Visiting Çanakkale: History, Food, and the Trojan Horse

A city girl's road trip through Türkiye's most mythical corner — Mount Ida, Adatepe, Assos, the Temple of Athena, and the wooden horse at Troy.

The City Girl Meets Her Mountain

Somewhere Green

Adatepe: A Village That Has No Idea How Beautiful It Is

Where Zeus Watched

Close to the Sea

Assos: Stone, Sea, and Ancient Ground

The Temple of Athena and the City That Built Itself Around a Goddess

The Trojan Horse

The City Girl Goes Home

Some people burn out because their life is wrong. Mine was right. The noise, the pace, the beautiful relentless chaos of a city that never stops – I wanted all of it, and I got it. I live in one of the greatest cities in the world. And still, I burned out. Badly. In the exact life I'd asked for.

One night, deep in a rabbit hole, I stumbled on a video that said nature is medicine. Birdsong slows the heart. Greenery absorbs what overstimulates. The sea, in its endless back-and-forth, wears a restless mind down to nothing.

So I asked myself, when was the last time I'd been out in nature? Couldn't remember. Maybe that was already the answer. Trees, sea, and nothing that looked like a city. So when my boyfriend and I started planning our Eid holiday, I had one simple request. Take me somewhere green and close to the sea.

He didn't ask why. He just smiled and said we were going for a drive.

Before it was a place on any map, it was the mountain where the gods came to watch.

The Greeks call it Ida. The Turks call it Kaz Dağı, the Mountain of Geese. And it was here, the story goes, that a single bad decision lit the fuse on the Trojan War.

It began at a wedding. Every god had been invited except one – Eris, the goddess of discord. She came anyway. From the doorway she rolled a single golden apple across the floor, and on it were carved three words: for the fairest.

I've spent my whole life breathing city air without thinking about it. Up here, you taste it. They say Mount Ida has the second most oxygen-rich air in the world, just after the Alps. I can't verify the ranking. But the first breath made the case better than any statistic could.

Back in the city, what wore me down was never the nights. It was the days, the all-hours of small decisions, my brain that never clocks off. Up here there were almost none to make, and for once, my waking hours felt as easy as sleep. The trees did that, and so did the stillness they made room for.

One evening we ate at the hotel's Italian restaurant. They take real pride in it, so trying it wasn't optional. After dark, the whole place transforms. Windows open, mountain air drifting in with the music. A lamp at our table, a fire outside, strings of lights across the garden.

We ordered too much, but the standouts were the pizzas and, of all things, the eggplant soup. My boyfriend loved the pizza and stayed skeptical of the soup. I won't pretend I'm objective, since I'll eat eggplant in any form, but I cleaned the bowl.

The thing I won't stop telling people about, though, is the ice cream. Adatepe makes it by hand, in a startling number of flavors, including herbal ones you won't taste anywhere else. I played it safe with vanilla and strawberry. My boyfriend, feeling braver, went for black mulberry and kuzu kulağı, a leafy green with a sharp, lemony bite. I'll be honest – his were better.

The night after, we decided to chase the sunset at a beach 10 minutes from where we were staying. It had a promenade lined with food stalls, accessory and clothing shops, and even a few kiddie rides. The sun had nearly set by the time we arrived, but the sky still put on a show. It reminded me a little of Subic, where I grew up, that same easy, seaside energy. My boyfriend and I walked out to the edge of the pier, sat down, slipped off our sandals, and let our legs dangle over the water. We played music and just took it all in.

To close out the meal, we had kemal pasha. Also a first for me, and what a first! It is a dessert made from a soft, slightly chewy cheese-like dough soaked in sweet syrup, similar in spirit to a syrup-drenched cake but with a texture all its own. My boyfriend said it was the best kemal pasha he had ever had, and I had no reason to doubt him. It really was that good.

We woke up early on our last morning in Assos and moved slower than we needed to, stopping at nothing in particular, just reluctant to let it end. We had breakfast beside the sea one last time before we finally admitted it was time to go.

After the photo with the Trojan horse, my boyfriend steered us toward a bakery. He knows how much I love simit and he had made it his mission to find it fresh and hot. We got a bag of them, picked up some butter, honey, and cheese, and walked to one of those spots you only find in Turkey: a shaded place by the sea where you bring your own food, pull up a chair, and order a glass of çay, or whatever you are in the mood for.

We do not have this concept in Dubai and honestly, I love it. A place that simply offers you a seat and a view, and trusts you to bring the rest. No upselling, no minimum spend, no guilt about lingering too long. Just people sitting, drinking tea, existing. I could get used to that.

Okay, let's talk about Peynir Helva, because it deserves a proper introduction. It is Çanakkale's most iconic dessert, a local specialty so tied to this region that the recipe has been passed down through families for generations. Made from unsalted fresh cheese, sugar, and flour, it is cooked down into something that sits between a pudding and a halva: soft, creamy, mildly sweet, with just enough of a savory edge from the cheese to keep it from being cloying. Babalık has been making it since 1912, four generations of the same family, same recipe, same shop. They do two versions: the original, and the baked one with a slightly golden top. Get the baked one.

I liked it from the first bite. There is something about it that brought me straight back to carabao pastillas, that soft, milky Filipino candy that dissolves slowly and leaves something behind. I have not stopped thinking about it since.

I came looking for trees and the sea. I came because a video on the internet told me nature was medicine, and I was desperate enough to believe it. I came because I was burnt out in the exact life I had chosen, which is the most disorienting kind of tired there is.

A video told me nature was medicine, and I was desperate enough to take medical advice from my phone at midnight.

The trees helped. The sea helped. The food helped, eaten slowly at tables with no Wi-Fi and views that made me forget to check my phone anyway. The history helped too, more than I anticipated. I walked through ruins that outlasted empires and felt, for the first time in months, like I was allowed to be small.

And then there was him. The man sitting across from me who drove for hours because I said I needed green and water, and who didn't need it explained further than that. Who smiles when I smile, which sounds small until you realize how rarely you notice someone doing it.

I did not tell him how much it helped. I'm telling it here instead.

I came back to Dubai the same city girl I always was. Same noise, same pace, same skyline that never gets dark enough to see the stars.

But I brought something new with me. Not a cure, just perspective. That I was allowed to be tired. And that I was also allowed to recover. That the world had survived far worse and was still standing, and so was I.

My burnout, next to all of that, felt like what it was. A small thing, in a very large story.

Kokoreç is seasoned lamb or goat intestines wrapped tightly around a skewer, slow-roasted over charcoal, then chopped and stuffed into a crusty bread roll with tomatoes and spices.

Pack layers. The mountain is a different climate, and you'll want a jacket by evening.

A quick note on geography: the boutiques sit up near the villages, the mountain, and the ruins, best for a nature-and-day-trips kind of stay. The thermal resorts cluster down by Güre and Altınoluk on the coast, best if you want spa and sea.

About a 20-minute climb from Adatepe on a rocky, dusty path. Wear proper shoes, bring water, and avoid midday heat. Sunset is the best time, and the view over the gulf is worth every dusty step.

Two very different experiences here depending on where you sleep. Stay down at the harbor (Antik Liman) for sea views, boat sounds, and waterfront dining right outside your door. Stay up in Behramkale village for cobblestone streets, the temple on your doorstep, and a slower, more atmospheric kind of trip. Both are worth it, just know what you are choosing.

The harbor restaurants all have sea views and seafood, but quality varies wildly. The ones below are consistently well-reviewed. Always check if a place is open before making the trip, especially outside summer.

Summer hours (April 1 – October 1): 08:30 to 20:00. Ticket booth closes at 19:30.

Winter hours (October 1 – April 1): 08:30 to 17:30. Ticket booth closes at 17:00.

Entrance fee: €15 for foreign visitors.