Stray, mangy kittens patrol cobbled streets. Two-stroke scooters with helmetless riders zip between Fiats and befuddled backpackers negotiating to buy sim cards.
Shopkeepers - mainly men, of whom the young are meticulously shaved and the older black moustached - sip tea on sidewalk stools.
Turkish patriotism is everywhere. Billboards preview a new Ataturk film and red flags with white crescent and white star,hang in windows and flutter on hilltops.
A Turkish businessman on our circuitous flight from Istanbul to Ankara told of how local newspapers have been full of Gallipoli previews.
Despite Ottoman history being packed with epic wars, the Battle of Canakkale held a special place in modern-day Turkey, he said.
"It's a very big thing for us."
Canakkale, a bustling, tourist-student town the size of Dunedin, has already filled up with New Zealand and Australian officials, dignitaries, and local visitors for Anzac Day. Silver ferns and black shirts rub shoulders with those sporting yellow wallabies and Akubra hats at smoky bars.
Later in the week, they will catch a ferry that carries a slogan, "Peace is possible", across the Dardanelles strait to Eceabat before catching tour buses to the infamous peninsula.
Preparations are coming together, officials say. Tomorrow we will see for ourselves.
After a strategic confab over a Effes pilsener at Hangover bar, it's back to the rented flat to sleep off the jetlag.
On the way, an elderly man shuffles behind a small cart peddling various lengths of rope.
"Hard way to make a living," says a passing Antipodean.
The early morning muezzin prayer call for the 98 per cent Islamic population disturbs an already fitful sleep.
It is all very Turkish: where east meets west. A corner of a foreign field.
