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chrysaliseuro2018 · 6 years

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BOSS OF THE BUS

As we were making our way down the west coast on our 5 day trip, Genevieve was investigating trips from Side to Capadocia in the centre of Turkey. Correspondence went back and forth about a €40-50 (about $75-80) 3 day trip. Comparing what we were paying for our 5 days this was so cheap I feared we would be camping. But no this was the price. Of course the sting came a bit later.

So we were up for it and the 4 of us booked to start the tour on 12th June with pick up time 6.45am. Antique Side is closed to cars other than those of residents so the tour bus couldn’t come down the hill to collect all our luggage. Booking ‘agents’ advised the town electric cart would collect us but alas no. Meanwhile Chris was in negotiations with the police manning the gate but it was a firm No. With minutes ticking by Doug quickly got Penny’s car, luggage was loaded into that and driven to the bus.

Now about 30 minutes had elapsed so understandably got some stink-eye from the passengers who’d been kept waiting.

The bus was designed for 12 passengers but fitted out for 17 so it was a close and intimate affair. In the front 2 seats were Doug and Gene who it has to be said got lucky with some extra leg room. Behind them 2 elderly Danes who grabbed a bottle of wine and or beers at every possible opportunity. Behind the Danes were 10 year old Russian lad with his mousy mute mother. Then Chris and me wedged in (Russian lad had his seat reclined the entire 2 days), and behind us the very friendly and chatty Aunty Margaret and Tina from Essex. Along the back were sweet young newly weds Soyah & Maurice from Holland, a spare seat, then Holly, Tina’s stepsister who judging by her size would have been grateful for the spare seat. Could have knocked us over with a feather when she told us she had been to the 7 continents by age 24, had emigrated to Melbourne several years ago (lives in Chelsea)and works as a sound engineer. You just wouldn’t have picked it!

Then heading back along the bus in single seats was a surly young lad who turned out to be part of the tour operation, a woman of unknown origins who disappeared after day 1, then Mr Russia who seemed to have supplanted both his wife’s and his son’s ego into his own.

Bus driver slipped under the radar but the same can’t be said for the guide Nahjo. In fact it was a battle of egos between Nahjo and Mr Russia. He didn’t just like the sound of his own voice. He was addicted to it! Along the way amongst other chit chat and information we got his life story, some group marriage guidance, how small lies can be forgiven and how this works in a religious context too. Every monologue went for a minimum of 10 minutes and woe betide you should you chat amongst yourselves during one of his diatribes. In the gaps the gregarious, party-loving-club-going-40-something Tina would try to share with me her life history. Nahjo seemed to get wind of it and standing facing the back of the bus would either clear his throat or announce it was his turn. Chris and I were left thinking our polite and humble Gallipoli guide must have been absent for the Tour Guide Arrogance 101 unit of the qualification.

So we were off and despite the late get away we stopped not 20 minutes down the road for a tea/ coffee break, followed by a breakfast stop 40 minutes later at a petrol station/ roadside stop. (It has to be noted that Cappadocia is some 470 kilometres from Side so it was going to be long day if the stops came so frequently). Breakfast option 1 was a vast modern complex selling everything you don’t want to eat. Gene who has an eye for local food spotted hidden in a corner behind some trees an outfit selling gözleme so we headed there. Great decision. Shoes off and into the tent where the local lady sat crossed leg with her dough, tubs of filling and the black dome for cooking the gözleme. Spinach and cheese one was a bit dry but the potato one was outstanding.

All wedged ourselves back in the bus which climbed up the mountains through some magical scenery. Unfortunately Nahjo kept reassuring us on the wrong side of the bus that we would see it ‘on the back journey’. However our arrangements meant we weren’t doing ‘the back journey’ so at one particular stop he was a little annoyed when we headed off 200 metres down the road to photograph the nomads herding their goats. I suggested it would be better for all if the bus pulled over so we could all see anything of interest on the way to Cappadocia. Suggestion was not welcomed.

Another stop for coffee and the sting of the extra €’s. It had to happen of course. You can’t run a tour for €50 per person providing transport, 2 nights accommodation no matter how basic, 2 dinners and two breakfasts. So lunch which we though was fend for oneself turned out to be a set payment (we only paid for one and opted to take our chances on day 2), and extra for Whirling dervishes, museums (charge €25/ $39.20 versus ticket face value less than $9) etc totalling an extra €120 between us. Even taking that into consideration €220/$350 for both of us was pretty cheap and the overcharging on extras balanced the undercharging on initial outlay.

Next stop, lost count if it was 4 or 5, was at the Mevlâna museum Konya, the birth place of the Sufi religion and Dervishes. The site is a holy place for Muslims with over 1.5 million visiting it yearly. The Mosque contains the tomb of Rumi (unfortunately hidden due to renovations) later known as Mevlâna who devised the idea of whirling and the tombs of other eminent dervishes. Also on display were Mervlana’s coat, a box apparently containing his beard and any number of exquisitely decorated Qurans, one so tiny that the author went blind writing it.

Alongside the Mosque was a complex giving information about the dervish culture. Included was a lodge displaying mannequins dressed as they would have been in Mevlâna’s day and the dervish cells displaying various items. I for one would have enjoyed more than our tightly scheduled allotted time there. But we were rounded up like errant school children and headed back for the bus. Chris managed to ruffle Nahjo’s feathers by needing a toilet stop when we were warned the next section of the drive would be 2.5 hours. By this stage as it was 1pm we were wondering about the elusive lunch if the drive was for 2.5 hours. There was some grumbling from Tina and Aunty Margaret and it wasn’t from their stomachs.

Eventually we rolled into another vile modern roadside stop - our lunch venue. Behind the counter were some aggrieved (probably because of the lateness of the hour) gorillas of men slopping out an assortment of runny casseroles, reluctant to identify any ingredients. It tasted as bad as it looked. We were immediately pleased with the earlier decision not to commit to day two lunch.

A short drive and then time for another stop. This time it was to visit a preserved home dug under ground, a primitive more simple Coober Pedy affair. Apparently tunnel complexes formed entire cities but this was a small example taking only 10 minutes for everyone to get through. I opted out and instead waited near the entrance/ exit where a dozen or so middle aged women had set up a market. Trouble was they were all selling the same little local cloth dolls so competition to get any one walking by was frenetic. Females in particular were the target for the spruiking with a good natured but frantic cacophony of calls of “Mother, Mother”. The closer anyone ventured to the stall the louder the screeching got. I hope everyone managed to sell something but with another 5 weeks on the road, it wasn’t something I could buy.

Everyone back on the bus and off to Dervish show scheduled to start at 6pm. Clearly we were up against it as the previously cautious bus drive planted his foot. Arrived shortly after 6pm with another bus arriving after us. Having been so enchanted with the beautiful ceremony we saw at Hodjapasha in Istanbul Chris and I we were looking forward to a similar experience. Dougal and Gene had never seen them and had their expectations built up by us.

Oh dear!!! The pipe/flute player struggled to find a note, the dervishes all looked like novices (part time uni job perhaps), they wore slippers that made a noise that was distracting, one was losing his pants, also very distracting. There was a non dancing head honcho roaming around amongst them dressed in black once again distracting, they didn’t vary their speed and were for the best part out of sync. Yes they could spin but it lacked all the beauty, rhythm and charm of our previous experience. We left feeling glad to have seen a more authentic experience and Doug and Gene left feeling they were yet to see one.

Short drive to our delightfully self rated ‘Special Class’ hotel in Göreme, rooms allocated and orders that we had 15 minutes to get to dinner. Dinner a simple affair with lentil soup, the not-so-traditional-Turkish chicken schnitzel and melon. Danish couple of course knocked off another bottle of wine.

Gene, Chris and I headed for a stroll to town wandering through the streets. Highlight was at a hotel where I poked my head in and elderly Mehmet the owner insisted we come and look at his accommodation. Beautiful rooms that were huge with the bathrooms built into the rock giving a sense of a modern and upmarket Flinstone bathroom. With Mehmet’s limited English we spent a special half hour in the hotel’s courtyard trying and making a reasonable hash of having a meaningful conversation.

A long day and time for to return to our ‘Special Class’ Hotel Karl for bed, especially for Gene with a 4.30 am start for her hot air balloon flight over Cappadocia.

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