The Waning Days

I'm uncertain as to the route that the bus from Antakya to Adana followed, but as I gaze out at the mountainous backdrop in the fading light of the dwindling day, it becomes apparent that I have missed more of Turkey than I will ever see.

One could easily spend a month or two exploring this diverse and tantalizing land. Sadly, limitations of both time and finance have forced me to leave large swaths of this fascinating country on the cutting room floor. I am beginning to feel something akin to the last days of school. If this feeling had a sound it would be that of a dirigible with a slow leak.

The bus pulls in to a small terminal somewhere, and we take a break as more passengers board. I disembark and light a smoke. I see a family saying their goodbyes. It appears that Mom and Dad are taking the kids back home after a visit, and Grandma and Grandpa are there to see them off.

A poignant and not unfamiliar scene to any of us lucky enough to be raised by a loving family.

However, a few feet away from this Turkish version of a Norman Rockwell painting lay a very different reality. Two police officers are standing with AK47's at the ready. I try to reconcile this bizarre anomaly, while remembering not to make any sudden moves.

As I hop back on the bus I think about all the people around the world who live under some form of subtle intimidation by the state.

Then I think about the G20 in Toronto and realise that my own country is not immune from such excess.

With apologies to Mr. Disney, it is indeed, a small world after all.


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The Privileged Pilgrim

 Sometimes when I travel I'm not entirely sure of where I'm going to sleep, but this sentiment is usually constrained to finding a hotel in a defined place. Today, not even the place is not defined.

After a final, white knuckled ride from the Syrian border to Antakya, I do know one thing. I have spent the last eight hours in a cab to travel 120km and I just want to get out of this vehicle. Lodging is a secondary priority, and  I know that now that I am in Antakya, I have a few cards to play.

At the beginning of the day, my wide eyed goal was to be here in the early afternoon, so that I could get a bus to Adana, at which point I would book a flight back to Istanbul. In the waning hours of the Antioch day it appears my goal will not be reached.

Nonetheless, I grab my (non heroin filled)  bags and the cab driver points me in the direction of the bus terminal. I am accompanied by the very beautiful and very young Russian lady who had joined us at the Turkish border. She had been denied entry into Syria due to a lack of a visa, and she is not happy about it.

I explain to her that there has been a changing of the guard at whatever department grants visa's to travellers, and the Syrian government had cracked down on issuing visa's at the border. Having done my research prior to travelling, this was not the first time I had heard this story.

As we walk towards the bus station I advise her that if she wants to get a visa for Syria, she should go to Ankara and apply there. Graciously, she offers to help me translate in my quest for a ticket to Adana as she speaks four languages.

I hesitate for a moment, and in that moment I realise that I am really missing the company of women, and I don't mean that in a sexual way. I mean it in a social sense. As much as I enjoyed her company, I decline her offer while imagining her running for Putin's job in about twenty years and winning.

We arrive at the "bus station", shake hands, and part ways as I again lament the fact that I am not younger, richer, and better looking.

The bus station is really a strip mall of private bus companies, each with their own storefront. Almost all are closed, but I find one open. I expect to be told that there is nothing until tomorrow, but the man points me to a closed office and says they have one more shuttle to Adana.

He tells me to come back in one hour and they will be open. Perfect.

I haven't eaten since breakfast at  The Baron Hotel this morning, and I am famished. In addition, Antakya is a beautiful place, and I am grateful to have one last hour here. Dragging my luggage through town, I am definitely an object of attention.

I find a nice little Mom and Pop fast food joint and stuff myself on chicken, rice, and salad as the locals look on. I make my way to the bus office which is now open and buy a ticket to Adana. Much to my surprise, I am actually going to make it back to Adana tonight.

I load my luggage on the bus and climb aboard. As we pull out into the Turkish night, it dawns on me for the first time today that I will probably never see Syria again. This saddens me, but I quickly understand as we roll through the now dark Levant that the real cause of the tears running down my cheek is the joyous recognition that I was deeply blessed to see Syria at all.

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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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