August 2008 A Turkish Adventure
The day started so well, it was 40 degrees and we were off to a remote turtle loving beech in turkey. We had packed the car with iced water and spare food ready for the 30 mile hike across the mountains. 3 miles out of our holiday villa we stumble across a newly laid tarmac road, which for Turkey is quite a surprise. Amazed at this new adventure we merrily trundle down the empty lanes looking forward to our time on the beach. All is well until a further 10 miles when I stop for petrol.
Buying anything in Turkey outside of the tourist routes involves a lot sticking your fingers up at the attendants and hope they understand your not gesticulating something offensive. While I stand next to my car and negotiate 50 Turkish lira of fuel I am distracted by another fuel attendant who is touching my car with a face that says ‘you are in so much trouble’.
Interestingly at this point I hadn’t actually looked at the car I had just got out of. It was a brand new gleaming white Renault Clio saloon with less than 500 Km on the clock. My eyes bulged with disbelief as I rotate my head down and sideways trying to make sense at what I was looking at. The car was from the windows down a browny black getting darker and thicker towards the seal with the wheels a jet tarmac black glistening in the sunlight as if this was what they were meant to look like. My gesticulating turns into a full on break dance lurching to and fro as I try and find out if they can rescue me from this disaster. They stare back at me in disbelief, eventually, my break dancing is understood as “where the hell can I get this cleaned off?” and I am sent off rather quickly to a local village. All I know is 3 km and roundabout. From there I have to work out the rest.
My 3km turned in to 15 but eventually I find a roundabout with an array of tractors and vans and what appear to be the remains of a garage that perhaps had been blown up during the war when the Ottoman Empire collapsed. I stop, get out and start my gesticulating all over again, this time I am persuaded to sit on a stool in the shade and wait. Cheryl and family were left in the car looking at me with those questioning faces where you disfigure your eyes and lips instead of using actual words. I look back at her shrugging my shoulders and return the ugly face look while I am surrounded by 6 or 7 Turks who seem content to simply wait. I have absolutely no idea why I am waiting, who for or what will happen? Everyone seems content to just sit.
I continually try to ask more questions like ‘why am I sitting here and what happened to the rest of the building?’ and ‘what do you think of Kurds?’ I am politely silenced and left with the distinct impression to shut up and wait. After what felt like the longest 25 minutes of my life the waiting comes to an end with the roar of a 40 year motorbike and rider. I wasn’t sure which one was older but they looked like they had been inseparable friends all their lives.
The Turkish language explodes in front of me as my waiting companions all try to negotiate some kind of business deal or another. There are lots more arm waving and head scratching as men and women hesitate over the transfers of money and work. Eventually my companions disappear seemingly happy with their negotiations into their own world leaving me with a rotund man graying a little early, his trusty motor bike and the remains of his garage.
Without any questions or price negotiation he instantly and almost supernaturally knows what to do. Pulling on a boiler suit possibly older than his grandmother he quickly and efficiently sprays petrol from a battered spray gun powered by an unseen compressor probably lost somewhere in the debris of the garage remains. I am a little horrified at the free use of petrol which is beginning to remind me of a scene from ‘Zoolander’ especially as the car engine is still running! Despite the alarm bells ringing in my head I am gladdened at the speed by which he is able to transfer this tar soaked wagon back into a respectable automobile.
Despite the fact that the shock absorbers are still and possibly permanently covered in road I am confident of the fact that the hire company won’t notice, so after generously tipping our Turkish saviour we set off again now two hours late for the beach. One would hope that our adventures are over but little did we know they had had only just begun…………..
The continuation of this story will be updated soon
The day started so well, it was 40 degrees and we were off to a remote turtle loving beech in turkey. We had packed the car with iced water and spare food ready for the 30 mile hike across the mountains. 3 miles out of our holiday villa we stumble across a newly laid tarmac road, which for Turkey is quite a surprise. Amazed at this new adventure we merrily trundle down the empty lanes looking forward to our time on the beach. All is well until a further 10 miles when I stop for petrol.
Buying anything in Turkey outside of the tourist routes involves a lot sticking your fingers up at the attendants and hope they understand your not gesticulating something offensive. While I stand next to my car and negotiate 50 Turkish lira of fuel I am distracted by another fuel attendant who is touching my car with a face that says ‘you are in so much trouble’.
Interestingly at this point I hadn’t actually looked at the car I had just got out of. It was a brand new gleaming white Renault Clio saloon with less than 500 Km on the clock. My eyes bulged with disbelief as I rotate my head down and sideways trying to make sense at what I was looking at. The car was from the windows down a browny black getting darker and thicker towards the seal with the wheels a jet tarmac black glistening in the sunlight as if this was what they were meant to look like. My gesticulating turns into a full on break dance lurching to and fro as I try and find out if they can rescue me from this disaster. They stare back at me in disbelief, eventually, my break dancing is understood as “where the hell can I get this cleaned off?” and I am sent off rather quickly to a local village. All I know is 3 km and roundabout. From there I have to work out the rest.
My 3km turned in to 15 but eventually I find a roundabout with an array of tractors and vans and what appear to be the remains of a garage that perhaps had been blown up during the war when the Ottoman Empire collapsed. I stop, get out and start my gesticulating all over again, this time I am persuaded to sit on a stool in the shade and wait. Cheryl and family were left in the car looking at me with those questioning faces where you disfigure your eyes and lips instead of using actual words. I look back at her shrugging my shoulders and return the ugly face look while I am surrounded by 6 or 7 Turks who seem content to simply wait. I have absolutely no idea why I am waiting, who for or what will happen? Everyone seems content to just sit.
I continually try to ask more questions like ‘why am I sitting here and what happened to the rest of the building?’ and ‘what do you think of Kurds?’ I am politely silenced and left with the distinct impression to shut up and wait. After what felt like the longest 25 minutes of my life the waiting comes to an end with the roar of a 40 year motorbike and rider. I wasn’t sure which one was older but they looked like they had been inseparable friends all their lives.
The Turkish language explodes in front of me as my waiting companions all try to negotiate some kind of business deal or another. There are lots more arm waving and head scratching as men and women hesitate over the transfers of money and work. Eventually my companions disappear seemingly happy with their negotiations into their own world leaving me with a rotund man graying a little early, his trusty motor bike and the remains of his garage.
Without any questions or price negotiation he instantly and almost supernaturally knows what to do. Pulling on a boiler suit possibly older than his grandmother he quickly and efficiently sprays petrol from a battered spray gun powered by an unseen compressor probably lost somewhere in the debris of the garage remains. I am a little horrified at the free use of petrol which is beginning to remind me of a scene from ‘Zoolander’ especially as the car engine is still running! Despite the alarm bells ringing in my head I am gladdened at the speed by which he is able to transfer this tar soaked wagon back into a respectable automobile.
Despite the fact that the shock absorbers are still and possibly permanently covered in road I am confident of the fact that the hire company won’t notice, so after generously tipping our Turkish saviour we set off again now two hours late for the beach. One would hope that our adventures are over but little did we know they had had only just begun…………..
The continuation of this story will be updated soon
No comments:
Post a Comment