Day thirty three - 03 Sept 2009; Turkish hospitality and watermelons

Today was a driving day. Our first stop is another Skania garage to replace a part. The garage has a mini-van, and they kindly drive us into to visit the nearby city while we wait, although the driving style of our host doesn’t necessarily lend to the hospitality score.

We are now entering a part of Turkey not explored by too many western tourists and some of us feel somewhat underdressed, not least Meg, who at 6’0” and still wearing shorts, is exposing a bit too much leg to be comfortable in a city populated by Muslims unused to our dress codes. An old man with a stick he uses to aid his mobility offers to exchange it for Meg. Taking the opportunity to speak for the group, I start to barter, asking for two sticks, but the offer is lost in non-translation, and he walks away. Later it is agreed that, in any exchange, Meg is worth 19 horses. Meanwhile, Jen, the skinny northern pale Leeds lass, says she’ll be happy to fetch 17 horses, as she accepts that you get more woman if you buy Meg.

army bases are getting to be a more frequent site as we go deeper into Turkey

We stop at a village for supplies and are greeted by a gang of children. We communicate in football team names and their favourite players. In this part of the world, their team can be Liverpool and their favourite player can be Wayne Rooney (of Manchester United) at the same time. We also get the obligatory requests for ‘money, money’. Some of us have taken to reciprocating the gesture. This is a budget trip after all.

A family let us use their toilets, so there is a queue of westerners leading out of this family’s house in the middle of an anonymous Turkish town. They also offer us watermelon, the sellers of which seem to line any busy Turkish street. I did think that they might be asking for money, but I was wrong. It was pure hospitality.

Later in the day, we stop to collect some firewood. I say collect, but could equally say plunder, as it is a collection of freshly cut timber just metres from the timber yard. I rip my trousers, which I had bought in Goreme, while breaking some wood. We leave all of it behind anyway as a man comes from the timber yard threatening to call the police.

We stop later for some more attainable firewood and I fall over into nettles. I am being too entertaining to some members of our group for my own good.

collecting wood

It’s a bush camp night, and I sleep on top of the truck as the ground is too rocky.