This us took us across a drizzly Marmara. I have to say, the greatest learning of the trip so far had been the etymology of various kebab houses I have frequented over the years.

Ahead of us was a few days of train cranking, with me diving off to get some grounds in, and hopefully a couple of games.

We docked on the Southern coastline at Bandirma.

Although the station was directly adjacent to the port, the convenience wasn't that essential as the one train a day didn't leave for another six hours.

Although the ticket office was already open.

So what to do in a Turkish seaport for a quarter of a day? Well, we went and had a look at the loco depot, with a fine line up of the three Turkish passenger diesel types. Firstly, shunting some container flats, a class 24 which is a Turkish build of a 1970s French design, and the most common type, with over 400 built.

Stabled was a more modern class 33, which are a rarer Turkish build of a General Motors design. Finally, atop our passenger train, an older 1980s GM design, but again built in Turkey.

Turkish diesels only have a cab at one end, so if they are doing long journeys, still make use of the steam age turn tables to get the cab in a prominent position.

The reason for our visit was that the line is being electrified so will soon be worked by juice units. The depot was being rebuilt to accommodate them.

Still some work to do.

We made our way up to the top of town for a bit like of a view.

However, it immediately misted over and absolutely lashed it down.

I decided to utilise the remaining five hours by visiting the out of town football ground, whilst Ciaran ventured into town to dry off, but only succeeded in getting detained by the police under suspicion, of well, he wasn't too sure, but it passed the time for him.

The football ground was situated on the outskirts of town, a good hours walk away, and I was hoping I could take advantage of the adjacent station but it was only for freight.

The football ground was spied across adjacent wasteland.

First encountered was the training ground, who's condition suggested training wasn't that rigorous.

Bandırmaspor were formed in 1965 and currently play in the TFF 1 Lig, the second level of Turkish football. I still have no idea what the badge is trying to depict?

So to the ground itself. All was locked up apart from a nondescript door which led up a stairway in the main stand. I encountered a youngish club official, and asked if it was possible to have a look inside the stadium. His initial response was no, they didn't allow such things, was followed by quizzing of what I actually wanted to do; what did I want to take pictures of as there was no game taking place, where had I come from, and was I on official business. My response that I was English and had come by train and sea from Bulgaria, in order to look at empty third division football grounds, purely for my own entertainment, gained a wary look, and then a quizzical response of "is that normal?".

But I'd appeared to beaten him as he immediately offered me sugary black tea in a Pyrex mug, and led me into the ground itself.

It was then a tour of the pitch to get a picture of the main stand.

And the cover opposite.

Despite the offer of more sugary black tea in a Pyrex mug, and olives and dates, I headed back into town, parting company with my new friend who still had the look of someone trying to work out if he was just about to wake up from a hallucinogenic dream.

Back down the Main Street and into the city itself, where nestled amongst the numerous bedding shops, was the rather strange sight of a high street tractor dealership.

And another one for the Cortina collection.

Unable to contact Ciaran, I'd put this down to his ineptness in realising his fifteen year old Nokia was ringing, rather than him being bodily searched in a low level remake of Midnight Express. I instead stumbled across the local market, where tt was fair to say there was an eclectic mix of stalls. The cheese was tempting.

As were the giant loaves of bread.

Someone somehow made a living just selling plastic pegs. Another stall just sold a strange device that hollowed out marrows, though sadly, I didn't get a picture to corroborate that. Here are the pegs instead.

I did get a picture of the rifle range though, a welcome addition to any farmers market,

But it was now six hours after our arrival and it was back to the station where our stock had now moved into position. The rather odd layout means the train propels back out of the station into the docks, then floors it forwards into a steep tunnel out of town.

Football grounds visible from trains, Susurluk Stadyumu.

Football grounds visible from trains, Balıkesir Yeni Kapalı Spor Salonu.

Being loco and coaches, you could get the view out of the rear doors and the electrification work almost complete.

As well as the view ahead as the loco wound its way around the valley of the Saribeyler Baraji.

Ciaran had spent the journey so far chuntering about the inequalities of Turkish law enforcement, but had another frosted flag for company.

The train was carrying on to Izmir...

...but we bailed at the much less hectic Manisa.

With a very nice vista of a neon Turkish star and crescent framing a plinthed kettle.

Next morning and said kettle was a little less impressive.

But the mornings first activity actually led behind it with the home of 1 Lig side Manisaspor, the main stand somewhat masked by a mixed bloom of trees.

The stadium is named after the 19th May 1919 when Atatürk started the Turkish national independence movement.

A groundsman and apprentice were enjoying the sun at the entrance, and with no common language, the waving of a camera saw the youngster dispatched to accompany me into the stadium.

The somewhat less obstructed view of the front of the main stand.

With the stand on the opposite touchline only marginally less dominant.

Behind the goals were open banks of seating...

...and it was only whilst taking a photo of the town end of the ground that I became aware of the mountains that overlook the city.

It was then onto the station.

With the red caps office making me somewhat envious when I compared some of the hovels I inhabited in my station management days.

This bloke gets a leather headboard for 18 trains a day. Even as station manager at Reading, I got a broom cupboard in a clock tower for 400 trains a day.

More bonus haulage as instead of the expected class 24, was a significantly overpowered class 33.

Not only that, we had a coach with droplights, with all others we saw being sealed air con or hopper windows. Not that it made a difference as there was no interlock on the doors so you could just open them mid journey...

...which made getting full length shots of the train a lot easier.

Although this bloke got the most open view of the lineside, as he merrily drove his tractor down the track.

Ciaran's Irish heritage means he likes nothing better than a sing and a dance. Which would be more bearable if he knew more than the first two words of every song, then in ultra national stereotype manner, carries on singing by filling all the sylables with 'diddly diddly di di di'. Therefore, I thought it was appropriate when the catering trolley was flogging drinks called this. Except it kicked off quite a heated debate about how to spell the 'di/dee' part of diddly di/dee, which seemed to bemuse the locals.

We were travelling through lush farmland but with the Sipylus mountains stretching out behind.

Whilst the line had been chosen for its traction, I was also aware of a plethora of lineside football grounds.

Sart.

İsmail Şahin Spor Tesisleri.

Urganlı

As well as these horses taking over the pitch at Aşağıçobanisa.

At Sart there was also a kettle dump.

Whether these are an actual reserve, are awaiting plinths, or are to be scrapped, I do not know.

Or care for that matter.

We terminated at Alasehir.

Quite brilliantly, a car arrived to pick someone up, and rather than waiting at the forecourt for the person to get to them, just drove straight down the platform to the train.

As the loco started to run round, it headed past differing standards of water supply.

The more conventional water tower on the right.

With its rather novel compatriot being an old steam loco tender on legs.

The loco headed off for a spin on the turn table.

I went and had a look at more high street tractor dealerships.

And the Aegean heats of the annual 'how many kids can a pensioner cram into a moving Tofas' competition. (Tofas = Türk Otomobil Fabrikası Anonim Şirketi).

The answer apparently being seven.

Carrying on down the road took me to the football ground, which had a most impressive initial entrance.

Closer up was slightly less impressive.

Being the remains of a fairground.

Whilst the entrance to the pitch saw not only an @keepers_towel, but one for every player drying in the sun.

The ground is home to Alaşehir Belediyespor, who play in the Turkey Regional Amateur League. They give is yet another opportunity to try and get the faintest idea what their badge might depict.

The pitch was a very luscious natural grass, seeing as the rest of the ground was a dust bowl.

With this main stand.

I went and had a look what was located beyond the far goal, expecting the usual training pitch...

...but instead it was an overgrown graveyard. Appropriately, here is a news update from the club, of some team bonding through slaughtering a sheep.

Not fancying an eight hour wait for the next train, I headed back to the station.

I've always been very impressed by Turkish railways. Operationally they are very sound, and the rolling stock and stations are generally in very good oprder. However, Piyadeller is obvious their version of Reddish South.

We dropped back into Manisa.

With Ciaran heading off for some more class 24 moves.

I saw him off from the vantage point of the kettle.

I went off for some food, ordering this as the photo looked good.

Only afterwards getting an English version of the menu to confirm what it was (it was the third one down).

A final night in Manisa and the next morning it was a run into Izmir, with the 0445 Balekisir service handily producing a class 24 to give me haulage behind all three diesel types.

Passing the ground of Menemen Belediye. Their badge is even more fucked up than the others. What is the person holding, a pizza oven scoop?

Into Izmir, the Turkish Athens, with the railway skirting the Gulf of İzmir.

Passing the naval dockyards.

Despite its size, Izmir is only just getting its act together with railways, and the main line trains are split between two not very convenient stations. We dropped into Basmane, which was the headquarters of the Ottoman Railway Company, and is where the long distance services are centred on.

A quick check of the country end and the Alesir service which we had travelled on yesterday was awaiting departure, but with the usual class 24 for haulage.

To provide power for light, heating and air conditioning, Turkish trains have a separate generator car with an engine in it. For some reason, this is always shunted to the head of the train. This means that a terminating train is subject to a right faff, as the loco is unhooked and then has to go off and be turned to get the cab at the right end, then the genny van cut off and run round, before putting the components back together.

Thank god for units!

I was off for a bit of ground spotting, which took me across Kültürpark Fuar Alanı, which apparently is the Culture Exhibition Area

Although there was a plinth in place, the normally associated kettle was absent.

My usual walk into work involves crossing between Victoria and Oxford Road stations, but for the last yea are has been subject to chaos as the roads have all been dug up as they build the Metrolink line between the two. I was expecting to explore Izmir by tram, but instead got to see the network in the same condition that I've had to endure in Manchester.

My onward walk took me through the AstroTurf district of Izmir, with shop after shop selling fake grass, and choosing to advertise its wares by wrapping every available surface in 3G.

My next stop was the bridge next to Halkapınar station. Firstly for the views it gave of the metro, the modernised Izban commuter rail system, and the normal rail network. Here trains on all three networks pass.

Next, getting the final class of Turkish diesel for sight, as a class 18/1 was shunting Halkapınar yard. These locos are no longer used for passenger, in fact, this could be the only remaining member of the class.

Then the arriving overnight service from Ankara, which Ciaran was on as he'd got off our train in to do an insect move at Ayvacik.

And finally, a grandstand view of my next grounds, er, grandstand.

A closer view from across the site of the new tram station.

İzmir Atatürk Stadium was built in 1964, and was previously the largest stadium in Turkey. A refurbishment in 2005 means it still hosts international games.

Despite being Turkey's third largest city, Izmir has never got its act together with football, with only Bucaspor having had any recent presence in the highest league. Occasional users of the main stadium are Karşıyaka S.K. and Göztepe AS, and it was the latter who's reserve team I watched on the adjacent 4G minor facility.