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.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

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.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

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.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

Little Big Move

As I head to the terrace for my last breakfast in Istanbul I feel confident. Istanbul may be my arrival and departure point, but my plan involves more exotic locales and this is my first "big move" in the larger picture. A bus to Izmir, a minibus  to Selcuk and on to the magnificence of Efes (Ephesus).

I know it sounds daunting, but being the brilliant traveler that I am, I shrewdly booked the trip the previous day. It was here that I learned an important caveat about travel: many times it is the little move that can mess you up .

I had wisely booked a ticket to Izmir and a ticket to get me to the place where I would make a bus connection to Izmir, the Istanbul Autogar.  I knew that the Autogar (bus station) was a good distance from my quarters in Sultanmet. As I buy the ticket I am  informed with gravity that I must be here at 3pm, so that I may catch  the minibus that will take me to the 4:30 pm bus to Izmir.


Perfect. Being the cautious person I am, I show up at the cafe next door at 2:30 pm. By 2:50 I am parked luggage and all in front of the travel agent. At 3:05  I poke my head into the Travel Agents office. I am immediately  told "don't, worry he will be here". They are having lunch, and not only do I feel bad for interrupting, I note a pang of hunger as I inhale some of their delicious gnosh.

The delicious scent of their lunch sets off my peckish alarm. I remind myself that I need to grab a donair/shawarma/gyros before getting on the bus to Izmir. After all, I still have time to spare and the street food here is cheap, fresh,  ubiquitous, and delicious.

Around 3:30  I make another inquiry. Still nothing. The information I have is  that the next bus to Izmir is 12 hours later, not an appealing option. Tic toc.At 3:45 I have convinced myself that there is a serious possibility that I might not make this bus. I open up my guide book and begin considering options. Tic toc , 3:50 pm. By now I'm angry and hungry and I'm pretty sure that the odds of making this bus are pretty small.

Finally a minivan rolls up at 3:55.. By now, I've given up all hope and I'm pissed off, I hurl my luggage into the minivan. I spend the rest of my ride wondering if my stupid bravado has destroyed my beloved laptop, which is unfortunate because the ride is awesome, a weird combination of a French Connection car chase in a minivan and a wonderful tour through the real heart of Istanbul..

I begin to feel bad because I can see that the driver is doing everything he can to get me across Istanbul. I end up feeling worse because I know that I didn't buy travel insurance and I am now on a deathride to the autogar.

Astonishingly, we make it in one piece to the autogar.  It is 4:38pm. Even more astonishingly my bus to Izmir awaits.

I throw my luggage in the hold (more gently this time) and off we go with seconds to spare.

While I'm grateful that I made this bus, I lament the fact that my donair plan has gone astray.

Nonetheless, I tell my growling stomach to shut up and enjoy as we make our way out of Istanbul.

A few moments later I notice a refreshment cart being wheeled down the aisle, like an oasis on a bus. Complimentary snacks on a bus??? I tuck into some biscuits and coke for dinner as I brace for the road ahead.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

 I once read a great post at http://travelswithtavel.com/   that compared traveling with falling in love.

But I would say that travel is more like dating, sometimes you want to get it over early, sometimes a one night stand is enough and sometimes you wish you could be together forever, and when you realize that you can't the goodbye becomes tearful.

Of course when traveling, there is always another "date" around the corner.

Thusly it was that when I left Istanbul it felt like a tearful breakup. The people and the city have a certain elegance, at once humble and dignified, towering and welcoming. The overwhelming sense of hospitality I have found here is both familiar and flawless.

"My Mom would like this place",  I think to myself as I mutter my goodbyes.

Tomorrow I jump on a bus for the long ride to Izmir, where I will transfer to a bus to Selcuk. From there I will go to Efes (Ephesus). Mostly I blame The Siren for this arduous sojourn. She gave me a book for my birthday that chronicled The Best Places To Travel On Earth.

So off I go in search of The Ruins Of Ephesus and Merrymana . (The Virgin Mary's House)

Apparently, my next "date" is going to be hot, and if she isn't it is all Brewers fault.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com

Istan - tastic

It took a few jetlagged days, but the magnificence of Istanbul has penetrated my conciousness.

Hip and timeless, historic and  sophisticated, modern and ancient. This place is a crossroads of humanity, an historic locale where everything meets everything.

Sure, I could try and explain in detail the stunning beauty of The Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, The Hagia Sophia, The Basilica Cistern, The Grand Bazaar and The Galata Bridge, The Spice Bazaar, not to mention The Archeological Museum.I'll leave it to others to do that.

 I generally prefer to walk and Istanbul is a perfect a locale for a traveler on foot, as each of the above sites are within walking distance of Sultanahmet.

With a population between 12 and 16 million, Istanbul could qualify as the largest city in Europe, if not for the fact that it sits on the border between Europe and Asia and clearly one could spend weeks here before conquering Istanbul fully.

As I write this I am sitting on the Asian side of  the Galata Bridge, drinking a beer. The Galata Bridge is a favourite spot for locals to fish. Underneath the bridge is a bunch of bars and restaurants. As I quaff my pint, I find something comical in seeing sardine sized fish being pulled up by unseen anglers, a sort of piscatorian marionette show.

Of course, no trip to the Galata Bridge is complete without ordering a fish sandwich from one of the boats. At four lira ($2.50cdn) it is a local fave, and even on this miserable day these dudes are busy moving serious volumes of product.

I stand in line, lay down my cash, and am quickly rewarded with a fresh bit of fish on a fresh piece of bread with fresh onion and a delicious sauce. Simple, but fantastic.

Satiated, I head back to the bar for another pint and as I sit under a bridge watching people above fish as trams go by every few minutes, I can't help but think to myself; this place works, as I lament the state of affairs in my own hometown.

Noting that my lodging is a continent away, I cut the evening short and head back to my hotel room . As I hop on the tram, I can't help but think that Istanbul must be the easiest town to visit on the planet.

http://www.goyestoeverything.com