Below Belief

Can’t help feeling that we’re missing so much of Turkey. The Aussies can’t believe we plan to go straight down to Rhodes without stopping in places like ‘Butterfly Valley’ and ‘Cappadocia’ in mid-Turkey which are apparently havens for travellers and very beautiful to see. The risk of not getting a return flight, though, is more pressing to our minds and Rhodes does promise sunshine and 31°C according to the papers.
Everyone seems to be leaving today and although we must leave, I can’t help feeling regret at moving on. I have really enjoyed our stay here. Nowhere else have I felt more at home than here. On our way to catch the bus, and possibly to reduce our regret at leaving, we imagine magical moments beach camping in Rhodes with bonfires and barbecues. All to often, though, for one magical moment, you endure the mundane moments in far greater proportion. Our major regret is not spending long enough travelling. In particular, we could easily have valuably spent a month in Turkey alone.
When our shuttle bus finally arrives we are the only passengers and the journey – with a nicotine starved driver without a cigarette light – is reminiscent of our taxi-ride in Krakow. Turkish drivers love both their cars and their horns. The bus-station itself is a monstrous affair. In Turkey buses are far more widespread and efficient than trains. The bus is very impressive – possibly the most luxurious form of transport we’ve used so far – except for the fact that smoking is allowed and we’re packed in with 50 other chain-smoking Turks.
Once we’re underway, we have an unrivalled view of the country. Rural Turkey is somewhere halfway between how I imagine India and Western America to look like – unplanned, ugly and full of advertisement hoardings. In the built up areas no building seems ever to be complete and most are just concrete shells. Perhaps the Turkish government is expecting a population explosion, or maybe they just like building. Whatever, the architecture is drab and boring and most of the land is littered and derelict. People stand around in the dusty streets, selling their wares or just watching the traffic. I find the place ugly and annoyingly commercial. And yet, as we round the corner and the verge drops away to a wide lake, backed by mist-shrouded hills and crowned by a fantastically large red sun on the horizon, I am reminded that even with all our added ugliness, nature remains impressively beautiful.
In the air-conditioned comfort of the bus, we are served coffee and given sickly sweet lemon-smelling oil to rub into our hands and faces. As the sky darkens, the ten hours we have left to travel in this manner seem insurmountable, displayed as they are on the bright red digital clock above the driver. I keep reminding myself that we have slept in worse conditions.

This entry was posted on Saturday, August 31st, 1996 at 2:19 pm and is filed under Europe. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.