Thrace

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I left the hotel in Thessaloniki in the dark. It was warm already. I caught the 7.18am train to Alexandroupolis, which cost less than half the previous day's bus fare. My aim for the day was to get to the Gallipoli peninsula. I had a rough idea about buses and taxis across the Greece-Turkey border, and then south to Çanakkale, but I knew that there would have to be some improvisation. A glorious sunrise streaked across the stark hills (my, how hilly this part of Europe is) and massive, almost imperceptively moving modern windmills. While there were some train stations in the small villages that we passed through, there were no platforms; the passangers walked across the rails and climbed up the side of the carriage to get on board.

Alex was a lovely old city, not much traffic, loads of cafes with pavement tables, and a fine looking seaport. The weather was unexpectedly glorious and warm - I had just stepped out of an airconditioned train. I found my bus to Kipi (I had done that much research the evening before) and was soon heading to the Turkish border. It seemed to be a shame to leave Greece so soon.

At 3.30pm the bus dropped me right by the border crossing, in a remote rural setting. My passport was soon given the exit stamp by the Greeks, and I was given a warning not to walk to the Turkish frontier, lest the Greek army single me out for target practice. Instead I was told to ride with a passing coach for the kilometre or so across no-man's land. I was anxious to get my passport back and hitch a lift with a large coach just going through customs, but the border guard said, "Not worry, in a minute." The coach people were getting their duty-free, and the coach itself idled away nearby. "Don't worry!" he said again as I caught his eye. The coach then drove off without me. "Next coach. Next coach."

Curiously the cars and trucks had now stopped moving on through the border crossing, and we were soon told by the Greek police that the Turkish computers had just crashed, and may not be up again until the morning.
"Why did not you catch that coach?" my guard asked.
Bemused silence. "Err, because you had my passport?"
"Hmm. No more coaches tonight."

I went and had a large coffee and helped the Greek duty-free shop girls practice their English. After a while I began to look around for somewhere comfortable to sleep. By sunset, about 6pm, the top of a canvas-covered truck was looking the most comfortable. At least, I thought, the the cafe was open 24 hours, and the toilets were spotless and had toilet paper and soap. And it was warm. I knew I couldn't return to Greece, as my passport had been stamped.

Traffic appeared to be moving from Turkey to Greece again, so I hovered. A waiting elderly car driver (elderly car and driver) started to talk to me in Turkish through his open window. We eventually settled on conversing in German - und Ich habe almost nein Deutsch. His name was Mehmet, and he very generously offered me a lift into Turkey, should the border reopen at any stage. In the end we had to wait just under four hours in total. To make up for it Turkish immigration gave me a brightly-coloured visa sticker, some sort of edible candy thing, and cheerfully waved me through. Mehmet had to answer a few questions, presumably about his customs' declaration concerning the only things he appeared to be carrying except for me - two house plants.

The last remaining light of sunset cast a dazzling orange blanket over Greece, and we drove into the darkness of Turkey, passed a dozen dramatic fires in the fields beside the road. I assume they were burning stubble, but how does one say that in German? Mehmet drove me to Keşan, about 30 kms into Turkey. He also found me a cheap, clean hotel, and gleaned instructions of how to catch the 10am bus to Gallipoli. I had only gone half my planned journey for the day, but I was in Turkey, and already indebted to one of its residents. I checked into room 101 - is that supposed to be lucky?

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Movie material
I can see all of this in a big screen movie. Screenplay and Score by Nicholas Edwards.