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Published: October 11th 2009
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This whole trip has been exciting, but this morning I had breakfast (typically Turkish) on the Eceabat hostel's fifth floor balcony, in the full morning sun, overlooking the Dardanelles. Overlooking the Dardanelles! The Hellespont! Once I could gaze over the straits into The East the vibe of my trip seemed to shift up a gear. My next destination was İstanbul, Constantinople, Stamboul, Byzantium, the seat of the Ottoman Empire. From there I will take the formidable Trans-Asyan Ekspres train, and journey for three days and nights into the heart of the Middle East: Tehran.
In the meantime I needed to take the five hour bus ride from the end of the Gallipoli Peninsula and find Darlene - an ex-pat friend of my friend Julian. In the spirit of Middle Eastern hospitality Darlene had offered me a place to lay my head and rest my weary backpack. Despite the violent-looking protests in İstanbul I had viewed on the TV the night before, the sun was shining and all looked good for the next stage. And I had learnt from the elusive Erion to contact my next host in good time.
Another luxury coach ride, complete with a Turkish sitcom on
the two small screens suspended from the coach's ceiling. No raucous sound-track, as warned in travel guide books, as each seat had a pair of headphones supplied. Although later when a chat show featuring graphically-detailed footage of a birth replaced the sitcom the loudspeakers suddenly came to life with the sounds of baby screaming and mother crying. I can only assume it was the driver's idea to wake up those who were letting the warm early afternoon sun get the better of them.
I had annoyingly left my daily large water bottle in my backpack, which was in the bus's stowage. On the two convenient times I went to retrieve it I was waved away by the two onboard hosts and given little sealed containers of water to drink instead. I took this as a sign of hospitality, and not at all a way of distracting me from learning that my pack had been sold as soon as I was on board to a gang of Albanians (always the bad guys in this part of Europe).
My entry into İstanbul was via the enormous Otogar bus station, which gave me a good sense of the size of the
city - about the same population as New York City. Instead of leaping onto a local bus for the centre I found a surprisingly quiet internet cafe, and researched the best way to get around. I had arranged to meet my local contacts for dinner in Taksim, the lively part of town. It was only 3pm so I spent some time writing up the blog. The cafe was not only quiet, but cheap, and I was given a glass of apple tea and allowed to use the toilet - although it was one of those ceramic holes that required a gymnast's balance.
I walked out to find bus 830, and somewhere to buy a ticket before boarding (although I discovered that, despite the best web advice, tickets were only available onboard). I soon realised I should have Googled directions for getting around the bus station - it was so vast and confusing.
"Hello my friend! Hello my friend!" I ignored the shopkeeper - balding, rotund, in his thirties - and started to head down some stairs which looked promising, as on the ground level I could see no buses.
"Problem? Problem? No! Hey, YOU have problem!" Downstairs looked dark
and forbidding, despite the obvious presence of buses, which upstairs could not provide. Maybe I did have a problem.
"Hello. Do you know where I can catch bus 8-3-0?"
"Where you from?"
"Oh ... Australia"
"Australia? Benin erkek kardeşım australia yaşar. O iyi bir ulke."
"Yes, yes. Err ... bus 830? Taksim?"
"This way, there." He pointed me in what I soon discovered was the opposite direction to that which I needed. "You come drink tea coffee with me."
"Next time, thank you."
"Ha!"
Ha indeed. What was all that about?
For most of the bus ride the traffic flowed smoothly, and I was able to view the city anonymously through the bus window. Even though I was the only obvious tourist on the bus I was ignored, as big cities tend to do with strangers. The sun was setting by the time the bus crossed the bridge over the Golden Horn - the wide river that cuts through the European side of İstanbul. From the hill on the other side the minarets and domes created the sort of view that makes you forget to breathe. The sunset created a perfect silhouette that could only be İstanbul.
The
traffic by now had become so slow and heavy that our evening plans had changed, as it became too difficult to get around town, and I changed buses to head up the Bosphorus to Darlene's flat in Bebek. Here the sea was fringed with smart cafes and restaurants, and had a very self-satisfied feel. I found Darlene's flat easily from her directions and climbed up to the fourth floor. I was greeted with a very welcome glass of wine and a spectacular panoramic view from her large balcony. The Bosphorus - that narrow ribbon of sea that has the onerous task of separating East from West - was full of boats, barely visible in the late evening light. Small water taxis skimming about, expensive half-timbered yachts going nowhere, ancient enormous Russian oil tankers soundlessly passing through. And across the water were lights of countless houses and palaces in among the trees on the hills of Asian İstanbul.
On one side of the balcony was an elderly mosque at the edge of a park. On the other side, where the sea curved around to give a us a better view of the neighbours, crouched some open air restaurants, from which floated the crisp smell of grilling fish, and the sounds of laughter and animated chat of the late-summer diners. I couldn't quite believe how lucky I was to stay in such a stunning flat, in such an exciting city.
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Fatima
non-member comment
Hello
Hi Nicholas, i have got your blog from Sara- hope you don't mind . Just wanted to tell you that I went to Balochistan in July (my papa-in-laws demise) and asked about the transport at the Iranian border, was told that there are frequent buses going to Quetta, you'll have no problems. Recently I heard on the news that Pakistan has sealed all its borders with Afghan n Iran, I guess that should not affect your journey. My cousin's son is a doctor in Nushki, he is the district health officer (DHO)I have mentioned to him your tour. If you stop over in Nushki do contact him. His name is Dr. Asif Mengal. I shall update you any new developments- Have a safe and joyful journey. Fatima