Slingshot to Cyprus

Hello all,
Tas been a few since my last post for I have been away on wee bit of a trip. Rana's cousin lives on a little island off of the south coast of Turkey so we felt compelled to go visit her. Also I needed to leave the country for a while (a misunderstanding between a rural goat farmer and myself) so we thought it was a good place to lie low.

Cyprus is an island chopped in half by conflict. The Northern half is Turkish and the lower half Greek. It is beyond the scope of this Joof to explain why as many important historians have been unsuccessful therein. The Ercan airport in North Cyprus doesn't exist for political reasons so we did NOT fly there on the 13th of August, according to Greece at least.

Rana's cousin Nihan and her boyfriend Sarang really made us feel at home in Magusa, a small town on the coast where they lived. We spent the first day sitting on various beaches and swimming in warm Crystal-Pepsi-clear water. The Mediterranean has never been more inviting and salty! Then we finished off the night with Iranian style (Sarang is Iranian) meatballs and salad. Ton't get much better than that!

On the second day we headed up to the Byzantine fortress that surrounded Magusa. It was quite well preserved. After that we took a trip to the far eastern side of the island to sit on another beach. It’s the closest I've ever been to Syria, so I thought I'd wave to the Syrians. The "Golden Beach" is a vacationing hot spot for Marine Biologists from all over the world. They come to study turtles. Dinner and a show, I thought. So we hopped in the waves letting the salty water keep us afloat, all the time scanning for signs of tiny turtles swim buddies. No such luck so we had to entertain ourselves. We ate some homemade sandwiches and watched the sun set and the moon come up on the water simultaneously. Fanfreakingtastic.

On the third day we decided to make pancakes and go to the beach in the logical order. After getting our fill of swimming again, we headed to the ancient ruins of Salamis. There we discovered the temple of Zeus, overrun by lizards not Gods. Also there was a fantastic amphitheater still in operation. Our host said that a few months prior they’d seen Pink Martini perform there. The ruins were vast and full of statues and mosaics. I was careful not to get to friendly with the statues like Pygmalion, I already have a beautiful lady!

Well that's it for today. I had to split the trip into two posts because the final day was so amazing. See you tomorrow.

The Evil Bus Ride

The rest of our time in Bodrum was relatively uneventful. It was full of wistful looks into each other's eyes, sweet nothings and lazy afternoons. But that's none of your damn business so you'll hear nothing further about it from me!

Alas our time in Bodrum went far too quickly and we were once again forced to head north. However we were only in Istanbul for about 8 hours before we headed out again for our friends Kim and Ali's wedding. Our friends decided to have their wedding in a small town on the Black Sea coast that no offense sounds like a cat hacking up a hairball, Ayancik. (almost as far from Bodrum as you can get without leaving the country.)

This is the chronicle of that voyage. It is not for the faint of heart and it is long but hopefully you will be rewarded with a laugh at our expense.


It is almost too much to take in at once. Small Turkish towns, loud children, and and uncomfortable bus make for quite the night. There are two ways to get to this quaint little berg, well three if you count in the bed of truck load of goats but Rana has an acute Carpine allergy so we had to stick to either Bus or plane. Pain of Pains the flight schedule was not in our favor and thus the bus was our only way. Probably crop dusting season or something and they couldn't spare the planes.
The next task was to find the Bus company, "online," which to them meant that they we're hooked up to the sewer system. After a good long search we called the number which we got by bribing a blind hobo. We got there early and found that the word "office," is bandied about rather liberally in Turkey. It was a stool and an adding machine. We bought our tickets and found the bus.
One either side of our bus were brand new Mercedes coaches, newly painted and gleaming in the setting sun. And then there was our bus...When this puppy was rolled off of the assembly line Led Zeppelin was huge, bell bottoms were in and neon orange was an acceptable color to wear in public. It is unfortunate that the latter thought was the only trend incorporated into this baby.
It looked like it had been designed by a crazy Bulgarian scientist with nothing more than a protractor whilst he was locked in a broom cupboard. The color scheme screamed as Rana put it "Sick baby Cheetah." The curtains were and eye burning gold and the seat covers looked like a zoo exploded. You can see a little bit in the picture below.


Reluctantly we handed our bags to the attendant who stowed them underneath and walked around front of the "bus." Rana looked at me and said, "Was that there just a minute ago?" I looked to where she pointed.
The windshield was spider cracked along it's whole length as if God himself had smote the bus for being so hideous.

The fairly empty bus rumbled to a start a few moments later and we were off. At the first stop we picked up, how can I say this in a nice way and still deliver my point? I can't. They were country bumpkins. One women who sat near us kept hitting the recline button on her seat accidentally with her leg and she would flop wildly backwards calling the attendant saying her seat was broken. This happened three times before she mastered the use of said button.

Normally in Turkey you get some nice refreshment and a small snack on your travel. Not our bus. At each stop streets vendors got on selling everything from stockings to fresh bread (What a perk?) I guess they felt this made up for it.

Oh I forgot the earlier fun...It turns out that if your kid can sit on your lap in Turkey, you don't have to pay for an extra seat. At the next stop our favorite bumpkins got on with two toddlers in tow. Guess who they sat behind? You guessed it. I didn't know we signed up for "family" bus, yeah! Rana was quite convinced that everyone on the bus were all part of the same family. They really were forgetting the first rule of genetics, spread the genes apart. Why not at least try your cousin in a different village? I just sayin' here.

The two small children were just as uncomfortable as us and they let us know for the 12 hours I'd like to soon forget. They sat on the laps of their extremely responsible parents. Unfortunately in Turkey when you buy the seat on a bus you don't own the back side of it, these two however owned us by kicking the seat backs the whole way.

Then there was the water boy. Normally they give you water as I have said before but on our bus the young boy would periodically raid the cold water supply. I think he was a little gypsy and was selling water to people in the back of the bus after he stole it. I was thirsty but my mother told me never to do business with Gypsies!
Then oh then the TV came on. Yes just one for the whole bus. They played a Turkish Soap Opera for hours and hours.

Oh this is some terrible programing. I think it was filmed by a guy named Steve with a tripod a second have video cam and a dream. The dream is to address the vital Turkish issues., like circumcision, fighting in the street, and falling in love instantly. The main character fell in love like 10 times in one episode. This was denoted by light guitar music and a slow pan toward his face. He looks pensive. Every time the same. Good job Steve. Those night school film courses sure paid off!

We stopped around midnight for a quick bite to eat and the bathroom. After about 5 hours on a bus most of the women (wearing head to toe robes and headscarves) were begining to reek. Rana detected the faint aroma of hot dogs. Neither of us wanted to know why. We jumped from the bus as if it were on fire. We decided to check out the little roadside shop and hit trip-from-hell gold! Check out the below photos of fake celebrity perfumes! Spell in English much?

Also in Turkey it is customary to give you a little perfumed sanitizer in your hands as you get back on a bus. We were foolish enough to accept. Brown liquid was dumped unceremoniously into our hands. I am surprised it didn't eat through. The aroma can only be described as a vivid combination of old lady perfume and grandpa cologne mixed tasteful with yak urine. We couldn't get the smell of for hours. Really, it sucked.

At last my tale of woe climbs to a close but what story would be complete without the arsenic icing on the cyanide cake? Just as how could this trip be complete without a little vomit? In the final hour of the trek the road traversed some windy hills near the coast of the Black Sea. The people behind us having thriftily saved some cash decided they'd give back a little something to all us. The windy road was too much for their little girl who was bouncing uncomfortably on her mother's bony knee.

It is impossible to describe the sinking sickening feeling that dashed our hearts as a tiny gurgling throw-up noise emanated from the seat behind us but I will try. You know that sensation you get when a drop of rain hits your shoulder and you slowly come to realize that there isn't a cloud in the sky? There is nothing, simply nothing, in this world that can get that droplet off of your shoulder fast enough to comfort you. This is the same frantic dance Rana and I did to check our shoulders and hair for baby puke. 5 minutes later the father, from what I thought was an unreasonably high height considering the contents of the bag, dropped a sac of toddler upchuck into the garbage right next to me. The smell was indescribable.
Ick!
Finally the ride was over and we saw the smiling tired faces of our beautiful bride and her groom. I have never in my life been happier to see two people. They drove us to a lovely sea side bungalow where we slept most of the day away falling asleep to lightly crashing waves.

Next instalment: The Wedding.

Didn't your mother tell you not to climb on rocks

Hello all,
Two weeks now and not a pip. You must be salivating for the next leg of my journey, laid out in exquisite prose for your reading enjoyment. (Can a journey have more than two legs? I mean if there is a journey animal, then it can, right? maybe four? I know. The journey animal has 10 legs as there were 5 members of the original touring lineup. Don't stop believin') In reality you most likely deleted the link and I am typing a pointless diatribe to my self. C'est la vie.

The trip over left the slightest bit to be desired. The champagne was served in flight slightly above the preferred temperature (48°F). The airline stewards did not greet me with the traditional "Good morning monsieur Carroll" to which I am accustomed. Furthermore the pepper-flaked pate infused Brie was a touch on the runny side.

Oh yeah, in "real life" I sat sandwiched between a snoring Englishman and one of 14 women all wearing the same shirt going to Istanbul for some sort of female version of a bachelor party. Lovely.

After listening for hours to them make noises not unlike a flock of hens discovering an open bag of chickenfeed we arrived in Istanbul. There I was picked up by my gracious and wonderful partner, the beautiful, the intelligent the resourceful, Rana.


The first few days have been filled to the brim with a murky liquid called jetlag. Whoever tells you it doesn't exist is selling something. A heavy malaise hovers expectantly over even the most minute action. For example, every time I sat down I felt like I'd been doing ab exercises with the men from that "300" film. Out like the lights at an all-girls boarding school was I.

Now that the jetlag has run it's course like the cruel drug it be, we decided to go hiking today . I can't tell you how beautiful it was. It was beautiful (ok so I can). At least that is until I fell off of a rock wall looking while looking at the black sea. I'm fine, I'm fine. No need for the letters and flowers I'm sure you were going to send, but I was doing one of those "things." You know those things that your mother told you not to do.

I was "horsing around" on the rocks and I paid the piper with a leg like a used bowling pin. Wee. The walk back to the ferry that had brought us there was fine, didn't feel a thing. Once I sat for a while though my shin ballooned, a marshmallow in the microwave-like heat of Istanbul.

With some trouble I disembarked and made it to the Dolmuş (a little yellow mini-bus) which would take me to safety. Here I lie. Beer in one hand, leg (the third leg of my journey?) elevated, and shin covered in a makeshift ice pack (frozen onion rings). Oh how the semi-mighty have fallen. More soon. Love to you all.