Otogar? Brrrrr! Otogar?Brrrrr!

My guess is that you have never tried to flag a cab in Antakya at 6 am, and up until this moment, neither had I.

My early departure requires a 5:30 am wakeup call, and I sleep fitfully in chronic fear of missing the bus combined with traffic noise that makes me feel as if I am camping on the interstate.

Not surprisingly, language barriers abound the further I move away from tourist friendly Istanbul and Selcuk. At this point the word "hello" is no longer a greeting, it is a question. As I get into the cab, I am entirely dependent on one word. Otogar.

Otogar is the Turkish word for bus station, and it is the only bullet I have in my  linguistic chamber. The dilemma is that most of the people in this part of Turkey speak Arabic. In fact, Antakya was once part of Syria, and briefly prior to WW2 it was a Monaco-esque city state.

And, as previously mentioned, there is a great deal more history here, all of which I have missed.

As I enter the cab, I ask "Hello?". A friendly nod but no verbal response. Ok, time for question number two. Otogar? He nods and I hop in, however, unknown to me, Antakya has more than one Otogar. We begin a game of charades as he tries to help me through my linguistic ignorance.

He indicates an upward slope and I nod ambivalently, recalling that the terminal was at an elevation. We hit the road, neither of us quite certain that we are going to the correct place.

As we drive, the cabbie tries to speak to me in Arabic. Clueless, I nod in agreement. At a red light he turns to me and says "Brrrrrr" Now as a Canadian, that is a language I understand. "Brrrrr", I reply.

At the next stop, he puts on his gloves and shows them to me, as if to emphasize the gravity of our climate emergency.

"Brrr", he says.

"Brrrrr", I reply. I wrap my arms around myself for emphasis, while thinking to myself that this guy should never visit Canada in the winter.

We arrive at the bus station.

"Otogar?" he asks.

"Otogar!", I reply, giving him the thumbs up. I pay my fare with a nice tip and step out into the slightly chilly Antakya bus station morning.

Next stop Syria, Insha'Allah

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Oops.....

Image by Arbo Moosberg via Flickr
Honestly, I don't know how it happened, but it is probably the worst mistake I have ever made as a traveler. I guess I was too fixated on entering Syria and I only recognized Antakya as a gateway into Syria, a place where I could crash for a night en route to Aleppo, Syria.

As I get off the bus, I feel that things have changed. While, I may not be in Syria I feel that I am now in The Middle East. As is my habit, I refuse cabbies, as I breathe in my new environment while breathing out smoke..

Again, I have no hotel booked here. My faint hope was finding a bus in to Syria, but it is not to be until tomorrow. No matter, as it is very beautiful around here.



So I resign myself to crashing for the night in Antakya.. I find a taxi and explain my needs through the language barrier. I begin to understand that language is going to be a huge issue from here on in, but I am lucky as my cabbie takes me to a nice hotel at a fair price.

I check in, change some cash and head out in search of food. As I walk around, I notice how beautiful this place is, nestled in the mountains with the beautiful ancient canal flowing through the middle of this picturesque locale.

The thing is that I only spent one night here, completely oblivious to the fact that I am in an ancient capital and trading centre known as Antioch. This place is rich with history, and I have not appreciated one iota of it.

As far as being a world traveler, Antioch is my Homer Simpson moment.

D'oh.

On to Syria tomorrow.


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Lunch Bucket

Adana was intended to be little more than a travel node, a stop on the way, but it turned out to be so much more.

When I travel, I seek out realtiy, and the vision that I strive for is a real glimpse at everyday life and Adana fits the bill perfectly. I came here because it is a travel hub, but the city holds a working class appeal that is the antithesis of my recent high value tourist destinations.

The TV in my hotel even has a porn channel, much to my surprise. Of course, I prefer the thought provoking and sophisticated programming offered by BBC news.

Walking the streets here makes me feel like I am in some Turkish version of Cleveland or Winnipeg, and I like it.

This is the perfect place for me right now. A working class enclave where a man can have a smoke in a bar as he downs a cheap pint while watching the locals gamble on televised horse racing.

The next day I find a place that makes a good cappucino. The young ladies that serve me are so unspeakably charming and decent that I briefly wiggle my nose and blink my eyes in hopes that I could conjure the self that I was twenty years ago, but no such luck. They don't speak English, and I don't speak Turkish, and our attempt to communicate without language does nothing to defray my smitten and aging ego. (more on this on my return trip)

The sheer lack of pretentiousness here is enough to make me book my discount room for an extra night. My point is that sometimes the best glimpse into real life is more readily available in the destinations less traveled to and though the guidebooks may not highlight Adana, I like the fact that this place is for real.


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Helping Hands

As the bus pulled over at the side of the freeway, it occurred to me that I had never walked to a big city airport before. I thank the driver and  confirm that the airport is thataway, about a mile and a half down the road. I tell myself that the money I'm saving now will help pay for the next trip, but I'm overdressed and my luggage is heavy and it is a beautiful warm day.

I make my way to the Izmir airport terminal, pass through security and plunk myself down to gather myself. I'm hot, I'm cranky and I'm hungry. Fortunately, the Izmir airport offers cuisine on a par with landing strips worldwide. After overpaying for my Whopper and fries, I check in my bag.

One thing I have learned about regional flights is that weight restrictions on checked baggage are smaller and stricter. So travel tip #4107 is to stuff the carry on with your  heavy gear when taking cheap regional flights. However, keep in mind that there are weight restrictions on carry on, but they are rarely enforced..

I step out for a smoke, knowing that stepping back in means another trip through security. I consider the fact that I am flying by the seat of my pants here. I have no room booked for my next destination, Adana. This is because The City of Adana has a rule about advertised hotel rates. As a result, the rates posted on the internet are limited and outrageous and the consequence of that is that I will be arriving in a strange city at night with no firm plan.

Sometimes when you travel you just have to have faith when plans go awry.

As I stamp out my smoke, and prepare for airport hell wait, I take one last walk in the outdoors when I notice a restaurant complex located in a little park that looks considerably more enticing than the airport. Perfect. I make my way down, order a coffee and open up my guidebook as I attempt to formulate a plan for the next stop.

Make no mistake, like most of us, I prefer to know in advance where I will be sleeping on any given night, especially in an unfamiliar city in a foreign country. As I read the book the restaurant manager approaches me and we start chatting. I explain that I am looking for a hotel in my guidebook.

He asks me which hotel, takes my guide and books me a room at far less than the internet rate and even less than my lonely planet guide. "Don't worry, you are booked, and don't pay more than ten lira for the cab."

I am deeply grateful to this gentlemen, but I have to say that he is only one among many who have gone out of their way to help me

I leave a huge tip and get on the plane to Adana feeling a whole lot better about everything.

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Gifted

Image by Rol1000 via Flickr

This feeling is familiar, and reveals that the traveling mentality must contain a shred of ruthlessness, and it reminds me of being four years old and forced back into the car as we drive away from the grandparents place.

Selcuk in the low season is a lovely place. I have seen incredible things here, and I have extended my stay as long as I can. I feel as if I am in some Turkish version of The Trueman Show. Nonetheless, the clock is ticking and I have little choice but to move on from this most beautiful, charming, and welcoming locale.

The level of hospitality I have received here is utterly beyond reproach. At 15 euro a night with balcony and breakfast included and nestled in the mountains near some of the worlds greatest historic sites, Selcuk in January is a great travel bargain if the weather holds. And by the way, feel free to make your own coffee anytime, and help yourself to the oranges growing plentifully from the tree in the courtyard.

The day before departure, I book a flight online from Izmir to Adana, total cost $50 cdn. I'm not sure how I'm going to get to the Izmir airport from Selcuk at the time of booking, but I'm sure I'll figure it out.

On the morning of my checkout the awesome dude at the hotel advises me to go to the Saturday market, and that I can catch a bus that will drop me off near the Izmir airport.

Foolishly, I forget that it is Christmas Day, in spite of the fact that I am surrounded by gifts, and as I climb on the bus I can't help but feel that I am leaving a debt behind as I drag myself away from this perfect place.

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House Guest

I'll admit that I am not a religious man and that atheism is actually a theology unto itself. I know a lot of people who think that they aren't religious who actually subscribe to a belief system that they are completely unaware of. One of the deeply held tenets of atheism is freedom from religion, but is that sacred belief not also a devout expression of faith?

Faith is by nature unprovable and if I find myself in some form of an eternal afterworld, I will surely chide myself for backing the wrong team while throwing myself on the mercy of the heavenly or hellish court.

Nonetheless, I am deeply respectful of the fact that the vast majority of humanity (officially excepting China) worships God in some form or another, and as I researched this trip I became increasingly aware that faith would be the overriding theme of this journey.

And so it was I found myself on a beautiful busride through the mountains of southeastern Turkey to a place called The Virgin Mary House.

Forgive my divine ignorance, and I apologize in advance to proper theologians, but here is the story in a nutshell, with all due respect.

When things were going sideways for Jesus Christ he asked The Apostle John to take care of his mom. It is an accepted fact that The Apostle John was buried in this region.

If you want to know more about this fascinating place click here

I've been to a few "sacred" places, and while I may not be a believer, it doesn't make these places any less sacred, as they are imbued with the tremendous power of human faith.

I walk through the modest site in a beautiful locale. Photography is not permitted. I make a small donation and buy two candles. What the hell, it can't hurt?

I head outside to the candle lighting place. As I light the candles I think about my family and friends and my eyes well up as a very deep sense of gratitude washes over me.

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Efes (Ephesus)

I am seriously not worthy of these places that represent the collective pinnacle of our human achievement. My historical knowledge is sadly lacking and unlike my excellent tour guide, I cannot tell you the difference between a Doric column or the other kind of column that isn't Doric.

But I can tell you this: I know when I'm on sacred ground. Efes is one of the worlds greatest archeological sites because it reveals so much to us about what day to day life was like back in the day.

And some of the details are delicious. Men would sit together in a public washroom, and I kind of regret that I didn't get a picture of myself here while sitting down and reading a copy of the Wall Street Journal.

Two theatres, one Greek, one Roman at opposite ends of town. Never seen that before.

The library is considered to be the jewel in this crown. Who am I to argue?  But I do find it interesting that there was a brothel across the street, and that the two were connected by a secret tunnel. Nearby was the market, so the game went something like this.

"Honey, you go shop, I'll go to the man only library and we'll meet back here in a couple of hours. Meanwhile Homer is slithering through the secret tunnel to the brothel. More proof that everything has changed, and nothing much has changed.

As I stroll through the ruins, I feel compelled to touch things, as if ancient experiences will be transferred to me through a tactile connection to the ruins. No such luck, but one can easily imagine what life was like here.

And the thing that strikes me the most is that life in ancient Efes was not nearly as different from our own as I thought it was. The photo below  is believed to be the worlds first sex ad, indicating the brothel up the road,

We can cling to our Facebook. our IPods, discuss with the greatest vehemence the political trifles of the moment, the news clippings of the day, or whatever else it might be that we allow to define us, but the fact is that when the dust of human history is laid out before you, it puts things in a proper perspective.

(memo to self: I owe The Siren a drink)

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Sun Shiny Day

I get off the minibus at Selcuk, and I take a quiet moment to thank The Siren. The cabbies and touts back off as I sit on a bench. I have a policy when I arrive at a new destination. I sit and wait, and I wait. And as I wait in Selcuk, I realize that this is a very beautiful place.

As I kill time on the bench, a dude approaches, offering hotel accommodation. I let him know that I have already paid for another room at another hotel. He tells me about a girl in Canada that he loves. She lives in Montreal. He wants to move  to Canada. I explain that moving to Canada is difficult.

He gives me some wise advice. "If you want to see both Efes and The Virgin Mary House you should book a tour"....."Efes is close, but Meyemana is a long way away". A cabride to Meryemana is more expensive than a tour of both sites, including a free lunch.

I feel that he is honest and correct, so I book a tour for the next day , and it turns out that my instincts are correct.. It is the first time that I have booked a tour before checking into my hotel. I get some directions to the hotel, and lug my belongings through the picturesque streets.

I miss a turn and I'm lost, but I don't really care. Selcuk is beautiful, small and empty. I ask some local kids for directions and they point me in the right direction. I bow my head in gratitude and in return they punch their hearts .I think to myself that Turkey could teach the world a thing or two about the principles of hospitality.

I'm dog tired as I show up at The Ishtar Hotel. Apparently the owner of the joint is in Thailand for the off season. He should consider himself to be a very lucky man, because the hospitality that is bestowed upon me in his absence is beyond reproach.

Yes, I have to wait while my room is prepared, but given that it is low season I don't mind. I'm paying 15 Euros a night to stay in a beautiful place near one of the worlds greatest archeological sites.

The weather is unseasonably warm, touching 20c during the day. I love Selcuk so much that I literally have to drag myself away after extending my stay.

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Waiting For The Sun

As I lug my depleted carcass and burdensome luggage around the depths of the pre dawn emptiness that is the Izmir bus station. I curse my budget minded Scottish DNA . Part of the reason that I booked this trip is the result of a promise I made to myself that I would save money by periodically traveling at night, thus avoiding a hotel bill. I figure the money I don't spend on this trip is a downpayment on the next journey, and this is why I find myself at the cavernous and empty Izmir bus station in the wee smalls.

As far as bus stations go, this one is pretty nice. Multiple internet cafes, restaurants and smoke shops, almost all of which are closed. This is not a tourist area and finding an English speaker is a shattered and delusional straw. I find a place that is open, buy a juice and plunk myself down.

Its 4:45 am. A cabbie or two offer me a ride, but a ninety minute taxi ride will wipe out all my savings from the lack of hotel. There is nothing for it but to tough it out and hope that someone who speaks English will happen along and explain where I need to go to find a minibus to Selcuk.

As I sip my juice a Zen state washes over me. This is not a moment to make something happen, it is time to let something happen. And of course it does.

As I quaff my beverage, a young lad employed by the cafe engages me. I'm happy to talk. He regales me with stories of a debauched trip to Montreal. He warns me about the dangers of such activity in Turkey. I assure him that when I travel to any country I respect the laws and customs.

Like many young people that I have met in my travels, he wants to practice his english. I always engage these people. They humble me and my unilingual skills. They apologize for their bad English, I apologize for my bad Turkish,Cambodian,French,Arabic or Vietnamese depending on the locale..

Of course, I do have a little bit of self interest, like "how in the name of Zeus do I get to Selcuk from this place that is the size of a small airport?" Fortunately the kid sends me in the right direction and I eventually figure it out.

By 8am I am on a minibus to Selcuk. I'm dead tired and as we pull out I quickly fall asleep. When I wake up to the early morning sun,  I am instantly aware that while I may still be in Turkey, I am a world away from Istanbul.

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Buspitality?

Honestly, it never occurred to me that hospitality could be experienced on a bus. In Canada the idea of an attendant on a bus is inconceivable. But I'm not in Canada, I'm in Turkey and I am starting to get the vibe of hospitality that permeates this part of the world as beverages and snacks are periodically offered throughout the long journey.

I even have a TV embedded in the seat in front of me, though all the programming is Turkish. Very soon the freeway of Istanbul gives way to a different landscape. I watch a movie in Turkish that I can follow. When the child behind me hits me on the head for the third time, I turn and glare at the mother.

Despite all the hospitality, this is a long bus ride.

At one point we get on a ferry. I love a good boatride, so I get off the bus for the duration of the ferry trip. As I enjoy a smoke while I stare at the sparkling lights in the distant darkness an military vehicle pulls on to the ferry. Two dudes climb out, one with an AK47. I look at the vehicle and see three sets of eyes peering out through a barred window.

.Curiously, the guys driving the truck are very casual and the guys in the back of  the truck are almost as casual as the guards. Then I remember that Turkey requires mandatory military service and I'll bet dollars to doughnuts that the "prisoners" were kids who were a tad late in reporting for their compulsory military service.

We disembark the ferry and the bus drones on into the Turkish night. At some point a fare dispute erupts. We are pulled over somewhere and a well dressed man is summoned to issue a verdict. I step off the bus and use the moment of conflict as an ad hoc smoke break.

With the dispute resolved, I step back on the bus. I doze off as we roll on into the Turkish night. I am awoken by a gentle tap on the shoulder from the attendant. It is 4:15 am and I am in the Izmir bus station. The attendant asks me if I know where I am going. I reply confidently, Selcuk.

And yes, I may know where I'm going, but how I'm going to get there is an entirely different matter.

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