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Dear All
En route to Nepal with theme of travel by local transport, make do and learn to enjoy the experience for a few months and not really know what to do until the opportunity knocks. This was to become the theme of our adventure though I did intend eventually to climb a 20,000-ish feet Himalaya peak somewhere.
Our home for much the next eight months would be a pyramid tent that was created from a flysheet that had been dumped in the rubbish bin at Ultimate Equipment and the single central pole was from the remains of a worn out tent from the youth club I ran and the groundsheet was scrounged from some spare waterproof material someone gave us. Joy’s sewing skills joined the groundsheet and flysheet to make a very lightweight tent and she produced some well made waterproofs. I think the L shaped aluminium frame on which our rucksacks and other baggage hung were donated by someone. The air soles of Doctor Martin’s boots were to see me from Carlisle to 19,500 feet in the Himalaya! This trip was an anti establishment way to go to climb in the Himalaya. A few years earlier some friends and I arranged a formal sponsored “Expedition” but that was not my scene to have donations to fund my wandering adventures, so DiY wandering begins.
We chased visas in London and rejected ideas of NZ and Aussie though flights will get cheap next year so …
We found a bus going to Greece, Athens for £25 and Istanbul for an extra £12 and set off after spending a few days in Dorset on a farm run by some old school friends fo Joy’s, Alice and Lawrence. I loved it, ground my own flour with a stone hand operated mill on the kitchen table. The irony of supremely wealthy westerners opting for quaint manual “back to nature” was to become apparent when we live with people who don’t have electricity or even clean water. However the dowry system seems to be common in so many cultures because the Astors bought the farm for their marriage and we found in Nepal similar arrangements.
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My beloved Triumph Herald has gone, both of them – I renovated it from two scrap cars, lifting the engine out with my climbing rope looped through slings and karabiners suspended from a branch of the tree outside our house. That was a good car and even had a wardrobe in it! Well, when I was unemployed I would go to the auction room at Wigton and get things that didn’t sell and at that time bed irons and wardrobes were being shunned for divans and fitted cupboards.. The bed irons became the frame for the greenhouse with windows recycled from a hotel double glazing. I also use bed frame irons to make a trailer for the old GP14 dinghy. Carved wardrobe doors made a locker on the back seat of the Triumph Herald with padlocks and padlocks were also the only way to lock the car doors; we were warned on the previous year’s trip to Sicily that we would require added security so the wardrobe and padlocks sufficed. The Sicilians called the car the travelling “Bank of England” and it must have worked because we returned with everything intact.
So I got £20 scrap for it which was what I had bought if for, and the £20 now paid for the bus fare to Greece. However we had to return keys of our friends flat and the bus leaves soon from the other side of London and … panic! A stoned coloured guy drove his taxi but could not hurry – literally dopy – but we made the bus with half an hour to spare (and refused his offer to partake of his indulgence).
The bus is an ordinary English touring coach which thankfully was half empty so we had four seats to ourselves which was invaluable for sleeping on the journey. There are two drivers and lots of Aussies. The drivers either slept or drove with few breaks, a hard life! The courier was a Greek guy and I don’t think he had more than four hours sleep. The Aussie beside us was funny but kept making fun of us, and all pommies. The jokes are almost like Irish jokes – strange to be on the receiving end and an awakening to the fact that we are no longer the dominant culture in our own domain – we are now travellers in strange lands where everyone starts to shed status and start to become more equal in many ways.
The journey:
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London Victoria
0300 hrs Belgium
Wed 23 Germany; long flat countryside. Austria beautiful mountains.
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Terrible drivers. Buses overtake on blind corners and overtake when lorries approach. Smells of blocked sewers when we stop. All stops in all countries coffee 50p a cup.
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Dropped off in pitch black somewhere near Mount Olympus. A campsite 200 metres away recommended by courier John.
Too hot in tent so swim and rest, read eat at restaurant £5 for two with wine.
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Swim. Met English guy who saw his siddhi friend levitate on the cross channel ferry.
Tiredness and a bit nervous about what we are getting into is getting to us so some other campers advise against us continuing.
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Friendly Germans all speak English and Greeks speak German. We get a lift with Hans to the base of Olympus and see a monastery blown up by the Germans in WWII. Hans joined the Red Cross instead of military service. I think a lot of young Germans are embarrassed about their immediate history – and not without cause! We met an Aussie whose mother was an only survivor from their family who were exterminated in a concentration camp. He said that, though he tried not to have any preconceptions, he found himself violently hating German people, even to the point of not wanting to open a door for a crippled German because the German may have had a war wound.
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Hans decided to go up Olympus; he needed company, we needed transport. From the camp Dolphin to Litocheron was 10km. then an unsurfaced forest road went 18.5 km to Peronia at 900m where the walk started. 2 hrs walking through beautiful pine and deciduous forest brought us to the hut at about 2000m. then 2 hrs walk to the first summit. Hans had climbed it beofre and we wrongly thought he was experienced. His smoking made him lag behind especially on the final slope. At the top he said that he had had a heart attack two years previously!
We went on to the next summit which involved a rocky scramble lie the Skye ridge. The rest of the mountain had been tame paths like going up Skiddaw. At the top 2917m 9481 feet, was a book for visitors. We didn’t have a pen so Joy found some cigarette tobacco and spat on it making a dye then we made a a pen from a match!
There were some hailstones and rain on top but we dried quickly once we descended and ran down but both of us started our old knee troubles. However we did very well, 2017 m ascent 15km distance 4.75 hrs walking with 2.5 hrs rest
We think Greece is as expensive as UK for eating out – £5 for meal for two and drinks is a lot at that time!
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Hans takes us to Salonika station and we meet someone who knows an old flame of Joy’s.
There are signs of their recent major earthquake and people are too scared to live in their houses so tents have been erected in parks and around the station ready for use if it happens again. Some people seem to have made home there but tensions from seeing the red light district nearby and tiredness makes for a lack of community feeling. Dogs sniff about and there is a mad dog barking until a loud “bang” and silence! Can we do that here? No toilets and an accompanying smell of the result.
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0600hrs after four hours of sleep we catch the train to Istanbul 464km away for £8 each. So far we have a compartment to ourselves. Long may it stay that way because it is a journey of 27 hours on the train, we thought, but the train was the slowest “express” you could imagine. But at least it kept moving between stations in Greece although it visited every minute village station en route. However once we got near Turkey the rot set in. Suddenly our train seemed to be ignored by everyone and we would doze to sleep, only to wake and find our carriage in a siding with no loco.
At the last Greek stop, two Aussies got on and we couldn’t pretend we were asleep stretched out on the seats. There were a nice quiet couple and Shane gave me some more books to read. The SF books are a bit rubbish.
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At 1100hrs we should have been in Istanbul but we are only past the border.
During the night Joy woke, feeling her skirt being opened and a hand on her leg. She thought it was me being amorous but suddenly realised that I usually had other things to do at 4:00 am – like sleep. She opened her eyes to find a Turk with a torch shining up her skirt and his head moving up. She got rid of him quick and fortunately took it calmly as a foreign incident. We later heard of many other girls suffering similar embarrassments in the no man’s land of the carriages losing their Greek loco and waiting for a Turkish loco. Having seen the horrific film Midnight Express about westerners locked in a Turkish jail I am pleased I did not make a fuss with the armed guard.
The most vile incident was in Yugoslavia when some girls got off the bus to have a pee by the road side and hid behind a parked lorry. When they walked back to our bus they had to pass the lorry driver who had been wearing only underpants but dropped them and started playing with himself!!
By 1400hrs Fri we are starving, having set off at 0820 Thursday. 33 ½ hours on the train and no food since 2200hrs Thursday!
At Istanbul we find we cannot change Greek money because of the Greek / Turkish conflict – it is illegal to even handle it!! I cash a travellers cheque, we eat, find eventually a good hotel for 220TL £4.40 per night for two with double bed, shower, clean. Then I change Greek drachmas on the black market and get a good rate of 1000Dr=600TL
Friday night we look for new eating house and the porter leads us up back alleys. We get worried and Joy is touched up but turns around angrily and makes for the man. He took one look at her aggro face – and ran! I don’t blame him.
Our second meal was a disaster, inedible. Pudding House was like a disco but OK food.
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We woke late and go to our original eat house by the station. More excellent Turkish food which fills us for only £0.80 each. Then the train station for the next leg of the journey. The train leaves next Wednesday to Tehran, a weekly service so better not miss it. 1024 TL £20.48 each. We get a student card valid for Turkey only (naughty) and were told the train would now be only 480TL £9.60 with the card. BUT our bank exchange slip must have some extra typing on it. The banks are closed until Thursday because it is Ramadam, their major Bank Holiday, and the train goes on Wednesday! Panic and worry!
We see a Muslim service and Sultan Sulimet Blue Mosque. Not too impressive but I am getting immune to churches and ruins.
That night we have another meal disaster. A Turkish student said in answer to our question “where can we see real Turkish dancing and singing and vino” We meant festivities marking the end of Ramadam called the Sugar Festival. It’s as important to them as Christmas. She directed us to Galata Tower, a long walk, but the food and everything is there, atmosphere, the lot (she said). When we finally arrived at 9:30pm after walking 2 miles, we are tired hungry and bad tempered and we find that she has directed us to a night club with real Turkish belly dancers, floor show, expensive buffet etc!!
We return to stip by the Galata Bridge for some fried fish – mackerel – and drink a bottle of wine on the waterfront. The Galata Bridge is built on pontoons and gives a strange feeling when walking on it as it rises and falls with the swell. There are shops on its side and street vendors on the pavements. One of the shops has old men in it smoking hookah pipes. I took a photo and smelled the substance but could not identify it. We saw the Blue Mosque but weren’t too impressed, the slides of it are better. Real name is Sultan Hamet Mosque.
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Up early and down to the quay for the boat up the Bosphorous. The 10:35am one that we hurried to get did not go until 1135 because I think it was waiting until there were enough people. The trip was quite interesting and we were being “fathered” by an old Aussie guy who used to work in Turkey.
Everything is built up and the bridges look like the Forth Bridge. The palaces etc that we have seen in Istanbul and surrounding area are in a poor state and architecturally unstimulating. The hillsides are covered with blocks of flats and offices and reminds me of photos of Hong Kong.
A boat journey is always enjoyable in some respect though and soon we arrived at the Asian side a few kilometres from the Black Sea. We cannot walk outside the village because it is a military area.
We find a restaurant overlooking the Bosphorous and eat fish, choosing it ourselves with a salad bread and wine. We watch the fishing boats go out. Then a quiet steam boat trip back marred only by a pervert who sat opposite us and started playing with himself. A few aggressive sounds and gestures and he went. I later ‘bumped’ into him heavily – accidentally of course.
Another early night.
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Most shops and all banks are still closed. Joy and I need sandals, a water bottle etc and we need the tickets sorted out.
We take a ferry to Adalar Bukuda, Princess Island. The ferries are sometimes coal / steam and in this one it is fascinating watching the engine room. This one is oil / steam.
It is very crowded and everyone seems to get off at our island. we have heard we can swim around the back of the island so we walk out of the town and up to the centre of the island which is a small hill. When the road ends and a small wood starts we find that everywhere is a rubbish dump.
There is a place on the top where we buy beer and eat our lunch. It is crowded and we are amazed that so many women dye their hair. At last down to the water but we can look but not touch. The waterfront is covered with private buildings and only where the rubbish tip juts out to the sea can we bathe. That is too near the stables and the shanty town where the horse and cart people live. Like one of the Channel Isles there are no cars. We are very depressed with our disillusioned isle and we trudge back towards the harbour. It all reminds Joy of the Mafia villas in Sicily where they commandeered the beaches and even diverted the spring water to their villas.
Near town we find a piece of concrete jetty to lay on with a tramp steamer at the end. We have to pay 10TL but at least the area is screened off so perverts cannot stare at the sunbathers. The sea is floating garbage.
Back to the ferry and as it leaves we still cannot see anywhere for swimming on the other side of the island.
We return to the Pudding Shop to commiserate with beer.
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Shops and banks are still closed but we find somewhere to change money, then we get the train tickets to Tehran. 1st class sleeper £20.80 each for 3 nights and 1500 miles.
Then lunch at our hotel area restaurant. Then trek round streets. Read book. Then shower etc. Joy had photo taken with a bear. I only gave 10L and moved away quick, poor bear.
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At last the day for the train to Tehran.
Breakfast in hotel, coffee in Pudding Shop best in town. Toru the streets see St Sophi, walk to Topkapi and miss it out. Played game with some lads and they gave me a postcard and gave Joy a hair grip. Down to the bazaar for water bottle and watch glass. We saw a man who had his hand cut down to the finger bones, blood everywhere, Joy upset. I try not to look. I think he was drunk and fallen on a bottle.
We find a new eating shop, rump steak with small chips and salad and stuffed vine leaves and aubergines and salad and bread and beer for 180L £1.80 each. Coffee at Pudd.
Late now and I realise we have no money. I rush to change money but he is closed by 6 minutes. I beg and plead and get my way.
Rush back to the hotel and rush for ferry to station on the other side of the Bosphorous, the Asian side. Very concerned about time. If we miss this ferry we may miss the train and have to wait another week for the next train to Tehran.
We get a taxi in a panic 3 minutes for £1 !!! No time to hassle. Just make the ferry and I start to breath again – 20 minutes to go until train departs. The ferry arrives on the Asian side with 10 minutes to go.
It’s the wrong ferry!! We see the station ¾ mile away.
Quick, another taxi; we say only 5 minutes to go hoping to hurry him. I look at my watch and there is actually less than 5 minutes. I scream. He rushes like in a dodgem car. I only have 17TL he takes it.
The train is there – which carriage?
We rush to the top, past 15 carriages then back down. Someone says get in quick. We do. I realise that this carriage is locked off from our section of the train.
Panic again. Back on the platform running. My sleeping bag drops out. I drop the melon under the train and stop to get it, the train about to move. we get our carriage, our seats are OK.
We collapse exhausted with the couple opposite wondering what the hell is going on.
We wash, change and slowly calm down. If we had missed that train the next one didn’t go for a whole week!