Turkey and beyond...

Part 3 continued from Sunday July 3rd

Sorry for going out of sequence but apart from, swimming, chilling, eating and socialising, I have no other excuses.

After my arrival at the port of Kyrenia on 1^st July I thought my blog would be long finished. Unfortunately that is not to be and may not be for a long time to come. Sadly the reason is purely down to politics and as much as I hate to say it, it may be a path I have to take, for myself and for everyone who follows in my path.

By the time I crossed over to Turkey the finishing line spurred me on and photographs and hanging about went out the window!

Turkey was an experience to behold! Leaving the customs barrier I was met by a road so new the satnav yet again didn’t know if it was coming or going! I expected to be going through quaint old villages with mud huts but instead I was met by modern high-rise flats in bright colours that looked as though they were built yesterday.

When I reached the bottom of the mountain I had just descended, I came across a roundabout. I certainly didn’t expect to see one of them but it was not to be the last. Then I saw a sign Istanbul 380km and a motorway stretched before me, as straight as the eye could see. I stopped at the first petrol station to have my first cup of Turkish coffee, which is where I took my first photograph.

The motorway was up and down in more ways than one. Up and down as in up and down and up and down in quality. Every now and then a cart being drawn by a mule appeared and disappeared. You don’t see many of them on the motor-ways back in the UK!

Just under five hours later, by which time it was getting on for 4.30pm, I was on the outskirts of Istanbul and my eyes began to widen. Why? Because every time I reached the brow of a hill, or was it a small mountain, the road was straight as a dye and steeper than a roller coaster ride! Sometimes the road was straight down for at least two miles! Two hours later I was still fighting my way through the traffic with the rest of the commuters. And was it hot? It was steaming! The sweat was rolling off me in bucket loads! Just after 7pm I neared Istanbul centre and was hoping it would all be worth it and it was.

I drove along the ‘promenade’ mesmerised by the fantastic buildings. Just after going passed a building that looked as if it could have been a king’s palace, I saw a sign saying ‘Beskitas stadium and my eyes lit up. Sure enough a kilometre later I turned right and was alongside the stadium. I noticed a couple of yellow taxis parked a hundred meters up the road on a really wide pavement. I soon saw why; smoke spewed above and away from a kebab stall. I hadn’t eaten since early morning so it was a sight for a sore stomach! I also hadn’t had a decent wash for two days so was a little ‘high.’ I pulled up onto the large area of pavement near to the stall. I wondered over and took in the delightful aromas hammering at my senses and bought a large shish kebab with garlic sauce.

One of the taxi drivers spoke broken English and I asked him if there were any cheap hotels in the area. ‘Why you need hotel,’ he said, ‘park here and sleep in van.’ I told him I was desperate for a wash. ‘So I take you to Turkish bath.’ That sounded good to me and after I’d finished stuffing my mouth off we went. After nearly ten minutes of driving, what seemed to be round and round route to me, he pulled up at a building which looked as though it had seen better days and relieved me of ten Turkish Lira (Approx £4) Before he left, he said, ‘come out of bath, turn left, two hundred metres turn right and ten minutes you at Beskitas stadium.’

Once I was inside the Turkish bath it looked far from decrepit. Everywhere I looked was covered in white marble. After establishing I wanted everything on the list, even though I hadn’t a clue what was involved, I was ushered into a cubicle by a rather large old man and was shown to wrap the towel supplied around my waist. A few minutes later I was whisked away into the ‘sweat room’ via a maze of narrow low ceilinged corridors. The ‘sweat room’ was a large room with a high domed ceiling and I was the only occupant. After ten minutes I was hoping the ‘big old man’ would come back and relieve me of the incredible heat. Just as the thought went through my mind he came bounding in and pointed to follow him, which I did with pleasure.

I’m afraid from this point on, the pleasure was all his! As after being drenched with bucketful’s of rather hot water, then trying to tear my muscles off the bone, he pulled on a glove and I nearly shit myself! To my relief, which didn’t last long, he started rubbing me extremely vigorously with the glove which felt like he was rubbing me down with the heaviest grade of sand paper he could get! Then I was again drenched with at least ten more buckets! By this time I realised what ‘a drowned rat’ meant! He then gave me a fresh towel and led me to the massage room, or should that read, masochist’s room?

moly did he know his job? My arms and legs were put into positions that felt unnatural but hey, what do I know about massage and manipulation? I was then led back to my cubicle and told to lie down and relax for ten minutes. Five minutes later I was dressed and ready to go. I paid my forty Turkish Lira (Approx £16) and made a quick exit.

By the time I reached the Beskitas stadium it was getting dark. I felt remarkably rejuvenated but very thirsty and starving so I tucked into a donner and retreated to my van. I rolled myself a smoke and opened a book I’d not touched since before starting my trip. In a few minutes my eyes began to droop and I retreated to the back of the van and barely had the strength to load myself into my hammock. Before I could say Jack Robinson I was in the lad of nod!

It couldn’t have been much later than 10pm when I fell into slumber the night before, so waking up at 9.15 in the morning was a revelation considering I normally sleep an average of seven hours. So that 40 Turkish Lira was worth all the pain after all!

I crossed the Derince (Which is the waterway which links the Black Sea with the Mediterranean) using the Bogazici Bridge which is the got to be the most amazing piece of engineering I’ve seen in my life. The next fifteen hours was just mile upon mile of motorway apart from a stop for food and fuel. I arrived at Tasucu just after midnight and couldn’t wait to climb into my hammock.

As I slid open the side door of van at 8.15am and backed out of the side door a voice behind me said, ‘are you wanting to book on the ferry to Kyrenia?’ I was still half asleep and caught off guard so the only words that came to my lips were, ‘how did you know?’ His reply was obvious (British registered van outside the ferry office) but I’d just crawled out of my hammock and couldn’t give a damn as all I wanted to do is get some water down my throat, followed by my first smoke of the day.

At 9am I wandered over to the office. I had to show my passport and vehicle documents and in no time at all I was booked onto the midnight ferry to Kyrenia. The total cost was 170 Turkish Lira (Approx £68) Not bad for an eight hour crossing, mind you that was before I knew what I was in for!

I had the rest of the day to do as I pleased and as the Mediterranean Sea was about 50 feet from my van the first thing I did was to slip on my swimming trunks, oh yes! (See photos) The temperature of the water was comfortable but not as warm as I thought it would be. Unfortunately the tiny bay was inundated with floating rubbish but I put that out of my mind as I splashed around for half an hour or so. Most pleasant I can say.

I hadn’t had a chance to play my guitar since I left Hungary and as the place was fairly deserted I bought out my twelve string acoustic guitar. Quick as a flash one of the youngsters from the booking office came wandering over. Although he spoke not a word of English we managed to communicate and he indicated he would like to have a strum. He was very good, especially as I found out later that he’d never played a twelve string before and his voice weren’t bad either. For the best part of the day the youngster and I got through most if not all of the numbers we knew (I could do with a job like his!)

It was dark as I approached the dock gates at 9pm, just as I’d been instructed to do. As I pulled up at the gate I was waved to a halt and asked to produce all my documents. I was relieved of a further 50 Lira, which I was told was port duty. I then proceeded to the loading/customs area and was directed to an area away from all the enormous juggernauts parked side by side. A casually dressed stout man approached me and told me in broken English to open the van. He took a step back and whistled as he took in the contents of my van. ‘Oh shit’ went through my mind, over and over and over again! What are they going to hit me with now?

As I sat in my van worrying about what was going to happen in the next hour or so when a there was a tap on my window. I hadn’t even noticed another white had pulled up alongside of me. I wound down the window and rather posh English voice asked, ‘are you going or coming?’ What a stupid question, I thought at this time of turmoil going on in my head. ‘Ask me another.’ I replied. He was from Wales and roamed Europe delivering all kinds of things for customers if they were willing to part with two and a half grand at a time! He seemed very cock-sure and seemed to know what he was talking about so I listened intently. He told me to bring my documents and to follow him. As we rounded the corner of the customs/police building the place was buzzing with activity. Lorries and cars were in a long cue being searched by customs offers, most in casual clothes. He told me to let him do the talking as we drew up at a window behind which sat a sweaty fat slug in police uniform. I just acted dumb and after some words were exchanged by my man and the ‘fat slug,’ my passport was stamped and we moved to another part of the building housing the customs authorities. Again after a quick exchange of words my man ushered me away. ‘Ok,’ he said, ‘you have to wait till ten o’clock and they will come and check the contents of your van.’ ‘Must they?’ I replied almost in a stutter. At this point my man handed me back my passport and disappeared into the crowd.

I wandered back to my van and decided to keep a low profile and try to read the book I’d been trying to finish for the last month. The book is entitled ‘Person to Person; The problem of being human.’ It’s a fascinating insight into human psychological behaviour. Its joint authors, Carl Rogers and Barry Stevens were the leaders in their field, a good read and something to avert my strangled thoughts.

My man was at my window again and I climbed out of my cab as he looked excited. And excited he was, telling me he just met a Turkish bloke doing exactly the same kind of removals as him. He said he’d mentioned me to him and the Turk said he would help me to ensure a hassle free departure to Kyrenia. He was as good as his word and a few hours later my van was on the top deck of the ferry and I had all the necessary documentation stamped and it didn’t cost me a penny. Strangely soon after he had our documents sorted he said he’d see me in Kyrenia docks and that’s the last I saw of him but I did see his van exit the docks and I never did see him the following morning on arrival at Kyrenia!

I know this post is somewhat long but please bear with me as soon things start to go 'tits' up! So watch this space for part two of Turkey and beyond.